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yuujispinkhair · 6 months

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Wildest Dreams

You're supposed to write an article about a charity event at The Shrine, the casino of the Itadori family, but soon get swept away by the Yakuza Prince himself. It's probably a bad idea to get close to a dangerous man like him, but he's so tall and handsome as hell. Why not allow yourself to live your wildest dream, at least for one night? -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @cometcoffee103 requested the song Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift for Yakuza!Yuuji.

Pairing: Yakuza Prince!Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut, Yakuza AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: 18+, a bit of smut (not very explicit), taking pictures during sex, mentions of alcohol, mentions of organized crime. This story is set in the same universe as my Yakuza AU, but you don't have to read that to understand this story. All you need to know is that Yuuji is the younger brother of the Yakuza King Sukuna, and this version of Yuuji is a bit of a playboy, but in a very sweet and charming way ;) All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

The casino is bustling with people, all of them dressed to the nines, including you. But you feel out of place here, despite the nice dress you are wearing and the red lipstick you put on. Everyone around you is someone important, someone insanely rich or influential, politicians, actors, businessmen. And Yakuza.

You gulp hard. Your hand trembles a little as you bring your wine glass to your lips to take a small sip. You shouldn't even be here. You usually only write short lifestyle articles for your magazine. It was your boss' job to attend the charity event in The Shrine, the biggest casino in the whole city, the casino of the Itadori family, one of the most powerful Yakuza clans in the country.

But two hours ago, you received that fateful message: "Put on your nicest dress and hurry to The Shrine. I'm at the hospital and can't make it. I need you to write the article about the charity event. And try to add something personal about the Itadori brothers! That will get our readers hooked."

And so you are standing here, clutching your wine glass while trying to blend in with the millionaires around you, feeling the hairs on your arms stand up as you wonder how many of them are criminals.

You don't even see him coming until he is right in front of you, moving gracefully like a tiger. A broad smile lifts his lips, and golden eyes meet yours.

"Hey, don't you like the wine? Should I get you another drink?"

You take in a sharp breath. You know the man in front of you. Of course you do.

Itadori Yuuji, with his pink hair and golden eyes. Tall and muscular in his tailored black suit with a pink dress shirt and black tie. Looking just as rich as he truly is with the diamonds sparkling in his ears and the gold rings on every finger. But the scars on his handsome face also tell a story about the other life he is living. His life in Tokyo's underworld.

He is one of the people you got sent here for. The Young Tiger. The Yakuza Prince.

Your heart flutters nervously. But you force yourself to get a grip and be professional. And so you clear your throat before smiling politely at him and shaking your head,

"No, thank you. The wine is perfect, Mr Itadori."

He blinks and then throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"Ahh, please don't call me that! I am Yuuji for someone as cute as you."

Oh?

For a moment, you are caught off guard by his directness and the shameless flirting. But the Itadori charm is well-known. Both Itadori brothers are infamous for being big flirts and playboys who collect women just like they collect fast cars and expensive jewelry.

He points at the press card dangling on a chain around your neck,

"You're here to write about the charity event? How lucky that you ran into me! I can tell you everything you want to know. Come with me!"

You hastily follow him, not daring to waste this chance to get the article your boss demanded from you. And also not daring to turn down the Yakuza Prince's offer.

You spend the next fifteen minutes in a fancy VIP booth while Yuuji answers your questions for your article. Though half of the time, he is blatantly flirting with you. He isn't shy about it. Clearly, a man used to always getting what he wants. The spoiled Prince of Tokyo's underworld.

But you have to admit that his boyish charm works on you. Somehow, his loud laugh and broad sunshine smile make him seem less intimidating than his name suggests. If you didn't know who he was, you wouldn't even be nervous around him. He is so sweet somehow, making you laugh and feel more at ease at this event where you feel so out of place.

And his good looks certainly work their charm on you, too. He looks dashing in his suit, which accentuates all his firm muscles. The undercut and the pink hair on top look sexy on him. You realize that you have unconsciously scooted closer to him.

His golden eyes look thoughtfully at you, making your heart jump.

"You don't look like you enjoy this event very much. I hate these things, too. All those boring people who try to talk business with me, and no one dares say something funny. I don't know how Sukuna is able to endure this all the time."

He sighs and rolls his pretty eyes. The eyes that then land on the low neckline of your dress. His smile grows bigger, and your breath quickens. Yuuji's large, warm hand lands on yours, giving it a squeeze.

"Hey, cutie, let's leave this boring party, ok? Let's drive out of the city, away from the crowds. We can have some fun, and you can get an exclusive interview with the Yakuza Prince! Not just boring facts about this event, but more personal things. How does that sound?"

Everything in you screams to say no. It's insane to leave with the Yakuza Prince. He might not be as dangerous as his big brother Sukuna, but he is still a powerful Yakuza who can easily kill someone, as the scars on his pretty face prove. It's crazy to imagine getting in his car and driving to an unknown place with him. It's wild to imagine being alone with him.

But somehow, you find yourself biting your lip and nodding as you lift your head to look up at his handsome face. Somehow, your heart is beating so fast that you feel dizzy. Somehow, your skin tingles with excitement. You know you want to go with him. Even though you know there is a high chance this is going to take you down, you can't bring yourself to say no.

And so the words leave your mouth,

"Ok, let's go. Let's sneak away."

Yuuji smiles his bright sunshine smile at you, just as dazzling as the diamonds sparkling in his ears and the various gold rings on his fingers. There's a cheeky glint in his golden eyes,

"I'm very good at sneaking away."

He grabs your hand and pulls you with him, striding with fast steps through his casino, and starts running when you're halfway out the door, laughing loudly, as if he is relieved too to finally leave this fancy event behind. As if he is finally free.

He leads you to his car, a red Porsche, his favorite one, as he lets you know while he holds open the door for you, so charming that you can't help but feel light-headed from all the butterflies in your stomach.

Yuuji drives like someone who knows this city belongs to him. A bit too fast, the music a bit too loud, but it's perfect the way it is. It makes your pulse flutter and your body fill with a giddiness you can't remember ever feeling before.

You leave the city behind you, making an excited tingle start under your skin and spreading through your whole body. It feels like an adventure. Exciting, bubbly. As if your wildest dreams are coming true.

Yuuji parks his car on top of a cliff, turns off the engine, and turns to you with his big sunshine smile.

"So, what are your questions for me, princess?"

You laugh softly,

"Well, my boss said I should try to add something personal about you or your brother. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? Not about the Yakuza Prince. Tell me about Yuuji."

He smiles and leans closer to you, his large hand cupping your cheek while his golden eyes travel slowly over your face. His thumb caresses your cheek, the gold ring on it gliding smoothly over your skin. Yuuji's voice is low, and you can hear the smile in it,

"Then let me tell you a secret. I hate all those stiff, formal events. I rather want to go clubbing or play video games with my friends. I enjoy spending time at my pachinkos and making my best friend Megumi play the arcade games against me, even though I know I suck at those games. And I like to hang out at my pizza delivery service. I don't care that it's only for ... tax-saving purposes. I love pizza! I want to adjust the recipes and make the best pizza in the whole city! That is my new passion!"

His eyes glitter excitedly while his voice drops to a softer tone, low and almost seductive,

"And I like this here. What we are doing right now. Drive out of the city and look at the sunset. I know I can see it from my penthouse, too, but it's not the same."

His words could sound arrogant, the words of someone who grew up rich and has no idea how normal life works. But he doesn't sound like that. There's an almost melancholic tone to his low voice. As if this evening with you, where he ran from his obligations and the glittering fancy party, is his wildest dream, too.

A soft smile lifts your lips, and you catch yourself leaning into his large, warm hand as you look deeply into those gorgeous golden eyes,

"Then let's stop this stupid interview and just enjoy your free evening."

His answer is a broad, boyish grin that makes your stomach flutter. You chuckle when Yuuji leaves the car and comes over to your side, opening the door for you like a gentleman and offering his hand to lead you to the fence at the end of the cliff, where you have a majestic view over the ocean and the beginning of a beautiful sunset.

But your gaze strays to the man next to you. The Yakuza Prince. Or out here, just Yuuji.

You look at him, at his side profile, hit once again by how good he looks. So tall and handsome as hell in his tailored black suit with the light pink dress shirt and black tie. More stunning than any sunset could ever be.

Yuuji turns his head, catching you staring at him, and laughs happily as he reaches out to wrap a strong arm around you and pull you in front of him, making your pulse flutter with how easily he can manhandle you.

He stands behind you, so tall and strong, his muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you safely, his body pressed against your back, warm and buff. You can feel his firm muscles and smell his sexy and expensive perfume.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his kisses on your neck.

You tilt your head back to rest against Yuuji's shoulder as you look up at him and are met with a smile even more beautiful than the sunset.

A warm, large hand cups your chin, and then soft lips capture yours in a slow, sexy kiss that makes your knees weak. Who would have thought that the Yakuza Prince would be so gentle when he kisses you for the first time?

You have no idea how long you kiss him. You get lost in the feeling of his warm lips on yours and his tongue caressing yours with those deep, sexy flicks. Your hand is tangled in his pink hair as if you don't ever want to let him go again.

The two of you only pull apart to watch the rest of the sunset, with Yuuji's arm around you as you lean against his strong body, unable to stop smiling while your pulse races and your heart hammers in your chest, your skin tingling all over from the sheer craziness and excitement of it all.

+++

"Do you want to spend the rest of the night with me?"

Your heart misses a beat at Yuuji's question. You feel dizzy when you turn around in his arms to look up at his handsome face.

The deep scars across his nose and on the side of his lips tell you about the dangerous life he leads. His title tells you about how dangerous he himself is. You know he is bad, so so bad. But you cannot bring yourself to turn him down when he smiles that big smile at you. You cannot say no to him when every fiber of you craves him, if only for one night.

And so you nod and place a hand on his broad chest, playing with his black tie as you breathe softly,

"Yes, I can't think of anything else I would rather do."

And he smiles that attractive boyish smile at you and leans down to kiss the corner of your lips,

"I will always remember this evening. The pretty sunset, with an even prettier girl. You in that dress, with your red lipstick and the sweet kisses. Please tell me you'll always remember it, too."

You nod happily before cupping his cheeks with your hands and getting on your tiptoes to kiss him again, breathless and passionate, before whispering against his lips,

"Say you'll see me again after tonight, Yuuji."

And his arms tighten around you, strong and muscular, and he nods,

"Of course I will."

You don't hesitate when he leads you back to his car and holds the door open for you. You smile when his large hand lands on your thigh on the drive back to the city, slipping under your dress to caress your inner thigh, dangerously close to your already-soaked panties, making your heart beat wildly as you grab the leather seat.

You giggle breathlessly when he leans over and kisses you at a red light, making your head spin with the sexy flicks of his tongue before he pulls away again.

You eagerly say yes when he asks if he can accompany you to your apartment. Your dress is already halfway off by the time you manage to unlock your door in between passionate kisses.

You moan when Yuuji's large hands knead your ass and his warm lips suck on your neck. You palm the hard bulge in the Yakuza Prince's fine suit pants all too happily, gasping at how big and hot he feels. You leave a trail of clothes on your floor, leading to your bed, where you spend the best night of your life.

Ruffled sheets, the rhythmic beating of your heart in synch with the headboard banging against the wall. Yuuji's heavy body on top of you, pressing you down so deliciously into your sheets. Loud laughter, even louder moans, and dirty whispers in your ear. Kisses and lipstick marks all over his tan skin. His clothes on your bedroom floor, your hands in his pink hair. Every inch of you brimming with pleasure while you're tangled up with Yuuji's strong body all night, finding utter bliss on his sweet mouth and his gorgeous cock. Smiling when he asks you to please let him take a picture of you while you ride him.

Tomorrow morning, he will leave, get in his sportscar, drive back to his fancy penthouse, and continue to live his fast life as the Prince of Tokyo's underworld. You don't know if this will only be one night and you'll never stand before him in person again after this. But you know you both will always remember this night.

And you will see him again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams.

AAAHHHHH thank you so much for this prompt, babe!!! I was so happy to write for Yakuza Prince Yuuji again aaaahhh!! I am crushing so much on him all over again omgggg 💗💗💗 I NEED HIM BAD!!!

I hope you liked staring at the sunset and staring at sexy Yuuji ;) Please let me know what you think!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

#yuuji x reader #yuuji x you #itadori x reader #itadori x you #yuji x reader #yuji x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #yuuji smut #yuji smut #itadori smut #yuuji x y/n #itadori x y/n #yuji x y/n

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writingquestionsanswered · 7 months

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Not sure if you've answered something like this before, but how do I write "prettier" sentences? I know one thing that will help would be expanding my vocabulary, but a thesaurus only seems to get me so far. I feel like when I write, especially when I'm describing things, my sentences are so basic. Idk if this makes sense, if it doesn't I can try and find examples from other writers to help describe what I'm talking about!

How to Write "Prettier" Sentences

Pretty prose is something many writers aspire to, however, it's not as easy to achieve as looking up words in a thesaurus. It's something you have to train yourself to do through both learning and practice.

Learn By Reading/Listening

First and foremost, making sure you're reading/listening to a variety of books and stories is essential if you want to learn how to craft prettier prose. Reading and listening to stories helps train your brain to: recognize the cadence of pretty prose, understand the structuring of pretty prose, understand how to craft meaningful imagery, and fills your head with vocabulary.

Expanding Your Vocabulary

Vocabulary is also an important component of crafting pretty prose. Following web sites, pages, and apps that have a "word of the day" (like the Merriam-Webster website) is a great way to learn new words. You can also purchase a word-of-the-day desk calendar for 2024. Some writers like to flip open the thesaurus every day on a random page and read a few random words. You can also read creative articles in newspapers, magazines, websites, etc. to learn new words. You can also look up the specific vocabulary for something you're describing, like if you're describing a house, you can look up the architectural style and general architectural terms to learn how to describe specific things like the style of home, the trim, the windows, etc. Finally, in addition to the thesaurus as a source of new words, you can add other word references to your collection, such as The Describer's Dictionary, the Random House Word Menu, The Writer's Lexicon, etc.

Learning Poetic Cadence and Imagery

Listening to music/reading song lyrics, and reading/listening to poetry are great ways to teach your brain how to craft descriptive imagery. Poetry has to say a lot with few words, so it helps you understand the power of using just the right words in just the right way.

Effective Description is Important

Effective description is of course another piece of the puzzle. Not all writing is description, but a lot of pretty prose is descriptive. So, when you're describing things in your story, make sure to consider the senses--what can be seen, heard, tasted, smelled, felt/touched? You don't want to incorporate all of that into the description of one thing, obviously, but if your character is walking into a forest, considering all of those things can help you come up with a vivid, beautiful description. Sometimes, looking for photos or videos of the thing you want to describe can be helpful, too.

