Summary: It’s opening night of Spider-Man: The Musical and after getting cast as the masked heroes girlfriend, MJ is disappointed to discover that her actual boyfriend, Peter Parker, won’t be able to make it to witness her Broadway debut.
This is not a direct continuation of part one, so it can be read as a stand alone piece.
As MJ was sat in front of her mirror applying her stage makeup, there were three short knocks at her dressing room door.
“Just a second!” She called, as she rushed to finish applying her blush.
Once she finally opened the door, she was greeted by a giant bouquet of flowers so large they completely obscured the person who was holding them.
“Peter–”
“Where would you like them, ma’am? It’s just… they’re starting to feel rather heavy.” the flowers spoke to her in a voice she didn’t recognise and her shoulders deflated upon realising that it wasn’t Peter who was hidden behind them like she had originally thought.
“Oh, right– sorry, come in.” MJ jumped aside and pulled the door wide open in order to provide enough space for the flowers to be carried through, “you can put them down on that table just over there.” she awkwardly gestured to the small coffee table, which the man began to side step towards so he was able to see where he was going, while MJ began rummaging through her purse to look for some cash in order to tip the delivery man.
“Thank you so much.” She told him as she handed him some money, once he had put down the flowers.
He gratefully accepted the tip with a smile, before he showed himself out of the dressing room, leaving MJ alone with the enormous flower arrangement.
She began digging through the flowers in order to hunt for a note from the sender, she was grateful for the fact that the roses had been dethroned so she didn’t receive any nasty pricks as she pulled out the small greeting card.
‘I’m so unbelievably proud of you, my love. I wish I could be there tonight to watch your broadway debut. Break a leg (not literally though, please.)
Good luck and lots of love,
Peter.’
She couldn’t help her giggle as she read over the note, until it faded into a disappointed sigh. It was about to be the most important night of her career and her boyfriend wasn’t going to be there to support her, she understood that he was committed to protecting the city every night as Spider-Man but she had hoped that he would take the night off just this once.
She couldn’t fight the insecurity that began to creep up on her like a ominous shadow. All of the other actors partners were going to be in the audience tonight and she knew they would all find it strange once they asked where her boyfriend was and she told them he was “working” and their minds inevitably wondered before offering her a look of pity and she couldn’t blame them, hers would have too if she hadn’t been aware of the truth.
MJ appreciated the fact that most people wouldn’t want to sit through an admittedly corny and inaccurate musical revolved around them, that’s why she had told Peter she would quit as soon as he revealed the fact that he was actually Spider-Man to her, but he had insisted that she could not give up her dream of performing on Broadway for him and convinced her to stay committed to the production.
She still couldn’t help but chuckle to herself every time she thought about the fact that life was imitating art as she was Spider-Man’s girlfriend both on and off stage. She was caught doing just that as her co-star, Tom, invited himself into her dressing room.
“Y’know there’s this thing called knocking? You should try it sometime.” she reprimanded him, as she slid the card back into the bouquet and returned to the seat in front of her mirror.
Tom playfully rolled his eyes, knowing she was only teasing. He and MJ had become very close friends over the time they had spent together during the weeks of rehearsals and it helped considering the fact he was her on stage boyfriend.
“I just saw the obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers getting delivered to your door and I had to come see who they were from.” Tom lightly teased with an English accent as he nosily inspected the bouquet.
“Peter, obviously, who else?” MJ replied with faux irritation as she resumed her makeup routine.
“Will he be attending tonight?” Tom made casual conversation as he invited himself to sit down on the black leather two seater located directly behind the mirror, so he and MJ could look at each other through it.
MJ hesitantly made eye contact with Tom’s reflection before lowering her gaze back down to her makeup palette. “He can’t. He’s working,” she regretfully lied.
“Oh… so those are guilt flowers.” Tom remarked and MJ made the effort to turn around in her chair and glare at him.
“No. They’re good luck flowers.” She sharply argued and in return Tom offered her a look that told her she was in denial. If only she could tell him the real reason Peter wasn’t attending tonight.
“Will Daya be coming?” MJ asked in order to shift the focus onto her co-star. Daya was Tom’s girlfriend, also an actress, the pair had met while working together on a TV show and in MJ’s opinion they made a rather adorable couple.
“Of course.” Tom nodded, as if the mere idea that she wouldn’t be was absurd, which only made MJ’s heart sink even further at the fact she couldn’t say the same for her partner.
•••
Peter felt bad for lying to MJ, but he wanted to surprise her.
The writer and director of ‘Spider-Man: The Musical’ had made a very public invitation to Spider-Man, making it known that a VIP box would be especially reserved for the masked hero, should he decide to ‘swing by,’ and those are the actual words that he used.
That seat would have remained empty had his girlfriend not been a member of the cast and he couldn’t miss her broadway debut for the world, even if it was in a musical about himself.
So technically Peter didn’t lie, he wouldn’t be there tonight, Spider-Man would be, but of course MJ didn’t know that.
The play was scheduled to begin at 6:30pm and Peter ensured that he was fashionably late so that the house lights would be down by the time he sneaked into the VIP box and no one, including MJ, would notice him until the house lights came up again during the interval.
As soon as they did, Peter was on his feet, clapping his hands above his head and cheering. The unmistakable red and blue of Peter’s suit caught MJ’s eye almost immediately and she froze mid-bow as she looked directly into his masked eyes.
For a moment her expression was unreadable and Peter was beginning to worry that she was upset that he had lied to her but that concern dissipated as soon as a broad smile stretched at her lips and she blew him a quick kiss, not missing a beat Peter made a show of pretending to catch it with his web shooter before slipping it into an imaginary pocket, which caused the crowd to erupt into an even louder applause.
Peter couldn’t allow the focus to be shifted towards him, so he pointed towards the stage and clapped his hands together once more, before he swiftly exited the VIP box and found one of the theatre staff to lead him back stage to meet the actors, of course the only actor he was interested in meeting was his girlfriend, but they didn’t need to know that.
•••
“I thought you said you couldn’t make it.” MJ smiled up at her boyfriend as she hung her arms loosely around the back of his neck and he comfortably rested his hands on the dip of her waist.
Peter was still covered head to toe in his Spider-Man costume, despite the fact they were both now hidden away in MJ’s dressing room.
“I never said Spider-Man couldn’t make it, though.” Peter cleverly replied, to which MJ responded with a slight tilt of her head which said ‘touché.’
“Is Spider-Man enjoying himself?” MJ asked.
“He certainly is, and he is incredibly proud of his girlfriend.” Peter whispered as he began to lower his face closer to hers.
“MJ, curtains back up in fi– oh fuck, I’m so sorry.” Tom once again barged into your dressing room and you immediately pushed yourself away from your boyfriend.
“Jesus Christ, Tom! What have I told you about knocking?!” You yelled back at him, while Peter awkwardly looked back and forth between you and your co-star.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking genuinely remorseful before his eyes lingered on Spider-Man and the two of them stared at each other for a moment before Tom broke the silence with an awkward ‘hi’ to which Peter politely responded with a small wave and you could’ve sworn that Tom was about to burst on the spot with excitement over the tiny interaction.
“Tom, MJ, what are you doing, the curtain is going back up in literally two– oh my god, Spider-Man, thank you so much for coming to my show.” The director invited himself into your dressing room as soon as he laid eyes on your boyfriend and you quietly made yourself scarce, while Tom and the director began to shower Peter with admiration.
“I just had an idea!” The director placed his hand on Spider-Man’s chest, to halt him when he attempted to escape and return to his seat for the second part. “You should do the next scene with MJ! You wouldn’t mind, right, Tom?”
“Fine by me, means I don’t have to get into the harness.” Tom easily agreed.
“The harness?” Peter tilted his head.
“Well, you see, in the next scene Tom is lowered down from the top of the stage, hanging upside down, until he comes face to face with MJ and she lifts his mask to give him a kiss.” The director explained.
“Lifts his mask?” Peter was beginning to feel like a parrot, surely they weren’t expecting him to unmask himself on Broadway.
“Only to above your mouth,” Tom quickly clarified, settling Peter’s worries about having his identity revealed, “no one will see your whole face.”
“And I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to rush you for an answer because we’re already running behind schedule.” The director told him as he made an effort to check his watch for the time.
•••
MJ stood alone on stage as the curtains lifted and the first thing she noticed was that the seat that Peter had previously been sat in was now empty, she tried to ignore the way her heart sank with disappointment as she told herself it was inevitable that he wouldn’t stay for the whole show as he had to protect the city and that was important.
Pushing her feelings aside, MJ remained committed to her performance. Just before the interval, Spider-Man had rescued her from a street gang, the scene had ended with him chasing the gang off stage and now MJ had to act frightened and alone as she stood in an abandoned alley, unsure of whether or not Spider-Man had safely made it away from the gang.
She knew it was her cue to look up once the crowd erupted into cheer and applause as Spider-Man made a re-appearance from the top of the stage. MJ’s brows furrowed as soon as she realised he wasn’t wearing a harness and there were no strings attaching him to the ceiling and it seemed the audience realised this too as they became even louder once he came face to face with MJ, hanging upside down from his web.
“Peter?” MJ whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
“I guess we’re both making our Broadway debut today.” He replied just as quietly and she could just imagine his proud smirk behind his mask as she tried to stay in character.
“May I give my hero a kiss?” MJ delivered her line once the cheers and applause had died down and when Peter gave her a silent nod she knew that was her permission to lift his mask above his lips.
MJ cradled Peter’s face in both of her hands, as she connected her lips with his in a kiss that started out slow and tender but quickly deepened into something far more passionate as the theatre full of people collapsed out of their minds like a house of cards until it was just the pair of them surrounded by a black abyss and a single spotlight.
MJ had to force herself to pull her lips off of Peter’s before they let themselves get carried away and stepped out of his reach when his lips continued to chase after hers. She sent him a look that seemed to remind him where they were and Peter realised that it was time for him to make his exit.
Using his web, Peter yanked himself back up to the top of the stage and began to rush back to his seat to enjoy the rest of the show.
•••
As soon as the curtain lowered, Tom put his arm around MJ’s shoulders as they both made their way backstage, incredibly high off of the adrenaline of their first official performance of the musical.
“Spider-Man definitely has the hots for you.” Tom teased her after pulling off his own Spider-Man mask.
“No, he does not!” She protested a bit too aggressively, if Tom thought anything of it he didn’t make it obvious.
“I think you should dump that Peter bloke and shoot your shot with Spider-Man. At least he showed up.” Tom suggested and she couldn’t help but laugh at his obliviousness.
“Maybe I should.” She agreed through her laughter as she made her way towards her dressing room where she was sure her Spider-Man was already waiting for her.
A/N: yes that was Tom Holland as the Broadway Spider-Man because I’m lazy and I thought it was funny and yes Daya is just Zendaya because I’m also unoriginal. This was so fun to write, if you read the authors note of the previous part you’ll know that I wrote a lot more than what I posted but this is nothing like the second part I had originally written and I’m so glad because I like this so much better.
Thank you so much to everyone who read this, I would love to hear your thoughts on it if you’re happy to share them!
Summary: After the events of No Way Home Peter 3 is back in his own universe and meets his own MJ when she is auditioning to play his love interest in Spider-Man: The Musical.
A/N: Inspired by Tick Tick… Boom and Rogers: The Musical I thought, since it’s canon that they make broadway musicals inspired by superheroes in the mcu, what if there was a Spider-Man musical and Peter auditioned to play Spider-Man as a joke but was actually rejected because “he wasn’t right for the part.” I turned that idea into a fic. I wrote a lot more, like three quarters of a second part which I wasn’t happy with so I nearly didn’t post it but then I thought that I might as well post the part I’m happy with and so I hope you enjoy!
CW: This is sort of crack and meta (I hope I’m using that in the right context) and written in third person since it’s basically Peter centric and ‘reader’ is MJ but apart from making her female I kept her description blank (except for her outfit which is described) so basically it’s still a reader insert just with a name.
•••
A flash of red and blue caught Peter’s attention as he was patrolling the streets of New York City, he doubled back before gently lowering himself to the ground in front of a large poster of himself.
The poster displayed a digitally drawn picture of Spider-Man swinging through the streets, just as he had been moments earlier. Above the picture, ‘SPIDER-MAN:’ was written in bold letters, the ‘D’ mimicked the shape of one of the eyes on his mask. Below the picture, just under where both his feet swung out, it read ‘The Musical.’
“Seriously?” Peter sighed with a shake of his head before something else caught his attention. Just beside the poster, a piece of A4 paper was pasted to the wall with a date, time and address, inviting people to open auditions for the musical.
Now, Peter’s experience in the performing arts started and ended with the props and backdrops he used to make and paint for school productions, simply because he was required to participate in the class and those where the jobs that were given to the kids who would have otherwise failed drama.
However he would be lying if he said that the idea of auditioning to play Spider-Man, or rather, himself, didn’t cross his mind, and not because he wanted the part, in fact he was absolutely certain he didn’t, he was far too busy actually being Spider-Man to forfeit his time to singing show tunes in spandex every night on Broadway. But Spider-Man auditioning to play Spider-Man without anyone knowing that he was the actual Spider-Man? Peter was not going to let that opportunity slip by him.
•••
“Name.” The woman sat behind a desk drawled without even glancing up at Peter, who stood in front of her, dressed in his Spider-Man suit with his mask removed, which he was wringing between his gloved hands.
“Peter,” he answered and there was a pause before her eyes finally met his from over the rim of her thick framed glasses and she arched a single brow without sparing any reaction to his attire. “Parker. Peter Parker.” He quickly added with a faint nervous chuckle under his breath.
The woman’s stone face didn’t falter as her attention returned to the clip board in front of her and she noted down his name.
“Stick this to your…” She paused as her eyes finally landed on his suit and Peter’s heart fell for a moment but her face remained passive and she simply cleared her throat “…costume and wait with the others.”
Peter took the sticker which had a random 6 digit number on it with a polite smile and nod before quickly moving on in the direction she pointed him in.
•••
“I love your costume.” Peter looked up from where he was sat on the floor with his back propped against the wall to find a young woman standing in front of him wearing a Dolly Parton T shirt, tucked into pair of cropped blue jeans and high top converse. “It’s so realistic, did you make it yourself?” She asked as she shrugged off her army green back pack and invited herself to sit down on the floor beside him with her legs crossed.
Peter didn’t respond immediately as he was caught off guard by the sudden attention and it felt weird to openly talk to a stranger with his mask off while still wearing his suit.
Peter’s brain finally clicked into gear and he allowed a prideful smile to light up his face as he glanced down at his suit and admired his own craftsmanship. “I did, actually, yeah.”
“Oh wow, that’s real dedication. It’s practically a perfect replica.” She slightly shook her head in disbelief as she reached out her hand to touch it, stopping halfway until Peter gave her a short nod as permission and she lightly traced the tips of her fingers over his forearm to feel the silky material. “If they don’t give you the part for that alone they should at least hire you as the costume designer.”
“I’m serious.” She told him when Peter started to laugh while a light blush began to warm the apples of his cheeks.
“No, yeah, thanks. I’m… I’m glad you think so.” Peter nervously fixed his hair and diverted his eyes as he accepted her compliment.
“I… um… I assume you’re not here to audition for the role of Spider-Man.” Peter said in an attempt to move the focus off of himself.
“Why would you assume that?” She asked with a slight tilt of her head and Peter couldn’t help the way his face fell as he began to stutter out an apology for his assumption but she decided to have mercy and quickly cut him off. “I’m sorry, that was cruel, I’m just messing with you. No, you’re right, of course I’m not auditioning for Spider-Man, I’m here to audition for the role of his love interest.”
“His love interest?” Peter repeated with raised brows.
“Yeah… like his partner, I guess?” She clarified slowly with her eyes slightly narrowed, confused by his clueless response.
“Spider-Man has a partner?” Peter mimicked her expression to which she responded with a shrug.
“He does in the musical.” She laughed, “but hey, remember that one time he webbed ‘I love you’ to the Brooklyn bridge? That must have been for someone special, right?” She pondered and Peter felt himself suddenly become overwhelmed as the memory came flooding back to him and he turned his face away slightly to hide the emotions he was battling to contain inside.
With a deep breath, Peter coughed a couple times into the crook of his elbow as a cover before he turned to face her again, he found her looking at him expectantly and slightly concerned and he began to nod as he cleared his throat and waited for his vocal cords to cooperate. “Uh, yeah, yeah, I suppose it was.”
“I’m MJ, by the way.” She introduced herself after a beat of silence fell upon them and Peter almost gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned his head to face her.
“MJ?” He repeated.
“That’s right.” She nodded, “and you are?”
“I’m-”
“Peter Parker!” A woman’s voice echoed through the crowded corridor cutting him off.
“That’s me,” Peter smiled apologetically as he pushed himself up off the floor but he found himself frozen on the spot where he stood, fearing that if he walked away from MJ he would never see her again.
“Nervous?” She asked him after realising he had froze and Peter felt his throat closing up as he looked down at her so he simply nodded, even though he wasn’t even thinking about the audition, and she offered him a sympathetic smile.
“Don’t be, you’ve got this!” She encouraged him.
“Peter Parker!” The woman called louder this time and Peter looked regrettably between MJ and the audition room before he started backing away towards it.
“I’ll see you around…” Peter raised his gloved hand and gave her a small wave which she returned.
“Good luck, Peter Parker!” MJ called after him.
•••
The last thing on Peter’s mind right now was the actual audition, the only reason he was doing it was for a joke, even if it was a one only he could truly appreciate. But perhaps he could share it with someone he truly trusted someday and he couldn’t help but think that he had just met that person.
It couldn’t be coincidental that he met two alternative versions of himself who both had girlfriends called MJ, perhaps the one he met in the corridor was his MJ, while he rational part of his mind told him that he was foolish for believing a complete stranger was somehow destined to be with him simply because of their name.
“I’m sorry, you’re not what we’re looking for.” A man’s voice pulled Peter from his reverie and he looked up to find a panel comprised of two men and a woman, staring back at him.
“I’m sorry?” Peter asked, believing he misheard him.
“You’re not what we’re looking for.” The man repeated, without any explanation.
“I… I haven’t even auditioned?” Peter protested, believing he deserved an explanation at least.
“You’re too attractive.” The woman offered, having sensed his confusion.
“Too attractive?” Peter parroted. “Spider-Man wears a mask, no one has ever seen his face.” For emphasis Peter held up his own mask and pointed at it.
“Precisely, anyone who hides their entire face under a mask must be average at best.” The second man answered.
“Maybe he just wants anonymity.” Peter reasoned.
“Listen, kid, I can see you’re a big fan of the guy,” the middle aged man gestured to Peter’s suit with the pen in his hand, “and that’s awesome, but we know what we’re looking for and you’re just too handsome to play Spider-Man. We’re sorry if we’ve wasted your time.”
Peter was stunned silent, he anticipated that the audition wouldn’t go well but he believed it would have been due to his lack of experience in the performing arts not because of the way he looked. Peter didn’t know whether to be offended by the fact they basically said Spider-Man must be unattractive or appreciate the fact they called him attractive.
“You may go now.” The woman told him when Peter failed to move from the spot and he quickly made his way to the exit.
He began to wonder whether he should have even bothered with the audition as the joke was beginning to feel a lot less funny, until he saw MJ’s face again almost immediately as he stepped into the corridor and he was reminded why fate brought him here, the cynical part of his mind internally rolled its eyes but he ignored it and made his way back towards her.
“That was quick.” MJ commented as soon as she saw Peter walking back towards her, “wait, let me guess, they saw your costume and hired you on the spot?”
Peter couldn’t help but smile at her optimism as he shook his head, “nope, they took one look at me and said I was too attractive to play Spider-Man.”
MJ’s face froze for a moment as she tried to figure out whether he was joking or not, “seriously?”
“Seriously, you can ask them yourself.” Peter chuckled as he gestured towards the audition room.
“But Spider-Man wears a mask.” MJ stated as she tilted her head in confusion.
“That’s what I said!” Peter pointed.
“MJ!” The woman who called Peter to the audition room interrupted them once again and MJ pulled herself up off the floor and swung her backpack over one shoulder. “Well, I guess it’s my turn.”
“Good luck, MJ!” Peter mimicked what she said earlier and felt delighted by the smile he received in return.
bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 8 all chapters
-Your birthday falls on a beautiful spring day, and of course, you have to work. When a new customer growls into the parking lot on a shiny black motorcycle everyone crowds behind the counter to see who it could be.
It takes so little to entertain all of you, sometimes.
The boys titter excitedly about the sweet bike and torque and ccs, whatever that means.
When the rider takes off his helmet there’s a fall of fabulous dark hair, and something inside you utterly purrs at the sight.
It’s Mr. Wick.
Maybe you should have known. His padded motorcycle jacket makes his shoulders seem impossibly broad, and as he crosses the parking lot on long legs you hear Cassie sigh behind you.
Same, girl, same.
Cassie had made you a little birthday crown to wear out of a to go cup, a la Princess Peach. You forget about the silly adornment clipped to your head, until Mr. Wick approaches the counter to make his order.
“One coffee…your Highness?” He lifts one of those dark brows with a small smirk, and fuck if it doesn't make you blush.
“It's my birthday,” you sheepishly tell him. His expression actually softens.
“Happy Birthday, then.”
“Thanks.”
“Not fair you have to work today.”
You shrug. “No rest for the wicked.”
This makes him smile a little wider, and you feel that’s a good present for today.
“Hopefully you have something fun planned for later?”
Is he fishing, or just making conversation? You can never tell with this man.
“Not really,” you admit with a shrug.
Your parents are divorced and remarried, living far away from you in their new lives, with their new families. You know they’ll call you later, when they remember you. You’ll have an awkward little conversation that will only serve to grind up your heart into smaller pieces, rather than lift your spirits like its meant to.
Your friends are busy too. One, with her new baby who never has time for you anymore, and you totally understand (and endorse) her priorities, even if it still hurts. The other’s work schedule is exactly the opposite of yours, and you never manage to hang out anymore.
Maybe you’ll go to the thrift store after you get off work, or treat yourself to an ice cream. Nothing too extravagant. You’re saving every penny you can for your upcoming trip.
“Well, maybe something will come up.”
It’s a nice thought.
You make him his usual coffee order, and don’t think much about it the rest of the day. This warm spring day has everyone out and about, stir crazy after the thaw, and you were running full speed from open to the end of your shift. For some incongruous reason, people were extra rude too, and as the clock strikes 2 you are at the end of your rope, your smile more closely resembling a baring of teeth.
Your whole body hurts, and you think you are too exhausted to do anything fun for yourself, until you go to your car in the lot behind the brick building to find Mr. Wick—and his motorcycle—parked next to your old Rav4. He looks utterly scrumptious, if you’re being honest, those legs going on forever as he leans against the seat of his bike. His hair is waving down around his face as he browses something on his phone to pass the time.
Good on you, for only pausing for a moment to ogle him.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
You look between him and the bike with your lip between your teeth, wondering what he’s doing, your treacherous heart fluttering in your chest.
“I thought…it might be fun to go for a ride? If you want.”
You cannot suppress a wide smile, touched to the marrow that he thought of you on your special day. “That does sound like fun,” you admit, and not just because the thought of sitting behind him on a bike makes you a little weak in the knees. The sunshine that day truly feels like a gift from the gods after such a harsh winter. “But…”
He tilts his head inquisitively.
“Don’t you have better things to do?”
He shakes his head, a lock of his dark hair falling over his eyes, and your fingers physically ache to brush it away. “There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he assures you, and damn if that isn’t enough to convince you.
“Full disclosure: I’ve never actually been on a bike before?”
His smile is nothing less than gentle, and he could have pushed you over with a feather.
“All you have to do is hold on to me,” he assures you, and you think you lose your mind a little at that.
There is slightly more to it, he instructs you as you put on a helmet and he helps you clamber on behind him. He tells you to lean slightly with him into the turns, but not too much. The bike grumbles like a fire-breathing beast beneath you as he starts it up.
The feeling of his slim hips and taut backside between your thighs crosses some wires in your brain.
He takes you to the winding backroads of the countryside and up the mountain. You feel like you’re flying, snaking through the curves on this powerful machine, with a man you find you trust implicitly at the controls.
You laugh out loud more than once.
At a straightaway he asks through the helmet mic, “Want to see what she can do?”
“Sure,” you answer, even though you can’t imagine what more this beautiful bike could offer.
“Lean into me, and hold on.” You obey, looping arms around his trim waist, plastered to his backside as he hunkers down for aerodynamics. You were already going fast, but when he shifts a gear you take off like a shot.
A sane person would have screamed, but all you can do is laugh.
This is the purest joy you’ve felt in longer than you can remember.
John pulls over at a scenic overlook, parking the bike so you can have a little break. You sit together on a picnic table, looking over the valley below. A stream snakes through it like a silver ribbon, shimmering in the sunlight. You sigh and lean back on your arms, lifting your face to the sun.
This has turned out to be a perfect day. John smiles a little as he looks over at you, but says nothing, just lets you soak it in.
“Thank you for this,” you finally say. “I was having such a shitty day.”
“You’re welcome.”
You sit up and rub at your neck. You have an unrelenting ache in the muscle over your left shoulder blade. It never really goes away, but its definitely worse after a long day on your feet bending over coffee.
John looks worried, bless him. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not at all. I just…have this thing. I think there’s a demon living in my shoulder.”
After a pensive moment he lifts his hands in offering, moving very slowly as though he might spook you. His hands are…beautiful. Large, long fingered, calloused too. You wonder what he does, when he’s not sitting in the coffee shop or binding books. The thought of them on your body gives you a forbidden little thrill.
You do not even consider the missing digit, until he looks at his left hand and frowns, closing it to hide it at his side. “Sorry. I still forget…”
But you take his hand in yours, inspecting it closely for the first time. He allows it, though there is something vulnerable in his eyes as you do. The healed skin almost looks jagged, like it wasn’t severed with a clean cut or a surgical blade. You feel the urge to press your lips to it, as though you could kiss it better, but you just rub your thumb over the fine dark hairs there.
“What happened?”
“Someone…” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sound. “I had an accident.”
You sense there’s much more to the story, but you don’t press him yet.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Sometimes, I get the phantom aches. Mostly it’s fine though.”
You nod and angle your back to him, placing his hand on your shoulder as you shoot him a pointed look, granting him permission to touch you. His sigh is almost imperceptible, but you sit up a little straighter as he squeezes your shoulder lightly. You get the slightest taste of the strength in those hands, yet you know he could rip you to pieces if he chose to.
He slays you in a different way, knowing exactly how to use them on your sore muscles, and you can’t help but moan as he squeezes the kinks out of your shoulders. For a second he freezes at the sound, before continuing to work his magic.
“God…that feels so good.” You’ve been in pain for so long that it’s damn near better than sex.
Maybe it’s been too long for that too, though.
“You are a mess.” You know him well enough now to know he’s frowning as he says this. He kills a knot with the well-placed blade of his thumb. You feel it release and you jump a little. Though it doesn’t really hurt you, you’re not sure why there is suddenly moisture in your eyes.
It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of you like this, you suppose.
“Job hazard,” you sigh.
“Do you ever do yoga?”
You laugh a little at that for some reason. “I used to practice, when I was younger.” It kind of fell by the wayside. You’re always so tired when you get home.
“Well, stretching is good for you, as you age. Take it from an old man. It helps.”
“You’re not old,” you immediately protest.
“Nice to know I still have some curb appeal.” His words are laden with sarcasm, and yet you can tell he is pleased.
He finishes the massage with a lighter touch, to stimulate blood flow, that gives you delicious chills all over. Your shoulders are your kryptonite, and you are putty in his hands. You look back at him from beneath your lashes, curious what exactly it is the two of you are doing here. Does he like you, or is he just being impossibly nice?
He doesn’t avoid your gaze, but you find you can’t read him, not one bit.
“Want to get something to eat?” he asks.
It is almost dinner time. “Okay.”
You’re a little sad as you ride back down the mountain towards town. But he pulls up to the local diner, and you have sinfully greasy cheeseburgers and shakes. Despite your protests he pays, because: “No one should have to pay for their birthday dinner.”
You know he’s fucking loaded, so you let him have his way.
“This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time,” you admit, munching on a fry. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”
You know he’s told you to call him John before, but fuck if you haven’t noticed how his eyes darken just a little when you call him Mr. Wick, or even just Sir at the coffeeshop. You feel like you stumbled onto something you don’t entirely understand, but it fills you with a forbidden warmth all the same.
He gives you a hooded look from across the table, and you fancy he knows that you know what you’re doing.
bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 5 all chapters
-You take him home, and you can't help but stare in awe as you go through the gate. The Wick residence is quite the cabin-style manse, a behemoth in dark painted wood and stone and massive mirrored windows.
“Do you...want to come in?” he offers as you park in the circle drive. “Dog would love to see you.”
You look at him, not sure if that is code for he would like you to spend more time with him. It’s so hard to read this man. It doesn't seem like he's hitting on you though. Just…being nice? You know he must be lonely, and you truly have nothing better to do.
“Ok. I can stay for a little while.”
The mudroom leads into the kitchen, which is dark cabinets and black marble countertops. Dog trots up to you immediately upon entrance, snoofing your outreached hands and leaning heavily on your legs. “Hi sweetie,” you say, scratching his side.
“How about a snack?” John offers, opening the refrigerator. “I’m always hungry after a hike.”
“Okay.”
“Want some coffee? Tea?”
“I can make it, if you show me where your stuff is.”
“No, it’s your day off. Let me take care of you. You always take care of me.”
You're a little dumbfounded, standing in this man’s kitchen who by his own admission, you barely know. Never once have you been invited by any of the wealthy visitors from the coffee shop into their homes. Why would you be?
You aware again of how he towers over you. It makes your very bones weak, when he looks down at you with those shining dark eyes. He does not look away from you, holding your gaze. You don't know why, but you feel a little like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web.
“Have a seat,” he directs, nodding towards a leather-upholstered stool at the island.
“Ok...”
You are not used to being taken care of. You’ve been on your own for so long.
You feel a little out of place, and cautiously slide up onto the stool, looking around. It’s an open plan, you can see into the recessed living room with its cavernous ceiling. The house is painted in dark shades, masculine, but very stylish. It's classy but comfortable, with large windows to let in the light and the natural beauty from outside.
Then you watch with more than a little fascination as John sets up a kettle and a French press, then starts putting together a little charcuterie spread on a wooden board. His hands are poetry in motion, and like when he’d helped you with your burn, you cannot look away. He slices artisan sausage and cheese, expensive locally crafted treats from the grocer you can never afford on your ramen budget. They look delicious.
You feel like quite the honored guest. The kitchen fills with the heavenly scent of coffee as he pours the hot water into the carafe, and you relax slightly.
“You didn’t have to do all this for me, Mr. Wick,” you say as the selection on the charcuterie board expands to sliced apple and herby crackers, still a bit mortified.
“Call me John,” he insists, looking at you through his hair. Your heart does an extra hard tha-thump in your chest. “And it’s my pleasure, really.”
With sundries in tow you go to the living room, where there are soft leather couches and a rustic walnut wood coffee table. He turns on the gas fireplace, lending the room a warm glow. You notice there are bookshelves flanking the fireplace that rise almost to the ceiling, completely full. This place is incredibly cozy, and as you settle into the cushion you regret already that you’ll have to leave.
Dog clambers up on the couch with you, practically climbing into your lap. You laugh, hugging the affectionate canine as he licks your face, but John gives him a funny look.
“Is he not allowed on the couch?” you ask, feeling sheepish.
“Not usually, but I'll let it slide.” He says it with a slight smile, looking at the animal bemusedly. “It's not often we have company.”
Dog offers a canine smile, undoubtedly well aware that he is getting away with something this special day.
You take a sip of your coffee, and sigh. This is the good stuff. “God. You make better coffee than I do. Why do you even bother to come into the shop when you could just stay here all day?” You could just sit and read in this room for hours, you reckon. Look out the window. Watch the fire, and forget the outside world even exists.
“The shop has its perks,” he says quietly, looking at you out the corner of his eye. As usual, you're not sure if he's talking in double speak. In the end you decide it’s all in your head, and you relax a little more.
After snacking on tasty tidbits and sipping a bit more brew, you look around more. A wrought iron staircase leads up to a landing. You can tell the house sprawls a long way further back than just what you can see. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “Do you really live here all alone?”
You’ve never noticed a wedding ring, but then, he’s missingthe appropriate finger.
“Yes.” He looks off into the fire. “I was married once, but she passed away.”
Shit. You and your big fucking mouth.
“Oh. I'm so sorry.”
