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angelfic · 2 years

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— OOPS, I LOVE YOU. S.H.

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader

summary: the 4 times you’re just best friends and the 1 time you’re not. alternatively, 5 things never to do with someone unless you want to fall in love.

warnings: kissing, swearing, mentions of drinking, throwing up from drinking, pretty much pg-13 fluff otherwise

author’s note: inspired by a tiktok sent to me by my lovely anon who is the whole reason I wrote this little thing until 5am in the morning lol, enjoy and let me know what u think as always <3

1. when he does that reverse driving thing.

Listen. You at least have the decency to feel a little bad about it. But you can’t help it! Steve may be your best friend, but damn it, you are not immune to the one hand on the steering wheel, one arm on your seat while reversing the car thing that instantly makes any guy more attractive.

A lot more attractive.

So attractive that you momentarily forget the reason he’s driving in the first place, which is to get the kids to the new arcade that opened up just on the outskirts of Hawkins. And you’re supposed to be giving him directions.

Feeling someone’s eyes on you, you turn a little to the back and find Dustin, squished between Lucas and Will, with a shit-eating grin on his face as his gaze flickers from you to Steve. You furrow your brows in a false display of confusion before turning back to your map, as though you don’t know that all the kids believe you and your best friend are harbouring feelings for each other.

Definitely not true, obviously.

You don’t even notice that the map is about to rip at the corners from your grip as you try and ignore the kids whispering in the back. That is until you feel a finger gently prodding your arm and you realise Steve has been asking you a question.

“What?” you ask, stupidly. And a little breathlessly, because there is absolutely no reason for Steve to be smiling like that. “Did you say something?”

“Just wondering if it’s straight ahead or left here,” he gestures in front to the road and you frantically search the map for where you lost your place. Definitely not helped by the whispering in the back getting louder. “You okay?”

“Fine!” you say, a little too quickly. “It’s, uh, left.”

“Thanks,” Steve mutters, glancing up into the rearview mirror and frowning. “Keep it down, you’re distracting Y/N, you little freaks.”

“Aw, they’re just excited, Stevie,” you laugh, and when Steve turns his eyes back to the road, it’s your turn to glare at them through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, we’re just excited Stevie,” Max teases, clearly unperturbed by the underlying threat.

Her words set off the others and you smile sweetly before turning to Steve. “Hey, you wanna drive back, drop the kids off and catch a movie?”

They all yell in unison; a mix of ‘no’, ‘please’ and ‘we’ll shut up’. Satisfied, you sit back in your seat and look at your map again, to avoid any involuntarily reaction to Steve smiling at you.

Yeah, the kids have no idea what they’re talking about.

2. when he lets you cut his hair

“Harrington, are you fucking with me right now?”

“Wha- No!” Steve sits up from his previous position with his head in your lap as you played with his hair, the two of you watching some lame comedy movie. “I mean, you don’t have to do it, but since you were offering…” he trails off as he gets up to grab another bottle of water and you take the time to compose yourself.

When he comes back, you immediately start in on him. “So, you’re actually being serious about me cutting… your hair.”

“What’s the big deal?” he asks, the question sounding muffled by the enormous handful of popcorn he just stuffed into his mouth. “You cut Max’s hair the other day, didn’t you?”

You scoff, looking at him incredulously. “Max wouldn’t have cared if I had given her the same haircut as Will,” you emphasise. “You- You’re… you’re Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington!”

“Ah, yes, my government name,” Steve says sarcastically. “But, I mean, it’s you. I trust you to cut my hair. Just don’t give me the same haircut as Will and we’ll be fine.”

A huge grin threatens to break free and you find that you physically can’t stop it. “You really trust me that much?” You nudge him with your leg from the other side of the couch and he rolls his eyes, but the pink tint of his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. “Aw, you old softie. Alright, get up.”

“Wha- We’re doing it now?” his head snaps up at you, hand reaching halfway to the popcorn bowl. You move it to the side and grab his hand to start dragging him to his bathroom.

“You can’t take it back now, Steve. Binding verbal contract,” you declare dramatically and sit him down on the closed toilet seat, legs spread apart for you to stand between.

As you reach for the scissors in the cabinet above his head, Steve places his hands on either side of your waist as a reflex action to steady you while you search. “I wasn’t gonna take it back, I was just invested in the movie,” he mumbles, dangerously close to your stomach which causes his breath to fan across the tiny strip of exposed skin from where your pyjama shirt has ridden up.

If it weren’t for you trying to steady your own breathing, you’d have noticed Steve’s was slightly shaky. Quickly grabbing the scissors that are finally in view, you find yourself level with Steve who looks up at you, hands still on your waist. He keeps them there even while you set a towel around his neck.

The bastard winks at you. Raising a brow, you hold up the scissors threateningly and you swear he turns a little paler.

“Relax,” you snort, stepping away from Steve to get the water in the sink running. His hand trails down your leg, light as a feather as he’s reluctant to let go. He’s always been touchy with you, and you with him. You’ve always thought it was normal best friend behaviour growing up.

Even as you wash his hair, running your fingers through the soft strands, his eyes flutter shut and you think about how natural this is for your dynamic.

And yet, ever since you and Steve became the unofficial babysitters for a bunch of kids who seem to be convinced that Steve is in love with you and you’re in love with him, you second guess everything about your friendship.

You can’t help but consider that maybe it isn’t normal for you to hate every girl Steve has ever gone out with, or for him to point out every flaw in the guys who go out with you to the point where you end up cancelling on every one of them.

Or for you to compare every guy you do end up going out with to your best friend…

Damn kids, putting ideas in your head.

“You’ve been a little too quiet,” Steve cracks an eye open, squinting up at you through wet hair. “You’re not planning on balding me are you?”

“Scared you’ll lose the source of all your powers?” you ask him in mock concern. “One wrong snip and there goes your endless chain of girls.”

“All except you,” Steve fires back, shaking the wet strands of hair in your face, making you gasp.

You grab the towel around his neck to swat at him, but he grabs the other end and tugs at it, making you stumble and use his shoulder for support.

He smiles at you, guilt-free and you think about how your best friend has one of the prettiest smiles in the world.

And so you push yourself off before you find your mind venturing into dangerous territory.

“Well, I say it’s time to test that theory out,” you reply, clearing your throat and picking up the scissors again. “You better be feeling fortunate it’s me holding these scissors of all people.”

“Oh, I am.”

3. when he holds back your hair

“Ooooh, thanks for the haircut, Y/N,” you groan out in your best imitation of Steve’s voice as he hauls you into the bathroom of whoever the hell’s house you’re in. “I love my hair soooo much. Let’s go to a party so everyone can see my hair. Then you can get so drunk you feel like you’re going to die.”

“I didn’t force the alcohol down your throat!” Steve exclaims, sitting down with you on the floor by the toilet, lifting up the seat and helping you lean over it. The guilt in his voice contradicts his words heavily. “Hey, wait, let me tie your hair up first.”

He gathers your hair up in one hand and uses his teeth to take off the hair tie he keeps on his other wrist for you.

If it weren’t for the nausea, your stomach might have swooped for a completely different reason.

“You know damn well that I don’t go to these parties, Steve,” you try to take deep breaths to keep the vomiting at bay while he ties your hair. “Because every time you force me to, the whole entire population apparently wants to talk to you, so I get all bored and end up drinking half the alcohol on the premises without realising!”

“I’m sorry,” he soothes, keeping your ponytail out of the way as your body decides it can’t keep the sickness at bay. “It’s okay, babe. You’re fine, I got you.”

It’s while Steve grabs you tissue after tissue and cleans you up unflinchingly, that you realise maybe he isn’t just your totally platonic childhood best friend.

The scowl on your face, which is actually directed at the universe for putting you in this situation of all things to realise your feelings, gets misinterpreted by Steve who pouts at you, hand resting on your cheek.

“I’m gonna take you home and you can stay over and I’ll stay with you all night in case you throw up again and you can pick the movie for tomorrow’s movie night and the next month’s worth of movie nights, okay?” Steve implores, eyes wide and pleasing with you.

“Okay,” you whisper, no argument left in you. Partly because of the vomiting, mostly because you’re trying to process all these feelings while drunk and exhausted. You slump against his chest and he holds you there. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“Anything for you.”

You’re definitely fucked.

4. when he cooks you breakfast

“Pass the knife,” Steve calls over his shoulder to where you’re sat on the opposite kitchen counter. His voice makes you wince, your head still hurting from your killer hangover. Probably the reason Steve is cooking you breakfast in the first place.

You grab the knife and walk over to him, slowly and grudgingly. “Not so loud,” you grumble, passing it over a little too aggressively.

“You’ll feel better once you get some pancakes in you,” Steve says, all-knowing expression on his face as he chops up strawberries — your favourite. “You go and sit, I’ll bring them to you.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” you shrug, grabbing the spatula to start flipping the pancakes already in the pan. “You just focus on those strawberries.”

He looks at you warily while you struggle to flip even one pancake. “I don’t even know why you bother every time.”

“Go to hell, Harrington,” you mumble, right before the uncooked batter on top of the pancake smears on the side of the pan. “You distracted me!”

Steve chuckles in response and sets down his knife, coming over to stand behind you. You aren’t prepared for him to trap you between the stove and him, holding your spatula-wielding hand and guiding it under the pancake. “Here, like this.”

It was easy enough to ignore the sight of him making you breakfast as you stared at random kitchen utensils from your spot on the counter this whole time. But it’s another thing when he’s pressed up against you, hand over yours, his scent overwhelming you. It doesn’t help that you’re wearing his shirt and his sweatpants and slept in his bed — you quite literally can’t escape him no matter where you go. And that means you start to think about your feelings for him, unfortunately sober this time, not allowing you to ignore them.

The problem is, you don’t think you want to.

“We’re like an old married couple sometimes,” he says, completely offhandedly.

You freeze, not knowing what to say.

He’s kidding, of course, making a joke that you should probably laugh at. The thought of him saying things like this while thinking about you completely platonically, however, suddenly brings back nausea that rivals the night before. You collect yourself quickly and mutter something about how he wishes, before ducking under his arm to get some plates.

Steve clears his throat, running a hand through his hair, a little awkwardly. “What’s wrong?”

You really need to work on your acting skills.

“Nothing!” you insist, waving him off and handing him a plate. “I just felt a little dizzy for a second. Hungry.”

“Oh, do you wanna eat and then rest up?” His protective mode immediately kicks in, something you’re all too familiar with. “I can go grocery shopping for movie night with the kids myself.”

You roll your eyes, loading your plate with strawberries before Steve even has the chance to place the first pancake on. “I’m just hungry, I promise. Also, every time one of us goes alone, we end up forgetting like half the list and those kids are scary when they don’t have their essentials.”

“Oh, I remember the Eggo incident all too well,” Steve shudders are the memory. “My coffee table still leans a little to the right.”

5. when you go grocery shopping

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t stop at my house so I could grab some clothes,” you grumble, handing over the shopping cart to Steve with more force than necessary. “It was literally on the way! I look ridiculous, Steve.”

When he doesn’t answer, you sigh and look up from your list to find him grinning stupidly and looking over at your figure, clad in his clothes. You swat at his arm to snap him to attention.

“I think you look cute in my clothes,” he shrugs, unapologetic. “A completely self-indulgent move on my part.”

You almost stop in your tracks.

Yeah, Steve and you are close and he’s a sweet, charming, naturally flirty guy. But he’s never been this bold with you. First at breakfast, practically back-hugging you, and now admitting he likes to see you in his clothes?

You wonder what’s changed all of a sudden, but it’s making you nervous. And a little frustrated because how are you meant to come to terms with your feelings for your best friend when he says things like that!

“Don’t let the kids catch you saying stuff like that,” you wrinkle your nose, throwing a box of Eggos into the cart before you forget. “They’d be insufferable.”

“So, what?” Steve mumbles, pushing the cart into the next aisle to look for Lucas’ cookies. “They’re just joking around.”

You frown at the lack of joking around in his voice, and walk to the end of the cart which Steve stops in order to avoid running you over. “You don’t find it embarrassing and irritating?”

He scoffs. “Nice to know how you feel about the mere thought of being together,” he laughs without a trace of humour. “What’s the big deal, anyway?”

The sudden change of tone in the conversation has you wildly confused, and slightly annoyed because it’s easy for Steve to wave off the kids and their very real remarks. “The big deal is that we aren’t together. And the kids always saying that we should be… I- it- it has me confused!”

An elderly woman who’s about to enter the aisle, sees the two of you and clearly hears you raising your voice because she instantly turns her cart around.

“What has you confused?” Steve asks incredulously, throwing his arms up. “Is the idea of being with me that mind-boggling?”

You laugh derisively, no clue what he’s talking about. “We aren’t even—This has me confused! You, when you talk like we should be together, and when you flirt and when you act like we are together! But then we’re just best friends! What the hell is up with that?!”

“Well!” Steve looks around — you aren’t sure why, when the aisle is empty aside from you two. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Maybe it’s because I fucking love you!”

Your breath catches in your throat and you’re scared you might start choking if you do try and speak. However, when Steve looks at you like he wants to take it all back, misunderstanding your silence, you can’t stop the words from flowing out. “Well…maybe I love you too!

The relief on Steve’s face is something you catch for only a few seconds, because the next minute he’s striding over, shopping trolley abandoned on the side. He stares down at you, gaze intense and determined and so, so beautiful. “And maybe I wanna kiss you really bad.”

“Maybe you better.”

And so he does. He kisses you, really, really kisses you with the intention of making you forget everything else except him. Your best friend— your completely non-platonic best friend is kissing you and sliding his hands into your hair as you keep your hands on his hard, strong, chest that you’ve leant on for so many years. And while he presses his lips to yours, you can believe that he’s loved you for that long, you know he has.

When Steve reluctantly pulls away, you realise that you’ve loved him for just as long and damn those kids for knowing it before you did.

You’re the first to speak, albeit breathlessly. “They’re never gonna let us live this down, are they?”

“I don’t even care,” he shakes his head, grinning. “I finally got the girl.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #joe keery x reader

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ariseur · 3 months

Note

Can I request dmc guys jealousy headcanons, if thats something youd be interested in writing? 👀

dmc guys jealousy hc’s 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

eidjdfjjeieddejeje why do headcanons take me sm longer to do

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

intended lowercase, kinda spoilers for dmc5 in nero’s hcs (?), mentions of possessiveness and obv jealousy, lmk if i missed anything!! 💕

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓓ANTE — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ for DANTE, i feel like he trusts you deeply and wouldn’t get jealous as easily as maybe, say— vergil?

❥ he’s pretty confident in your relationship but on the off chance he does get jealous, he’ll let it play out for awhile as he watches from afar.

❥ he’ll play it off as a joke, but if the person starts getting a little too touchy, he’ll ‘casually’ slide in with an arm around your waist and a kiss on your jaw, looking into the person’s eyes while you giggle at the sudden affection.

❥ dante would lowkey try to one-up them on the down low. oh, they buy you a drink? dante’s buying you ten. they compliment your hair? dante’s in your ear telling you how gorgeous you look today.

❥ and it’s not like he feels like he needs to give you false compliments just to one-up the other person, he just finds it amusing the way their jaw clenches when they see dante muttering in your ear while his eyes lock on them, a shit eating grin glued to his face because he knows what he’s doing.

❥ if you leave for whatever reason, dante might ‘accidentally’ make the person uncomfortable if they don’t get the hint already just by his tone. he’ll make passive aggressive comments if they’ve been getting too touchy, maybe nudge them a little too hard in the ribs or grip their shoulder a bit too tight at a ‘really funny joke’.

❥ dante does trust you though, it’s only when the person starts to get physical is when it becomes more of a problem. his energy speaks volumes, so you can tell if he has underlying intentions just from his smile.

❥ he’ll try to act friendly, albeit still a little petty, even if you know them personally. an arm slung across your shoulder or your waist along with scattered kisses across your face and shoulder is his main go-to. dante’s main goal is either for them to get the hint or for your mind to be occupied on him only.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥ERGIL — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ now VERGIL.. vergil is much more intimidating with his reactions. once he spots someone chatting it up with you and getting a little too close, he’s there in an instant.

❥ the only difference between him and dante’s reaction is that fact that vergil silently brews, eyes burning holes through the person as he watches quietly. he’ll take a seat next to you as his eyes never leave them, even once you greet him when he sits with you— just his piercing gaze staring them down.

❥ he swears that he doesn’t get jealous, that’s he’s better than whatever assumption you’re implying, oh my my! how dare you assume such things about this son of sparda?

❥ but alas, vergil gets hella jealous.

❥ it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, he’s just very possessive over you. and it’s not like he’ll keep you locked away for him and him only, either. it’s simply a matter that involves his own ego and i don’t know if it’s some demon thing, but he just craves your scent. that, or his scent on you. just something that tells people that you’re his and he’s yours.

❥ if the person doesn’t take the hint after the abundance in glares that vergil throws at them, he’ll start making remarks. nothing too serious, just initiating some sort of confrontation if he sees that you’re uncomfortable. if you don’t seem annoyed or bothered by it, vergil will second-guess it and leave you to your own devices, trusting that you’ll handle it at some point.

❥ i doubt anybody would try vergil, so i wouldn’t even consider that a possibility. he’s a devil hunter that’s over six feet tall with a fit body and yamato sheathed in his back pocket, nobody in their right mind would fuck with him.

❥ vergil obviously knows to be logical, though. he doesn’t let his emotions get the better of him during this time and hopes that you’ll know how to handle it yourself. although, he definitely wouldn’t mind scaring the person off a little more.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓝ERO — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ i honestly doubt that this man can keep his mouth shut. NERO just struggles with not making a stupid smartass remark every second.

❥ nero definitely has some insecurities that he buries, often only coming out in shorts bursts of when he can’t take it anymore. these jabs and quips that he makes are his form of concealing the fact that he’s insecure about himself and his abilities, especially if this is during or post-to-finding-out-who-his-father-is.

❥ i wouldn’t say he’s aggressive, but his mouth would def get him into big trouble. if he saw that you looked uncomfortable with the person or they started getting too touchy with you, he literally teleports next to you and greets you with a chaste cheek kiss. if you seemed okay with it, though, he’d try his best to brush it off but still glance at you every once in awhile (and by that i mean literally every minute) just to check on you.

❥ if he does decide to sit with you and just listen in on the conversation, he’ll basically just be hovering over you awkwardly. there are two ways this’ll go, either nero’s going to act all nonchalant like he doesn’t care even though he has a keen eye on whoever’s flirting with you (like father like son)— or he’s going to be really clingy with you.

❥ not really physically clingy, but more so clingy in the way where he’ll follow you around like a dog with heart eyes the whole time. even after you’ve stopped talking to the person.

❥ (he’s just like that, guys.)

❥ i think he gets a tiny bit butthurt afterwards though. i mean, he’s been called dead weight and basically has been looked down upon by both his father and his uncle, essentially being seen almost as a pest during the duration of dmc5.

❥ help this boy please, he def needs it

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥 — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ im sorry but i cannot see V as a jealous person

❥ i think v is a very calm natured guy, and i think he has a lot of faith in you. he trusts that you’ll be able to make the right choice in the end, and he knows that you wouldn’t just up and cheat on him or leave him out of the blue. he knows you know better and so he leaves you be.

❥ though.. it doesn’t hurt to watch from afar, does it?

❥ v is also an observer, he watches the interactions between you two as he studies both of your body languages. it’s not like he thinks you’ll do anything, it’s just his nature.

❥ griffon would definitely tease him about looking at you so much, squawking out nonsense as he calls v whipped for you.

❥ if he sees that you’re uncomfortable or you want to get out of the conversation— it can go a few different ways.

