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angel-of-the-moons · 2 months

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A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Jake, Steven) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst. Angst angst angst! Mentions of childhood trauma, child abuse, self-doubt

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long guys, I've been going through... well, a lot lately and it pained me because I wanted to work on so much but I've been so emotionally-burnt out I've been struggling creatively (Yet again falling into the age-old trap of "My stuff is never as good as ___'s" that many of us struggle with)

But I'm hoping, that with this, I can start to feel a bit better!

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika

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Chapter 10:

On The Wings Of An Icarus

Jake knew Layla still didn’t fully trust him, based on his propensity for violence. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if she downright hated him, and only tolerated him and spoke politely to save face, for Marc and Steven’s sake.

But, god help him if he didn’t go all out after that night; the night he noticed your soul mark. He showed no mercy on those that Khonshu dispensed him after. Layla practically had to knock him out to get him off; and if he didn’t reign in his control when he did, Marc and Steven would have known something was up. That calm, cool, and collected Jake had cracked because of something and he knew they would attempt to either front or co-front to find out what had shaken him so.

He fisted the glass in his gloved hand, reigning himself in just enough to avoid cracking it.

Three crescent moons, all connected. Each one waxing or waning depending on who was in control of their body or simply co-fronting. You said so yourself.

God, who else could that be referencing if not he, Marc, and Steven? He doubted it was just a goddamned coincidence.

It killed him that he had to keep it a secret from the two of them, but he had no choice. It hurt worse knowing that he wouldn’t be able to tell you–probably never.

You were so�� so close. And so far. Like a mirage of an oasis in the desert, always on the horizon, tangible enough to see but not close enough to touch, to hold in his hands.

But… even if they couldn't approach you as their soulmate... Jake could at least let Marc and Steven have you as their friend. Maybe that would assuage the tugging he already knew that they felt.

He had to think of an excuse for if–when–they noticed your mark… Steven would most likely notice it first; he had a habit of looking anywhere else other than someone’s face when he conversed with them, picking at his oversized sleeves and keeping his eyes moving while over-informative words poured from his mouth. Marc was… less observant to such things.

But he would definitely notice if he spent more time with you (not as significantly as Steven does, but still), Marc would get comfortable, enough to let his eyes wander, to open himself up to you. After all… you were their soulmate, it was only natural to feel safe enough around the other half of your very existence, to let your guard down. It was a dangerous game Jake was betting on, being so close to you. He wanted to keep you away, to keep you safe.

But… was it so wrong they have this? Even just a friend? All the horrors they'd been subjected to, the pain, the abuse, the loss… Would it still be so bad to have you, even in that tiny capacity?

But at the same time… if Khonshu tried to use you as leverage–assuming he didn't already know about you–he wouldn't be able to contain himself if something happened under Khonshu’s supervision, as lax as it could be at times.

If someone hurt you? Fuck, he would snap.

He would fight and keep fighting until whoever it was was a bloody mass of pulp and bone fragments.

He looked into his glass of bourbon, a smoky honey flavor that tasted like it had been aged close to a decade. A bit pricey, given the pub he was at, but he needed something right now, something strong enough to numb his mounting anxiety.

His hand slid beneath his jacket to touch his shirt, his gloved fingers knotting in the crisp white fabric as he remembered the night when that human trafficker stabbed him, and he subsequently ripped the knife out.

He'd apologized to you, then, without realizing it was you he apologized to, for being so reckless.

But now that he knew... the guilt came back. How could he be so reckless? So foolhardy as to not take note of his surroundings to prevent that?

You could feel each other's pain. That realization made the abuse he and Marc–and even Steven to a degree–suffered with as a child even worse. The pain your tiny, frail body probably felt–the burns, the welts, the patches of ripped out curls…

He remembered, when he first came into existence; when it got too bad, he would front momentarily to take the worst of the injuries Wendy would inflict upon their poor young body. Marc didn't even know what was happening in the beginning, nor did Steven.

But Jake always knew.

It was like his burden, his own personal curse as the protector. He was cursed with the knowledge that he knew things he couldn't tell others, to protect everyone around him.

Marc, Steven, Layla…

And now you, it seemed.

How could he…

“Jake?” Layla asked, her hand gripping his thick forearm in her small, soft hand, her dark brows pinched upwards in concern. “You were… spacing. Looked like you were thinking about killing someone.” She added.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, hissing between his teeth. He could feel it, Marc–or perhaps Steven–threatening to swim to the surface of their headspace to investigate the turmoil and inner upset Jake was overthinking on.

“Lo siento.” He muttered, looking at her for a moment before tipping the glass and downing the last mouthful of bourbon before continuing. “I was…”

“Thinking about her. I can tell.” She admitted, turning her barstool so she could face him, her lips pursed in a thin line.

This was difficult. With Marc and Steven, Layla always knew an approach. But with Jake, she never bothered to learn one. She didn't trust him–not fully, yet–so she never felt the need. From how she found out about him, how the other two figured out that they weren’t the only two inhabiting the body… He never really gave Layla an “in”, so to speak; to learn more and break past those emotional barriers that crumbled when she spoke to Marc or Steven. Damn him and his apparent emotional stoicism!

But seeing just how tortured she finally realized he felt… yeah, Jake did bad things on behalf of that old codger, Khonshu, but…

He carried so much weight on his own shoulders, withheld so much pain to protect others that he may as well have been Atlas, doomed to carry the world on his back for all eternity, never being able to shirk the weight like the mythological person.

It dawned on her, that night on the rooftop over your shop and flat, just how little she truly knew about Jake Lockley.

She didn't know anything she didn't want to know, even from Marc or Steven's mouth. It was just her way, after her father died and Marc fell into her life; to not ask too many questions so she could sleep just a wink better than the nights before.

Jake was violent, scary, methodical… but was he really? Or did she just paint him that way to justify her distrust over the fact Khonshu still used him as Moon Knight and used him to rope poor Marc and Steven back into the role as his Fist?

He wasn't some scary boogeyman, he was… a guy. A guy who loved his “brothers”, his friends, who protected–and loved–fiercely and with his whole being. A man now struggling with the weight of flinging himself into the very instincts so many throughout their lives craved to feel when they finally found their soulmate, or simply denying the possible bliss of being cradled in your loving arms, spending the rest of your lives together…

“Sí, it's… I'm trying to think of a way to keep Marc and Steven in the dark. Maybe if… if I just let them think of her as a friend...” He sighed.

Layla frowned. Okay that was another reason that reminded her why she didn't fully trust him, yet. The fact he was willing to hide such important things from Marc and Steven to “protect” them.

Yes, it was important to protect them, but some things are just inevitable, bound to be found out.

It's the difference between ripping off a bandage or pulling a child out of a clean room.

Pulling off the bandage, yeah, it'll hurt for a moment but it will pass.

However, if you put a child inside of a sterile bubble, the moment that bubble bursts, their immune system will be compromised and they won't be able to adjust to the changing environment around them…

“Jake… sometimes you just have to rip off the band-aid.” Layla replied. “You won't be able to hide this–hide her–from them forever.”

He wiped at his face, and made a frustrated groan. The buzz of the alcohol did little to ease his concerns. After all, once he took up the mantle tonight, his buzz would evaporate like dew beneath the summer sun. Not that London saw much of that these days.

“I know, Layla. I'm just… trying to buy time.”

“Jake… when it comes to your soulmate…” Layla said, giving him a sympathetic look.

“You don't have enough money in the world to do that. It will happen. Whether you're all ready for it or not.”

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Jake hadn't slept well that night. Marc and Steven needed a break, so they were still in the back of his mind, in the headspace, not really conscious of what Jake had been doing inside the body. They thankfully agreed to let Jake assume control, to give his headmates a much-needed break.

“Just like old times?” Layla had quipped sardonically, and, of course, Jake had to pretend the comment didn't hurt him at all. It did, but… he still didn't want her to feel bad about saying it.

Sure, he's done questionable and sometimes horrible things, but it was all for them. Marc, Steven, Layla, innocent people, and now… you.

Beautiful, sweet, oblivious you.

He'd started coming to your shop more, under the excuse that you had good coffee (which honestly you begged to differ, it was merely stuff you bought in bulk at the market) and the quiet atmosphere was more relaxing than a regular cafe; which even you agreed was rather dead. Many people didn’t stop in for a cuppa when simply buying old sci-fi novels…

Jake had even gone so far as to bring the stacks of books that Steven had been meaning to bring to you for a trade-in credit, just for another excuse to come in to see you.

It was all to keep you safe, to make sure nobody bothered you, to make sure you were doing okay.

He promised himself there was nothing less.

But even so, you were the candle flame to his moth, and he was drawn to you.

Drawn to you, but knowing if they got too close or touched you, they would burn, and there would be no going back once they did. What was that saying about flying too close to the sun?

He just… he couldn't let any of you know that he knew. As painful as it was to admit, he was already falling for you and he couldn’t bear to face it for fear of throwing caution to the wind and losing it all.

Not until today, not until he went to the market down the block, in search of something to cook for dinner. It was pouring outside, despite the forecasters saying to expect sleet. No, no, of course it wouldn't be sleet. It was just freezing cold rain. Rain that felt like tiny frozen icicles hitting his skin in fat droplets.

He shook his jacket, the droplets falling from the leather and onto the large carpet beneath his feet at the entrance. After that, Jake pulled his cap back up and nodded politely to the greeter and proceeded his way inside. He was craving something, but wasn’t sure what. Something with a little kick, something with meat. So, undecided on what in particular he wanted to eat, he settled for wandering the aisles, randomly picking up items here and there, pretending to read the labels until he made up his fractured mind.

“Jake? Jake Lockley?”

His head whipped up so quickly he almost felt his vertebrae snap when he lifted his eyes to meet yours, innocent and twinkling as you appeared so sure of your guess. You were instinctively right, of course, but the inner jokester within him was tempted to fake Marc’s voice to mess with you.

He shoved his hands into his jeans–mostly to conceal how badly they were shaking–and tossed you what he hoped was a charming, convincing smirk, “Ah. Caught me red-handed, Rosa. How’d you guess?”

“Well, aside from the fact you’re wearing your trademarked hat and jacket…” You playfully tapped your nose and winked at him. “...You look like you just caught a whiff of–and stepped in--horse shit.”

Jake couldn’t suppress himself, chuckling and shaking his head, “That’s a… unique way of putting it.”