“Thanks. It seems like it was a lifetime ago now.” He frowns, clearly still deeply pained about it, and you feel so terrible for bringing it up. But sometimes once the scab is open, it's best to remember something good.
“What was her name?”
“Helen.”
“How pretty.”
“Yes. She was...a lovely woman.”
“What was she like?”
He smiles then. It's slight, and completely to himself. But you feel some validation in your train of inquiry. “She was smart, and funny, and she lit up any room she walked into.”
His total opposite, it sounded like. There’s a reason opposites attract, to make a whole.
He sighs, a forlorn sound that squeezes your heart. “And, I loved her with all my heart.”
“What a lucky woman,” you say before you can stop yourself.
You absolutely feel the weight of the sidelong look he pays you this time.
“We had some luck, before she was diagnosed. But when you love someone like that...eternity wouldn't be long enough.”
You're not sure why there are tears in your eyes for someone you never met.
“I wouldn't know,” you admit.
No one has ever loved you so much.
“You're young yet. You will, someday.” You can still feel him looking at you, out the corner of your eye. His gaze has such weight to it, a heady, heavy thing that is like a hand on your skin.
“I’m not sure I want to,” you admit frankly. “It sounds…terrifying.”
“It is,” he agrees. “But when it hits you...you don't really get a choice.”
Before you can think of an answer to that, somewhere in the house a phone rings. With a little frown John gets up to answer it. “Make yourself at home,” he tells you. It sounds a bit like an order.
You take an impossibly soft blanket and drape it over you and dog, snuggling up in the cozy warmth. You don’t really mean to fall asleep, but you close your eyes, and you ae done for.
You dream that someone is gently touching your face, tracing the curve of your cheek ever so lightly.
You only wake up when there's a small noise, and you find John cleaning up what's left of the charcuterie board.
“Sorry,” he whispers, glaring down at the cheese knife that dared roll off onto the table.
That he would apologize to you, when you're the one who fell asleep in his house, is pretty absurd.
You sit up a little. The weight of dog has made one of your legs go numb.
“I'm sorry,” you counter. You are mortified as you wonder if you were snoring. Waking up early for your shift at the coffee house tires you out so badly. It can be hard to have a real life, when you wake up at four in the morning. “I didn't mean to doze. It's so warm and comfortable here.”
He frowns again, but you don’t realize it’s because he’s wondering if you are warm and comfortable in your own tiny apartment. He holds up a hand when he sees you struggling to get free of the blanket.
“It's alright. Stay as long as you like.”
He takes what little is left of the sundries back into the kitchen.
You manage to get up, and stretch, reawakening your limbs. You join him in the kitchen. The sun is hanging low in the sky. It will be dark soon. You have sooo overstayed your welcome, or so you think.
“You might as well stay for dinner now,” John says. As usual, you can't really tell if he's joking.
He’s not, in fact, but he is being careful about how he handles this delicate thing between you. Seeing you snoozing contentedly on his couch with his dog moved him to his toes, and the notion of keeping you there with him is becoming harder and harder to resist.
It would be so easy, he thinks, just to keep you.
Fat snowflakes have started to fall outside.
“I think I've imposed on you enough for one day. Thank you, this was nice.”
He looks out at the snow, which is falling even more heavily now.
“Sure you want to go out in this?”
“Right now? Yes. In two hours, probably not.”
He nods at that, seeming to think on something. “Will you...text me that you've gotten home safe?”
You are finding out that this outwardly stone-faced man has a protective steak that is totally endearing. You never would have guessed from his prickly exterior.
“Sure. What's your number?”
He tells you, and you punch it into your phone. “Alright. See you later, Mr. Wick.”
He doesn't correct you, and is it just you, or do his pupils dilate when you call him that?
Hard to tell, with eyes so dark as his.
There is a pregnant moment between you, in which you wonder if you should offer him a hug, or if that would totally ruin the balance of your companionship. You briefly wonder what he would do if you stood on tiptoe, steadied yourself with a hand on that muscular chest, and kissed him on the cheek, before you decide you need to go.
Later you text him a funny string of emojis involving a house, snowflakes, the wide-eyed smiley, and a penguin, imagining how they would make him scrunch up his brow.
bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 1
-Imagine that after John Wick wins his freedom from the High Table, he [re]retires to your sleepy little mountain town, where you work in a coffee shop...
-Your quaint little town tucked in the mountains is the kind of place people go to get away from it all, and you can’t help but wonder what Mr. Wick is running from. He is an unfairly handsome man. You nearly make a huge fucking fool of yourself, the first time he approaches your counter, so taken that you could hardly speak. For all his good looks there is something compellingly melancholy about him. You see it in his soulful dark eyes, and the set of his shoulders. You can see this man carries a weight beyond what anyone of his years should bear.
-He becomes a regular at your little coffee shop, and you get over your shyness with him. He’s soft spoken, sometimes a little grumpy, but usually impeccably courteous compared to some of your unbearably entitled clientele visiting from the Big City for the ski resort or the hiking. He never orders anything fancy, just black coffee, and he likes to stay for an hour or so in the cozy cabin atmosphere of your shop. He favors a corner table tucked in the back by the river-stone fireplace, usually reading an old book, though sometimes you think he just sits, his attention fixed beyond the page he’s on, eyes not really seeing the room.
-You manage not to stare too hard, when you see him without gloves for the first time, and realize he is missing his left ring finger. You are not repulsed. You just wonder what happened to him.
-In time you notice he barely touches his unadorned coffee, and you wonder if he even likes it. You don't know where you get the cheek to tease this so-serious man. “Do you just order it like that to match your clothes?” You’ve never seen him in anything but head to toe black.
At first he looks at you as though you have grown a second head. Then he answers, completely dead pan, “Maybe it matches my soul.”
You snort with laugher, not believing him.
Maybe you should have, looking back.
“Sure, Mr. Wick.”
The next day you surprise him with a cup of something you concocted with him in mind. It's nothing too scathingly original. Just a dark chocolate mocha, with a splash of hazelnut, and just a bit of steamed cream. “Try this,” you say, setting it on his table totally unsolicited. You feel validated, for he's barely touched his black coffee again.
“What is it?” he asks, peering at it suspiciously.
“I just think you might need something a little sweet.”
He looks up at you through his long hair, and you don't know why, but a little chill runs down your spine. It's not fear, exactly. It's like walking in the woods, and stumbling on a powerful animal on the trail. Something that maybe could eat you, if it chose, but instead just disappears back into the dark trees.
You do not pester him anymore that day, even if it is the highlight of your shift sometimes. But when you go to clean up his dishes you do notice the cup you gave him is empty.
He doesn’t come in for almost a week after that, and you fear that maybe you were too pushy and pissed him off with your boldness.
Maybe it's a little pathetic, the way your heart leaps when he walks through the door again.
“I’ll have…whatever that thing was you made the other day.”
You try not to gloat, but your lips twist in a smile.
-It becomes your little mission in life to make this man smile, and if just the corner of his mouth ticks up at some point during his visit you feel as though you’ve accomplished a good thing.
Maybe it’s totally a cliché, but you’re an artist, and when you’re not making coffee, or cleaning up coffee, you draw bright designs on the chalkboard around the menu with your pastels. You make elaborate landscapes and art nouveau maidens inspired by Mucha. People in town seem to enjoy your weekly designs, which is nice, even if it’s not entirely the recognition you crave. Four years of art school just to doodle on the chalkboard, you can hear your father say. He’s not wrong, but it still stings.
One day, you sketch Mr. Wick reading in the corner on the back of a discarded receipt. He is…such a lovely man. When you walk past you slip it on the table for him. You don’t let yourself watch his reaction. If you had, you would have seen his expression soften, the stony façade cracking even if just for a moment.
Is this how you see him? Not some broken down old man, the way he absolutely feels after his war with the High Table, but something…not unpleasant to look at.
You don’t know it at the time, but this is the action that sets off an avalanche. You wake a sleeping beast in him, and a dark obsession begins to kindle.
Schadenfreude: the experience of pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction that comes from learning of or witnessing the troubles, failures, pain, or humiliation of another.
(CW: kind of yandere Constantine, female reader ,nsfw!!!!, corruption, slight mentions of abuse but in a consensual way, not in a DV way, not proof read because idc today enjoy hihi :) )
The streets are mostly empty on account of the late hour. You walk, the sound of your muffled sobs drowned by the wind. You feel the cold air on your cheeks, the dampness of tears mixing with the droplets of rain that had started falling upon the city. You just had an explosive fight with John. You’re done. Done with his manipulation tactics, done with his toxicity. It was the final straw. You were done.
Slowly, you turn the corner and find yourself on a new street. No one was around. The sound of your footsteps on the ground resonated in the still air. You breathe a sigh of relief, finally able to shed a few more tears without feeling embarrassed that someone might see you. You wipe the tears away from your cheeks, sniffling loudly.
That's when you notice it. A figure was huddled around a dimly lit corner just up the lane ahead of you. The figure was wearing a coat and hoodie. It was barely moving, as if waiting for someone. The figure's figure was obscure in all the darkness. The only thing you heard was its heavy breathing as it waited there. You stop in your tracks. The figure continues to sit still. The rain started to pour even harder now. You get a sudden thought. Is this... John? Is he following you? You stand there for a few longer seconds, watching the figure intently as its form blended with the shadows of darkness.
Suddenly, the figure gets up from the corner and starts walking down the lane towards you. The shadow of the person gets bigger and bigger, his steps getting louder on the pavement. Your heart starts to race. You step aside at the side of the lane, trying to give way to the figure. It's getting closer and closer... the fear in you was palpable. As the figure finally emerges from the shadows, you notice who it is. It was John.
He stops right infront of you, he's so close to you now that you can feel his body heat. Your back is now pressed up against a brick wall. John's stare is piercing. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the blood in your veins is like a fire that's burning inside you. Your breath falters. That’s when you realize you can't speak. John's face is stoic, not a single emotion could be read on his face. His eyes don't move, his expression remains the same. His breathing is still heavy from his drunken stupor. The only sound that broke the silence of this still night was the sound of the wind and the rain against the pavements. He stands inches away from you. His face still unmoving. He stares at you with his cold gaze. It's as if he was looking at you without seeing you. You feel the cold sweat dripping down your skin. Your heart is beating so harshly that it feels as if it was going to jump out of your chest. You can feel it against your throat, making it hard for you to take in a proper breath. “Get away from me”, you stammer breathlessly.
"Or what? What are you going to do, huh?" John leans forward, his face inches from yours. His breath is hot against your face like a fire. His eyes are like a black void that's staring right into you. You can't move, you can't speak. Your body is shivering and you're drenched from the rain. You want to move to create a little space for yourself, but his presence is suffocating you.
John's hands move up to your sides, and he grabs your wrist. His grip is tight. He's still unmoving. His eyes are piercing on yours. The only sounds that occupied you now were your erratic breaths and the rain against the wall. You couldn't do anything. The fear was too intense, it was paralyzing you.
“Let go”, you whisper.
John doesn't seem to be listening. It's as if he's dead set on you. His grip tightens on your wrist, and you start to feel his warmth now. The warmth of his body against yours... the smell of his alcohol breath makes you flinch in disgust. His gaze still firmly pierced onto your face.
His eyes narrow. He lets go of your wrist and brings a hand up to your face. Slowly, he brushes a finger under your eye. Your tears are still wet. The way his touch feels so soft against your face in contrast with the way he treats you is confusing. He pulls the finger to his lips and sucks the tear that was still clinging onto the tip of his finger.
“You’re sick”, you tearfully whisper.
He grins. The way he smiles at you is not the smile of a lover or a friend. It was cold, his grin was mocking, as the grin of a predator looking at its prey. He pulls his hand back and brings it up to his mouth again, licking his lips.
Finally, you muster up the courage to physically push him away, causing him to lose his balance and creating space between you two.
Without warning, he charges at you and grabs you around your shoulder, pushing you up against the wall. You can't move— his grip on you is too strong. John stares right into your eyes, his eyes widening. He's so close to you that you feel his breath upon you again. His mouth is open slightly, and you can see the tips of his teeth. His breath is hot against your throat, just inches away from your mouth.
“You stupid little thing” he hissed.
His lips are so close to yours. He's about to kiss you. The air is heavy, the sound of the rain and the wind are drowned by the sound of his breathing. The smell of the rain is overpowered by his scent. He moves his lips ever so slightly closer to yours, almost brushing against yours. His eyes are unfeeling and blank...
You feel your body getting hot. John is so close to you now that you can feel the outline of his lips. You feel your body tremble. You feel so scared, but it's hard for you to deny that you want this. You want him so bad, even though you know he's not good for you. You know this is wrong. But then part of you doesn't care anymore. Part of you just wants him to kiss... kiss... kiss... You close your eyes, waiting for his lips to touch yours. Finally, you feel his lips on yours. The feeling is exhilarating. Your body feels like a fire. Your breath falters, you find yourself leaning in a little farther to meet John's lips. You can still taste the alcohol and cigarette... you keep your eyes closed, trying to lose yourself to the moment. John's breath is hot... his lips are hot, and red, and swollen. He’s eager for you and you know it.
He then breaks the kiss for a breath and looks back into your eyes. His gaze is even more intense now, his eyes burning with passion. His mouth is slightly open, and his lips are moist. He licks his lips again.
“John…” you whisper
John leans in and whispers against your lips.
“Yes, baby?"
“Why… why are you doing this to me?” You stammer, the hurt in your voice still palpable.
"I've told you, I'm sorry. You're being over-dramatic,"
John rolls his eyes. He's getting frustrated with you. He starts to move his hands down your body. His fingers are caressing your waist, stroking your skin.
He then continues:
“The difference between you and me is.. you’re mine. I can do whatever I want to my possession, and you have no choice but to stick with me till the end. I will never allow you to escape me. Do you understand that? I can do whatever I want to you, and you can only take it. That's our dynamic... do you understand?”
“No, it’s done.” You protest, heartbeat still pounding in your throat.
Your confidence is like a red flag to a bull. John chuckles, he feels an overwhelming urge to challenge your arrogance. He suddenly leans in so close to you that he's nose to nose. His body is pressed up against yours.
“Try me," he hisses. Your eyes stare deeply into his.
He seems surprised that you're still standing up to him, but it's only making him more angry... and more aroused. He steps right back up to your face. He presses himself onto you, pinning you against the wall. Your body is crushed into his. His breath is heavy, and your own breath is heavy from your own anger. He stares at your face, and chuckles softly.
"You're actually turning me on with all this... the fact that you're not cowering to me. It's so hot," John leans his face even closer so that your breath mingles with his, he can taste your breath. Everything about the situation is so tense. You feel his hot breath flowing over your skin.
He grabs your hand and immediately leads you to his apartment. He’s eager. He wants you out of those clothes immediately. He wants to fuck you senselessly. He is going to punish you for being a smart mouth and you know it.
Once at his apartment you barely make it through the door or you’re already tearing each other’s clothes off, never once breaking the kiss. As you clumsily make it to his bedroom.
He pushes you onto the bed and you let out a moan. The fact that you're actually not scared and you're actually showing signs of excitement and the fact that you're moaning has just escalated his arousal.
It's as if he already has you trapped beneath him, and your body is reacting just how he wants to it... as it's doing right now. He pushes himself even more tightly against you. You can feel his breath against your skin, you can feel his voice vibrate in his throat. His hand is sliding down your body and the warmness from his touch is overstimulating you.
He lustfully grins as he sees your body respond naturally. That's what he loves. He loves the fact that he can do things to you and you can't do anything to stop his power. He has all the control here. All the power here. He's dominant. And he's not afraid to be dominant.
“Open your mouth” he firmly demands, while grabbing you by the throat.
You obey him and he spits in your mouth, before lazily tongue kissing you. Your saliva mixes with his. It's so intense and so degrading. Your mouth is filled with his spit and he's still kissing you so hard. His mouth is devouring yours and he's not stopping for a few seconds. Your tongues meet again. You feel the spit and saliva all over your tongue.
His mouth still glued to yours, it's like a tornado of passion and hunger. Your drool is all over him, his spit is all over you. His tongue is moving aggressively in your mouth. You're in a state of pure ecstasy for him.
You feel his left hand make its way from your breasts, to your stomach, your thighs and finally your exposed core, as you’re still sharing a hot and nasty tongue kiss. His slender fingers grazing over your glistening cunt. Dripping wet and eager for him. You know he’s not gonna let you off that easy. He uses his middle finger to draw painfully slow circles around your nub. His gaze is fixed on you and carefully watching your reaction. Smirking as he observes how your body is reacting to his touch, that bastard.
"Please" you pout. He notices your hips bucking slightly when you plead, your body responding to his power. With that, his mouth is finally latched onto your dripping cunt, and you can feel his warm tongue hitting your sensitive spot. His hands are squeezing your breasts firmly, every once in a while he pinches your nipple, mingling the sensations of pleasure and pain. You feel his warm tongue drawing circles around your clit as one of his slender fingers slams into you, making you ascend in pleasure, arching your back and breathing heavily.
You can't help but feel your legs beginning to tremble. You are going to cum. You are going to cum hard. You know it, and John definitely knows it. That's when he let's go, leaving you a moaning mess and begging to be touched.
"Taste yourself, clean it all up" he demands and you obey him. He brings his two fingers to your lips and watches you carefully as you taste your juices on his fingers, you can't help but moan as you stare deeply into his darkened brown eyes.
"You didn't think with your empty little head it'd be that easy did you?" He grins sadistically, knowing he's in charge and you're his filthy little toy. He flips you over so you're on all fours and hovers over your shoulder, whispering into your ear: "Oh but i'm not done with you yet, I've only just begun"
(AN: this is where i'm going to end it for now, let me know if you want a part two)
Premise: Vampire!John Wick has caught your scent, and now there's nothing that will stop him from obtaining what he craves. You on the other hand, are enjoying a night on the town dressed as an angel for Halloween. You don't realize what a mistake you've made walking into a real vampire's path.
Tags/CW: DARK FIC, Vampire!JW, Being hunted, pred/prey, innocent!reader, angel coded!reader, bimbo!reader, dumb!reader, blood drinking, regular alcohol drinking, john is an evil vampire, dub-con, dead dove don't eat, hypnotism/hypnotized!reader, reader has a secret kidnapping!kink, reader has secret dark desires, knife kink in the form of claws, biting, teasing teasing teasing !!!, mind reading, reader who is a secret slut, reader who wants to be sacrificed, major character death mentions/teased, blood doll!reader, readers fate undetermined.
A/N: I've always had a thing for vampires. In this fic, I explore some of my favorite naughty kinks, and give you an extremely long and kinky sex scene between John and reader. Hope y'all like it, be sure to heed the content warnings ʚ♥︎ɞ
He has hunted your scent for miles. That sweet, delicious blood of yours calling to him in even the faintest amount. You poor, pretty little thing, that doesn't even know she's being hunted. You laugh with friends after dark, walking in groups for safety as you enjoy the Halloween festivities. You have no idea that it doesn't matter where you go tonight. That John has already decided your blood will be his, and so it shall be. You look so dolled up too, in your tiny miniskirt and frilly, barely-there white top. On your back, two perfect, tiny fake angel wings float along your figure, a costume halo atop your head. You look pristine, and John can only imagine what all that white will look like when he's done with you. It's as if you decided to serve yourself up on a silver platter for him, unknowingly.
As you walk about the city in wobbly, chunky platforms, you giggle into the night air with friends, the mist of your breath pooling in the sky above you. You don't notice in the sea of people that is New York, that you're being stalked. You don't see the man, moving silently from building to dark alleyway, inhaling your scent as deep as he can. You don't see the fangs, that glint under street lamps as he passes. They've grown so long from desire he can hardly keep them hidden behind his lips. Luckily for John, costumed Halloween goers flood the streets. A perfect time for a creature of the night like him to be so bold in public. Tonight, he will go unnoticed.
You however go into the next club on your bar hopping adventure without a care in the world. You don't see the dark figure slipping in behind you at a speed you can't even comprehend. You walk with an air of innocence and wide-eyed wonder. You gawk at spooky displays and laugh at slasher costumes as you walk by. You know that underneath that scary mask is just some greasy twenty-something who would love to get you in bed. As if.
The lights and music blare, and you are pulled by your friends to the dance floor. You're already feeling the heat of the cocktails you've had tonight in your body, and when you move to the rhythmic music, you feel your legs wobble along lazily. Your friends pass you another drink, you don't know from where, and you consume it happily. It's sweet, bitter aftertaste goes down easily, and you enjoy your night of being young and free.
A few men try to dance with you, but when you size them up, they're so not your type. They're just too young for you, even if they are likely the same age as you. You've always loved a more mature man, someone bigger and wiser than you who can really put you in your place. Half of you fantasizes about a man like that taking you from this hedonist pit of a club, pulling you into his car and driving away. You imagine he would take you back to his house just to tie you up and keep you kidnapped there against your will. The idea has always turned you on, but none of the men in this club tonight could ever give you something like that. You continue to dance with your friends, ignoring any drunkards who try to make a pass at you with an up turned nose.
The night continues on, and more drinks find their way into your hands. You happily take them, not caring how beyond drunk you are. As you're dancing, you slowly realize how seperated you are from your friends. You glance around, looking for them in the crowd, but see no one. Instead you feel the hair on the back of your neck raise. You feel as if you're the one being watched.
When you finally find the pair of eyes on you, you see the face of a handsome, older man in the crowd. You're surprised to see a man like him in a crowd like this. He seems so suave, so opulent, and through your drunken eyes, he also seems expensive, if not rich. You saunter over, slowly dancing through the crowd, until you're close enough to the staring stranger to see how intense his eyes really are. For a moment, fear washes over you, but you shake your head, deciding yourself silly for being afraid.
John can hardly hide his delight that he has caught you, his pretty little prey angel. He hears your thoughts about a man like him taking you away, tying you up, and using you like the hole you are. John has to laugh under his breath. You could never guess how true that sentiment really is. John can imagine doing more than just tying you up, though.
He watches as you walk right over to him, he can sense the fear rising up in you. You have every right to be afraid, but you still come, like the fly to the spider. You know it, in your heart, that John is a predator. Your own senses tell you, but like the silly human you are, you ignore them. Human's have lost all superstitions for creatures like John, it almost makes it too easy to trick you into letting him in.
John pulls you in when you get close enough, he has to hide how sharp his nails are, be gentle with your fragile body, but he still senses how rough he's pulled you in. In your drunkeness, you assume you've just tripped into him.
John feels your warm, tiny body against his, and you move like a siren, obviously not as angelic as you seem. Your body ungulates on his, rubbing your backside straight into John's cock. To your surprise, he's already hard, and you blush thinking it was so easy to do such a thing to him. You don't know that it's not just your body that's turning him on. No, it's what he's imagining doing to you after he's had his fun toying with you like this. It's that sweet blood that pumps in your veins so temptingly.
He let's his hands move up your body, caressing every curve, feeling your hips and gripping them into himself, imagining how he would take you later on. His hands continue up, pressing and playing with your breasts, and for a moment, you reach up for his hands, startled by how forward this strange man is being in public. He relents, his hands moving up to caress that pretty neck of yours. In your intoxicated state, you continue to allow him to play with you.
What you don't notice is John has slowly pulled you from the crowd, isolating you from the rest of the humans having a fun Halloween weekend. You don't even realize it until John is starting to move you through a back door of the club, the night air suddenly chilling you and ruffling the feathers of your wings. You turn to face him, and he smiles so sweetly. As he smiles you notice the sharpness of his teeth, and your mind tries to explain it away as a costume, but they look so real, and so sharp. Your instincts once again tell you to run, but with the way he's looking at you, you feel a pull to him you can't explain.
It's as if everything in your brain is telling you how dangerous this man is, but your body can't get enough of him. Even being so close now, his husky, earthy scent, similar to pine trees and steel, draws you in. You feel your body tingling where he touches you on your waist and back, his finger tips freezing. He reminds you of winter itself, cold and unmoving. But you are moving aren't you? When you notice your surroundings outside his intense, dark eyes, you see you've been drawn to a dark corner of the alleyway.
You look about and notice how quiet it is, how it's as if everyone else has been banished from the area, not even the rustle of wind is making a sound. No, the only sound right now you hear is of your increasingly alarmed breath. You look back to the strange man to see he has bent you backwards, your wings now barely brushing the dirty alley, your hair swept from your neck.
Suddenly, in the moonlight, those glinting fangs don't seem so fake. In fact, they seem so real you're shaking from it. Your rabbit heart thumps relentlessly, and suddenly adrenaline floods your body. You move to run, to jump out of his grip like a frightened doe, but his hands hold you like steel.
"Who--?" You begin to say, trying to muster a scream for help that doesn't come.
"My sweet angel," John speaks for the first time to you tonight, and your entire body goes cold. "You will be so delicious..."
John doesn't care to hide it anymore, the fear has overcome all else inside you, and you know that he is dangerous.
John takes his hands to your throat, turning your head so that he may look into your eyes. You look into them, those two dark orbs, and you feel that fear wash over you again as you realize how red they are getting. You must be imagining things, it must be the lack of light, but no, you're sure of it. This mans eyes are truly, deeply, darkly red. And just when you had mustered enough sense to want to run away, he's hypnotized you. His vampiric powers of manipulation wash over your mind, over your body. You feel a false sense of calm, and your mind tries to scream for your body to run, but you can't. You're stuck there, transfixed and mouth agape, your body wanting John more than anything.
Now that he has you in such a vulnerable state, he simply picks you up, carrying you bridal style to a spot he's already picked out. He takes you to a nearby apartment, abandoned and high up enough no one will hear you scream. He has outfitted the bedroom here as the perfect vampire nest. The windows are boarded from all light, the room is adorned with candles, and he's even brought in some tools to use on you. He will take his time with you, that much was certain. You want to struggle as he sets you down on the bed, but your body doesn't move. You look up at him like a lamb to the slaughter, waiting for him to break your pretty little neck.
"Hands." He says roughly, and before you can think to deny him, you're lifting your hands I front of you, doe eyes looking at him so pitifully full of tears that won't fall.
He ties your hands skillfully together, tight and inescapable. Then he ties your hands to the bedframe above you, and you look up from there, asking for some miracle to save you.
"There will be no miracles tonight. Not for you, angel." You glance at him, wondering how he read your mind. He laughs when he sees the confusion in your eyes, his fangs yellowed by the candle light.
"Don't worry, my sweet. Being able to experience all that you have in that pretty head of yours is just half the fun..." John pets your hair before he begins to undress you.
When it's time to focus on your clothes, he has an easy answer for that. He runs his claw along your body, so sharp that even the slightest bit of pressure would surely slit your delicate skin. You can feel the hypnotism waning, but suspect that he has done this on purpose.
"Yes... I have." John answers your thought. "Now, let's hear those lovely moans of yours."
You try to scream, and it comes out as a soft murmur, something akin to being strangled. You feel tears fall down your cheeks, and gasp as you feel John apply just enough pressure to slice through your mini skirt. He plucks it off of you the way one might pluck a petal from a flower. You watch as he tosses it away, feeling the cold air on your almost nude bottom half.
He works his way back up your body, still allowing his claws to glide against your baby soft skin. He reaches your top, and snaps the straps easily, pulling the top off to reveal your breasts to him. Despite everything, you can't help how easily wet your cunt is getting.
"You may try to deny me," John says, again pulling your feelings straight from your head. "But I know you've always wanted this. That's what drew me to your blood. You have the blood of someone who knows they're prey."
"N-no..." You attempt to say, but the words barely find their way out.
"Don't lie, I can see those dark thoughts at the back of your head. How you used to touch yourself to the thought of being kidnapped. How you wished someone would tie you up, just like this. Even just tonight, you thought of this. Don't start being a brat for me now, angel. Show me how badly you've wanted this." The last sentence is a command you must follow, and when John's hands have reached up to your glossy mouth, you have no choice but to open.
You feel him place two fingers so deeply inside your mouth, your pussy trembles at the thought that he might cut you there. It's as if he's placed a knife in your mouth, so gentle, but so deadly. You close your warm mouth around his cool fingers, sucking lightly. The thoughts you've had about scenarios like this before flash in your mind, no doubt John's influence.
While he keeps you pacified, he runs his free hand down your exposed body, taking care to hold your breast, feeling your beating heart behind it. The smell of your fear and pleasure mixing in your blood has John beyond hard, he doesn't know how much longer he can contain himself before biting or fucking you. He holds back his throbbing fangs, for now.
You watch helplessly as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, moving his body down yours, until his head is lined up with your soaking cunt.
"I can smell how badly you've wanted this from here..." John teases, and you bite your lip, embarrassed of how your body betrays you.
John plays with your white, lacy panties, pulling them so taut that your pussy lips get caught around them. You moan despite yourself as John plays with your panties just so, your engorged clit getting some wanted attention.
"You're so human...denying yourself the ultimate pleasure you've been seeking, I would never dream of such a thing." John muses as you writhe against your restraints, even this slightest touch driving you mad. You think of kicking John away, but your legs just won't work for you. He has you perfectly spread for him, tied up like a present, and unable to resist.
"I'm sure all your fantasies consist of killing young, helpless women. I'm not sure that counts." Your voice whispers in a chiding tone, and by the look of John's dark eyes on you, you wish you'd held your tongue.
John pulls your panties so hard against your tender clit you let out a small scream. He moves his face to meet yours, speaking directly to you as you lay there fearful, mouth open to silent screams.
"Yes, angel. I do kill young, helpless girls. Let's see if you can be a good girl tonight and change my mind." He watches the fear pool in your eyes, breathing in the scent of it with a smirk.
You try to hold his eye contact, try to be the brave girl who fights her attacker. But that's just not you. That's never been you. You've always been soft, easily guided this way or that. You've never been particularly smart, or witty. You've gotten by on your beauty alone for so long, that you made yourself think you were more powerful than you were. Really, you're just a lost little lamb, looking to be herded, but finding the wolf instead.
John can see that, hear that in your thoughts, and he reaches up, cups your face in his hand, and pulls your eyes back to his.
"I think if you expand your mind a bit, little lamb, you may even really enjoy being drained to death..." The way his cold eyes fill with excitement at this statement makes your stomach flop. It takes everything in you to pull your chin away from his hand.
He let's you, pulling back down to your glistening cunt. John pulls your panties up and places a sharp claw under it, the soft side of his claw brushing against your clit. In one fell swoop, he cuts away your panties.
You squirm and try to make your legs close, your whining coming out between sharp breaths as you try to fight this power over you. He slowly brings his face to your quivering cunt, looking up at you with those dangerous onyx eyes.
"The sooner you realize you've always been meant to be someone's plaything, the sooner you'll find yourself loving this..." He whispers, prodding more of those sick fantasies to flash in your head.
John let's his fangs flash in the light before letting his tongue taste you. His tongue is surprisingly cool, making you recoil, but with more movement, you hate that your hips try to buck into his mouth. He's teasing your clit every so carefully, moving perfectly to keep you on edge. Your entire body floods with pleasure that you try to keep at bay.
"You know you want more...ask me..." His voice breathes against your pussy, leaving chills to run up your spin.
You hate how right he is. You want this, you want this man, no, this monster to fuck you senseless. You can't believe how sensitive you're getting even at the idea that he kills you, that you become nothing but a meal for such a powerful creature. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears as you try to ignore him down there, try to will your body not to be so sensitive to his touch, to his tongue lapping at your cunt ever so gently. You should be fighting him, screaming for your life, scheming at least for how to get yourself out of this, how to save your own life.
But when you look into his dark eyes, you know it's no use. Any plan you could come up with, he would hear. Any escape, if you somehow got out of your restraints, was futile. He was stronger, faster than you in every respect. All you could do was lay here, shuddering against the monster that's tempting you to let them make you cum. What were you supposed to do? What would the smart, cunning, witty girl do?
"P-please..." Your voice summons, and John's ears perk up at the sound.
"Please what? What changed your mind?" He looks at you curiously.
"Please...make me cum. I've..." You take a deep breath and hold it as John gives a longer lick. "I've never been the smart one, or the one who was going anywhere big in life. I'm only useful as a hole to fuck. Please fuck me and make my pitiful existence mean something."
"And if I kill you?" John teases your pussy by lightly gliding his claws across it, the feeling similar to that of a cool blade being used.
"Then I would be happy to be of use to you..." You can't believe you've said this, but you can feel John pulling the words from you with his eyes.
You close your eyes after the last word, unable to look into John's eyes any longer. After a moment, when you hear nothing, you peek at him. He looks at you like a cat presented with a shiny new toy. His interest in you is piqued more than even before.