❥ one of the scenarios, for instance, would consist of him closing his book as he gets up and he walks over to the two of you. he’d greet you sweetly, side-eyeing the person in front of you as he kisses your hand. maybe he’d take a seat next to you just to let the person know that he’s watching. and if that didn’t work, griffon would certainly scare them off just by his yapping.

“shit, a bow tie? really? was your torso too wide for a tie or what?”

❥ overall, v isn’t a jealous person in general. however, he does love you enough to help you when you’re in need of a knight in shining armor. even if that knight is a gothic poet with an annoying bird and a panther at his side.

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 10 months

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Someone Different, Someone New — Cassian X Reader.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Hi! This is an impromptu piece that is by no means my best writing — I just wanted to exercise my brain a bit. I haven’t added a tag list on this one because I need to go through and sort them out/update them, so sorry about that!

Warning: this piece does depict struggles of mental illness/trauma/panic, so if that’s something that could negatively effect you, please, please give this one a miss. This is based off my own experience of mental illness/trauma/panic, and the last thing I want is to trigger some unpleasant things because of my writing, so please take care. All the love. 💕

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“You doing okay?”

Rhysand’s arm pressed against yours as he took up the space beside you. Just as you were, he leaned back against the balcony railing, wine glass in hand. The cold temperature had driven the evening’s guests inside, but the bite of the chill…you needed it. Even as it started to hurt.

But you slapped a pleasant smile on your face that offered no glimpse of pain. “I’m okay.”

There was no need to put a front on for Rhys. He was the only one who could get it — it was he you’d been trapped Under the Mountain with, after all. He who had known who you’d been before, during and after. He’d seen everything, and he saw you now.

Saw the way your gaze stared intensely through the open glass doors and fastened on Cassian.

“Have you spoken to him?” Rhys asked.

Barely. You’d only been back three months, and the majority of it had been spent on your own. Fifty years trapped with people made company feely oily and itchy. And the person you’d become didn’t exactly make for good company, either. Not now that you were someone who was short-tempered, or brusque, or downright miserable. Being alone meant not having to subject anyone to that. It was a wonder Rhysand had convinced you to come tonight at all.

And there was another underlying reason for not wanting to face Cassian. You didn’t know each other anymore.

There might have been the potential for romance between you…a very long time ago. But fifty years apart had wiped that clean. You were no longer the person who had gone under that mountain. You were no longer the person he might have grown to love. He had known someone of vibrancy, of light and laughter.

You couldn’t bear to face him as you were, now. And he seemed to be doing just fine.

“No.” You answered Rhys, draining your glass.

Your High Lord studied you. “Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say. And neither would he. It would be uncomfortable for him.”

“This is Cassian we’re talking about. He’ll just want to know that you’re alright.”

You most certainly were not alright.

You weren’t alright with enclosed spaces. You couldn’t even stand the feeling of your clothes touching your skin for too long. Loud noises had you flinching and laughter sounded too close to screams. Sometimes, you could swear your bathwater was blood, coating you, staining you, reminding you of what you’d had to do to survive. There was an ever-present tightness in your chest that always teetered on the edge of becoming something terrible.

You may have escaped the mountain, but you didn’t think you’d truly gulped down the fresh air.

And though you’d spent fifty years longing to get out from that prison, you honestly didn’t know how to be outside of it. Who to be outside of it.

You felt yourself jolt as you watched Cassian bellow a deep laugh. The female he was talking to grinned broadly, proud of whatever she’d said to garner such a reaction. Cass looked…content. Happy. He had moved on with his life, just as he’d deserved to.

You weren’t sure you could stomach watching it play out in front of you, though.

“I think he’s waiting for you to make the first move, Y/N.” Rhys’s hand landed on your arm, and your entire body went rigid. “He wants you to have the control.”

You swallowed. “I don’t think he thinks about me at all. Nor would I expect him to. He doesn’t know me anymore. I am not the person he once cared for.”

“I think you’re more of that same person than you realise.”

He was wrong. You shook your head. “No. I’m…someone different, Rhys. Someone new.”

“And you think Cassian would judge you for that? Really?”

Your gaze cut sharply to his violet one. “I think you have an over-exaggerated idea of how significant I am in his life.”

He stared back at you, pain marring his features. And this was precisely why you didn’t want to be around people anymore. You were just…rough. Jagged. Rude and cold.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes shuttered. You pushed your glass into Rhys’s hand. “Sorry, Rhys, I just…need some time.”

He didn’t protest as you pulled away from him, wandering back inside and weaving your way through the bodies that had gathered for the party celebrating their High Lord’s return to Velaris. You didn’t even know where you planned to go. All you were aware of was that tightness in your chest worsening. Constricting. You rubbed at your chest, forcing yourself to swallow down air.

Your legs carried you aimlessly as you climbed stairs and burst through a door. A bathing chamber. You collapsed against the door, a clammy, prickling sensation spreading over your skin as you fought to just breathe. Your ears were ringing, pounding, a pressure seeming to bind your body and hold it taut. You weren’t sure you could survive this. Weren’t sure how to not be…this.

You weren’t aware of how long it lasted. Time felt both fast and slow around you as you bowed over the sink, fingers digging into the porcelain. The music and chatter of the party sounded so, so far away, you could be forgiven for thinking you’d left the building. But you knew you hadn’t. You were still here. You. Were. Still. Here.

You didn’t know when your trembling hands had turned the tap on and darted under the ice-cold water, but the sensation was soothing, grounding. You focused on watching it flow, dripping from your fingertips and splashing into the sink. You cupped your palms and gathered a small pool and splashed it against your face.

Slowly, your breaths began to even out. Slowly, your body began to steady. The sounds from downstairs became clearer, sounded closer, and the sensations that had gripped you subsided, making way for a wave of lethargy.

You just wanted to sleep.

You dried your face, your hands, straightening yourself out and hoping you were steady enough to make it out of there. Hopefully you could get away without running into anyone. The last thing you needed right now was mindless conversation.

You pulled the door open — and stopped short at the figure that waited just outside.

Cassian pushed off the wall. He unfolded his arms, studying you. And whatever he saw when he looked at you…you knew it couldn’t be good.

“Hey…” He said softly, daring a step closer. “Can we talk?”

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #cassian #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #acotar series #reader insert #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #illyrian #batboys

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houserautha · 1 month

Note

Okay just imagine

You’re pregnant with Feyd 3 child and you walk and see him wearing one and playing blocks with the other! I just feel like after all the abuse he’s been through he would be as gentle and loving as he knows how, you have shown him that there is power in such things!

I neeeeeed him

I think it would go something like this:

Silence is frightening. Usually, it means that one of your children has done something that will either invoke your deepest ire or make you cry. And, well, considering that you’re reaching the last days of your pregnancy, it could be both.

You go in search of whatever fresh hell your children have decided to wreak upon you, but it doesn’t take long before you hear the familiar rasp of your husband’s voice. You follow it, and stumble upon a scene that brings a smile to your face.

Feyd is pacing back and forth, your youngest strapped to his chest with military-like precision. His brow is furrowed, and he’s explaining in detail to your oldest about proper defensive measures.

“This wall needs to be higher. It would be too easily penetrable otherwise,” he instructs.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, brow furrowed in an exact mimic of his father’s, your oldest diligently adds blocks to his fortress. Amusement flickers through you.

Feyd stops his pacing to admire his son’s work. In order to assuage your youngest, he bounces slightly on his feet. “Good. And what are you missing?”

“Soldiers!” Your son exclaims, scrambling to find his wooden figurines and set them up in various positions around his fortress. When he’s done, he looks up hopefully at Feyd.

“You’re not done yet,” Feyd says. Your youngest cries out in protest of being stationary too long, so your husband resumes his pacing.

You watch as your son works through what he still needs, dark eyes darting back and forth as he assesses the situation. Leave it to Feyd to turn playtime into a lesson on battle strategies. Frankly, you weren’t sure he knew how to play.

Suddenly your youngest bolts upright. “I know!”He scurries for his toy box, stopping in his tracks when he notices you hovering in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Mommy.”

Feyd looks up. A shiver dances up your spine. He hungrily drinks you in despite the fact that your ankles have swelled impossibly and you haven’t washed your hair in a concerning amount of time. You smile coyly at him. It’s that look he gives you that’s kept you pregnant so often. Damn him.

“Hi, baby,” you say. “What are you doing?”

“We’re playing Fortify. It’s when we have to practice protecting our home in case of bad guys.” Your son explains this with grave solemnity, then sets to rifling through his toy box.

You shoot Feyd an exasperated look, to which he grins and shrugs.

“Got it!” Your son races back to his impressive block fortress. He places another figurine.

You step closer, one hand going to your belly to cradle it. “Who is that?”

“That’s you,” your son tells you. He points to the different figurines. “Daddy says we have to protect you, even though you can protect yourself. You’re just stubborn like that.”

“Hm. Is that so?” You glance at your husband.

Feyd drops a kiss on your youngest’s head. “I don’t know where he got that from.”

You listen carefully as your son describes, in detail, all of the fortification to the fortress and its reasoning. Clearly he has Feyd’s mind for battle, but there’s an underlying touch of empathy there as well. And, to your surprise, your husband has only tried to nurture it. To the best of his abilities, of course, sometimes you swear you see his eye twitch when your son pauses his training to relocate an unsuspecting beetle.

“It looks perfect. You did a good job,” you tell your son. You ruffle his hair. “But I think it’s time for your nap.”

His lower lip jets out. “I want to keep playing.”

“I know you do, and your fortress will still be here when you get back.”

“That’s an order, soldier,” Feyd adds.

Your son looks to your husband, then you, then back to your husband before sighing. “Yes, Daddy — I mean — Baron,” your son giggles. You fondly watch his retreating form.

A groan loosens from you as you attempt to stand back up. Feyd crosses the space between you in a single stride, grabbing your hand and helping you to your feet. He brushes his lips across your knuckles.

“I’m just stubborn, huh?” You ask in reply.

“Oh, despicably so.” With two babies between you, one strapped to his chest and one curled in your belly, it’s a little difficult for him to draw you close and kiss you but he manages. When he pulls back, he somewhat distractedly says, “He’s a good strategist. Intelligent. Perceptive. Giedi Prime will be in good hands.”

You kiss your husband’s cheek. “Obviously. He’s learned from the best.”

A/N: this definitely got away from me a bit but it was just too cute😭😭😭 Feyd doesn’t know how to be gentle or play, but he knows what not to do and he’s just going from there

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daniswoso · 3 months

Text

Mean.

DVD x Reader

Summary: Daan sort of terrifies you, eventually you learn you had no reason to be scared.

Warnings: Swearing, gay panic, minor crisis No hate to Ellie and Daan’s current relationship or either of them I adore them!!!, overthinking (sort of?), reader and Daan being oblivious, use of Y/N.

********

You and Danielle had been teammates for the past 3 months. You however wouldn't consider yourselves friends.

You don't know why, you don't know when, but you just automatically assumed Danielle hated you. Maybe it was the way she'd have an unreadable expression on her face when you'd speak French to your other teammates. Or the way she'd absolutely show no mercy during matches or training.

The amount of times you had been on the receiving end of an angry Danielle Van De Donk in training, well... you had lost count, you just knew they hurt.

Today was a team bonding day at Ada's house, nothing too serious, just you and all the girls from Lyon sat around playing fifa and being competitive little shits.

However, it was just your luck you arrived late. And that the only available seat was the one next to the woman you swore hated you.

But you took it, despite being shit scared of her.

Everything was going well, you didn't necessarily speak to each other that much, only exchanging one word at a time. The dutch woman clearly not up for conversation, with you at least. But she was certainly up for it with the blonde on the other side of her, Ellie Carpenter.

You don't know why on Earth it bothered you so much. The way Ellie looked at Danielle with a lovesick expression, the way she'd laugh a tad too hard at her jokes, the way she'd hang off her every word. It annoyed you to no end, and you didn't know why. Which only made you more annoyed.

Which then led to you heading into Ada's kitchen, trying to not throw the glass you were pouring wine into at the wall out of frustration.

Why the hell was this bothering you so much? You were terrified of the woman! You had seen the way she tore her opposition apart on the pitch. You had seen the way she tackled so fiercely. You had seen the way her muscular arms flexed as she was in the gym, the way she panted after a heavy training session.

Holy shit. You were scared of her. But it was maybe possible that you like liked her too? You weren't sure, and that was a whole can of worms you had no intention of opening in the middle of Ada's fucking kitchen.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by none other than the brunette herself, looking down at you with wide, concerned eyes.

"You okay?" She asks, she was actually speaking to you.

"Yeah, just reconsidering life choices and pretending not to hate myself and the feelings I have." You chuckled awkwardly, hoping it would come off as a joke rather than you over sharing. You gulped nervously as the joke fell flat, only getting a concerned slightly judgemental look from Danielle, downing the remainder of your wine.

"Okay, Y/N, maybe you should slow down with the alcohol." She chuckled, although there was an underlying concern to her tone as she removed the wine glass from your hand gently. She offered you a bashful smile, which you returned; hoping it didn't come off as a grimace.

You stand there in not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence for a moment, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

She sniffs and wipes her nose, smiling at you awkwardly.

"So.." You say, dragging out the 'o' sound.

"So." She replies, much less dragged out than you did.

"I think I'm gonna go home." You smile awkwardly, moving to grab your bag.

She grabs your arm, turning your back around to look at her.

"I could come with you? Get a cup of coffee?" She offers, before adding to it in a nervous ramble, "If you want to that is! If not it's totally fine!" she stammers before shutting up at the sound of your laugh.

"Sure, Danielle." You replied.

“Please. Call me Daan, Y/N/N.” She smirks.

"You know," you say after a beat of silence that followed the dying down laughter, "when I first met you, I thought you were mean." You laugh, shaking your head.

Danielle looks slightly shocked, her brows furrowing before she grinned, "Well, I hope I've proved you wrong."

You laugh, nodding. "You have."

She smiles triumphantly and you go back to eating your pastries in comfortable silence.

"So, what about me made you think I was mean?" She bemusedly asked, raising an eyebrow.

You thought for a moment, before your face softened and you shrugged, "I don't actually know. I mean, your confidence and your work ethic alongside how you play on the pitch? Jesus that's fucking terrifying. But I don't know why I was scared of you off the pitch, or why I thought you were mean."

You both laugh, "Alright, anything else?" She snickers before taking a sip of coffee.

"Ah! There's also that face you make when I speak French with the others, it's like you're judging me." You laugh, you swear your abs are getting more defined with how hard you've laughed in the past 30 minutes.

"What! No! I wasn't judging you! I was jealous of you!" She laughs loudly, before your fits of giggles came to an end, "And it's incredibly attractive." She murmurs quietly, quiet enough you don't hear her.

"What?" You hum.

She sighs, "And you're so attractive when you speak French." she mutters, cursing slightly as heat rises to her cheeks.

"You... You think I'm attractive?" You grin as she nods, using your index and thumb to pull her head up, making her look at you. "If it helps I think you're pretty fit too." You laugh softly as her eyes light up.

"Y/N?" She asks quietly.

"Yeah, Daan?" You ask, your breath hitching as she leaned in.

"I like you." She admits.

"I like you too."

Silence, but only for a moment.

She leans in, her lips moving against yours, almost as if they were a perfect fit against your own. Well, at least she didn't hate you.

******

A/N: hi! sorry for not posting much, but here’s something while i write up some part 2’s (and 3’s!) of stuff :)

#woso #football #futbol #woso fanfics #woso imagine #footy #woso x reader #futból #lovesick idiots #gay panic #danielle van de donk #daan van de donk #danielle van de donk x reader #DVD x reader #DVD #danielle van de donk x you

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

Text

There Are Circumstances

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick refuses to bring you on the mission which further deteriorates your already fragile relationship. And the true reason behind his decision catches you off guard.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, and, as always, a hefty dose of emotional torment

WC: 3000+

This is Part 4 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Lieutenant!” Maverick calls after you as you storm out of the briefing room before anybody else can exit. You hear him pushing past the others as he follows you out the door. “Lieutenant!” he repeats, his voice echoing in the narrow passageway.

You quicken your pace, the curve of the steel walls blurring in your peripherals as you nearly sprint through the winding corridor.

“Y/N!” Maverick hollers over the persistent rattle of the ship. You keep your course without acknowledging him, but the hum of machinery drowns out Maverick’s footsteps and you don’t hear him running up behind you until it’s too late and he’s cutting you off before you can go any further. He stops so abruptly that you nearly crash into him. He releases a sharp breath, his lips pressed together tightly, and blocks your way when you try to move past. “Don’t take it personally,” he says.

“Fuck off,” you snap, trying to go around him.

Maverick holds his hand out to stop you and gives his head a slight shake. “If this is your idea of professionalism” –

You scoff indignantly. How dare he speak of professionalism after washing you out for no good reason. You’re the best pilot in the squadron – he’d admitted it himself – so his decision to keep you off the mission is personal. “Never would’ve pegged you for the spiteful type,” you say, trying to keep your voice level despite its underlying tremor.

Maverick’s gaze drifts as he looks stoically over your shoulder. He seems unfazed by your assessment or, at the very least, he hides it well. “This has nothing to do with our relationship,” he says, still not meeting your eye.

“What relationship?” you respond maliciously, reminding him that he had severed whatever connection the two of you shared weeks ago.

Maverick breathes out steadily and looks at you once more. “I can’t take you,” he says firmly. “Please don’t question my judgement.”

You let out a bitter chuckle and it reverberates in the passage, for a moment drowning out the rumble of the ship’s engines. “Did Cyclone put you up to this?” you ask.

Maverick shakes his head sternly. “This was my decision.”

You grit your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. You’re so offended that Maverick has excluded you from the operation, it hardly matters why he chose to do it. All that matters is that Maverick keeps hurting you. And all you want to do is hurt him back. “Let me pass,” you hiss, trying again to force your way through.

Maverick takes a hold of your arms to keep you in place. “Don’t do this,” he says, an edge to his tone despite the composure on his face.

“Do what?” you yell, fighting his firm grasp.

“You’re acting irrationally,” Maverick says in a low voice.

“Oh, am I?” you respond scathingly.

“We can discuss this in a mature, professional manner,” he urges.

You blink at him, stunned at his choice of words. “Are you saying I’m immature?”

He shakes his head solemnly. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“That’s the word you used” –

“Just listen to me, for god’s sake!” he growls, his volume rising threateningly. But you’re only pleased to witness the dissolution of his self-control. After all, you can’t be the only one here who feels something.

“I am listening!” you retort. “You’re professional and I’m not. You’re mature and I’m” –

“Why are you starting a fight?”

“I didn’t start this!” you shout, finally freeing yourself of his grip.

You push past him angrily, but he doesn’t let you get far before roaring, “YOU’RE A LOOSE CANNON!”

You freeze, silent for a second as you process this appraisal.

“If I can’t trust you down here, how am I supposed to trust you up there?” he yells.

You turn slowly to look at him, meeting his turbulent gaze. “You don’t trust me?” you ask quietly, your words barely audible amidst the clatter of the ship.

Maverick’s features contort apologetically, as though he immediately regrets his words. He sighs despairingly, his eyes glistening in the low, fluorescent lights as he squares his jaw. “I can’t get you to cooperate,” he says regretfully. “I don’t know how.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“You’re a hell of a pilot,” he continues. “But, unfortunately, that’s not enough.”

You suck in your cheeks and bite into them aggressively, trying your best not to cry.

“I can’t have you ignoring my orders up there because you think you know better” –

“I would never –” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You have not demonstrated evidence to the contrary,” he says decisively.

“Maybe not during training, but on a mission” –

Maverick shakes his head. “I told you, Lieutenant: we train like we fight. So that, when we fight, we can come back alive. Ignoring instructions during training may have created bad habits that I don’t want to creep up on us in combat.”