“I’m full of surprises!” You beamed proudly, “So, what’re you here for? I don’t think I’ve bumped into you here, before!”

“Ah, I’m here to… well, find something to eat. Or well, more accurately, something to cook to eat.” He sighed and tipped his head. “I might just buy a frozen dinner and call it a night.”

The offended gasp his comment elicited from you made butterflies flitter about in his belly. He felt like a teenager talking to the popular girl he had a crush on in school.

“Oh no you will not! So many of those have awful preservatives and just aren’t healthy for you!” You tut, reminding him so much of Steven. He couldn’t hold back his smile as you ranted and spoke about healthy eating habits, honestly reminding him of Steven in this moment.

His attention began to wonder as he took in every bit of your face–every blemish or thing you may consider yourself to be an imperfection, tracing every dip and contour of your cheeks, nose, and the slope of your jaw…

“You know what–” You huffed, the hand that wasn’t holding your basket firmly planted on your hip. “No. Why don’t you come have dinner with me? The thought of you making something like some yucky frozen meatloaf is just… blegh.”

Jake felt his brain record-scratch, finally being pulled out of his admiring stupor. “I–what? Oh, no, no, I don’t think that…” He floundered.

Him! The Jake Lockley, left without a quip to be uttered!

“Nah.” You say, walking past him. “I'm making you dinner. C’mon, I’ll need help grabbing stuff.”

On sheer instinct, he followed you like an obedient puppy. “Look, uh, I…”

“Not takin’ no for an answer, Lockley. Now, c’mon!”

The man was hopeless. All he could do was admire your figure and personality once again. Sweet, gentle–but also fiery and bull-headed when it suited you.

Jake fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Layla’s number, texting;

“Order something out for dinner, La-La… It looks like I have plans.”

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Chapter 11: Soonish (I promise)

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader #moon knight x reader #soulmate au

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punkshort · 9 months

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Chapter warnings: sexual tension, language, f masturbation, angst

Chapter Four

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

June 2003

The audit had been underway for roughly a week. You had volunteered, along with Colleen and Debbie, to work some overtime. The three of you and Heather blocked off a conference room on your floor for the next two weeks after hours, diligently working until about 8pm almost every night.

The audit was pretty standard. The auditors supplied a huge list of reports and documentation they wanted to review, and you spent most of your evenings working away on your assigned items. The evenings went by surprisingly fast, and it turned out to be kind of fun. You ordered in food to eat together while working. You got to know a lot more about your co-workers, finding you had much more in common than you thought. One evening, you and Debbie discovered she had grown up in a town only 20 minutes away from your hometown. Needless to say, you spent the rest of the night talking about favorite restaurants and mutual acquaintances.

One day, you were walking from the conference room, your grey ruffled skirt swishing around your knees, heading back towards your department. You were looking down at the paper in your hands, reminding yourself what files you needed to look for in the cabinet. Given the time of day, you were surprised when you ran headfirst into a hard wall of muscle as you rounded a corner, dropping the paper in your hand. It was almost 7pm, you hadn’t expected anyone else to be working.

Two large hands reached out and grabbed your shoulders to keep you steady. His scent hit you first, a comforting aroma of leather and citrus, and you knew it was Joel before you even looked up.

When your eyes met his, his face showed as much surprise as your own.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t expect anyone to be here this late,” you apologized, leaning forward to pick up the paper you dropped, but he held out a hand to stop you.

“My fault. Here, let me get that,” he said, bending down. “I wasn’t payin’ attention. What are you still doin’ here?”

He picked the sheet of paper off the ground, his face inches away from your bare calves, causing your throat to tighten. You shifted your weight, trying to subtly create more distance between you two. Joel turned his face towards you at the movement, eyes briefly flashing up and down your legs as he slowly straightened himself upright, towering over you. He held out the sheet of paper, which you took quickly, trying to hide the slight tremor in your hand.

You cleared your throat and glanced down at the paper. His eye contact was intense, it made you nervous and excited at the same time, and you found you fared better when you took a few moments to collect yourself by looking elsewhere.

“I volunteered to help with the audit," you explained. "A few of us have been working most evenings, I was just heading back to look up some files,” your eyes flicked over to the locked door, then settled back on him. His face was softer than usual, plush lips parted, and hands shoved in his pants pockets as he listened.

“I’ll come with you and carry 'em back, that looks like a long list.”

Before you could respond, he turned around and was punching his security code into the keypad. He opened the door and looked back at you.

“Are you coming?” he asked. Your cheeks flared at the direction your mind took with that question, scooting into the room as the door fell shut behind you. You walked by the printer and grabbed an empty cardboard box. Heading in the direction of your cube, you placed the box on the floor near your desk and began getting to work rifling through the file cabinet across the aisle.

Joel slowly trailed in after you, glancing around the room curiously, noting that you two were completely alone.

“I don’t make my way down here as much as I should.” Joel said, leaning against the wall of your cubical and crossing his arms. “Looks like you’ve settled in,” he added, eyeing up a few picture frames placed on your desk.

You looked over your shoulder, taking a moment to appreciate how strange it was to have him standing at your desk.

"Yep," you agreed, turning your attention back to the files, trying to work fast.

Joel leaned in a little closer to examine your photos, seemingly unaware of how distracted he was making you. He smugly noticed you didn't have any pictures of the Ken doll. He straightened back up, glancing down at your half-filled banker's box, then his eyes traveled over to the empty cubicle on the other side of the room.

"Did your boyfriend land on his feet?" he asked before he could stop himself. His eyes remained glued to the empty desk, unable to look you in the eye.

"I'm not sure, we broke up," you replied, distracted. Then the impact of his words hit you. "Wait, how did you know we were together?" You stopped sifting through files and turned towards him, waiting for his answer.

Joel shrugged and turned back around to face you, but only once he was able to wipe the stupid grin off his face at your admission.

"Wasn't hard to figure out, the way he'd look at you and couldn't keep his hands off you." Joel stated matter of factly. His heart was beating faster at the direction the conversation was headed, and he couldn't keep his mouth from turning up into a half smirk at how flustered he seemed to make you.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear nervously, shifting your eyes between him and the file cabinet, before giving the file cabinet your full attention again.

He noticed when Justin put his hand on your leg during that meeting.

"I'm sorry if that was inappropriate. He was only trying to calm me down." You kept your eyes down on the sheet of paper in front of you, looking at what was next on the list. He was your boss, and no matter what attraction you may have for him, you had to remind yourself this was a professional workplace.

Joel's face fell, and he immediately felt guilty. He hadn't meant to imply you had done anything wrong.

Why was he so bad at this?

"That's not what I meant, I..." he trailed off as your fingers stilled on the paper before you, intently listening but still not looking at him. "I just meant... shit, I don't know, I was just explainin’ how I knew, is all." He ran his fingers through his hair, getting frustrated with himself. His gaze fell on your pictures again.

"These your folks?" he asked you, pointing to one of the frames.

You turned to look at the pictures. You nodded and smiled warmly. His pulse began to return to normal: you were back on track.

"Yeah, those were taken at my graduation, so a bit old now. I should update those." You looked at them once more fondly, before turning back to the file cabinet.

"I gotta do that too," Joel murmured. "Change my pictures, that is. Tommy pointed it out the other day."

You smiled sweetly in his direction, making his heart flutter, and announced you were done. He bent forward to pick up the box of files. This time you were ready, and you made sure you had more room between you.

You held the door open for him as you both exited the room, back into the hallway. You passed Heather's closed office door, hearing her muffled voice as she talked on the phone.

Luckily, the conference room wasn't far. You opened the door, confused to just find Debbie still working. She did a double take when she saw Joel behind you holding a box. Debbie straightened up in her chair, gave a stiff greeting, and hunched back over her computer, trying to look busy.

"Where's Colleen?" you asked, sitting down in front of your laptop. Joel placed the box next to you on a chair, and you lifted your head up to smile your thanks to Joel, which he returned.

"Tommy asked for her help with something right after you left." She was responding to your question, but she was staring at Joel, stunned to see him smiling.

Suddenly, the conference room phone rang out shrilly. Debbie snatched it up. It was Heather, asking Debbie to come to her office to help her with something on her computer. Being a younger employee in the department meant you were the first line of defense against technical issues.

Debbie looked relieved as she got up to exit, but not before giving one more curious glance in Joel's direction as she left, shutting the door.

It was just the two of you again. He wandered over to the white board in the room and read over the list of tasks under each person's name. You wondered why he was still here, but you didn't want to draw attention to it. You stared down blankly at your computer, trying to think of something to say.

Fortunately, you didn't have to.

"Your friend seems jumpy," he stated, still turned towards the white board.

You grinned at his back. Surely, he was joking. Feeling a little more comfortable around him, you said sarcastically, "Yeah, I can't imagine why."

At that, Joel turned to look at you, genuine confusion painted across his face. You looked at him incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

Joel shook his head and you let out a small huff of laughter.

"You do realize everyone is afraid of you?" you boldly asked.

The corners of Joel's mouth turned up slightly, and he cast his eyes down quickly, quirking an eyebrow, before meeting your gaze again.

"Not you," he said, ticking his jaw to the side.

You gave a breathy laugh at his response.

"Are you sure about that?" you teased.

You watched as his gaze slowly turned from playful to heated, sending your pulse racing and making your grin vanish. His smile faded away as he walked around the table towards you. Like an animal hunting its prey.

You parted your lips slightly to accommodate your need for more air, your chest rising faster. The tremor returned to your hands that were delicately placed over your keyboard. You kept your head facing forward towards your monitor, but your eyes were glued to him approaching you from the side.

Joel placed one large hand flat on the table next to your computer, inches from your own. He leaned down, hovering over you, as his other hand gripped the back of your chair. Your heart was beating so fast, you were beginning to feel lightheaded. Your quickened breath was making your lips dry, so you shot your tongue out to dampen them, keeping your head positioned straight in front of you.

Joel's gaze caught your tongue shooting out of your mouth, and his breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a few moments and inhaled the floral scent drifting up from your hair. He could feel himself getting hard at the tension filling the room.

"You don't gotta be scared of me, sweetheart. I don't bite," he said to you, his voice husky, barely above a whisper. "Well, that’s a lie. Sometimes I bite," he couldn't resist adding with a smirk.