"Maybe you will be more than a temporary plaything..." John raised his eyebrows with a hint of laughter, the sentiment didn't help much to relieve you of your fear.
Seeing you so willing to admit how much a girl like you was meant to be nothing more than fuck meat and a meal made John's cock struggle against his pants. He has grown tired of smart girls who try to escape, it always ended the same anyways. Now you, you who can admit that they are prey, that was much more interesting. The way you sacrifice yourself to him made John feel like a king, no, a God.
He could feel himself throbbing with want, wanting to take you here and now, but he was a man of his word. He would make you cum first.
He returns to your cunt, served up for him perfectly, and begins to devour you much more than before. He licks with purpose, using his tongue to give you so much attention your eyes almost roll back from the intensity. What surprises you more, leaves you gasping is when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his teeth ever so gently applying pressure and new sensitivity. You quiver and your legs seem to not be your own, muscles tensing and squirming under John's touch. You feel John's hand hold your thigh down in place, his claws knicking your skin just slightly. The pain mixed with the pleasure John gives begins to send you over the edge. When you see the small droplets of blood begin to leak from your thigh, you cum for him, moaning into the night air.
As you settle down, your heart rapidly getting away from you, your eyes lazily open and watching John, you see him move his mouth to your thigh, lapping up the blood that's been spilt there.
John licks the wounds, and the close up, but tasting your delicious blood has him unable to hold back anymore. He needs more of it. Now.
John sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, his fangs almost melting into your dainty skin. You cry out, and John bites deeper, his cock leaking from the sound of your despair, his mind reeling from how good you taste. Soon, he pulls his teeth back, sucking deeply of the blood that gushes into his mouth. As he begins to drink from you, an unimaginable wave of pleasure crashes over you.
You can barely contain yourself, your voice not your own, your moans of anguish and want, heedy and full of need. You've never felt such pleasure, not even from how well John made you cum moments before. You greedily relish in it as John drinks deeper, a free hand lifting to pet your sweet cunt, driving you mad with sensation. You feel yourself begin to cum again. Then again. And again as John continues to consume your precious blood.
John can feel your heart slowing, can sense your life force leaving you as he consumes your warmth. He has to force himself to stop, his muscles tightening and attempting to keep his jaw locked on your thigh. You're so high on pleasure you hardly notice how close to dying you really are right now. You feel yourself slipping away, as if falling into darkness and greeting it happily. Maybe he was right, maybe dying this way wasn't so bad...
John pulls his fangs from your thigh with great strength. He laps carefully at the two pinprick wounds, and watches as they slowly close, as if nothing at all had happened. You can barely hold your head up, your breath slow. You lay languidly, lolling about when John moves to get near your face.
He softly pets the side of your face and your eyes flutter open, looking up into his eyes the way Ophelia may have looked at the sky before succumbing to death. You watch, unable to process what's happening, as John slits open his own wrist, letting the blood there drop into your open mouth. The taste is sweet, bitter, and smoky, just like him. You swallow with great effort and John watches as your paleness slowly starts to perk up.
"You're going to be an interesting blood doll indeed..." He whispers as he pets your hair gently. "Now rest..." He commands and your world goes dark.
Summary: You have the unfortunate pleasure of discovering why the legendary John Wick is so skilled at hunting
Author's note: I don't know why I didn't think of Vampire John Wick sooner.
Word Count: 1503
John Wick Story List/ Master List/ Requests Here
Warnings: yandere, vampirism, self-harm
🔞18+ page due to dark and adult themes. Minors will be blocked 🔞
Yandere Vampire John Wick is Dracula-coded. He's been alive for centuries and has lost the love of his life in that time. Then you come along. You look and sound just like them. Could you blame him for craving you?
This creature of the night becomes your guardian devil. You never knew he was there even though he's always there.
John kills off any threats. Whether that be a love interest or a mugger. He would never let harm fall on you.
John is extremely charming from day one.
"Exquisite~" You hear a smooth voice say from your right. Turning away from the night market stand, you see a tall, handsome stranger. He was looking right at you. "Excuse me?" You asked, trying to clarify what he was referring to. A smile tugs at his lips. "You're exquisite." You blushed. "O-oh um, thank you..." The both of you got to talking, which led him to company you the rest of the evening. John lent you his arm to hold on to. They say made an innocent comment that sealed your doom. "Is it strange that I feel like I've met you before?" John stops in his tracks and turns to you. "Of course not~"
Even though John has been taking you on dates it takes a while for you both to be officially together. Which John was fine with.
John can make you remember your past lives through his hypnosis, but he knows that remembering something like that can drive a human to madness, which he would never want for you.
Pet names he calls you, my love, honey. Darling, little human, etc
The way John wants to confess his undying love for you is with a romantic evening at the art museum after closing. He hypnotized the guards and brought a meal for you that he had especially made by a world-class chef. In the museum, he sets up soft lights to point the huge mural on the ceiling. It's basically a fancy picnic in a high-class art museum after hours. He may also confess about being a vampire if he feels the moment is right.
If you accept his confession and vampirism, then that same night, John will turn you into a vampire and start to plan your wedding.
He may wait till your wedding night to turn you if he can resist the urge that long because after you agreed to be turned, he wanted to do it then and there.
Besides you, Winston and Bowery King are the only other humans who know of John's vampirism.
You're already dating when you learn that John is an assassin for humans. He reassures you that there's nothing to worry about. He's right he can hear people coming from a mile away, and can you be upset that he's killing humans? You already knew he did that. This way, he gets money out of it, and most of the people had it coming.
Your wedding night was very romantic. John carried you to your new shared bedroom that was lined with candles and roses. As he made love to you, he bit down on your neck, letting the blood run down your chest. John then used his claw to cut a spot on his neck, letting you drink from it while passionately worshiping you. When the lovemaking was over, John held you close as you died. He never left your side till you awoke reborn as a vampire.
After your a vampire John feels himself start to heal. The weight of the world was off his shoulders. No longer did he have to worry about you dieing again.
He teaches you how to use your new abilities and educates you on vampire history.
You find out that John doesn't just scare humans but vampires as well. He'll show you around the local vampire town scene, and you see vampires ethier shake in the boots at the sight of John of welcome him home.
John does most of the killing. He'll come from work with cold canisters filled with blood. As much as he doesn't want you to, he teaches you how to hunt. In case he's not around or your instincts get the better of you.
If you reject him, it is most likely because of how you found out.
You're not currently sure if you believe that you're his dead spouse, reincarnated, but either way, you don't care. Not after seeing John drink the blood of your friend.
John forces himself away from the man's neck when he hears your screams of terror. Your face had gone pale. John's eyes glowed a threatening red color. John drops the man to the ground. "Y/n... It's okay." He slowly tries to approach you as you shake in fear. His comforting words were muddy by the sight of the dead man's blood dripping from his mouth. Too scared to move, he held your face in his hands. "It's okay. It's okay. He was a threat to us. He knew the truth of what I am..." You closed your eyes tightly, shaking your head. His hand gently guides your head to rest on him. "Sshhhh... It's alright. I've got you." He comforts letting his claws brush through your hair.
Of course, you tried to run, but for multiple reasons, John couldn't let that happen, so he kept you locked in his bedroom with your leg chained to the bed.
He does everything in his power to keep you from feeling imprisoned. John still shows you all of his kindness and charm.
"My love? Are you awake?" It's the middle of the night. John was trying to get you on his schedule so you would sleep during the day like him. You groan when he slowly opens the bedroom door. He held a plate full of breakfast food. "Are you hungry? I made you a lot of delicious food... well, I hope it is delicious. I haven't exactly eaten anything like this in a long time..." Most of his words were shy and mumbled. You were still cuddled into bed when he set down the food. "Come on, my little human... time to wake up." He says, pulling the sheets from your face. "I've even gotten you a present." He reveals a neatly wrapped gift out of nowhere.
John doesn't like hypnosis you into compliance but well do it for small or serious things. Try to starve yourself? Nope, hypnosis. Trying to stay up all day so you'll sleep at night? Nope, hypnosis.
After a few escape attempts, he hypnotizes you into being unable to leave the house without him or leave his side.
John would only forcibly turn you if your life was at risk.
"Please, my love, calm down." John pleads as he effectively dodges the things you keep throwing at him. "No! I want to go home!" You cried. "We've been over this. Honey, this is your home!" You picked up a flower vase and held it over your head. Before smashing it on the ground. At first, this confuses John. Why not throw it at him like everything else? Then his dead face filled with horror. You had used a shattered piece of vase to slit your throat. John was quiet to yank it away from you. Your wound is barely halfway across your neck. He watched as you choked on your blood. "Why?" He cries. "Am I such a monster that you'd rather die once more than be mine?" The life in your eyes flickered away, causing John to bite the unharmed side of your neck and drink your blood. John uses the same shattered piece of vase to cut his wrist. His blood flows into your mouth. In your half-dead state, you drink him and tell him to drink.
Of course, being turned into a vampire after trying to off yourself doesn't go over well. However, you regain hope of escape. Unfortunately, that hope doesn't stick around when John shows you that he has perfected his skills over centuries while you are still just a weak little newborn.
Your feet sting as you run barefoot. The trees are merely green flashes as you zoom past them. The cool night air whipped past your ears like a prayer. You feel so strong and feel like nothing could ever hurt you again. Which is true but not because of you. You tripped over your feet, trying to stop yourself when you saw his beastly figure waiting for you at the end of the empty street. Your face hit the ground hard as you slid to a stop at his feet. The pain didn't last long. Your unnatural body is already healing. John stared down at you, disappointed and hurt. "How did -" you interrupt by putting his hand up. "I'm much older than you, little vampire. You can't beat me." He pulls you off the ground. "Looks like I'll have to teach you how to respect your elders~" His glowing red eyes terrify you to the core.
Picture this exact scene: (John Wick x reader, reader is described to have a specific aesthetic, vibe and look, size and predator kink mentioned, brat taming mentioned, nsfw?, written in a moment of inspiration so not proof-read).
John.
Your handsome, scary, tall and big John.
Your boyfriend, older boyfriend.
And You: a young, maybe a bit too crazy hit-woman who entered the business a few years ago. (Giving off a non-cringy Harley Quinn vibe, if you get what I mean)
Winston loves you, he treats you like a daughter. He thinks you are beautiful, and deadly.
They call you…Poison.
Sweet little thing, you are: short, petite. You always dress in hyper feminine, yet seductive clothes. Like this:
You are cocky, flirty, scandalous almost. You talk back, you are strong and deadly. You love yourself, your skills, your power.
You’re such a brat.
But when you are alone with The Boogeyman? You’re such a good girl. He makes you weak on your knees, how could he not? Look at him!
He’s mean: biting, spitting, spanking. He adores you, his princess. He’s going to make you his wife soon. He loves how you take him, how you obey, how you like to be tied up and just…used for his pleasure.
But.
But.
One day, something changes: you decide you want to step the line. You want to have fun, to see how far your Babayaga could go.
And so, the dynamic changes into…well, this:
“Sweetheart, why am I tied up?”
He asks, his russian accent evident. His tone of voice seems calm and collected, as if he knows he’s not in a dangerous situation.
You, by the other end, just giggle. You had gotten all dolled up for him: a tight cocktail dress hugged your body, paired with black stockings and heels. A nice red fur-coat left was on a chair, with your vintage Moschino heart shaped bag that John had gifted you on your birthday.
You bite your red tinted lips as you walk closer.
“You look beautiful, babygirl”
The hit-man compliments you, his chocolate brown eyes scanning your delicious body.
He was like a wolf, ready to chase and devour his rabbit.
“Thank you, daddy!” You exclaim, twirling for him. God, you were a dream coming true. A lustful dream.
“You still haven’t answered my question, doll”
“I wanted to have some fun”
“Some fun?” He lifts his brow up. “We have a lot of fun together already, don’t you think baby?”
Only then you sit on his lap, his big muscular thighs were feeling tense. He wasn’t used to something like this.
“You are the one who has all the fun, can I have some fun too?” You faked an innocent tone: John was always the dom in your relationship. You loved it, obviously, you just wanted to piss him off. You adored when he tried to tame you.
“Are you scared you might like being the submissive one, will it hurt your ego?” You obviously tease him, and only then you feel a hand wrapped around your throat.
He has little patience.
It happened in a matter of nanoseconds, literally. How the fuck is he able to do that?
He had freed himself from the knot that had him tied up to the chair since you entered the room.
“Babygirl…”
Oh, shit.
Shit.
You’re screwed.
He sounds angry, his rich baritone making you shiver.
“You really think you can play with me? Tying me to a chair like I’m some kind of rookie?”
A cruel laugh, his lips brushing against your ear.
“Start running, babygirl. You are going to fucking regret what you did tonight”.
𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. the law firms' social gatherings were always a bore, so why not spice it up by pissing off your jealous ex-husband?
—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀mentions of divorce. infidelity(?). semi-public sex. p in v. intoxication. jealousy. mirror/bathroom sex. hate sex. not proof read. 2.5k words.
𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ back in my kevin lomax arc, i fear. sorry i've been a little inactive lately, so here's some smut for you pookies 🤲♡🫧 ignore the corny ass dialogue— it's like 3am as i'm writing this.
#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.
IF LOOKS COULD KILL, you wouldn't wanna be Eddie Barzoon.
The middle-aged, hairline receding, gluttonous colleague (and rival) of Kevin, who seemed to be getting too comfortable with you. Kevin leered from across the room, gripping his champagne glass like it was Eddie’s neck, as the greasy lawyer leaned closer to you. His dry lips no doubt scratching your ear as he whispers something unintelligible.
Kevin didn’t even know why you were here. You weren’t a lawyer, or a businesswoman. You were his ex-wife, and that was your only reason to ever be forced to attend these events.
Or so he thought.
His eyes were transfixed on you, a voyeur devouring every inch of your perfect figure. The black designer dress that hugged the swell of your ass, the heels that accentuated your beautiful legs and the polished golden necklace that adorned your décolletage.
The polished golden necklace that he purchased for you. The one you used to wear only for him. The one you were now showing off to the pot bellied bastard, Eddie, who he’s been rivalling against since moving to New York.
“Kevin? Kevin? Hello?” A plummy, feminine voice pulls Kevin from his trance as his eyes meet a pair of dull blue ones. “What are you staring at, darling?” She asks innocently, unaware of his perverse gaze on his ex-wife.
“Nothin’, just lost in thought,” Kevin offers his new beau a tight smile, and she’s none the wiser as her lips meet his cheek. Kevin swallows uneasily at the contact, nearly grimacing at the feeling of her thick lipstick which no doubt stained his cheek.
“Shall we go mingle?” His date tugs at his arm, gently pulling him into the cesspool of lawyers and businessmen, and he eyed the back of her head. Kevin stands next to his supermodel date as they envelope themselves into aimless conversation.
“Kevin’s moved on quick,” one of the men jokes. “How’s the lovely lady treating you?” The man, whose name Kevin can’t remember, gestures to the young woman hanging on his arm. Kevin clears his throat, letting out a weak chuckle as he looks at her.
“She’s a stunner.”
But she’s not you.
Kevin buries his truth in his throat as a white lie slips through on his serpent tongue. His date blushes and wraps her vice tighter around his arm, like sticky eye candy that won’t budge.
A tedious sixty minutes and forty three seconds pass as Kevin checks his watch for the fifth time in this conversation. An incredibly impolite habit he’s developed, but a hard habit to crack. The chatter of work, and not-so-subtle bragging of each lawyer's respective win was enough to make Kevin’s ears bleed.
Although his body was trapped in nauseatingly boring conversation, his mind wandered through the sea of people, desperately hoping for a glimpse of you.
“Hey guys.”
And just like that. As if someone heard his prayers. A silvery, melodic voice brings his attention back to the group, where he is blessed with your presence. You stand across from him, a soft smile hanging on your plump lips. Kevin drinks in your appearance up close, like a man starved. From your long lashes down to your delicate fingers holding your champagne glass.
Your angelic demeanour captivated his tainted soul, and you could feel his dark eyes burning into your skull. Suddenly, the light around you dimmed when the devil-hulk approached next to you, his greedy hand resting on your waist. Eddie’s infuriating laughter, and grip on your body made Kevin’s blood boil.
“So how’d you meet Eddie?” Kevin’s date asks politely, wanting to engage with the two newcomers of the group. You and Eddie share a side glance, and you giggle, leaning closer to the older man. Almost like you were doing it on purpose.
“We’ve met at the last one these little.. extravaganzas,” you reply, mockery laced in your tone. Your slow speech and blinks puts your tipsiness on display for the whole group. You were always a troublemaker at these events, according to Kevin’s words. Never wanting to just behave, you’d drink a few glasses igniting the fire for the devil inside you to stir chaos.
For the first time, in months since the divorce, your dilated eyes meet Kevin’s stone cold ones. You lick your lips, your soft smile etching into a mischievous grin as you take another sip of your champagne.
Kevin exhales irately as Eddie continues to whisper in your ear, not-so-subtly cupping your ass— and even worse, you look like you’re enjoying the attention. You’re delighted to hold such mystique, that you allure not only Eddie, but even the fellow businessmen who pretend not to notice the scene before them.
Kevin hates this. He hates his friends for eyeing you. He hates Eddie for touching you.
He hates you.
Hates you for tormenting him this way.
To tempt him with your looks, but not allow him to touch.
Eventually, you excuse yourself under the guise of freshening up. Cruelly, you wink at your husband, as you grab Eddie’s tie and pull him in close. Though your peck on his lips lasted mere seconds, it was an eternity for Kevin. As if you moved in slow motion, connecting your plump lips to another man’s.
He was going to kill you.
THE BATHROOM DOOR CREAKED OPEN while you adjusted your makeup and you caught your ex-husband standing behind you in the reflection. “I know reading’s not your strong suit,” you state sarcastically, putting down your mascara and trading it for a lipstick, “but surely, you can see the big gold woman icon on the door.”
Kevin stands there silently, his hands moving to his hips, revealing his tight button up shirt under his suit jacket. His lean muscles tight under his shirt as he rolls his shoulders back to alleviate his rage, and he glares into the back of your head. His snake skin boots padding against the tile floor as he slithers closer to you, a predator to the prey.
Kevin leans on his hand that rests on the natural stone counter stop. He exhales heavily, his warm breath hitting your shoulder as his body is now inches from yours. Ignoring your seething ex-husband, you continue to adjust your hair.
“Uh.. ever heard of personal space?” You roll your eyes, not giving him the time of day.
“You think you’re funny?”
“Hysterical, I’ve been told.”
Kevin’s jaw clenches, his nose flaring at your indifference. “Eddie Barzoon? Really?”
You smirk proudly at how easy it is to aggravate Kevin, but you keep your cool. The fluorescent lighting above the bathroom mirror perfectly illuminates the vein in Kevin’s neck as he waits for an answer.
“I like him,” You shrug apathetically, adjusting your spaghetti strap.
“I know damn well why you’re screwing around with him,” Kevin interjects, his southern accent thick with fury as the green-eyed monster took a seat on his shoulder. “You’re doing it to piss me off, and you know it.”
“Right, because everything I do revolves around the great Kevin Lomax, I forgot,” you mock, briefly glancing over to him. “Maybe I actually like him, have you ever thought of that? Besides, it’s not exactly like you’re not prancing around with your own flings.”
Kevin’s face hardens at the mention of his date, who he left out in the party when he went to chase you into the bathroom. “She’s not a fling.. It’s serious,” he clears his throat, either trying to convince you or himself.
“Yeah.. sure, I bet it is.” You chuckle under your breath, shifting your necklace so that it's in the middle. Your movement catches Kevin’s attention as he stares at your necklace in the reflection of the mirror.
“You’re wearing that necklace I got you..”
“Don’t get your hopes up— It’s a nice necklace, that’s it,” you scoff coldly, making Kevin snort. “What? What’s so funny?”
“Darlin’ please don’t insult my intelligence,” he says with faux-hurt in his voice. Kevin licks his bottom lip, relishing in seeing you again so close and personal, his body only inches from yours. “You were always a little tease..”
“Tease? Someone’s a little narcissist if you think I’m dolled up for you—”
“Aren’t you?” He interrupts.
“No,” you spit, turning your head to the side. Kevin’s face now inches away from yours as you look up at him with furrowed brows and a small grimace. The tension was thick in the small bathroom of the penthouse, the draft from the window was the only knife to cut the silence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. Eddie and I are goi—”
As you try to walk past, Kevin snatches onto your elbow, holding you back. “Going nowhere. We’re not done here, baby. You’re my wife, I’m not letting you go with him,” Kevin deadpans, glowering down at you.
You huff in disbelief. “Ex-wife. You better start remembering that, Kevin.”
When you try to pull your arm back from his vice grip, Kevin pushes you against the sink, his chest firmly pressed against your back. Your hands rest against the stone counter, fingers pressing into the sink. “Kevin..” you say threateningly.
“Baby..” he replies, mimicking your tone. His hands trail down your dress, from your hips to your thighs. Your ex-husband only keeps you trapped against the cold stone, his larger frame holding you in place.
“Kevin, get off. Eddie’s waiting for me,” you clear your throat, trying to ignore Kevin’s hardness pressed against your behind. Your squirming serves to be fruitless, only rubbing more friction over his clothed groin. You hold back a sigh when his lips meet the back of your neck.
“Then we better be quick,” Kevin whispers against your skin, his warm hands slithering down your legs. He kisses down the area of your open back dress, bunching up the material to your hips, uncovering your lacy black panties. Kevin’s favourite panties.
“And you say you didn’t dress up for me..” His husky southern voice echoes in the small bathroom as he taunts you. You clench your jaw, ignoring his words as his hands massage the swell of your ass.
“Fuck you,” you sneer.
“I will.”
The sound of belt unbuckling hits your ears and you let out a gasp when you feel a finger press against your panty-clad cunt. He moves his thumb agonisingly slow on your bundle of nerves as his other finger pushes your panties to the side, exposing your wet pussy to the cold air of the bathroom. You rest lower on the counter top, arching your back as Kevin’s fingers easily slide into your slick cunt.
“Fuck— Kevin—” you mewl, covering your mouth with your hand and Kevin tuts. His fingers moving in and out at a drawn out pace.
“Don’t cover up those pretty sounds, baby. I want everyone at that party to hear you,” Kevin chuckles softly, removing his fingers as he leaves you clenching on air. You bite down on your lip, aching for more.
Kevin pulls himself out of his boxers, rubbing his cock up and down in between your lips. You clutch tighter onto the sink, breathing heavily as his mushroom tip barely slides into your hole. Kevin continues to tease you, his tip pressing against your throbbing clit.
“Kevin, for god’s sake—”
“Shh, shh, don’t rush me, baby. Let me enjoy my girl,” he coos patronisingly.
His cock slides carefully into your desperate pussy, stretching out your fluttering walls as a high pitched moan falls from your mouth. His hand makes its way to the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin as his hips pound against you— the slapping of skin mixes in with your pathetic whimpers— and you’re thankful there’s too much music for anyone to hear you two.
“Don’t close your eyes, look at me,” Kevin demands, pulling you up by your neck and forcing you to face yourself and him in the mirror. Your hot breath fogs up the bathroom mirror, and you struggle to keep your eyes open, weakly watching Kevin in the reflection. His concentrated face, the sweat on his forehead and his eyes that were focused on his cock disappearing in and out of you.
His free hand grabs at the fat of your ass, before letting it go and giving it a small smack. You whimper at the sudden contact, the painful sting only fueling your pleasure. His hips were unrelenting, as your walls clenched around him, earning a small groan from him.
“I think my girl missed me more than she wants to admit,” he purrs, his hand tracking down from the back of your neck to your shoulder as he pulls down the straps of your dress. The top half of your dress falls down, revealing your pretty breasts. Your breasts bounced swiftly with each thrust, along with your necklace that dangles from your neck.
“Shit— Kevin, oh my god—” you mewl, the sinful arch of your back only boosting Kevin’s ego. “Don’t—Don’t stop—”
“Yes ma’am,” Kevin’s sensual voice murmured against your ear when he leaned forward, his chest against your back as he held you to him. His hand cupping your breast, his thumb circling your hardened nipple.
“Kevin— fuck— I’m gonna—” Your pleads die in your throat, your breaths shallow as you throw your head back. Kevin’s lips meet your exposed neck, his teeth nipping at your delicate skin.
“Shhh, shh,” Kevin coos in the crook of your neck. You feel your core tighten, your bundle of nerves building up as your jaw hangs open, panting heavily. Tears ladden your lashes and your thighs shake when you’re hit with a wave of ecstasy, leaving a white ring of your arousal on the base of his cock. Kevin’s seemingly endless pounding comes to a stop when he suddenly pulls his cock out, leaving your hole empty.
His warm seed hits the skin of your backside, a raspy groan escaping his throat. His laboured breathing matches yours, the two of you coming down from your rush of pleasure. Kevin’s lips press against your shoulder and up the back of your neck. You exhale, dazed and sensitive while you pull your spaghetti straps back up.
“Ugh, Kevin— you made a mess,” you grimace.
“My bad,” Kevin pouts mockingly, only pissing you off more. Like a true gentleman, he pulls your panties back up for you, helping you readjust after your little rendezvous. Your face was sweaty and love bites scattered your neck, you decided to leave your hair down to try and save face.
“And you say you aren’t jealous,” you roll your eyes, fixing your breasts in your dress.
“And you say you hate it,” Kevin retorts cheekily, earning a glare from you. His hand gently caresses your arm, his chin resting on your shoulder. You finish fixing your smudged mascara, and lipstick— with Kevin watching every move, almost hypnotised by your movements.
The two of you stumble out the bathroom, and thankfully there’s nobody waiting outside the bathrooms. The music and chatter of unsuspecting party guests reverbrate into empty hallway. Kevin takes your hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to it.
“Until next time.. ex-wife.”
“Don’t hold your breath.. Ex-husband.”
Something told you, you wouldn’t remain exes for long.
Premise: It's the early 2000s, New York City. You're 27 years old, your husband, John Wick, is the head of the Slavic crime syndicate in New York. Your father married you off to him 6 years ago, to end a feud between your families. You have been John's wife for so long, but still feel like you barely know how he feels about you. He's quiet, comes home bloody and bruised, tries to keep you out of the business even though this life is all you've ever known. Will John reveal his true feelings for you when a rival family kidnaps you and holds you for ransom?
Tags/CW: stoic and suave!john, possessive!john, predator coded!john, prey coded!reader, kidnapping in, drug use, canon violence for john wick series as well as the sopranos, smut, more tags to come in later chapters.
A/N: This is going to be a 3 part limited series, but I would love to write drabbles/imagines/one-shots for these two in the future! This chapter is mainly an intro to you and John's relationship and some shameless smut, more drama in the next chapter!
Words: 3k
Gold. Your favorite color as a child, the same color as your daddy's pinky ring, you can remember peeking at it over the old wooden poker table. Your daddy laughed along with all the other men in the room, like a language you couldn't understand, the cigar smoke bitter, but sweet like vanilla if you inhaled enough. You can see all sorts of shiny objects on the poker table. You spot a silver glinting metal of a few of the men's guns politely placed on the table. The liquor they're drinking is glinting in crystal glasses, sloshing around as the men get rowdier and more incoherent. Your eyes always come back to that ring, however. Embellishments of diamond inlaid into that honey colored metal. The only thing you liked better than the glint of gold was the flash of a diamond. And daddy's ring held both. You knew even then, no more than 6 or 7 years old, that that ring would be yours one day.
You were right.
Your husband John, gave it to you as an anniversary gift last year after killing the men who killed your father. It's big enough on you to fit on your ring or middle finger. Your dear old dad was a lot of things, most not things that you loved. The only other thing he gave you in life that you were truly grateful for was arranging a truce between feuding families and setting you up to marry John.
You had no idea who this man was, not to mention he was 20 years older than you, and was the head of New York City's Slavic crime syndicate. Along with his family being a family that rivaled yours for so long, the idea of marrying this man, the man they call 'Baba Yaga', was frightening. He was harsh when you met him. You only talked 3 times before you saw him at the altar.
When you did meet him, he was well kept, incredibly so. His hair was dark, a bit long, slicked back perfectly. His face though, that was what really sent cold shivers up your spine. He looked like a wolf, his eyes were hungry for something, you couldn't even say what for sure, but you hoped your father wasn't shepherding you as a helpless sheep into John's pasture.
You were surprised when he took your hand softly, all the edges of his face jagged and sharp like a freshly cut jewel, and pressed his lips into your hand. It was from then on that you knew, despite everything else, that he would take care of you. There was something in his kiss and his steeled eyes that promised so from the get go.
From the moment you kissed him at the altar, you knew there was something those lips were hiding, however. They were so soft, but somewhere in your mind you couldn’t help but taste blood, coppery, metallic on those perfect lips. He looked at you then, having only seen you three times before, like he was looking at something as precious as gold. You felt coveted.
Despite this, as the honeymoon waned, and you two began to settle in as husband and wife, you thought perhaps, maybe this could work for you two. And it did, for all intents and purposes. Over the years, you two have fallen into a routine, not one you're displeased with per se. You know this is the life you were born into, being able to be a pristine trophy inside John's luxurious apartment never bothered you. He treated you well, always kept your needs met. But he was cold, distant, especially about work. You know the business, you've known it your whole life so you have no idea why he feels the need to keep you so in the dark most of the time. He barely speaks when he comes home bloodied up, weak, ready to collapse into the couch and sleep off the night finally. You dutifully help clean his wounds, silent, but those piercing eyes of his look into yours, saying more than those lips ever did.
Because of John's reluctance to allow you anywhere close to the business, you're surprised when he comes home one night and tells you that he'll be taking you to a party.
"A party?" Your glossy lips utter, turning around to face John from your seat at the vanity as he enters the bedroom with the news. Quite frankly, after being married for six years and rarely leaving this apartment, you're shocked. "You never take me to parties?"
"It's important you come tonight." John says simple, stepping closer to you, and slowly beginning to take off his dark suit, going down to suspenders and a crisp white button up. He isn’t giving anything away just yet.
"Finally decided to trade me in for someone newer?" You say, obviously joking even though you know it happens. These parties that men in the business go to, your father found six different wives at them after your mother, you know how women are treated in this world. You are seen as no more than a currency of status, and you know you’re not getting any younger.
John, however, gets really serious. His head jerks towards you, and he has that wolf look in his eye again. He bores you down with his dark, almost black eyes, his jaw set. The fear you feel from that look is one you never wish to again.
"Don't you ever joke about that." John finally says, but he doesn't soften. "I would never let anyone else have you."
If there's one thing you know for certain that John feels about you, it's possession. He always has been protective of you, to a fault most of the time. You feel as though he's set you in the world's most gilded cage most days, and at night he comes home and tears into your body like an animal. John was never soft. He wouldn't start to be in the bedroom. He would never push you away from cuddling after, however. He just didn't seek comfort from you the way you did him. But you were grateful he allowed you to have the comfort you craved from him, even if he was silent for most of it. If you were lucky, he may even pull an arm around you after a particularly aggressive fuck.
Not to say either that you didn’t enjoy how he took you in the bedroom, taking everything from you but your blood. And you knew he could take that too if he pleased. The aggression, the rawness of his body against yours, you had to admit, it turned you on. He never made your feel like you were lesser in the bedroom, in fact, he could give just as much as he could take. There were many times he had you propped up on the pillows, spread for him, and he lapping at you with a fervor you could hardly stand. He would tease you relentlessly if you let him, if you didn’t grab that dark hair of his and pull him into your aching pussy while telling him what you need. Begging him for what you need. His black eyes would look up at you from where he supplied pleasures that made your head spin, as if to say ‘You see this? I give you this, do not forget that I can give you such pleasures.’
And Lord, did you know, that he could do just that. Even now, as you see him undressing for the night, you can feel yourself begin to ache with want.
John can tell he has frightened you from how he has spoken, though. So he crosses what feels like the great expanse between you two, and he kneels in front of you, his hands on your thighs.
“Listen, I need you to understand that you never have to worry. About anything, with me.” His eyes are not exactly soft, but they are trying, which counts for something. “These eyes are focused on one woman and one woman only, do not ever doubt that, my love.”
You couldn’t help but feel compelled to believe him. Not to mention it was one of the rare times that he told you, or at least implied, his love for you. You did find yourself questioning often what John’s idea of ‘love’ was, however. You aren’t so certain your vision of love matches his, but at least it seems as if he is true to you. You begin to feel foolish for the cracks of doubt that have been plaguing you lately, you have no reason to believe John would cheat on you other than that the other mob wives have to deal with it constantly from their spouses. John is different, you must remember that.
You nod, a few tears coming to your eyes, and John’s large hands are there to wipe them away before you even have to wonder.