Practice Makes Perfect

And last but not least: practice. Once you've started to train your brain using the methods above, when you go through a draft to revise it and come to a sentence that needs sprucing up, try out different things that you've learned. Don't go overboard with the thesaurus, but perhaps your sentence describes twinkling stars... is there another word you could use instead of twinkling that's more surprising and vivid? The thesaurus suggests: glimmering, shimmering, sparkling, blinking... cross-checking each of these in the dictionary shows they're all appropriate choices for describing the twinkle of a star. You can also read the sentence out loud to listen to the cadence... are there longer or shorter (yet appropriate) words you can use instead to make the sentence more lyrical? Improving your sentences in editing helps you learn to craft pretty sentences as you're writing them the first time.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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kanmom51 · 1 month

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https://twitter.com/parkjmwins/status/1782358915939774874

Idk whether you will even answer this ask or will block me but this is exactly why JK had similar concept pics like Jimin. Jikookers made it to be romantic while Fandom made it to a joke 'JK always copy Jimin' (ofcourse). I've seen you making multiple posts about Jikook concept pics being match is a proof of them being a couple when in reality Hybe don't even take permission of original artist before using their ideas for another. One hybe label just got into trouble for copying newjeans and according to CEO min heejin it was BANG SHIHYUK who wanted to copy newjeans to create a second version of them through illit. And guess what he made sure illit gets 10x more success than newjeans, a 2 day song was already charting in different charts including hot 100. The same bang shihyuk who ignored every bit of Jimin's success but shamelessly copied his ideas and visions of concept pics for another favorite member. He shamelessly asks staffs to copy original ideas of artists who created them and use them for a cheap version of the said artist, Newjeans and Jimin are just examples.

Was it JK's fault ? Not necessarily but unlike rookie Illit he had power and capability to make his own decisions and use his own visions instead of doing what he was asked to do by the staff (his words) but he didn't and sat comfortably while using another person's hardwork. If you still think those similarities were because they were couple then idk what to say because in that logic Newjeans girls and Illit girls are dating.

Talk about TikTok generation ask.

Linking me to a tweet that has zero actual information and/or proper discussion, just stating a fact that isn't necessarily even a fact. Ignoring the full picture (like y'all do when it comes to Jikook as well, btw).

And I also find it so so funny how you are basically hanging your all on something that a very problematic figure within the Kpop industry is claiming, all to try and deflect from despicable behaviour she's being accused of, including using and revealing private info of Hybe idols obtained in illegal and despicable manors, perhaps including having to do with certain private info leaking of certain BTS members (including the one person that you so vehemently claim to love and stand in defense of).

You think that by sending me this link you are proving something?

You say that you read through my posts. Well, obviously you've missed those many posts I've written explaining how JM and JK being a couple can be deducted not from one action or one behaviour alone, but the combination of many many actions or behaviours. A puzzle built of not 10 or 50 or 100 pieces, but one built of so many many more.

I find it funny how with everything that has been going on with JM and JK you guys are still at this.

We're back to JK copying JM.

Like seriously.

Like even if the whole NJ Illit thing was true there was some kind of a comparison to be made with these two men.

Like JK, who's album concept is 180 degrees different than JM's doesn't have stylists at his beck and call to create a concept that isn't a full on copy of JM's. Right down to the studs and colours and minutiae details of some of the outfits.

Like if he did copy JM, that same scorned poor JM (that's how you guys love to portray him, as a damsel in distress awaiting you to swoop in and save him) CHOSE to fly to NY to be with JK and spend Silver day there with him, travel with him multiple times and spend his entire 18 months in the army with that awful copy cat JK.

Your ask tells me that you have zero understanding in human interactions and relationships. JM saying time and time again, JOKING time and time again, about JK copying him, it's a tease but also something that he LOVES. How he inspires JK, how JK perceives him as his catalyst.

But this here, the photo concepts and the whole of JK's wardrobe while promoting, claiming it's all about copying JM is just bull crap. This was planned. And it was planned by the two of them. It's not a coincidence that JM happens to wear the bottom part of a two piece outfit months before JK wears the top part of the same exact outfit.

And if we are talking about copying, is it the concept he's copying or is he so far gone that he's literally copying down to the smallest of details?

Like seriously. You think that's about copying JM?

Or because it worked for JM so he thinks it will work for him? Literally same hairstyle rocking as JM had in Face? Cause why not use a concept that works? Seriously? JK's all "I should do this cause it worked for JM so it will work for me"?

Was that what he was thinking when he rocked a highlight of JM's hair colour over the years? That the colour works for JM so I should have a strand of that colour in my hair as well, copying his success? Is that the theory you're working with?

Or when JK wore the same jacket as JM on Valentines day, you know, in a clip that JM himself records and uploads, that JK also copying JM?

Babe, this isn't just about the concept pics either. And it's not just about Face and Seven or Golden. Wearing the actual same black leather or leather-like pants just because he couldn't find any other pants? That level of copying? Or perhaps it wasn't about copying and more about mirroring.

About "You are me I am you", which they have been screaming at the top of their lungs for years now!!!

It amazes me how you have zero issue in taking an over decade long complex super close relationship (no matter how you perceive it they are super close) and simplifying it into "JK copied JM's concept because JM's concept worked for him", or to even compare whatever went on with JK and JM and those similarities to a claim made (by a disgruntled and caught red handed employee of Hybe) about one new GG copying concepts and whatever from a GG that's been around for 2 years now. No connection between them. No long term relationships between the groups. One group supposedly copying from another. Yeah, definitely the comparison needed to be made between that and Jikook's behaviours or decision making.

How infantile of you.

Oh and that paragraph of yours at the end. Laughable really.

Like I already said, go compare 2 GGs in two different companies to 2 men that have been close for over 10 years now. And let's also disregard the long history of those two doing the similar and same outfit (during official shoots, performances etc, or during their free time) thing and look at this one single concept.

Probably styled (funny how the styling seems to be similar for years now on many occasions, and just with the two of them)

Not styled.

These are just examples of MANY MORE instances.

Oh, and I suggest you go read this post too. Not mine, but recently written and oh so relevant to the conversation.

I can't help but wonder how different your pov would have been if one of those two young men was a female. Just thought I would throw that in here too.

But I gotta give you an A for persistence. You guys, you never give up, do you? No matter what JK and JM will throw at you, you will find a way to twist it around to fit your narratives. I guess you also think that JM was forced into enlistment with JK, ah? And their trips together and the content that will drop, also forced on him? I guess him saying otherwise isn't enough to convince you guys either, right? I love the way how you guys are so intrenched in your belief of victimhood that you don't even listen to what JM himself tells you. You love him so much that basically call him a liar. Good for yous I guess.

So, to clarify my answer to you, just in case it wasn't as clear as day already...

You do you, cause nothing I tell you, or show you, or you know what? Nothing that even JM himself will tell you or show you will satisfy you. Because you are living in a self built fantasy of what and who JM is and what and who those that surround him are, all to fit that narrative of yours in which he needs you guys as his saviours and knights in shining armour to swoop in and save him from the big bad JK.

One more thing.

JM's Face was a masterpiece.

We all agree on that. JK included.

He adores JM, he's his no. 1 fan and he's been showing us this throughout 2023.

JK is not a person that would callously copy a concept used by a bandmate just because it succeeded for his bandmate and might work for him too.

Let alone from JM.

His person.

Not even if, as you put it, he was told to do so by the powers at be (which yeah, he'd tell to go shove it up their asses if they ever did 'tell' him to do that btw, and they wouldn't do it anyway seeing that they know that would be his exact reaction).

So, no.

That is my answer to you.

Just a whole big fat NOPE.

No to copying. And surprisingly no to blocking you.

Yet.

#Jikook #kookmin #minkook #jungkook #jk #jimin #jm

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moonlight-prose · 2 months

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KISS ME ONCE

a/n: i am so late with even starting this and i don't expect to finish, but i still wanted to contribute something. so this is the first fic for the moon knight bingo hosted by @moonknight-events. some of the prompts really captured my attention and i wanted to write what i could for them. i based this off yes the long long, long time, but some other jazz songs were played as i wrote. and honestly i'm obsessed with how it turned out. the divider is by the ever talented @saradika-graphics.

prompt used: butterflies

summary: dating steven grant came with its challenges. between being a superhero, sharing the body with a man you hardly knew, and his forgetfulness, you felt dizzy. so when your date goes awry, you take matters into your own hands.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: marc spector x reader

warnings: not explicit, some soft fluff, romance, the blossoming of a relationship, flustered marc.

Candlelight flooded the darkened flat, flickering a soft orange glow along the walls and stacks of books. It would be romantic if the frustrated bangs of a man trying to fix it wasn’t the only sound that echoed back to you. The evening had started out as a date. An attempt between you and Steven to rejoin together after weeks apart. But life continually managed to get in the way.

Problems arose one after the other. But nevertheless this is where you found yourselves. Sitting at the small table, candles scattered throughout the space, and the soft sound of jazz coming from the record player in the corner. And just as he poured you a glass of red wine—the power went out.

“It’s alright. Really.”

“I’ve almost got it.” A very American voice called back to you.

Steven—the man you adored—had no clue what the fuck to do in a situation such as a this. The radiator should have been easy enough to turn back on, but by the sounds it seemed that there was nothing but difficulty. Which is how Marc—the man you barely spoke to—wound up crashing your date.

It’s not that you didn’t want to speak to him. Get to know him. You just rarely found yourself with the chance. Between him and Steven being whisked away consistently, you barely had time to speak to Steven. Yet there you were, in your best outfit, candlelight illuminating the flat, and wine poured into two separate glasses. And Marc was acting as if you weren’t there.

He was helping. You knew that, but there was nothing that could be done. At least not right now.

“Are you hungry?”

The question must have thrown him off guard; his head peeking out from the bottom of the radiator. His eyes quickly caught sight of you standing there—hope shimmering in your eyes. A look that was usually only reserved for Steven. A look he’d longed to see directed at him one day. But Marc—ever the stubborn man Steven made him out to be—looked away as fast as he started.

“No I’m alright honey.” His eyes flicked back to you briefly before settling on the mirror. A quick sigh, the tensing of his shoulders, and you knew enough.

He wanted this.

You couldn’t deny the endearment didn’t have an effect on you. In fact, it was quite surprising how your entire stomach erupted into a flurry of butterflies. They normally only arose when Steven was near. How he smiled so bright it nearly killed you, how his entire heart was worn like an accessory on his sleeve. He looked at you in awe. As if you were the very light of his life, but Marc faced you with hesitancy. With reluctance and the darkened shine of anguish in his brown eyes.

What he wanted, he could never have.

That’s what he believed. Or at least that’s what you came to understand in the short time you’d known about him. That he gave everything—all he could spare—to Steven. He sacrificed a normal life to the man who already had it; to the person he could never be.

It broke your heart in a way.

Why would he believe he could never have you too? That his life wouldn’t be intertwined with yours. Like it or not you chose Steven, and whether he knew it or not…you also chose Marc. Even if he wouldn’t allow himself to be chosen.

“We ordered dinner. Thankfully. I love Steven, but I don’t trust him in a kitchen.” Smiling, you moved to grab the container you had yet to take the food out of.

Marc flinched at the word love falling so freely from your mouth. He acted as if he’d never heard the word before. And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe someone never looked at him the way Steven looked at you. Although something told you that tonight might in fact change that. You never saw yourself falling for Steven—for anyone really—but Marc was a welcomed surprise.

“I don’t want to take Steven’s food.”

You shrugged. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—”

“You don’t know Steven honey.”

There was that fucking word again. A rush of flutters overtook your stomach, your heart racing with the glint of annoyance in his eyes as he stared at the mirror behind you. You could practically see Steven trying to reason with him. Trying to keep Marc from ruining this night. If only the both of them could see in your mind—how you longed to get closer to Marc, to see if you could make him feel the same as you did now.

So you did.

He looked startled, stepping back a bit with his hand outstretched. The sight brought a smile to your lips.

“I want to have dinner with you Marc.”

“You’re on a date with Steven.” He sighed, eyebrows pulling together. Strange how it was so different to Steven’s frustration, so unlike the soft man you knew. “Lemme fix the radiator and you can have him back,” he muttered.

“Marc—”

“Just need a tool. Which is somewhere around here.”

“Wait—”

“And I’ll be—”

With a quick lunge, you grabbed hold of Marc’s (Steven’s) button down, pulling him close enough to feel his breath on your chin. He froze, hands hovering over your waist as you kept him there and fixed him with a look that made his heart thump loudly against his chest. That glimmer—the want—was suddenly on him. And he felt as if the breath would fly out of his lungs if he tried to make a move. He was afraid he’d scare you off.

“Eat with me.” You smiled sweet and honey like he could practically taste it on his tongue. “Don’t make me tie you to the chair just to join me.”

He huffed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Then you’ll stay?”

He nodded. “I’ll stay.”

“The food’s cold.” You sighed, twisting in his hold to catch a glimpse of the darkened street. “And it looks like the whole street is down.”

You never saw how his eyes lingered on your lips, how he drank you in with ease. His own tongue swiping along his bottom lip quickly, chest stuttering as he sucked in a breath. If there’s one thing Marc knew it was this—you were the most beautiful person he’d seen. He wasn’t sure how Steven found you, but suddenly he found himself thanking every god he knew of that he did.

Perhaps that’s why he relinquished control so often. Solely to keep you around. Marc ruined things. He knew this. He understood that whatever he touched came away broken, but Steven…he fixed things. He brought light to the darkness and made sure it burned bright—he saved what Marc destroyed. And Marc couldn’t destroy you.

He’d die before he broke the one thing that made everything good.

“I have an idea,” you said, joy lighting up the room.

“Hm?”

You smiled, digging into your purse for your phone, the small screen lighting up your face. It was harsh to look at after nothing but candlelight for an hour, but you managed. At least long enough to find a good playlist, a jazz one Steven made for you in the first week of dating. Songs you’d danced to time and time again. It sounded echoey and small in the flat, but you played it regardless, setting the phone on the table as you reached for Marc.

“Dance with me?”

He stuttered this time. “W-What?”

“Dance with me.”

“Baby I’m not much of a dancer…”

Sighing, you pulled him close, your hand sliding into his. “That’s okay.” You felt him shudder slightly at the way your hand slid on his shoulder, your body pressed against his. “I’m not either.”