You couldn't stop the gasp that left your mouth at his words. Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to stabilize your breathing, and you squeezed your thighs together under the table. The way his voice sounded and the innuendo in his words was causing your panties to grow damp. You opened your eyes and turned your face up towards him, finally seeing the heat behind his stare and the tension in his jaw. The hand that rested on the back of your chair was gripped so tight, his knuckles were turning white. Like he was fighting to hold himself back.

You opened your mouth to say something, but words failed you. When you went to shut your mouth, you gently sunk your teeth into your lower lip. His eyes flicked towards the movement, his own lips parting, and released a shaky breath.

The door banged open suddenly, revealing Tommy with his arm loosely wrapped around Colleen’s waist, giggling as they entered the room. Joel jumped away from you, shoving his hands back in his pockets as you clamped your mouth shut ruefully.

They seemed just as surprised to see you both, but slower to untangle themselves.

“Hey there, brother, didn’t realize you were still here, too,” Tommy gave Joel a mischievous grin, looking back and forth between the two of you. He glanced at Colleen, who looked disheveled and was smiling playfully at him. “Up to no good?”

Joel huffed and headed towards the door, your heart sinking in your chest, disappointed the moment was over.

"I was down here lookin’ for Heather, she needed my input on somethin’, what’s your excuse?” he shot back.

Tommy grinned and looked back towards Colleen, who had sat down in front of her computer, still smiling at him like a fool.

"Uh, yeah, same, came down to see what the status was on the thing…” his thoughts drifted away as Colleen giggled at his response.

“You mean the audit?” said Joel dryly, trying to draw Tommy’s attention away from your friend.

“Yep! That’s it!” Tommy said, snapping his fingers and heading towards the door to join his brother. “We'll see you ladies later, be good now.” He winked in Colleen’s direction, which triggered another giggle from her.

Joel rolled his eyes and grabbed Tommy by the bicep, hauling him out of the room without giving you another glance.

The moment the door shut, you and Colleen whipped around to face each other, speaking at the same time.

"Joel?!"

"You've been dating Tommy?!"

Colleen grinned, with a dreamy look in her eye, answering first.

"Not exactly. We just hook up now and then."

You gave her a suspicious look.

"I'm not stupid," she continued. "I know he's done this with more than a few other girls who work here. It's just for fun, nothing serious."

You hummed thoughtfully, still in shock. You had no idea. Colleen must keep secrets better than you gave her credit for.

"Wait, what about you two? What was that all about?" Colleen asked. "Now it's starting to all make sense, no wonder he isn't tough on you! And - oh my god! Justin?! Did Joel force your boyfriend to quit so he could have you to himself?"

Your jaw dropped at her suggestion.

"No! Absolutely not! Nothing is going on between us," you could feel your cheeks heating up. It was technically true, nothing had happened. You just flirted a little bit, that didn't count. Right?

"I don't know, you both looked really cozy when we interrupted you just now." Colleen teased. "I've never seen him look that human before, I thought he just lived and breathed work." She laughed as she turned her attention back to her laptop, a silly grin still plastered on her face from her run-in with Tommy.

After speaking with Heather, Joel kept quiet until they were safely on the elevator heading back up to the 10th floor.

"What did I ask ya to do, Tommy? Stop screwin' all our employees, we are gonna get slapped with a lawsuit one day!" Joel wasn't sure what made him more furious - the fact Tommy ignored his request, or the fact that his moment with you was interrupted. The hypocrisy wasn't lost on him, but he knew your flirtatious relationship would only go that far. He was too old for you, and, considering your ex-boyfriend, he clearly was not your type. It was just harmless and playful, he told himself. Nothing more.

"Oh, spare me, Joel! I saw you two when we came in that room! I'm tired of your bullshit!" Tommy fired back, fists squeezed at his side.

Joel spun around, facing Tommy head on with his jaw clenched and pointing a finger in his brother's face.

"I ain't gonna say it again, there's nothin' goin' on. I was just helpin' her carry a box after I nearly ran her over. I'm not stupid enough to think she's interested in me, she's just bein' nice 'cause I'm her boss."

His words hung in the air for a moment, and Tommy relaxed after he processed what Joel had said. He leaned back against the elevator wall, crossed his arms, and nodded.

"Oh, I get it now."

Joel shook his head and turned back to face the doors, refusing to acknowledge Tommy's statement.

"Joel, I think you're wrong. If you want, I can ask Colleen-"

"No," Joel cut him off, his voice softer now, feeling guilty about his outburst. "No, just... just let it go," he begged.

The elevator opened and Joel walked briskly in the direction of his office. Tommy faltered for a moment, then decided to follow him. He cleared his throat to make his presence known, but Joel didn't seem to care. He picked up his leather jacket and cell phone, and shut down his computer, getting ready to leave for the day and still avoiding Tommy's gaze.

"Listen, brother, I'm not sure how that Amy got your head all twisted and made you think you don't deserve to be happy, but you do. Now I know what happened was fucked up, and I don't blame ya for being hung up on it, but it's been years." Tommy said calmly, trying his best to get through to him.

Joel stilled, staring down blankly at the cell phone in his hand. He averted his gaze out the window, trying to think of what to say.

"You gotta understand, what happened makes me want to avoid relationships in the office. I caught them in the copy room, for Christsake," he croaked out. Still avoiding Tommy's eyes, Joel brushed past him and back towards the elevator.

Tommy jogged back out to the lobby to keep up with his brother.

"Oh, shit, Joel, I'm sorry. That didn't even occur to me, no wonder you are so gung-ho about me leavin' the girls alone." They stood together, waiting for the elevator doors to reopen.

"Well, I don't wanna get hit with a lawsuit, either, but..." Joel trailed off as he entered the elevator again and pushed the button for the parking garage.

Tommy slapped his hand against the side of the elevator to keep the doors from closing, and finally Joel looked up to look his brother in the eye.

"I'll leave 'em alone, I promise. I thought you were just givin' me a hard time, I didn't think it through," Tommy relented. "You gonna be alright?"

Joel scoffed lightly, "Yeah, 'course. See ya tomorrow."

Tommy removed his hand and the elevator closed.

July 2003

The audit had been wrapped up for a week now, the rest of the time very uneventful compared to the night you discovered Colleen’s secret. The same night you and Joel had that charged moment in the conference room. Whenever your mind wasn’t occupied with something else, you found that your thoughts always drifted back to that night. You replayed it over in your head as much as you could remember, desperately trying to recall the exact tone of his voice and the feel of the heat rolling off his body as he hovered over you.

On more than one occasion, you found yourself thinking about that night before you fell asleep: your hand sliding down the front of your sleep shorts, a finger dipping into your entrance to collect the wetness pooled there as you thought about Joel caging you into your seat. You had been interrupted that night, but you liked to imagine what would have happened.

You pictured Joel grabbing you by your arms and pushing you up against the conference room wall, his hands roaming up and down your sides while your hands raked through his hair. He would run one of his hands around to cup your ass, while the other went up to squeeze your breast through your blouse. Joel’s mouth would latch onto your neck as you moaned his name, grinding your hips up to his, desperate for contact. In your fantasy, Joel would feverishly rip your panties off and sink into you slowly, stretching you out and groaning in your ear about how wet you were for him.

You have replayed this fantasy over a lot in the past couple weeks, as you would hastily circle your swollen clit while another finger probed inside you, moaning out into the darkness of your one-bedroom apartment, grateful you finally lived by yourself and no one could hear.

At first, seeing Joel in the office felt awkward, embarrassed by your actions in the privacy of your own home. It became such a regular occurrence, however, that the awkwardness eventually faded away.

In fact, during your department’s monthly meetings with him, you felt more at ease. It was a stark contrast to the way you felt in your first meeting. You stayed quiet, not wanting to draw attention again, especially because Colleen thought something was happening between you and Joel. The only sensational thing was if one of you caught the other looking in their direction, which was typically met with a secret smile or a playful glance.

Today was the July monthly meeting. You sat, bored, listening to Heather discuss in great detail the end result of the audit, only looking up when she gave kudos to you, Colleen, and Debbie for helping out after hours. You smiled at her in return, feeling Joel’s gaze on you. You had a feeling he was recounting that one evening you ran into each other. You resisted the urge to look in his direction, afraid you wouldn't be able to hide your reaction.

When Heather was done, she quickly added that she had found a suitable replacement for Justin – a guy named Kyle, who had come from a competitor and had 5 years of payroll experience. He was scheduled to start Monday, which the team universally looked grateful to hear. Picking up the extra workload the past couple months was getting old.

Joel stopped Heather as she began gathering her things at the end of the meeting.

"Remember to bring me last month’s numbers before 3:30 today, I'm offsite after that.”

Heather froze for a half a second, then said enthusiastically, “Absolutely, will do!”

Everyone filed out and waited for the elevator. You chanced a look over your shoulder when you heard Joel and Tommy leave the room. Joel was wearing black dress pants and a dark blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which you greedily noticed had become the standard lately. His eyes immediately caught yours and gave you a quick wink as he headed back to his office. You could feel the tips of your ears getting hot and you had a stupid grin on your face. Luckily, no one seemed to notice the exchange as you climbed into the elevator and headed back down to the 6th floor.

Everyone was settling back into their cubicles when the keypad began pinging and the door swung open, revealing a worried looking Heather.

“I hate to ask, but can anyone please take these reports up to Joel’s office? I completely forgot I had promised him, and I just don’t have the time, I have a meeting with HR in 10 minutes to go over onboarding for Kyle, and it won’t be over by 3:30.”

The room remained completely silent, nobody wanting to offer up their head on the proverbial chopping block.

"I’ll do it,” you quietly piped up, much to everyone’s, including Heather’s, relief.

She handed you the file and briefed you on what information was inside in case Joel asked questions, and then quickly exited, on her way to HR.

Colleen grinned at you and whispered, “Why did I guess you would volunteer?”

You hushed her and once again confirmed you were not sleeping with the head of the company. She rolled her eyes.

"Don’t worry, I won’t say anything! I know that can be damaging, that’s why I didn’t tell you about you-know-who.” She winked at you and turned back to her computer, but not before whispering, “You better hurry, your boyfriend is waiting.”

For the second time, you found yourself face to face with Ruby Potter. Still ancient, and still had lipstick smeared on her front teeth. She seemed to recognize you, because this time she didn’t ask who you were here to see, she just said, “Go on in, dear, he’s free.”