“Do not cry, solnyshko.” He says, his voice gruff, but understanding. “I do not wish for you to be hurt.”
“I hurt from being locked away here for so long…” You don’t know why you feel brave enough to say it right now, but you do. John’s eyes suddenly look unusually pained, and he glances away, blinking as if to gather himself.
“I know, I hope bringing you to this party will help. I just…” His hand on your cheek begins to tighten, not on you, but as if the muscles in it are desperate to grasp for something they know they must not. “I do not trust your safety for much of what I do, I…I cannot lose you.”
You don’t say anything, just look at him, on his knees for you right now, seemingly begging you to understand. It’s more than you’ve seen from him in the six years you’ve lived with him. It honestly causes a few more tears to fall, you’re not sure why seeing him this way does this to you. It means a lot to you.
“Okay, John. I will go this party with you, glady.” You say, accepting the idea, and John seems relieved.
“Good, now, no more tears,” He brushes the last few that have sullied your cheeks with his thumb. “Come, let’s go to bed my darling…”
As he stands from where he knelt before you, his strong hands take your arms in them, pulling you off of the plush vanity stool, and into him. He smells like smoke and gunpowder, mixed with that expensive cologne he always wears, the one that smells like pine trees and reminds you of the woods. He gently, for once, takes you into the large, black silk bed. Once you’re settled, it’s like he is ready to make a feast of your body. He’s so primal, animalistic and ready to be drunk on your scent. You let him take you, his teeth already into your neck, leaving indents, leaving his mark on you. He goes slow this time, really lets you feel how much he wants you. It doesn’t take him long to completely undress you, his hands are swift, and they work quickly to fling the little you had on to the bedroom floor.
You gasp when his hands decide to reach for your pussy next, and you hear him chuckle as he suckles on your breast, which are heavy with lust.
“You’re already so wet for me, my dear…” He whispers into your skin, the biting and nibbling beginning again as soon as the words leave his lips.
His hands work like magic, starting with teasing your poor pussy. He doesn’t go for your clit right away, no, he works slowly, but deliberately around it, testing your want and your wetness. He continues to lower his bites along your body, going down further and further, saving your swelling clit for his tongue to savor. He spreads your legs roughly, your breath catching as you’re so suddenly exposed. You feel the cold air of the room against the heat between your legs, and watch as John looks over your body with nothing but pure hunger and satisfaction in his eyes. You can’t believe you ever thought he would look for someone else when he looks at you like this nearly every night. How foolish…
Before your thoughts can be taken by things that simple do not matter in this moment, John is plunging his tongue into your cunt, hungry to taste you, a low growl escaping his lips and vibrating the tender flesh there. You moan out, your legs trying to close, but a firm hand guiding your thigh back down to the bed, holding it there. You continue to squirm, your hands finally finding purchase in his tossled dark hair, and you feel as if you have found an anchor in the deepest depths of an angry sea, ready to consume you if you do not hold onto something.
You breath hitches higher as he sucks on your hardening clit, pulling all of it to attention in his mouth and driving you mad. He continues to over stimulate you like this until you’re begging him, breathless and tossing your head back into the silk pillows, to stop, to let you go. Unfortunately, you are his prey, and he will have his way with you however he can, so while he releases your tender clit from his mouth for a moment, he is slipping two fingers inside you with a swiftness that causes you to see stars. You always forget how good he is at this, how could you ever underestimate his power to bring you to the edge like this?
John pumps his fingers inside you, working that spot that drives you crazy, and you can barely speak coherently. He loves making you such a mess for him, a wordless, breathless mess that tangles in John’s sheets.
John allows you to get closer and closer like this, and just when you’re screaming out his name, finding some words that convey how close you are, how you’re so ready, does he slip his fingers out from inside of you. The whine you let out from this surprises you, even makes you blush from embarrassment. You can’t believe how badly he makes you want him.
John lifts himself to his knees, freeing his cock from his tight pants, and you’re always taken back from how long and girthy it is. You know you can take his cock, you have many times before, but you know how much it stretches you out anyways. Your stomach is in knots from how full you wish to be of him. John can see the hunger in your eyes and wastes no time, grabbing your thighs and pulling you close in one fell manuever. He lines himself up with you, then wets his cock with your juices so he can slide into you easily. He always makes sure not to rut into you dry, he wants you soaking for him at all times during this.
John finally gives you what you want, your moan loud enough that you don’t doubt the neighbors know what this man does to you. His cock slips in so perfectly, going deeper and deeper, inch by inch, until he is at his limit inside you, your pussy completely full of him. You reach out to pull him close to you, but John stops you.
“I want to see you touch yourself for me, darling. I need to see your face when you cum on my cock…” He is so instructional, so demanding. You know you have to give him what he wants.
You stay laid on your back, while John keeps up on his knees, still so deep inside of you. You work your hand down to your clit, your other hand grasping at your own breast with desperation for something to hold onto. You can’t help it, you’re already losing yourself, your hands working and your moans giving a show for John. You know he loves when you really let yourself feel it, and you can feel yourself tighten around his cock as it pumps into you from how good you are feeling.
As John continues, you look up at him, your eyebrows drawn and your face so close to ecstasy, your body so tight and close to giving you the release you desperately need. You know John's close too, his face turning from one of someone so focused on their partner's pleasure, to someone who can barely keep their eyes open from how good it feels. The thought that somehow, right now, you have a small bit of power over him, turns you on. The fact that it's your pussy that makes him devolve into a mess of breaths and soft groans is so satisfying you can feel yourself start to cum. That's all it takes for John to join you, his cock twitching and full, going deeper into you with each long thrust as you both finish together. You can feel the rush of heat as he delivers his pleasure unto you.
John collapses beside you, spent. You move, your body sore where John held your legs open for so long. You find your way onto his sweaty chest, laying your head down onto his defined chest muscles. John wraps an arm around you, his hand gently, so slowly, petting your hair. You know he isn't the super affectionate type, but you also know that you've been together long enough that your husband cannot refuse you on much. Especially not when the two of you can relax into each other.
You softly close your eyes and count John's breath, trying to match yours to his. You aren't sure after what count it happened, but you fall asleep in John's arms.
ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 2: you get me closer to god.
Summary: John is a manipulator, and she, is the new subject of his obsession.
Warnings: this chapter contains stalking, mentions of large age gap, graphic descriptions of violence, and manipulation.
read the warnings. john is not only a menace, he is evilllll.
Author’s note: and we are back, baby. today, in this chapter, you are going to be witnessing a LOT of fucked up shit from none other than john wick himself. my man’s been doing a lot, god bless his poor soul.
also may i remind you all that the reader here is naive! she is stupid! she is not the brightest! she’s just desperate for attention and affection, so her decisions are always stupid and all of that. (please do not hate her, she is trying her best.)
this took me a while to write because it’s long asf and also because you know me, i always struggle with the english language, but i hope i won’t disappoint you with this chapter!
thank you so much for waiting and continuing to support this fic! really, it gives me a lot of motivation to keep writing, and i really appreciate all your sweet comments and reblogs on my last post.
i hope you also enjoy this new chapter since we’re going to have another peak of what goes on in john’s dark, dark mind. (I PROMISE THE SEX SCENE WOULD BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.)
and again, this is not edited so all mistakes are on me! i really do apologize, english is not my first language.
Word count: 10.6k
also read on AO3
In this business, you’d see different kinds of reactions when a man walks into a room.
They all see themselves above everybody else. They think they’re better, deadlier, smarter. That’s the kind of mindset you need if you want to survive. How will you get out of being held at gunpoint when you’re a weakling?
When a man walks into a room, they’ll take a moment to stare.
On the outside, you’d think these people have a lot of respect for one another since they all work in the same circle anyway. But in real life, you’d see the blatant lack of respect these people truly have for each other, because they’ll stare and judge.
When John walks into a room, it’s a different story.
Fear.
John is not like any other man in business they think they could just judge and get away with it, no. John is well respected and feared. He could see it in their eyes when he pass by. The extreme discomfort and alarm to be in the same presence as him. Even if they try so hard to hide it, John sees right through them.
They view him as… something but human. He’s a killing machine. An attack dog. A monster, some would even say.
Back in the days, John wasn’t exactly fond of the names they’ve been giving him. When he was still new in the game, he didn’t like how he struck fear over these people because he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the power he truly has over them.
But now, something has shifted.
John is a free man. Not the kind of free when he was with Helen, but free nonetheless. Free because instead of getting alarmed with the fact that he’s feared all over this underworld, he’s taking advantage of it. Much to the higher ups dismay. They have been having a very hard time keeping up with his recent activities.
Growing up, it seemed like John got the worst sadistic discipline in Ruska Roma.
All of them did, don’t get him wrong. All of them suffered – blood, sweat and tears. They were all forced to go through extreme discipline, because it’s the crack of the whip that gets the rats going.
But John… John got the worst of it.
He used to take the fall for his fellow students. Fingers couldn’t count just how many times he was belted on the back for someone else’s mistake. The amount of times he was starved, denied of any kind of food or water, and that’s how it’s always been.
John has always been denied for the things he wanted. The things he needed.
Now, he is not greedy. He’s not just going to take everything in his way like a kid that got away from its parents’ grip, because he doesn’t want a lot of things. John already has a house, a dog companion, enough money to last forever.
John already has everything except her.
His most happy moments couldn’t compete with the hot curl within his guts that he feels every time his mind flashes back to that night. That night when she gave in, when she gave herself away to him – willingly.
John didn’t need to give her a little push to finally get her. She practically offered herself to him, bared her neck and John’s itching to take a bite. To finally make her his once and for all, but really, he doesn’t need to do that to know that she’s his.
Like he said, he’s not going to force himself into her life. He’s going to be welcomed. By the looks of it, it seems like it wouldn’t be such a hard thing to do after all. Not when she’s already giving up information about herself to John through texts – she’s practically making it easy for him to get her.
So naive. Doesn’t got a fucking clue in the world.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Fucking mine –
John looks at his phone, reading the messages both of them sent each other the night before, and there it is again. The itch in his hands, the need to possess.
13.06.15 11:46 PM
Bambi: hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night
13.06.15 11:46 PM
Bambi: also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!
John changed her name on his phone. He changed it to something more… intimate. More sweet.
13.06.15 11:48 PM
John : I could never.
13.06.15 11:48 PM
John : You’re hard to forget.
He remembers – no, saw – how she responded. With a smile on her face, hopeful.
13.06.15 11:49 PM
Bambi : using my words against me, i see :D
13.06.15 11:49 PM
Bambi : good to know you’re still as slick as the last time we chatted haha
13.06.15 11:49 PM
John : Hard not to. I wanted to impress you.
13.06.15 11:50 PM
Bambi : you already did.
13.06.15 11:50 PM
Bambi : with all your brooding and intimidating look. just my type ;D
John smiles to himself as he reads the message. He remembers the look on her face when she’s typing, and hasn't got a clue that the man she’s flirting with was observing her just from across her building. John wouldn’t call it invading her privacy, he calls it keeping her safe.
13.06.15 11:50 PM
Bambi : anywho i asked for your number for a reason. i really do want to talk to you again. not just in chat, i mean, but also in real life :)
13.06.15 11:50 PM
Bambi : maybe we could get to know each other more? what do you say??? meet up again, but this time planned unlike our other previous meetups?? haha
He is not a teenager to be feeling this giddy over reading messages, but she truly brings out something shameful in him.
13.06.15 11:51 PM
John : I should be the one asking you that.
13.06.15 11:51 PM
Bambi : you were taking too looonggg :(
13.06.15 11:51 PM
Bambi : so what do ya think?
13.06.15 11:52 PM
John : Of course I’ll go. I told you I’d make time for you, didn’t I?
13.06.15 11:52 PM
John : I’m a man of my word.
13.06.15 11:52 PM
Bambi : ok that’s great! i was so worried you wouldn’t say yes.
John had averted his eyes from the phone that night and onto the little lady across the building. She was rolling around on her bed, still dressed in her pink, fluffy robe and her hair was still wet. She looks like a puppy that John wanted to pet; stroke her hair and tell her she’s his good girl.
13.06.15 11:52 PM
John : When do you want to meet?
13.06.15 11:53 PM
Bambi : aahhhhh let’s see
13.06.15 11:53 PM
Bambi : i have classes tomorrow morning BUTTT we can def meet up during lunch! i get out of school at like 12 and go to work at 3 :D
I know, John wanted to say. I’ve memorized your everyday schedule in the span of two days.
13.06.15 11:53 PM
John : How about I pick you up from your school, we grab lunch, and I drop you off to work?
13.06.15 11:53 PM
John : Or is it too soon?
13.06.15 11:53 PM
Bambi : oh my god no way REALLY?
13.06.15 11:53 PM
Bambi : nooo it’s not too soon don’t worry! you def could so we have more time to talk and everything! i just hope i won’t be bothering you or anything.
13.06.15 11:53 PM
Bambi : do you have work tomorrow? you look like a 9 to 5 kinda guy :P
God, she’s fucking adorable.
13.06.15 11:54 PM
John : I don’t, so you don’t have to worry. I’d love to talk to you more as well.
13.06.15 11:54 PM
Bambi : ok! i cannot wait for tomorrow. i should probably sleep now tho so i wouldn’t look shitty when you see me :D
13.06.15 11:54 PM
Bambi : here is the address of my school. [Address]
13.06.15 11:54 PM
Bambi : can’t wait to see you tomorrow, john! goodnight, see you soon! x
13.06.15 11:55 PM
John : Goodnight, sweet girl. Have a good sleep.
John hadn’t meant to type that. He felt his heart drop to his stomach, terrified that he somehow scared her away with the sudden affection. But then he saw her read his message, dropped her phone on the bed, and then rolled over again like a lap dog.
She’s too easy to tame, so gullible. John almost couldn’t believe how fast she folded, how desperate she really is. But then again, he could say the same about himself. Lonely and desperate, they were meant to be together. He likes to believe God had put them in this position because of fate, because he has a plan for every single one of us.
John’s never been the one to believe in Him, but he finds himself grasping to that very little delusion that keeps him from going insane.
*
11:55 AM, the students are already making their way out of their designated buildings.
John is keeping his guard on high alert, eyes scanning the crowd to find her. He’s parked just across the school gate, leaning against his car as he checks the time on his wrist. He’s also holding his phone in the other, waiting for it to vibrate in case she drops a message.
He’s never felt this giddy before. Hands clammy and eyes searching frantically, excited because he’s finally getting to spend alone time with her, but also worried in fear of losing her in the crowd. John doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have the upper hand. When he doesn’t have control of the situation. When she’s not in his line of vision and could be doing god knows what without his supervision.
He checks his phone again. 11:58, where is she?
John knows at this time, she should be out and about already, waiting for a cab to her apartment. His fingers itch, hovering over the screen of his phone. He begins contemplating if he should send a message, but that would make him look demanding and clingy. He doesn’t want to leave that kind of impression on her, or otherwise he’d have no choice but to abduct her and keep her locked away if she thinks about running –
He blinks, sucking in deep breath.
“Shit,” he whispers, looking up to the school gate again. This isn’t good. What the fuck was he even thinking?
John tries not to think about it. Tries to convince himself that he is not as fucked up as his mind is making him out to be. He wouldn’t stoop that low, he’s not that cruel –
Are you not?
A certain someone appears in the crowd, standing outside the school gate, already spotting John and waving at him from across the road. Her face is bright, smiling wide. John never wanted to possess something so bad.
He waves back, all his dark thoughts suddenly gone, and everything is rainbows and sunshine. John watches as she crosses the road carefully, looking left and right, seeming small with the people around her. She looks like a lost puppy.
John wants to pet.
“John, hey!” she beams, running up to him to give him a hug which catches John off guard. She’s on her tiptoes just to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, and John doesn’t want to make her upset for not immediately reacting with her affection, and so he puts his arm around her waist and bends down to place his chin on her shoulder.
He fights the urge to bury his nose in her neck, then maybe sucks a few hickeys, leaving a bite mark to show that the big, bad wolf has already marked his mate.
She’s so fucking easy to get, John thinks.
When she pulls away from the hug, John tries not to look disappointed. Her cologne lingers in his nose. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
“You don’t ever need to say sorry for that,” John says, faux stern as he places a hand on her waist subtly. She looks like she doesn’t mind, that’s a good thing.
“Okay then,” she smiles politely. “Oh, and I’m sorry if I look like a mess. Just say the words and I would totally change to more appropriate clothes before we go somewhere.”
“You look beautiful,” John says smoothly, standing up straight. Even though she looks underdressed next to John who’s wearing a three-piece suit, she is still heart-wrenchingly beautiful. In fact, John likes the contrast.
“T-thanks.”
“Should we go?”
“Sure! I’m excited,” she giggles, the sound practically dancing in his ear. “I’m hungry. Where will we eat?”
“Hm, what do you like?” he asks.
“Dunno. Burger and milkshake.”
“Sounds unhealthy.”
“The only thing I can afford, unfortunately,” she jokes, though John doesn’t answer, only opening the car door for her. “We should eat in a diner. I know a good one! Also cheap, so you won’t have to worry about the price.”
“I never worry about the price, darling,” John murmurs, but still loud enough for her to hear as she gets inside the vehicle. He swiftly walks to the driver’s seat and starts the car, glancing at his little bambi who’s observing the interior intensely. “You like it?”
“It’s so cool. I’ve never been in a car like this.”
“You’re going to have a lot of firsts when you’re with me.”
As John starts driving, the girl beside him babbles. Not that he minds, of course. He listens and nods, so obsessed with her voice that he could listen to it forever. It’s amazing how John could easily hide the fact that he was just stalking her from across her apartment the night before in the back of his mind, like it never even happened. It’s amazing how he could act like he wasn’t just thinking about kidnapping her and locking her away from the public forever.
But then again, everything about his little bambi would make anyone risk it all for her. It’s not just John. Anyone would do the same if they were in his shoes.
“How was school?” John asks, averting his eyes from the road for a moment to look at her.
“Eh, it was alright. Classes always drain me, no wonder I’m so hungry now,” she answers politely. One of the few things John noticed about her. How she doesn’t run out of things to say, how she can get the conversation going. “How about you? You going to work after our lunch? You’re dressed up for it.”
“I took the day off today,” he replies vaguely.
“What? Why?”
“I have a date with you.”
She seems to be shocked by John’s choice of words, but she’s more concerned with the fact that John took the day off for her. “Y-yeah, but you didn’t have to do that. We could just go on a date next time.”
“The sooner, the better,” he explains, feeling another surge of something hot into his veins. She agreed that this is a date. Just how fucking gullible can she get? “Work is no problem for me. I want to get to know you more.”
“O-okay. I wanna get to know you more too.”
When John catches a glimpse of her bright smile beaming at him, his hands tighten around the wheel and he steps on the gas harder.
*
John doesn’t like how his mind isn’t making him remember about Helen.
He should be remembering her. He should feel some kind of guilt for being in a restaurant with another woman, but he doesn’t. Every single day since she died, his mind would always make him think about her. But now, it’s like John completely forgot about her existence at all.
The wedding ring on his finger is long gone. Ever since his unhealthy obsession began, he thought that wearing that while doing something so sinful felt so wrong. Helen shouldn’t have to witness all the things he had done in the name of a girl he had only met once that time.
The diner isn’t packed with people. The sizzling of the burgers grilling on the pan and the chatters seem to drown out eventually when his little bambi starts talking.
John gives her a small smile, barely there, just to show her that he’s listening, all his attention is on her.
“Time seems to pass by so fast, huh? I remember when I bumped into you the first time, I really thought I wouldn’t see you again,” she starts the conversation with a bang, but thankfully John’s prepared for this type of talk.
“So you really wanted to see me then?” he smirks slightly.
“Yeah! You’re really good looking and it’s not always I see a guy as handsome as you in my apartment complex and my school,” she says bluntly, though John could see the faint blush on her cheeks when she mentions the word ‘good looking.’ “So of course I had to take my chance when I met you again at that club! God, you were my knight in shining armor. I would’ve been crushed to death if it wasn’t for you.”
“That’s why you should always be careful on the road. You’re small, everyone could look past you if you weren’t careful enough.”
She pouts, placing her chin on her hand as she stares lovingly at John. “You’re exaggerating. I’m not small. You’re just saying that because you’re too big. And I’m always careful on the road – it was only that time that I lost balance and almost fell.”
“Then it better not happen again,” John says sharply, leaning back against the cushioned seat as he stares back at her challengingly. “But there’s no need to worry for the next time. I won’t let that happen again.”
“Next time?” she teases. “So you want to see me again next time, then?”
“Have I not made it clear with my actions and words?” John shoots back, raising another eyebrow. She likes it when he’s being stern like this. All authoritative. She might not know it yet, but her body language speaks for itself. “Do you want to see me again?”
The little bambi smiles brightly, and It hurts. It hurts John to see that smile because she’s just like the sun. But no matter how much she shines, John would do anything just to touch. Just to possess. Just to break.
“Of course! I wouldn’t have gotten your number if I didn’t, right?”
“Good.”
It’s not like she could do much anyways if she says no. Nothing will ever stop John from seeing her again, no matter how bad the procedure would be.
The food then arrives and is served on the table, and John thinks he has never felt anything like this before.
His hands have never felt this itchy before. That desperate, longing feeling to just possess the very thing that’s placed right in front of you. Everything about her is just so captivating, staring up at John like he’s the one who hung the moon, so full of adoration and hope.
Seems like John isn’t the only desperate one between the two of them. He could see it in her eyes. She’s practically begging him to take care of her.
And really, he can’t blame her.
An absent mother and an alcoholic father. No wonder she’s seeking attention from a man like John. A man old enough to be her father – if not older than her own father. John would be more than willing to fulfill the role her father failed to be when she was young. He’d do anything to protect her, morals be damned.
She looks too good to be true sitting right in front of him and he didn’t think watching someone devour a burger twice as big as her face would be so endearing. The way she licks her lips, the way her eyes sparkle every time John would pay attention to the little things she’d absentmindedly insert in her stories. No one must’ve given her this kind of attention before. No one but John.
“Oh, before I forget!” She places a hand on John’s arm that’s perched on the table. A mere innocent touch, yet he can’t help but feel a little giddy on the inside. “We’ve been talking for like, an hour now, and I still haven’t asked what your job is. I’ve been really curious ever since you told me you took a day off just for this. Are you like the boss or something?”
Ah. Of course.
A question like this is inevitable, thank god John came prepared.
“No,” he simply says. “I’m a book binder. I collect and restore books as both a hobby and job.”
“Wow,” she nods her head, now interested as she leans forward and closer to him. She smells so sweet, John feels like he’s snorting sugar. “I didn’t think book binding could earn you so much money. Considering you’re dressed pretty… comfortably. And you have a nice car.”
“It pays enough,” John replies. Sooner or later she’d find out what he really does for a living, and no doubt she’d be scared. John already has a plan of action for when that would happen, but for now, he’ll try to keep it a secret as long as he can. “Pays enough to let me spoil you in the future. In fact, I think I might just start spoiling you now.”
“You say that to every woman you meet?” She quirks an eyebrow, teasing.
“Just for you. You’re special.”
John sees the way she immediately turns shy and nervous from the statement. It must’ve felt overwhelming, having someone so much older and with more experience to hit on her like that. But John would say it brings a whole different feeling in him, like ego-lifting of some sort, knowing he just might be the only man that treated her right in her life.
Does killing one of her guy friends and storing him in his basement means treating her right? Does stalking her and watching her sleep from across the building is a way to treat her right? Different story to be told for another day.
“I believe you,” she says, smiling.
Of course you do.
John diverts her attention from him. “You’re a veterinary student and also part time in a veterinary clinic. What made you want to pursue it?”
“Uh, let’s see. I don’t really have like, a very logical reason for it. I just really love animals and I want them to be part of my job as well,” she shrugs. “As for the part time thing, one of my older friends works there and got me in to gain some experience. I don’t really do much, I help with the paperworks and watch how they do stuff around there.”
I know.
“Your unconditional love for animals is logical enough.”
“I know right. Best job in the world, I might add. I get to pet all kinds of different animals everyday, and mind you I’m not even a real doctor yet,” she giggles, then tilts her head in curiosity. “Do you have a pet, John?”
“I do. I have a dog,” he answers, taking a sip of his own milkshake. It’s sweet, it’s something he’s not used to, but it reminds him of her. “Unfortunately, I haven’t named her yet.”
She frowns. “Why not?”
“I don’t know how to. I’m not good with names,” John shrugs. This conversation with her alone just might be the longest conversation he’s ever shared with someone ever since Helen died. And even with his late wife, he wasn’t as talkative as this. “Maybe you could name her. She’s a large pitbull but surprisingly very gentle for her size.”
“Oh my god, John, I have to meet her!” She beams. “Maybe on our next date, don’t you think? Let’s bring her with us to the park, have a little picnic there or something.”
Next date.
She wants to go on another date with him and she is making this a lot easier for John.
His lips stretch into a rare smile, fingers twitching subtly around the glass as he stares right into her eyes. There’s no hidden intention behind them, just pure adoration with a twinge of hope. Probably hopes that John wants the same thing as her, but he wouldn’t let her know that she is in for a lot more than she bargained for.
“I can’t wait for our next one.”
*
John could still remember the little things that made him feel human.
Back in the Marines, when he first killed somebody, he felt a tremendous amount of guilt and self-hating that he couldn’t sleep for a week. He’d have nightmares of it; of holding his gun up to somebody’s head and blowing it up with just one single movement. The residue of the flesh splattered all over his face, some of them even went to his mouth. His hands shaked but he didn’t let his crew see it. In their eyes, that wasn’t the first time he had done it.
When he was recruited by Viggo and his little minions, the guilt of killing people was still there, but barely. He used to wish he didn’t feel any guilt or remorse at all every time he pulled a trigger, but looking back at it now, he wishes he could just take it all back. It was only guilt that he felt most of his life, but it made John human.
Now, he doesn’t feel very human as he stands in the middle of an abattoir holding a machete with pints of blood pooling at his shoes.
Back then, he used to kill. Point, shoot, leave. A very short routine he told himself to stick with unless he wanted to get in trouble. But now, he is not only just killing. John is fucking slaughtering people.
His eyes land on the dead body hanging from the meat hook. Naked, gutted alive just a few moments ago. His stomach is sliced open with his own intestines wrapped around his neck, and it fucking stinks.
The raw stench of human blood mixing with the already reeking smell of the slaughtered pigs hanging just besides the one John had slaughtered himself.
Really, John should feel even just a little amount of remorse or disgust. His client didn’t particularly gave him a specific order on how to fucking kill the target, John did it himself. He didn’t know what the fuck was he thinking when he was doing the wet work, all he knows is that he’s getting worse each day that passes.
The killing part took some time considering the man certainly put up a fight. He was smuggling drugs inside the pigs he was slaughtering. It works on people too, though it’s too risky. Dying with balloons of cocaine up your throat or ass isn’t exactly the way you’d want to die, nor the kind of state you want your body to be in.
John really didn’t mean to go this far, but all the pent up anger and frustration led him to do something so ugly. He feels like a ticking bomb. Every second a little part of humanity just starts fading away, who knows what would happen if all of it were gone.
This is his first kill since his date with his bambi. That was five days ago. John decided to take another job while he’s waiting for her next decision. He doesn’t want to look clingy and creepy by constantly texting her every chance he gets, so he lets her do it in her own phase. Though, waiting for her texts sure did take a lot of rampant rage on John’s side. Lots of broken furniture and a creepy amount of hours watching her sleep from across the building.
Just because John is letting her do her own thing for the meantime, doesn’t mean he gets to take his eyes off of her. It’s for the best.
Their last conversation was yesterday. It was a pretty long conversation, but not long enough for John’s satisfaction. She left it off by saying she’s going to be busy studying for her test and cleaning her apartment, which John didn’t have the time to check if she was telling the truth since he was busy himself.
John is dying to see her again but he knows he’s gonna have to wait it out in the Continental. Or maybe if he’s feeling a little bit insane, he’d ditch having to rest and spend his time sitting on a dusty chair in the same dusty room he’s been staying in for awhile; the building across from her apartment. But until then he’ll have to see where time will take him.
His phone ringing in his jacket is what snaps him from his thoughts. Bringing a bloodied hand to get it, he almost couldn’t press the screen by the slippery liquid covering his fingers. John presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the person to speak.
“Hey, boss. How’s Russia treating you so far? Hopefully not great ‘cause I’ve got some news that will cheer you up.” The deep voice of Alex echoes in the abattoir. It must’ve slipped John’s mind that he had sent Alex again to tail her again while he’s out overseas.
He furrows his brows, curious. “How is she?”
“Hm, let’s see here. Your little pet has been up and about all day with her little friends after they’ve finally noticed the disappearance of that little shit we took care of a while back – speaking of which, how is he by the way?”
“Rotting. Dissolving in my basement,” John replies, hands tightening around the handle of the machete. So this is what she’s been doing and the reason why she hasn’t messaged him all day. “I say the fucker got what he deserved. He’s a creep who preys on women to rape, I’m just thankful we got him out of the way before he got to her.”
“Yeah, well. She doesn’t know that and I doubt she’d even stop looking for her creepy friend unless they’ve found him. What do you want me to do?”
“Give it a day or two. Wait for me to get back and I’ll take it from there.”
“Anything else?” John hears loud chattering in the background, he furrows his brows.
“Yeah. Where are you right now?”
“Uhh, keeping her in my sight like you told me to?” Alex sounds particularly sassy. John doesn’t know if he should be pleased or not. “She’s at a restaurant. I think she’s having a meeting with her other friends or something – she looks upset.”
“Upset because of her missing friend, I assume.”
“Probably. Have you talked to her at all today, boss? Pretty sure I have not yet seen her pick up her phone all day.”
“No,” John simply says. “But she will. I’m sure of it.”
“I see you’ve finally gotten her dependent on you now.”
“Not enough, apparently, since she’s gone a full day without talking to me.”
“Well, you’re definitely getting there,” Alex says under his breath. “I’m going now, boss. They’re leaving to god knows where.”
John doesn’t say anything else, only ending the call and pocketing back his phone. He looks around the area, the coppery smell of blood is stronger than before. He is the reason why it stinks in here, the reason why there’s so much blood and brutality. The body that hangs right in front of him is lifelessly staring with dead, cold eyes. John resists the urge to shove a balloon of fucking cocaine into his stomach, the same thing he’s been doing with these pigs, brutalize him more if that’s even possible, but he knows it wouldn’t help his already worsening mentality.
The thought of someone seeing this body and thinking about how fucked up the person who did this doesn’t concern him as much as it should.
Instead, John turns his heels and walks away from the scene.
*
Unsurprisingly, getting her to depend on John isn’t the hardest task to do.
It just might be the easiest.
The moment John arrives at the Continental, he takes his time to message his bambi. It’s only reasonable, he wouldn’t come out as a clingy creep since it’s been a full day since his last message, he has every right to know what and how she’s doing despite already getting enough pictures and updates from Alex.
He asks her how she’s been, waits for approximately ten minutes before he finally gets a reply. In those ten minutes, John takes his time scrolling through the pictures Alex had sent him. Pictures of her bundled up in large, colorful sweaters and wearing a frown on her pretty face. She looks rough, but she makes looking rough look good.
Bambi : hi, john :(( sorry i didn’t text you all day. was busy with something
John : That’s alright, I understand. I’m just glad you replied. Did something come up? Was it about school?
Bambi : kind of. my friend from school is missing and we don’t know where he is. we’re worried because he hasn’t answered any of our calls for a week and his apartment is practically empty.
Reading that almost makes him resist an urge to sickly smile to himself. His fingers hover the screen, careful of what his next words might be.
John : I’m sorry to hear that. Have you gotten any updates from the police? What did they say?
Bambi : nothing yet unfortunately. no one saw him the night he went missing :(
John : I’m sure you’ll find him soon enough. I hope nothing extremely bad happened to your friend.
He sounds… manipulating. There aren’t any more words that could describe what John is doing to her. He doesn’t even know if he can still make up excuses to tell himself that everything is completely fine and normal.
The girl that he likes is currently sharing about the horrifying tragedy her ‘friend’ is facing, the horrifying tragedy being John’s fault, and he’s fucking lying about it. And what truly terrifies him the most is not about the fact that he’s manipulating her, he’s terrified because it feels normal and just… fine.
Normal, normal, normal–
Can John really win her over by going this path? If not, would it really matter?
He will still have the upper hand if this doesn’t end well. But then again, there’s a very small chance that it wouldn’t – if not none at all. John just needs to play his cards well and there wouldn’t be a problem.