Marc knew that was a lie. He’d caught glimpses of moments between you and Steven. The soft love you both shared. It made him ache in ways he couldn’t describe with words, and maybe this was going too far. Maybe Steven would be pissed when he finally came back, but Marc refused to feel sorry for this. He wouldn’t apologize for loving you. Because there was nothing to apologize for—not when you felt so right in his arms.

He managed to sway gently with you, his feet shuffling—albeit a bit clumsily—along the hardwood floor. You didn’t notice. At least if you did, you never said anything. The music hummed a soft tune behind you, the yellow glow of the candles casting shadows across your supple skin. And Marc felt the ground vanish from beneath him.

How could someone be as perfect as you?

“I’m thinking we should go to the Italian restaurant on Friday.”

Flutters overtook his entire body. “Friday sounds good.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder gently. As if you were entirely at ease, planning dates with him like this had happened before. Marc did what he could to be the same. This was normal. This life, this flat, this…relationship. It belonged to him in a way; he just hadn’t seen it.

“We can go walking afterwards,” you said, your words soft—your breath washing across his neck and causing goosebumps to form. “See the moon.”

He smiled. “I see too much of the moon.”

“Then we go during the day.” Marc wrapped his arm tighter around your waist, daring to rest his hand a bit lower. You shivered at the touch. “See the sun instead.”

Marc realized then why Steven loved you, why he fought to keep you in his life. You gave all of yourself in a way he might never be able to. You jumped in wholeheartedly, with a smile on your face. Consequences be damned. And like the lights finally came back on in the apartment, he realized why he loved you. Steven—the man meant to protect him for his entire life—was an exact reflection of you.

You wore your heart on your sleeve just as he did.

You loved fiercely, hoped endlessly, and gave your entire soul to the one you chose.

Whether he liked it or not…you chose him too. Even if he couldn’t give over all of himself. Yet.

“Okay,” he murmured, resting his head gently against yours. “We’ll see the sun.”

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight #my writing #moonknightevents

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.

God, you’d never have friends like that again.

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.

A city now filled with killers.

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.

So that was where you came in.

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder?

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.

Your mark has been met.

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.

“Hm,” their command affirms.

Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow.

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.

Price grunts under his breath.

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.

And Ghost.

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch.

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”

“Sir!”

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.

If I had known…you frown.

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.

Your Captain scurries after.

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat.

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–”

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.

Boxed in.

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should.

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you?

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zepskies · 6 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 16

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Run to You” by the Pentatonix

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: Physical altercation, perilous situations, fire hazards, injuries, angst, Nick and Azazel being evil psychos.

Part 16: “Break Down the Gates”

The holiday couldn’t last forever. Eventually, you had to go back to work.

Dean didn’t like it, and neither did you. Hell, even Sam had tried to find an opening in the district attorney’s office for you. Unfortunately, all of the positions you were remotely qualified for were filled.

And as your bills had to get paid, it meant you had to take Betsy all the way up to the 22nd floor of the Savage & Co. building on a Monday morning.

Dean was already calling you.

You couldn’t answer until you got off the elevator and away from its shitty reception, but you let out a sigh before you called him back.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you doin’?” Dean asked.

“I’m good. I just got to my office,” you replied. I was also fine 20 minutes ago on the road.

You had to be patient though. You knew he was worried about you, now for more than one good reason.

“Good. Got your taser all charged up?”

“Yep, it’s in my purse,” you said. You closed the door to your office and locked it. “Which is going in my desk. You’re at the station?”

“Yeah, having my coffee right now.”

“Okay, tell the guys I said hi.”

“Will do,” said Dean. “You need anything, just call me. If you can’t get ahold of me, call Cas, or Sam, or even my dad.”

“I promise I will,” you replied. “I have to get to work here, but I hope you have a good day. And be safe.”

“That I will,” he promised in turn. “You too, baby.”

You smiled.

Once you hung up with Dean and got settled at your desk, you started by powering through your work emails. All too soon, however, there was a knock at your door. You fought against the tremor of unease that ran up your spine.

“Who is it?” you asked.

“It’s Marv,” replied your coworker, through the door. “Since when do you lock yourself in your office?”

You let out a breath and smiled. You got up and went to let him in. “I’ve found that people are less likely to interrupt me when they can’t get in.”

When the door opened, Marv gave you a look of begrudging acceptance.

“I hear ya,” he said. The man was a hermit himself, so if anyone was going to understand your self-barricading, it was Marv.

He handed you a hard-copy manilla envelope containing his monthly report, because he also had a disdain for email.

“Why don’t you give this to Nick yourself?” you asked with a frown.

Marv held up placating hands. “Because he’s an ass, and I can only deal with so much idiocy in my life.”

“Then give it to Josh! He’s the new Senior Manager,” you pointed out.

“Josh kisses Nick’s ass. Therefore, he’s become an even bigger idiot,” Marv replied. “I’m telling you, my constitution just can’t bear it.”

You rolled your eyes and took the folder from him. “All right, get outta here. I’ll deal with this.”

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. He soon left to return to his hole of an office. You’d only been in there once. It had been stacked to high heaven with books and loose papers. You didn’t know how the man functioned, but you assumed it was equal parts caffeine and Prozac.

So you took the report, and you went up to the 30th floor for the first time in months.

You went down the hall to Josh’s office first, but you could hear from the other side of the closed door that he was locked in a meeting with one of the more difficult clients.

You could come back later, or just drop the folder off with Nick’s assistant.

You went back down the hall and found that Nick’s office door was cracked open, but you weren’t about to go in, even just to deliver a simple report. You didn’t want to speak to him, let alone enter his office.

His assistant was out on a break, it seemed, so you couldn’t just give it to her. You contemplated leaving it on her desk with a note. But that’s when you heard the voices coming from within the office.

“As you know, my father’s back in town,” you heard Nick say. You inched closer to the door and cautiously peeked through the three inches of space in the doorway. There was another man inside, slightly taller than Nick, but leaner. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a plaid shirt. His long arms were crossed as he listened.

You could tell by the way he stood, however, that this wasn’t an associate from one of their accounts. He didn’t look like a businessman or a lawyer. The way he stood was sharper, more calculated even in his laxness.

Your brain caught up with the conversation as Nick continued to speak.

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your gaze widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

You blinked in shock. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

Your heart pounded while you searched for a way out of the hallway, out of plain sight. You found the nearest bathroom and went into the women’s. It seemed empty, at least.

There you rushed into one of the stalls and locked it. You realized that you had your phone in your pocket, and you took it out with trembling hands. Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name as panicked breaths escaped you.

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

“He’s Nick’s father,” you hissed. Trying to contain yourself and speak quietly was not easy. “I met him once at a company networking event, like a month after I got hired. Daniel Savage. He built Savage & Co. from the ground up. But he handed off the reigns to Nick years ago.”

It seemed to take John a moment to compute on that one, but he eventually replied.

“You’re at the office now?” John asked.

“Uh, yeah!” you replied testily. “I’m hiding out in a bathroom stall.”

“Okay, take it slow, all right?” he said. “You’re gonna go back to your office, calm. Like you didn’t just hear what you heard. You’re gonna take an early lunch, and you’re gonna come straight to the precinct for me. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

You took a deep breath to steady yourself as you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay. I need to call Dean,” you said.

“I’ll fill him in. Just focus on getting out of there,” John said.

You agreed, but you still felt shaky when you ended the call. No one had entered the bathroom, and it had been a few minutes already, so you chanced stepping out of the stall and into the hallway. That too was empty.

You sucked in another steadying breath. This time you went down the stairs to get back to your office. It felt unusually warm in the stairwell. Hot enough that you actually started to sweat on the way down to the 22nd floor.

Damn, did the AC break or something?

You made it back to your office, though when you opened the door, you were unable to be relieved. Nick sat in your chair at your desk. He gave you a smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. Get out,” you snapped. You had no patience for another tête-à-tête with him today; especially after what you just saw.

And it hit you then. You were a witness.

You eyed Nick more warily. He had one of his gold golf clubs in his hand, and he leaned on it as he stood. He set up a putter’s stance next to your desk and hit a golf ball with a gentle swing. The ball rolled into your flat shoe.

“I want to go over that report you brought upstairs,” he said.

You shook your head and went cautiously over to your desk. Your purse was inside (you were kicking yourself for not taking it with you upstairs). Nick was too close to your desk for comfort, until he moved to retrieve his golf ball. It allowed you to move farther into the room.

“Anything you want to discuss can be done via email. Right now, I’m meeting a friend for lunch,” you lied. Your gaze was off the man for maybe a few seconds while you grabbed your purse from inside the desk. Another realization hit you in that moment.

How did he know it was me who brought the report?

By the time you looked up, Nick was shutting the door to your office. He tilted his head at you with a darker edge to his smile.

“You saw something you weren’t supposed to. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” he said.

You steeled yourself with a breath. You felt inside your purse, and your hand wrapped around your taser. You pulled it out and switched it on, pointing it towards him.

“Step away from the door or I’ll fry your ass,” you threatened. It lost its effect somewhat, with the way your hand was shaking, but it was a threat, nonetheless.

Nick raised his brows at you. He still had his golf club in hand. His movements were slow as he stepped away from the door, and closer towards you.

“Sure you know how to work that thing?” he teased with a shrug of his shoulders. “If I were you, I’d take a breath. Relax a bit. Come sit on my knee.”

That last bit was teasing, despite the way he eyed you, even now with a shade of desire. The kind that claimed and stole in its taking. It made you want to spit in his face.

“You’re a bastard,” you replied. “Turns out, the bastard apple doesn’t fall far from the bastard tree.”

“Watch it,” Nick warned. You saw the dangerous edge in his blue eyes. “That’s my dad you’re talking about.”

He swung the club at your head.

You managed to duck, yelping as it crashed into a lamp instead. You tried to run for the door, but that was when Nick grabbed you by the hair and nearly yanked the hairclip right out.

A short scream escaped your lips as you grabbed for his wrist. He shoved you hard into the wall, where you lost your footing and fell. Your head cracked against the accent table that once held the lamp, and your vision blurred on the way down. Glass crackled under your arm and bit into your cheek.

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser. His hands fell away from you and he went down like an elephant, jolting and writhing on the ground. You gasped for breath above him while you realized what you’d just done. You tilted your head down at him.

No, you weren’t done.

You grabbed his golf club with your free hand. When he tried to reach for your ankle, you jammed the heavy club into his hand until he shouted in pain. For every moment of frustration, anxiety, and fear this man had caused you, you gave it back to him with one heavy swing of that club into his stomach. (And maybe one more for good measure.)

He doubled over, groaning, coughing a bit of blood. You tossed the golf club and grabbed your purse with a shaking hand. You left him where he laid.

As soon as you open the door, however, you were pushed back by the cloud of incoming smoke. You coughed and squinted against it, but your eyes widened again when you realized what was happening.

The building was on fire.

For some reason the alarms weren’t going off, but it was clear to see what was in front of you. Smoke was clogging the halls. People were rushing out of their offices for the stairwell. You couldn’t help glancing back at Nick; he was slowly pulling himself to his feet.

Part of you knew he might not make it if you left him, but when he looked up at you, with pure hatred, your fear overrode any mercy that might’ve made you turn around.

So you fled for the stairwell behind the small crowd. There were flames making their way down along with the smoke. That was all right, because you all were running in the opposite direction.

You had to blink a drop of blood out of your eyes, and you raised a shaky hand to a cut above your brow, which was also tender to the touch. You were bleeding, clearly, but you couldn’t think about that right now. You were just trying your best not to get pushed or trampled while you hastened down several floors.

The signs pointed to Floor 10 when you felt a buzzing in your pocket. It was your phone, you realized. You were about to fish it out of your pocket, but you were forced to stop short on the stairs, along with everyone else.

The flames were coming from the floor below as well, blocking your exit.

Once again, Dean frowned while checking his phone. You still hadn’t answered his text from an hour ago. Benny came to sit beside him on the couch in the firehouse common room.

“What’s got you spacin’ out?” Benny asked, noting his friend’s mood.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “But I’ve got a bad feeling, Benny.”

Benny’s brows furrowed. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Before Dean could answer, his phone rang in his hand. He perked up to answer it, until he realized it was his dad calling. He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean greeted.

“Thanks to your girl, we know who Azazel is,” John said. “Daniel Savage. Nick is his son.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach; his shock was followed swiftly by worry.

“What? How’d she find that out?”

“She called me this morning. I told her to come straight to the precinct, but she’s not here yet. That was an hour ago,” John said gravely.

Dean’s eyes widened.

And then the alarm sounded overhead. Over the intercom the dispatcher reported a working fire at a commercial building. The address was the same as your work building: Savage & Co.

“Is that you?” John asked, once the intercom message was finished.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He was already up and out of the firehouse, getting his turnout gear on with the phone pressed to his ear. His heart was hammering in his chest, but his tone was rock steady.

“If she’s still in that building, I’m gonna find her.”

Firehouses 18 and 20 had already arrived by the time Firehouse 25 got to the scene of the Savage & Co. building. The flames were sky-high, consuming from the top and the bottom. Just by looking at it, Dean thought there had to have been at least two points of origin (where the fire was started). He doubted this was an accident.

“Okay, 25,” Chief Singer said to the entire Truck 79 and Rescue Squad crew. “House 20 got here first, so Chief Sanderson’s calling the shots. He requested our help in clearing the first five floors. Their crew is already on floors 30 through 20. House 18 has the middle.”

Dean went up to Bobby and spoke just loud enough for him to hear. He filled him in on what John had just told him about Azazel, and that you were most likely somewhere in the building.

“She’s in there, Chief. I have to find her,” Dean said.

Bobby saw the desperation in the younger man’s eyes, and he sympathized. “Have you tried calling her again?”

“She’s not answering,” Dean replied. “If he found out what she knows, he could be after her. That means she could be somewhere near the top.”

“Or she’s in the middle. Or she’s already out of the building,” Bobby reasoned. He quelled Dean’s protest with a raised hand. It then fell on the younger man’s shoulder. “I understand, son. But I’ve got a protocol to follow, and so do you, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s lips pressed together. He knew his rank and his responsibility, but you were in danger. You could already be hurt, or trapped, or…

Dean rounded up Truck 79 with swift, barking orders. After donning their helmets and masks, his and Benny’s team made their way inside. The first floor was wall to wall rolling flames. The heat was nearly overwhelming, like entering the gates of hell.

There was no moving safely through the first floor, so they had to move on to the closest stairwell and try to make it up to the second. Dean held Benny back for a moment.

“I’m going up! Stick with the guys,” Dean said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony inside the stairwell.

Benny frowned. “What’re you doin’? You heard the Chief!”