“So, this is punishment?”

“No,” Maverick says quietly. “This is a lesson.”

You let out a disdainful sigh. “What’s the difference?”

Maverick takes a step toward you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says.

You back away. “And yet, here we are.”

Maverick watches you levelly, having nearly regained all his composure. “I don’t want to leave this unresolved.”

You consider his request. In just a few hours, he will be leaving for a mission from which he may never return. And yet, your resentment gets the best of you anyhow. “You know that I would never jeopardize this mission,” you say through gritted teeth. “You know that your reason for leaving me behind is bullshit!”

Maverick nods solemnly. “You’re entitled to that opinion.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t patronize me.”

Maverick doesn’t say much after this point, and you’re too distraught to carry on the conversation all on your own. Within minutes, other officers begin to round the corner as they make their way back to the living quarters and you join the procession mutely, giving Maverick one last, wounded glance.

…

You’re on deck when Maverick and his crew prepare for takeoff as your own fighter is on standby alert. He watches you solemnly as you wish your fellow aviators a successful mission and, when he approaches you, his eyebrows lifted inward worriedly, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of losing him for good.

He holds out his hand to you, but you don’t take it. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, shutting your eyes tightly when you feel his hands close around your back. “Fly safe, Captain,” you mutter, and you feel his head move up and down in a nod against your neck. When your eyes flutter open, you notice that Cyclone – who’d been watching your interaction from the sidelines – has turned away with a sour expression.

It takes every ounce of your self-control to keep from kissing him as you pull away from the embrace. And, when you catch Maverick’s miserable expression, you gather that he’s fighting the same impulse. He squeezes your hand discreetly before backing away with a grim expression. “We’ll see you soon,” he assures you.

…

“Requesting clearance for takeoff, sir,” you say tensely, interrupting the chaotic feed in your headset.

“Denied,” you hear Cyclone’s rigid response.

“But, sir –” you start when Cyclone interjects.

“I said no, Lieutenant.”

You throw your head back into your seat in frustration. Your heart is hammering so insistently that you feel its pulse in the tips of every one of your fingers. You’ve been trained to keep your emotions in check when faced with stressful situations. You’ve been taught to manage anxiety and overcome fear. But this? No amount of simulation exercises could have possibly prepared you for an event like this.

Maverick’s plane has been shot down and Cyclone has made the difficult decision of leaving him behind, despite the very real chance that he may still be alive. Rationally speaking, you understand that going back for Maverick isn’t worth the unnecessary risk of additional casualties. But, as is to be expected in such unprecedented circumstances, you’re noticing a rapid deterioration of your own logical reasoning skills to the point where you contemplate ignoring orders, taxiing to the runway, and taking off without pre-flight checks. Just when you’re about to release the parking brake, however, the ground crew cuts your engine. You glance down to see them signaling for you to exit the aircraft. “Admiral Simpson, what is happening?” you ask in a panic. “Why were my engines shut off?”

“You’ve been grounded, Lieutenant,” is his response. “Please report to mission control.”

The thought that Cyclone might be omitting information about Maverick and taking you off the deck in order to share it in private is causing you to stagger as you climb out of the cockpit. You’re so nauseated that you feel like you might faint before reaching the ground.

You remove your helmet at a run, skirting the maintenance personnel on the flight deck to reach the first stairwell. You barrel down the stairs and through a passageway toward the center of the carrier. Then down another flight of stairs, and then another. It feels like a lifetime has passed before you finally reach the Combat Information Center.

“Is he okay?” you cry, bursting through the door.

Cyclone turns to look at you with barely concealed irritation. He doesn’t appear impressed with your conduct.

You clear your throat and salute your superior. Then, you try again. “Where is he, sir?”

Cyclone tightens his mouth sternly before looking back to the screen behind him. “We don’t know,” he responds.

“What?” you screech, forgetting protocol yet again. This time, however, Cyclone doesn’t even flinch at your tone. “Why am I here then?” you ask, adding, “Sir,” as an afterthought.

“You’re here because I’m not losing another pilot to insubordination,” he replies without so much as looking in your direction.

“Another pilot?”

Cyclone grimaces. “Maverick pulled a stunt.”

“A stunt, sir?”

“They missed the target,” Cyclone states. “Their time was up, I ordered them to return.”

Your heart sinks. “He went back.”

“He took it out,” Cyclone says with a hint of respect. “Just before he was shot down.”

There’s a somber stillness in the room which tells you that there isn’t a soul here that thinks Maverick could have survived. You feel yourself start to shake, the hope that you were clinging to extinguished as the words shot down begin to finally sink in. Meanwhile, you’re stranded in the depths of the carrier, watching helplessly as the tactical team continues strategizing with their commanding officer on how best to bring the rest of their pilots home.

You lean your back into the wall, trying to steady your breathing, not sure how you’re still standing at all. You notice Cyclone’s occasional glances in your direction but you pay him little attention; in fact, you’re doing a fine job of tuning everyone out, until someone’s surprised tone of voice peaks your interest.

“Sir.” One of the operators points at the radar screen. You and everybody else look up at the blip moving swiftly in the direction of the carrier.

“Is that…” Cyclone leans over the operator’s chair. “One of ours?”

“Comms are down, sir,” the operator responds. “But it’s a Hornet.”

"How the hell?" Cyclone straightens his back in awe. He looks over his shoulder at you with a mildly amused expression. “It’s his tail code,” he says, holding your gaze significantly.

Before he can say anything else, you’re out the door, hurtling back up the stairs. You’re blocked, however, by med crews as they flock to the flight deck. By the time you arrive, the crowd surrounding the returned aviator is so large that you can’t get through. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s alive. Maverick is alive.

…

Half an hour later, you rush into the officer’s locker room to find a shirtless Maverick grabbing a t-shirt out of his locker. He whips his head around when he hears you enter and lowers his arms slowly as you approach.

He glances over your shoulder anxiously. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

Although this isn’t the greeting you had in mind, you gaze at him affectionately, nonetheless, still in shock that he’s made it back. That you were so close to losing him forever and yet, here he stands before you, alive and relatively unscathed.

“Y/N,” he warns as you draw nearer.

But you barely hear him. Or, rather, you ignore his words. Perhaps he’s been right all along about your reluctance to comply with authority.

Maverick opens his mouth as if to speak again but, the closer you get, the more powerless he appears in your presence. And before he can say anything else, you throw your arms around him, burying your face into his neck.

Immediately, he’s hugging you back. He holds you firmly, as though he knows just how much you need to feel him after the fear of never being able to touch him again. You collapse into his embrace entirely, until all your limbs are so weak, he’s practically holding you upright. You’re crying and kissing his neck, and his chest heaves as you fall apart in his arms. “Sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear before pressing a burning kiss on your cheekbone. “You can’t be here.”

You compress yourself against him, completely disregarding everything that followed the word Sweetheart. Maverick’s biceps contract as he hugs you even tighter than before, his rapid breaths washing over the top of your head. You lift your face to glance up at him from the snug embrace and he lowers his head to rest on yours. He closes his eyes when your hand starts to move softly down his bare, upper body. “Just a little longer,” you breathe.

He nods against your forehead, bringing a hand up to rest over yours on his chest. His fingers curl around yours and he lifts your hand up to his lips, kissing your fingertips gently. “I owe you an apology,” he says in an uneven tone.

Slowly and very reluctantly, you detach yourself from him. “No.” You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Trust me,” he says, his gaze dropping. “I do.”

It’s the hard set of his jaw that makes you uneasy at first. And then, when he looks back up at you, the grief in his swimming eyes alarms you further. “What is it?” you ask, not entirely certain you can handle the answer.

Maverick exhales resolutely and turns away to grab his duffel bag out of the locker. The muscles in his back shift when he bends to set it down on the bench. “I applied for a transfer,” he says.

You stare at the back of his head, paralyzed. Confused. Feeling like you might be sick. “What?” you breathe. “Why?”

Maverick straightens out and gives you a somber look. “Because,” he says. “I’m letting my feelings for you cloud my judgement.”

“What are you talking about?” you exclaim. “You didn’t take me on the mission! Despite knowing that I’d get mad. You were right; I’m impulsive and unpredictable and –” you stop short when Maverick shakes his head.

“That’s not why I didn’t take you,” he says with a hint of regret in his tone.

You watch him drag a tired hand over his face. “It wasn’t because you don’t trust me?” you say quietly.

“No,” he admits. “It’s because I don’t trust myself.”

You furrow your eyebrows, wanting more than anything to know exactly what Maverick is thinking. What Maverick is feeling.

He meets your gaze hesitantly. “I couldn’t trust myself to prioritize the mission objective over your safety.” He shakes his head, letting out a tortured sigh. “I couldn’t do it,” he whispers desperately. He releases an uneven breath and shifts his jaw to keep it from trembling. “I can’t fly with you.”

You watch the man who so rarely demonstrates emotion crumble under the gravity of his own words. But the show is fleeting. Abruptly, he wipes his brow in frustration and presses his lips together tightly, squaring his shoulders after having dropped them in despair. You can tell that he’s made up his mind and, despite it being an obviously valid decision considering the situation, you’re hurt that he’s done so without consulting you. “So, you’re just leaving?” you say, stunned.

“I have to,” he responds, finally pulling his shirt over his head.

You stare at him as he packs up his uniform and puts his gear into the locker. You want to tell him that he can’t leave; he can’t because you can’t stand the idea of him leaving. But he’s already resumed his stoic expression, so you can’t possibly tell him that you’re in love with him now. “That’s some bullshit,” you comment resentfully.

He pulls his duffel bag over his shoulder and glances over your face as he straightens his posture. “Lieutenant,” he says. “You’re still not listening to me.”

You grit your teeth in anger. “Luckily, it won’t be a problem for very much longer,” you reply coolly.

He nods, then he steps over the bench to head for the door.

You glance after him, barely able to hold back your tears. “How could you?” you yell, no longer capable of keeping it together.

Maverick turns back in alarm. He drops his bag and, in two wide strides he’s standing right before you with a severe expression on his face. “Are you kidding me?” he hisses. “Why are you screaming?” He looks over his shoulder to ensure that the door is still closed.

You scoff. Of all things, he chooses to dwell on your momentary lapse in self-control. “Stop pretending like this means nothing to you,” you spit out angrily.

His eyes widen and his eyebrows converge. “That’s the impression you got from I can’t perform my duty if it means putting your life in danger?”

You open your mouth to say something, but his words have rendered you temporarily speechless. Finally, you remind him, “Putting my life on the line is my job.”

Maverick sets his jaw. “Precisely.”

“So, you’re going to run away because it’s a challenge?”

“It’s not just a challenge, Y/N,” he says. “It’s not possible. This was never going to work! Perhaps under different circumstances…” he sighs miserably. “We knew that!”

You let out a strangled breath. “I didn’t.”

His eyes search yours as though he can’t believe you haven’t come to the same conclusion. “Not only is it completely out of line for me to pursue a relationship with a lieutenant in my own squadron, but we also keep glossing over the fact that you are half my age! How could this have possibly gone anywhere?”

You feel the trembling of your bottom lip and bite into it forcefully, closing your eyes. “Please don’t go,” you whisper. “I… I –” I love you, is what you ought to say. But, instead, you utter, “I’ll stop disobeying orders.”

“That’s not what this is about” –

“I won’t question you,” you continue, opening your eyes. “I won’t seek you out. It’ll be just like before. A strictly professional relationship, nothing more. Just please don’t go.”

“It won’t change how I feel” –

“It will,” you assure him. “It will… in time. You’ll see. We can do this. You don’t have to go.”

Maverick watches you skeptically so you extend your hand to him to formally shake on it. His gaze sweeps over your features and the heartache is apparent in his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, but you can sense the hesitation in his words.

“You’re Maverick Mitchell,” you say, trying to sound casual while your heart hammers with dread. “Of course, you can.”

Maverick’s mouth twitches upward slightly, although his eyes still watch you sadly. Finally, he places his hand in yours. His grip isn’t nearly as firm as you’d expect; in fact, he’s barely touching you. “For the record,” he says, “I think this is a terrible idea.”

You let out a nervous chuckle when you glimpse the faint smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “How hard can it be, Captain?” you say lightly.

He glances at you pointedly, then responds cheekily, “It can be very hard, Lieutenant.”

Read Part 5

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belokhvostikova · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Tuesday was the development between you and Eddie Munson. Wednesday, peace finally seems plausible for the two hurt kids, and understanding becomes a valued aspect.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, implications to verbal abuse, self deprecating thought, mentions of anxiety, bulling, parent abandonment, domestic abuse, and childhood abuse and neglect.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've gone back to all my posts and tagged everyone for the tag list. Literally. If you commented, I tagged you. If you reblogged and remotely mentioned you wanted more, I tagged you. If you were not looking to be tagged, please let me know so I can remove you. Also, I sincerely apologize to anyone who I've accidently been excluding from the tag list, that was my mistake.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲

There was no investment in moral quandary for him. Logicality. Everything had to be logical under the guise that all faults of the world had been facilitated by the emission of emotions that tainted the globe.

Feelings were wrong. Sentiment was wrong. Empathy was wrong.

He believed it was such vulnerability that led to the downfall of his life- not that he’d ever verbally admit his life had crumbled right in front of him, but a pit within the deepest tunnel of his consciousness recognized it. Drilled it. Cemented it. He had chosen to blame the emotions of amenability for the reason why his wife came home at four in the morning with the familiar scent of the neighbor’s cologne. From there, he knew to get rid of it. Emotions. So when you sobbed, asking why mommy hadn’t been home for a couple of days, he said it was not worth crying over. When you had to stand in court upon a scary looking man in a robe and hear mommy agree to only seeing you every other weekend, he said to not worry and suck it up. And when mommy stopped picking up calls and seemingly “forgot” it was her day to see you, he said to get over it. But maybe it wasn’t too bad, right? He always said to be grateful that, at least, he stuck around. At the minimum, he always provided good take-out often, though you were quick to realize it was because he had no desire to cook for you. But, hey, he had always let you watch TV during dinner. Granted, it was because he never sat with you, and chose the comfort of the living room couch, where you could always see the history channel playing from the archway of the dining room where you sat lonely. It was then, you got a deep understanding of the Civil War. And at least his stoicism permitted a great hatred for the presuppositionalism that had infiltrated Hawkins, Indiana. That was good, right? Though, you were never one to define metaethics through divine revelation, so it kinda didn’t matter. But it could be worse. He always said he could be worse. That his choice to deprive you from any physical harm was somehow enough to garner him some merit as a parent.

And maybe that was one of the underlying reasons as to why Eddie Munson scared you so much. He was like your father. And your father scared you.

Mid week. The morning of spring Wednesday had been a groggily dawn of humidity and fog. Though no weather circumstance could derail the perfected routine of your father’s morning. Wake up, shower, brush teeth, make coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterer, the better. Because that was by true definition strong.

It was like clockwork. Every morning. Because routine leads to success, he's ingrained. It was the only reason why every summer break since you were a child he had you waking up before sunrise with intentions of appearing downstairs for two hours of study time with a tutor he spent hours meticulously searching for that fit his standards. One with saggy cheeks, thin eyebrows, a thick accent, and a bad habit of reprimanding you with a smack of a ruler whenever you humanly made a mistake. The worst thing that could happen in his eyes was watching his daughter slack because of relaxation over summer. Especially after he programmed you into perfection.

But the unthinkable had occurred, and his routine was interrupted.

Between 6:30 a.m and 6:45 a.m, your father was set—like everyday—to retrieve the morning paper, sit down, set the timer, and complete the crossword puzzle. Ten minutes. Nothing more.

But by 6:33 a.m, Eddie Munson was nearly murdered by your father.

Oh, his girl. Of course, there was his sweetheart, Eddie was damn near devoted to that warlock, but then there was his girl. Definitely not the everloving relationship he had with his sweetheart, I mean, he touched her, and the harmonious sounds from her strings could elevate the pain of his mind, but there was still no doubt that a sentimental part of his heart was dedicated to his girl. Rusted and cranking, the old van had been gifted to the young man after countless hours committed to Harry’s Auto Shop over the summer. And though her imperfections nearly had him pulling the roots of his hair out of his head weekly, she still managed to get him from point A to point B—not to mention, she looked totally sick and provided the best comfort place to spark up a joint or spend time with a pretty boy or girl whenever the opportunity came (it never did).

But besides that, the moral of the story is his van, his girl, was deeply cared for.

Except for the occasions of last night.

Because right now, your father was wrinkling the informative pages of the daily news with a tight grip of pure seethe, because some dirty, gross van had parked over the curb of his property and ruined the pristine, clean-cut, green lawn with muddy tire tracks.

You had heard it all.

The blaring alarm at 5:45 a.m, the running shower from your father’s bathroom, and the heavy steps of his feet descend into the kitchen.

Exhaustion couldn’t fathom the ache of your body, as the fluffy duvet beneath you held no substance to the stiffening floor underneath. Not to mention, the heavy sorrow of the events that had only occurred a couple hours prior were relying heavy in your mind, prompting the loss of true sleep, made only worse when Eddie’s drunken snores were echoing as a constant reminder that he was right there.

Eddie Munson was in your bed- Eddie Munson was in your bed!

The ever so slight glimmer of the awakening sun was bleeding upon his sleeping figure, almost dead with no movement. He hadn’t shifted an arm or a leg, mouth still agape from his roaring slumber with a puddle of drool staining your satin pillow. You’d timidly approached the edge of your bed, knees scraping along the rough floor to reach his peaceful face. The disheveled bangs of his forehead had crumpled against themselves, shielding him from the oozing light through your window.

This was the calmest Eddie Munson had been in weeks.

No lumps in the mattress, an actual comforter, the pungent stank of his cigarettes now replaced with the captivating vanilla scent of your perfume, which eased him into a comfortable sleep and an all too real dream where you were in his arms. It felt scaringly natural.

There was a part of you that didn’t want to wake him. Whether it was because you could take an hour studying his pretty face, which led you to wondering how anyone could even fathom being so nasty to something so beautiful, or whether it was because that childhood anger and nestling vexation against a world that hated him was still deeply residing within Eddie, and you could easily fall victim to such hatred. It happened before, it could happen again.

You rested your head against your bed, a slight alleviation to the malaise of the floor, and let his warm breathing fan across your face. The tips of your fingers benevolently stroked the unruly strands of his bangs away, to reveal the fluttering eyes of his face. You wondered what he could be dreaming of.

You.

You were all he could think of. Awake and asleep.

“Eddie.” You softly whispered. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best choice given his hangover coma, but Eddie needed gentleness. “Hey, wake up.” You shook his shoulder. A pained groan prolonged far longer than you expected, as his face scrunched in a wince of a pounding headache. “Are you okay?”

That was too real for any dream. Eddie’s dry eyes snapped at the sound of your saccharine voice, suddenly realizing the devastating events that occurred last night. “Sh-shit!” He attempted to sit up, but your hand held his arm back.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You cooed, as he peered around frantically confused. He cracked his neck with a sharp turn, and his big eyes landed on you; once again, comforting him, as though he hadn’t put you through hell in the mere days he’s communicated with you.

His head fervently began shaking, as if to reject all that he’d done, as if everything he ever did you to was just a nightmare of his own fears, that he didn’t do what he did. But he did. And his eyes started welling up. “I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He choked. “For everything, I didn’t- I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Shh, Eddie-”

“I don’t want to scare you, and I’m s-sorry for doing it in the first place, I’m so so fucking so-”

“Eddie, just lay down, it’s okay.” You attempted to ease into him, as you lowered him down, his begrudgement leaving him hesitating until his back was flat against your bed.