You walked to his open office door and gently rapped your knuckles on the wood. He didn’t look up from his cell phone but motioned you to come and sit down. This time, you left the door open.

You sat down in the same chair as before and waited for him to acknowledge you. You took the time to glance over your shoulder at the cluster of picture frames he said he needed to update. You couldn’t really make out any of the faces, but you thought you saw Tommy in a few of them.

Joel set his cell phone down on his desk and finally looked up. The frown that seemed permanently etched on his face instantly eased when he saw it was you. You turned your head back and smiled warmly at him, which made him smile in return. You held out the folder in your hand.

"Heather was busy this afternoon and asked me to bring these up to you.”

He looked down at the folder, taking it and placing it carefully on the desk before him.

"Thank you, sweetheart... I'm glad she chose you," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

You could tell he felt uncomfortable after that, because his eyes were shifting all over the surface of his desk, looking anywhere but at you.

"I actually volunteered," you told him. He looked up at you then, not sure what to say. "You scare the rest of the department, remember?" you teased him.

You could tell his thoughts definitely traveled back to that evening in the conference room now by the way his gaze darkened, still fixed on you.

Nervous about where the conversation was going, you tried to change the mood. "Did you have any questions about the numbers, Mr. Milller?"

You did your best to sound professional, and you thought you had succeeded, but his gaze only became more heated.

"Please," he croaked out, "please call me Joel."

He sounded like he could barely say the words, like he was drowning and it was all he could get out. His face looked borderline pained as he pinned you with his stare.

"Ok... Joel," you whispered heavily. At the sound of his name, his eyes fluttered shut for a few moments, as if to savor it.

You pressed your knees together again, knowing for sure now that the attraction was not just one sided. And you think he knew it, too.

Joel opened his eyes, taking you in from across the desk. You sat there, so pretty, and looking at him expectantly with those beautiful eyes. You had asked him a question, but neither of you were worried about the answer. He could see it now, the way you looked at him and said his name. He knew he had to do this right.

He cleared his throat and opened the folder, his gaze dropping to the reports in front of him. He pretended to read them but in reality, he was watching you in his peripheral. You shifted in your seat as you waited for him to acknowledge you again. He had to make sure you didn't leave here thinking the attraction wasn't mutual. He couldn't act on it yet, he needed time to think, when his head was clear.

Joel looked up at you after he pretended to review the reports. "No questions, sweetheart. Thank you... for volunteerin'. Made my day."

You felt the blush spreading across your cheeks. You stood and thanked him, heading towards the door.

When you reached the exit, you turned around and said, "Have a nice weekend... Joel." And disappeared back into the lobby.

Joel sat there, staring at the empty doorframe, replaying the way you said his name over and over in his head.

"Fuck," he muttered. He got up and headed to his bathroom.

Chapter Five

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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mc-i-r · 8 months

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Disposable Heroes

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four Ao3

A/N: Guys, I’m so sorry for the late update! Life has been crazy for me the past couple weeks but I hope that I can get back to writing more regularly. This chapter is the well-awaited Eddie pov, as well as a ton of backstory for him that I didn’t really plan on but it just kinda came out. This chapter is kinda rushed, I’m gonna be honest, but I wanted to get it out to you guys as soon as possible since its been awhile. There are gonna be some major warnings here so I’ll post them below. Take care of yourselves and stay safe, now enjoy!

Tw: homophobia, homophobic language, child abuse, domestic violence, referenced drug use, Eddie being incredibly gay

———

It’s a muggy Sunday morning, the summer sun burning through the last vestiges of chilled night air and frosted dewdrops as it rises from its slumber. Like the sun, Eddie rises as well. However, it’s with much less fanfare and grace due to the obnoxious pounding at his front door.

He groans dramatically, shoving his face in his pillow and willing whoever the fuck decided to bother him at—he glances at his alarm clock on the other side of the room, squinting to read the numbers—nine in the morning to go away. His wish must have pissed off some universal god because the knocking only gets louder, making the window above his desk rattle with every shake of the door.

With a sigh big enough to rival the windy intro of “Holy Diver”, he pulls himself to the door in a zombie-like state. Movements sluggish from his interrupted sleep, he misses the doorknob twice before finally turning it, throwing it open with newfound strength to find one Robin Buckley in all her glory. Her fist is raised and ready to knock again, her face the epitome of righteous fury as she glares at him.

“Uh, hey Buck. Whatcha doi—“ he begins, only to be interrupted by Robin shoving past him and barging into the trailer. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and pulling on his hair slightly before shutting the door.

Kids and their manners nowadays.

“Yeah, sure, come on in. Totally fine. I wasn’t sleeping or anything, noooo,” he says to himself before turning to face his intruder. Whatever Buckley is upset about seems serious, and from the icy look she’s giving him it also seems like it’s his fault. Her hands are on her hips like she’s in a Steve Harrington impersonation contest and plans on taking home a first place prize. Something in him squirms at the thought.

But, he is nothing if not a performer. So, of course, he puts on a show.

“Lady Buckley,” he declares in a posh British accent, bowing deeply with a flourish on his arm. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine morning?”

He’s expecting a fond eye roll, or a laugh, or huff, or something. He gets silence.

“Cut the bullshit, Eddie. We need to talk about Steve,” she demands.

Steve… Now isn’t that an interesting subject?

Now, Eddie has always been different. He was loud, and jumpy, and fidgety, and the other kids never wanted to be friends with him because they were scared. He was always covered in dirt, always barefoot because he either forgot to put on shoes or the ones he had were too small for his ever-changing feet. He would talk to himself, mutter little reminders under his breath or work through the questions plaguing his mind aloud because he just functioned better that way.

Then, at eleven, he found out just how different he really was. He was outside during recess when he fell off the monkey bars and scraped his hands and knees. He huddled on the ground, tears falling down his small cheeks because it hurt and his wounds felt like they were throbbing. Then a boy, James, ran up to him and asked him if he was okay. James had stark blond hair, a face full of freckles, and bright green eyes. He looked so concerned for Eddie, and was gentle when he picked up one of his hands to inspect the cuts littered there. It was that gentle touch that elicited a flutter of butterflies in his stomach, and ever since then Eddie knew.

When he had gotten home to the trailer that day, he felt confused. Other people in his class were constantly talking about who they “liked”; boys liking girls and girls liking boys. About how they would get all nervous around their crushes, and Eddie realized he had never felt that before. All of the girls in his class were just… girls to him. They never gave him that fluttery feeling James had. But… no one ever talked about boys liking boys. No one ever said if it was okay, so Eddie thought it must not be. That boys liking boys wasn’t okay. That he wasn’t okay.

It took awhile, but he finally confessed to Wayne that he liked boys, that he got all the little butterflies that boys were supposed to get about girls. Wayne shook his head and told him that he could feel butterflies for anyone he pleased, as long as they made him happy. They both cried that night, and ended up in a hug so tight they nearly fused together.

Since then, Eddie’s come to accept the fact that he’s gay. Has added it to his whole anti-conformist persona, even. So when high school hit he let himself finally be free. He joined Hellfire club, made friends with the upperclassmen who ran it, and learned all the intricacies of D&D that he never imagined he would. After two years, he met Gareth and Jeff who joined Hellfire much in the way he did. Then, Grant joined halfway through Eddie’s junior year and he quickly recruited him as well. He found his friends, his people, and he finally let himself be himself around them.

He told them he was gay after a long session of lazily practicing in Gareth’s garage and smoking, the weed having loosened both his limbs and his lips. They were all extremely chill with it, even after the weed had worn off. That, however, didn’t exempt them from making fun of him though.

Eddie was loitering in the hallway after school, waiting on Gareth to finish up a quiz he missed the week prior, when none other than Steve Harrington walked out of the pool room in nothing but those little speedos that leave zero to the imagination. Seriously, all those girls were right, holy shit. After he picked his jaw up off the floor, he noticed Steve was looking at him with that adorable little confused puppy look before a god damned smirk fell across his face. Eddie’s face, he knew, had to rival that of a Victorian nobleman fawning over a sliver of pale skin shown by a lady across the room with her face hidden by an elaborate fan because he was literally drooling for the man in front of him.

It got considerably worse when Steve leaned down to drink from a nearby water fountain, making Eddie’s mouth go completely dry with this blatant offering of ass right in his face. In hindsight, it might not have been an offering, per say, but it was definitely there and Eddie was definitely staring. So it really wasn’t a surprise that he jumped when Gareth tapped his shoulder, Eddie having not heard him come up behind him, and he turned on his heel so fast he’s surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“Dude, you good?” Gareth asked. Eddie opened his mouth, squeaked out, “I’m fine” and immediately felt his face go up in flames. Gareth glanced over Eddie’s shoulder and he could see in slow motion the series of thoughts that crossed his mind. Gareth went from concerned to confused to understanding to smug so fast it was almost comical. When their eyes met, Eddie’s went wide.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he hissed, and the smug look only intensified.

Once they got to his van, Gareth immediately rounded on him.

“Seriously? Steve Harrington?” Gareth teased. “Of all people, it had to be that douche?”

Eddie groaned and clenched his eyes shut. “I know, Garebear, now shut up before I push you out of the van.”

Of course, news about his little crush spread around his friend group like wildfire, and soon enough he was being teased by them relentlessly. Eddie knew his crush wouldn’t get very far, Steve was very clearly straight and in a happy relationship with Nancy Wheeler of all people. Still, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about that smirk.

Just as his crush began to fade away, Steve showed up to school with a busted face and eye bags deep enough to rival shitty vampire Halloween make-up from a toddlers costume contest. Feelings came rushing back, the intense need to protect, to find out what happened and get justice for that pretty face.

Then it kept happening, and Steve showed up to school with a beat up face yet again. However, judging by his stumbling and droopy eyes, it came with a concussion this time. Just when Eddie was trying to figure out who did it, Billy Hargrove came stalking through the empty halls and all attention was focused on his scabbed knuckles. On the hungry glare he sent Steve’s way. On the way Steve shrank back a little on instinct.

And Eddie… Eddie just couldn’t leave well enough alone, now could he?

He walked up to Steve, brows furrowed. “Harrington?”

Harrington didn’t turn, eyes still focused on the spot where Billy had been before. Eddie tapped his shoulder. “Steve?”

He jumped that time, like Eddie had actually hit him, and spun to face him. Up close, his face looked a hell of a lot worse and Eddie had to suppress a wince just looking at him. Steve looked at him confused, though it was hard to tell between the swelling and assortment of bandages on his face.