Dean shook his head. He knew he was about to defy a direct order, but he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that you were still in the building somewhere.

“I’ve gotta find her,” he said.

“You think I don’t want to find Andréa?” Benny said. “She hasn’t answered my calls either. They could be anywhere, Dean!”

Dean clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You’re making my point, man.”

And he took off up the stairs before Benny could stop him.

“Damn it, Dean!” Benny shouted after him.

“Where’s he going?” Jack asked. He and Gordon were the only ones to hang back while the rest of their crew followed their orders and searched the second floor, not realizing that their Lieutenant was no longer with them.

“To go be an idiot,” Benny growled. But he wasted no more time. He followed Dean up the stairwell.

Gordon shared a quick look with Jack before he started his own climb up the stairs.

“You can follow protocol, or you can back up the Lieutenant,” Gordon called down.

In that moment, Jack made a decision. He followed Gordon and Benny.

You had to follow the rest of the crowd after you all couldn’t make it down the rest of the stairs safely. It landed you somewhere on the 10th floor, where the group scattered. Your head was aching, your heart pounded in your ears, and you didn’t know where to go.

You fled for the stairwell on the other side of the building, and in turning a corner, you smacked right into Andréa. You gasped when you caught hold of each other.

“Oh my God!” she cried, and she grabbed you into a hug. “Are you okay? Why’re you bleeding?”

“Catch up later,” you choked out. It was so hard to breathe; you were coughing every few moments.

She looked on you worriedly and let out a cough herself. “Come on.”

She pulled you along with her by the arm. You joined a smaller group that were heading for the opposite stairwell. Unfortunately, not all of you would make it there.

A piece of the weakened ceiling crumbled and fell in a fiery heap. Andréa had been just a couple steps in front of you, and it meant you saw it before she did. You pushed her forward so she would make it across. You were forced to stop short and protect your face from the embers.

You nearly tripped and fell back, but you used the wall to steady yourself. You looked up at the sound of Andréa calling your name. You found her terrified face. There was now a wall of fire separating you from her and the rest of the group.

“Keep going!” you coughed. “I’ll find another way.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!” she called back. She pushed away the man that tried to urge her on towards the stairwell.

“Go!” you shouted, even though it raked across your throat. You forced yourself to straighten up and turn away from her. The only chance you had was if there was a way around this hallway that still led to the stairs.

Oh shit, you gasped when you turned the corner. The fire was only getting worse. The building was being consumed, and you almost couldn’t see past a few feet in front of you with all the smoke. It stung in your eyes and clogged your throat.

You stumbled along until you found a room that you could escape into. It was another restroom. The fire hadn’t yet reached inside the women’s bathroom on this floor; maybe you could wait it out like you would a tornado.

Okay, clearly I’m fucking delirious, you thought. You huddled in a corner under the sink and tried and failed to take even breaths without coughing or panicking. You pulled out your phone with shaking hands and tried once again to call Dean. The reception was absolute shit in the entire building now.

It rang, and rang, and rang. Tears slipped down your cheeks.

But despite your dismayed thoughts, he actually answered.

“Hey! Baby, are you there?!”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You clutched at the phone. “Dean!”

You coughed, and you realized smoke was rising under the bathroom door now. The fire would spread here soon enough.

“Where are you? I’m here at your building!”

“Bathroom, 10th floor!” you managed to reply. “I couldn’t get out.”

“It’s okay. I’m coming right now,” he said. “Stay put for me.”

“Yeah,” you said, with a shaky breath. You couldn’t exactly leave. “Dean, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Where’s…r—oom?”

He was glitching in and out. You gripped the phone tighter in panic. “Dean?”

“Can…ear m…”

“Dean!” Your tears fell anew. You had another reason to struggle for breath as you tried to reach him.

You slid out from under the sink to try and get better reception, but it was no use. The call failed.

“Shit!” You nearly tossed your cell across the room out of sheer frustration.

Then you paced back and forth, trying to think of what to do. Should you leave your momentary shelter to go and find him, or would that just run the risk of him never finding you.

You didn’t know. You didn’t know what to do.

God, I’m so fucking screwed…

You slumped against the wall and tried to stifle your coughing, all while you also tried (and failed) to form some kind of a plan.

Until the bathroom door bursting open startled a scream out of you. Was the fire coming in?!

The move did allow more smoke to infiltrate the bathroom, but instead of the fire, you saw a firefighter in all his gear. This time, it did include the helmet.

“Fire Department!” he called out.

You would know that voice anywhere. And even through the mask, you recognized the man’s eyes when he went to you.

“Dean,” you sobbed. It was halted only by a series of lung-wracking coughs and wheezing. He quickly took his helmet and mask off so he could fit the mask over your soot-covered face.

“It’s okay, deep breaths. I gotcha, baby, just breathe,” Dean encouraged. His arm was around your waist, holding you close while the oxygen finally allowed you to take in slower breaths and relax against him.

“Okay, let’s get out of here, huh?” he said. He put his helmet back on.

You grabbed the front of his jacket. “Don’t you need the mask?”

You were still having trouble breathing, coughing on every other word. Dean shook his head.

“You need it more right now,” he said.

You realized that Benny was holding the bathroom door open.

“We gotta go!” he said.

“Benny, Andréa was here,” you said. His eyes widened behind his mask. “She got out, I think. She made it to the west stairwell.”

“Okay, yeah, because no one’s getting out the east wing,” Gordon said. You noted him standing just behind Benny, with Jack in tow.

“There’s a block,” you said, pointing just ahead where you saw the pile of debris. More parts of the ceiling had crumbled around it, making it a fiery minefield. There was no other way around it at this point—only through it.

Gordon and Jack went through first, followed by Benny. With their jackets and protective gear, they were able to jump through like a flaming hoop. And they would be able to help catch you and Dean from the other side.

“Okay, you ready?” Dean asked.

“If I say no?” you said, holding onto him tighter. His hand soothed over your hair. You’d lost your clip a long time ago (along with your purse), so your hair was probably wild and frizzy and covered in soot, along with the rest of you.

Dean grinned down at you. “Then I’d say, don’t you worry. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

Even now, through your fear, he could make you smile. You steeled yourself and took a breath. You could hear it so clearly with the mask on. That, and your own heartbeat.

He counted down to three, and on the last beat, Dean covered your head and shoulders and ran with you under the flame-covered ceiling. He managed to help you jump over the fiery debris on the ground. On both of your heavy landings, a wooden support beam fell.

There was a shout from Benny, but it was too late. All Dean could do was cover you. The beam broke over his back and knocked his helmet clean off. He took you with him when he fell.

Your scream rang out—half at the fall, but mostly for Dean. It was Benny who dragged you and Dean out first. Gordon and Jack took over hefting an unconscious Dean, while Benny hauled you up onto your feet and led you to the west stairwell.

You passed out just as you felt fresh air hit the mask.

You woke to bright, fluorescent lighting that made you wince. An oxygen mask covered your mouth and nose and was strapped around your head. You made a sound of discomfort and tried to take it off, but a hand stilled yours.

“Don’t.”

Eileen’s concerned face came into view. You were confused, though happy to see her.

“You’re in the hospital,” she said. When you tried to speak, she held up a finger to you. Wait, said her eyes.

She took out her phone from her jean pocket to text someone.

“Sam is coming,” she told you, before she drew closer to sooth a hand up and down your arm. You felt tears in your eyes at just that small comfort.

They fell in earnest when Sam entered your hospital room. His eyes held the concern of a friend and a brother as he approached on your other side.

“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked, laying a hand on your shoulder.

You wheezed a breath and rasped, “Water.”

Sam nodded and grabbed you a plastic cup filled with cold water. It felt like literal heaven once the mask was off and you were able to drink. He helped you while Eileen held the mask away from your face.

After you’d had all you could drink, he took the cup and Eileen placed the mask back over your face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked, after clearing your throat. You still sounded like a chain smoker, and your head was pounding. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stable,” Sam said, with a sigh. But when he didn’t offer anything more, you raised expectant brows at him.

“What else?” you said. Your tone told him not to skimp on any more details.

Sam’s gaze met yours. “The beam burned through his jacket, on his back. It hit his head. They…had to perform a minor surgery to relieve the pressure in his brain, but he’s stable in recovery now.”

He was quick to add on that last bit when you began to crumble. Eileen encouraged you to breathe through your tears. The oxygen could only do half the battle if you didn’t breathe properly.

“I want to see him,” you said.

Sam frowned and held up a placating hand. “I don’t think that’s—”

You ignored him and tried to sit up. With or without his approval, you were getting out of this bed.

“Okay, you’re not listening,” Sam sighed, though he immediately went to help you. He shot Eileen an imploring look over your head.

She got the hint and helped you on her side. Together they helped you stand while you removed the mask, then the heart monitor and other wires taped to your torso.

The Emergency Department team had left your pants on, thank goodness, but they’d clipped through your blouse and bra. So the paper gown was mostly to cover your top half like a light blue poncho. It was a bit airy in the back, but Eileen held it closed for you. Right now, you didn’t care much about your modesty. You were also walking around the hospital barefooted.

At least Dean was on the same floor. It was just a long walk down the hall.

“Can you call Benny and ask how Andréa’s doing?” you asked, coughing a bit.

Sam eyed you in thinly veiled concern, but he agreed. The last he’d heard from Benny was that Andréa had been cleared by the paramedics with minor smoke inhalation. You were clearly worse.

Sam held you upright when you finally saw Dean. He had to guide you into a chair beside Dean’s bed, where he slept on his side. On his back was a large stretch of white gauze across his upper back, from nearly shoulder to side at an angle.

“The doctor said they’re only second-degree burns. It looks worse than it is,” Sam said quietly.

Eileen rubbed your back in the hopes that you’d stop crying.

You could only focus on the gauze, the smaller nicks and burns around Dean’s face, the bandage and thick gauze near his temple where they’d apparently had to drill into his skull. He also wore an oxygen mask, because if all that wasn’t enough, you were sure “smoke inhalation” was on the list, thanks to the way he’d given you his SCBA mask.

Gently, very gently, you took his hand. Your thumb swept over the back of it, over each knuckle.

“Did they say when he’d wake up?” you asked. You rubbed at your aching stomach. Does smoke inhalation cause nausea too?

Your chest was also tight. You’d head back to your room sooner or later and get the oxygen mask back on.

Before Sam could reply, you heard a groan below. You looked down at Dean with wide-eyed hope. It took a moment, but his eyes slid open. They were unfocused and dark, until they found your face.

You smiled tearfully. “Hey, baby.”

Your free hand caressed his cheek. His eyes briefly closed at your touch. When he realized you were holding his hand, he squeezed a bit. That was enough for you.

Just then, however, you had to let go of his hand. Whatever was left in your stomach from this morning seemed to be revolting. You turned your head quick to throw up onto the hospital floor.

Both Sam and Eileen called your name when you slid out of your chair and onto the floor. You blinked tears out of your eyes…or actually, it was black spots encroaching on your vision.

Sam pushed the chair out of his way to get to you. He gathered you into his arms and shouted for a doctor while Eileen went for the emergency button on Dean’s hospital bed.

The last thing you saw was Dean’s worried face out of the corner of your eye, before the blackness took you.

Dean could barely speak behind his oxygen mask, but Sam saw his worry as the nurses carried you away in a stretcher with Eileen following close behind. Sam crouched in front of his brother and clasped his hand.

“She’ll be okay, I promise. I’m gonna look out for both of you,” Sam said. “Right now, you need to sleep.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. In that small gesture, Sam also saw his stubbornness. He almost smiled. You and Dean were a match made.

“Just rest, Dean. I’m going now to check on her, but not until you close your eyes,” Sam said. It took another stubborn minute, but Dean eventually relaxed as well as he was able. His eyes closed as he fell back under the pull of medication and painkillers.

“How’s he doing?” came the voice of their father in the doorway. Sam’s expression morphed from gentle to austere. His head turned towards his father.

“How does he look like he’s doing?” Sam asked. “He had a burning ceiling fall on him. He has the mother of all concussions, and he just saw his girlfriend collapse.”

John was quiet, in contrast to his youngest son’s ire. He stepped into the room and watched his eldest. Sam saw the man’s age in the lines around his eyes, in his slow gait when he raised a gentle hand to comb through Dean’s greasy hair, mindful of his injuries.

“This shouldn’t have fucking happened,” said John. His voice was tired and gruff. Sam knew what the weight of guilt looked like, but what he didn’t yet see was regret. If John hadn’t kept digging, digging, Azazel wouldn’t have taken it this far.

Okay, Sam didn’t yet have proof that Azazel burned down the Savage & Co. building…but he didn’t believe in coincidences.

“No,” Sam said. “It shouldn’t have.”

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick shouted.

He was still dusted with soot and sporting some cracked ribs from the day’s activities. He’d stumbled into his father’s house, taken a bottle of bourbon from the man’s shelf and started drinking straight from the crystal glass.

Daniel eyed him coolly from the balcony, smoking a cigar. “Whatever do you mean, son?”

Nick was furious. He stomped over, not caring how expensive liquor was splashing on him.

“Why’d you burn the whole damn building?” he demanded to know. “I could’ve died!”

“Alistair got you out, didn’t he?” Daniel pointed towards his son with the hand that held his cigar. “See, unlike you, I think ahead.”

“I’m serious,” Nick hissed. “Our company is still important—”

“My company,” Daniel interjected, “is not that building. However, the building itself was a liability.”

Nick’s brows knit together in confusion and anger. “What the hell’re you talking about?”

Daniel took a long drag of his cigar, puffing in Nick’s face. The latter coughed. As if he hadn’t had enough smoke in his lungs today.

“Don’t you see?” Daniel asked, with a sigh that also said he wondered how he could’ve produced such a moron. “It puts distance between you and ‘Azazel’ if you’re also a victim of his threats. It destroys any physical evidence of me having been there, along with any files you would’ve eventually had to turn over to the police and the FBI.”

Nick let that idea sink into his brain. He realized that it did make sense…but he deflated as something else occurred to him.

“Uh…see, that would’ve worked, but, we have a problem,” Nick scratched his head. “Someone knows who you really are.”

By the time Nick finished explaining about you, and what you’d overheard, Daniel’s sharp gaze managed to strike fear into Nick’s heart.

Yet to his surprise, the other man’s temper didn’t blow. Daniel kept it all inside as he continued to smoke. Cigars tended to pacify him better than cigarettes.

His lips twitched at a humorless smile. “Well, that is a problem.”

“But she probably died in the fire, so we’re good,” Nick shrugged.

“No, I doubt she did,” Daniel sighed. “You’re not that lucky.”