Once relaxed, it seemed his body and mind gave up on the restraints of his emotions, and his stream of tears came pouring with all dejection and regret of how everything had played out between you two. Eddie Munson hated himself. Hated who he was. Someone set up for the failures of life, he rejected anything that could steer him from a path of love and acceptance. And he hated that. He hated the life he had. At any given opportunity to go back in time, he would scream at his father, hit his father, just get him and his mother away from his father so that he could just grow up to be a normal person. A normal person, who could process their emotions and not deduce themselves into a nihilistic asshole. A normal person, who wouldn’t degrade the only person who’s held him without hurting him. A normal person, who would love you and cherish you as you deserved. Yet Eddie Munson hated his life and hated any momentous occasion that could possibly diminish the pain of life… like you. Because good things don’t happen to Eddie Munson, and you held so much power to hurt him.

Seeing his palms stab into his eyes, you gently held his trembling wrist to relieve him from the pain he believed he deserved. “Come on, Eddie, please stop.” You softly spoke trying to ease his hands away from his face. “Everything is okay, I promise.”

“N-no, it’s not!”

“Shh!” You rushed out. “My dad’s awake downstairs.” You whispered.

“S-sorry.” He spoke so meekly, as his hands cleaned the staggering wetness of his eyes and cheeks.

The atmosphere between you both fell stagnantly silent, as he tried to control his breathing through the tiny sniffles of his nose. He felt you staring, eyes boring into the side of his head, as he peered up at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t stand to look at you right now. He had just drunkenly sobbed and was now blubbering like a child, because of all the bullshit he just put you through. He was a-fucking-shamed. Ashamed of all he’s done. Ashamed of who he was. And you were seeing the worst of it.

“Eddie.” He closed his eyes and shook his head no. “Please.”

He slowly turned his head and met your tired yet so fucking beautiful face. God, he could stare at you forever. How could he do this to you? Put you through off of that, just because he was scared. He fucking hated himself, and you could so clearly see the despise against himself in his saddened eyes. I’m sorry I am the way that I am, I’m sorry you have to put up with me, I’m sorry I’m here ruining your life. He didn’t have to say it, it was engraved on his face.

His heart almost lunged out of his chest when you crept closer, noses nearly touching, as your eyes engulfed him with a meaningful stare. “I’m really glad you came.”

“What?” You truly couldn’t have been, but your head nodded with the soothing confirmation he needed.

“Yeah, I am.” You whispered.

“You shouldn’t be.” He whispered. “What I did was awful.”

“I know.” You sighed. “I know, and please don’t ever do that again. But I’m still glad you came. Glad that we talked. Glad that I got to understand.”

“I wish I told you sooner… and better.” He pinched his eyes closed at the haunting memory. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, I’m so fucking sorry I did.”

“I know you are.” There was no “it’s fine” or forgiveness to offer, because he truly did cross a line that terrified you. But you could accept his understanding of the wrongdoing he did. Because acknowledgement was a valuable step in moving forward.

“I just- Y/N, I just really want to be with you.” There it was. He was putting himself out there once and for all, risking it, because you deserved to know. The torment of his emotional unavailability was ending, because he was ready to face the adversity of his trauma to make you happy. But that was exactly the issue. You could see he was ready to do it for you. Not himself. And whatever was brewing between you and Eddie Munson would not magically dissolve the underlying issue within both of you under the guise that you both got together and skipped away into the sunset happily ever after. Reality was a harsh slap in the face, and you knew he’d hate it, but it was what was needed.

“I just want you to be okay, Eddie.” You confided with a heavy bite of your lip. “I… want to be okay, Eddie.”

His eyes were glossing with threatening tears again. He knew what was coming. “You don’t wanna be with me.” He murmured. It was no question, but a simple truth he had to face.

“No.” You spoke with deep conviction. “I don’t want to be with the person you are right now. I can’t be. Not now. It wouldn’t be right, and I just want us to be okay.” You brushed his bangs away. His lips began trembling, but he accepted your boundaries with a vehement nod to his head to let you know he understood. “Eddie,” you punctuated so it became cemented, “I don’t want you to do this again-”

“I won’t, I swear, I won’t drink-”

“No, Eddie… I don’t want you coming here. To my house. To see me.” You sighed, as his eyes desperately scanned your face for the off chance you’d say you were kidding and you wanted him over all the time. But your words continued.

“I’m really fucking sorr-”

“I know you are, Eddie. I know.” A heavy breath from your chest escaped. “But I need time, and it may not seem like it now, but you need time, too. So I don’t want you calling. I don’t want you asking anyone where I am or how to talk to me. Not Chrissy, not anyone. Promise me.”

He agreed.

But Eddie Munson would break this promise. Not for some drunken, overbearing, emotional reason, though. But for good reason. All because your bedroom door slammed open.

Synchronized through driven fear, yours and Eddie’s head snapped at the sudden bust of your bedroom door, where your father stood effervesce with indignation of pure enragement at the sight of Eddie in your bed.

“Get out of my house!”

“Dad, wait!”

Your words were not of care to your dad, as he shoved you onto the ground with a shriek of horror escaping your lungs, as he charged himself onto your bed. The shot of adrenaline had coursed out any inebriations from the night before, as Eddie went against the swelling pounding of his head to jump from the comfort of your sheets and tumble onto the floor.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Imprinted with the mud of his shoes, the pool of his drool, and now crumbled under the heavy weight of your father’s fall, the sanctity of your bed—the only thing that had caressed you through the hardships of your life, where you found solace in the safety of its soft cotton and silk, where your mother once cuddled you to sleep as she spoke of the future, I’m gonna lay your pretty prom dress right on the bed and watch you become so beautiful for your special night, where you cried yourself to sleep for countless night because she left you and she didn’t actually want to see you become so beautiful for your special night—had demised under the ruins of men who made you bawl your eyes out and made you feel so little about yourself. And maybe your bed being derelict was a cursory occasion to cry over, maybe it wasn’t; nonetheless, your eyes began to brim with the flooding tears of the overstimulated stress of an exhausted mind, dry eyes, and a splitting heart.

“Please stop.” Too quiet and airy for any big, angry, men to hear.

Because big, angry, men don’t care for the aching pain of the people they hurt.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…” Eddie stumbled onto wobbly feet, planting the palms of his hands to stand himself away from your reaching father. “M’so fuckin’ sorry!” At that point, the directions of his words were either targeted to you or your father, you couldn’t decipher, and truthfully, you didn’t care to decipher.

Your father managed to unravel himself from the hold of your blankets, stepping off with heavy stomps to follow Eddie around your room. “You better get out of my fucking house, I’m fucking calling the cops! How dare you fucking touch my daughter?!”

“Dad, please.” Weak, broken, unheard.

“I fuckin’ didn’t!” Eddie was fortunate enough to spot his beloved jacket, snatching it from the confines of your desk chair, where he was able to roll it out as an obstruction to your father’s determined path of strangling Eddie Munson.

Because in the mind of a relentless resolute driven by all the wrong ideas because of the pain he so adamantly refused the face, Eddie Munson was the cause of your ultimate failure. Eddie Munson manipulated his daughter. Eddie Munson got his daughter suspended. Eddie Munson would be the reason your failure tainted the family name.

Eddie pummeled through your door, coming face-to-face with the extravagant expanse of your home. Cold. Everything was freezing cold, from the temperature to the decoration. Deprived from any signs of life. As if it was a museum. His bulging eyes found the large staircase, and it truly amazed him how his feet found every step without thought, simply autopilot. There was a yanking urge that was demanding him to go back. Go back for you. Make sure you were okay. Make sure to clean your tears up. Once again, he was making you cry. Maybe not entirely his fault, but his being was partaking in your agony and he fucking hated himself for it. But the weighing steps of her father marching right on his ass prompted him to move forward. Your front door was swung carelessly, welcoming the hot air of the burning morning, where once again, the clean cut grass of the manicured lawn was falling victim to Eddie’s destruction of mucky shoes. Maybe drinking hadn’t been too bad of an idea—it absolutely was—as Eddie’s drunken state, at nine at night, had left his keys impaled into the ignition ready to go.

The haggard van erupted to life, Eddie had never been so grateful to hear the god awful clunk that definitely needed to be checked out. Peer out once more, your wrathful father ran with a tirade of curses that condemned Eddie Munson back to hell, but the screech of his reversing tires interrupted his polemic. “Don’t you ever come back! You’ll be dead before your kind can even step foot into my fucking neighborhood!”

Eddie Munson would return back in eighteen hours.

“There’s an old man sitting next to me…” Wayne softly chuckled, as the lyrics had been repeating out of his mouth for the entirety of his shift, after Rodney Nickelvich decided to play the voice of Billy Joel during break.

It’d been a particularly difficult shift. His back wasn’t getting any younger, and the evident ache that decided to settle in the lower region was making it known. But the stiffness of his folding bed would alleviate enough, at least until his next shift. But that never came for Wayne Munson. Because the second—the literal second—his head managed to even briefly skim his flat pillow, the presence of his caterwauling nephew combusted through their front door with no regards for the tired old man in the living room. Eddie hadn’t even looked his way. A straight B-line to the phone.

“And where the hell have you been?” Wayne groaned with prostration. “Comin’ in here like you own the place, have you lost your mind, boy?”

But there was no answer.

Where Eddie would have normally spoken back with a clear answer of respect, there was nothing. No acknowledgement.

“Ed.”

Already engraved into his mind like the chords to his guitar, Eddie punched the buttons to your number on the yellow phone. But then he stopped. “I need the time… I don’t want you calling.” But this was bigger than that, right? He needed to know you were okay. “Please don’t hate me.” He scrunched his brows in the burning pain of betraying your boundaries. Once again. His finger dialed the rest of the numbers.

But it was dead. Not a ring. Not a buzz. Not a single indication that your phone was even ringing. Just a deadline. And Eddie’s heart sank to the deepest pit in his stomach. “Fuck!”

“Eddie.” Wayne’s face etched with concern. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Eddie’s chest began hyperventilating with worry for you. “I-I… shit, I-uh… I really gotta get to school.”

Wayne sat up, now. Never in the decade he’s been in the care of Eddie Munson had that boy ever rushed out to get to school. Something was deeply wrong. But he couldn’t even hurtle a question of scrutiny, as Eddie had already slammed the door shut with his being gone, so deeply perturbed.

Eddie was truly pissed off at this point.

The entire proposition of arriving early to school was to find Chrissy Cunningham, but just as it occurred yesterday afternoon, the cheerleader was nowhere to be seen in the breadth of Hawkins High. He knew he was going against your wishes, quite specifically, but his heart and mind couldn’t fathom the possible danger you could be subjected to. He had too. Right? Would you just hate him more for interfering? God, he was shooting himself over the complication he construed the entire situation to become. Asking his friends had quickly been classified as the most imbecilic measure he’d ever succumb to, as those guys had never found the courage to conjure up an idea to jump start an actual conversation with an actual girl. Knowing where the head cheerleader was was beyond their source of knowledge. Yesterday’s clothes, dry mouth, red eyes, the residing ache of his hangover still tormenting his sore limbs, and now having no comprehension of whether or not you were safe at the aggressive hands of your father, Eddie was about to traject the heaviest waterfall of beer and bile onto the grimy floors of Mr. Hall’s carpentry class. But the shrieking bell unexpectedly pacified the turbulence brewing in his belly, and he was shoving passed visibly annoyed bodies to reach the cafeteria. His only chance.

His overloaded mind didn’t even process the trouble he was walking into, but unwavering was Eddie Munson as he marched into the bustling cafeteria of crackling students and cardboard food, legs pushing him to the table. “Chrissy!” Heads snapped like automated robots. Yeah, he probably should have thought this out. Glares couldn’t even amount to the looks he was receiving from the highest of Hawkins High. This was no laughing matter, but the urge to not laugh at Jason Carver’s battered face left all self control out of Eddie, as the perfect comb-over paired with the purple swollen skin personified the magnificence of juxtapositions.

“You want something, freak?” Jason stood with a puffed chest.

“Look a little different, Carver, that new?” Eddie gestured to the contuse skin, smirking oleaginously. As if it was previously discussed, Andy McAvoy and Chance Williams stood to defend the precious honor of their friend. In Eddie’s mind, it pleased him to know a conversation of protection was ordered by Jason to his goons to preserve any remaining prettiness of his face. Prom was coming up. “Relax, I didn’t say your names, did I?”

Eddie and Jason’s gaze looked down upon Chrissy, who’s brows were cinched with confusion and worry as to what was going to occur. Jason could only snicker incredulously. “She’s not speaking to you! You really think I’m gonna leave her with some devil worshiper like you? Why don’t you do this whole town a favor and fuck off with the circus, fucking basketcase.”

But Eddie was indefatigable to the insults of the perfectly pristine. They’d been propelled since childhood, the last thing to strike his ego would be the dense words of Jason fucking Carver. Eddie had bigger issues at hand.

“That’s really cute, Carver, but she can make her own decisions, and right now,” Eddie locked eyes with a frantic Chrissy Cunningham, “we have something important to talk about.” It was imperative for Chrissy to understand, and the moment her eyes softened, a breath of relief escaped Eddie at her understanding. Your name was oozing importance.

“Are you that fucking insane-”

“Jason,” Chrissy held his hand, “h-he’s right.”

“What?!”

A disgustingly pompous smile eased onto Eddie’s face.

“It’s, uh, it’s for, um, Mrs. Durberry.” Chrissy nodded. “I-I have to, uh, tutor Eddie. We, um, we discussed it yesterday during, uh, lunch. Yeah, during lunch!”

“During lunch.” Eddie smirked with a condescending nod.

Jason huffed through flared nostrils, bending down to look Chrissy right in the eye. Though whispered in secrecy, Eddie rolled his eyes with agitation. “Are you sure about this? Is he just making you do this?”

“No, I promise.” Chrissy assured. “You know I aced chemistry, Mrs. Durberry is just trying to give me an opportunity to get community service hours, and tutoring was the perfect chance. You know it’ll look good for college applications.”

The lie was good enough to believe- not good enough to like, but good enough to believe, and that’s all Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham needed. Jason sat down in defeat, the other players following in unison, as Chrissy gathered her items. “You try anything, Munson, and you're dead.” Jason pointed with a stern finger.

Chrissy had quickly walked by, hoping Eddie would just follow, but of course, he couldn’t leave without the last word. “Right, right,” he slyly smiled, “might wanna put some ice on that, s’looking a little nasty. Who did that to you again?”

“Eddie.” Chrissy chastised.

Now, it was most abundantly clear that Chrissy Cunningham was not an indictment of the American education system, her grades almost as perfect as yours—though no one could come close to your precociousness—yet Eddie had to reevaluate his beliefs when Chrissy was marching vastly farther than anticipated.

“Jesus Christ, Chris, y’know we don’t actually have to intrude Durberry’s class? She fucking hates me.” Eddie giggled. “‘Specially after I used the bunsen burner to light a joint. Kept asking “what’s that smell” for a week.”

Chrissy finally came to a halt after turning into another empty hall. “Sorry.” She sighed. “Just can’t have Jason following us.”

“Y’know, you could probably do better than some control freak who follows you around.” Eddie shrugged.

Chrissy blinked at her shoes in contemplation. Eddie hadn’t expected the words to hit so deeply, a mere critique to the numerous problems he found in Jason Carver, but nonetheless, the cheerleader got extremely quiet, before shaking her head to get back to the point.

“A-anyways, um, what is it that you, uh, wanted?” She rushed out.

“Oh! Right, um, I need you to go to Y/N’s house.” His eyes widened, as his lips tightened between his mouth. He knew it was outrageous to ask.

“W-what?”

“Look, I know that’s a big ask-”

“I already gave you her number and address, why don’t you g-”

“I did!” He heaved. “I fucking did, and I messed up!”

Chrissy slumped,“Again?!”

Eddie winced. Again, again, again, again, again.

“Look, I “made” it to her house, and we got to talk. But her fucking dad caught me in her room, and just went haywire on me. Practically chased me out.” Eddie stressed. “And I-I tried to call her to make sure she was okay, I mean, it’d been a long night and she was crying when I left, and, fuck, Chris, I don’t know what her dad is capable of.” Is he like my dad? “Her line was dead when I tried, like off the hook, and I can’t go over to make sure she’s safe, Chrissy. I have to make sure she’s okay. Can you please just, I don’t know, do this for me, I’m fucking helpless here, I’m…” Helpless to my mother.

Chrissy was taken aback by the pure fear in his eyes as he rambled into oblivion. She knew you. She knew your father. She could only imagine how ballistic he’s gone in the past couple of days knowing what’s happened. “Okay, okay, okay, yeah, um, yeah,” Chrissy took a deep breath with a soft nod to her head, “Yeah, I’ll try to come over- but her dad’s really strict, Eddie. Like extremely, he’s the only reason why she’s so, you know, hard about her grades and stuff, I don’t know if he’d actually let me see her-”

“Please, please, just try.” Chrissy took notice of just how tightly his hands were balling into themselves, knuckles turning a blistering white from the lack of ease he was inflicting upon himself. “She’s your friend, and she doesn’t want to see me, so please, I’m begging you, Chris-”

“I will, Eddie, I will.” She reassured, as she adjusted her knit sweater that suddenly became itchy on her sensitive skin. “I just, um, I’ll probably have to come up with an excuse, a-and skip practice.”

“Look, m’sorry I’m dragging you into this, but I just need to make sure she’s okay, and maybe you can finally have a chance to talk to her about…y’know.” Chrissy shook her head quickly, acknowledging but not trying to think about her implicit endorsement to the status quo at Hawkins High, and how much it had hurt you. And she let it hurt you. “Just- you can’t tell her it was me who sent you, okay? Sh-she wants nothing to do with me, and I’m trying to respect that, I just need to know she’s safe, but she can’t know I sent you. I don’t- I don’t want to make her more upset, Chris. I can’t, I just-”

“Eddie,” Realizing the words were once again coming out a mile a minute, he bit his tongue, letting a bubble of air constrict his lungs with a fervent grip. He wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t. Not here. Not at school. Not in front of Chrissy fucking Cunningham. Not that she’d judge much, she could already see the sheen of his eyes. “I’ll do it, I’ll check on her. A-and I won’t say it was you.”

His body was finally able to ease at her response, finally letting his airway release all tensions from the stirring anxiety that was still nesting in the crevices of his stomach. “Thank you, thank you so much.” His hands reached for her shoulders with a firm shake of acknowledgement, though his strength had her stumbling on her feet a bit. Not that he noticed. He was still worrying about you. “Just, uh, call me or something, the second she, uh- the second you know she’s okay.” Eddie didn’t want to think of the other possibility. The possibility where your father had laid a hand on you. Or worse. He wouldn’t know what to do. In his experience, silently crying and letting daddy take his frustrations out was the safest option. It was what mommy said to do, so dad wouldn’t do worse. At least ice cream was always promised at the end to make it all go away.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do that.” She nodded in agreement.

With the confirmation stated, Eddie had already begun walking away with a determined plan in mind to sit in front of the yellow telephone until the shrilling call came through. His mind dead set on you.

“Wait!” Chrissy had to snap him back to reality. “Eddie, I don’t have your phone number.” She lightheartedly scoffed.

Chrissy Cunningham began to worry. Yes, about you. She was ready to march her way past your father in order to make sure you were okay, and to pour her heart out on a well needed apology just so you could understand how sorry she was. Even if you didn’t accept it. But she was also worried about herself. Never in a million years did she expect Eddie Munson, of all people, to show her what true feelings were. He hadn’t even talked to you for more than a week, and he was bending over backwards to ensure all his wrongs were corrected for your safety and comfort. Jason Carvered loved her, she knew it, but the subtle things were becoming pronounced. Do you really think you should be wearing that? My parents will be there. Just come to the party, I’ll look bad if my girlfriend’s not there. When she comes back, I don’t want you hanging around Y/N anymore. She’s bad news and betrayed your friendship by fucking around with that trailer trash. Don’t make yourself look bad by being friends with her.