Bambi : thank you john. really hope that too. it doesn’t feel the same without him
John’s jaw ticks.
What do you mean it doesn’t feel the same without that fucker? I killed him for you! He was a creep who only wanted to fuck you and take you away from me and–
A dangerous feeling suddenly surge into his veins that he wants to put back together all the pieces of that fucker just to destroy it in his hands once again.
Maybe mutilating him and dissolving him in pure acid just isn’t enough. Maybe he deserved more. Maybe John should’ve took his fucking time torturing that little shit instead of killing him instantly.
John : And how are you? I hope you’re not too worried about this matter that you start to forget about taking care of yourself.
Bambi : i’m doing fine, but a bit sad bc of it. i also miss you and i wish u’re here so i wouldn’t be too sad
And just like that, it’s like all his resentment and rage just one minute prior vanished in a snap of a finger. A small smile makes its way to his face and a surge of ego soars into his chest. She has no idea she’s got a dangerous assassin wrapped around her finger and the consequences it’d bring her.
Bambi : are u still overseas? when will you be back?
John : Tomorrow, hopefully.
John : And I miss you too, sweetheart. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I finish work.
Bambi : can’t wait to see you. do u want me to pick u up at the airport? :D
John : Thank you, baby, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t want to keep you busy when you already have too much in your hands.
Bambi : mkay. but call me or text me when u arrive, ok?
John : Of course.
*
John is not stupid.
If he ever noticed a man following his every step, he didn’t once care or say a word.
It’s one of Winston’s men, obviously, following him around throughout his business in Russia up to boarding the same plane as him back to New York. Considering John had managed to catch on pretty quickly at the fact that Winston sent someone to trail him, this poor guy is not doing a particularly good job.
At first, John thought about taking care of the guy himself and bringing Winston a souvenir of his dog’s fingers or even one of his eyeballs, but decided that he is not that cruel.
He could be, but knowing he holds all the power over several people under The Table makes John wants to play the game a little longer and just fucking shiver in excitement.
Obviously Winston had noticed that John is up to no good. Not that it’s any of his business, he’s more likely just scared for his own life. He’s probably thinking it was a bad idea to bring John back into the game now that he’s living up to the horrors of his reputation and giving people exactly what they wanted.
When John first returned to the field, it was only to avenge his late wife and nothing more. But now that a bigger monster has grown within him over the course of his stay, he’s now also looking for the fuel to his fire.
And boy did he find it.
The fuel being in the form of a young woman who’s unaware of how much power she has over John. It’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose.
*
10:56 PM.
“Hello.”
“Hello? John?”
“It’s me, darling. How are you?”
“Doing fine. Studying for my exam and all. Why are you calling at this hour, though?”
“Just wanted to let you know that I just arrived back in New York and see how you’re doing.”
“Oh, John, it’s so late. I was thinking earlier that you would arrive tomorrow morning or afternoon, you didn’t tell me you boarded a flight.”
“I wanted to be back as soon as possible and wanted to surprise you, but my flight got delayed so I only just arrived now.”
A soft laugh rings in his ear.
“You’re so cheeky. We can just meet up tomorrow if you’d like, go on a picnic at a park or something. I really, really wanna meet your dog.”
John hears a sigh, then the sound of paper rustling in the background. He counts – one, two, three – here it comes.
“I miss you, John.”
He pushes the curtain aside with two fingers, peering his eyes in the small opening as he watches the figure at the other side of the building. She’s sitting on her study desk in front of a laptop, freshly showered and wearing specs that John can’t help his heart to ache.
It’s been so long.
“I miss you too, sweetheart. Couldn’t stop thinking about you when I was away.”
“That’s very sweet. I hope you brought souvenirs for me, though, or otherwise I will be very sad.”
“How can I forget? I bought everything that reminded me of you when I was there.”
“Now you’re just spoiling me.” Another laugh, then John sees her getting up from the chair and laying on the bed. “I’m happy that I’d get to see you again tomorrow, John. Everything that’s been happening is just so… I don’t know. Stressful, I guess. From my friend missing and school work, I don’t even know where to start. I just wanna be with you again.”
The mention of her friend Jay ticks him the wrong way, but he can’t also help but notice the longing and desperation laced in her voice as she said the last part. John knows it wouldn’t be too hard for her to be dependent on him, he just didn’t expect it to be this easy. They’ve only met once in real life, but their constant texting and calling through the phone makes it up for it.
“Don’t let yourself worry too much on matters that don’t concern you.”
Silence, then John watches her bite her nail anxiously. “What do you mean by that, John?”
He doesn’t particularly like the way his name just rolls off her tongue like that – like she’s his age, the same way Helen used to call him. He doesn’t want to be reminded of Helen when he’s with his little bambi, it just makes him feel even shittier with the situation. It sorta reminds John how much he truly changed when he lost Helen.
“Don’t worry about your friend too much. I know it’s hard that he’s missing, but don’t put him first before your own well being,” John advises, manipulation just dripping off his tongue like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He doubts she would notice, though. “I’m sure the police got it covered by now. I’m more worried about you.”
John could still see her expression through the window despite being far away. She’s thinking about it, letting herself get swayed by his lies and persuasion. She’s too easy, she just doesn’t know it herself, but John does. And he’s going to take advantage of it as much as he can.
He counts again – one, two, three – and she’s dropping her hand to the bed and sighing softly. There she is.
“Okay. You’re probably right, I worry too much.”
John doesn’t reply but gives a silent hum that indicates he’s agreeing. He sees her taking off her glasses and putting it on the bedside table, suddenly the itch in his hands is back.
There’s a voice nagging at the back of his head and asking him just what the fuck is he doing, that he should stop this madness before it gets out of hand, but would that really make a difference? Even if John did stop, he’d still continue to live with the fact that he was a monster who stalked a young woman out of sheer obsession. He’d already got her dependent on him, he’d already laid out the plan on how this would turn out, why is he suddenly questioning now?
He had done stuff that was worse than manipulating. He didn’t feel a single drop of empathy when he was slaughtering people and shooting them in the head, but why does he feel guilty manipulating her?
“John? Did you already fall asleep on me?”
Soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts, then it’s followed by a soft giggle. John feels butterflies exploding in his stomach.
“Sorry. I was just–”
“It’s okay, John, you can sleep. You’ve probably had a long day since you’ve been on a flight and everything. I’m going to sleep now too, we have a date tomorrow, remember? Don’t forget.” The faux strictness in her voice makes him smile, then he sees her smiling just as big through the window; giddy and excited. “Goodnight, John. It’s really nice talking to you again. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hangs up first, smiling to herself before putting the phone back to her nightstand. She settles on the bed comfortably, tucking herself into her blanket, unaware of the fact that there’s a monster lurking on the other building, watching her every move like a hawk.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the old mirror on the dusty wall, dressed in black and predatory, reminiscent of the devil himself.
Might as well live up to the name.
*
John is aware of how dead he looks in people’s eyes. He barely smiles, he’s always dressed in black, and he always has trouble showing emotions through his face. He makes sure that he gives off that aura that shows how much he dislikes everyone in the fucking room. How much he just wants to pull out his gun and shoot every single one of them in the head.
John despises the way they look at him. Like they pity him for losing his wife, for getting dragged back to the life he had already left. Though, he can’t really blame them, really. He used to pity himself too, even now for letting himself get even worse, but he wouldn’t really call it pity. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not pity.
The next day is interesting, to say the least.
He couldn’t get a minute of sleep the night before, the image of her sleeping so peacefully without a worry in the world bored into his mind. It’s extremely fascinating to him just how careless and… dumb she is. Dumb in a way that it’s benifiting John – the both of them, actually – and not in an offensive kind of way.
It was around two in the morning when he returned back to the hotel, managed to sleep for an hour or two before ripping off the blankets and had a drink the first thing in the morning. John didn’t bother taking a nap after that, just walking around the room making sure all is well and everything will be according to plan.
At 8 AM, she texted John a good morning and said it would be better for their date to be at 4 PM. John then replied that it was perfect, though he doubts he can wait that long.
12 PM, for a man as calm and collected as John, he sure as hell can’t fucking sit still in one place.
He’s paranoid. No amount of texts from his bambi is enough to keep him calm. The time is ticking too slowly for his liking and he has no other things to do in his free time. Except be paranoid.
John grabs his coat, kisses his dog goodbye and decides to stop by a grocery store to prepare for their date. He should at least make them both a sandwich and buy drinks, knowing that the little gesture would be enough to put a smile on her face.
1 PM, John comes back with shit ton of paper bags in his arms. He’s doing too much, he knows it, but too much is still better than not enough.
John goes to the kitchen to prepare. The orphanage taught him how to cook – well, not really. John taught himself how to cook, because if he’s not going to cook for himself and half of the kids back in Ruska, they’d all be dead with no survival instincts to save them from starvation. Being an assassin who could withstand any form of torture all while not knowing how to cook would be the greatest joke of the century. John’s not the one to be laughed out.
2 PM, everything is settled and in place, his little bambi texts him to let him know that she’s getting ready and cannot wait for their date. John then takes his time to get ready too.
3 PM, John is dressed in a nice white t-shirt with a brown leather jacket on top. He looks civilised, no one would know a damn thing that he’s one of the most feared men in the underworld who slaughters people for a living.
His dog is quiet in the corner, chewing on her bone toy until John puts a collar and leash around her neck. Her eyes perks up in excitement, already knowing they would go outside to play. John always takes his time making sure she gets to socialize with other dogs, whether it’s in a park or just down the street.
“You’re excited, baby?” John murmurs, petting her ears softly as he kneels down to her position. “You’re gonna meet someone special. Want you to be nice to her, alright? She’s gonna be your mom.”
John hauls everything into his car in a matter of minutes. The picnic basket, the blanket, his gifts for his little one that he got from Russia, also including his dog. She’s behaved yet excited as she peeks in the mirror watching her owner work.
He slides into the driver’s seat and locks his seatbelt, starting up the car and driving away from the hotel. Earlier, John had seen a couple of his co-workers loading up his trunk dressed like he’s going on a date – because he is – no doubt they’re snitching and would tell Winston. He couldn’t care less.
He arrives outside her apartment after thirty minutes, parking his car right by the entrance. He can’t help but grimace as he looks around the place. He remembers meeting her here, the day after he killed that good-for-nothing junkie. He wonders if she ever got the news, how she reacted when someone got killed the same day John was visiting her area.
It won’t be long before she wouldn’t be living in this area no more. It’s too dangerous, filled with a bunch of goons who get themselves tangled up in petty gang wars. John knows a gangster when he sees one, and it looks like every single man who lives in these crowded apartments are either pushers or gangsters with no sense of direction in life.
She doesn’t belong here. She should be in John’s house, locked up and isolated where she’s safe under his supervision. He would treat her like a princess, give her the things she deserve.
John gets out of the car, pulls out his phone and sends her a message to let her know he’s outside her building. He leans against the car as he waits.
A minute passes and a very happy bambi appears in the elevator, dressed in a pretty sundress and a white tote bag with a text John can’t see. She’s beaming up at him as she exits the building, and John hasn’t got the time to react before she’s lunging herself forward and going on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.
“Whoa easy,” John murmurs, immediately wrapping his arms around her waist for support, placing his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent; it’s sweet, not a surprise. “You miss me that much?”
“So much, you don’t even wanna know,” she murmurs in his chest, not quite reaching his neck despite being on her tiptoes. “I hope you miss me just as much.”
John pulls away, gives her a look as he places her large hands on her hips. “I might’ve missed you more than you missed me.”
She giggles, John could see her eyes through the heart-shaped sunglasses she’s wearing. It’s cute. “That’s not possible, I will fight you for it.”
“Hm,” John hums, eyes wandering down her lips to her dress. It stops just above her knees, John has to mentally prepare himself for the worst. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she says sheepishly. “You like it? I think it’s the perfect picnic outfit.”
“I love it,” John clarifies. “Looks perfect on you.”
“You look gorgeous yourself,” she giggles, eyeing John up and down teasingly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. He isn’t so sure how to react to that, hopefully his dick wouldn’t take the liberty to rise from the dead at this moment. “This is the first time I’ve seen you not wearing any suits. Domestic looks good on you.”
“What can I say, I’m a changed man.” John means both good and bad. “And before we go, I want to introduce you to someone.”
Before she gets a chance to ask, John slides out of the way from his position of covering the car window and reveals a very happy pitbull waiting to be introduced to her mother.
Her smile is wide when she spots John’s pet excitedly wagging her tail inside the car. “Oh my god, she is beautiful! John, open the door, hurry, hurry, hurry–”
“Okay, okay–”
The moment John pulls the door open, the dog comes rushing out to jump and starts licking her face.
“Oh, lookie here, baby! You’re such a cutie! What’s your name, hm? Don’t got a name yet? Your dad can’t think of a name to give ya’?”
Her giggles are like music to his ears.
The sound of paws pattering on the concrete and her high pitched voice talking to the dog fills the empty street in a matter of seconds. When she isn’t looking, John begins looking around the area, his eyes landing on the apartment building where he preys at some nights.
There’s a person at the front desk, staring at him like he knows something, and like a switch that goes off in his brain, John recognizes this man as the same one who bumped into him a few nights ago in the hallway in front of the abandoned room where he’s staying.
They meet eyes, John flashes him a knowing look, then the man immediately looks away.
John’s jaw ticks. He’s gonna have to deal with that later.
He turns his attention back to where it’s most needed. She’s still playing with the dog, crouching beside the car while the puppy just drowns in her affection. John really hates to break the moment.
“Shall we get going?” He interjects, voice deeper than usual, still feeling a little on the edge from that man by the front desk earlier.
“Sure. She gonna be in the backseat?”
“You bet.”
John opens the door for the both of them and lets her help the puppy get inside. Before he slams the door close, he makes sure to take another look at the apartment, seeing the man already staring back at him.
Yeah. He’s really gonna have to deal with that later.
*
They arrive at the park around 4:25 and John is the one to set up their spot while she and the puppy play in the empty field. It’s empty, totally empty, and John couldn’t be more thankful than that since he really doesn’t want to be around other people besides her. She’s the only one that matters.
John notices that she brought her own dog toys, probably the ones she keeps to herself since she does work in a vet clinic after all. The sight of her happily running around the grass with his dog is enough to bring him to his knees, he is only but a man.
John calls her to eat and the two of them come running towards him and plops down on the soft blanket next to the basket full of fruits.
“Had fun?” John speaks, sitting beside her on the ground as he watches her get a plate of pasta for the two of them. She insists she gets to plate their food, John lets her.
“Very. Didn’t know she’s quite energetic, luckily for her I can match her energy extremely well.”
“It comes with being young, I guess. Can’t really relate,” he jokes, receiving the plate full of pasta she gives him while she snickers at the statement.
“Come on, John. You’re still fit despite being old.” John watches her take a bite of the food. He’s not subtle, he’s straight up staring at her lips as she wraps her mouth around the fork, savoring the flavor with closed eyes. “Hm, this is delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“By myself,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his food to keep him from taking a bite of her instead. “I’m surprised you aren’t creeped out.”
“With what?”
“With my age,” John makes it clear. “You’re young with a bright future ahead of you–”
“Yet here I am having a date with an old man?” she interjects, wiggles her eyebrows, teasing clearly with the way she emphasizes the last part. “I can’t believe you thought I’m gonna get creeped out. You’re a grown man with a stable job and not to mention very hot, I find that very sexy.”
“You think I’m sexy?” he raises a brow.
“Yes, I think you’re very sexy. I haven’t once encountered a guy my age who has the same status as you,” she sets down the plate on her lap for a moment. “You know, experienced and mature.”
“I see,” John nods. It’s very clear that she’s always found the people who contrast her so well attractive. She wants a savior that would save her from everything, luckily John fits in the description quite too well.
They delve in a normal conversation after that. John makes sure to steer away all questions regarding him and his life, a way to learn more about her other than the pictures and videos and information he’d been sent by Alex.
John already knows a lot about her, it wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more.
Ten minutes go by, a bottle of wine has been pulled out of the basket and she’s spilling her whole life to John in a matter of moments. From lttle memories from childhood to how she moved from her hometown to New York to get away from her father. How when she was younger, she begged her toys to talk to her and she wouldn’t tell anyone. How their family pet back in the days impacted the choices she made to choose her career path – to become a veterinarian.
John listens. He’s always been good at listening instead of talking, so he listens.
5 PM, the two of them play with the dog and she decides to name her “Blue.”
“Is it because she has blue eyes?” John asks.
“Yeah. Not really original, I know, but it fits her.”
“Blue is perfect.”
It’s already 6 PM when they decide to head home. She’s still talking the moment they’re in the car and John is still listening. There’s something about her voice that just… pulls him in. It’s so sweet and soft.
When they arrive outside her apartment complex, it’s dead silent.
“I really enjoyed our date today, John,” she smiles when he opens the door for her, now standing in front of him and looking up to meet his eyes. “The pasta was delicious. I hope I get to eat more of them in the future – and oh, I really, really enjoyed playing with Blue! I’m so thankful that you let me name her even though it wasn’t really special–”
“Hush,” John jokingly interrupts. “The night might be over, but I can assure you that I will see you soon again.”
“How soon would that be again?”
“Eager to see me already?”
“Maybe.”
“You know I always make time for you, sweetheart,” John croons, placing a large hand on her chin and staring deeply into her eyes. “Is it too early for me to kiss you?”
She laughs, then wraps her arms around his waist to pull him in closer. John looks at her and falls in love for what to be a millionth time today. She never fails to take his breath away. “Not too early, I promise you. You should’ve done that sooner.”
“Well, I’m gonna do it now.”
Before she can add another word, John leans down to smash his lips against hers, his large hand finding its way on the small of her back to deepen the kiss that she can’t help but whimper into his mouth.
Fuck.
Her lips are so, so soft. John can still taste the lingering sweetness of the wine from earlier and being so close to her that her scent is shutting off his entire brain. If he won’t stop, he might just end up fucking her on the hood of his car until she can’t walk straight.
Their lips move in tandem and she’s following his head like she always does. Her small hands are gripping his leather jacket for support, so pliant and vulnerable, already trusting him enough to kiss him on their second date.
This is a sudden shift in his universe, John knows he’s already won.
He’s the first to pull away and their lips are wet and connected with saliva. She’s flushed and out of breath like expected, John wants nothing more but to break her and make her his.
Oh wait, she already is.
“How was that?” John asks, voice deep.
“I wanna do it again.”
He chuckles, rubbing his thumb on her cheeks while she’s busy avoiding his eyes. “Let’s save it for next time.”
He’s gonna control himself.
“That next time better come by fast,” she threatens jokingly. “I’m gonna miss you.”
“Don’t talk like you’re not gonna see me for days, baby,” John whispers. “You know I won’t let you go that easily. You’re mine now.”
He doesn’t miss the way her pupils dilated and the way the clutch she has on his leather jackets becomes tighter. She’s already fallen deep into his trap, John wants to push his claws in even deeper.
“Say it again,” she mutters, leaning in against his warm large hand as she closes her eyes. “Say it again. Please.”
John smiles when she isn’t looking. He really won.
“You’re mine.”
*
That same night, 4 AM, John is back in his work clothes and arranging something in a dark room.
The stench of metallic blood hitting his nose, and he stands in the middle of the room to inhale that scent – god, does he truly miss it.
The sight of a man in front of him wakes something dangerous within John’s veins. Hands tied up behind the chair, head dropped forward, lifeless and cold. His lower stomach is open, guts hanging off the floor as the other half is used to gag him in the mouth. His eyes are missing, John took the liberty to take them out for staring at him too much, and he couldn’t be any more relieved when he did.
“What do you know?” John had asked as soon as the man woke up from his head concussion.
“Y-You!” The man had yelled, John didn’t bother finding out his name. “You fucking creep –”
John’s hands twitched beside him. He remained silent.
The man went on a rant about how he’d seen John around lurking outside the apartment complex and using the abandoned room on the fifth floor and that’s all John needed to know.
He didn’t need another pair of eyes to tell him what’s right and wrong. Winston is already enough.
The next morning, John receives a text from none other than his bambi. A picture of numerous police cars outside her apartment and an ambulance, and another picture of a dead body covered in white blanket getting pulled out of the building.
Bambi : there was an accident that happened near me, john :((
Bambi : the police said somebody was killed and i’m scared
Bambi : they said he was gutted alive
John is smiling to himself when he types his response.
John : What kind of a sick person would do something like that?
Rating: clean, mentions of sex but not actual doing of the devil tango
Warnings: Mentions of sex, drinking, pining, one night stands. A touch of annoyed Eddie but also not really. Lots of fluff. Mutual pining.
Summary: Reader and Eddie hook up and the reader is really embarrassed the next morning because she thinks that Eddie will think less of her. But she actually has had a crush on him for years.
A/N: Okay. I know I said another part of Love Luna would be coming next but uh... I lied. Hehe. Sorry. It will be coming soon I promise but I have been packing for college and i actually leave in like two days to start driving to college sooooo finishing up a oneshot was easier. Hope you understand! Also My Rockstar will be coming up once I am back in college so in like a week another part should be out. But I also got more ideas for storylines while they are on tour so the story will probably continue for more than one more part. If you don't like that you can stop after the next part but I'mma keep writing it cause I love that story. Anyways, here is my Eddie Munson Masterlist! Enjoy the story my friends. I only proof read once. Good luck.
Word Count: 3.3k
Communication is sexy so... tell that special someone you would like to bite them in a loving way every chance you get xxx or do whatever this is... that might work to just make sure you wrap it before you tap it, folks.
─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
Soft groaning and sunlight being filtered through plastic shades pulls you from your sleep. You open your eyes and look around to find you’re not in your room. Your eyes widen as the memories of the night before comes rushing back to you. The party, the drinking, seeing your crush, making a move, failing at said move, puking, him taking you home (trying to at least, he couldn’t get you to remember your address), him sobering you up in his trailer, laughter, then more drinking, sleep away camp, laughter… again, clothes… then no clothes, kisses, wonderful kisses, sex, more sex, sex again, and then… sleep. You quickly look next to you to find your crush of five years sound asleep next to you.
Fuck Fuck Fuck. You look around his room as memories swirl through your head. This is not how you wanted this to happen. You’ve liked Eddie Munson for years. YEARS. But this. A one night stand is not what you wanted from him. You wanted everything. Dates, jokes, laughter, kisses, cuddles, marriage, kids even, everything. Now what is he going to think of you? You sit up and push your hand through your hair nervously. Eddie shifts next to you, groaning sleepily as his arms wrap around your waist.
“Stop moving.” He grumbles. Your heart nearly explodes. His voice is deep and sleepy as he pulls himself closer to your side. “Go back to sleep. It’s so early.” He huffs. Not knowing exactly what to do you lay back down. Staring up at the ceiling stiff with nerves. Eddie pulls you into his chest causing you to turn onto your side. You can’t help but blush so fiercely you pray his eyes never open. Then again… Eddie’s eyes were your favorite feature of his. As your chest presses against his you remember you’re both very naked. He hums in content but your eyes widen in embarrassment. Sure. You guys had sex but… this was different. Besides. You were basically in love with Eddie and now that you had all your wits about you this was like a twisted dream come true.
You stare into his neck and chin with a hot blush creeping all over your body. God. What is he going to think of you? That you’re just some whore who sleeps with everyone? You weren’t like that. You only slept with him because you’re in love with him and have been for years. That and alcohol makes it hard for you to continue to lie to yourself about your feelings for him. You shift a bit in his grasp and stare up at his sleeping face. His lashes relaxed against his cheeks. His lips pulled into a sleepy smile. You can feel your heartbeat racing beneath your chest. He’s so goddamn pretty.
“Staring is rude.” You jump at his voice and he chuckles through a soft yawn. His eyes slowly blink open and he smiles down at you. Pulling you flush against him. Your cheeks burn and he laughs again. “You’re easily flustered. It’s cute.” He hums staring at you kindly but this only causes you to blush more if that’s even possible.
“Hi…” you whisper causing Eddie to grin brightly.
“Hi.” He shifts his head down toward yours. “So. Last night was interesting.” He sighs. Suddenly, all the warmth fades from you as nerves settle back in. Oh god. He’s going to think you’re nothing but a common whore. This is mortifying.
“Uh… yea…” you whisper softly looking down to his chest, still pressed to yours.
“Look… if you’re embarrassed there’s no need to be. No one is gonna find out. I’m not gonna tell anyone. And even if I did. It’s not as if they would actually believe that y/n y/l/n would actually fuck the town freak.” His voice is soft and kind yet so serious. You quickly look up to him and shake your head. Your hair tangling and twisting against the pillows.
“No no. That’s… that’s not it.” You whisper softly and Eddie sighs.
“Sure it isn’t.” He chuckles but this is harsher than his sleepy chuckles from before. God. This is not going how you want it to at all. “I’m gonna go shower. Your clothes are all folded over there.” Eddie releases you from his grip and you instantly miss his warmth. He stands up from the bed and you blush deeply as you try not to stare at his ass. “Look. I’m not gonna tell anyone. And it’s still pretty early so no one is gonna see you.” He glances over his shoulder and he grabs a towel from the corner of his somewhat messy room. Okay… it’s quite messy. Not that you really care. “No one has to know that little miss perfect likes a freak in the bed.” He winks but it’s not sweet or cheeky. It’s… you’re not quite sure what it is but it’s not Eddie. “See ya in chem.” He huff before leaving his room, closing the door behind him. You quickly sit up and question if you should go after him. Just spill your guts. Tell him the only reason you left with him is because you happen to be in love with him and when you are drunk you cannot hide your feelings… or apparently your sexual attractions.
You hear a shower squeak to life as you climb out of his warm bed. You walk over to your clothes and groan. You forgot that you wore that stupid dress. Tight and if you were honest, the ugliest shade of pink you’ve ever seen in your life. God. You would rather walk around naked than put that think back on. You slip into your underwear and then glacé around Eddie’s for for something to borrow. You quickly pick up a black tee off the floor and turn it right side out. You look at it and memories flash through your head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I like your shirt…” you whispered softly catching Eddie’s attention. He turned to you confused after looking around.
“You like Dio?” He smiled softly at you. You nodded with a bright smile trying to hide the blush that was creeping onto your cheek.
“Yea. My dad and I listen to him all the time. What’s your favorite song?” You whispered as you stared up at a shocked Eddie Munson.
“Well…”
“Eddie Munson! Stop distracting my other students. Focus on your work.” Your teacher huffed making you both jump a bit.
“Oh. Yes. I would hate to distract miss y/l/n from the important topic of… sorry what exactly are we learning this week?” Eddie chuckled as he smirked at the teacher. You try to stifle a giggle but do a very poor job.
“See me after class.”
“Ooo. That’s a bit forward don’t cha think?” He winked as he leaned forward onto his elbows.
“Mr. Munson!”
“Hey now. I’m not the one flirting with students.” Eddie shrugged before looking to you with a cheeky grin.
“That’s it. Go to the office. Now.”
“As you wish, my love.” Eddie chuckled as he gathered his things. His things consisted of a pencil and a sketch book but still. As he was leaving the desk he smiled at you. “Gypsy. That’s definitely my favorite. I’ll see ya in Mr. Marley’s class if I’m set free from my prison sentence in time.”
“Mr. Munson move along.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The memory itself makes you blush so deeply it’s embarrassing even though no one is around to see it. You slip into the familiar shirt and look around for a pair of pants but all you can see scattered around are black jeans. You frown and quickly grab a pair of boxers that are hanging half out of an open drawer of the dresser that your clothes sit on. You slide them on over your panties and sigh looking around. Your eyes land on a guitar displayed on the wall. You softly shuffle over to it and smile. You had seen him play it once or twice at the hideout when you had snuck away from friends just to go watch Eddie’s band play. Always hiding in the back of the bar. Hidden in the shadows, terrified he might see you. He never did. He was always too wrapped up in his music. It was beautiful really.
You glance down below the guitar at a worn table that holds an even more worn box with records inside. Tons. And tons. Of records. You let your fingers slide over the soft and frayed tops the record sleeves. You dip your finger between two fingers them and pull out a random record. Metallica’s new album. You smile. Your dad had just brought this last week. It had been playing in his house ever since he brought it home last Tuesday. God. You loved time at your dads. Your moms was a nightmare, she’s the reason you have that pink monstrosity that sits on Eddie’s dresser. It’s not that you don’t like pink either… it’s just ugly. You are about to pull the record from its sleeve when Eddie’s bedroom door opens.
You whip around, record still in hand, and your eyes fall onto a very wet Eddie. His hair dripping down his chest, water gliding down his skin to the towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His eyes widen when they land on you wrapped in his clothes.
“You’re still here…” he whispers softly somewhere between a question and statement.
“Oh. Uh was I supposed to be gone?” You smile softly confused about what to do and where to look. You look down to the record in an attempt to not stare at naked Eddie. You hear rustling, the door shuts, clothing rustles, and then you feel water droplets land on your arm. You look up to find Eddie in black ripped jeans, boxers sticking out of the top, and he is roughly rubbing the towel against his wet hair. “Woah! Stop stop!” You giggle as water flies everywhere. He looks to you mid drying session. Confusion all over his face. You giggle a bit and quickly set the record on his bed. “That’s not how you’re supposed to fry your hair Eddie.” You shake your head as you make your way over to him.
“Pardon?” He chuckles as you grab the towel from him.
“You’re supposed to scrunch it. Especially with curls like yours. Not just rustle it about.” You demonstrate with a small section of his hair that frames his face. You scrunch the towel around his hair and up towards his scalp. “See. Like that.” You smile handing the towel back to him only then realizing that he is staring down at you intensely. You blush and step back from him.
“You’re in my clothes.” His voice is low and it’s hard to tell how he is feeling from the tone. You look at him and quickly feel your body go numb.
“S-sorry. It’s just. That dress is really uncomfortable. I can… I can give them back at school or I can come by tomorrow and drop them off. I just. I hate that dress.” You mumble through your words and Eddie chuckles.
“S’okay. Don’t get all flustered. I’m not mad. Just making statements.” He smiles at you as he crosses his arms over his chest. "So... do you like need a ride home? Is that why you're still here?" He huffs a bit causing his wet bangs to wiggle just slightly. He stares over at you with such intensity it is hard to tell whether or not he is annoyed with you or simply observing you.
"I... no. I can find a way home... I just... I... I'm sorry." You stutter feeling tears beginning to form in your eyes. This is not how you wanted things to go between the two of you. This is not how you wanted him to see you. This is not how you wanted to think of you. "I'm sorry." You sniffle a bit and push your hair from your face. "I'm so embarrassed. I'm so sorry." The dam breaks and tears start to trickle down your cheeks. You hiccup a bit and You hear Eddie shuffle closer.
"W-why... why are you embarrassed, y/n?" You feel Eddie's palm on your shoulder and you look up to meet his gaze. "I... I promise. I'm not gonna tell anyone.. I'm not that type of guy." He frowns deeply and you shake your head violently.
"No! No!" You sob and roughly rub your fists against your eyes, angry at yourself for a whole array of things. Sleeping with Eddie on a drunken whim rather than a romantic setting like you had always pictured, crying in front of your crush, waiting all these years to work up the courage to actually talk to him, and so much... so much more. "No... not about that. I-I I'm just... I'm embarrassed that..." You take in a deep shaky breath and step back from Eddie trying to get the courage to tell him. "This is not how I wanted this-this to h-happen." You blush as tears streak down your face. You look up into Eddie's eyes and he squints down at you.
"Wanted what to happen?" He hums curiously. You shake your head and shrug.
"I-I... I like you, Eddie Munson. I have for some time now." You whisper looking down at your feet. His silence makes your stomach twist with nerves. You look up from your feet to find Eddie staring at you with suspicion.
"You... um, I'm confused." He laughs a bit until his face falls into a frown. "Look, if this was a dare of some sort that's fine. I get it but don't you think sleeping with me is enough. You don't have to lie about-"
"What are you talking about?" You sob shaking your head in confusion and frustration. Why won't he believe you?
"Y/n..." He steps closer to you and stares down at you in confusion. "You actually... you actually, have feelings f-for me?" His brows knit together as he scans your face for any sign of trickery or jokes. You stare up at him through teary eyes and nod slowly.
"Y-yes." You shake your head and look down to your feet. "God. This is mortifying." You mumble through a shy laugh and Eddie chuckles gently. You snap your attention back to him and he smiles down at you.
"Why are you mortified?" He chuckles as he pushes a piece of your hair behind your ear gently. A quick flash of last night flies through your mind. Eddie holding you close in his living room, smiling as he tucks your hair behind your ear, a lot like how he just did. His lips drifting down to your neck. You blush as you remember the feeling.