He rolled his shoulders. Then he grabbed Nick’s arm and twisted, until his was crying out and pinned to the nearest wall. Daniel threatened to put out his cigar in the soft underbelly of the arm he held.

Nick looked up at his father with wide, pleading eyes.

“Like everything else, that girl is a problem I’m going to fix,” Daniel said. “Along with the whole Winchester brood.”

AN: 🫣 Don't hate me lol. It gets better for them, I promise. But we have a few more chapters left to go and a few more twists in store!

Next Time:

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

Keep Reading: PART 17

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Break Down the Gates #Smoke Eater #Part 16 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #john winchester #sam winchester #eileen leahy #zepskies writes

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kieranxvalentine · 6 months

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Her Muse {Miguel O'hara}

༻♡༺✎ After posting a picture, everyone starts to wonder who is the one who makes your heart beat. Not knowing he was closer than they thought ༻♡༺✎ Miguel O'hara x Reader, Miles Morales x Reader (Platonic), Gwen Stacy x Reader (Platonic), Pavitr Prabhakar x Reader (platonic) ༻♡༺✎ PG rating (one suggestive comment) ༻♡༺✎ 1.1k words ༻♡༺✎ Author's Note: Welcome to my first post in this little Mini Series with Miguel x Idol!Spiderwoman!Reader. I have plenty more for this series! Hope you enjoy! (This hasn't been proof read yet!)

“You’re dating someone?!”

You chuckle softly at the surprised sound of your friends, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr all looking at you in shock.

You were a fellow spider variant, but not only were you a superhero, you also were a popstar, entertaining and saving the masses one day at a time. You were basically an interdimensional superstar, going to universe's and hosting concerts. (only modern ones though.)

You were really secretive about your life besides what you revealed to your fans, but after a recent picture that appeared on your Instagram had your friends and fans in an uproar.

“I could’ve sworn you told us you were going to be focused on your career! But what is this!!”

Miles, who you considered a little brother shoved his phone in your face.

You did make a big speech to them roughly like 7 months ago about how you were going to focus on your career and that you didn't have time for a relationship...

Well..clearly that was a lie..

It was a picture on your profile, it was clearly your waist, in an outfit from your most recent pop up performance, with a mans hands wrapped around your waist.

It was clear that the picture was cropped to obscure whoever you were with. You could only let a giggle slip from your lips as you took a drink from your water.

“Is he from your universe?” Gwen asked and you shook your head. This pulled a gasp from your friends and Pavitr was the one to ask the next question.

“Soooo…Is he a spider person?”

You went silent and avert your gaze playfully. Gwen stood up with her arms crossed a playful grin on her face. “That means yea! You’re dating a spider variant!’

“Yea but who? You know how many of us it is!” “Well, it has to be one of the older spiders, look at the size of that dude!” “Hmmm…”

You laughed again as you looked at the three of them. “You three are really trying to figure this out aren’t you?” That earned you three rapid nods and you only playfully rolled your eyes.

You hopped off the table, checking your dimensional watch seeing you missed a ping from Miguel O'Hara, the leader and head of the Spider Society.

“Oh sorry guys, I gotta go. I missed a ping from Miguel.”

Gwen nodded in understanding. “Oh yea, You might wanna go before you get in trouble, You know how he hates when people are late.”

Miles pointed a finger at you, “Don’t think that this is over Y/n! We will find out!!”

You rolled your eyes and gave them a wave as you head off to Miguel’s office.

When you first joined the Spider Society nearly 3 years ago, you couldn’t help but be intimidated by him. The way he carried himself with such authority and power, you remember after walking out his office you thought you were going to melt. He was just so perfect to you. He was strong, he was caring (although he struggled with sharing it), he was very, very, very attractive.

You couldn't help but make him your muse. Every great artist had one, and yours just happened to be your boss.

Most of your songs were about Miguel, nothing too explicit. Just cute puppy love songs, you were crushing since day one.

It wasn't hard to either, you would come up with lyrics after seeing him whenever you had to report an anomaly, or you'd bring your lyric book to meetings and use some of his own words in your songs.

Your fans loved it, trying to figure out who the mystery man was in your songs, but of course you couldn’t let them find out. Especially when some of the spider variants listened to your music as well! And it certainly didn’t help-

“Took you long enough.”

You gave a sheepish smile as you entered his office, seeing him up on his platform, looking over the various neon orange and red screens in front of him. You swung up to his platform, waiting as he turned around to face you.

He looked down at you for a bit before reaching to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you towards him, he places his face in the crook of your neck.

“I should’ve known you were going to post that picture of us..” He mumbled against your neck and you giggled as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry Miggy, You looked really cute..! Besides, I cropped our faces out, they only saw the lower half.” You responded as you moved his face to kiss his cheek.

He only shook his head before pulling back a bit. “Oh really?” He gives you a small smirk as one hand went to your lower back. “You should post the full thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. Miguel was a very private person, hell, only two people knew you were dating Jess and Peter, and that was because they walked in to give Miguel updates on an anomaly they were chasing, they got an eyeful of the two of you kissing.

He was embarrassed and demanded that they didn’t tell a soul that the big scary boss of the spiders was dating the bubbly popstar.

So it was surprising to hear him want you to post it...

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking?..” You ask as you lean against him. He placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up so that you could be looking at him. You felt your heart nearly leap out of your chest.

Damn this man and his eye contact, he surely knew how to make you nearly melt right into a puddle in his arms.

“That way people already know you're spoken for. Can’t have others trying to steal my wife away from me...can I?” He flashed another smirk at you, showing his fangs and you felt a blush spread across your cheeks.

He chuckled at your reaction, paying no mind to you nearly short circuiting at such an action... “Mi preciosa, You’re acting shy as if we haven’t done anything else already.”

“THAT”S DIFFERENT MIGUEL!”

"Is it? I mean, unless you start using my-"

"SHUT UP!"

He ends up laughing at your embarrassed face and leans to kiss you on your forehead.

“Here, theres an anomaly that just popped up. I can intrust my little idol to it can i?” You nod as he puts the universe coordinates in your Dimensional watch.

He gives you a hug and another kiss on the cheek, whispering the words. “Be safe. I love you.” before letting you swing down from his office.

You exited his office and blushed deeply, pulling up your phone, scrolling through your phone until you reach the picture in your camera roll.

It was a mirror selfie, Miguel’s hand wrapped around you waist with his chin on your shoulder. This was taken at his home after you came to visit him after a performance, which explained the attire you were wearing.

You go to your Instagram and take down the original, before reposting the full picture with the caption:

My Muse and My SuperHero <3

After you returned from your mission, you were met with a Laughing Jessica and a confused Peter.

“Hey guys! What’s going on?..” You asked as you walked up to them.

Jess stifled another laugh as she pointed to Miles, Gwen and Pavitr. “Seems like they saw your post.”

You looked over and locked eyes with Miles and You gave him a sheepish grin before taking off running, the young spider man following behind you.

“YOU’RE DATING OUR BOSS!? NO WONDER YOU DON’T GET IN TROUBLE!!” “I-it’s not like that Miles!!” “OH YEAH!? THEN WHY ARE YOU RUNNING!? GET BACK HERE AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF MISSY!” "I was going to tell you guys soon!!" "LIAR!! GET BACK HERE!"

#atsv fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you

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m00nt4r0t · 1 year

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✮ your star qualities! ✮

pile one, two, three, four, five, or six?

these are short messages, so feel free to pick more than one pile if you wish!

patreon ⭑ masterlist ⭑ personal readings

﹒ . ⊹ ♡ ⁺ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹ ❀ . ﹒ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile one!

song on shuffle: “freakyt” by tiacorine

you’re very compassionate and you don’t play ego games with people, pile one. you’re very naturally beautiful, and you don’t care much about drama or competition. you’re also very forgiving, not only to yourself but also those who have crossed you. you don’t like to hold hate in your heart. you naturally shine like a star and you grab a lot of peoples attention just by existing. you have a lot of faith and trust in the divine, which is why you don’t bother with getting revenge because you know that the divine has your back. you could have a dark aesthetic, or you tend to attract people who are a bit darker than most people (physically and/or energetically.) you’re very well protected and your guides refuse to let you fall from grace.

﹒ . ⊹ ♡ ⁺ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹ ❀ . ﹒ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile two!

song on shuffle: “lover is a day” by cuco

you’re someone who is very complex, and yet, you don’t allow the differences within you to confuse you. at times, yes, you may have a tough time making decisions on where to go or how to react, but you make it seem easy to those who are on the outside looking in. you’re very balanced and well-tempered, pile two. you don’t let people get to you emotionally and you always come out on top. people have a hard time making you mad or making you insecure. you could make music or you have a really good music taste. also, people love your dimples if you have them. people who tend who have low self esteem are very attracted to your light because you naturally make people feel good, and im seeing that people could think about you for years after parting ways from you.

﹒ . ⊹ ♡ ⁺ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹ ❀ . ﹒ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile three!

song on shuffle: “i wanna be yours” by arctic monkeys

you have no limitations, pile three. you have the entirety of the universe within your soul and you’re starting to realize this, aren’t you? it may seem too good to be true, which may cause you to doubt yourself at times, but it’s true. you’re a go getter and you always get what you want, even if it takes longer than you expected, or comes in a different form than you originally thought. you quite literally have the ability to go wherever you pease, much like a bird. your mind is wired differently than others and you’re able to see and understand things that most people cannot. there’s some emphasis on your nose being part of your star quality, as well. you attract powerful relationships and connections into your life.

﹒ . ⊹ ♡ ⁺ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹ ❀ . ﹒ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile four!

song on shuffle: “putrid pride” by $uicideboy$

you’re very striking and magnetic, pile four. people are so attracted and pulled to you and they don’t fully understand why. yes, you’re attractive, but a lot of people are attractive - so why do people become so addicted to you? well, because you’re not like anyone else. you evoke emotions and feelings within people that have never been evoked before by anyone else. people become obsessed with you, pile four. your sacral chakra is very magnetic, and your eyes lure people in and it seems so innocent at first, but then they realize there’s no way out. you have a way with words and you’re very sweet and sensual, which makes people overlook the depth within you. people love to watch you, pile four. you’re very entertaining.

﹒ . ⊹ ♡ ⁺ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹ ❀ . ﹒ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile five!

song on shuffle: "the beach" by the neighbourhood

you are fearless, pile five. you have the ability to let go of anything and everything that does not serve you, and in the end, you're good on your own. it may not be something you prefer, but you would rather by by yourself than be surrounded with people who are going to hold you back from your highest potential. you've gone through a lot of tough situations alone and most people aren't able to do this, but it seems that you prefer it that way anyway - you probably don't like being vulnerable in front of others. you read people like a book and you can always feel it when someone is lying or keeping something hidden. you're very mystical and magical; you have the ability to influence people with your words and your creations. a lot of people don't understand you and even if they try to, they may give up because you're out of their reach.

﹒ . ⊹ ♡ ⁺ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹ ❀ . ﹒ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile six!

song on shuffle: "self care" by mac miller

well, pile six... you naturally shine. everything about you screams "star quality" and everyone around you knows it. you're extremely powerful, attractive, brave, and talented. if anyone doubted you before, they're eating their words now. you naturally shine, even in a room full of light, your light is the brightest. people are so naturally gravitated towards you; your appearance as well as your energy is very eye-catching. how could anyone not notice you? however, you're a very reserved person and you may not like to go out much. you have a connection with mother nature and you like to spend time expanding your mind and gaining knowledge. you're a very divine being, pile six, and you're here to spread your light to others, so try not to keep yourself tucked away too much.

﹒ . ⊹ ♡ ⁺ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹ ❀ . ﹒ ₊ ✮ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

thank you for reading & interacting! <3

patreon ⭑ masterlist ⭑ personal readings

#m00nt4r0t #tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a card #pac reading #pac #tarot readings #your star qualities!

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notyouraryang0dd3ss · 3 days

Note

One thing that I personally find super frustrating about Taylor Swift is the way she plays into the myth of the "lone genius" artist. Without collaboration, nothing gets done; or, if it does, it's typically of low or inconsistent quality. And this is true in pretty much ANY field or discipline you can think of: scientific research, advocacy work, etc. The fact that Taylor considers herself above that and persists in selling the myth of her "lone genius" to fans honestly feels malevolent and arrogant to me.

It's truly ridiculous, at the end of the day, that people call her a "poet" and "genius songwriter" for doing everything on her own. I think it really showcases how little she understands when it comes to poetry as an art form. Most legendary writers and poets have multiple people look over their work and go through many stages of the editing process. One of the purposes of art is to communicate, and it's honestly hard to tell sometimes if what you've written has meaning and communicates well outside of your own brain. Peer review is ESSENTIAL for writers.

I think it's also very telling that she considers herself a legendary poet and actively plays into that mythology by circulating the fact that she's distantly related to Emily Dickinson. As someone who has loved and studied literature for many years, I can honestly say that Taylor Swift's closest comparative when it comes to writing is Rupi Kaur. Pinterest poetry, and nothing more. And she has the arrogance to compare herself to one of the most important poets in American literary canon!

I'm reminded of something I heard Hozier say a little while back (I'm forgetting now which interview) about people praising his lyricism as poetry. He essentially called those claims an insult to poetry, stating that there are structural rules in music (rhyme scheme, beat, etc.) that he adheres to that poets don't have to, and that poets can be much more experimental and revolutionary in form (at least when it comes to the written word vs. the sung word). Only someone who genuinely loves poetry would say something like this; plus, it shows that he thinks about the different impacts that form can have on art the messages it communicates. And this, coming from one of the best singer/songwriters currently working!

TS and Hozier aren't writing in the same genre, but I do think it's interesting to compare them as artists in their respective approaches to lyricism. When it comes to Taylor, I think she cares more about the aesthetic of poetry as an art form than the actual art itself. Her writing doesn't actively interact with the literary canon that inspired it, like Hozier's does (or other great lyricists, like Kendrick/Florence/Mitski/Elton). Her writing feels very hollow and devoid of meaning to me.

i just want to say your ask and analysis was so well written 😭 thank you for sending this in!

Completely agree that Swift's solo songwriting genius is a myth. Only 2/16 songs from TTPD were solely credited to her...which means 12.5% of the album is solely her own writing. That is not a songwriting genius. That's just a songwriter. She already knows her fans are completely sold and convinced on her songwriting genius so of course she would drag out her ancestry.com results and up-play her relation to Emily Dickinson to help sell the aesthetic of the album. Everything for her is another marketing strategy. She has no respect for poetry, let alone writing as a craft itself. If you view her behavior through the lens of another writer, it's absolutely abhorrent, but if you view it through the lens of another capitalist, it's absolute genius.