“Shit, yeah, sorry, my, uh, my brains all over the place.” He crazily signaled with a swing of his hand. Unlike yesterday, Chrissy’s pink pen was tainting a small torn sheet of notebook paper rather than skin, as risking the chance of Jason Carver seeing Eddie Munson’s phone number written on her hand would prompt another outburst of fury between the boys. So as Eddie reiterated the numbers to his home, Chrissy copied with intent.

Intent to see you. Intent to apologize. Intent to inform Eddie.

“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I leave her place.” Chrissy assured, as the queasiness in Eddie had simmered but surely hadn’t left. He knew as soon as he got home, the consternation would eat him unalive.

Eddie nodded his head. “Yeah, thanks again, seriously, I’ll owe you whatever.” He sighed, before his brows perked. “Oh! I can give a twenty percent discount!” He didn’t even have to specify.

Chrissy Cunningham didn’t smoke. But at least he was trying.

“Uh, s-sure, Eddie.” She simply agreed, and it was able to give him a satisfied smile. “Anyways, yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Just try not to worry too much, I’m sure she’s okay.” She inspirited.

“Okay, yeah, as soon as you can.” Eddie sighed. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m gonna go throw up or something.”

Luckily, Eddie Munson didn’t vomit in the filthy stall that is the boys’ bathroom at Hawkins High, though Chrissy Cunningham sure felt like she was about to hurl today’s lunch and breakfast standing at the doorstep of your home. Her toes tensed in the comfort of her sneakers, hearing the incoming steps of your father approaching the door. Hands gripping the straps of her backpack, she was ready- well, as ready as one can be about to face their best friend’s—did she even have a right to call you that—daunting father.

The door swung. “Hi, Mr. Y/L/N!” Smile, a bright smile and wave from Chrissy Cunningham was sure enough to get anyone to be polite. But his face plastered the same dead expression he’s had for the last four years Chrissy had known him. No smile. No squint of the eyes. Unemotional stoicism.

“Hi, Chrissy.” Robots had more pep in their voices. “Sorry, but Y/N is grounded, for quite an extensive period actually, so she’s not allowed visitors. Go home.” He began to close the door, but Chrissy’s manicured hand abruptly stopped the closure.

“Wait!” She immediately reeled back, seeing the disrespecting look take over his face. “Sorry, sir, I-I’m not here to hang out, it’s just, uh, I brought all the school work Y/N’s missed. You know, from her suspension?” She spoke sheepishly. “A-and well, we don’t want her falling behind, sir.” A nervous chuckle accompanied her faux parent voice. “In fact, Mrs. Durberry and I actually discussed tutoring, so, you know, Y/N is back on track by the time of her return.”

It was in regards to your grades, your father’s favorite. Chrissy Cunningham was a genius.

“Really?” He questioned quizzically.

“Yeah!” Chrissy bounced on the balls of her feet with a firm pat to her backpack. “I’ve got all her work right here. She’s free to turn it in when she gets back, and you know, she’s firmly secured that valedictorian spot, so there’s no need to worry.” She smiled, and of course, of course, that’s all he cared about in the wake of your suspension.

So easily had Chrissy been let into your home. She wondered what she would say to you, as she followed behind your father to your room. It was strange. Your home had always been a cold one, but your laughter and the endless sleepless sleepovers had the ability to bring warmth to such a colorless environment. But all that suffocated her was hostility. Long gone were the memories of an innocent friendship between the two girls. Another factor to consider was the mere fact that your father was guiding Chrissy. She’d been over to your house for years, the layout didn’t suddenly change over a couple days, and a nervous thump began upsetting Chrissy’s heart. And she found out why.

“Had to lock her up.” He uttered with no shame, as he pulled out a glowing key from his pocket. Haphazardly bolted on your door was a new lock, evidently cheaply and hastily done, as the lock resembled the numerous ones used for the lockers at Hawkins High, and the chipped paint and exposed wood could only insinuate the fury in which this job was done in. Your door lock, one onced used when you and Chrissy discussed the boys you thought were cutest at school in your pink pajamas, was now accompanied by a prison lock keeping you captive in your bedroom. “Should've seen the trash she was bringing in.” He muttered mostly to himself. Chrissy didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. Too disturbed for her own wellbeing. “Do me a favor, kid,” he unlocked the door, “knock some sense into that disgrace.”

He walked away without a care.

The door creaked open, and Chrissy had taken a deep breath. Stepping inside, with a soft click of the door behind her, her eyes landed on the still figure on your bed. Turned away and engaging at the neverending nothingness of everything, you cocooned yourself in your blanket, like a hurt child. Because you merely were one. Chrissy looked away, inching tiny steps closer. Disheveled would be an understatement to the usual cleanliness of your room. Knick-knacks and personal items were thrown about, cracked, and broken, and damaged beyond the actions of someone who was depressed. No, this was the destruction of deep rooted anger.

No expecting the company, you simply screwed your eyes closed with the awaiting words of hatred you thought would be coming from your father at any second. But it didn’t. Only the familiar softness of Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend. “Y/N…?”

You immediately jumped at the sound, meeting your reddening, wet eyes with Chrissy’s round, worried blue ones. “Chrissy…”

The occupying distrust you had for her was incomparable to the pain of what had occurred today. Yes, she hurt you. Yes, you lost your one true friend. But you needed her. And your arms opened like the broken child reaching out for help, and she immediately embraced you on your bed. Your bed, where you spent countless times giving each other at-home mani and pedis, even though your allowances provided enough for professional services, but this was more fun. Your bed, where Chrissy once vented about the first fight she ever had with Jason Carver, because he disregarded her at a party to do a keg stand—yes, it was trivial, but they were sixteen at the time. And your bed, where you both shared the vulnerability of losing a mother, either physically or emotionally, through sobbing tears and tight hugs, but none of that mattered because you were best friends and had each other. Forever.

“Are you okay?” Her vision appeared blurry under the disorientating state of water welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.” Chrissy stroked your hair. You couldn’t muster a word to respond with, merely silently crying into the junction of her neck, where she smelled of spring flowers. You’d picked out that perfume for her. Her seventeenth birthday. “I should’ve stuck up for you, I-I should’ve told everyone to stop, I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

Her apology suddenly revealed why you lost trust in her in the first place. Urgently pulling back from the hug far quicker than Chrissy would have liked, you brought your knees to your chest, letting your face find solace on the tiny space rather than her embrace.

“What are you doing here, Chris?” You mumbled so quiet, she was barely able to register it from the chirping birds outside.

“I came to apologize to you.” At least she wasn’t drunk. “I- Y/N everything I did to you was awful.” Her plucked brows furrowed with shame and remorse. You carefully picked up your head, as she gently held knee. “When everyone started saying stuff about you, I was so confused, and before I could even question it, Jason had me promise to not be around you, and I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to excuse what I did, I just should have known better, and I needed to apologize to you.”

Your eyes had closed in relief. You were beyond the trenches of exhaustion, everything was so sore from the exertion of crying, that the simple apology brought the grand relief you’d been yearning for. “I-I think I need space away from Jason.” That had your eyes snapping open. Jason and Chrissy, in love since the tenth grade, becoming the embodiment of young love in Hawkins. Their parents had practically set up a future in which both attended the same university as young adults, and married each other with the expectation of kids by the age of twenty-five.

“I don’t like who he is as a person.” She confessed with a wobbly lip. “ I know he loves me, but I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

You took her back into a loving hug, where she fell limp in your arms, as her tears stained your clothes. Though muffled you spoke with a small whine, “You sound like Eddie.” Which had her giggling through tears.

She had slowly pulled away, smiling at the small curve of your lips that was brightening your face. She wiped your tears, and caressed the hairs out of your face. “Yeah, he’s kinda my new friend now.” She shrugged. “Even offered me a discount to his… business.”

You laughed with a roll to your eyes. “Quite the entrepreneur he is.” She snickered in agreement. “But yeah, I could tell when he came to my house yesterday.”

“Oh, god.” Chrissy plopped back on your bed. “How did you even figure out it was me, you’re so smart?”

You giggled, joining her, as you stared up at the ceiling. “Seeing someone like Eddie Munson show up with pretty pink writing on him doesn’t seem like something that occurs innately in nature. Figured you had something to do with it.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.” She turned to look at you. “I shouldn’t have given him that information without asking you. He just really wanted to apologize to you, too, and it seemed like the right thing to do. What even happened?” She sat up to get serious.

You couldn’t fathom retelling the occurrence of what happened, so you merely opted for the safest choice, and nodded your head in silence. “He did apologize, just wish he would have done it differently.” You sighed. “And, uh, my dad-” Your throat had automatically constricted at the simple mention of him, eyes tightening with the hopes of suppressing the whirlwind of tears that were about to flood your face. “Chrissy, he wouldn’t stop yelling.” You began bawling, as she pulled you up to wrap her arms around your shrinking body. “H-he kept screaming a-and shouting, then he just- he just started throwing things-” Chrissy could only rock you body, gently and softly, letting your tears hit her shoulder with all might. “I was so scared.”

The dreaded question. “Did- did he hit you?” Chrissy spoke into your hair, terrified of how you might answer. But luckily, the tiniest bit of luck, you had shook your head no, and she let out a deep breath. But the harsh slap of reality was that your father had still severely crossed a line that put you in an unsafe environment. And you were petrified.

“He’s not letting me leave my room.” You whispered through sniffles.

“Did he take your phone, Edd-” Chrissy contemplated for a second, before she spoke extremely softly. “Eddie said you didn’t pick up when he tried to call you after what happened.”

“He tried to call me?”

“Just to make sure you were okay.” She emphasized. “He said he’s trying to respect your wishes of wanting space, but after what happened, he just needed to know you were safe… that’s why- that’s why I’m here.” Your brows furrowed and you immediately sat up. “I’d been wanting to apologize to you, and Eddie had been dying to make sure you were okay, so he asked me to come check on you, and so I could finally say sorry to you. He- Y/N, he really cares about you. We both do.”

This was the bit of progress you were wanting to see. To know that the Eddie Munson you met Friday afternoon, the one who coward away at the mere idea of feelings and compassion, the one who uttered the vile words that stabbed right through you, the one who shouted in defense because he was hurt, that that wasn’t him. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. It wasn’t who he truly was. But a recovery from trauma was not a linear progression, and last night you were able to understand the fluctuations of Eddie Munson, the reason why he berated and hurt, the reason why he comforted and protected, the reason why he wailed and sobbed.

“Chrissy, when’s the next time you’re gonna see him?” You cleared your face from staining tears.

“I’ll see him at school tomorrow, but he asked me to call him to make sure you were safe first.”

You nodded. “I, uh- can you actually ask him something for me?”

That one clunking noise Eddie had once been so happy to hear? Yeah, he’s returned back to detesting it, as he felt it drew so much attention to the all too quiet streets of Pinecrest Acres. He made the conscience—and sober—decision to park behind the gray De Tomaso Pantera—fighting the urge to just pop the hood and look at the beauty inside—that resided two houses down from yours. It gave him enough coverage away from any view of your father. Eddie was terrified. Much to his dismay, Chrissy had been fairly vague over the phone when she rang him at 5:59 p.m exactly. Luckily by then, a buddy of Wayne’s had taken him out to an early dinner before their shift at the plant, so his uncle missed out on the Olympic-worthy run Eddie had made to the phone the second it began ringing. And Chrissy had spoken. A lot. But so little at the same time. He was happy to hear you guys made up. Truly he was. But Chrissy had carried on for a five minute tangent about how gladly you accepted her back into your life again. Eddie Munson was honestly jealous. Though she had mentioned how you specified wanting time away from her, too, maybe meeting up to speak that coming Monday at school when your suspension would be over. Eddie had wondered if you would speak to him then, too. But he didn’t have to wonder much longer. After he so kindly told the cheerleader to get to the point, the real point he wanted to hear, she had assured him that you were okay. Physically, at least. Eddie had dropped to his kitchen chair with a breath of relief that no one had touched you. But then Chrissy kept speaking. She wants to see you. Tonight. That had Eddie trajecting back up from his seat. But his questions had disappointingly gone unanswered. No details. No explanation. No reasoning. Just show up, Eddie. At midnight. At her window. And not drunk. Chrissy had never gotten the full story as to what went down between you and Eddie, so that part desperately confused and intrigued the girl, but she didn’t push any further. Eddie, though, had cringed in disgust at himself because he knew.

An owl had hooted in the distance as he followed the tracks his beloved, dying van had made on your green lawn. Once again, Eddie had found himself in the same position as last night, cracking his neck and rolling his limbs for the climb of a lifetime. If it was somehow possible, he felt he was quivering more than when he was three beers down and no dinner. Yes, he was sober, but his heart could stop beating at the neverending questions his mind was bombarding against himself. Were you mad because he sent Chrissy over? Surely you couldn’t be, she would have said so. But you could also be really fucking pissed. The same type of anger that caught him off guard when his father swung on his little face when Eddie thought they were having a good time.

But he couldn’t rely on heavy thoughts as such. He just needed to get to you. Passed the trellis, over the trimming, onto the roof. Quiet as Eddie Munson could be. He couldn’t really be quiet, but he tried for you. Crouching his way to your window, he sucked in a deep breath before he ever so gently tapped on your window. He was eyeing his reflection, wondering who the hell he had become. The one definitive figure he didn’t want to become: his father. A relentless pessimist, hatred against the world, bruteness to show off, and the inability to take accountability for the hurt they cause, because they were hurt first, right?

But then your curtains opened, and there you were. You.

You, who’d included his friends when no one wanted them. You, who made him smile despite his hesitations of getting hurt. You, who took the fall for everything. You, who gave Eddie Munson a chance.

You lifted your window open. “Hi.”

Eddie could cry right then and there. His shaky trembling hands slowly offered themselves to you, and you peered down, gently laying yours in his, where your warmth dissipated his coldness. He sighed with a loving grasp. “Y-you’re okay? He didn’t- did he touch you?”

Eddie had heard it from Chrissy, but hearing your small “no” was more comforting than a third-party person.

“Why, um, why did you need to see me?” He softly cleared his throat.

“I want to talk, b-but not here.” Eddie nodded ardently at your request. “Just somewhere far.”

Somewhere far, he could give that to you.

Helping you out of your window, you followed Eddie’s led to the edge of your roof, where you traced the dying height from your second story room to the hard, hard, ground. “Don’t be scared.” He soothingly smiled. “Remember, I made the climb drunk.”

You shook your head in disappointment, but he saw that small, beautiful smile peak through your lips. “Just, um, please don’t let me fall.” Your stomach sunk at the eerie possibility.

But Eddie was there, and he let you know with a secure squeeze to your joint hands. “Never.”

You watched him descend. Off of the roof. Over the trimming. Down the trellis. He made it look so easy, as if he actively partook in the illegal activity of breaking and entering. Eddie would never admit it, not now at least, but for good reason he had done it once. Once. Mr. Godly had a cat that fifteen-year-old Eddie once saw the old man kick. Safe to say, Cronkers now resides in the makeshift cat house of cardboard, wood, and a childhood blanket behind the Munson’s residence. Her favorite is Wayne’s Monday meatloaf.

He encouraged you down delicately. Instructing you to take small movements, find your steps, and he’ll be right there. He’d always be there. When your Converse hit the holes of the trellis, his hands faintly found your waist, where you trusted him to carry you down the last couple abrasive steps onto your crushed garden. Feet safely on the ground, you gazed up at his staggering height and met his concerned eyes. You merely nodded before he could get the words out, are you okay?

“Your car?” You interrupted his staring. But in his defense, your face was illuminated mesmerizingly in the moonlight of the dark sky.

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He muttered in embarrassment, as he quickly walked away before you could see his flushing cheeks. As if you hadn’t already witnessed him ugly cry drunk in your bedroom.

You walked the quiet trip to his van, where he graciously opened the door for you. You didn’t know at the time, but the couple yards it took to get to his car, he’d been battling himself whether or not that’d be the right move to try. He’d never opened the door for anyone. But your small “thank you” that flashed his way had him praising to the gods he didn’t even believe in that he was a genius.

His car smelled strongly like cigarettes and weed. It honestly hurt your head, but you hadn’t expected anything less from Eddie. It made you giggle to yourself. The usual was everywhere; littered receipts and wrappers crumbled into the door compartments, numerous scented trees hanging from the rear view mirror, which you could only assume had been Eddie’s attempt to mask the nicotine and marajuana, and of course, an array of tapes thrown upon the floor at your feet, you could vividly imagine Eddie getting tired of a tape and carelessly getting rid of it. But then there was something else.

Eddie appeared in the front seat. “You ready?” He heaved.

“Yeah, but, um, why do you have these?”

“Ice cream?” He questioned more than answered. Yes, ice cream sitting in the tight space of his cupholders, two cartons with a spoon for each. “Um, well, I figured it’d be nice to, uh, have. I always, uh, liked having it, I guess. Always made me feel slightly better as a kid. It’s vanilla and chocolate. You can take whichever.” You eyed him incredulously, he eyed you worriedly. “Do you not like either of those flavors? I know I went basic, but I thought they were safe choices. I can get you whatever. Strawberry, cookies n’ cream, mint?” He grimaced, as though it was a deal breaker but he’d look right past it.

You giggled at him. “No, Eddie, it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.” You shyly smiled.

“Okay, good.” He smiled, with a whistle of relievement. “So, it’ll make you feel better?”

Lovers Lake had been the destination of choice for Eddie. It was quiet and calming. The car ride had been, too. Eddie had suggested some music, but was adamant about his disdain for the radio, though you weren’t necessarily in the mood to have the voices of Megadeth screaming at you this late at night. Eddie had begrudgingly agreed. So it was quiet. He was itching to ask you why you wanted to talk, though that only seemed appropriate whenever you would arrive. You had reached over and played with the mini bobble head figure of Garfield that was nestled against his van’s windshield. You said it was cute. He blushed. Then proceeded to nervously ramble about how Uncle Wayne had one of Odie in his work truck. You didn’t know Uncle Wayne, but he spoke about him like you knew every detail about Wayne already. The lake had been abandoned and lonely upon arrival. The lights to Rick Lipton’s lake house had been shut off for nearly a year now after his arrest. Eddie had only agreed and smiled when you mentioned how an old, lovely couple probably lived there and sat out by the lake to watch the sunset. Sure, something like that. He’d let you have your fantasy. The way the idea lit up your face and eased your tension, he wasn’t about to ruin that.

“We can, um, head to the back.” He offered, to which you agreed.

In truth, the bundle of blankets and pillows in the back of his van didn’t paint him out to be the greatest of all people, but he quickly assured that he frequently takes nap in the comfort of his van when he doesn’t have the energy for Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice. Specifically adding a yapping gesture with his hand to emphasize. So there you were. Sitting in the back, doors open to let in the midnight breeze, as you looked out to the glistening waters. You’d settled on vanilla after you noticed the tighter grip Eddie’s hand had clutched around the chocolate flavor, and surely, a blooming smile erupted on his face when he got to secure his preferred flavor of dessert.

“So, um-”

“I just wanted to speak to you.” You confided. “You know, when we’re not yelling, crying, or drunk,” you giggled at his wincing face, “as we have been doing for the past couple of days.”

“M’a fucking mess, I’m sorry.”

“So am I, Eddie-”

“No, you’re not.” He firmly attested. “You were absolutely perfect before I came into your life and fucked everything up.”

You teased, “You're saying I’m not perfect now?” Your mouth dropped in a dramatic gasp that had him smiling.