“…Munson?” Steve began. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up.”

He said it flippantly, with a wave of his hand towards his left ear like that explained everything. It didn’t, but Eddie felt like it wasn’t his place to push.

“You good, man? You look like you got in a fight with a dump truck and lost,” Eddie said. “Badly.”

He expected Steve to scoff and roll his eyes, push past him and hit his shoulder too hard to be an accident. He expected him to spit some barb and walk away, to leave Eddie there in the hallway alone. None of that happened, though.

Instead, Steve smiled. A little self-deprecating, but a smile nonetheless. He huffed a laugh.

“Make it a supercharged dump truck and you’ve got it right,” Steve joked at his own expense. It resulted in a shocked laugh bursting from Eddie’s lips, which he immediately stopped by smacking a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand away. “That’s not funny. I mean… your joke was, just not,”—he gestured to Steve’s… everything—“this.”

“It’s okay man, I know what you meant,” Steve said sincerely and Eddie doubted why he was ever called King Steve. The person who stood in front of him was the furthest thing from what those jocks supposedly worshiped that Eddie had to hide another bubble of laughter.

“Seriously, dude, did you even go to a doctor?” Eddie asked, and at Steve’s wince he knew the answer. He rolled his eyes and slung an arm around his shoulders, careful not to land too hard in case he was bruised there too, and led him down the hallway towards the nurse’s station.

“Uh,” Steve began. “Where are we going?”

“The nurse,” he explained. “Figured a look wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed a little under his arm, and Eddie decided to focus on him during their walk down the empty hallway. He noticed the way his hair bounced a little with every step, how a couple strands were threatening to fall from their perfectly coiffed positions. He noticed his moles and freckles, how he had a smattering of faint ones all over his face from time in the sun. He noticed how his nose was a little crooked now, with a bump on the bridge that wasn’t there before the weekend. He noticed how pretty his eyes were, with at least three different shades of brown all swirled together like melted chocolate with flecks of forest green nestled in the folds.

He noticed that Steve was looking at him.

They had come to a stop in front of the nurse, yet Eddie’s arm was still over his shoulders. He quickly retracted it, but Steve didn’t move away and neither did he.

“Well, this is your stop,” Eddie nearly whispered out. Steve smiled, just a small quirk of his lips, and his eyes flitted across Eddie’s face.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he started. Steve took a step backwards toward the station and did a little wave with his fingers that had no right being as endearing as it was. “See you around.”

With that, he disappeared behind the thick mahogany door and Eddie was left there alone, face full of flames and smiling like he was in fucking love with the guy.

Fuck, maybe he was a little bit in love with the guy.

That feeling didn’t waver, not even after seeing him in a skimpy sailor uniform as he scooped overpriced ice cream for toddlers in the Mall. Or, when he was pinning him to the rickety wall of the boathouse he was hiding in after seeing Chrissy murdered in front of him by some freaky wizard from an alternate dimension with a broken bottle to his beautifully freckled throat.

That feeling greatly intensified when he saw Steve take an honest to god bite out of a demonic bat and spit the flesh and blood out on the dried lakebed in the previously mentioned alternate dimension.

And, really, you can’t blame him for falling all the way when he found out exactly who dragged his half-dead body out of hell and saved his life.

So yeah, Steve was a very interesting subject indeed.

“Is… Is he okay?” Eddie questions as he straightens from his hunched position, head tilting to the side and making his bangs fall in his eyes. Robin throws her hands up with a mighty huff and a frustrated groan.

“Obviously not!” She exclaims. She starts pacing around his living room, back and forth in front of the coffee table. “He’s obviously not okay because you’ve been avoiding him and making him feel like shit for months and I’m actually really worried about him ‘cause he’s been doing stupid shit that can get him killed and I don’t know how much longer he can go on like this before it completely ruins him.”

As Robin rambles, her face turns a bright shade of pink. She finishes her speech, sucking in a deep breath as if she ran out of air. Eddie’s brows furrow.

“I haven’t been avoiding Steve,” he defends weakly. He hasn’t, not really. He just… he doesn’t want to get hurt.

Okay yes, Eddie is practically in love with the guy, but that doesn’t mean Steve feels the same about him. They’re friends, that’s it. Steve is going to find some beautiful girl and get married and have the houseful of kids he’s always wanted and Eddie will be here, still pining from afar. He knows it would be easier to just forget about him, and forget about the feelings clutching his heart like a starved hawk with its first fulfilling catch in months. That’s why he’s been slowly letting go over the past few weeks, trying—and failing—to get that stupid pretty boy out of his head. Of course, it’s not working, and every day he spends not talking to Steve feels like hell.

So no, he’s not avoiding Steve. He just doesn’t think he could survive it if he confesses and Steve rejects him completely. Staying away means he won’t accidentally reveal his feelings for the man, and judging by how much he’s feeling, it wouldn’t be very hard for that scraggly cat to come clawing and screeching out of the proverbial bag.

Robin, however, thinks the opposite because according to the look she’s giving him, she says he absolutely fucking has.

Eddie sighs. “Okay, maybe I have just a little bit but it’s not—“

Eddie freezes, stomach plummeting as Robin's rambling words take purchase in his mind. She said Steve was doing something stupid, something that could kill him. Flashes of a night now a distant memory play in his mind, one filled with panicked breaths, stilted tears, and a bloody bat with nails.

“Robin… What do you mean by ‘stupid shit’?” Eddie asks tentatively. Part of him wants to know the answer, while part of him fears the idea of ever finding out. Robin only gives him a confused look and crosses her arms.

“Eddie, that’s totally not the point of this conversation and you know it—“ Eddie cuts her off by waving his hands.

“Robin! Just…” he trails off. Should he tell her about Steve? He promised he wouldn’t but…

“Okay, I have to tell you something about Steve but please please don’t tell him I told you because I promised him I wouldn’t but if you also know something about him then I think you should know about this too,” he rushes out, words tumbling fast out of his mouth as his lungs scream for air. Robin’s icy glare has melted a bit, turning into one of anxiety and caution.

He sighs and flops down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks down at his hands. He feels more than sees Robin sit next to him and he knows he has her attention.

“What happened, Eddie?” She prompts, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I had a visit from Steve awhile back, around four or five days ago,” he begins. “It was early in the morning and I couldn’t sleep so I was writing notes for a new campaign idea in the living room. I could feel that something was… off, so I looked out the window and there he was.”

He ran a hand over his face, pushing his bangs back and pulling on the ends. He glances over at Robin to find her looking at him. He squeezes his eyes closed for a moment before looking back at her.

“He wasn’t all there, Robin. Like… like he was trapped in his mind or something. I thought,” he huffs a deprecating laugh, “for a moment there, I thought he was cursed.”

He doesn’t mention that the image found its way in his head and can’t seem to find its way out, like a stubborn housefly who keeps banging against the glass hoping to be freed. The thought of Steve floating—eyes rolled back in his head while his lids flutter and his limbs shudder and break one by one—has kept him awake on more nights than he can count. The thought of him being subjected to his worst nightmares given life, all the lies that he tells himself turned to truth. The thought of Eddie being completely helpless, watching him die in agony in front of him.

He doesn’t mention that every night since then, he’s called Steve. He needed to hear his voice, to know he was okay. To know he was alive. He never got a call back.

“I got him to come inside but he didn’t stay long. Something spooked him, I think, I just… I don’t know, it was really weird. Like…” he trails off, unable to find the words.

“Like he was in fight or flight mode?” Robin suggests, and he nods.

“Pure instinct.”

Robin groans. “Shit, this is worse than I thought.”

“Wait, did he tell you?” He asks. Steve was so insistent on Eddie not telling her—made him promise, in fact—so why…?

“Well… after a very long, very emotional, and very vulnerable conversation, yes. He told me on his own terms though, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she supplies. “He… He didn’t tell me a ton of details, though. Not… Not like that.”

There’s a pause as Robin clenches her eyes closed and looks away from him.

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” her voice comes out just barely above a whisper, something he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t right next to her. Eddie stays silent, unwilling to break the solemn mood. Robin, however, misses that message entirely as she smacks his arm.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, doofus?!” She accuses, giving him a half-hearted glare that is no less threatening. Eddie holds his hands up in surrender, unable to hide the exasperated look on his face.

“He made me promise!!” Eddie defends. “Plus he gave me those damn puppy dog eyes and I couldn’t say no.”

“He is really good at that, especially when he wants something. He says he has no clue but I bet you he does,” Robin whispers, almost conspiratory as if they’re sharing a terrible secret. Eddie can’t help but smile and shake his head. Screw Harrington and his stupid pretty eyes.

“Did he say anything else while he was here?” Robin asks after a moment of silence.

“No, that was the only thing he said really, other than an absent ‘I’m fine’ before he bolted out the door. It was a very uh… one-sided conversation,” Eddie explains. “He mostly gave only one or two word answers before he panicked and ran.”

“I’m gonna assume he didn’t tell you why he left?” She asks, and at the shake of his head she curses. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

Robin shifts beside him, raising her hand to mindlessly chew on her thumbnail. He thinks the conversation is over. Or, rather, wishes it were over.

That universal god must really hate Eddie today because Robin roughly shakes her head and waves her hands around, letting out a huff.

“Okay, one problem at a time. That was totally not the point of this little talk and you know it, Munson,” she admonishes. “Why. Are. You. Avoiding. Steve?”

She punctuates each word with a, quite literal, punch to the arm. Eddie reels back, dramatically clutching his bruised arm and gives her a fake glare.

“Ow!!” He rubs his arm. For her incredibly bony arms, she really can pack a punch. He’s only half joking that it hurts.

“Answer the question!”

“Fine fine…” he takes a deep breath, knee bouncing with building anxiety before he stands up, unable to quell the urge to move. He paces twice in front of the coffee table before he has the nerve to look at her waiting gaze.

“So, as you know, I am a raging homosexual,” he states, and at his pause, she nods. “And I miiiiiight have a teeny weeny, itsy bitsy, enormous crush on him.”

The end of his sentence is rushed out, words jumbled together as he screws his eyes closed and waits for… whatever Robin’s response is going to be. He waits for five seconds. Then ten. Then twenty-five because yes he’s counting. If he knows one thing about Robin Buckley it’s that she doesn’t know when to stop talking so silence is a very rare occurrence for her and now its been a whole minute and something must be wrong so he opens his eyes to find her—

The only word that even remotely comes close to encompassing the expression on her face is seething.