I love your Hozier comparison because Hozier is only 4 months younger than Taylor yet the quality of their lyricism are oceans apart. Hozier has proven himself to be a talented writer time and time again throughout the course of his career, and the best songwriters often know and understand the power of other writing mediums. (BTW I know what Hozier interview you’re talking about! Here it is :))

What makes a great writer is knowing the canon, and knowing other writing mediums very well. It's why the greatest songwriters incorporate canon not only of their own genre and medium but of other texts as well (I'm biased because I listened to Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights today and I know its an adaptation but still its relevant here). Intextuality is the foundation of a great work, and Taylor's work has none.

As the other anon(s) have pointed out, Taylor no longer makes music as art. She makes music for money. I don't think any artist who likes what they do or cares about what they produce would put out an album like that, with lyrics like that, and its content. At least Rupi Kaur's writing impacted poetry in bringing it into the mainstream; I don't exactly understand what ttpd could offer as a text or in pop culture.

TLDR: hozier makes music for people who eat it from the back and then handfeed you grapes afterwards. taylor swift makes music for white girls entering their first day of 7th grade send tweet

#anti taylor swift #notyouraryang0dd3ss #ask #anon #anti swifties #ts: songwriting #emily dickinson #hozier #rupi kaur #kendrick lamar #mitski #florence and the machine #elton john

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corrodedseraphine · 1 year

Text

easy | one shot

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: "But Eddie has a girlfriend!" Dustin said first. "He does?" Adam asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I do?" Eddie muttered under his breath trying to understand what was going on. "Yeah, he is dating my sister y/n!" Will continued. "They're so in love with each other it's disgusting." Dustin rolled his eyes.

Everything would be fine if it weren't for the fact that neither you nor Eddie were informed in advance of the fact that you were a couple.

It promised to be a very interesting week. angst/fluff and almost smut (making out in the bathroom), friends to lovers

In this AU Joyce didn't move to California, but Argyle is there in Hawkins because he is too cool to erase him just like that.

TW: mention of injuries, blood, murder, drugs

the one shot is also avaliable on ao3

9 591 words

When I first got the idea, I thought it would be a very short and pleasant story. As standard, it turned out quite differently!

I know I said this fanfic wouldn't be related to any song, but as I was writing I was listening to one of my favorite songs about love Safari by Piotr Zioła on loop and couldn't resist adding elements of it in there.

eddie munson masterlist | general masterlist

"Here are my favorites!" Wayne said entering Eddie's room with a big cardboard box.

"Please let me tell Dustin that you called us that, this little shit will lose his mind." Robin grinned.

"He knows it. This is my uncle and sometimes he loves you guys more than he loves me." Eddie replied with a mouth full of pizza.

You were sitting in the Munsons' new apartment. After the huge compensation Eddie got from the government, they decided to give up on the trailer park and find a place where power failure and lack of hot water would not be on the agenda. You, of course, helped them with the moving out. Unfortunately, Eddie's condition was not the best so with the carrying furniture and cardboard boxes Steve, Jonathan, Argyle and Hopper helped Wayne. You, Robin, Nancy and Joyce took care of painting the rooms, but now it was time to eat to strengthen yourselves before continuing. You sat in a circle on the floor, since you hadn't yet had time to assemble the table. Suddenly there was the sound of a telephone in the apartment. Wayne went to answer it and returned after about 10 minutes with a worried expression on his face.

"If it weren't for the fact that the police chief is now sitting across from me I'd think I'd messed something up again." the younger Munson joked, to which Jim just rolled his eyes.

"We'll have visitors next week." sighed the old man.

"Who?"

"Remember aunt Theresa and her son Adam?"

"Jesus, no!" his reaction spoke for itself.

"They want to come for a week."

"So at the moment when we live in a trailer and can barely afford anything they don't want to know us, but when we suddenly get a lot of money and a new apartment they feel like suddenly renewing family ties?" he asked with disgust in his voice.

"It's only a week Son, you'll survive."

"Nope. I won't survive. Hopper you don't have a free cell for a week? I'll be much better off there than in their company."

"Don't be dramatic, kid." he replied.

"Joyce! Have mercy on the victim, store me for this time in your basement, you won't even notice I'm there," he whined. "I just got you out of the hospital, the doctor said that I am categorically forbidden to do any extreme activities!"

"How can a family visit be extreme?" Steve asked.

"When you meet them you'll understand."

You finished eating and everyone went back to their duties, but you went to help Eddie with changing the bandages. From the very beginning you were the only person he allowed in, because you handled him most delicately of all. You knew that Wayne was trying his best, however, Eddie always dramatically confirmed that everyone else wanted him to die in pain.

He sat on the edge of the tub as you cleaned each wound in turn. He hissed in pain from time to time, each time you heard it you sent him a slight smile whispering that it would be over soon and everything will be fine. When each wound was thoroughly cleaned you moved on to applying the ointment.

"Why do you dislike your family so much?" you asked while rubbing the ointment into his cheek.

"They have always considered themselves the best of the family, just because they have money. They love to brag about it, if they could they would wear badges that say 'we're fabulously rich, sucker,'" he said rolling his eyes.

"That doesn't sound too good." You sighed.

"I'll be hearing all week about how worthless I am. Too stupid to graduate from high school on the first try, too controversial looking to get a good job... The list goes on, if I were to list everything we'd have to sit here until night."

"Hey, look at me." you said grabbing his chin and turning him so that he was looking straight into your eyes. "You're not worthless. You saved the world, Eddie. You saved us all. The only worthless thing that exists is your hopeless aunt's words, do you understand?"

"You saved me, too. More than once." he whispered surprised with your words.

"I would have done it a second time without hesitation."

When you found yourselves in the Upside Down after passing through the gate at Lover's Lake the Demobats took you as their target. Without a second thought, Eddie rushed to your rescue when one of them wrapped its tail around your neck. Later, while Steve, Nancy, Jonathan and Robin dealt with Vecna together the two of you and Dustin were supposed to distract the monsters. Unfortunately, Eddie had no intention of listening to Steve and feeling a surge of courage he cut the line when you and Dustin returned to the trailer on the good side. That didn't stop you from jumping after him. You don't know if it was the adrenaline or the despair that overwhelmed you when you saw him that made you and the others able to get him back out the other side. The option of getting out of hell without Eddie simply didn't exist for you.

"I just... I don't want Wayne to be ashamed of me. I don't want him to listen to all the crap they say about me because I know he cares. He tries not to show it but I can see it. And that's the worst part of it all."

"Wayne loves you. And I know he would do anything for you. It's normal that when someone talks nonsense about people we love it upsets us. Remember when you had to pull me forcibly away from Craver who was bullying Will? I thought I was going to tear him apart then. I probably would have if it hadn't been for you."

"To be honest, you were terrifying, I was scared as hell," he laughed.

"If necessary I'm ready to defend you from your crazy family too. I just need to grow my nails so I can claw out their eyes better." you answered. When you saw the smile light up his face as well, you felt your heart skipped a beat. You meant it in all honesty. You would do anything for the people you love. He didn't need to know that you loved him in a little different way than the rest.

When the ultimate day arrived Eddie was sitting in his room with Dustin and Will working on the details of the next D&D campaign. This was to be Will's first time as Dungeon Master for the whole group so Eddie, as always, eagerly offered to help. They were fiercely discussing the final boss fight when the door to his room swung open gently and Wayne showed up in it.

"Hi Uncle Wayne." Dustin and Will said simultaneously.

"Hi boys. Eddie? Our guests have arrived." As soon as the last word left his mouth the door swung open wider allowing his aunt inside. There was a look of displeasure on Wayne's face at the fact that she had walked in there as if it were her own room, but he didn't comment. Immediately after her, her son Adam walked in.

"Hello, Edward!" she said in an overly high tone, looking around the room with a judgmental gaze. "Why don't you give an old aunt a hug as a greeting?"

"I'd love to, but unfortunately the doctor has forbidden me to have close contact with other people." Eddie replied in a flat tone causing the younger boys to snort quietly with laughter.

"Hm... I see you still haven't grown up. Adam threw away all his toys the moment he started high school."

"These are not some toys, they are needed for our campaign." He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Are you still playing that satanic game?" interjected Adam.

"It's not- Yeah, you know what? Yes, I play the satanic game all the time. Actually, I'm the leader of the cult now, and these are its scary members Dustin and Will. Before you say anything, yes, I am bringing the Hawkins youth to the dark side of power to worship Satan with me." Their visit had so far lasted only five minutes and they had already made Eddie think about how much more fun it was to be ripped to shreds by demobats.

"Alright." Wayne interrupted his dramatic speech before things got too far. "Why don't I show you the rest of the house and the neighborhood?" Without a word they left closing the door behind them.

"Dude, they're awful." commented Dustin.

"Are you still playing this satanic game?" Will began to mock Adam.

"This is going to be the worst week of my life." The metalhead rubbed his face with his hands.

For the next few hours, Eddie didn't leave his room for a step, knowing that the enemy was sitting right behind the wall. He tried to focus on Will's campaign but anxiety and nerves didn't help him one bit. When the doorbell rang around the apartment all three of them left the room knowing it was Hopper. However, they didn't expect it was Aunt Theresa opening the door for him.

"Good evening officer!" she said. "My name is Theresa Munson, is something wrong?" A confused Hopper sent Eddie a questioning look, to which only the latter rolled his eyes.

"Nothing happened, I-"

"Did Eddie get into trouble again? I know he's been in trouble with the law several times before," she sighed. "Edward I'm sure what you did was not intentional right?" She didn't let him get a word in edgewise.

"What the fu-" Eddie didn't have time to finish when Wayne came out of the bathroom.

"Jim! How are you?" he said shaking Hopper's hand.

"Good." he replied still somewhat surprised. "I came to pick up the boys."

"Oh, so you're not here after because of Edward? What a relief!" his aunt interjected.

"Unbelievable!" Eddie exclaimed, banging his head against the wall.

"I'm just worried that you'll follow in your father's footsteps! Look at you, tattoos? torn clothes and that satanic music you listen to? That doesn't bode well, does it, officer? If you don't change something about yourself you'll never find any girlfriend or a good job."

It was a punch below the belt. Mentioning his father was crossing the line. Seeing Eddie clench his fists and the knuckles on his hands turn white Will and Dustin sent each other a communicative look.

"But Eddie has a girlfriend!" Dustin said first.

"He does?" Adam asked crossing his arms over his chest.

"I do?" Eddie muttered under his breath trying to understand what was going on.

"Yeah, he is dating my sister y/n!" Will continued.

"They're so in love with each other it's disgusting." Dustin rolled his eyes.

"Come on boys, we have to go." Hopper said, interrupting this bizarre exchange of words. "Your mother will kill me if we don't get back before dinner."

With that, the two teenagers left them all in shock, including Eddie. After they left, he quickly locked himself in his room thinking about the situation. Apparently you are a couple now. How should he behave around you now? He didn't know what to do with all this. These two little bastards had just put him in a game of pretend relationship with the girl he wrote all his love songs about. On the one hand, it was a great opportunity for him to finally make a move on you. On the other, he was paralyzed by the fear that nothing but rejection awaited him.

"You can pick the place." Hopper said as soon as they got into the car.

"What place?" asked a puzzled Will.

"Where I can bury your bodies when y/n finds out what you've done."

"Oh come on! Everyone knows very well that she has a crush on him!" Dustin exclaimed.

"They're both only have eyes for themselves, we're just helping them finally do something about it." Will tried to defend them. "Just helping!"

"Even if it's true what you're saying, they should come to it by themselves, not by your wild ideas," he sighed. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm not going to get involved."

And Jim was right. As soon as you found out what they had done you were furious, yelling at them that they had no right to decide for the two of you and put you in such a strange situation. However, it was too late. Locked in your room, you nervously played with your fingers while looking at the phone standing on the bedside table, not knowing whether you should dial the number to the Munson's house and explain the situation. Apologize for the behavior of these little shits and hope that your relationship will not worsen because of it. Plunged into your thoughts, you didn't even hear the knock at your door. After a moment of unresponsiveness on your part, Jonathan and El entered the room.

"Will told us what happened." began Jonathan slowly, sitting down next to you. El wordlessly followed him. "You know very well that they didn't mean a bad thing," he said.

"You can come in too." You sighed still looking at the door. After a moment, your younger brother emerged from behind the wall and, not knowing what to expect, walked slowly into the room.

"I know that a simple apology is not enough!" he began to defend himself. "But this aunt is really awful person! She started comparing him to his father, she thought Hopper had come to arrest him, or God knows what! She said he would never find a girlfriend, so we wanted to help him a-and then this idea came to our minds! At firs it didn't seem so bad. We thought...I am really sorry y/n."

"It's okay." you said quietly and you extended your hand towards him. "I forgive you." He ignored you hand and hugged you tightly with a relief.

"Eddie didn't protest, I think he liked the idea." he said quietly and you smiled.

Despite the fact, that thinking that Eddie liked the idea of being your pretended boyfrend for a week made you feel very warm you weren't able to stop thinking about what Will have just told you about his aunt's behaviour. She compared him to his father? Your blood boiled inside you. No one had the right to say such a thing, and you set as your goal to make sure it wouldn't happen again. At least not on your watch.

All Tuesday from the very morning you could not sit still. Lessons went on mercilessly, still thinking about the situation into which you were embroiled. When you told Robin about it at lunch she looked quite excited saying that finally something would happen between you two. She was the only one who knew how you truly felt about him and from the very beginning, she was trying to persuade you to finally do something more than rambling to her about your feelings. In her opinion, Eddie should be the person to actually listen to it. The longer you thought about it the more you had to admit that the excitement was getting to you as well. Yet you still didn't know what Eddie thought about it.

When the final bell rang, you quickly ran out of the school, got on your bike and headed toward Munson's apartment, stopping by a bakery on the way. Once there, you took three deep breaths and knocked on the door, which Wayne opened a moment later.

"And who do we have here?" He asked with a smile.

"Hi Uncle Wayne." You said answering with the same. "Is Eddie home?"

"I don't know where else he could be, come in." He let you in. "This is my sister Theresa and her son Adam. And this is y/n," he said as you walked deeper into the apartment. They were both sitting on the living room couch watching TV.

"It's very nice to meet you!" you said in an over-sweetened tone.

"We are also pleased to meet you." Replied a somewhat puzzled aunt.

"Did I hear my favorite Bayers?" Eddie leaned out of the room with a broad smile. Seeing his reaction you took it as permission to take it a step further.