"A thousand reasons." You mumble trying to push the idea of Eddie's lips far from your mind as a deep red blush covers your cheeks. Eddie smirks down at you teasingly.
"Well, name a few, milady." He hums. God he is so charming it hurts. It's cruel how flustered his smile can make you.
"I-I... well, it's not everyday that you wake up in your crush of five years' bed." You push a humorless laugh from your lips as you stare up at him. "Especially not naked... Gosh... you must think I'm such a slut." You shake your head and look down to your feet but only for a split second before Eddie's hands are cupping your face. He gazes seriously into your wide eyes.
"Don't say that. You're not a slut, y/n. Don't ever say that." His eyes flicker between yours waiting for you to respond. You nod cautiously, but really, the only thing your mind can focus on are his warm palms cupping your wet cheeks.
"I... I just don't want you to think I sleep with everyone I-"
"Shut up, love." Eddie chuckles and presses his forehead to yours. "I could never think that about you. Promise." He whispers sweetly. "Even if some of the things you did to me last night weren't so..." Eddie pauses a moment as he searches for the correct word. He smirks down at you as he tilts his head, raising his brows teasingly, "ladylike." He smirks at you and you shove his chest. He stumbles back a bit but his hands catch your hips. He pulls himself back to you and chuckles loudly. "I'm just playing with you, your majesty." He smiles sweetly at you. You shake your head as you wipe tears from your face before looking back into Eddie's eyes. You blush deeply when he grins softly. Damn that smile.
"I like you too, by the way." Eddie chuckles casually. Your whole body tenses. There is no way he just said that.
"You what?" You search his eyes for some sign of a cruel joke even though you know Eddie would never do such a thing.
"Don't act so surprised. Haven't you noticed me staring... like... all the time." His brows knit together and his hands fall to your hips once again. He pulls you against him. You try to search all your memories for times where you have caught Eddie staring at you but you only come up with times he has caught you staring at him. You blush embarrassed by the mere thought of it. "Besides," His voice pulls your from your thoughts, "You think I just sleep with every girl I can?" He smirks at you causing your stomach to knot with tension.
"Well, I don't know... I mean-"
"Woah, woah. Do you think I'm some kind of man whore?" He stumbles back from you dramatically. His hand making a fist and he plunges an invisible dagger into it heart. "You wound me, milady." He pouts at you theatrically. You giggle and shake your head.
"No. No. I just... I figured that... you're very attractive so plenty of girls would want to-" Your voice trails off when your eyes meet his big brown doe eyes. He smirks.
"Town freak. Remember?" He gestures to himself and puts his hands on his hips.
"Don't say that. You're not a freak, Eddie." You watch as his eyes soften and his cheeky persona falls away. He stares at you with nothing but adoration. He smiles and you can swear you see a light shade of pink dust his cheeks.
"Mmm. So I can be a whore but not a freak." He chuckles looking down at his feet obviously trying to hide his blush.
"I never said you were a whore, Eddie." You giggle and he scoffs playfully.
"Do you not remember two minutes ago? You wounded me deeply." He pouts and you tilt your head amused by his theatrics, like you always have been.
"Oh, you poor thing. I never meant to wound you." You smirk, a thick layer of taunting covers your tongue. You take a step closer to Eddie and you can tell he is just a nervous as you are by this move.
"W-well... I have a few ideas of how you could make it up to me." He grins widely and quickly makes his way to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "None of them are very..." He dips his head into your neck, his lips grazing your skin. "Uh... well, none are really-"
"Ladylike?" You question knowingly causing Eddie to pull back and meet your gaze.
"Mhm." He nods with a soft smile on his lips as his eyes drift all along your face. Stopping at your lips.
"Well, that's okay. I was never much of a lady anyways." You giggle and his eyes light up.
"Of course not. What kind of lady falls for the whorish freak?" He teases before pulling you into him and crashing his lips against yours.
─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
Okey dokey. That do be it for this one. Let me know if you want a part two of this one... it would be mainly, uh, spice. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
I would also like to give a super special thanks to these two ethereal babes right here. @iwillbiteabitch @i-love-ptv The support and encouragement you two give me is literally so amazing like, it makes me want to never stop writing for you two goblins.
Eddie Munson cuts the crusts off your sandwiches for you. Not because you ever said you don’t like crusts but because that’s something he always saw other kids from loving families have in their lunch boxes at school.
He’s been conditioned to associate a lack of crusts with an abundance of affection and stability. And that’s what he wants to give to you, in all facets of life. It’s an unspoken assumption on his part, and you don’t ask. You just smile when he hands you a plate, turning away to chuckle and pretend like you don’t notice him hastily stuffing the dry edges of the bread into his mouth. Leaving you with the soft, tasty center.
summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. now friends, you, eddie and junie take a trip to the city. queue oreos with double the cream, a sock related mishap, a display of strength, storybooks, matching pajamas, a velveteen rabbit and a tray of cupcakes to eat on the drive home [15k]
warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, eddie’s mom implied to have passed away, mention of past falsely presumed self-harm (not graphic, just baby eddie scratching a rash and wayne worrying), hair tourniquet + intense panic
𓆩❤︎𓆪
Eddie doesn't mean to come knocking. He's staring at the ceiling with an open tray of Oreos on his chest, chewing through the boredom of a Monday evening and the pain of an aching back when he thinks of you and Junie.
Toddlers like cookies, right?
He shoves his socked feet into poorly laced converse and turns out all the lights as he leaves. The door slams shut behind him, a rattling of metal ringing into the crisp night while he takes his steps two at a time.
He starts up the street to your trailer and slows as your home comes into view. The lights are on, the curtains open. You stand in the middle of the room with your eyes closed, stretching to one side with your arms held high above your head. He can see the moment your back pops, see the tension of the day slip away just slightly. The exposed stretch of your tummy shines in the light.
You say something to Junie. He decides to stop acting like a stalker and bumps up your steps, hesitating at the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
What the fuck was he going to say? Hey, guys, I brought a half-eaten tray of cookies. Um. Because I missed you both? Sorry if that's weird?
"What kind of loser…" he scathes. He doesn't finish, bringing his hand to the door and knocking with a haphazard explanation waiting on the tip of his tongue.
You open the door a short few seconds later. You smile wide, wide enough to open the yawning gap in his chest all over again. Tonight when he goes home he'll have to close it like he has to so often lately after seeing you. Pretend his feelings for you – whatever they are – are smaller, less terrifying.
"Eddie," you say, and the gap stretches with how you say it, fond and warm and breezy. "Hey, where's your jacket? It's too cold to walk over here without one."
He doesn't have to explain himself at all, as it turns out. You open the door and step aside to let him past.
He grins at you. "Thought I'd brave the great outdoors without any armour."
You nod like it isn't all nonsense to you and maybe it isn't, maybe being friends with him is clueing you in to all his fantastical lingo. He likes you more for it either way, especially when you say, "You need a healing potion. It's freezing."
You're embarrassed at your attempt. Eddie can't believe how cute you are, lost for words and flailing. His chest warms with affection.
Junie saves you both, whizzing down out of the nest of pillows where she'd been buried on the couch and across the room with surprising speed and accuracy, barrelling for his knees. He grins as she wraps herself around them and starts talking.
It's mostly unintelligible until she says, "Hi! Hi, Eddie!"
He hugs her back with his hand. "Hi, Junie. Good evening."
"Good," she manages in return. She's all but mastered good morning and afternoon but evening continues to elude her.
"What were you watching? Your Muppet Babies?" He looks at the screen to find Kermit, the green frog, singing a song. "Been doing some singing practice for the band?"
"You want coffee?" you ask. Aforementioned healing potion. "I have decaf."
"I brought cookies."
"Warm milk it is," you declare, disappearing behind one of the kitchen cabinets.
Your bravado makes him laugh.
He finds his attention stolen once again by your lovely daughter when she complains, glaring up at him fiercely and coveting his hand. He balances the Oreos on your table by the door and offers her both, naked of their usual rings bar one.
Junie drags him over to her pillows and tries to climb back up. She refuses to let go of his hand, making it an insurmountable feat. Eddie awes at her efforts and helps her back into the nest, hands closing around her small waist and lifting.
He drops her into the pillows with just enough roughness to garner a laugh. "Sorry, my hands slipped. Hey, what's going on here, junebug? This isn't your usual hangout."
"I felt bad because she's always on the floor," you call from the kitchen. He can see your hands and your torso through the gap of countertop and cabinets. You pour milk into a pan on the stovetop and tap your fingers against the handle frenetically. He wonders if you're anxious about something.
Junie whines until Eddie sits next to her. As soon as he's situated she takes his hand again insistently and turns her attention to the television. He rubs the soft, small back of her hand with a less soft thumb and peers down the way at you.
"She loves the floor,” he says.
"I know," you mumble ruefully. A tad theatric. He must be rubbing off on you. "I had to bribe her into sitting on the couch."
"Yeah? What's the tab?"
"A few dozen kisses and all the pillows from my bed."
"Shame it wasn't half a tray of cookies."
"I think those might help me out."
After you've poured the milk into two tall glasses, you admit to him in a smaller voice that you're not sure if Junie likes Oreos.
"'Cos they're bitter?" he asks.
Milk in hand, you sit in the free seat next to Eddie and try not to sound as embarrassed as he knows you're feeling when you say, "She's never had them."
"I'll bring chocolate chip next time."
You shake your head vehemently. "You don't have to bring anything, ever."
"I like sugar."
You smile at him like you know he's trying to make you feel better, a touch shame-faced. He smiles at you in return and hopes it shows how much it doesn't matter – bringing snacks with him when he visits is hardly a generosity. You're friends.
He keeps trying to have that conversation with you, about sharing and money and all that terrible, embarrassing hardship that isn't embarrassing whatsoever but the words taste like chalk in his mouth.
Instead, he offers the hand that hasn't been stolen by Junie to you for a glass of milk. "One of those for me?"
You pass it to him.
"Why'd you feel bad? You're not forcing her," he says as he takes a sip.
"You don't think it looks cruel?"
"No way. She's one of the happiest babies I've ever met, who cares if she lies on the floor?"
"How many babies do you know?"
"One."
You're laughing when you say, "I don't know. I think it's a habit. But we have a couch, so she should sit on it."
Eddie retrieves the Oreos. Junie watches curiously as he peels open the tray, four rows, two empty and two full of black and white cookies.
He takes one and passes it to you without looking at you. Eye contact gives you the opportunity to reject it.
When he's heard the soft crunch of your first bite, glass of milk between his knees, Eddie holds an oreo up purposefully and twists. "See, Junie?"
He licks a big stripe over the vanilla cream. The cream spreads edge to edge as he pushes both sides back together. Softened by a generous dip in milk, he eats the cookie in one vagabond bite.
"You wanna try?" he asks when he's done.
Big hands over her small ones, Eddie shows her how to twist an Oreo open. She brings the cookie with the least of the cream to her mouth and bites it. Her pout wobbles in mild disgust. Eddie tries not to laugh.
She has to like Oreos. They're a staple.
"Let me show you," he says gently, taking the cream heavy side out of her hands. Dark crumbs stain his fingers as he holds it up to her face. "You gotta lick it."
She doesn't want to, evidenced by her wrinkled nose and untrusting gaze.
"You'll have to do it for her," he tells you gravely.
Moving to kneel in front of him, you take the oreo out of his hands and lick it before stealing back the half of the cookie Junie had been munching on and squishing them back together. You dunk her sandwich in milk and press it to her lips until she deigns to take a small bite.
"Yummy?" you ask.
She takes the cookie back, a mess of dark black mush collecting at the corners of her mouth as she eats it.
You gaze up at him from the floor. Your eyes look damn pretty, more so when he offers the tray to you, your smile a beacon. "I haven't had Oreos since I was a kid," you say excitedly.
"Do they taste like you remember?"
You rest your hand on his knee and lean in. "They need more of the filling," you say secretively.
"Yeah?" Eddie's in motion, twisting one oreo apart and then another. He takes the halves with the most cream and pushes them together.
One oreo, twice the cream.
You giggle as he passes it to you. "Oh my god." You're giddy, arm heavy on his thigh.
You eat it like it's something crazy expensive, all smiley and indulgent. You look so pleased that he immediately starts to make you another.
"Eddie," you protest, covering your mouth, "don't, don't waste them."
"I won’t waste them. I like the cookie more than the cream,” he lies.
"Oh."
You finish your oreo. Eddie can’t find it in himself to be modest about it; you’re smiling and it’s his doing and that fills him with pleasure.
He watches you mistreat his jeans as you chew the second, your fingers pulling distractedly at the rips. You tuck your hand underneath, white threads tensing over your knuckles and fingerprints brushing over his kneecap, your entire face cringing as a thread snaps from the pressure.
Eddie looks away quickly. He can feel your eyes on him and has to bite back a smile as you assess if you’ve been caught.
You could ruin them completely for all he cares.
Junie makes happy noises beside him. She’s realised the middle of the Oreo is the sweetest and has split one open in her hands. A terrible mess ensues, cocoa powder fingerprints smattered over the pillows she’s buried in and vanilla cream marring her nose in a sticky line.
“Could you make any more of a mess for your poor mom?” he asks. The rhetoric is lost on her; she says something cheerful and holds her hand out for another cookie.
Her face — expectant, small, cute, all of it evokes an uncontrollable urge to do whatever it is she wants him to do.
“Is that, like, a kid thing?” he asks.
You pull your fingertips away from his skin and cock your head. “What?”
He splits an oreo and offers Junie the cream-heavy half, clarifying through a mouthful of dark cookie, “Following her every command.”
You sit at full height. He instantly misses the heat of your front to his knees, the way you’d draped yourself over him familiarly, and is wondering how he might begin to convince you to do so again as you think it over.
“I don’t know. Maybe. It might just be a Junie thing, but I guess that’s immature to think. S’pose it’s hormones or something. Like when cats meow.”
He giggles at you. Hormones? Cats?
“What?” you ask, half defensive, half sheepish.
“I just- I love it when you talk like that.”
“Like what?”
He shrugs and takes another pull of milk to think of a way to say, Well, when you’re tired you get nonsensical, and it’s charming how confident you are but hard to follow without offending you. Is there a way to say that without offending you? Or worse, without revealing every wretched feeling he has for you?
“I sounded pretty stupid,” you summarise.
“No! Never. I love that you think like that. That you’d think about cats meowing.”
“They do it to manipulate us,” you explain.
He can almost see the heat of an embarrassed flush radiating off of your cheeks, the press of your lips so endearing he almost leans forward to feel it. He can imagine it, his thumb over your mouth, the pad pulling down your bottom lip.
There’s an arrogance in thinking you’d let him.
“Jungle cats, tigers and lions and stuff, they don’t meow,” and you’re still going! He has to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from bursting. “Because they don’t need to. They have no idea what a baby sounds like, and they don’t need us to take care of them so they’ve never learned how to meow. Babies are like that. We hear them crying and we want it to stop.” You have a smile on your face that says, I don’t know if what I’m saying is true, but I’m gonna pretend it is. Pretend with me?
Eddie’s all about pretending. “Cats are master manipulators,” he eggs you on, "but you realise not everyone wants babies to stop the way you do? Some people just don’t like babies.”
“That’s okay. More babies for me.” You lean out to tap his forehead. “Touch wood.”
“What?” he asks.
“Touch wood,” you repeat. “I don’t actually want more babies right now, don’t wanna jinx myself by saying it, so I had to touch wood. You don’t have that superstition?”
“Are you saying my head is made of wood?”
Your sudden laugh is stunning; he can’t bring himself to be offended.
When Junie's had more Oreos than she should've and the milk's all gone Eddie stands up before you can do it yourself and takes the empty glasses with him, putting them on the kitchen counter with a click.
He grabs an almost empty pack of wet wipes off of the top of the refrigerator and sits down next to Junie, talking fast in hopes of distracting her.
"I got a call last night," he begins, pulling a wet wipe from the pack and taking Junie's wrist into his hand. He doesn't use the wipe at first, tryimg to convince her that this is all affection. "The phone went ring ring," he rolls the sound around, "and I was thinking, who the heck is calling me so late?"
He plays up his outrage but keeps a huge smile in place as he works his thumb into Junie's palm, tickling in circles.
"So I answer the phone, and I say, who is this? And you know who it is?"
Junie waits, looking like she might be close to laughing. And he's just getting started.
Eddie takes a deep breath. "Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here! Is this Junie on the other end?"
What his impression lacks in accuracy it makes up in enthusiasm.
Her little mouth opens. He wipes the corners with the wet wipe and then her chin. "So I said, no, Mr. Frog, I'm Junie's neighbour. I'm Eddie.
"Kermit said, you can call me Kermit, thank you very much. Mr. Frog was my father."
You snort beside him. He tries not to look at you because he knows your happy face will stop him in his tracks, your laughter enough to make him smile and break character.
He squares his expression and begins again. "I need to talk to Juniper, it's very important." He wipes down her sticky hands, her stained fingers and palms, worse than smug when she doesn't complain and pull them away. "I said, I'm sorry Mr. Kermit but I can't put her on, she's all safe and snug in bed with her mom. And Kermit said, oh, okay. Well, please tell Junie this."
Junie's looking up at him, surprised, very pleased, practically wiggling in her seat. She's lovely. Just like her mom.
He doesn't want to do the voice for this part, struck with a sudden sense of awe. "She is… the smartest, most prettiest, loving little girl in the whole world."
Eddie beams at her and drops her damp hands. When he impersonates Kermit this time, he's trying as hard as he can. "I'd only like her more if she were green!"
-
You're clinging to sanity.
It's Wednesday, it's washing day, and you haven't managed a single load of clothes since you got home because Junie won't stop crying. This isn't new; babies cry constantly and toddlers aren't much different. But, it's been three hours. She's too old for colic.
Junie has screamed, she's sobbed, she's slapped her tiny hands into your chest. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, she's just communicating her panic. That doesn't stop the growing distress.
You're terrified.
You've found yourself in tears, too.
"Just tell me, baby," you plead.
It's useless. She screams so loud her voice cracks, and you decide that nows the time. You have to go to the hospital.
You don't think you can let her go long enough to strap her into her car seat. Immediately, you think of Eddie. You don't even lock the door. The small walk to his house feels a block long.
He must hear her crying as you approach because the door swings open just as you mount the first step. You backtrack.
"I'm really sorry," you say quickly, knowing this isn't something he ever signed up for. "I don't know what to do, she won't stop and I think there's something wrong." Your voice wobbles.
There's a huge flash of something akin to the panic you're feeling over his face but he pushes it away, descending the steps two at a time. His hand immediately comes up to your shoulder, fingers curled into your shirt.
"Chill out," he says, more stern than you've ever heard him. It’s surreal to see him turn like that. Almost like he’s become one of his characters, the voices he does for Junie’s story books.
You take a ragged breath.
"I'm serious. You need to calm down. You understand?"
Junie gives a blistering shout and your face crumples. "Eddie," you say.
"Can I hold her?" he asks, softer.
You can see in his face that he isn't sure, that he's out of his depth, but you're so desperate for a life raft that you nod and squeeze your eyes closed, passing her into his waiting arms. Everytime she cries – every wicked intake of air and every subsequent bellowing sob makes your chest ache. You have a splitting headache. Honestly, you're worried you might fall over.
"How long has she been crying?" he asks, looking over her face and shoulders with a perplexed frown.
"Hours. At first I thought she was tired or- or hungry but I've tried everything, Eddie, everything."
"She was like this when you picked her up?"
You nod.
He pats her back, the other hand rubbing down one of her legs soothingly. "Did she hurt herself?" He's looking at you without an ounce of judgement.
"Not- not that I know of." You'd looked under her shirt and trousers already. She doesn't have a single bruise.
He starts to walk back towards your home. You don't follow at first and he reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you along as he says, "Come on, sweetheart. We'll go down to Hawkins general, yeah? Just to be safe."
"Yeah."
Junie screams. "It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, again and again and again. He doesn't hesitate, his voice velveteen.
His hand stays on your arm until you're by the car. He's never done a car seat before and you can tell: he tucks her into it with infinite care but can't work out how to do the buckles. You laugh wetly and then feel very guilty. wiping your face with one hand before ducking down to do them yourself. Junie glares at you as you do, still very much crying and now incensed at being strapped in.
You stand back to take her in and push your thumbs across her wet cheeks and under her snotty nose uselessly, feeling so sorry for her, so guilty. Why can't you work out what's wrong? Why can't you fix it?
Eddie stands by your side, waiting.
“You got it,” he encourages as you pull back. "You're okay."
You smile weakly and then narrow your eyes, the two of you seeing it at the same time – Junie reaching desperately for her sock.
You peel it off with shaking hands and feel another hot shock of tears. There, around one of her toes, is a tourniquet. The skin is swollen but looks unbroken, darkened by blood
You smile because Oh my god, this is what's wrong, and then you panic twice as much as you had before, because Oh my god, her tiny toe.
"Eddie, I need- I need something. I need a- a nail scissors or-" You drag your hands down your face, in the thick of it. Adrenaline or cortisol or something must race through your veins, your hands shaking with it.
Eddie pulls you back by the hem of your shirt. "We can't cut it away. You'll never get the blade under that- What is that? A hair?"
"Yeah. A hair."
A lightbulb moment. You brush past him and almost fall up the steps back into your trailer.
"Stay there," you say without any explanation.
You step over the mess you'd left behind and barrel into the bathroom, clipping your shoulder on the bathroom door and slamming onto your knees.
You're lucky you have it, a tiny pot of hair removal cream in an old makeup bag under the sink. Resisting the urge to kiss the lid, you rush back out to the car where Eddie holds one of Junie's hands in his. He looks an impossible mixture of worried and relieved when you reappear.
You elbow digs into his chest as you lean over, opening the cream and smearing a line over Junie's swollen toe. She whimpers and shouts and tries desperately to get out of the carseat and, to your devastation, away from you.
"What is that?" Eddie asks from behind you.
"A hair remover."
You wipe the delapitor clumsily into your only good jeans so you can take both of Junie's arms into your hands. She doesn't want to be touched but you need to be holding her, at least a little bit.
"How long does it take?"
"I'm not sure… Not long. If it doesn't work we'll still have to go to the hospital."
Eddie pushes his hands into the top of your back in answer, his fingers curling either side of your neck like he might give you a massage. You shudder as he pulls you against him, as his fingers trace an invisible pattern.
Junie looks up at you both. Her wounded expression loosens. Maybe she's realised that you've figured out her problem, maybe she's just glad to be looked at. Either way, she subdues.
The hair removal cream's acrid smell tickles your stuffed up nose. You sniffle and Eddie's fingers work into your neck lightly, a silent and unwavering It's okay.
You don't see the hair snap so much as you see the pressure wean. You smother a sob, your relief palpable as you pull your shirt sleeve down to cover your hand and wipe it away. Junie shrieks.
You take the hair between your nails and pull.
"Oh my god," you say, holding it up between you.
Everything feels a little bit hazy after that. Eddie rubs your shoulders placatingly before encouraging you away from the door so he can unclip Junie and pull her out of her car seat. He guides you away from the car and back into your trailer, over the mess and into the kitchen.
You sit heavily in a battered kitchen chair. Eddie stands in front of you, Junie on his hip and a frown warping his pretty features. She grizzles, less when he sets her down in your lap carefully.
"Is that okay?" he asks softly. Then, when you nod, "Are you okay? You look like you're gonna pass out."
"I don't feel well."
"No, I bet you don't. Take it easy."
You pull Junie's leg up to examine her foot. Her toes are covered in hair remover still. "Could you get me the baby wipes, please?"
"Sure can. It'll cost you, though." His joke falls a little flat. You try to smile anyhow, your little huff forcing a last tear. You blink until it's gone, aggravated with yourself.
After all, her toe looks better. Sore, still swollen, but better. Though you could just be seeing what you want to see.
Eddie tries to pass you the baby wipes but your hands are shaking too badly to take them. Without a word he opens the pack, kneeling on the floor in front of you to wipe down her foot tenderly. His eyebrows pinch together when she whimpers, and he murmurs a sorry, "I know, I know."
You're trying very hard to calm down.
"All done," he tells her, parentese in play. "You are so brave, junebug. You're the bravest little girl I've ever met. That's why me and your mom decided you were Juniper the Brave, and you proved us both right."
He taps the tip of a ring-heavy finger under her chin. You watch from over her shoulder. "Really brave. You did a good job, the best job ever," he praises, tilting his head to catch your eye as he says it.
You smile at him the best that you can. He holds your gaze for a weighted second and then drops it back to Junie. "Do you feel better?" he asks.
She doesn't answer, only tips her head against your chest.
Eddie pulls off her remaining sock and waves it at her. "Don't need this."
"Do you think she'll throw up if I make her some dinner?" you ask, the kind of question you don't usually get to ask someone else. A luxury to defer judgement.
"Maybe. Does it matter?"
"I don't want to clean up puke," you say pathetically.
Eddie softens. "I'll clean it up if she pukes. Don't worry about it."
You don't have to, you want to say. Of course he doesn't have to.
"Thank you," you say instead, feeling like you could burst into an entirely fresh wave of tears.
Again, he looks up at you. His smile fades from a cheesy exuberance to something sweeter, a melty-warm thing that has your breath catching.
"I'm really sorry for just showing up like that," you say tentatively, flushed with heat as you realise what you've done.
"Don't be."
"No, because she's- I know you never-" She's mine alone. You never signed up for this. You can't make yourself say it, distracted by his ever-growing smile. "I should've handled it on my own."
"Your mom really doesn't understand how much I like her," he tells Junie humorously, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "She doesn't have a clue. How much I like you," he adds, hand on your thigh, his finger stroking a line down the length of her leg.
"You didn't have to-" You try, stopping again as he huffs out of the side of his mouth.
His hand closes around your thigh. You can feel the heat of each of his fingers, the bulk of every heavy ring.
"It's okay. I promise," he says seriously.
"I got so freaked out, I just…" You give up. Whatever. He knows what you're trying to say. Hopefully.
Eddie leans forward to kiss your knee. His eyes close, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly over your thigh.
You blink to yourself in a vain attempt at processing what's just happened when he asks, "Do you still feel sick?"
"No.” Your chest burns.
"In that case, I'll make dinner. A feast."
Things start to feel better. Details sink in. Your heart slows. What was only Eddie behind the stovetop becomes his dark hair scraped up and wrapped in a hair tie, his sweatpants and unlaced shoes, his white t-shirt with sharpie writing all over. Sounds filter in; the spoon scraping the bottom of the saucepan and his frenetic humming, the sound of his rubber-bottomed cons squeaking over linoleum.
Junie doesn't cry so much as whine. You press kisses that are more for you than her into her hair and on her forehead, jogging your knee. She's fine. She's okay, and she's here in your lap, and there's nothing to panic over now.
You try to push away the lingering worry. In the moment, a million thoughts had coalesced into only one. What if she's dying? Meningitis, an aneurysm, cancer. Anything. And now those thoughts fall away, leaving behind only the sharp smell of the hair remover and the salty stick of tears.
"Do you think I have time to give her a shower before dinner?" you ask softly, clearing your throat for what feels like the twentieth time today.
"You got it. I'll simmer. You could have one, too, if you want."
"Do I look that bad?"
"Worse." He grins at your expression. "I'm kidding. You look beautiful as always, sweetheart."
You carry Junie into the bathroom. There's no tub and she's too big for the kitchen sink, so a shower it is. You stand her up under warm spray and turn her back so the spray misses her eyes. She smiles at the warm water running down her back. The relief to see her happy can't be understated. You hop in at the same time and clean her off, wash her hair, and bedeck her tiny features in big big kisses.
Wrapped in her baby towel – a pink poncho type thing with a hood – you walk her to the bedroom and dry her off as fast as you can.
"Which ones?" you ask, holding up two pairs of pajamas.
Junie points at the pink shirt and bottoms printed in bright red strawberries with light green tops, letting you dress her and plonk her at the end of the bed without any fuss.
"No socks for you," you say lightly, sitting beside her in your towel.
"No socks," she agrees.
Even though Eddie's been good to you, you can't help wishing that he wasn't here. What you want more than anything in that second is for Junie to be asleep and for your head to be wedged firmly under your pillow, the sheets to your shoulders, dead to the world.
Not truly dead, of course. But a minute of silence.
Junie doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, sitting in companionable silence and stillness with you. Her head falls onto your arm.
"Are you tired?" you ask quietly, too exhausted for bubbly talk.
She sighs. You sigh too.
Eddie hums from the kitchen.
He kissed my knee.
You think you might have imagined it, if you're honest. It could've been anything against your stockings, the brush off his palm or the back of a warm knuckle, but you'd seen it. His lips, his face turned toward your thigh.
"I think he likes me," you tell Junie.
She doesn't say anything. When you look down at her she's already looking up, eyes wide with confusion.
"He kissed me," you whisper, leaning down. "I don't know about you, junebug, but I only kiss the people I care about. For a long time, that's been a really short list." You bump your nose against hers.
You've just finished getting into your own pajamas when Eddie calls out, "Girls? I know ladies like yourselves need longer to get ready but the mac and cheese is acting weird."
"Weird?" you mumble, hooking your hands under Junie's armpits. You'd let her walk if you weren't worried for her foot.
Eddie has created a working man's feast, three identical plates heaping with food. Hills of mac and cheese topped with bacon bits take up half of each plate, fried broccoli and collard greens the other. They're golden, almost red with spices.
"You can cook," you say, surprised.
"Don't sound so shocked," he says defensively. He can only hold his facade for a moment, deflating. "I really can’t. I tried to copy what you do, I've seen it enough times…" He shrugs and flops down into his usual chair. "Don't tell me if it's gross."
"I doubt it's gross."
You can't be bothered for the high chair. Junie looks like she might be too tired to move so you take the chance and sit her between you and Eddie behind the smaller portion (though using small at all feels like a lie, he's made a lot of food). She can barely see over the table.
"Did you use two boxes?" you ask, picking up Junie's spoon.
It's all the perfect temperature for a baby, maybe a little cold for an adult. You're so happy to have somebody else cook for you that you'd die before you complained.
He taps his nose. You pass Junie her spoon.
"What do you mean?" You tap your own nose in imitation. "I'll know when I look."
"So don't look. Eat."
You eat. Without asking him too – because you wouldn’t, you never do – he starts to feed Junie.
He might be the nicest boy on this whole damn planet. You look at him thoughtfully. How come we always end up here? At the kitchen table?
He looks right. Too right. He looks like he’s meant to be here, smiling and talking to your baby in hushed, fond tones, airplaning roasted broccoli towards her mouth.
-
“You’ll stay to watch a movie?” you ask later, trying to hide how lethargic you are with your hands deep in dishwater.
Eddie wipes a fleck of water off of your cheek with a rag. "Duh."
On the couch, Eddie sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re pretending to watch the TV and doing a bad job, your attention stolen over and over by Junie where she sleeps in your lap. Your hand rubs over her small, distended tummy, the other holding her foot carefully. You keep glancing at her toe, much less swollen now and with a healthier complexion, though a cruel line remains from where the hair had cut into her skin.
You don't touch it, only looking. He worries as a wrinkle appears between your eyebrows.
Listening intently as he is, he can hear the hitch in your breath. Eddie doesn’t want you to cry again — the first time had been awful enough. Your face covered in tears, coming fast and panicked. It was like you’d hardly noticed you were crying. You’d been so scared that Eddie, despite knowing close to nothing about babies or how to make them feel better, had clung to his calm. He’d stomped down every flicker of panic that had surged and tried his damn best to keep a level head.
Now, with your sad face and the crisis averted, Eddie feels a pang of terror. Just one. You are completely out of your element, Munson.
You’re definitely the kind of friends now that can sit on the couch together and not care too much about personal space. Eddie uses this to his advantage and spreads his legs just enough to brush his thigh against yours. You look at him and hide your lingering upset with a small smile. It’s a far cry from the genuine happy grin he’s become familiar with, but you're still beautiful.
Eddie shuffles across the couch toward you until he can push his hand under your arm. He pulls it to his chest, beware of your tenuously sleeping daughter, and hugs it.
“I was thinking,” he starts casually, looking down at you.
Your eyes crease with a playful smile. “Oh yeah?” Like you can’t believe it.
“Yeah, I was,” he says, quiet so as not to wake Junie but extremely passionate. “What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”
“Nothing." You laugh under your breath.
He glares, faux-offended. Any real offense is swallowed instantly by the sound of your laugh.
“Hm. Anyway, I was thinking,” he begins again, hand running down your arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture, “that I’d head into the city this weekend. Go to the bookstore ‘n’ the big goodwill by the bus station. I was hoping you’d wanna come with me.” Is he pushing his luck? Maybe.