“No! No! I’m not saying that at all, you are perfect now, you’ll be perfect for the rest of your life and you won’t even have to try.” He sheepishly grinned, filling his mouth with a big spoonful to bite back the smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Eddie, but I’ve been far from perfect even before I met you. I wish you would see that. It’s doing more harm than good.” You spoke sincerely. “I don’t like you placing me into a bubble, Eddie, especially when you’ve hated the people who’ve done it to you. But I never have.”

His head dropped with a nod. “You’re right.” He accounted. “I’ve had the bullshit done to me for years, I thought it’d finally make me feel good to do it to someone like you. And it was fucking gross of me, because you’re right, you’ve never done anything to me. Actually, that night you took our photo, that was quite literally the nicest anyone has ever treated me- us. And, fuck me, did I like the shit out of you.”

You laughed at his shy revelation. “You have such a romantic way with your words, Eddie Munson.” You joked.

“Sorry.” He covered his mouth so kidlike. “But, uh, yeah I obviously liked you, and well, something in me was just fighting me to stay away. Or get away, more than anything. Because, um, it’d… it’d really fucking hurt if you didn’t like me back.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, speaking with pure shame as to who he was as a person. “And, well, mission fucking accomplished, I, sorta, kinda went above and beyond with that logic.”

“You think?” You smiled.

“It was so stupid of me.” He regrettably sighed. “Because-because I thought- you were just so nice to me. Ready to be my friend and everything, that I knew, I fucking knew my feelings would get too much for me and the realizations that I couldn’t be with you fucking scared me.” His voice had significantly softened to ease the burning ache in his throat. “A-and I’m such a shit excuse of a person that I fucking hurt you when you didn’t deserve it.”

“You are not that, Eddie, don’t say that-”

“But I am, Y/N, I’m so fucking terrible. I-I’m, fuck- I really fucking hate my dad.” Your brows creased at the sudden change of topics. “He was an awful person, he- he would-” The crying began. “Fuck,” he wiped his tears completely embarrassed, “He would just do terrible things to me and my mom, and I fucking said- I fucking said I wouldn’t be like him, be like her- she just fucking took that shit, Y/N, she said it was for the best.” You held his hand, his ice cream long forgotten and pushed to the side. “I just don’t want to be like him- them. M’tryin’ so fucking hard that it fucking backfired. M’such a terrible person, and I’m so sorry.”

You wished this conversation wasn’t full of tears, but you realized how inevitable that idea was. You and Eddie Munson were hurting and releasing. Crying was necessary.

“You are not a terrible person, Eddie.” He had to hear, loud and clear. You rested your head on his shoulder, where his head dropped upon yours. “Terrible people don’t sit and wonder if they’re terrible. And the fact that you care about how you are as a person shows it.” You caressed the back of his hand. “You are a worthwhile person, Eddie. I can so clearly see it.”

“I’m really fucking sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Y/N.” He wiped the incoming snot from his nose with his denim sleeve. “I-I need you to know that everything I did was out of fucking stupidity.” He huffed. “What I called you, those names, that was fucking disgusting, and I don’t believe that about you at all. I never have.”

“I’m sorry for what I said about you, too-”

“Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry for telling the truth.” He deeply laughed through his sniffles, voice deeper from the being nasally stuffed.

You smiled back guilty. “No, I am! What I said was really mean, too.”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “What was it, ‘a sulking asshole too pathetic to deal with their problems?’ You hit it right on the nail, princess.”

“Well,” you giggled, “even if you won't let me apologize, I need you to know that I still feel bad. Slightly.”

“Fair enough.” He grinned. “But I do need to apologize, and I need you to know that I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. For what I said. For what I did. For making you feel horrible and scared. And for just putting you through all that. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“I know.” You whispered. “And if it’s any consolation to you, Eddie, I also hate my dad.”

“Oh, my god.” Eddie clutched his heart. “He really put a fucking number on me, fuck me.” He groaned, turning to face you. “Please, please, please tell me if he does something. I won’t be able to fucking live my life not knowing.”

Your lips tucked tightly within themselves, and with a soft nod you assured him you would.

You spoke. You both spoke for a while. The hours had passed unknowingly until both tubs of ice cream were empty by 3:33 a.m. Tears and laughter had flooded the back of the van, and you felt like you’d been his friends with him since childhood. He couldn’t fathom the way he treated you, when speaking to you floated him into another dimension of peace and acceptance. Something he hadn’t felt in the entirety of his life. But when you caught a glimpse of the repeating digits on his watch, your heart panicked and you urged him to take you home, which he suddenly complied. This time, though, Megadeth was gladly played, and to say you were shocked would be quite an understatement. Eddie had belted a laugh at your abrupt introduction to metal, finding your this-is-weird-but-I-don’t-want-you-to-think-I’m-judging-you face as the cutest thing ever. And sooner than he liked, he pulled up behind the De Tomaso Pantera. Your attempt to say goodbye fell short, though, when he shot down your idea to walk home alone.

“Really, Eddie, go home, it’s late.” You huffed, when you reached your house.

“I will, I will,” He snickered with defensive hands. “Just, uh, th-thank you so much for, um- well, being so understanding even after all that I did. I just- you really are the best, Y/N.” He ranked his hands over his face in hopes of concealing the ever growing smile on his face.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You giggled at his flustered state. “You’re quite incredible yourself.”

“Do, um, where does this… leave us?”

“I still want space, Eddie.” You spoke honestly, to which he concurred. “Until we’re okay.”

“Until we’re okay.” He sighed.

Eddie had managed to take advantage of the four hours of sleep left until school began. There was no sleeping past his alarm clock, no rush to get dressed, no giving up when lateness was inevitable. He’d shown up, showered and full with a bowl of cereal that went a long way, as he approached Ms. Kelly’s office. It was nerve wracking. He’d never considered this to be a good idea, in fact, following his father’s word, therapy was a pussy excuse for the delusional to waste money on. But those were the words that held him captive from the potential he so well deserved to reach. Turning from her filing cabinet, Ms. Kelly had caught sight of his timid figure standing at the door.

“Eddie.” She hadn’t been unfamiliar with his being, she’d actually been the one to break it to him the last two times that he was in for another year at prison Hawkins High. “How can I help you?”

He sauntered his way into her office, taking a seat with a gruff. It was evident his persona to seem calm, cool, and collected was falling through the cracks, as his finger spun the numerous rings on his fingers. “I, uh, I was wondering if it’d be cool to, um, just talk?”

“Absolutely.” Ms. Kelly dreamed of the day Eddie Munson would enter her office with good intentions. “Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Just got a lot pent up inside, I guess.”

“Well, the floor is yours, Eddie.” She smiled. “Talk as much as you need.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Unfortunately, my tag list for this series has gotten too long, so I will not be adhering to any further requests to be included. I'm so terribly sorry, but the amount of tags has beyond reached its limit, and I think it's best to stop. I hope it's understandable. Nonetheless, thank you all for your kind support, I hope you guys continue to enjoy the series, and if you ever have any ideas as to what you'd like to see, I'd love to know!

@sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #the yearbook: club pictures

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querenciasturniolo · 9 months

Text

leave ⮕ c.s.

word count: 724

warnings: angst, swearing, crying

summary: “just leave.”

a/n: this one is…sad, there’s really no other way to put it. if you’re sensitive to angst (cut to me crying and listening to story of another us by 5sos on repeat while writing this), please don’t read below the cut. only take what you can handle, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

You stared at your ceiling, your body and mind completely numb as you replayed last night over and over again in your head.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You sound ridiculous, Chris. Get over yourself.”

He scoffed and took a step back. “Get over myself? God, everything is always about you. I’ve been falling apart right in front of you for months, and you didn’t even see it!”

You winced, closing your eyes to keep them from burning as tears pooled out. It felt impossible to cry, you’d figured you’d run out of tears.

Your chest constricted as you watched his mouth quiver. “I just,” he started, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t do this anymore.” He all but whispered. You took a step forward, your breath hitching in horror as Chris took a step back. After a few shaky breaths, his eyes met yours again. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he shook his head. “I’m never going to be good enough for you, am I?”

Your breath hitched, your hands immediately covering your face as you tried to muffle the choked sob forcing itself past your lips.

“Chris, you’re my best friend—”

“I’m in love with you.” He interrupted, his voice breaking. “I’ve been in love with you our entire lives, and I know you’re not so fucking dense that you didn’t see it.” His words were like poison as they sank in, your stomach roiling with guilt.

Before you could reply, he cut you off. “I have followed you around like a lost puppy since we were twelve, and I can’t do it anymore.” He said, lifting his head completely. The muscle in his jaw tensed, any words you were going to say dying in your throat. He stared you down, his misery festering as your hand rested over your abdomen.

“Chris, I didn’t know.” You whispered, Chris shaking his head.

“Please, it was written all over my face every time I looked at you.” His voice was laced with sarcasm and venom. “Just…just leave.” He said, his voice cracking as he pushed his hair out of his eyes.

You felt like you’d been stabbed, all of the color leaving your face as you processed his words. “What?”

“Just leave, please?” The last word came out a broken plea, his eyes closing as he sighed sharply. When he opened his eyes again, they were certain, hardened in a way that you knew whatever he said next, he meant whole-heartedly. “I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.” He said. It felt as though everything inside you shattered as he walked past you and into Matt’s room, the soft click of the door practically echoing inside of your head.

You sat up out of your bed and threw your legs over the side of it. Nausea coiled in your gut, but you bit it back as you leveled your breathing. You tried convincing yourself that this wasn’t over, Chris wasn’t out of your life forever. He wasn’t, he just needed time to process this, and then you would see him again.

The truth was, once you thought about it, it was painfully obvious how much he cared for you. You’d never thought twice about his actions, thinking it was just Chris being Chris. You’d been blinded by your own obliviousness, just completely ignoring the underlying reasons for his actions.

He was in love with you, and you didn’t feel the same way. You didn’t feel the same way, and you hated yourself for hurting him. You could see the sadness in his eyes every time he looked at you, as subtle as it was. He was falling apart right in front of you, because you couldn’t just tell him the truth.

“I’m never going to be good enough for you, am I?”

You sat up straight and wiped your eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Standing from your bed felt wrong, but you took a deep breath and pushed your hair out of your face. You looked down at your phone and tapped the screen, begging whatever entity out there to let there be something, anything, from him. Your notification center practically mocked you as it showed up empty. You inhaled shakily, trying desperately to swallow the knot in your throat as you realized this was it—you lost him.

“Just leave.”

tags: @strniolo , @toyourloves , @ssturniolo , @jellybeanbby , @thetriplets3 , @mxriverse , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @emmssturniolo , @lvrsparadise , @tuktuk34 , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @babytomatoes , @ldontexistman

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo blurb #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #querenciasturniolo

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halucynator · 6 months

Text

False Fronts IV

part 4 of 4

fluff version.

hii omg i finally did this im so happy with this there's an angst version as well bc who doesnt like some good ol' angst from time to time

also the other version was released early bc im stupid so ty to @berryzxx for reminding me (i just want a reason to tag you)

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings:fluffff arguments (oohOOHOoH) swearing, not so fake dating (but are they?), the and y/n being idiots, not a happy ending, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

summary: being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. you, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to theodore nott.

angst is hereeee

reblogs with tags are always appreciated mwah

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4: angst

The tension between you and Theo had been brewing for days, each passing moment adding weight to the unspoken emotions that hung heavily in the air. Unable to bear the silence any longer, you initiated the conversation, the frustration and confusion evident in your voice.

"Theo, can we talk?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and determination.

He glanced up from his book, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. "Sure, what's up?"

"It's about us," you began cautiously, the words feeling heavier than you'd anticipated. "I feel like there's something here, between us. But I'm confused about where you stand."

Theo's expression flickered, a fleeting mixture of uncertainty and conflict clouding his features. "I don't know if diving into a relationship right now is the best idea."

"But this isn't just about a relationship," you insisted, your voice rising in exasperation. "It's about acknowledging what's been brewing between us, Theo."

He sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm not sure what I want, Y/N. It's complicated."

"Complicated?" You scoffed, the frustration simmering within you. "What's so complicated about being honest?"

"Why can't you understand?" Theo's voice rose, mirroring your frustration. "I don't want to mess things up and end up causing you pain."

"You're not getting it!" Your voice echoed in the charged atmosphere. "I need to know where we stand, and your indecision isn't helping."

Theo's reluctance grated on your nerves, fueling the intensity of the argument. "I need you to be honest with me, Theo. I can't keep waiting for something that might never happen!"

"I know, but I'm conflicted," he admitted, his tone wavering.

Frustration boiled within you. "Conflicted about what? Us?"

His gaze shifted away, a mix of guilt and concern clouding his features. "I... I don't want Jess to hurt you."

"I can handle Jess, she isn't your responsibility," you asserted firmly, the frustration simmering beneath your words.

"You don't get it, do you?" Theo's voice cut through the tension, edged with frustration. "She's MY ex."

His words stung, and the heat of the argument intensified. "And that gives you the right to dictate what's good for me?" you shot back, your voice rising in indignation.

"Look, I'm just trying to protect you," Theo retorted, his tone laced with urgency.

"Protect me? From what?" Your voice rose, the frustration boiling over. "I can handle my own affairs, Theo. I don't need you deciding what's best for me!"

The tension crackled between you, each word spoken a testament to the underlying emotions that had escalated into a heated argument. The clash of opinions and conflicting desires hung heavily in the charged atmosphere, leaving the potential relationship teetering on the edge of uncertainty. The anticipation in the room was suffocating.

Days stretched into weeks, and the awkward distance between you and Theo became the new norm. Despite the avoidance, every accidental encounter sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. Butterflies danced in your stomach, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, now lost in a fog of misunderstanding.

Each time your paths crossed, the unresolved tension simmered beneath the surface. The silent longing for resolution battled with the ache of hurt and confusion, leaving you caught in a turmoil of emotions whenever Theo came into view.

The avoidance hadn't dulled the effect he had on you. His presence was still magnetic, drawing your attention despite the unspoken rift that divided you both. The simple sight of him evoked a rush of emotions, a testament to the bond you once shared and the rift that now tore you apart.

With every passing moment, the yearning for clarity clashed with the fear of confronting the situation, leaving you entangled in a web of unresolved emotions and unspoken apologies, the butterflies a painful yet undeniable reminder of the connection you couldn't seem to sever.

Summoning your courage, you approached Theo's dorm, determined to offer an overdue apology. A hesitant knock resulted in eerie silence. Unsure of Theo's whereabouts, you glanced around the deserted hallway, your resolve mingling with uncertainty.

Taking a tentative step forward, you reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. The decision to enter felt both intrusive and necessary. The room was devoid of life, the emptiness echoing the void that had developed between you and Theo.

Your gaze drifted to Theo's desk, where a single piece of paper lay. The handwriting was unmistakable, sending a jolt of emotions through you as you read the words:

Last night was so fun, so glad you dropped Y/N.

- Jess

Disbelief and a pang of deception ricocheted through you. The words were like a gut punch, shattering the fragile hope you had held for reconciliation and understanding. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you grappled with the apparent evidence before you.

Your mind raced, attempting to process the meaning behind Jess's note. It seemed to confirm your worst fears, undermining the fragile trust you had in the situation and leaving your heart aching with the weight of assumed betrayal.

With tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart, you turned away, the intention of offering an apology now replaced by a swirl of hurt. The unaddressed misunderstanding had taken root, poisoning the hope for amends and leaving you in a cloud of uncertainty and hurt.

After catching a glimpse of the note and feeling a surge of mixed emotions, you found yourself actively avoiding Theo. Days turned into a tense cycle of dodging encounters and deflecting questions, leaving Theo increasingly perplexed by your sudden distance.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Theo finally confronted you, his tone a blend of confusion and concern.

Your gaze wavered, torn between the urge to explain and the fear of facing the truth. "I just need some space," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, evading the heart of the matter.

Theo's expression shifted from confusion to hurt, his eyes clouded with the weight of your avoidance. "Did i do something wrong?" he pressed gently, hoping for a glimmer of understanding.

You hesitated, unsure how to voice the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't know," you muttered, the words falling between you like an insurmountable barrier.

The tension between you was palpable, an unspoken rift widening with every passing moment of silence. The distance between you grew, leaving both of you stranded in a sea of unanswered questions and unspoken feelings.

Theo sensed your unease. "Hey, something's been off. What's going on?" he asked, a tinge of concern in his voice.

"Well..." you hesitated, before showing him the note, unaware that he didn't know about it. "She sent you that note?" Theo's voice edged with surprise and confusion.

"What! No," you replied hastily, caught off guard by his assumption, unaware he didn't have any knowledge of the note's existence.

Theo's eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "I'm lost. What's happening?" he asked, completely unaware of the note you were holding, his confusion evident in his expression.

"You're being accused of cheating on me with Jess, but now I think you're being framed," you explained, your voice tinged with concern as you showed him the note.

"What? I would never! You know that!" Theo's words spilled out, shock and disbelief evident in his tone and expression.

His vehement denial resonated with the sincerity you knew so well, and a wave of relief washed over you. You knew him, knew his values, and believed in his loyalty.

"I love you, I'd never do anything to hurt you," he continued, desperation and honesty lacing his words as he took his face in his hands turning it to face him.

His earnest declaration struck a chord within you, dispelling some of the doubts that had clouded your mind. You realized that amidst the chaos and confusion, trusting in your bond with Theo was paramount.

"Yeah, I-I'm sorry." you stammered, your voice filled with a mix of emotions, as you finally let go of the lingering doubts.

Theo's eyes softened with understanding, a gentle smile forming on his lips. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, enveloping you in a reassuring embrace. In that moment, the unspoken affection bloomed, filling the air with an undeniable warmth.

With a rush of emotions, you met halfway, your lips gently pressing against his in a tender and heartfelt kiss.

"I love you too" you whispered as he pulled you in again for a kiss.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

hi hello! this is the end of the series. check out the angsty ver here if you'd like! here are a few fics to read while i work on my next one:

masterlist

reader's choice (mattheo x reader)

reader's choice (theodore x reader)

i honestly had so much fun writing this thank you for sticking along with this <33 sorry for how late this is i was like so busy and im also lazy so yea

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy @jetblackpayne @delulu4marauders @ahead-fullofdreams

if you want to be added to my theodore/any other character's taglist just send me an ask/dm!

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persefolli · 1 year

Text

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝐘𝐞𝐬

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @myheartfollower, @laylasbunbunny, @destinyl, @deadgirl02, @sweetllamaparadise

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐭. 𝟐 (𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝)

You walked into Jake's office, sitting a bag of jewels and beads on his table, ones he’d gift to you. “I'm done Jake. I need to do this now before it's too late.”

Jake looked up at you from his map and scoffed. “Mhm. You said that last time. I'll see you tonight.”

“We're done.” You said more intensely, you heard the shakiness in your own voice.

“You're so pretty when you try to be intimidating.” Jake looked back down at the paper and ignored you.

“Okay.” You nodded. “You wait and see.” You stormed out of his home.

----

Jake waited and waited in your designated meeting spot for what felt like hours. He looked at his watch, then back at the trees in front of him. You were never late, and if anything you knew how much he hated waiting.

He stood from his spot and went walking back to the village, walking straight to your tree where you slept. “Have any of you seen Y/n?” He asked your roommates.

“We just said goodbye to her earlier.”

“Yeah she moved.” Another said nonchalantly.

Jake felt his insides hollow. Moved? No. Couldn't be.

He walked further into the room, seeing that your belongings and hammock were empty.

Like a drunk, he stumbled out of the tree, holding his chest realizing you were serious. He laughed at you, knowing that he would see you later but you were serious this time.

Jake stormed back home, where Neytiri was cleaning up the dinner that he had once again missed. “Jake, you're back early.” She approached.