"It's good to know that my little brother hasn't stolen that title yet." you laughed walking up to him. "Hi, Teddy." You kissed him on his healthy cheek. Not expecting it, he fossilized for a few seconds but after a moment he woke up.

"Hi baby." he said, smacking you on the forehead. "I see you've already met my wonderful family?" he added with a hint of sacrasm.

"Yes, Wayne introduced me." you confirmed. "Did you change the bandages today?" you asked wanting to change the topic.

"Not yet." he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"So here's the plan: First we'll change your bandages, then we'll take care of the school notes I brought you." you announced "Ah! I almost forgot! I was also at the bakery on the way, and I brought your favorite doughnuts."

"I told you she was the best." he said proudly looking his aunt straight in the eyes. Wayne watched you from afar with a smile on his lips. Pretend or not - it was nice to see you in such a position.

When you disappeared behind the bathroom door, free from the prying eyes of his guests, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you..." he said quietly. "For playing along."

"Will told me about what you heard from her. I thought instead of clawing her eyes out right away we'd show her how wrong she is. If you don't mind, of course."

"Of course I don't. I was afraid it would be you who would mind. Those little shitheads hadn't decided anything about it with me before."

"So since neither of us has anything against it..." you said. "You told them I was the best?"

"Of course, and it wasn't even a lie!"

It took you more than two hours to come to grips with the notes. If Eddie had dispensed with his dramatic episodes the time would have been about half as short, but you were in no hurry. Sitting behind the closed door of his room nothing changed too much, your relationship from the very beginning was very good and full of laughter that reached the eavesdropper Theresa and her son. After finishing his study, Eddie played you some new songs he had written in his spare time. Three of them were related to each other telling the adventure of fighting the worst kind of evil, which was full of throwing fireballs, manipulating thoughts and knife-sharp fangs tearing skin. The fourth had no words yet. That, at least, was the version for you. The piece of paper with its words was tucked deep in the closet along with the rest he had written thinking of you. So that it would never see the light of day.

As dinner time approached Wayne called you into the living room where you helped set the table and get a few things ready. Eddie accompanied you, watching as you casually moved around the space talking and joking with his uncle. Feeling a pleasant warmth on his heart, he thought if it could stay like this forever. The way you jokingly patted his hand when he tried to snack, or when you pretended to be a princess in distress unable to open a jar, so he as a brave knight would come to your rescue. Such behavior was not something new for you, but this time as a wonderful addition, from time to time he could steal a little kiss from you on the cheek, forehead or tip of the nose, or without hesitation hug you from behind when you were standing at the counter cutting vegetables for a salad. You then leaned gently against his frame, creating an enclosure of safety around you. You both tried desperately to remember the feeling you had then if it was about to disappear as quickly as a soap bubble.

"So how did you two meet?" Theresa asked as you all sat down at the table.

"Eddie was friends with my twin brother, Jonathan, so it was only a matter of time before we met." you replied while putting food on your plate and then doing the same only with Eddie's portion. "I must admit that from the very beginning he had something about him that caught my attention." You continued.

"Interesting." she hummed. "Edward, how's the situation at school?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to finally get out of high school? You know you won't be young forever." she paused briefly. "Adam is studying in New York. He's one of the best, he's getting a scholarship."

"That's great." you commented, not wanting to drag the subject further.

"And what are your plans after graduation?" Adam turned to Eddie with a contemptous look.

"I don't know, at this point I'm just trying to get better." He shrugged his shoulders without taking his eyes off the food.

"Eddie is great with cars!" you blurted out. "Before the accident he used to work for a local mechanic, he really appreciated him." You placed your hand on his, which was lying on the table. When you squeezed it gently he looked at you and sent a slight smile showing a dimple in his cheek.

"Well, yes, but without education you can't find a good job," he said.

"I believe that if someone is good at their craft they don't need any high degree at all to succeed. And Eddie is the best, and I'm sure that as soon as he finishes high school this year he will be very successful." Your voice was still kind however this time a hint of firmness could be sensed in it.

The rest of dinner passed in silence. When you had finished eating you helped to clear the table and wash the dishes. Then it was time to go home.

"My mother and Jim are hosting an engagement party this Friday. She said to tell you that you and Adam can also feel invited. It's going to be great fun, right Eddie?" you said already standing at the door.

"Of course sweetheart." he replied with a fake smile hating the idea of them being there with all his heart.

For the last time that day you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Although it was gentle Eddie felt as if your lips were leaving a permanent mark there, which imprinted all the way on his heart.

The rest of the week looked similar. Except for the day of Hellfire, you came to him after school bringing notes and spending the rest of the day together. You could get used to such a course of events, unfortunately, when Friday came you felt nostalgic about the fact that this could be the last of the days like this. Theresa and Adam were going home Sunday morning which meant that these were also the last days to enjoy Eddie's closeness. Feeling a weight in your chest, you got off the bike and headed toward the apartment. You didn't expect Adam to open the door for you. He was shirtless. You immediately felt extremely uncomfortable and wanted to turn back but he stopped you.

"Wayne and Eddie went to get some groceries, you can wait for them inside." he said smiling broadly.

"Thanks." you muttered and squeezed past him in the doorway.

"I just finished doing my home workout. You know, we have a gym at the university, so I go there every day, I can't stop." He winked at you coming closer. Responding nothing with a quick step you walked to the living room and began to unpack the contents of your bag. In addition to your notes after school, you entered the store and bought the new figures for D&D that Will kept talking about that they would need for the new campaign. You carried the notes to Eddie's room, then sat down on the couch in the living room and began spreading out the figures and paints on the coffee table. Adam never took his eyes off you, watching your every move making you feel increasingly nervous.

"Do you play this stupid game too?" he asked, sitting down next to you.

"I participate in campaigns from time to time." You replied shrugging your shoulders. Not wanting to lean on the couch as his arm was stretched across the backrest, you aimlessly moved things from one place to another, making you not notice how close he was to you. It reached you when you felt his hand on your cheek. Surprised, you looked in his direction and immediately jumped away standing up on your feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" you shouted.

"Oh come on, don't you wanna mess around? It will be a while before they come back from the store." he said getting up from the couch.

"Jesus, no! Have you lost your mind? What made you even think that I might want something like that?"

Adam was wrong. Eddie and Wayne returned from shopping, but you were so preoccupied with the situation, and your voice was so loud that you didn't hear the door open. Eddie, seeing you with his half-naked cousin in the living room, felt his heart suddenly get very heavy. He was just turning to leave the apartment and not look at it when Wayne grabbed him by the arm and with a hand gesture showed him to be quiet and watch what would happen next.

"So you're saying all this talk about having a crush on him when he was just your brother's friend is true? You fell in love with a trailer trash who worships Satan? The scars are turning you on?" he smirked. "A better Munson is now standing in front of you, baby, don't waste this opportunity."

"Don't you fucking dare to say one more word!" He crossed the line. It wasn't even about how he behaved toward you. You were too concerned about what he called Eddie. "I tolerated your and your mother's snarky behavior just so I wouldn't make Wayne uncomfortable. But since he's not here now I'm happy to answer your questions. Even homeless Eddie would be much better than you. You don't measure up to him you damn asshole! I don't care about your expensive car you are so enthusiastic about, I'd rather walk everywhere my whole life than get in it. I don't give a shit about your apartment in New York. I would have had a better life homeless under a bridge. And yes, I loved Eddie when he lived in the trailer, I loved that he made me feel at home there, trailer or not I fucking love him so you have to remember that the next time you talk shit about the person I love nothing will hold me back anymore. I will make you regret it for the rest of your miserable life. I'm disgusted with you. I'm disgusted by how self-absorbed idiot you are and how your ego blows the scale. And you are right. You're damn right that these wounds are incredibly attractive. Do you know why? Because they remind me that my Eddie is a fucking hero! You don't even realize how many lives he saved back then! So yes, he and his scars are the hottest in the world and definitely much more hotter than your pathetic gym routine." The words flew out of your mouth like bullets. The shock on his face encouraged you even more but then you heard the door slam.

"Adam?" the voice of Wayne made you tighten your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath.

"Y/n! Good to see you!" he said bringing in the shopping bags.

"Hi Wayne." you said getting the nicest and the calmest tone you could afford at that moment.

"Sweetheart!" before you had time to respond Eddie with a quick step and a wide smile on his lips was already at your side. What you didn't expect, however, was what came next. He cupped your face and kissed you. Eddie was kissing you. You experienced a three-second shock and then completely surrendered to the kiss by placing your hands on his chest. His nose gently touched your cheek, you felt its tip was cold. Yet his lips were burning. Even though the kiss was brief, you felt as if your soul had left your body and had travelled to a completely different dimension. Was it a dream? If so, you didn't want to wake up.

After Eddie heard what you were saying, he felt he had to do it. Many times he saw you defending your loved ones from all kinds of attacks. You weren't afraid to cover Will with your own body when Vecna tried to get him, so verbal attacks were not a problem for you. You also handled this one very well. More than once he had the opportunity to witness this. Now you were doing it for him. This awakened completely new feelings in him. He was sincerely touched and happy. In that moment you gave him something he had not felt since Wayne took him in. He felt wanted and loved. Even if it was pretended at that moment. Nothing could take that moment away from him, so he decided to take a risk. The risk definitely paid off. He enjoyed every second of it. The satisfaction was also a bonus. He wanted to show "the better Munson" that you were his. As if what you said wasn't enough. He wanted the kiss to be a seal saying she is perfect, and she is mine. Damn, he wanted you to be his so bad.

As if nothing ever happened, you sat down on the couch with Eddie and took up painting. You didn't say a word about your exchange with Adam, and Eddie pretended he hadn't witnessed one of the best moments in his life. Painting took you a lot longer than you expected. Plus more because every now and then you glanced in his direction focusing your attention on his mouth as he told you more details of the campaign. Could you have become addicted to something you had only tasted once?

"They are being chased by a pack of wild mutant lions so they run into an old hut where the master of nightmares is waiting for them." He tells you while gesturing with his hands. You're interested in what he's saying, but damn did his lips always look this beautiful? "Earth to y/n!" he yelled clapping his hands.

"Shit, sorry, I zooned out." you woke up suddenly. "So what exactly is it about the master of nightmares?"

"He throws you into a vision that replicates your greatest fears," he said.

"And what is Eddie the Banished's greatest fear?"

Losing you. That was his first thought. "Y'know it will probably be bats." he cuckled and winked at you.

"I am so sorry Eddie, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, clam down." he said, yawning.

"You're tired, I should go."

"No, stay." he grabbed your hand. "I mean... if you want to of course, I thought you'd wait until they're dry to take some home for Will."

"Oh, sure." a smile crept onto your lips on its own as you accepted the proposition. Lips. You had a feeling you never thought about that particular body part as often as you did today.

"We can chill a little in my room." he suggested. You knew perfectly well what he meant.

"You know very well that I won't agree to this kind of chilling." You crossed your arms over your chest. "Those strange doctors have made it very clear that until the traces of the Upside Down are out of your system for good, there is no question of smoking anything."

"But- please! Have mercy on my poor soul." fell to his knees in front of you making you giggle.

"Don't you dare use those puppy dog eyes on me Munson. It's for your own good." you said softly and tenderly stroked his cheek with your thumb.

"You heartless woman." he faltered, laying his head on your lap.

"Okay, I am able to bear the weight of those words." you chuckled. "There are many other ways to relax, you know? We can listen to music, or read."

"Will you read to me?" he asked raising his face toward you. Big chocolate button eyes glared at you. His face looked so innocent. Rarely did anyone get a chance to see it, since Eddie almost always wore his mask. The fact that he didn't have it with you made you feel very special.

"Come on, adventure awaits!" you helped him stand up and walked to his room. After a moment of deliberation and dithering about whether you should read The Hobbit for the millionth time, you decided that this time it would be some new fantasy book that Wayne had bought Eddie while he was still in the hospital.

"Wayne won't mind that I'm staying this long?"

"Of course not. Besides, we still have some time before they come back."

"We have plenty of time before a pack of wild lions reaches us?"

"And before one of your worst dreams hunts you down" He replied and patted the bed indicating for you to lie down next to him. With that, you began to read, but after a short time you both began to get sleepy. The dim light of the bedside lamp, the warmth that eminated from the two of you, the comfort and peace that you felt in each other's company succulently lulled you to sleep. When you heard a quiet snoring in mid-sentence you looked at its source with tenderness in your eyes. Feeling your own eyelids getting incredibly heavy you put the book aside. Just five minutes. You thought and, moving closer to the boy, allowed yourself a small nap.

It was not as small as you thought.

"Yes, Joyce, you have nothing to worry about." Wayne said. "They were already asleep when we got home, I don't want to wake them up. Yes, I'm sure. They will manage, they are adults. Yes, it won't be a problem for sure. Okay, bye. See you tomorrow." Eddie lazily opened his eyes and rubbed them with one hand. He listened to his uncle's words looking on in disbelief that you were still here. And much closer than before he fell asleep. He brushed your hair away from your face as gently as he could so as not to wake you up.

"Hey, kid." Wayne whispered. "I talked to Joyce, she can stay."

"Thanks, Wayne."

The man smiled and winked at him, closing the door behind him. Eddie took the blanket that lay at the other end of the bed and covered you. In your sleep you turned your back to him and he took the opportunity to embrace you becoming a big spoon. Feeling you move even closer and snuggle into him he thought his heart was about to explode. Your back touched his abdomen causing a slight pain in the areas of the still healing wounds, but this pain was bearable. Besides, it was nothing compared to the happiness he felt.

As the first rays of sunlight broke through the cracks in his blinds and his watch indicated the unmercifully early hour Eddie sighed unhappily. He had never been one of the early birds, and there was no promise of change in that regard. When he opened his eyes he remembered why he was actually sleeping in his clothes. You must have turned in the night because now your face was facing his. You kept one hand under the pillow and the other lay on his side. He wanted to close the gap between you and wake you up with a kiss like in one of the cheap rom-coms, but he didn't know if he could let himself do that. Kissing you in front of his cousin was justified, since you were going to pretend to be a couple, you had to be convincing, but wouldn't doing it when it was just the two of you be too much? He was weighing all the pros and cons when he noticed your eyes slowly open.

"Good morning Eddie." you said stretching.

"Good morning, panda." he replied in a whisper. You looked at him questioningly, and with his thumb he lightly rubbed the black mascara marks under your eyes that must have formed there overnight.

"Oh, shit." you said while covering your face. "'m sorry." you muttered and sat down on the bed.