You look like you want to say yes, but, “Eddie, I don’t really have the money.”
“I’d pay.” He tries to sell it before you can protest. “I’m asking you to come. Stealing your Sunday. We’d leave early, get breakfast on the way. I don't want to go alone.” I want your company.
He tries not to show how terrified he is that you’ll say no.
“I can’t- I couldn’t let you pay for us,” you say, eyes on his chest.
“Can I tell you something?” You nod. “It would make me… really happy if you did.”
He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t think there’s a way to tell you that won’t involve unveiling his new and shiny feelings for you, feelings that don’t seem to want to slow, or abate, or moderate themselves. Honestly, he doesn’t want them to.
He wants you to be happy. He wants to take care of you.
It's embarrassing in its intensity.
You reach over Junie to wrap your hand around his bicep, though you still don’t look like you’re going to say yes.
He leans in close, tracing the details of your face with a greedy kind of curiosity. “You wouldn’t let me give you anything for the haircut,” he says. “It’s the same, you know? Doing things for the people you care about."
He says it like the idiot he is, all rough and insincere, like caring about people is dumb. You smile anyways and finally, finally, give him a nod. So small it’s near imperceptible.
“If you’re sure,” you say.
“Positive.”
-
Eddie looks good behind the wheel of your car. The wind whips at his hair, curls that had been neat and pretty only an hour ago now starting to frizz. You think the chaos of it suits him.
He’s singing along to the radio and it’s a song you don’t know. You don’t think Junie knows it either, but she’s signing it like she does, hands flailing in the air and Mr. Bear bouncing in her lap with the force of her dancing. Eddie looks at her in the rear view mirror, beaming brilliantly.
“Yeah, sing it, junebug!" he encourages. Her voice peaks.
You laugh and stretch your hands out in your lap, knuckles brushing the sandwiches you’d packed. You’d let Eddie pay for gas, you might even let him buy Junie a book from the bookstore if he’s feeling generous, but you’re really trying to keep his expenses low. Hence, sandwiches. Even now, the idea of him spending money on you makes you feel guilty.
Deep down – deep, deep down – you want him to. You’re hoping he’ll pick up a book for you, and that fills you with so much shame you have to look away from him, your face to the window. The highway blurs past, the early morning sun lighting the blacktop and bouncing between cars of all kinds coming into the city for a Sunday outing.
Eddie turns down the radio a tiny bit and reaches across the seat to squeeze your shoulder. “You alright?” he asks without looking at you.
You tip your head toward his hand. His rings bite into your cheek.
You’re in the car on a nice day with a nice boy and your pretty baby listening to the radio, the sun at your side and the breeze kissing your warm skin.
You’d even managed to find a nice shirt to wear. Today is a good day. You won't weigh it down with silly feelings.
“I’m great.”
He gives you that smile like he doesn’t believe you and his eyes go back to the road. “Can a guy get another sandwich or does he have to beg?”
You imagine what it might be like to lean over and kiss his cheek. He deserves a good kiss, you think, and then wince as heat blooms from your chest up to your cheeks. You can’t hold in a pleased smile as you click open the Tupperware.
“Do you want PB&J or bacon and lettuce?” The tomatoes have already been accosted by a ravenous Junie.
“I’ll have half of whatever you’re having.”
You weren’t going to have one, and you both know that. You offer him half the PB&J and he takes it, eyes flitting between you and the road. You take a showful bite to release him. He gives you a grateful smile in turn.
Chewing, you take half of the bacon and lettuce sandwich into your hands and pull it apart. You divide the contents and tuck half into one slice to make a quarter sandwich before leaning over the seats to offer it to Junie where she waits in her car seat. She accepts it hungrily.
One-handed, Eddie pulls the car off of the highway. “There’s a parking garage somewhere around here,” he tells you.
Once he's found it he jumps out to go pay. You turn in your seat and smile at Junie. She's mauling her sandwich, face smeared in butter.
"Are you ready for some fun?" you ask.
She looks at you curiously.
You try again, really smiling. "Are you excited? We're gonna go find a book, something fun like Red Cat, Blue Cat, and we're gonna see the stores and the people and maybe mommy can get you a new teddy."
A spark of something. She gets happy when you're happy and today's no exception, her tiny features soon plucked up with joy. When you round the car and open her door to wipe down her greasy fingers and face she barely cares, and she receives your loving kisses with a big smile.
Eddie returns with the parking ticket and slides it onto the dashboard. You leave Junie's door open now he's back to pop the trunk and unfold her stroller. The sound echoes through the parking garage and the sun struggles to find a way in, your arms wracked with goosebumps.
"Hey, junebug," you hear Eddie murmuring.
He messes with the buckles on her car seat until they pop open, his triumphant laugh almost as pretty as his face. Junie's is prettier, your daughter laughing up a storm as Eddie scoops her up and sits her on his hip.
He looks like he had when you first met but with ten times the confidence in holding her and a clear affection. Her hands are in his hair like usual, petting and pulling gently.
"Brush out the tangles for me," he tells her seriously, bumping the door shut.
She hums like she's agreed to his task and continues her exploring.
You hang the baby bag over the stroller's handlebar and Eddie sits her in the padded chair.
"Junie, have I told you how pretty you look today?" he asks, pulling the straps over her shoulders and from between her legs. He uses parentese like you would, distracting her as he locks her in. When the lock click, he plays affectionately with her hair. "You're like a princess. Your mom has talented hands, huh? And a good eye."
Pleasure from his compliment drips in thick and fast. You bite back a smile and squeeze the clean baby socks in your hands, waiting for him to stand so you can fight them onto Junie’s feet. Ever since her ordeal you’ve been waiting as long as you can before putting on socks and shoes. The first thing you do when you pick her up from daycare is take them off.
If Eddie thinks you’re overzealous in your fretting he hasn't said anything. He holds his hand out for the socks and you give them to him, nonplussed though you shouldn’t be as he bunches them up and pushes them over her wiggling feet with patience and bemusement.
“Stay still… Do you want frostbite? Or gangrene?” he asks her.
“Eddie.”
“Sorry." He looks at you guiltily. “In my defense, she doesn’t know what gangrene is.”
“It’s weird, though. To hear you say it like it’s a good thing. S’creepy.”
He squeezes the sole of one of her small feet and stands, much too close to you as he whispers cheerily, “Gangrene. Septicemia. Pneumonia.”
You laugh and push him away from you. “Shut up.”
“You first. Where’re her shoes?”
You procure them with a smug smile. “You’ll never get them on.”
His fingers brush yours as he takes them, his eyes blazing at the challenge.
-
“Will you sulk all day?” Eddie asks you.
The sulking is for show. You frown like you’re really angry and tighten your grip on the stroller, the wind ruffling your clothes. After a moment the facade falls away and you smile at him, unable to hide your reluctant affection any longer. “How did you get her to sit still like that? You vex me.” Said with equal parts envy and pride.
“I vex you,” he says, voice coloured by good humour.
He’s fallen into step beside you, your jacket tied around his waist.
You should bring your jacket. In case you get cold, he’d said.
I don’t want to carry it, you’d said.
Don’t patronise me.
You glance over the top of the stroller to make sure Junie’s blanket is still in place. She’s quiet. You’ve decided that she’s in shock to be somewhere that isn’t your home or the daycare.
“Yeah, you vex me. Infuriate me. I’ve been a mom for two years and I can’t get her shoes on without a fight, and you’ve been-“ You stop dead, stutter, and quickly adjust what you'd been saying like it has been a slip up of the tongue rather than a thought you shouldn't entertain. “You’ve known her for what, three months? And-“
“Four months,” he corrects, sounding much too proud.
“Four months,” you amend. “And you can do all this stuff that took me years to work out.” You’re a little bit vexed for real.
He nods like he’s considering what you’ve said before tipping his head. “But…”
You wait. He doesn’t further his point. “But what?”
“Well.” Eddie brushes something off of your arm. “I guess I have a great teacher, right?” His voice hikes up high and he steamrolls, “I just copy you. You didn’t really get to copy anyone.”
You feel something melty hot in your chest, another affection for Eddie to add to a growing list. “Oh.”
He takes your shoulder into his hand and you draw to a pause, his other hand pointing off into the distance. “There’s the bookstore.”
You follow his finger. Across a landscape of cobblestone, situated firmly between a Domino’s pizza place and a cafe with a peppering of metal wrought tables stands Morgan’s Books. To your surprise, it’s a glass-fronted building with a big clean sign made up of red, yellow, and blue. It's a children's bookstore.
Eddie has obviously tricked you. You turn to glare at him and find him very close. He doesn’t shy away and you try not to in return. You try, but something about his pretty mouth so close sends shocks like pins and needles to your hands and you have to keep walking lest you embarrass yourself. His hand falls from your shoulder and trails down your back. You swear you can feel even the last millimetre of his fingertip before it falls away.
You get a good look at the landscape ahead and your eyes narrow. Eddie almost bumps into you when you stop abruptly.
“What?” he asks.
"There’s, like, a thousand steps.”
“Gross hyperbole," he argues. A gap of quiet furthers your point; while you had been exaggerating, there are a lot of steps, and he needs time to take them all in.
“Is there a way around?”
“Don’t be dumb, sweetheart. You’ll grab June and I’ll carry the stroller.”
“It’s really heavy. Heavier than it looks.”
He grins like a fiend. “I’m strong.”
Junie’s more than happy to be released, less when you take her into your arms and won’t put her down. You help Eddie snap the stroller back up, indicating which lever to pull with the rubber toe of your converse. He kneels down to guide it into place and looks up at you swiftly afterward, self-satisfied and much too happy considering the task afoot.
“Maybe we should find another way.”
“Y/N,” he says, like your name is inherently funny, like a joke rolled around over his tongue, “I’m starting to get offended.”
You blow air out of the side of your mouth.
Eddie slugs the stroller under one arm and holds it tight with the other, giving you a very determined smile. “Ready?”
You balance the baby bag over one shoulder and start on the stairs. Junie's heavy but she’s a heavy you’ve grown used to, and she doesn’t complain enough to warrant any stress.
You’re impressed when Eddie takes each step at your pace and doesn’t break a sweat. “I thought you were a bus boy. What do you bus? Weights?” you ask incredulously.
He laughs. “I don’t bus weights, but amps are heavy, and I’m not a big shot. I don’t have any roadies to carry them for me.”
You feel terrible then for forgettting. Right. He plays music, you think. You’ve never once seen him play any music, on stage or at home. You’ve seen him play guitar over Junie’s leg to tickle her and tap out a rhythm when he’s heating up desserts in your kitchen, but you’ve never seen him play guitar for real.
“Is that going okay?” you ask, ignoring the small burn beginning to grow in your arms.
“Bussing? Sure. Why’d you ask?”
“Not bussing, music. I never ask- I’ve never asked you how it’s going.”
Eddie winces as the stroller starts to open and pulls it tighter under his arm. It takes him a few seconds to calibrate what you’ve said, and he’s quickly reassuring. “What? Why would you worry about that? You have enough to think about without adding my moonlighting at the Hideout.” He says the Hideout like it’s something to be looked down on. You almost trip up a step and Eddie can’t do anything but watch. “Careful," he begs.
You keep your eyes on your footing until you’re at the very top, worried you'll fall flat on your face and get Junie hurt.. Eddie comes up two behind you and puts the stroller down, wiping his hands together dramatically.
“Conquered. Great job, team. Especially you,” he says, poking Junie’s cheek.
She puts her arms out, vying for his attention now she’s had a taste. He raises his eyebrows at her and offers his arms. You hand her over eagerly, arms aching. You can’t imagine what his feel like.
“I care about it,” you say firmly. It rather than you, but it rings the same. “I want to know, Eddie, I swear. I’m sorry for not asking.”
He looks up from where he’d been making playful faces at Junie to stare at you. It’s not a mean stare, but it unnerves you all the same.
She pushes a hand into his hair like she always does and starts to try and pull her fingers through it. It’s knottier than usual because of the wind, and she struggles to make sense of it. His eyes fall to her tugging.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You know it’s meant for you, even if he’s not looking at you. "If there was something worth telling you, I would’ve told you. I don't doubt that you care.”
You don’t feel better. “No, ‘cos-”
“Why are you so upset?” he asks genuinely.
You hadn’t realised your face revealed the extent of it. “Because we’re friends. You’re the- the best friend I’ve ever had.”
He smiles, sudden and wide. “I’m your best friend?”
“Like we’re twelve?” you deflect.
“Yeah, like we’re twelve.”
You ignore him and try to cool down. A hot flush attacks your skin as you stretch out the stroller and click the supports back into place, shucking off your baby bag to hang over the handlebar with a relieved sigh.
Eddie moves Junie to one side. You anticipate his touch before it happens, his free arm behind your back and pulling you to him. “We’re totally best friends. I’m your best friend,” he says smugly, hand curling around your shoulder. It’s a good hug, friendly and warm and heart-racingly close; you can feel his chest on your back, the curve of a pec through thin fabric.
You turn toward him indulgently but keep your head down. It’s so nice to be hugged that you can’t make yourself move away.
He rubs the top of your arm, the bump of his rings biting into your skin. “You don’t deny it?”
“No. I don’t deny it.”
“Hear that, June?” Again, he calls her June. Not Junie or junebug, June. You like the way he says it. “I’m your mom's best friend. I win.”
You nod happily, warm under his touch.
Wait. “What?”
“She likes me more,” he teases her childishly.
“Eddie!”
“What? Am I wrong?” He leans away from you and feigns confusion.
“Yes! Of course you’re wrong! That’s my baby. Give her to me right now." You join in on his melodramatics, grinning even as you continue, “How could you say that? Sicko."
“That got frosty quickly,” he grumbles, holding her away from you.
You move in to plaster Junie in kisses. Not apology kisses because you didn’t say anything wrong, but kisses all the same.
“Can I get in on one of those?”
You huff at him. He bursts into boyish laughter and holds his hands up. “Kidding!”
“Should we go?” Before you say something stupid.
Eddie carries Junie and you push the empty stroller until you're all looking up at the store's bright sign. "This is where you wanted to come?" you ask him, eyes falling to the window where a sign brags a children's reading nook and their Read Before You Buy promotion.
He shrugs. "Bookstore's a bookstore."
"No, this is for kids. We're never gonna find what you wanted in here. I doubt they have King of the Rings between Red Cat, Blue Cat and Pony Girl."
"King of the Rings," he repeats jovially.
"Whatever it's called."
He pulls a squirming Junie higher up the length of his chest, the fabric of his shirt rides up with her. You pull it down. You're flustered enough, his naked skin is the last thing you need.
"Sweetheart, I'm sure they'll have what I want," he says flippantly, pushing the door open with his elbow.
"If you're sure…" you say, following him in
The bookstore smells fancy. You breathe in the scent of plastic wrap and paper, your eyes searching over floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and pyramids of craft kits. Box sets of Enid Blyton and A. A. Milne sporting classic, whimsy spines are stacked in a towering and precarious looking arch. Signs on either side promise a children's wonderland inside. You follow Eddie around pen displays and jigsaw puzzles, ducking under the archway with an awed, "Oh, wow."
"Watch out," he warns quietly, taking a step down into the kids' reading nook.
You bump the stroller to the bottom of the steps and have to stop, amazed.
Junie is a picture of you as Eddie sets her down, gazing around the room in shock. There's a lot of older kids scattered throughout on big circle pillows with books in their laps and a guardian beside them, but the real wonder is in the decoration. The walls are bedecked in murals; Kermit and Funnybones, The Very Busy Spider and the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Junie sees Kermit on the walls and gasps, running up to the painting with wide eyes.
Eddie follows her without saying anything. When he catches up to her, he offers her his hand. She takes it. She's practically shouting, their joined hands restless as excitement courses through her in waves.
You find two big pillows and a couple of books for Junie to look at. The three of you take to an empty corner and sit, looking over a big picture book full of stills from The Muppets Take Manhattan. Junie makes a lot of excited sounds and nonsense words, talking very confidently though half of it's lost on you both.
"Kermit," she says, pointing at the page passionately.
You wrap your arms around her tummy to keep her comfortable and hum. "Yeah, baby. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo. They're going to New York," you start to describe the page.
Eddie leans in, his arm pressed to your arm, his skin a heat where it rubs into you as he helps hold open the book.
The further you read the closer he gets.
Junie gets bored quickly, like toddlers tend to, and wants to go look at the walls again. Eddie stays with the stroller and you pick her up to let her touch her hands to the characters.
"That's Spot," you tell her quietly, her fingertips brushing over flat fur. "Spot the doggy."
Junie's never read anything Spot before. He's a popular character. There's three picture books to choose from. You pick up the first, Where's Spot? and offer it to her.
She likes the look of him. You carry her back to your pillows and struggle to sit back down in the tight gap between the wall and Eddie's knee. He stretches his arms out to take her. .
"What'd you find, sweetheart?" he murmurs as he balances her on his thigh.
He reads to her. He has the voice for it, soft and sweet.
-
"We had sandwiches," you argue, two hours and what feels like fifty stories later.
Eddie had known before he suggested it that you were gonna fight him on this. He’s managed to end up behind the stroller, weaving between unlucky bystanders as his eyes search for somewhere to eat.
“And they were awesome."
“Eddie,” you complain softly.
He peeks at you by his side, grinning at the plastic bag full of books you’d insisted on carrying where it dangles from your fingers.
You take his smile for teasing and sigh. “Come on. I’ll make dinner when we get home.”
“Sweetheart, as much as I love your cooking that’s hours away. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy. Look, there’s a McDonald’s right there,” he says, pointing toward the yellow ‘M’ sign where it flickers, breaking up a white sky.
“I’m not hungry,” you say. He senses your proposition before you offer it. “But if you wanna get food, that’s fine.”
“You don’t like McDonald’s?” he asks.
“I’m really not hungry.”
“Just think of it like- like using the bathroom before a long car ride. You might not need to, but it’s never a bad idea.”
Inside of McDonald’s, Eddie can tell how unhappy you are, your eyes drifting to the menu and your fingers squeezing both handles of the plastic bag.
He parks Junie’s stroller next to a low table and you slide into the booth beside her. He doesn't sit right away.
“You remember what I said?” he asks quietly, leaning on the table with one arm, head inclined to yours.
Your eyes flicker between his face and his arm. You measure his gaze “Doing things for the people you care about,” you say, equally hushed.
Eddie reaches out to squeeze your wrist. “Exactly.” He tries not to squeeze too hard in case his rings dig into your skin.
When you smile, he grabs the high chair and transfers one unhappy toddler into its constraints. There's a little basket of crayons and colouring papers near the registers that you plunder while he orders. By the time he gets back with a greasy tray of food and drinks Junie's made a masterpiece.
"Is that supposed to be me?" he asks brightly.
Of course it isn't – there's a shock of blue and a red blob almost shaped like a heart next to the dark printed outline of Ronald McDonald. It's worth the risk of sounding like an idiot because you start to laugh so hard you can't scold him for the desserts.
After wiping down the highchair's tray with a baby wipe, you peel open Junie's cheeseburger and start to break it into small pieces, blowing on each one vigorously before passing them over. You're about to start on fries when Eddie flicks your hand.
"Eat," is all he says, swiping her fries out of your reach to copy your process.
Tray laden with an abundance of bite-sized fast food, she grabs a cheesy looking slice of burger and screams loudly.
Eddie gawps. "What was that? Is it too hot?"
You swallow a sip of your drink and the cup sheds condensation like a spattering of raindrops when you put it down. "I think she's having a really good day," you say..
"Well fu-" he amends his cuss word quickly, "-dge, me too, junebug. Best day out ever. We got books, burgers, and I'm with my two favourite girls."
It might have sounded more romantic if he hadn't said it around a mouthful of big mac. You look almost as happy as Junie does anyway,
-
When Junies just about finished you carry her off into the ladies to change her diaper and freshen up. You have a baby in one arm and a bag full of diapers and bottles and onesies in the other, and you stare into the mirror and can't work out Eddie's angle.
Eddie is loud and crude and clumsy. He smells like his close friend Mary Jane half the time and he doesn't know how to style his hair. He laughs loud, sings louder. Almost everything about him is unapologetic and brash, his dark looks and ripped up clothes, his van, his smile.
And he's nice. He's so nice. Down to the bone, maybe down to his soul, there's a kindness that floors you every single time. He smiles and he squeezes and he says sorry for things that aren't his fault. He helps without being asked. How many times now has he knocked the door, found you kneeling on the living room floor folding clothes and thrown himself opposite you? Bet you I can do double what you've done in five minutes flat. Or stationed himself at Benny's for lunch to check you're having a good day? Here's five for the pretty waitress I saw earlier, make sure she gets it, won't you? How many times has he, hair limp and clothes rumpled, burst beaming into the kitchen with enough dessert for a family of five and a gallon of juice? Why wouldn't I get a gallon? Junebug'll have drank half by the time you sit down, sweetheart.
You look at yourself in the mirror and you can't work out why.
"Hi, girls," Eddie says when you return.
He's cleared off the table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Like this, the lean trim of his waist is emphasised, as is the slight curve to the tops of his thighs.
"Hi," Junie says. You echo her greeting.
"D'you have fun? Powder your noses?"
"Can't you tell?" you ask. You did not powder your nose.
He straightens up and peers at you assessingly. "Definitely. S'like you got prettier, and I thought it was impossible." His voice is sugar sweet by the end, attention on Junie. She's aching to be put down and writhing in your grip, but his voice catches and holds her attention until you're back outside.
It's cooler. The air cleaner. You put Junie down and clasp her hand firmly in your own, bending at the waist to tell her face to face, "No running off, alright? You hold mommy's hand tight." You squish her little fingers until she giggles. "Okay?"
"Okay," she says.
"Okay, thank you." Then, because she looks so sweet and this has been one of the best days of your life, "I love you."
You kiss her cheek.
Eddie won't let you push the stroller. "You concentrate on little miss trouble," he says mildly, kicking the brakes with a frown. "I got this. Maybe."
Half a block to the goodwill. It's not as big as you'd expected but there's a fun furniture section that draws Junies attention. You're reluctant to let her climb on the furniture in case anything is dirty or infested, though you do sit her in a wicker chair for a tree swing and a huge velvet loveseat like she's goldilocks, asking, "How's that? Comfy?"
Hidden away, there's a bookshelf painted green and pink that threatens to topple over hiding a grandfather clock still ticking. You lift Junie up so that the three of you can look at the clock face, a small silver disk with illustrations on either side. A gorgeous swelling of purples and melty blues in a ring behind the man in the moon. The sun, a buttery yellow buffeted by white-blue clouds.
"Grand," Eddie praises.
"What did you want to come here for?"
He grins at you and nods his head to the left. "It's over there."
'It' ends up being a clothes rack longer than your trailer home partitioned by size. Every t-shirt different but bragging the same premise – band merchandise. A riot of rock bands peppered in popular duo's like Tears for Fears and the occasional Cyndi Lauper tour shirt, each one sticking out like a sore thumb; a rainbow array besides faded blacks and slate greys.
"Why'd they have so many?"
Eddie shrugs, though he tries to explain his theory anyways. "There's a venue maybe… four blocks away? That has these vendors outside all the time shelling knock-offs."
"So these are knock-offs?"
"Most of them. They're usually in good condition though."
He's right. You find all kinds of shirts in varying qualities. Some obviously real, thick fabric and perfect prints. He picks up a Judas Priest tour shirt that he claims to be the real deal, a Metallica long sleeve that most certainly is not. There's a Twisted Sister shirt with a mysterious brown stain and a Ghoulie Girls muscle tee that's almost completely split down one side.
You shuffle through the things in your size, absent-minded. Junie's not interested in the slightest and is starting to complain. You fend off an oncoming tantrum with a pack of fruit snacks, offering them to her one at a time.
Eddie whistles where he's standing a short distance away, "Oh, fuck."
He unhooks a hanger and holds it out, amazed. "Oh, shit."
"Eddie," you chastise. Not because you care, but Junie saying either of those words at daycare would suck.
"Sorry, sorry. You like these guys, right?" He holds up a t-shirt for The Mamas and The Papas, a group from the sixties. It looks new.
It's the only cassette you own where you can stand to listen to both sides all the way through. "Yeah. Like Cass Elliott's stuff more."
"Who's that?"
You point at Elliott on the shirt. "Her."
"Guess how much they want for it," he demands.
You think. Junie whines for another snack and you give her the packet. "Ten dollars?"
"A dollar." He passes the shirt to you so you can see it for yourself and leans down to bundle up your sighing daughter. She can't decide whether she's enjoying it for a good few seconds, her annoyance at being somewhere this underwhelming for so long clear but fading as Eddie shushes her gently. "Isn't that sick?" he asks you.
"It would be sick, if you liked them."
He shrugs. "I'll wear it as pajamas. A dollar for a shirt? You can't steal it that cheap."
You laugh and drop it into his basket. He bumps his shoulder into yours until you move down the rack, his fingers searching for something with focus. You're in awe at how he's handling it, a basket heavy in the crook of his elbow and Junie on his hip trying to share her fruit snacks with him unsuccessfully.
"Ah-ha!" He pulls out a black t-shirt. The back to you, you can't tell what's so interesting about it until he flips it around. "What do you think?"
It's the same The Mamas and The Papas shirt.
"You want?" he asks.
You check the price tag before answering and find yourself laughing gleefully, almost smug. "Hey, this one's fifty cents."
He gasps. "What?"
"I can afford that one myself."
He pulls it out of your hand, quick but not cruel, and tucks it into the basket. "Don't care. Wanna see if they have one in Junie's size?"
"They won't."
"What about a small and we cut the excess off? She can wear it like a dress. We'll all match."
Eddie picks up a bunch of t-shirts for you, some funny, a lot plain bad. You wonder if you're being made fun of but from the gleeful expression on his face you know he's just having a good time. It's sweet, really, how he seems to pick the more feminine looking ones for you. You try your best to calculate how much he's spending on you – it feels tacky and silly, but urgent – and end up losing the thread. He must've passed ten dollars by now. It makes you feel sick.
You see your saving grace across the way.
"Oh my god!" you feign surprise. Both Eddie and Junie look up at you, startled. "You know what mommy just saw?"
Junie perks up.
"What did I just see? What did mommy see?" you encourage.
"What?" she asks.
"I saw… teddies!"
"Mr. Bear?" she asks.
You beam at her. "Mr. Bear's brothers and sisters, I think. Should we go look at them?"
She says yes and then something else you don't catch, squirming aggressively to be put down.
Eddie says, "Sorry sorry sorry," and lets her down gently.
She snatches your hand and starts to tug you away. You glance over your shoulder to make sure Eddie's following you and he is, a melty-warm smile on his face. You navigate the store floor and almost knock down a bucket of hats with the stroller on the way to the teddies. There's a few of them, all lined up in a row next to jigsaw puzzles and old board games.
"I didn't think this through," you say, watching as Junie picks through the teddies with a huge smile on her face. She starts to hug them towards her and you try not to cringe.
"You can scrub her when we go home," Eddie assures you leaning against the stroller, hair behind his ears.
You grab the end of a curl and pull it back in front of his face, messing with it until it falls the way you want it to. He stays very still. "I might need to de-flea her."
He laughs and it's a shock, an abrupt sound that makes your chest ache with fondness.
"You might. I got some tea tree oil lying around somewhere if you need it," he says.
"And if she gets dermatitis?"
His grins turns embarrassed. "I don't know what that is."
"It's like-" You tilt your head to the side to mimic his own and drop your hand from his hair. "It's gross. Like a bad rash."
"Oh, then we'll give her a tomato soup bath."
You burst into laughter and have to grab his arm to stop from toppling over, or at least that's what you tell yourself. "That's for skunks," you manage to tell him, giggling loudly.
"Shit, really?"
You nod at him, wanting to kiss the sheepishness straight off of his lips. "You're thinking of an oats bath," you say. "Oats are good for the skin. And milk."
"So we just rub her down with oatmeal. Case solved."
Your hand rubs over the curve of his forearm until you reach the cold bite of his chain bracelet. It brings your attention back to what it is you're doing. You pull your hand away.
You have enough money to get Junie any teddy she wants. You'd made sure of that. You'll just have to hide the train in your tights and wear your waitressing skirt low on your hips for a week or three until you can afford a new pair of pantyhose.
You move to kneel next to Junie. She's pulled every teddy off the shelf and sits half-buried in them, talking a hundred words a minute. You think she might be make-believing, catching the slightest difference in her tone as she shakes one bear and then the other.
After checking the price tags stuck sloppily to each ear, you realise you can afford two.
Best day ever.
"Junie," you say with intent, heavy so she'll look at you. "I want you to pick your two favourite bears. Yeah? Pick which ones you like the best. And we're gonna take them home, okay? Give them a bath, brush out their fur, get them some jammies."
Watching the way her expression changes as she realises what you're saying is confirmation. This is the best day ever.
She decides eventually on one too many. There's a pastel green-blue rabbit with floppy ears and a ribbon tied around his neck, half a face of whiskers that make him quite charming and a worn tail. Next to him is a classic teddy bear who could be Mr. Bear's younger brother who seems in very good condition. Last, a bigger, softer golden teddy with an enamel nose and eyes lies over her lap.
You can't afford all three.
You've barely opened your mouth to tell her, a weak smile on your lips ready to placate when Eddie says, "The rabbit is classic. You'll have to let me get her that one."
"Eddie," you say, looking up at him as you shake your head, "you can't. I can't let you."
"She'll have to share him with me, obviously. He's punk rock."
It's the least punk rock plushie you've ever seen.
"Eddie," you say again, quietly.
He scoops the hair away from his face like he's going to tie it up. "Y/N." He says your name expectantly. When you don't budge he lets his hair fall back to his shoulders and turns serious. "You can pay me back, if you want to."
"Really?"
"Only for the rabbit."
You purse your lips to fight a smile.
Junie throws herself into your lap with her new treasures. "For the rabbit," she parrots factually, gazing up at you with eyes full of content. Her small smile means everything.
"He's a bunny," you murmur, fingers brushing his rough ear.
"He's sweet." Eddie crouches in front of you. He smells like something nice though you can't think of what it is. Cologne, something dark and deep hiding under a woody scent. Maybe sandalwood. His knee taps your thigh and his hand wraps around your shoulder for balance. "Got a dirty nose though. Who does that remind you of?"
You giggle and tap Junie's nose. "I wonder."
-
Down what feels like a thousand steps and back into the parking garage, your legs are hurting in the best way and Junie's half asleep in her stroller. You'd reluctantly let her keep the blue-green rabbit in hand, and she snuggles him close to her chest.
"I'm actually genuinely worried she's gonna get something from him," you confide.
Eddie weaves his arm through yours. "Like rabies?"
"A rash."
"I'm allergic to gain detergent tablets," he says, his hand slipping away from you so he can put both on his hips. "When I moved in with my Uncle Wayne he didn't know that, obviously, not at first. We didn't notice for a while. One day I'm scratching my chest and he says to me, boy, what are you doing always itching like that? You ever take a shower?" He impersonates his uncle's disappointed frown.
You laugh. "Poor baby."
"I mean, I probably wasn't showering." He laughs. "I was like, wow, thanks Uncle Wayne, I love you too.
"He lifts my shirt up in the middle of the kitchen and we both just stare at this rash. It was the first time I'd really noticed. I didn't… I was a skinny kid, I didn't really find any pleasure in looking at myself. And- He got so serious. Asking me if I was okay, if school was stressing me out."
"He thought you were hurting yourself?"
"In a way… It wasn't the first time he tried to get me to talk about how I was feeling, but it was the first time I thought- I mean, the first time I realised that it was permanent. That we were-" He cuts off with a laugh. "I'm being weird."
"No weirder than usual," you tease. Your expression softens.
You slow, trying to convey how much you want to hear it with a smile. You don't want to say something that'll weigh on the impossibly light mood you're both in; the ground practically glows yellow under your shoes, the two of you walking on sunshine or something remarkably similar.
"I guess I realised he was gonna take care of me. I told him all about school, stuff I'd been lying about, how the Walton twins kept taking my lunch money, how I was failing algebra. How much I," he licks his lips and then smiles, "how much I missed my mom."
"Do you still miss her a lot?" you ask, though you know the answer.
"Yeah, I do. I don't remember everything, but I remember the way she talked sometimes. I don't remember her voice," he concedes, "just… the way she moved. She would lean back whenever I was getting into trouble, and she'd get this look on her face like I was the funniest thing on the planet."
You grin at him. Your cheeks ache from what must be a hundred smiles today. It's a really nice memory to have.