“Don't you fucking touch me.” He snapped.

Neytiri was taken aback, shocked at his sudden anger. “Jake, is there something-”

“Neytiri if I hear your fucking voice again I swear to god you won't get a good nights rest for days.”

His wife stood bamboozled, unknowing of what happened in the last hour or so that made Jake like this. He didn't even get this angry at her when they had to temporarily leave hometree.

Anger lodged into the leader like a parasite in a fish. The yelling started, the glaring, and the silent treatments remained. Everyone fell victim to his tantrums, even his most- trusted warriors.

Rumor spread that he was angry at Neytiri, for what reason? Who knows? Others said the demon he once was, came back to punish him for turning his back on the other Sky People.

These rumors drove Neytiri insane. She tried everything to make Jake happier, changing her hairstyle, her clothes, initiating alone time, even making him hold Neteyam for hours at a time to at least soothe his soul. But Jake remained a shell. He didn't even look towards Neytiri, and when he held his son his eyes fell grim.

At night Neytiri lay awake next to her husband, thinking. Any signs or any hints about what upset him, because clearly this was bigger than her and their son. Then her mind went back to her lingering thoughts she had months ago.

The late night returns, the random scratches on his back, nicks all over his body, and the underlying scent of another woman.

“Jake.”

He sat hunched over, holding Neteyam in his arms feeding him. He was silent, but his ears flinched up at the sound of Neytiri's voice.

“She left, didn't she?”

Jake snapped his head to look at his wife, but his face remained deadpan. Neytiri let out a frustrated groan and crossed her arms. “What has she provided all this time that you can’t even offer me the time of day?”

“Everything.” He finally spoke. “Everything she is, you are not.”

His jabs didn’t phase her much anymore, but it still hurt her to know that although his mistress left him, and she stayed by his side, he still yearned for the other woman.

You heard little chatters of these rumors, having moved to the outskirts of the village, but you only listened silently with no comments. Jake had to regulate his emotions on his own.

You missed him so, not going a minute without thinking about him, his hands, his whispers.

It was ridiculous how much you thought of him, but being together caused more damage to the both of you, and your families.

#persefolli #persefolliwrites #angst #avatar the way of water #jake sully #avatar #avatar2 #atwow #tonowari #jake x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully angst #avatar jake

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teyums · 1 year

Text

Twin Flames

pairing: Ao’nung x fem!metkayina na’vi reader

contains: angst with underlying bittersweet fluff, slight infidelity, no smut but a very brief, vague rehashing of events. Ao’nung and reader are both 19. wc: 3,124

“Honestly I’m better as your boy, I’d be kinda shitty as ya man, let’s go back to only being friends. I’m sorry girl I hope you understand it’s just, I don’t wanna fall in love.” - KYLE

You and Ao’nung were written in the stars. Twin flames. A love so fierce among two souls that it’d be impractical to think you could come out unscathed. Like night and day, never one without the other, but never meant to be together.

He never intended to hurt you, really, he didn’t. But somewhere in all the gold that glittered and the feeling of something fresh and exciting, he simply lost sight and forgot what he really wanted.

Love and Ao’nung were two words that never should have been in the same sentence. You wished you had listened to those around you, to those who noticed the two of you growing far too close for the relationship to remain platonic.

You wished you had listened to those who recognized the familiar gleam he’d get in his eyes when he wanted something he knew he wasn’t supposed to have; to those who warned that he would break you into a million pieces like he did with the others. But what you felt in your heart and saw with your own two eyes, you couldn’t deny. He was different with you, you swear he was.

A friend was what you called each other. Bestfriends. Growing up in Awa’atlu, you were stuck to his side like glue as a child, always begging to go hunting with him and his friends. You wanted to go everywhere he went, do everything he did. Disgruntled and annoyed at first, a little Ao’nung had eventually taken a liking to you, much to his own surprise. And from then on, your presence in each other’s lives was as normal as breathing.

And somewhere along the line, Ao’nung had become gentle with you, contrary to his usual irreverent personality. He stopped treating you like you were just another one of his knuckle-headed friends, but instead something more than that. He found himself staring at you longer than he used to; captivated by the details about your features or personality that he never cared to relish on in the past.

The way your face would light up every time you heard his voice call for you. How you’d beam when you sat with him on the beach and raved about your day. He’d simply watch you, humming in response every now and then to let you know he was listening, on his face a smile so love-sickeningly drenched in admiration while you gesticulated animatedly.

He would have puked had someone held a mirror up to him to see his own besotted expression, but he loved how excited you were to talk to him about the smallest of things. How even while he’s studied the distinct map your starred freckles project along your body over and over again, for some reason, he still finds himself getting lost in them.

He doesn’t want to fall in love.

It’s what he tells himself every time a mention of your name has his ears perking attentively, listening in on the conversation regarding his newfound fascination. Every time a waft of your scent in the salt-laced breeze sends his mind reeling with thoughts he can’t seem to mute. But it’s too late.

Hell, how couldn’t he have fallen for you? You’re always perched on the dock outside his mauri before eclipse, swinging your legs as you patiently await his return from training so the two of you can spend some time alone before dinner.

Genuinely happy to see him regardless of how grumpy he can be, because you like him for him. And you’re completely unaware of how his mind battles with his heart as he admires you from afar, wondering how he’d let himself tumble face first into an irreversible fondness for you.

He doesn’t want to fall in love, but one can’t stop the inevitable.

Snarky teasing turned into transient observations that scarily resembled compliments. Chummy roughhousing morphed to playful touches to the most ticklish parts of you, just so he could hear your pretty laugh cascade through his ears like his own songcord. He had half the mind to add a bead, just for you.

And for a while, he felt it too, honestly he did. But Ao’nung wasn’t familiar with love, had pushed the thought of it away for so long that now he had no idea how it was supposed to happen. The things you were and weren’t supposed to do. He never knew that the fluttering feeling of butterflies swarming in his stomach were good, that he shouldn’t run from them, but embrace them.

Sure he’d grown up watching his parents display their affection to one another; grown up hearing the stories of an adamant, smitten Tonowari pining after a hard-to-get Ronal, despite her apparent aloofness. How he fell first and she fell even harder. But he never actually thought he would end up head over heels for a girl. It was usually the other way around, girls pining over him while he let the attention boost his ego.

He was a no strings kind of guy— utterly terrified by the thought of being responsible for breaking a girl’s heart. Breaking your heart, like he knew he would because he fucks everything up and he wanted no parts of it.

But he’s conflicted. Deep down he does want what his parents have. Someone to call his own, someone to come home to. Someone who means more than a stupid hookup that would leave him regretting his decision afterwards and wondering why the hell he went through with it. But like always with the metkayina boy, pride trumps what his heart already knows.

He’s well aware that it’s too good to be true. The thought that he could ever experience what it truly means to be happy, by letting himself be loved by you, is all that it will ever be. A thought. An unattainable aspiration. He knows you’re too good for him. Compassionate, thoughtful, kind. Everything he’ll never be, coupled with a heart much too pure to be polluted by his indecision.

But maybe, just maybe he could enjoy the reverie while it lingered, and pretend like he could really have you all to himself. Just for one night. Selfishly disregarding his issues with commitment, all he could think about while he laid in bed was how badly he wanted to see you, how badly he wanted to be with you.

Leading you on was the last thing on his mind that late night he’d snuck out from his Mauri and to yours, determinedly pitching small shells he’d collected on the way there between the flowing tulle curtains of your open window to get your attention.

And for some reason you couldn’t sleep, as if that was fate’s way of setting the two of you up for failure from the beginning. You’d already spent an hour staring up at the intricate weaving of your Mauri’s roof, wishing your eyelids would hurry up and become weighted, when the small disruption of something clattering against the floorboards had you sitting up almost instantly.

You smiled keenly, already having an idea of who it was. He told you he’d come for you later, sometime after eclipse, and he always kept his promises. At least, you thought he did.

The both of you waded by the shore beneath the light of the moon, legs brushing against the other from the effort of treading once you swam further out. Childishly splashing the other with small waves of cool, salty water and trying your best to keep your laughter quiet; the village long asleep but your hearts awake.

It was when he bundled you closer, when strong arms lagged through the calm waters to wind around your waist and pull you into him. That, was when you knew nothing would be the same.

You should have pulled away, should have called it a night before things could progress, like the voice in the back of your head was telling you to do. But just like always, those ocean eyes held you in a trance, a smug grin on his face in response to how deeply you blushed and it only made matters worse.

You wonder now if he knew what he was doing when he brought a hand up to caress your dampened cheek, his gaze undeniably tender when he told you he’d always thought you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

You see now that you were stupid to fall for it. But in that fleeting moment, with your arms around his neck and your hearts beating as one, his lips moving against yours felt so right. It felt like that was where you were always meant to be, in his arms, pressed against the warmth of his skin as he set your soul ablaze.

You’d spent the rest of the night on the sand, the comfort of your bed long forgotten. He was all you needed. Entangled underneath the moonlight as you let him see so much farther into you than you had with anyone. He kissed broken promises upon your skin, lust-drunken words slurred from his mouth swaddled in the crook of your neck and you can’t believe you trusted him.

Your ability to see the good in everyone ultimately played the role in your downfall. You took pride in being someone who went off actions, and not words. Because it had never failed you before, but since then you’ve learned to never say never.

Curse your aching heart. You really should have listened when everyone told you to run, that behind all the kind gestures and longing glances and saccharine kisses to the forehead— it was all a game to him.

Things weren’t official with the two of you but you had planned to change that. Flung so deep into the intensity of your own feelings, everything about the way he treated you let you know that he must have felt the same.

Surely it’d be impossible to do all that the two of you had done with someone and not catch feelings. It’d be unimaginable to let someone peer so extensively into what makes you you, and somehow not fall in love with them.

“Meet me by the mangroves at noon, our spot.” You’d murmured between a parting kiss, just the day before, and he can’t believe he forgot.

He was enjoying his time with you too much to notice that he let things go on for too long, too busy reveling in the feeling of what it felt like to truly be loved. To be cared for.

He never intended for it to go this far, constantly having to remind himself to break the news to you that he wanted to remain friends, so he wouldn’t lose you all together. To let you go before he could do something to hurt you.

Ao’nung knew he was in too deep the moment he realized you were the last image playing behind his eyelids when he fell asleep, and the first thing he thought about when he woke up.

The idea of him loving someone so profoundly shocked him to his core, scared him into submitting back into his old habits. He needed to be with someone who couldn’t see him, someone who if he were to mess things up, the sight of them in fragments due to his actions wouldn’t cause him to endure that same agony. So subconsciously, he did what he always does when he has a good thing going for him. Fuck it up.

The sound of his laughter in the distance carried your feet along the buoyant netting that served as walkway between the homes of your village. A hopeful grin plastered on your face and a freshly woven armband clutched between your hands. A gift from him to you, and though not very traditional for you to give the first courting gift, nothing about your situation was, so you found it more than fitting.

The sight in front of you halted your movements, leaving your mind to try and make sense of the scene before your eyes could confirm what you feared to be true. What everyone had tried to warn you of.

The man who succeeded in making you feel a way no other had, stood a little ways in front of you, with a girl. Her back leaned against the rocks while she batted her lashes and gazed at him as if he’d hung the stars in the sky himself. The same way you’d found yourself doing every time he so much as looked in your direction.

A mere conversation between the two of them would never have been enough to upset you, you liked to think you were more secure than that. But you’d be lying to yourself if you claimed you didn’t see the way his hand cradled her cheek, and how his eyes flitted over her features, as if she were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Your insecurities didn’t have much work to do, as it was the words that left his own mouth that confirmed your fears. The same thing he had confessed to you— all those nights ago when you laid intwined under the stars— he swore to her. With that same glint in his eye, that same longing look that you were foolish to ever believe would be reserved for you.

A fire surged up the column of your throat and a dreadful weight settled in the pit of your stomach that almost had your knees buckling. Your lips parted to speak, to ask him what the hell he was doing with her when he was supposed to have met you here.

But the words never came, they remained lodged between the confines of your heart-wrenched vocal cords. Your fist tightened around what would’ve been a lovely moment between the two of you, and the sound of it thumping against the ground, paired with the cloud of sand it brought up in its wake was enough to peel his attention from your giggling contender.

His startled, turned guilt-ridden expression would’ve rendered comical to you, but the rush of hot tears that bubbled over your waterline and stained your seafoam cheeks were far too impatient to wait for you to get a laugh in.

You staggered back with a denying shake of your head, a string of curses inaudible as you threw your hands up once he made a move to get to you. The girl he had been so enamored with just moments ago conveniently forgotten the second he witnessed your heart fall through your chest.

He called out for you in a panic, hurriedly sifted his hands through pale golden and swiftly scooped the disheveled accessory from the sand before his feet took off.

Ao’nung chased you through the village until he was nearly winded. Ignoring your hisses for him to leave you alone and brushing off the harsh shoves you sent to his chest as if they weren’t actually starting to hurt.

“Please, wait!” Another plea for you that went ignored, your ears only filled with the painful ringing of betrayal.

Blinded by the moisture in your eyes, you realized he’d cornered you. Chased you all the way to a secluded clearing behind the palm trees so you would stop running and just talk to him.

A strong hand gripped your forearm, turning you around rougher than intended to meet the frantic look in his eyes. “Please,” He implored breathlessly and his chest heaved from his efforts just moments earlier. “I never meant for it to go like this.”

You twirled from his grasp and swatted his hand away in the process, your face screwed up with hurt and he watched every conflicted emotion pass through your eyes at once. You didn’t even know how you were still standing.

“I gave myself to you!” Your voice wavered as you thrusted an accusatory finger to his chest. His lips moved, but no words left them as he clutched the forgotten gift in his hands. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.” You whisked your head away, shielding your face as another round of tears threatened to make themselves known, as if you weren’t embarrassed enough.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I-“ His head dipped to the side to match his drooping shoulders, and you felt the rough pad of his thumb graze your cheekbone in an attempt to fix what was already broken. “Tahni, please, I was going to tell you. I swear-“

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Was this all some kind of sick game to you?” You choked out and backed away from his touch with your arms crossed over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed in front of the man who had already seen you so much barer than you stood now.

But with your feelings worn on your sleeves and so obviously unreciprocated, you felt more naked than you’d ever been regardless of the coverings you were wearing. Completely vulnerable in front of him, so naively gullible to think he’d ever put aside his immature desires and feel the same way you did.

“What- No! I’d- I’d never-“ He sputtered an answer vehemently, his expression almost wounded as he immediately denied your claim. “I just, I can’t give you what you need. You deserve better than me.” His hands found yours despite your efforts to avoid them, and he quickly realized why you didn’t want to be touched.

A stark contrast from your pained stature, the affliction he had caused, your body relaxed the second he touched you and your composure crumbled before him.

Sobs racked through your body and you weakly tugged your hands from his grasp to no avail, your words shaky as you begged for him to let you go. And without another thought he pulled you into his embrace, firmly caging you between the arms that once comforted you.

But they failed to replicate that same feeling, the image of what once was completely tarnished by his own actions. The words that left your lips were enough to make his eyes well with a wetness foreign to him. A deep-seated feeling he’d never forget. Remorse.

“You’re cruel, Ao’nung.”

The sound of your heart shattering drowned out his incessant, anguished apologies and your body slumped in his arms. You let him hold you, allowed your forehead to fall into the dip of his chest as large hands caressed into the curve between your trembly shoulders.

You mindlessly permitted his attempts to console you as you knew you would never let him close to you again. The two of you stood like that for a few minutes, until your weeping reduced to jagged inhales while you struggled to catch your breath.

“Did it mean anything to you at all? Any of it?” You squeaked hopelessly, and the sound of your broken voice sent daggers to the heart you were almost certain he didn’t have.

With his chin rested atop your head, his eyes squeezed shut and he exhaled unsteadily before he spoke.

“More than you know.”

part two

Reblogs + Likes + Comments are much appreciated 💗

#ao’nung x reader #ao’nung x female reader #ao’nung fic #ao’nung #ao’nung x you #ao’nung fluff #ao’nung angst #ao’nung fanfic #ao’nung x y/n #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #aonung x reader #aonung x y/n #aonung x you

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isoldmysoulforcheese · 1 year

Text

Stay Still

Paring: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Era: Season two

Summary: Daryl loses control once finally alone with the girl he’s been chasing for months.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, hand jobs, and oral (male receiving.)

Word count: 5,329 words.

(Sorry if this is bad, this is my first time writing any sort of smut.)

Daryl and I hadn't had a moment alone, practically sense we met one another, and our constant, discreet flirting, my fingers caressing his arm, his eyes scanning my figure, someones hands miraculously landing upon the others, all of it was becoming too much. I was starting to lose control over both my mind and body; I was constantly checking him out, my eyes were like magnets, always drawn to his figure. I would dream about the male at night, often waking up in a cold sweat, my palms clammy, and extremely turned on. I was sure, if we had a moment together, even just one second, unattended, we'd let our animistic instincts overcome us.

“Carol,” I called out to the short haired woman as she came down the hall, and when she finally noticed me, glancing up towards the source of the unexpected noise, I continued my sentence “Daryl. How is he?”

I couldn't lie, I was becoming slightly attached to the redneck, a thought that entirely grossed me out, finding a hick attractive. But God was he hot, that was an undeniable fact.

I was always worrying when he went on supply runs alone, practically praying for his safe return home. I would pace around my tent, stressing about his well-being whenever he would practically disappear from the camp, wandering off to be left to his own devices whenever he wanted to become a recluse.

“He's good. You can go in and see him if you'd like. I'm sure he'd appreciate that.” The woman said, a small smile slipping across her face.

Her kind words shot straight through my heart.

Although Carol was most likely speaking just out of both the kindness and generosity of her soul, my brain insinuated her sentence in a completely different manner.

My thoughts took her words and contorted them, thinking that the underlying tone in her statement was hinting towards that fact that Darly felt the same way towards me, absolutely smitten and lust driven. I pondered upon the idea that he possibly may have been telling Carol about me in passing, maybe dropping a few hints about his appreciation towards me, or secretly talking about how cute I was. But considering the fact that it was quiet, loner, Darly I was thinking about, the odds of that actually being accurate were very low.

I nodded politely, wiping away the remnants of my small, flustered smile with the back of my hand before sneaking down the dimly lit hall.

I tiptoed towards Daryl's room until I finally arrived outside the door, and although I had no reason to be sneaking around, it still felt oddly necessary. I silently stood outside for a moment, eying the wooden door frame placed in front of me, sparks flying through my nerves as I struggled to reach up and turn the door knob, due to the fact that I knew what would happen the moment I entered the bedroom: it would start off civil, maybe we’d exchange courteous words back and forth, then we'd inch closer to one another, but that would just continue on into a ravenous make out session before finally ending with his dick stuffed inside me. The timeline was almost completely visible in my head, but, although I was almost 100% ready, I was still nervous.

I peaked down towards the floor, noticing the light that flooded out from beneath the door, pooling across the ground as I reached up towards the paint chipped wood, letting my hands curl into a fist before carefully knocking upon the thick, wooden planks.

It was silent for a moment before he spoke:

“Come in.”

His voice single handedly drew butterflies to my stomach, an infatuated warmth growing across my skin as his gruff voice echoed inside my ears before finally shooting straight through my heart.

I ultimately allowed my hand to fall down to the doorknob, my fingers rubbing upon the metal oval before turning it, the door opening with a slight pop. I slowly pushed the door open, just enough to slip through before stepping inside.

“Hey.” I said timidly, shutting the door behind me before resting my back upon it.

A smirk drew across his face as his eyes landed upon me. Once again, I observed as his vision scanned my figure, as it always did; his eyes started on my face, circling around my features such as my eyes, nose, hair, and finally hovering over my mouth before sliding down my body, momentarily pausing upon places such as my waist, thighs, and especially my breasts. His shameless staring sent shockwaves coursing through my veins, ending directly between my legs.