He instinctively takes a step back.

“Edward Lee Munson you better explain yourself right fucking now or I swear to every god out there that I will rip out your spleen and feed it to the neighborhood dogs before you take a step out that door,” Robin all but growls out, eyes icy and cold as they stare through him. He’s quick to explain because he really quite values his spleen, thank you very much.

“Okay, okay, geez I get it! Fine,” he huffs. “I’ve been avoiding Steve because it’s hard to be around him.”

Robin only raises an eyebrow. Eddie groans. He really wishes he didn’t have to explain his big, fat, gay love this early in the morning.

“It’s hard because he’s so…. So Steve all the time. He’s so kind and caring and hot— god, Birdie, he’s so fucking hot—“

“Okay, yeah, I didn’t need to know that,” Robin interrupts.

“Sorry,” he says, a bit sheepish. “Every little smile he gives me feels like a swarm of butterflies are fighting horde-style to get out of my stomach. I just…

“I think I’m in love with him,” Eddie confesses. The way her eyes blow wide is comical, and he’s half expecting them to pop and burst like they do in cartoons.

“But I know better,” he gives her a sad smile. “I know that I’m not special, he doesn’t mean it like that. Like I want it to. And…. And I know he never will.

“I thought that distancing myself would make the feelings go away, make it… I don’t know, hurt less? But not seeing Steve at all… fuck, it hurts worse than dying and I know what that feels like. Now I don’t even have him as a friend,” he scoffs at himself, shakes his head a little and focuses on a framed picture of him, Steve, Robin, and Dustin from graduation on the wall. Focuses on how Steve’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders, hand gripping his upper arm as he smiles shyly at the camera. How Eddie himself is leaning into his side, tucked under his arm as if he belongs there. As if he’ll ever belong there. He looks back at Robin.

“But this is what’s best. I can’t have my stupid heart feeling things my brain knows it shouldn’t,” Eddie ends his little speech by flopping back down on the couch. Part of him regrets telling her, but another small, itty bitty part is almost grateful.

Eddie’s always had a way of caring too much, even from a young age. Wayne could tell you better than anyone that Eddie has always had a soft side. He could tell you that Eddie refused to let him kill any of the bugs that got into the trailer when the weather turned cold and insisted that they be put outside under the trailer where it was at least a little warmer. He could tell you that every time Eddie would see another person cry, he would too.

He’s just always been like that, so carrying this around with him everyday? It was becoming too much to bear, having to put on a face around everyone so no one could tell. So no one could see how it was breaking him inside. Wearing him down to the bone. Slowly, slowly killing him.

Robin sighs beside him and he had almost forgotten she was there. Her voice is quiet and strangely gentle as she speaks.

“Why do you think that, Eddie?”

What?

“What?” He asks incredulously and knows his face is in a similar state to his voice.

“Why do you think Steve wouldn’t like you like that? Has he said anything to make you think he wouldn’t?” She clarifies, which really doesn’t clarify anything at all for him because what?

“Um… are we talking about the same Steve? You know, Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ resident ladies man? Why the fuck would you think I’d have a shot?” He explains. “He’s so painfully straight and I am so painfully not, Robin.”

Robin just looks at him like she’s trying to read his mind. Or, rather, push a thought into his mind. Waiting for something to click. It doesn’t. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Besides, Steve never tried to talk to me about the whole distance thing, so I just—“

“You know what happens when people assume things, Eddie,” Robin interrupts.

“—figured that he didn’t mind,” Eddie finishes with a glare. Robin closes her eyes and takes a breath as if calming herself. She pinches her nose, right between her eyes like Steve always does when he’s frustrated or tired, and turns to him. She takes his hands in hers, and her face is only a mere mask of calm, the tumbling waves of anger rolling just under the surface.

“Eddie,” she begins. “Have you ever thought of the possibility that Steve doesn’t talk about his feelings? That he would keep it all bottled up inside like he does with literally everything else?”

Well, when she puts it like that…

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees. “I only found out about this whole… thing two days ago and that was only because I just so happened to catch him falling asleep at work. He wouldn’t have told me if I didn’t ask him, I know that for sure. He… Eddie, he honestly believes that this is all his fault. That he’s the one that fucked everything up between you and he kids.”

Eddie’s brain screeches to a halt. “Wait, what do the kids have to do with this?”

“You haven’t told them anything?” Robin asks, eyes going a little wide.

“Have I told a bunch of teenagers—whose opinions I regretfully respect—that I have a crush on their babysitter? No, I have not.”

“Okay, yeah that was a stupid question, sorry,” she amends. “Just… the kids are avoiding Steve and I can’t think of a reason why.”

“They’re what!? Wait, why haven’t I heard of this until now?” Eddie exclaims. Robin gives him a look that makes him deflate a little. “Let me guess, you only found out two days ago?”

“Bingo, we have a winner!” Robin fake cheers, raising her arms in a mock-celebratory fashion. She drops them with a huff. “They haven’t talked to him in weeks, Eddie, and I think it’s because you have been avoiding him.”

Her tone isn’t accusatory, but it still makes him feel like shit.

“They must have picked up the sense that something was going on between you two and assumed they should be avoiding him too,” she suggests. Eddie leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t get how they could think that, though. I mean, Steve has been nothing but good to them for years now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees. “But they’re kids. Stupid, dumb, ungrateful kids, but they’re still kids.”

Eddie drops his head in his hands, pressing hard on his eyes until spots form behind his eyelids.

“I really fucked this up, didn’t I?” He asks it rhetorically, but Robin gives a noise of agreement anyway. “How do I fix this, Birdie?”

“You could start by talking to him,” Robin suggests.

Now isn’t that a terrifying thought?

Because knowing you have feelings for someone is one thing, but telling them? That’s something so far out of the realm of possibility for him that he’s never even thought about considering it.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, Buckley?” Eddie exclaims, looking over at her with wide eyes. “I’d like to keep all my teeth if you don’t mind. I mean, I know I’m not your type and everything but some poor schmuck would probably like to look at this face one more time before it's beat all black and blue.”

Robin only rolls her eyes at his rambling—which is rather hypocritical of her if you ask him, since she seems to treat rambling as an Olympic sport she plans on winning every time she opens her mouth. She grabs his face between her hands and honest to god shakes him.

“I can’t tell you everything, but I’m telling you to trust me and talk to him,” she practically demands, giving him a pointed look much like the one from before. Except he still doesn’t know what it means, as that final piece has yet to click into place.

He nods in her hold, partially afraid of her now, and she releases him.

“We need to fix this. Now,” Eddie insists. He looks over at her. “We need to talk to the kids.”

Eddie stands up, running to his room and groaning at the mess he left. Tossing his sheets and blankets back on the bed, he reaches under his bed for the walkie he knows he last saw under there three days ago. Except, it’s not there. He stands up, scrunches his eyebrows, and thinks.

Let’s see… it was next to the keychain that was on top of the VHS sitting on the books on the corner of the desk, then he moved it when he had to answer one of Lucas’ questions which he did while he walked around the trailer and he laid it down when he finished to get some cheese from the fridge, meaning—

Eddie runs back to the kitchen, finding the walkie on top of the fridge, right where he thought it would be.

“Got ya!” He grabs it and runs back to the living room where Robin is waiting very impatiently.

“Where even was that?” She asks but he ignores her, electing to set the frequency so he can talk to the kids all at once instead of answering her. He presses the button.

“This is Eddie the Banished calling an emergency Hellfire meeting pronto,” he orders into the speaker. “I repeat, emergency Hellfire meeting.”

He waits for a response. One minute. Two minutes. Three—

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the button again. “Over.”

Immediately, Dustin responds. “Hear you loud and clear, Eddie. Is this a code red situation? Over.”

“Nope, not a code red. More of a uh…” he glances over at Robin who shrugs. “Code yellow? I think. Over.”

“What the hell is ‘code yellow’? We don’t even have one of those,” comes Erica’s, as always, sarcastic remark. Eddie can faintly hear Lucas yelling in the background.

“Munson, you better not be shitting with us.”

“I promise you, Red, I wouldn’t. Not about this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, people! You’re supposed to say ‘over’ when you’re done talking! Over.”

“Shove it, Dustybuns, the adults are talking.”

Eddie has to hold the walkie away from him at Dustin’s responding shriek. He presses a hand over his eyes. These kids are going to kill him one day.

“Guys, this is serious. Just get your asses over to my trailer as soon as possible. Robin’s already here, does someone have Little Byers and Supergirl?”

“I’ve got them. Over and out,” Mike responds.

“Erica and I are on our way. Over and out,” Lucas says.

“Be there in fifteen. Over and out,” Dustin declares. Eddie glances at Robin, sharing equally nervous and worried looks. This is not going to be fun.

Thirty minutes later, all of the kids are cramped in Eddie’s living room. Lucas, Max, El, and Mike are scrunched together on the couch, while Will and Dustin sit on the floor in front of them. Erica claimed Wayne’s recliner as soon as her and Lucas got there, refusing to move for the older teens.

Robin is standing next to him, hands on her hips again—really driving home the whole “Steve is my platonic soulmate” bit—as he stands there with his arms crossed. The two of them remind Eddie of disappointed parents about to tell off their kids, which, in reality, isn't too far off.

“Okay, what the hell?” Dustin asks, still breathless from the trek there. “I literally just got home an hour ago. Why did you call us and make us bike all the way here in the heat?”

“Because you deserve it for being shitheads,” Eddie defends and rolls his eyes. He’s met with a cacophony of dweeby teen voices as they retaliate.

“What did we do this time?”

“What?! We didn’t do anything!”

“What did Dustin do, now?”

“Me? Why am I the one being blamed? I wasn’t even here!”

“Because you’re too damn nosey, dude.”

“Ouch, Lucas. Ouch.”

“Hey!” Eddie yells, clapping his hands to get their attention. It startles them all enough to quit talking over each other and look back up at him. “Okay, I’m just going to get to the point. Why are you all avoiding Steve?”

Mike gives him a confused look and crosses his arms, his expression the epitome of teenage angst.

“We thought you hated Steve, dude. You would always leave the room whenever he was around with some shitty excuse so we just decided to do the same,” Mike answers. Dustin nods from his spot on the floor.