"You are pretty funny," you say.
"What was that? You think I'm pretty and funny? Baby, you spoil me."
You stop altogether and press your fists into your eyes, defeated. "I should've seen that one coming."
"Yeah, you should've."
Soft snores, so quiet you almost miss them. By the time you've got back to your car Junie's sleeping with her chin to her chest and the rabbit's ear held tight in her small hand.
"Will she wake up?" Eddie asks quietly.
"Not if I'm very, very careful," you whisper.
You scoop her up and tuck her into her carseat, holding your breath all the while. Eddie tries his best to fold down the stroller.
You emerge from the backseat and make a soft pitying sound. "Stuck?"
"I can do it," he promises, head and face hidden behind the padded seat. His hands fight with the metal bars holding it in place. Again, you tap the right strut with your shoe to help him out.
He says thank you but refuses to look at you. You swear you're gonna kiss his cheek this time for real because he deserves one and you really want to give him one, but he puts the stroller into the trunk and touches your waist as he opens the driver's side. Any bravery gets turned into mush.
He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, ever amused. "Are you coming?"
You pause at the door and get closer than you mean to, close enough to find yourself distracted by the beauty mark along his jawline.
"You want me to drive?" you ask.
"No, sweetheart. You're good."
You smile at each other. It's a strange sort of smile, strange to be taller than him, strange to have your faces this near. There's a lot to say but maybe now isn't the right time to say it, or maybe now is exactly when you should, and his face lifts up just a touch and your hands feel heavy at your sides.
"Eddie…"
You close your fingers over the door, braced as his body turns to yours. You get the sense that he's waiting for you to say – or do – something. To lean down. To take the leap.
He's the prettiest boy you've ever seen.
You waver.
"You know," he says lightly, blinking his long lashes at you in a way that has your heart skipping beat after beat, "if we hurry, I think we can get on the highway before the work rush. We'll be back in Hawkins before dark."
You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you.
"I'll crawl."
You press your lips together, tongue in your cheek to stop from giggling like a loser as you walk around the hood and climb in. He turns the key in the ignition and switches off the radio before it can wake up Junie. True to his word, Eddie goes what must be a half a mile an hour out of the parking garage. The car behind you beeps aggressively.
Your eyes flicker between the rearview and his grinning face. "What are you- oh."
"Crawling," he murmurs smugly.
The sun starts its slow descent. You use his knee for leverage and pull down his sun visor, then your own, blocking the light. Eddie says, "Thank you," very sweetly and you get comfortable and clip yourself in, anticipating a long drive home.
The stores turn on their neon, fast food and take out restaurants open for the night. The smell of warm oregano and olive oil is strong as you drive through the side avenue past a pizza place with its door thrown open.
Eddie asks if you're hungry and you decline. He takes it with grace and doesn't say much besides passing commentary until you realise he's going the wrong way.
"Eddie," you start.
"I know. Just- one last thing. Let me get one more thing and then we'll go home and you never have to let me spend money on you ever again."
You look over his pinched, pleading brows and his slight pout for any insincerity and find it in droves. "Until Friday," you say, dejected.
"Now you're getting it."
He pulls up to a small bakery and weasels his way inside. You wait, car idling, hands rubbing over the cracked leather of your seats wondering what sweet treat he's going to emerge with.
You have a nightmare – a heaping bag of donuts and shortbread and pastries, things you could never pay him back for, more to add to the impossible pile of things he's given you.
Doing things for the people you care about, you repeat to yourself wearily.
You hadn't expected anything for the haircut, but this is more than a haircut. It's difficult not to think of every dollar as an attribute of every hour he's worked. What makes you deserving of his literal physical labour?
I didn't force him. He likes me.
He certainly looks like he likes you as he appears again, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans and wielding a flat looking plastic platter with an exuberant expression. He almost drops them trying to show you. Your heart shoots into your throat.
He's still chuckling when he throws himself into the driver's side. "Shit, did you see that? Almost lost 'em. Here, sweet thing. Hold the sweets. Makes sense, right? Sweet thing holding sweet things."
You accept the tray of what looks like a rainbow of blobs and go to peel off the lid. "Can I?" you ask.
"Of course you can."
You pull off the lid. Twelve cupcakes of all different colours in rows of four. The first four are chocolate cupcakes, one with green icing shaped like a frog, one with a white rabbit, one with an orange fox and one with a blue fish. The second row seems fancier. By the third and fourth row there's no pattern, just an assortment of flavours and decorations, chocolate curls and glitter, a half a strawberry, a smattering of mini marshmallows.
"What flavours that one?" you ask, pointing at a golden cake topped with multicoloured icing, a swirl covered in little crystal like sprinkles.
"I don't have a clue. I picked the first four and then realised it was taking too long. Told 'em to give me whatever."
"Eager to get back?"
"Eager as a cry for life. Try it."
"You don't want one before you start driving?" you ask.
"I'll try that one after you."
You peel back crisp, metallic shiny paper and take a cautious bite. It's a bourbon vanilla cake with a coffee flavour buttercream to cut the sweetness. You can't tell whether you like it or not at first, so you take another bite.
"Leave some for me."
"Sorry!" you say through a giggly mouthful. "Here."
He has both hands on the wheel. You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite.
He licks a big dollop of icing as it threatens to fall down his chin, head tilted high. "Oh my god. What is that? Is that coffee?"
"I think so."
"Okay, awesome. Let's try another one."
"What?"
"Let's try another one. There's still eleven left! We can save the cute ones for Juniper the Loveliest, but that's still a ton of flavours. C'mon, let me try the one with the chocolate curl. If I remember, it has white chocolate melted inside."
"If you remember?" you ask, peeling back the paper of his requested cupcake. "You've had these before?"
"A long time ago."
You tilt your head toward your shoulder and watch his lashes kiss. "Here," you say warmly.
He accepts the proferred cake and takes a good bite. His eyes roll back into his head dramatically and he goes stiff, shoulders tense and then suddenly not. You watch the muscle of his bicep flex as he tips his head back in pleasure.
You chortle and you're so happy you don't care how silly you sound, nor how unattractive you might look as you hit him in the arm. "Stop! You're enjoying it too much!"
"I'm enjoying it the right amount! Try it, try it," he says quickly. His eyes flick back to the tray. "I wanna try that strawberry one next."
"Watch the road, Munson, god! I'll pass you whatever one you want, just don't crash the car!"
You forget yourselves. Laughing, eating icing with your noses scrunched up, you don't remember to stay hushed, and soon Junie's awake and annoyed.
You worry for a second that her crying will dampen the mood, but Eddie beams wider still. He's more smile than boy.
"Junie baby! What cupcake do you want, sweetheart?" he asks her, watching her in the rearview mirror.
"Cake?" she asks.
"Cupcake! Yeah, baby, what one do you want? There's a froggy and a fishy and a bunny-" He stops to take a turn onto the highway. The road evens out underneath, the plastic tray stops crinkling. "And a fox," he finishes. "All for you."
You twist in your seat, bunny and fish held in your hands. "Fishy or bunny?" you echo.
"Fishy and bunny," she says clumsily, eyes widened with excitement.
"Just one for now, baby. Let's pick the bunny," you say gently.
There's no hopes of her eating it cleanly. You don't bother with any precaution. It's your car and her seat and her clothes and if she wants to cover it all in soft fondant you don't mind, anything she wants if you get to see this look on her face. Pure happiness, her eyes closing in bliss as she takes her first bite.
"Good, huh?" Eddie asks, speaking glances at her.
"Good!" she says loudly, cheeks plastered in white icing and fluffy golden crumbs.
Then, like the good girl she is, she tries to offer up the cupcake and almost drops it.
"S'that for me? Aw, you keep it. You keep it. Mom's gonna share hers with me." He grins at you. "Isn't that right?"
You share that entire tray of cupcakes right there in the car. By the time you get home, back to Hawkins, it's dark, your stomach hurts, and every cupcake bears two missing bites.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
thank you for reading! | my masterlist | multi-chapter
if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡
summary: the stress of a new baby has your relationship at the worst it’s ever been, and eddie’s past childhood is worrying him sick about becoming a father.
warnings: okay so eddie is a dick head in this just saying but he’ll get better. language, mentions of blood and injuries, fighting, stressful relationship, false labor, wayne takes the reader to the hospital and being an absolute sweetheart, pregnancy hormones, mentions of past abuse. angst to the max goddamn but lots of fluff at the end, panic attack, fainting, use of the f slur and mentions of homophobia.
requested by @itiscj thanks for the idea sweetheart! i love you!!
All couples went through rough patches. That just came with the territory. However, this one, was the worst you both had ever been. The energy between you and Eddie was strained, tired and tense. And you had no idea why. You were seven months pregnant with a baby girl, and for the first half of your pregnancy, Eddie had been ecstatic. Nervous, but ecstatic nonetheless.
And now it was like he was gone. When you both talked, it was broken out into a fight, leaving you a crying mess and him storming out to go rant to his Uncle Wayne. He wasn’t talking to you, and honestly, you felt alone. You were working part time as a waitress during the day, and when you came home, all you wanted to do was sleep with Eddie by your side, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to do that anymore. You knew it had something to do with the baby, but he wouldn’t talk to you about it.
The job he had kept you two at bay. He worked night shift as a bouncer at the club outside of town. It was good money, you couldn’t deny that, but you worried for him when he went in for his shifts. Too many times had he come back with black eyes and bloody noses. You learned best to not pester him about it, because he only snapped at you.
You were living in a small, two bedroom house now, rather than the trailer you’d both given up a few months ago. You assured him you didn’t need to move, but he was adamant about it. Truth was, he was growing cold the last few weeks, and it was breaking your heart. Even your friends could tell that things were tense between the two of you.
It had been almost a month since you two had been intimate with each other. Passionate kisses were turning into small pecks or a squeeze of your shoulder. When you’d talk about the baby he’d clam up, and he wouldn’t ever touch your stomach anymore. Some nights he wouldn’t even come to bed, trading to sleep on the couch instead. Once, you’d woke him up crying, your hormones blaring up a storm, and he begrudgingly followed you back to bed so you wouldn’t cry all night.
It was almost midnight. Eddie would be coming home soon, and you were determined to stay up to see him home. You were seated on the floor, lounging in comfortable sweats with your hair in a bun. You were cursing under your breath, trying to put together the crib for the baby. He kept promising he would do it, but that had been weeks ago. You were trying to give him space, trying to not irritate him and hoped that he would come to you when he was ready. It was normal to get cold feet, but you were starting to get fed up, because he was acting ridiculous.
You hummed slightly at the little kick in your stomach, and you smiled down at your stomach. “Is that your foot I feel?” You brought your hand to your stomach. “I know, dumplin. I can’t wait to meet you too.” You sighed as you looked back to the instructions, scratching your neck. “I’m trying to get your bed fixed up, but it’s not going so good. Your daddy said he’d do it for me but…” You caught yourself before you got worked up, pursing your lips.
The jingle of keys caught your attention, and you smiled widely when you seen those dark curls step through the doorway. “Hey, baby-” Your greeting was cut off by a gasp, your hand coming up to your mouth at the sight of blood dripping from his face. “Oh, god, Eddie!”
He froze at the sight of you, sighing heavily as you waddled your way over to him. “I thought you were asleep.”
“What the hell happened?” You panicked, shutting the door as you pulled him into the kitchen, flicking on the light. Blood was seeping from his eye, completely bloodshot as it stained his cheek.
“Just a fight.” He said shortly, allowing you to push him into a seat. He knew better than to not let you take care of his injuries, otherwise he’d be met with angry sobs. You pulled out the first aid kit, which you kept in the drawer by the doorway now after so many encounters like this.
“Are you okay?” You grabbed his face, rummaging through the kit. “God, we should go to the hospital! This looks-”
“No, it’s alright.” He brushed his hand over your arm. “It don’t hurt that bad.”
You sighed as you grabbed antiseptic wipes and brought it up to his cheek, tilting his head back toward the light. “What happened this time?”
Your belly poked his uniform clad knee. It was a classy place, so he had to dress a certain way, something that did not make him overly happy. He winced at the burn on his cheek, the skin starting to swell as you wiped away blood.
“Just a guy. Had too much to drink. Usual stuff.” He tried to keep it simple so you wouldn’t ask too many questions.
You kept quiet, continuing your work. You swallowed a lump in your throat, telling yourself that you didn’t want to fight, but this was happening too often and you were tired of patching him up. “You’re not gonna be able to see very well.” You said sadly, and his eyes flickered up to yours from your tone, licking his lips.
“I told you I was gonna do that.” He nodded toward the crib, trying to change the subject.
You briefly glanced over in the direction of the crib, grabbing another wipe to work around his eye. “Yeah, well that was weeks ago. I had nothing else to do.” Irritation slipped through your voice as much as you tried to keep it from doing so, and he gave you a weird look, but said nothing.
“Ow, fuck-” He winced, grabbing at the counter.
“She was kicking earlier.” You smiled softly, trying to get him to talk about your unborn child. “She gets active at night. I think she waits for you to come home.”
His eyes went to your swollen tummy, parting his lips. “That’s nice.”
That’s nice?
“What’s your hours this week?” You immediately changed the subject. This was not going very well.
“Usual.” He sniffled.
You sighed loudly that time, throwing down the wipe to pull out a bandaid. “Great. So that means I’ll be up six days this week taking care of more accidents.” You slapped a bandaid on a small cut to his cheek. A bruise was forming around his eye, the inside stained blood red from popped blood vessels.
“Y/n.” He said sternly, shaking his head. “I’m not talking about this shit again.”
You turned around to wash your hands, biting your lips to keep from crying, shoulders shaking in anger. You did nothing wrong. There was no reason for you to be treated this way. “I want you to get another job.” You turned, hand on your belly and eyes firm.
He sent you a glare. “You know that isn’t happening. Go to sleep. I’ll finish the crib.” He went to turn, but you grabbed his elbow.
“Don’t dismiss me, Edward!” You snapped. “I can’t keep waiting for you to come home every night covered in bruises and blood! You’re going to get yourself killed!”
He closed his eyes to keep from lashing out. This argument had already been done one too many times. “You know why I can’t leave it, y/n.” He said firmly. “There’s no other job in town that pays money like that. I’m lucky to be working there. We can’t be picky. Not with..”
Your eyes narrowed at his silence, and you looked down to your stomach. “What? The baby? Can you not even acknowledge her now?”
“What?” He backed away incredulously. “That’s not true.”
“It is true!” You threw your arms up, stepping on your tip toes to scream in his face. “You ignore her! Just like you do me! All you do is work! You don’t ever make time for me anymore! All you do is avoid me!”
“That’s ridiculous, y/n.” He said calmly, staring at you with dead eyes despite your outburst. “You’re just tired. Go-”
“If you tell me to sleep one more damn time I’m gonna give you another black eye to match, I swear to God!” You pointed at him, hair falling out of place.
He clamped his mouth shut, and you let your hand fall to the side as silence ensued. You couldn’t do it anymore. Seventh months pregnant or not, even with your hormones out the wall and halfway to Jupiter, this was just too much. His face barely held emotion. His eyes were tired, and you knew he didn’t want to talk.
“Y/n, it’s been a long night.” He closed his eyes. “Can we please just forget about this?”
You felt like he was ripping out your heart and stomping on it right in front of you. You felt like he was drifting away from you. What did you do? Why was he pulling away?
“What did I do?” Your voice broke like fire crackers, eyes brewing with diamond tears.
He sighed heavily in exhaustion, giving you a look. “You didn’t do anything, y/n. I’m just tired, alright?”
“Then why do you hate me so much?” You cried, blubbering like a baby, hands cradling your stomach.
“I don’t hate you.” His face hardened, lips forming into a line. “I do not hate you.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me anymore?” You sobbed, face scrunching together as your chest heaved. “Something’s wrong and you won’t tell me what it is!”
Your cries made his heart throb, wincing from your cries. “Y/n,” He took a step, reaching out to grab your elbow. “You’re just…you’re just emotional, honey.”
“Don’t try and gaslight me, Eddie!” You snapped, yanking your arm away. “I am not emotional!”
He rubbed his face tiredly, chuckling dryly without humor. “Okay, I’m not doing this. I’m going to bed.”
You watched him go into the bedroom and take a blanket, passing you to toss himself on the couch. You looked down to the ground and gritted your jaw shut to keep the sobs from escaping. You knew the questions was stupid, but you had to ask it.
“Is there someone else?” You whimpered, not looking up to meet his eyes. “Is that..is that why?” The shine of your runny nose glistened on your cupid’s bow, mixing with your tears.
You were met with seconds of silence, and then a sharp, “What?”
You sobbed harshly, crossing your arms as you breached hysterics. “If there’s someone else…if there is then you c-can tell me. I just want you to t-talk to me.”
You looked up when his shoes hit the floor, and he was mad. “Don’t fucking say shit like that.” He seethed, gritting his teeth as he took a step towards you. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Then what is it!” You threw your hands up, shouting through your cries.
“Nothing!” He snapped, causing you to let out a sob. “Nothing! There’s nothing wrong! I’m not fucking mad at you! I’m not seeing anybody else! Will you just let me fucking go to sleep! I’m the one who’s making all this money for our kid, y/n!” He was yelling in your face, spit hitting your cheek as you sobbed.
An elbow poked your stomach, and your hands automatically hovered over your daughter protectively. “Then what did I- what did I- Eddie, what did I do?” Your words broke apart through stringed cries. “Why are you so- so angry all the time and..and-”
“God, y/n, I just can’t do this, right now, okay?” He held up his hands to silence you, face strained. “I’m gonna- I’m just gonna go to Gareth’s, alright? Go to sleep. I’ll be back later.” 
You gasped through tears as you watched him grab his keys. “No, Eddie, please I don’t want you to l-leave!”
He hurried out of your house and left you alone, muttering under his breath words you could not hear. You grasped your stomach steadily, knees buckling as you sobbed, piercing sobs that made your throat fill with sick. You had the urge to chase after him, but you felt frozen, hands coming up to cover your face as you wobbled.
You groaned when you felt a sharp pain dig into your abdomen, but it was not a kick that time, and you gasped as you placed a hand on your stomach. Your eyes widened as you doubled over, grasping the counter top as you moaned painfully at the stingy tightening of your stomach. “Oh, no.” You cried.
No, no, no. This- this was too early. Seven months was too early. This wasn’t labor was it? You weren’t sure, but you’d never felt this before, and you were already a mess, so you were sent into a panic. “No, no, no, honey, not now please-” You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut at the pain.
You sobbed as you grabbed the telephone, dialing the number you’d had memorized. You figured you should of tried to contact Eddie, calling Gareth and letting him know what was going on, but you found yourself calling Wayne.
“Hello?”
“Wayne!” You gasped tearfully. “God, Wayne, I think I’m in labor! Please, I don’t know-”
“Hey, hey, slow down, kiddo,” His voice comforted you slowly through the phone. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know!” You sobbed, folding over as your legs shook. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I’m so scared, Wayne! I think something’s wrong and Eddie, he’s- he left and,”
“Woah, what? He left? What happened, y/n? Are you alright?” You could hear the jingle of his keys through the line.
“We fought and he- got so mad and he just left! He’s so…god, he’s so mad, Wayne! And- oh, ow, ow, ow!” You gritted your teeth as your hand squeezed the phone, a pulling at the front of your stomach. “Wayne, I think something’s wrong! The baby I-”
“Y/n, calm down, kiddo. I’m on the way, alright? I’ll be there in five minutes, okay? Don’t panic.”
You sobbed into the receiver and your knees buckled once again, and you had to drop the phone to hold yourself up on the counter. You could hear Wayne speaking, but you couldn’t understand his words. You were gasping, panicking. The pain really wasn’t even all that terrible, but your anxiety was making it seem much worse. Your vision blurred, your head spun, and before you knew it, your fight or flight mode kicked in, and you were sent to the floor, no longer able to endure the night.
•
“What you were experiencing is what we call Braxton hicks contractions. They’re not uncommon this close to your due date, but seven months isn’t an ideal time to deliver your baby. We have had babies come that early, but it’s usually due to medical problems or untreated diagnosis that we didn’t catch during the ultra sound. False labor is extremely common in this stage, Ms. L/n, so I can assure you not to worry. Lots of environmental factors can influence the process. Have you had anything going on lately that you’d like to share?”
You were laying down in a hospital bed, clad in a scratchy gown with your hair in a loose ponytail that Wayne had put up for you. It may seem out of his character, but he’d put young Eddie’s hair up several times when he’d complain about not being able to see. He refused to let his Uncle cut it, so up it went. 
It was four hours later since he’d brought you to the emergency room, and after countless tests and procedures, you lay resting and nearly half asleep. Your pain had subsided long ago, only your muscles twitching from your nerves being shot. Wayne had kept asking you if you wanted him to get ahold of Eddie, but once you knew for sure that nothing was seriously wrong with you, you told him not to bother him. He obviously didn’t want to be around you, anyways. You felt completely outcasted. Heartbroken.
“Just a stressful night, I guess.” You answered meekly, meeting the Emergency Room Doctor’s eyes, a tall, slender man with glasses and dark hair.
“Must of been extremely stressful to send you into early labor.” The man narrowed his eyes, frowning as he looked to Wayne, who sat beside you. “Try and take these last months easy, okay? We want the baby to come as close to the due date as possible. It’s not ideal to have early labor pains at this stage, and leading a stressful life is certainly not good for mother and child.” The doctors tone had completely changed, making Wayne sigh and pat your shoulder.
“She’ll be in good hands, doc.” He nodded, voice rough and tired. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning. “Thank you.”
The man nodded. “Why don’t you both stay the night? She looks like she needs it.” He gestured to you with a smile, and your lips barely twitched up, trying to be polite. But all you wanted to do was cry.
You leaned your head back against the bed, hands protectively holding your unborn daughter. As soon as the doctor had left the room and closed the door, you burst into tears.
“Hey, now,” Wayne’s hand found your forearm. “There’s nothing to be worried about. Baby’s okay.”
You nodded, face scrunched together in tired, hoarse tears, small whimpers quivering your lips. “I know. I just…I wish Eddie was here.”
“You want me to go find him?”
You shook your head and sobbed. “We shouldn’t bother him. He..he just wants to be left alone. Oh, god, Wayne what did I do? I have no idea why he’s so…so distant and cold. I’m so scared he’s gonna leave me.” You sobbed, grabbing his hand. You were exhausted, words cracking and almost too quiet to hear. You needed to sleep. You’d done nothing but rant and cry to the man for hours now.
“Hey, hey, shh, kiddo.” His hand came up to your hair, trying to calm you down as the sleeve of his red flannel tickled your cheek. “You let me worry about Eddie, okay. You just get your rest, now.” He shushed you gently and held your hands while you cried yourself to sleep, and he stayed until you were completely out of it. Once you were in deep sleep, he covered you up with a blanket, turned out the lamp on the beside table, and left to go kick his nephew’s ass.
•
You could hear the slow, steady beating of your heart monitor in your ear, the hum of people’s voices outside in the halls and sharp footsteps. You felt weight on your legs, sunshine illuminating your face. You opened your eyes slowly, and the first thing you saw was jet black curls. His hand was holding yours, the other placed on the swell of your belly while his head lay on your lap. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.
You blinked tiredly and looked around the room for a clock until you found it on the wall, reading that it was a quarter passed noon. You stifled a yawn and looked back down to your loved, bringing your had to his mane and stroking your fingers through his locks. You laid your head back against the pillow, closing your eyes as an uncomfortable ache set in your lower back.
“Not gonna be easy on momma today, huh?” You whispered to your belly, causing him to stir on your lap. You clamped your mouth shut, hoping he’d fall back asleep. He turned his eyes and fluttered his lids open, and once his iris’s found yours, he sat up quickly. “Hey.” He breathed in deeply, scooting closer to the bed. “Hey, sweetheart, how you feeling?”
You swallowed and nodded, sniffling. “M’ okay.”
He nodded back, hands squeezing your own. “You sure? Need me to get the doctor or anything?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” You assured, feeling awkward as you struggled with what to say. “I thought…I thought you had to work today.” You tried pushing the spotlight off yourself. 
“I took off.“ He examined your face, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale. Are you hungry?”
“Eddie, I’m fine.” You sighed, grabbing his hand in exhaustion. The sleep didn’t seem to do you much good.
Silence ensued, and you both locked eyes, the air thick with tension and stress. Eddie licked his lips, eyes flickering between your face and your belly, brows furrowing together as he tried to speak. “Y/n,” He sighed heavily, scrunching his eyes closed. “Baby, I am so, so sorry.”
You swallowed quietly. “Eddie, it’s-”
“No, no, please,” He held a hand up, voice almost shaking as he struggled to not have a panic attack. “Please, let me say this.”
Your eyes widened a little bit, but you nodded, apprehensive about what he wanted to say. You were too tired to have another argument. Eddie looked physically the sick, the longer you looked at him, watching as he remained quiet and stared at your interlocked hands. “I’ve been having these nightmares,” His free hand fiddled with the ends of the scratchy hospital blanket. “That’s why I’ve been sleeping on the couch. I don’t..well, I don’t want to wake you.”
Your tired eyes narrowed down at him. He was talking. And from the sound of his tone, it was something that was really bothering him. “What are they about?”
His eyes traveled to your belly, bringing up his hand to ghost above your navel. “Dad.” It was barely over a mumble.
Your lips parted slightly, giving a small nod. “Do you want to tell me about them?”
The bags under his eyes looked the color of ripe plums, his skin pale white against the sharp color, making them stand out. His eyes were piercing into deep concentration. “I…I keep remembering things from when I was a kid. Just random…random memories that I’d forgotten about.”
You knew it was dangerous territory when it came to talking about his father. You knew better than to bring it up. Everyone knew better. The only person who had the right, was Wayne, because he understood it on a deeper level. He had been there.
“He hated that I kept my hair long.” He was staring at your belly, but his eyes were long in the past, his iris’s screening a movie that you could almost sit and watch. “He use to..he used to call me a…fag because of it. Said it made me look to much like a girl.”
Your instincts were to shower him with love and pull him close, but he was opening up and you didn’t want to smother him. You kept quiet.
“When I was ten he made me buzz it.” He sighed heavily, dark curls humming over his exhaling chest. “I know it sounds dramatic but…it really did break my heart. I thought I’d never get over it. He said if I didn’t then…then he’d beat me within an inch of my life, and he wasn’t the kind of guy to give empty threats. If I had been older I would of fought back but..I was young. Scared.”
Tears were quietly dampening the plush of your cheeks. How could you not cry?
His hand dropped from your belly to run through his hair, squeezing it lightly from the memory. “And once I had smarted off about not wanting to eat dinner, so he..he smashed my face into the plate and held me there to make me eat it. See the bump here,” His finger went to his slender nose, eyes finally flickering to your face for a brief moment. He didn’t miss the tear tracks. “Never fully healed right.”
He took a shallow breath, looking at the blankets as he fluttered his eyes closed in thought. “I’m just..y/n, I’m,” Your hand squeezed his tightly, your other holding his wrist. Tiny sniffles left your nose.
He looked like he was in so much pain, and he kept opening his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t get the words to come out. “I’m..so scared that I’m..that I’m gonna end up like him. He drove mom away. He drove Wayne away. And I just..I don’t wanna,” His voice broke and you bit your lip to keep from crying out.
“God, y/n, I’m so, so sorry.” He pleaded with shiny eyes. “I’ve been trying so hard not to..fuck things up and I’ve already done it. I’m already pushing you away and- and, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You rushed, leaning up to grab his shoulders. “Eddie, it’s-”
“No.” He shook his head firmly, sniffling. “No, don’t say it’s okay. It’s not okay. I’ve been nothing but a jerk to you lately. There’s no excuse for it.” He silenced your reassurances, making you go quiet. You had to lean back down, because the baby inside of your stomach was having an absolute dance party in your uterus.
“Are you alright?” He sat up more.
You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Dumplin’s just awake, is all.”
He smiled softly at the name, eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. “Dumplin?”
You giggled quietly. “Just a nickname. I haven’t been able to actually think of real names.”
His hand went to your belly again, softly rubbing your swell to try and find his daughter. You took his hand and placed it on the upper right side of your abdomen. You both laughed when she kicked, yours more of a strained groan from the uncomfortable fist bump.
“The first time I saw you,” He patted your belly and looked up to you, only a mere few inches between your noses. “I knew right then that I was gonna marry you. We were in the cafeteria at school. I was sitting there with Dustin and Gareth and as soon as you walked in, my jaw just…I mean, it literally dropped.” He chuckled at the memory, eyes brightening to life. “I looked to them and I said, “Guys she’s the one. That’s the girl I’m gonna marry. Just you wait and see.”
You smiled at the confession, eyes still swelled with tears. His smile turned lopsided, frowning as his eyes drifted down. “And I’m- I’m so scared of loosing you, y/n. I’m so scared of turning out like..like him and driving you away from me. I don’t..I don’t want our daughter to be afraid of me. I’m just so scared, baby. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done I’m just so, so scared.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” You grabbed his cheek, a singular, salty tear rolling down his sculptured cheekbone. “Eddie..Eddie, honey it’s alright. Come here.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him up to lay next to you, and you wrapped your arms around his midsections, allowing him to tuck his head on your chest. You kissed the top of his head. “I’m scared too, you know? I’m trying so hard to do things right to keep her healthy. It’s overwhelming how much there is you have to consider. And when she actually comes? God, it terrifies me just thinking about it.” You gulped, his curls soft against your neck.
You felt a tear drip onto your skin, and you looked down to grip his chin. “Hey,” You lifted his face so you could look into his eyes. “You might not believe it, but I know that you’re going to be a great dad, and I’m..I’m going to be the best mother I can be, even though I’m scared out of my mind. We can be scared, Eddie. It doesn’t mean we’re not ready for this.”
His fingers wrapped around your wrist, his lips finding your pulse point as he nodded softly. “I’m so sorry, y/n.” He said again, shuttering out a breath. “Please, forgive me. I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry. God, just…just kick me to the curb. Throw all my shit out the window. Ban me from Hellfire nights. Anything.” He buried his face in your neck and you laughed, bringing your hand up to his hair.
“You really think I have the power to keep you from going to Hellfire?”
There was a beat of silence. “Probably not.”
His smile tickled your neck and you giggled, scrunching up the blanket closer to you. “But I do think some punishment is in order. I’ve been a shit head.” He lifted his legs off the floor to tangled with yours, arm draped over your stomach. “Any ideas?”
“You could take me to Denny’s for some chocolate chip pancakes.” Your mouth watered at the very mention, a happy squeak in your voice at the idea. “Me and dumplin are hungry.”
“You and dumplin are gonna make me go bankrupt if I keep having to treat you out to denny’s every week.” He teased playfully, situating himself to where he was holding you now.
“Sorry.” You said bashfully, earning a tsk from him. “Shut up.” He chuckled. “I’m kidding.”
He tucked his chin atop of your head, giving you a quick peck as he rubbed up and down your arm. “You know, I’ve been thinkin’ of some baby names.”
“You have?” You peeked up. “What are they?”
“Well, I don’t know if you’re gonna care for them too much.” He warned. “Honestly, I wasn’t planning on even mentioning them.”
“They can’t be that bad.” You played with the buttons on his jacket. “Come on, I wanna know.”
He raised his brows in a sigh. “Well, how bout..Arwen?”
You looked up to him quickly. “Arwen? From like Lord of the Rings?”
He had an amused look on his face. “Yeah! Why not? Or maybe Galadriel?”
“You wanna name our baby Galadriel?”
“I thought it sounded sophisticated.”
You playfully slapped his chest as he laughed into your hair, pink lips spread into a deep smile. “Well, there was one other name I thought about.”
You hummed to encourage him on.
“How bout Joanna?”
Your lips had parted to give criticism, but the name was pretty. “Huh.” You paused. “Joanna.”
He smiled widely as he looked down. “Did good, did I? Joanna Munson.”
He looked off towards the room like he was seeing visions from the future, and you couldn’t look away from your belly, an emotional lump building in your chest. “Joanna Munson. That’s…that’s really pretty, Eddie.” Your voice had cracked and he was back on you.
“Now, it’s not worth crying over, sweetheart.” He chuckled, wiping a tear from your eye. He laid you both back so you could be comfortable, his arms holding you tight. You both stared at each other, your hand flat against his chest.
“You’re going to be such a good dad, Eddie.”
Eddie said nothing, but he didn’t have to. He placed his lips on your forehead, pressing softly as he lulled you back to sleep. Pancakes could wait. You needed your sleep.
And in exactly fifty two days, you both would introduce the world to Joanna Lorraine Munson.