"Don't be, you look cute." So cute I want to kiss you again and again and... again. His brain didn't let go recalling these visions every now and then. Instead, he simply told you that if you wanted to dress up you could borrow something from his closet. Since your top was a bit sweaty after the sleep, you agreed by taking one of the Hellfire shirts and went to quickly get yourself cleaned up in the bathroom. Then you waited for Eddie to shower and get dressed and helped him with his bandages as you always do. You had seen him shirtless countless times, but now that he was sitting in front of you on the bathtub in only loose sweatpants you were overcome by a feeling that you only allowed yourself in the privacy of your room by fantasizing about your friend. You were afraid of the fact that these fantasies were now at your fingertips, and before you could stop yourself your hand actually moved toward him. Eddie, as if in a trance, equally enchanted by the moment, watched your every move. Your fingers gently traced a path on his body. Starting with a healthy cheek, continuing on his neck, shoulder and then chest.

"Do you like what you see, sweetheart?" he said, unable to catch his breath.

"Very," you whispered biting your lower lip.

"I like what I see, too." He confirmed by pushing your hair off your shoulder. He imitated your movements. Starting by gently brushing your face, neck and arm which was slightly exposed by the fact that his shirt was too big on you. Your breathing became faster and faster as you rested your forehead against his. His hands quickly found their way to your waist pulling you as close to him as he could. And then you kissed him. No matter how close you stood to each other until your lips were joined the gap was too huge. Initially shy and tentative sparks ignited a fire. The desire that had been bubbling inside you for a long time exploded. Still kissing you, he got up from the tub pushing you toward the wall so that you were trapped between it and him. Trapped? You were not going to escape even if you were to burn in this fire. As he laid wet marks on your neck you sank your hand into his curls. The temperature was hotter than hell when you felt his hands go under the shirt you were wearing. His lips returned to yours as he pressed his body against yours and you felt how hard he was. You thought you were going crazy.

"Eddie..." You didn't control the moan that spontaneously left your mouth.

"Yes, Angel?" he asked pulling away from you. His eyes were darker than usual but on his lips was the same smile as always. The same dimple-showing smile that made your knees weaken.

"Please." That was all you could get out of yourself before you put your hands on his neck pulling him close. This time he was the one who moaned right into your mouth and started to roll up your shirt to take it off. And then a fire truck arrived. A huge bucket of icy water to extinguish the big fire between you. A big downpour called Theresa.

"Hello? I think you've already finished changing the bandages! Some people need to use the restroom!" she shouted, knocking quickly and hard on the door. Of course she was eavesdropping. Of course she was doing her best to squeeze in where she wasn't needed. Eddie moved away from you and unlocked the bathroom door. Visibly angry, he passed his aunt without a word and went to his room to get dressed. He was definitely uncomfortable with the fact that they could see his wounds. When he returned, he noticed you in the hallway putting your shoes on. Seeing his sad expression you smiled slightly.

"I have to go help my mom get everything ready for tonight's party." You explained grabbing his hand. "But don't miss too much, we'll see each other in a few hours, right?"

"Yeah." one corner of his mouth lifted

"See you later." In farewell you kissed him on the cheek and left the apartment. Leaving him alone with thoughts of what the hell just happened.

When you got home, you didn't have much of a chance or time to think about the morning's events. You and the rest of the household threw yourselves into the whirlwind of preparations. You sat with Mom and El in the kitchen while Jonathan and Will helped prepare the garden, carrying chairs and tables there. After some time, Steve and Eddie also came to help. Because of his condition, Eddie stayed close to you in the kitchen and Steve went to help set things up in the garden. There was a kind of tension between you and the metalhead, but it wasn't bad. All the time you were sending each other glances and smiles. When you handed him vegetables to cut, his fingers brushed yours. The tiny gestures created a kind of attraction between you, which was terribly hard to resist. Despite everything, you did not bring up the subject of what happened just a few hours ago in the bathroom.

The party was going on at its best, Hopper and Wayne were sipping beers while keeping an eye on the meat on the grill, and right next to them at the table sat Joyce, the Sinclairs, Mrs. Henderson, Jonathan, Will, Eddie, and Theresa with Adam, who today was being extraordinarily, suspiciously nice to Eddie. Shouts and laughter came from the other end of the garden. Together with Dustin, El, Robin, Argyle and Steve you were playing fresbee, while Lucas and Max cheered you on from the sidelines. The disc flew out of your hands almost every time though you didn't give up. Seeing your persistence Eddie couldn't hold back a smile.

"Eddie!" shouted Will. "Are you even listening to me?" he rolled his eyes.

"Of course! You were talking about the new campaign."

"Yeah! What exactly?" Silence and the Dungeon Master's reddened face was the only answer he got.

"Will give him a break, you can see that something else is on his mind." interjected Jonathan. "Or rather, someone?"

"Is that someone our sister?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." he muttered while covering his face with his hair.

"So, Theresa! How is life in New York for you, life in the city must be very interesting!" the voice of Joyce caught the attention of all three so they turned their heads towards the aunt.

"Oh, it is! It's also very hard. It's hard to maintain the role of the Munsons, who have not followed in the family footsteps." she laughed artfully. "Fortunately, we're doing great with Adam."

Eddie's leg began bouncing under the table at an incredibly fast pace.

"What does that mean?" Joyce asked a visibly confused.

"Our family doesn't have a very good reputation, as you well know. Not many of us are able to get out of a miserable life in a penny trailer or avoid owning a police cartorette." She sent Eddie a quick glance, through which he knew he was about to receive the final blow. As his aunt continued, his leg began to move even faster, which did not escape the Byers brothers' attention. They both sent each other somewhat frightened glances but did nothing, waiting for the situation to unfold. "When we found out that Eddie was wanted for murder we were immediately horrified that he had followed in his father's footsteps-" she didn't have time to finish when Eddie stood up abruptly looking at her. Father. A word that caused even more pain than the pack of demobats tearing through his body.

"Don't-" he began in a shaky voice. "Don't you dare mention him. Don't you dare call that man my father, you understand." he tried to be calm. In truth, with all his might he wanted to be self-controlled now, but it all seemed too much. All week he had bravely endured everything she said about him. But now when she did it in front of everyone he cared about, when she did it in front of your family, pulling the strongest card in the process he couldn't stand it. Wayne and Hopper became alarmed and walked closer to the table, but that didn't stop him. "This man is nobody to me. A stranger. A fucking sperm donor nothing more. He is a murderer. He killed my mother, and your sister. His last name is Davis. Not Munson." He felt something tighten in his throat. Something making it difficult for him to breathe. "My father's name is Wayne Munson. He raised me, he changed my last name, so don't you ever dare call that man my father again." Saying all this, he looked her straight in the eye. He wanted to make sure she understood every single word he said. Feeling tears come to his eyes and he quickly turned away walking into the house. He couldn't afford to cry in her presence. That's why it wasn't until he was in your room that everything he held inside gave vent. Angrily, he grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it with all his strength onto the floor then sat on it himself while leaning against the bed. He took the pillow cuddling his face into it. As the smell of your scent filled his nostrils even more tears flowed into his eyes. Like tentacles full of venom, thoughts of Aunt Theresa being right wrapped around his mind. He thought he wasn't worthy of you. Maybe she was right that he didn't have a good future ahead of him. If he couldn't provide it for himself how could he provide it for you as well? How could a freak hated by the whole city be worthy of someone as wonderful as you? He felt like screaming. At that moment he hated himself even more than his aunt.

"I thought I'd find you here." Hopper said as he entered the room and sat down next to him.

"Yeah?" Eddie earned a smile while wiping away tears.

"Actually, I think that would be everyone's first thought."

"So obvious."

"Listen... I shouldn't say this, but your aunt is really insufferable. Don't worry, okay? Everything she said was one big bullshit."

"Looking at how many times I rode with you in the police car I wouldn't agree," his words were bitter and full of sadness.

"I know you Eddie. I admit that at some point you were not on my list of favorites, but later I got to know you from a different side as well, and I have to admit that Wayne did a great job raising you."

"Wayne is a great guy," he said.

"So are you." Seeing Eddie only nodding in the negative, he sighed heavily and continued. "I know the man your aunt was talking about. And you are nothing like him. You almost died protecting my kids. You are a hero. And you make one of my daughters damn happy, so as far as I'm concerned you're one of the best people I've met in this messed up life."

"You think I make her happy?" the wall of sadness was shot through with tiny hope.

"Very happy. That's why I don't even want to dig into why she came home in your T-shirt today."

"That- it's not what you think," he began to explain.

"I said I don't want to hear about it. Besides, she came back today very smiling. I haven't seen her like that in a long time."

"Eddie what happened? Jim?" when you noticed that Eddie had disappeared from the table you asked Will where he had gone, and he only said that towards the house, without giving you any details. Moments later you found him sitting on the floor with Hopper. His eyes were a little puffy and red, and you knew he had been crying. You were afraid that Hopper might have said something that led to this, and as if reading your mind he raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

"I didn't do anything. Your boy just felt a little worse, you know yourself how wounds can sometimes give you a hard time."

Hearing this seconds later you were on your knees next to Eddie. "Do you need painkillers? Maybe you need to rest? You can stay here and sleep." With concern in your eyes, you watched his eyes become even glassier. "What can I do to help you, Eddie?" without a word he pulled you close with a hug. You were his safe heaven. He knew that with you he could be vulnerable. "Eddie, I don't want to hurt you, I don't want your wounds to hurt you even more." You said quietly scared that such closeness could inflict more pain on him.

"I don't care 'bout them," he muttered into your hair.

"Come down to us when you're feeling better, we'll be making a fire soon to toast marshmallows." Hopper said, leaving you alone.

The two of you sat cuddled together for some more time. When you returned to the rest of the party, you didn't leave his side for a moment, making sure he was feeling fine and everything was okay. The rest of the evening passed peacefully, especially when you all sat around the campfire listening to the melody of the acoustic guitar that "slays dragons."

When the day of salvation arrived and the intruders left the Munson kingdom Eddie could breathe a sigh of relief. Even Wayne admitted that their visit was too much to bear and they deserved a rest. Still, Eddie could not rest. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered what your relationship would look like now. Will you forget everything that happened? Such as how close you were to each other? He tried everything to clear his head. Playing his guitar, writing songs, planning campaigns, drawing- nothing. Completely nothing was able to pull his thoughts off track. Countless times he approached the phone and was already almost grabbing the receiver but chickened out at the last moment. At the point when he could no longer handle himself he sat down on the couch with Wayne and they watched TV in silence. But whatever was playing on it didn't help. Then he heard a knock on the door. The thought crossed his mind that maybe it was his aunt who had returned, which in itself made him feel sick. Fortunately, it was you. Although the look on your face didn't indicate that you just came here to hang out. You were nervously biting your lips and your eyebrows crinkled together as you played with your fingers.

"Eddie, we need to talk." you said when he let you in and without a word you went to his room.

"What's wrong? I know pretending to love me for a week was hard, but I didn't think it was that hard." he tried to joke.

"Shut up!" you exclaimed. Your lower lip began to shake and tears came to your eyes. You had thought about the course of this conversation many times before coming here, but you didn't expect to be so carried away by your emotions. Seeing his surprised and then somewhat hurt look made you feel terrible for having erupted like that. He deserved an explanation. He deserved the truth. He didn't deserve yelling at him, for sure.

"I'm sick of how badly you talk about yourself. I'm sick of how you think you're not worth loving, because- because loving you is easy, Eddie! The easiest." you began, feeling like you were about to die of nerves, but you came here with a purpose and you were going to fulfill it. "I want to love you the way you deserve it. And you deserve the purest, the most honest and the strongest kind of love in the whole world. And I know that if you only let me, I will be able to give it to you. But I want you to know that I will understand if you don't feel the same way about me," the last words passed through your throat with extreme difficulty. You were ready to take the risk. A broken heart was a better option than keeping your feelings for him hidden. Especially since you had the opportunity to see what life at his side might look like. It looked like a dream. And you have to fight for dreams.

"You know I'm not the best at talking about feelings." he sighed. "So I'll use a little help," he said taking a couple of D&D figures in his hand and sat down on the bed. You sat down across from him. "If this were one of the campaigns I would say that a very important part was when Eddie the Banished and Y/n Golden Heart had a battle that lasted a week with two, extremely nasty monsters," the figurines portrayed a small fight scene. " After the monsters were gone they both met, in King Harrington's palace in the lobby, just by the door. Not feeling like feasting, they sneaked out and climbed onto the roof of a small shed that was nearby. Under the cover of night, they felt like they were the only people in the world. The night was beautiful. And the fact that evil was not lurking just around the corner gave it an added charm. The wind gently rustled between the trees, the hushed sounds of the feast could be heard in the background, and they were so immersed in a conversation they had created that they forgot about everything else. They talked about comets, about the next adventure that awaited them, about anything they wanted to talk about. The stars in the sky shone brighter than usual. They heralded the beginning. A good beginning." He grabbed your hand. It was a little sweaty because he vas nervous but you didn't care about it at all.

"How do you know it's a good one?" you asked quietly sniffing and feeling that you were calming down. You've always known that Eddie is amazing at storytelling, but this was the first time it involved something so sensitive.

"As the first shades of orange appeared in the sky and the sun gently began to illuminate his companion's face, Eddie the Banished realized a very meaningful matter."

"What kind of matter?" you waited impatiently for the continuation.

"From the very beginning as soon as y/n Golden Heart appeared in his life he couldn't stop thinking about her. He couldn't remember anything because all his thoughts were directed only toward her. At first he thought she charmed him with a bunch of curses, after all she was the most powerful witch in the kingdom. Because of this, he thought, he felt a constant need and desire to always be by her side. Having once been under the influence of the fumes created by the powerful herbalist Argyle, he wondered what kind of magic it would take to reduce him to the size of a rat, so that he could hide in a pocket in her robe to be by her side for a few moments longer." He laughed, and you dreamily listened on. "His life was like a hurricane. It rushed dangerously with unimaginable speed bringing with it a lot of destruction and dangerous changes. But despite the hurricane, he waited for a warmer front. That morning when y/n the Golden Heart closed her eyes and smiled slightly feeling the warm rays of the sun surround her face, he realized that she was the warmer front. They had survived a lot, rescued each other by pulling out of fires and getting out of rivers, defeated the scariest monsters in the kingdom. And they were together. They never left each other's side. It reached him that his feelings were not caused by curses. What he felt was stronger than a curse. It was love. Simply put, he was in love with her, and to his last breath he wanted to be with her."

"Eddie..."

"Yeah?"

"How many points do I have to roll to kiss you right now?" hearing this sentence from your mouth he knew that nothing more was needed for his happiness, so without hesitation he joined your lips together.

Eddie was right that this was the beginning. A very good beginning.

taglist: @i-me-mine

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