“Yeah, we all thought he did something or said something to you since every time we brought him up, you’d shut the conversation down somehow. It just… naturally progressed from not talking about him to not talking to him either,” Dustin explains.

“Steve stopped showing up to things, too. He used to help me practice but he’s not shown up in weeks,” Lucas adds.

“Mom’s gotten really worried about him. He’s not shown up to dinner in a while, either,” Dustin chimes in. He shrugs. “We just thought the feeling was mutual.”

Eddie clenches his eyes closed and throws his head back. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. He hears Robin shift beside him, and knows firsthand the look she’s giving them right now.

“Have any of you even considered asking Steve about this?” Robin asks accusatively. “Or even talking to him about anything other than rides or movie nights?”

Silence falls over the room, so thick and suffocating that Eddie briefly prefers the air of the Upside Down to this. He pulls his hair, scrunching down on the floor and balancing on the pads of his feet.

“This is all my fault,” he groans, twisting strands of hair frustratedly.

“It is,” Robin agrees and ignores the glare Eddie sends her way for that. “But we can still fix this.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Mike asks.

“Why does Eddie look three seconds away from strangling himself with his hair?” Max hesitates, sounding the most cautious he’s ever heard her. Eddie groans and avoids eye contact with the group.

“The reason I’m avoiding Steve isn’t because I hate him. It’s uh… quite the opposite, actually,” he explains, nervously fidgeting with his rings and pulling a thick strand of hair to hide his face. He glances at Robin, who gives him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up, and he rolls his eyes.

Max and Erica give him equally smug smirks while Will looks at him with wide, understanding eyes. The rest of the group, however, look confused.

“Wait, then why are you avoiding him?” Dustin asks.

“Dude, that makes zero sense,” Mike counteracts. El just looks lost, almost like she’s trying to read his mind. Which… he really wouldn’t be surprised if she could at this point. Eddie sighs.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie redirects. “The point is that an issue with me and Steve shouldn’t affect you guys’ relationship with him.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, and he deftly ignores the pointed look she sends his way. “Steve has been there for all of you for years.

“Dustin, wasn’t it Steve who helped you catch D’art when he escaped from your cellar? He bought pounds of meat for you to lure a demodog away with, then fought a pack of them by himself to keep you safe. Steve put himself in the line of fire again against said demodogs in the tunnels after he was beaten unconscious by Billy, then sacrificed himself to Russians just so you and Erica could make it out alive a year later.”

Dustin clamps his mouth shut from its gaping position—likely from him wanting to defend himself from the truth—and has the decency to look sheepish. Eddie turns his gaze to Lucas.

“Lucas, wasn’t it Steve who helped you train for basketball when you started to show an interest in it? He practiced with you every week, even after a long shift at work or when he felt like shit, just because you asked. Steve protected you against Billy because it was the right thing to do, and took a beating so you wouldn’t. Not many people can say they’d do that for someone else, especially not against anyone as vicious as Hargrove,” Eddie adds. Lucas drops his head in his hands, knee bouncing from his place on the couch.

“Max,” Robin begins. “Steve checked up on you every day after Billy died. He would bring you food or ice cream or a distraction, but he was always there. He would drive you to the arcade just to cheer you up, let you beat him at Dig Doug and Pinball just to see you smile. Steve was terrified to let you be the bait for Vecna, he… he kept telling me that he wished it was him instead. That he should be the sacrifice, not you.”

Robin wipes her eyes where they begin to tear up, and Eddie uses the pause to look at Mike. He still has his arms crossed, but the smartass look on his face has dwindled a little.

“Mike, I know you don’t like Steve because of him and Nancy, but you can’t hold onto that grudge forever. What happened between them had nothing to do with you, so there's no need to be mad at him for it,” Eddie states. Mike isn’t looking at him now, and something tells Eddie that the kid just needs a reality check. Hopefully, this will work. “Steve has been protecting you from the beginning, even when you were more than hostile to him. You’ve at least got to give him credit for that.”

Eddie looks around, sees the morose expressions on the kids’ faces.

“Steve has picked you all up countless times from Hellfire, waiting the entire session out in the parking lot while wasting away in his car. He was there rain or shine, snow or sleet, and he never missed a day. Not once,” he states.

Eddie first found Steve’s presence after Hellfire to be confusing, an anomaly. He didn’t know that the Steve the kids talked about was the same Steve he had a debilitating crush on in high school, not until he saw him waiting outside after the first session the kids attended, leaning against his maroon BMW like a Calvin Klein model. A ball of anxiety formed in his stomach at the sight, because one thing about Steve Harrington was that he’s unpredictable. Eddie just didn’t know if it was good or bad yet.

“You know, usually when people graduate they tend to stay away from high school, not willingly come back,” Eddie teased.

His words seemed to spark some life into Steve, as he jolted from his relaxed position against the hood to stand firmly beside his car. Steve ran a hand through his hair, and looked Eddie up and down.

“You’d probably know more about that if you managed to actually graduate, Munson,” Steve quipped, but it wasn’t mean. He had a smile on his face, and the air around him was friendly. Some of the anxiety churning in Eddie’s gut eased at the sight.

“Besides, who says I’m here willingly?” Steve asked rhetorically, as Dustin made his appearance by running up to him and immediately began talking his ears off about the new campaign. Steve turned his full attention on the boy, nodding along to certain comments even when Eddie knew for sure Steve didn’t know what the hell Henderson was talking about. The other kids soon crowded around the former jock, all talking so incredibly fast that Eddie was surprised the sound barrier survived their cracking voices.

Eddie watched as Steve glanced at him over the kids’ heads, giving him a loose smile and a shrug as if saying, ‘what can ya do?’

Soon, all the gremlins piled into Steve’s fancy car, still talking and gesturing wildly with their hands. Eddie had a passing thought that he should get Steve some earplugs or something to at least help drown out the noise. He immediately shook his head at the thought and jumped in his old, beat up van, driving home to an empty trailer and trying desperately to forget Steve Harrington existed.

“He always waits until the excitement starts to wear off before he takes you all home, letting you talk to each other for nearly an hour after each session despite the fact he never has a clue what you’re talking about. He always listens to you guys, no matter what,” Eddie supplies. “Did you guys know he has mixtapes for each of you?”

At the question, they all look at him with varying degrees of confusion and an all-too-late realization. Eddie huffs, while Robin mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, ‘of course they didn’t.’

“There’s one for each of you, filled with songs you like or mentioned liking at some point despite some of them not being his own taste. He listens to you, all of you, and it fucking hurts to know you don’t see that,” he exposes, and part of him regrets letting a bit of his anger out. Though, the kids need to know this is serious, that you can’t go through life assuming the worst in people, so if being angry is what it takes then so be it.

The kids have various emotions on their faces, ashamed and regretful being the two most prominent. Dustin clears his throat and looks up at Eddie, flicks his eyes to Robin, and returns them to his lap.

“I… I didn’t realize he did so much for us,” Dustin quietly admits, and a small part of Eddie cheers at finally teaching the kid a thing or two about humility.

“We’ve been taking advantage of him for… for so long,” Lucas breathes out. Max nods morosely beside him, and Will raises a shaky hand to cover his mouth.

Mike rolls his eyes, still petulantly crossing his arms. “Why should we even care about him? All he’s probably doing is wallowing in his fancy house or something.”

He says it with a layer of snark so thick, all the kids turn to him with varying levels of bitchy glares. Eddie, however, can tell his attitude is a mask, a way for him to hide how he’s truly feeling to prevent from being too vulnerable. From being too open. Eddie knows a lot about that.

It started when Eddie was four and he scraped his knee on the harsh gravel outside his parents’ run-down home in Kentucky. Tears rolled down his chubby cheeks as he ran inside to tell his mom, who he knew would take care of him. She told him to play outside, and not come in until she told him so, but his knee really hurt and he was scared they would have to cut it off if it bled too much. At least, that’s what Charlie—a kid who lived two streets over—said they would do.

When he stepped over the threshold, something felt off. The house was quiet, more so than normal, and it set him on edge. The TV was filled with static that grated on his little ears, and he covered them with his hands as he made his way over to turn it off. He picked up the antenna off the floor, wondering how it got knocked off the top of the TV in the first place. He looked around the living room, finding it in a similar state of disarray. He followed the trail of broken things before him; the overturned coffee table, a spilled ashtray, a stray pillow, and the chair his dad always sat on, pushed far out of its normal place. He questioned who could have messed up his house like this, leaving a big mess behind.

He found his answer when he ventured into the kitchen, just a few short steps from the living room, and found his mother laying on the floor. She was on her stomach, arms splayed out as if she tried to catch her fall and head turned to look at the doorway where little Eddie stood. Her eyes were closed but she was still breathing, the floral pattern of her dress moving with each breath. Shards of ceramic were spread out around her, littered with droplets of dark blood that spilled from a cut on her forehead. It dripped down the side of her face, along the curve of her cheek and onto the floor where it formed a small puddle. Her skin was pale in the artificial light of the house, the soft yellows doing nothing to soften the tones of her ashen face.

“Mama!” He ran up to her, falling to his knees beside her still body. He shook her, trying to get her eyes to open, but all it rewarded him was a pained grunt. His eyes welled with tears again, this time for his Mama, but nothing he was doing was working.

A shadow fell over the floor and he looked up to find his father blocking the light from the gold-colored light fixture above the kitchen table. His face was stern and dirty looking, his stubble well past the point of a five o’clock shadow and leaning more towards a sleazy strip club owner. There was a smear of blood on his face from his hand, which he noticed was bruised around the knuckles. However, the sight of what was in his other hand made him freeze, entire body going stock still.

In his father’s left hand were the remnants of the broken plate on the floor, the jagged edges cutting into his skin where he gripped it tightly. Matching blood littered the edge, and a splatter of the dark liquid traveled up his hairy arm and disappeared into his rolled up flannel sleeve.

He looked up at the figure before him, and the tears spilled over against his will.

“What happened to Mama?” He asked. “Why won’t she wake up?”

“‘Cause she’s sorry, son,” his dad answered, throwing down the ceramic and causing it to shatter against the floor. Eddie flinched, and his father caught the motion. He hadn’t been able to quell it, hadn’t learned how to hide his fear yet. The man scowled at him, lip curling as he grabbed Eddie’s arm and hauled him off the floor in one solid motion.

“She’s weak, Edward,” he began. This close, Eddie could see the redness of his eyes, and the deep purple bags that hang underneath. “Just like all women. Do you wanna be weak, boy?”