He didn't look too bad himself, he actually looked quite hot all bandaged up while resting comfortably upon the bed. His chest was exposed, the muscles were slightly toned, his buff stalkiness adding to my attraction towards the hunter. Darly obviously didn't bother covering his midriff when he noticed it was me entering the room. His shimmering skin was littered with scars and other sorts of marks covering his body, the rugged look was another aspect of the brunette that made me quite fond of him. His head was tightly wrapped in some sort of binding, an obvious attempt at helping his skull heal from the bullet that had just previously grazed him, and to be honest, the gauze was kind of adorable on him; short, thin strands were poking out from underneath the bandage, giving his hair a messy look. His arms were placed by his side, the muscles upon his limbs causing me to momentarily draw my bottom lip between my teeth as I observed his appendages.

I wondered what else would be revealed underneath the sheets that were lazily draped across him.

“Hey.” He responded, his voice raspy but the grin upon his lips was still extremely evident as he picked up upon my obvious staring.

I couldn't help but smile back at him, just the thought of finally being alone with the male had my cheeks turning a slight reddish hue.

“How do you feel?” I asked, unsure how to make progress in this situation.

My eyes followed his arms as he drew them out from under the sheets, placing them behind his head. He knew what he was doing, the position he was currently laying in: arms placed confidently behind his head, cocky grin drawn sloppily upon his lips, and his strapping upper body exposed to my hungry, desperate eyes.

“Amazing.” He responded sarcastically.

It was a stupid question to ask in the first place; getting knocked off a horse before falling down a cliff and landing upon his own arrow just to have to fall down once more and fight off walkers before successfully making it to the top just to have to limp all the way back to the farm before finally getting shot at obviously wasn't gonna make him feel “amazing,” as he jokingly said himself.

The room was suddenly filled with an awkward silence, a tension so thick even a knife couldn't cut through it as we just stared at one another, our faces reflecting an overwhelming feeling of lust and desire as we gazed upon each other.

We both knew what was soon going to conspire in the small, farm house room. It was like we could read one another's mind, hearing each other's thoughts as we fiddled with the idea of what we were gonna do to one another. I could practically read the devious look upon his face, staring at me as he prepared himself for future actions that were long overdue.

Daryl knew why I had come in here and I knew that he was absolutely ecstatic about it.

“Can I sit?” I finally asked.

My question seemed to surprise him as his eyebrows raised in shock. He drew in a deep breath as he slightly nodded.

“Yeah, sure.”

I slowly made my way over to the side of the bed, my feet silently sliding across the old, wooden floorboards before I placed my palms upon the mattress, fiddling with the soft sheets between the pads of my fingers, allowing the fabric to slide between my skin. I took a seat on the bed, resting beside Daryl’s hips as I admired his stature, his arrogant smile began to slowly fade as he observed me. After a long moment of letting the two voices in my head have a war over whether or not I should go through with this: the angel on my shoulder advising that I should respect the man, to discover his actual feelings towards me before continuing with my distasteful intentions, while the devil upon my shoulder begged me to do it, pleading with me to finally let go of all my pent up sexual frustration and beseeching desire, to let it all out onto Daryl. I finally let my hands glide up his body, landing upon his chest.

At first, he drew away, his stomach concaved, jolting inwards in a violent motion in an attempt to avoid my touch as he seemed to strongly dislike physical connection. My fingers faltered, jerking backwards out of both fear and pity. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

My insecurities got the best of me when practically a gallon of doubtful thoughts came flooding into my mind; what if he didn't reciprocate my feelings? Were all of our passing glances and delicate interactions all just a figment of my imagination as he was just trying to be friendly and I had just overstepped his boundaries? Did I just ruin our friendship?

And then he calmed, his abdomen returning to its original state as his stomach expanded and he relaxed into the mattress below him, inviting me to place my hands upon him as he joyfully watched from his position on the pillow.

My digits moved forward with shaky movements as they approached his body once more, my heart pounding with a mix of both anticipation and nervousness as I neared his vicinity. And when my hands landed upon him, feeling his toned body as my fingers glided over his skin, I exhaled, letting out a quivering breath I didn't even know I was holding. My fingers skimmed across his flesh, making sure to avoid his bandages or any bruise in the process, no matter how big or how minor, so as not to hurt him in any possible way. I glanced up towards him, noticing that he had his eyes closed momentarily, most likely basking in my soothing touch, finally feeling my skin upon his. Either that or he was really just trying to get some sort of rest or relaxation after his accident.

My brain was cleared of all its previous thoughts; forgetting about all my insecurities, worries, and problems as I too relaxed, letting myself enjoy the moment. His body felt perfect in my grasp as I allowed myself to feel him up. I palmed his chest, allowed my fingers to sail upon his abs, evening letting my fingers graze into his happy trail for a short moment. The entire experience was like pure heaven to me, my underwear dampening while my lips were slightly parted, my breaths labored while I simultaneously observed every move my fingers made as I stared down in complete astonishment.

I slightly jumped when I felt one of his hands land upon my free arm, too entranced while marveling over his silhouette to even notice him remove his arm from its previous position. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, his nails slightly digging into my skin as his fist practically dominated my hand. I can't lie, the controlling grip he had upon me was both thrilling but also a bit petrifying. It went on like that for a minute or so, the two of us sitting in comfortable silence as I traced over his scars and other parts of his body, his hand calmly placed upon me before he finally used his strength, although it didn't take much, to move my limb elsewhere.

In that moment, my heart started to pound afresh; it was rattling around in my chest so violently I was sure Daryl could hear it from his position as he used my wrist to trail my hand down towards his crotch. I thickly swallowed as I allowed him to do as such, my face becoming extremely hot as the situation got much more serious.

Soon, my palm was met with the feeling of his slowly hardening dick, half erect and twitching at the mere thought of finally being able to be intimate with me. I practically had to choke down a moan when we finally connected due to both his rapidly growing size and the flattering compliment he was unaware he had just given me.

I glanced up towards Daryl once more just to find him already staring at me, licking his lips as he gazed at me through hooded eyes, staring in anticipation. I so desperately desired for his body to be rid of the blanket so I could finally admire him in all his glory.

I licked my lips in suspense, I needed to see him, to feel him, to kiss him.

I looked up towards him just then, my palm beginning to frantically grope at his, now fully stiff, groin, just to find him looking back at me. His bottom lip was pulled taunt in between his teeth as he stared down at me, relishing in the fact that he was finally being touched and grabbed by me, by my hands, with my passion.

I leaned forward abruptly, stunning Daryl as I caught his lips between mine, kissing him with all my pent up covet. Our mouths were practically glued together as we frantically made out, sloppily smashing our lips together like it was our last day on Earth. It was a possibility. His mouth felt perfect on mine, like his kiss was made for me to receive as our lips fit together like puzzle pieces. His mouth was soft and inviting, luring me into his domain as I leaned in closer to him, wanting to taste every inch of his mouth as his light stubble tickled my jaw.

I needed to be closer to him, I desired to feel his heaving chest against my own, praying to feel his arms wrap around me and to be able to bury my head in the crook of his neck as I let my fingers card through what was available of his hair. I wanted to feel him all around me as I kissed his lips, jawline, neck, skin, everywhere.

Daryl groaned as I pulled myself onto his lap, tossing my leg over his torso to effectively straddle him, to get adjacent with him as our kiss deepened, his hands finding their way to my hips, burrowing under my shirt before settling upon my warm skin. His touch sent a zap of pleasure through my body as I finally felt his hands upon me, touching more than just my arms or hands. My flesh was soft compared to his rugged finger tips, his work withered hands wrapped tightly around my torso as he helped guide me onto his lap, assisting me while I did my best to find the perfect position to sit upon his dick.

He groaned when we finally found it.

I attempted to begin to grind upon him, to relieve myself of, at least some, pressure by granting a little friction, dragging my aching and throbbing crotch down his own.

“Ahh!” He practically cried out.

His grip upon me grew stronger, his fingers secured themselves around my hips before pulling me up and off of him. He held me so I was hovering over his crotch, mere inches away as he winced in pain, his eyes slightly squinted and his jaw clenched causing his teeth to grind together. The pure force he used to yank me from his lap was enough to most likely leave bruises upon my skin, red and purple marks in the shape of his hands that I’d have to give a half assed excuse about if they were ever spotted by any of the others. That thought, the fact that he could probably throw me across the room or carry me in his arms with little to no effort, it both scared me while also making me so much more turned on than I already was.

“I'm sorry, Daryl.” I said quickly, the words practically spilling from my lips, fear filling my brain as I stared worryingly down upon him “A-are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

I was scared that I had ruined our moment, stressing over that idea that I had somehow hurt him. Maybe I had possibly added too much pressure or accidentally pressed upon him in the wrong way. My heart aching at the idea that I’d have to get up from his lap and remove myself from the situation. Was I really that bad at this?

“No,” he said, taking in a few small breaths as his eyes winced from the stinging pain “I got stitches.”

My eyes traveled down his body once more, tracing over the veins visible in his neck, skimming over his collar bones, down his chest, across his abs before finally landing upon the patch tapped over his ribs. Gauze was sticking out from underneath the slightly stained red bandages that were placed upon his body. I brought my fingers down to his wound, my nails lightly tracing over the medical tape causing Daryl to quietly hiss to himself.

The two of us were silent for a while, the fact that this was one of our only chances to be alone with one another and we couldnt even fuck like wild animals had dawned on us. He hadn’t healed enough to be doing that sort of rigorous work out, straining his muscles could possibly mess up the entire healing process. The sound of Daryl's delayed breaths were the only sound to be heard in the vicinity, his gravely gasps echoing throughout the room as an idea washed over me. A devious thought that caused a small smile to grow across my lips.

“Here, relax.” I said as I pulled myself from his lap, his fingers lost their grip upon my torso as I did so, loosely falling beside his body causing the bed to slightly rattle “Let me take care of you.”

I maneuvered myself so I was perfectly settled in between his legs, creating a spot for me to comfortably sit before our future actions ensued. I took a deep breath in, allowing myself to relax, trying to quickly shed my nerves in the hopes that they would be replaced by confidence before bringing my hands up to the sheet just barely ending above his pelvic region. His V-line was now visible, his happy trail beginning around his belly button, thin and frivolous dark brown hairs growing from the skin circling the omphalos of his stomach before making its way towards his groin, disappearing underneath the blankets past what I could view.

Daryl was still admiring me, his eyes practically burning holes into my head as he observed me from above, unable to pull his eyes away from me. I told myself that in that moment he was just overcome by my beauty, waves of lust splashing through his body as he watched me, but his attentiveness only caused me to become more nervous; the previous quivering returned to my hands.

I once again tried to steady myself but irrational thoughts were over powering my comforting ones.

“Come on now, I'm not gonna bite.” He said in an attempt to reassure me.

Overcome by embarrassment, just wanting to please the dominant male laying below me, I finally removed the cover, greeted by his straining cock; the tip was red and irritated, practically begging for me to relieve him of the aching pressure flowing through his dick. His shaft was twitching and throbbing as a result. The veins spotting his skin were extremely visible, pulsing underneath his flesh causing my mouth to water.

I marveled at the delightful sight in front of me; his cock was perfect in my eyes, considering the fact that it had been all I ever thought about for the past couple months, the idea littering my brain before I went to bed, when ever I took showers, and even when I was attending to other duties such as hunting or guarding, but it was much better than I could have ever dreamed of. I had spent numerous occasions shamelessly staring at the crotch of his pants, trying to decipher just what he could possibly look like under his clothing, and now it was finally being revealed to me.

Darly suddenly cleared his throat, the abrupt noise echoing throughout the room and causing my eyes to dart towards him. He had a shy look upon his face, his cheeks a slight shade of pink and he was avidly chewing at the inside of his mouth, obviously embarrassed by the amount of time I had spent staring at his lower half in complete awe, practically drooling over him.

I took his reaction into consideration as I was also finding it hard to wait much longer, my hands thrusting forward before finally landing upon his crotch; I needed to touch him.

It was warm to the touch, pulsing in my hands as Daryl let out a quiet groan, one that was only audible due to our close proximity. He felt perfect in my grasp, my fingers barely wrapping entirely around him as I searched for a comfortable position to clasp my hand around him. I could feel myself getting wetter by the second when I finally situated myself, my hand placed towards his tip. My movements were slow at first, trying to figure out what made the Dixon above me feel the best, picking up on any sort of sound he made, whether it be a moan, groan or any sign of discomfort.

Once I found the perfect pace, my hands worked at Daryl in a steady rhythm; one hand was wrapped around the base of dick as the other was swiftly pumping away at his shaft. The friction caused Daryl’s eyes to screw shut against his will even though it was evident that all he wanted to do was watch the girl, the female he had pined over for months, jerk him off with her seemingly magical hands. I kept purposely doing this thing with my palm, twisting my wrist as it met the head of his cock, an action that caused the biker's jaw to drop, small breaths being exhaled from the depths of his throat.

This carried on for a couple minutes, my hand gliding up and down his shaft, successfully pumping him, before, just when the hunter thought it couldn't get any better, my mouth suddenly appeared upon his dick. I started with the tip, creating small circles with my tongue, swirling my saliva around his aching head caused a deep groan to escape from Daryl's mouth, a sound that was like heavenly music to my ears.

I lapped away at his pre-cum that had coated the head of his dick. It didn't have a really out of the ordinary taste, although it was slightly sweet, causing me to desire more, practically trying to suck it out of him. He was warm in the chambers of my mouth, heat radiating onto my tongue, spreading through my cheeks and bouncing towards the roof of my mouth. The fact that his cock was stuffed into my mouth caused my face to turn a deep red, my skin was burning, my ears were throbbing and the heart beat between my legs became much more intense.

The warmth pooling around him was perfection to Daryl, a feeling he hadn't felt for what seemed like years, and that fact made the entire experience ten times more pleasurable. All the different sensations became extremely overwhelming for the male, my lips wrapped around him and my hands pumping at the base of his cock, he was already close to blowing his load before I had even taken more than an inch of him into my mouth.

“Jesus.” He mumbled under his breath as his hand trailed down to my hair, tangling his fingers into my locks, lacing the strands between his digits in an attempt to help me find a rhythm, bobbing my head up and down.

I enjoyed his help for a while, his dominant movements causing a wetness to pool between my legs. I appreciated his hands upon me, directing me towards what he found pleasurable and what he disliked. I was absolutely basking in the moment, well that's until he attempted to force my head downwards onto his shaft.

“Daryl.” I scolded sternly, pulling my head from his cock.

He seemed to receive the memo, nodding frantically, most likely due to the fact that his body practically yearned for me, rything after going without me for just a few seconds. I stared at him momentarily, watching his distressed eyes dart around my face, focusing on all of my features separately, my eyes, nose, cheeks, but especially my mouth. I liked being dominant over him, being able to take control and make him distraught over losing me for just mere moments. I liked hearing his moans from above me as we went at my chosen pace. His blue eyes were practically begging for me, his eyebrows furrowed together while his eyelashes fluttered upon his skin caused me to finally return to my previous activity: blowing Daryl Dixon.

I took his member into my mouth, another inch further than before while still following a slow and steady speed as I wanted to draw out this experience for as long as possible. I wanted this moment to be burned in my memory, engraved in my mind so I would have the delight of being able to reminisce upon it later; during late, sleepless nights when I was too horny to rest and all I could think of was him and his beautiful cock stuffed into my throat.

But I also liked torturing and teasing the poor man; I wanted him to beg, to plead for me to make him cum. I desired to hear his moans and grunts from above me as I pleasured him. I wanted to make the experience so agonizingly amazing that it too would be burned into his mind as well. But with loner Daryl, it was highly unlikely.

Suddenly, he bucked his hips upwards, attempting to thrust himself further into my mouth as he became increasingly impatient, observing me from above as I took my time, practically ridiculing him as I kitten licked at his crotch. All he wanted was to have me choking and gagging upon his dick as he fucked my mouth until his cum flowed down my throat.

“Ah,” he hissed once more, a reaction to his attempt to fuck into my mouth, his wounds stinging and throbbing as a result “fuck. Go faster, would ya?...Please.”

His words were like music to my ears. He was begging. I had to practically fight away the smile that was creeping upon my face, inching its way across my lips at this phenomenon.

Next thing I knew, I was deep throating his member, slurping and sucking at him like he was the last meal I'd ever eat. I was practically unable to control myself as I shoved him between my lips and did my best to not gag upon him, composing my breathing and relaxing my mouth as he rammed into the back of my throat. I squeezed my legs together, hoping the pressure of my thighs would relieve me of some of the throbbing between my legs as my excitement was taking over, and although I had wanted to drag this out, to make him whine and plead, I couldn't help myself.

My unexpected actions caused Daryl to practically break out into hysterics. His breath hitched in his throat before he let out a string of low groans. He became much more vocal in that moment, exclaiming things such as my name, vulgarities, and various types of moans, not taking a second thought about the other residents of the household as he groaned explicits and moaned my name under his breath. Even whimpers occasionally fell from his lips.

“Sh-shit, (Y/N). All I hadda do was b-beg?” He breathed out, his unsteady breath and stuttering caused me to practically moan around him, also hoping to get the point across that yes, all I wanted him to do was plead with me.

The sudden vibrations wrapping around his dick sent shivers crawling down his spine as a result. He let out a deep growl which merely made my pathetic excuse of trying to relieve myself of some pressure by rubbing my legs together no longer enough. His animalist groan caused me to moan again, which in turn caused him to let out another beautiful noise, it was practically a never ending cycle.

“I-I’m…” He paused momentarily, like he was almost unable to form a proper sentence as the pure pleasure that washed over him became unbearable “gonna cum.”

He huffed out the last part of his sentence, his voice practically made me melt. Not only were my sudden, erratic movements practically sending him over the edge, but I’m sure the fact that something of this nature hadn't happened to him in such a long time added to the satisfaction of it all, the effect hitting him ten times harder than it normally would. This was certainly much different compared to his own hand.

With one final bob of my head, successfully taking him all the way down my throat as my nose pushed plush up against his lower abdomen while I prepared myself for the evident outcome, he came. With his cock stuffed deep into my mouth, twitching while his tip poked and prodded at the back of my throat, warm liquid shot down my throat. The hot, white ropes spilt out in quick spirits as I lapped it up like I was a starving person who hadn't eaten in months. His seed filled my mouth, splashing against the inside of my cheeks as I did my best to swallow it all, but inevitably, some escaped the confines of my jaw, dripping from my lips before beading down towards my chin, dripping onto the sheets of the bed below us. He tasted practically the same as he did earlier, slightly sweet and amazingly delicious, my brain screaming for more as my mouth collected the most it possibly could.

Due to the sheer amount, I concluded that this hadn't happened to him in quite a while.

Daryl was moaning like a mad man, my name, and multiple different swears, tumbling from his lips as his hands yanked and pulled at my hair, finding it extremely challenging to lay absolutely motionless. The way he teared and pulled at my locks sent small shocks of pain stinging the skin of my skull, but I couldn't care less as I was too busy with the object still left twitching in my mouth.

Once I had successfully cleaned his dick spotless, I let my hands drop from his member, sliding down his thighs as my mouth fell from his cock. He spasmed slightly as a reaction to my hands gliding upon his skin, skimming dangerously close to his worn and highly sensitive crotch. I massaged his legs as I felt my jaw grow weak once it finally snapped shut, aching and throbbing as a result of being left in the same, tense position for the last ten minutes or so.

“Dear lord,” He whimpered out once I was finally done with him “I think that's possibly the best blow job Ive ever gotten.”

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