Eddie shook his head, and his father gripped his arm tighter. “Answer me!”

“N-No sir,” Eddie muttered, voice small and weak in the face of his father.

“Then stop that fucking crying, don’t be a sissy. I ain’t raising a fucking faggot, Edward.”

With that, his dad dropped his arm and stumbled into his bedroom down the hall. As soon as his figure was gone, Eddie turned back to his mom, crouching next to her. Sometime when his dad was talking, her eyes had opened and her breathing grew stronger. Eddie felt like it was nothing short of a small miracle.

“Mama, are you okay?”

“‘M okay, baby,” she replied, pushing herself off the floor with a grunt. She sat up with Eddie’s help, and frowned when she saw the reddened mark on his arm. “I shouldn’t have let him do that to you.”

“You were hurt, Mama. ‘S not your fault,” Eddie reasoned, pulling his arm out of her grasp to wipe at some of the blood on her face. “You’re bleeding, too.”

“Oh,” she began, reaching up to touch the wound as if she hadn’t realized it was there. “It’s nothing, Eddie, just a little scratch. Mama will be okay, promise.”

She didn’t look okay, this close, with her sunken-in face and slowly forming black eye Eddie hadn’t been able to see before. But his Mama was always right. Always.

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asked, holding out his little pinky. His Mama smiled, and raised a shaky hand to lace her pinky with his.

“Pinky promise.”

A year later, he was riding in the car with his Mama, backpack at his feet. She was dressed nicer than he ever remembered her being; a baby blue, short-sleeved dress hugged her slender frame, paired with white heels, white bug-eyed sunglasses, and a sheer white scarf she had tied around her hair. Her suitcase was in the trunk, but his father was nowhere to be found.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Where’s Dad?” He asked. His Mama cleared her throat before she answered, voice shaky.

“He’s not coming with us, Eddie,” she said. “We’re going somewhere far away from him. Somewhere new.”

“Where?”

“Have a look for yourself, honey,” she said, pointing to the window. Eddie crawled up on his knees to look out, seeing a sign welcoming them to a place called Hawkins. He sat back down in his seat, looking back at his mother.

“What’s here?” He asked. His mother smiled.

“Your Uncle Wayne. He’s my brother,” she supplied. “We’re just going to pay him a little visit, okay?”

A few short minutes later, they were parked in front of a small trailer, a gruff looking man waiting for them on the newly-built porch. They got out of the car and Eddie grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders before his Mama led him up the steps.

“Eddie, this is Uncle Wayne,” his Mama informed. He looked up at her and she nudged his arm, urging him to say something.

“H-Hello, sir,” Eddie greeted, sticking out his small hand for the man to shake. Wayne huffed a laugh and crouched down, causing Eddie to take a step back on instinct, before he took his hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet ya, Eddie,” Wayne began. He let go of his hand but stayed crouched. “You can call me Wayne, or Uncle Wayne, or Uncle, or—hell, Todd for all I care. Just none of that ‘sir’ business, you got me?”

Eddie smiled and nodded. “Sorry, si—uh, Uncle Wayne.”

“That’s better, boy,” Wayne said, smiling as he clapped his shoulder softly. Wayne had kind eyes, blue and soft around the edges. They weren’t mean like his fathers. Instead, they looked exactly like his Mama’s—save for a few extra wrinkles around the edges. “Why don’t you go on inside while your Mama and I talk?”

Eddie did as he was told, walking in the trailer and taking in his surroundings. It was small, smaller than his house, but cozy. A couple mugs were hung up on the wall, paired with three trucker hats and a framed picture he was too far away to see. An old, floral patterned couch sat on the long wall of the living room, a coffee table in front littered with an opened can of Coke and a half-eaten bag of chips. The windows were open to let light in, making the space feel much bigger than it actually was.

He stepped into the kitchen, just a pace away from the living room, and took in the red-toned wooden cabinets and cream countertops stained with coffee rings yet to be wiped away. There was a hallway to his left where he found a single bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom was small, just big enough for a stand-up shower, toilet, and sink. A single toothbrush sat in the cup on the side of the sink along with a bar of soap and an almost empty tube of toothpaste. On the other side of the sink though, Eddie noticed an unopened toothbrush. It was blue and had sparkles throughout its plastic. At the bottom, there was a small dog sticker and it made him smile a little.

His attention soon wandered to the bedroom, where he found a little twin-sized bed and tons of boxes. The bed was bare, save for a folded up quilt near the bottom with a pillow on top. The boxes were filled with various things; clothes, books, a cassette player, shoes, and tons of other small trinkets. He sat on the ground, pulling a box closer to look through it. There were thin books near the top labeled ‘Hawkins High’, and he flipped through it to find pictures upon pictures of people. He read the names, sounding them out to see if he could get them right. Some of them were weird, though, and he quickly put the book down to look at something else.

There was a box of cassette tapes to his left and Eddie scooted over to look through it. There were tons of names he didn’t recognize as he rifled through the plastic cases, though one stood out to him.

He picked up the Fleetwood Mac tape along with the cassette player from a box near the closet, plugging it into the wall and putting the tape in. He eyed the front door, seeing it still firmly closed. Just then, the tape clicked, causing him to jump, and he pressed play.

The familiar voice filled his ears, and he smiled. He and his Mama used to listen to Fleetwood Mac back home in the kitchen while they made supper, singing along with the tape or the radio to fill the house with music. The sound of it brought a smile to his face, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the words.

Engrossed in the music, he barely registered that the front door had both opened and closed until a soft hand was laid on his shoulder.

“Eddie, baby, I have to go,” his Mama said, and he jumped to his feet. He kinda felt bad about going through Uncle Wayne’s things without him being there, but if they were leaving then he didn’t think he would get too mad.

“Where are we going now, Mama?” Eddie wondered. His mother’s face turned pinched, and she lifted her glasses to look at him directly. She wore make-up, much more than she usually did, and as she crouched down Eddie could see it was barely disguising a bruise along the top of her right cheekbone.

“Eddie, only I’m leaving,” his Mama corrected. “You’re staying here with Wayne.”

At that, his whole world fell apart.

His mother, his Mama, was leaving him. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t go with her, that he couldn’t stay with his Mama like he wanted to. Wayne seemed nice from their brief interaction, but he didn’t know him. Not like he knew his Mama.

His stomach sank to his feet, and it felt as if someone poured ice-cold water over him. His eyes grew wide as tears welled, spilling over his cheeks.

“Why, Mama?” Eddie sobbed, wiping at his face because he wasn’t supposed to cry. “Why can’t I go with you?”

“You just can’t, Eddie, I’m sorry,” she stated. It felt hollow, her explanation. Like she was hiding something.

“But why?”

“Because you just can’t, Eddie!” She snapped, and Eddie’s breath caught. She sounded mad, but Eddie had never heard her get mad, not at him at least. He didn’t know what he did, only that she wouldn’t let him go with her.

She took a breath and cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“But- But you can’t leave me!” Eddie wailed. “Mama, please!”

She opened her arms and he fell into them, clinging hard enough to deem separating impossible. She hugged him back just as tight, and Eddie saw evidence of tear tracks streaking through her caked-on foundation.

“I know, baby, I don’t want to leave you either,” his Mama soothed. “But Wayne is going to take care of you, okay?”

Eddie looked over her shoulder to see Wayne leaning against one of the kitchen countertops, smiling sadly at him. Eddie screwed his eyes shut and buried his face in his mothers neck.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” Eddie mumbled before he moved to look at her. “Pinky promise you’re gonna come back for me.”

His Mama cried and wiped at her cheeks, smearing the make-up and making the bruises appear fresh on her pale skin. She held out a pinky, and Eddie laced his with hers.

“I promise, Eddie,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead before getting to her feet. Her and Wayne shared a hug on her way out, and Eddie caught Wayne wiping his eyes too. He and his uncle stood on the porch as his mom drove away, waving until her taillights disappeared around the curve of the road.

That was the last time he saw his mother.

Unfortunately, it was not the last he saw his father.

He stayed with Wayne for two months until his father found him. They had grown accustomed to each other in that time, Eddie having warmed up to another parental figure and Wayne having gotten the basics down for caring for another being. Wayne insisted he start school in the fall, and he was two weeks in when all hell broke loose.

His father rolled up to the trailer in a fancy-looking sports car Eddie knew his dad didn’t have the money for. He stumbled out on the gravel, banging on the door until Wayne pulled it open.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Wayne asked, standing firm in the doorway.

“I’m here to get my son,” his father demanded. He pushed past him and stormed the place until he found Eddie in the only bedroom—Wayne having set up a cot in the living room.

Eddie hadn’t expected to see his father again, mostly because he didn’t think the man really cared for him. That was prominent when he snatched Eddie off the bed and hauled him out of his room.

“Dad?” Eddie questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking you away from here,” his father responded, glaring at Wayne who stood blocking the doorway.

“You’re not takin’ him anywhere, Al,” Wayne countered. He crossed his arms, looking far more intimidating than Eddie ever imagined. “He’s happy here.”

“He’ll be even more happy with me,” his dad insisted. “With his real family.”

“Son of a bitch, Al, I am his real family!” Wayne yelled. “You ain’t got the means for takin’ care of that boy, and you know it.”

His father stood toe to toe with his uncle, glaring at him. He whispered something Eddie was too far away to hear, but it made Wayne deflate completely.

Eddie didn’t want to leave. He found that these past two months with Wayne were filled with more happy memories than he ever remembered having back home. Wayne was nice, a little rough around the edges but he was a big softy inside. He cared about people, that much was evident in the way he was constantly helping people out around the park. He was a good person, so leaving him felt like his Mama all over again.

“Come on, son,” his father demanded, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the trailer. Eddie looked back at Wayne, eyes stinging. He waved, and Wayne waved back. He watched the trailer from the backseat until he couldn’t tell which one was theirs, only facing the front when his dad snapped at him.

They rode for hours, far past the Indiana state line, until they ended up in a strange city filled with tall buildings and blinding lights that made Eddie’s eyes sting. They went through the city, stopping on the outskirts in a run-down neighborhood even more decrepit than his old house in Kentucky.

He spent two years with his dad in a city he came to know at St. Louis, but it never felt like home. Not like the trailer with Wayne, or anywhere his mother was. He learned how to hotwire cars and how to drive like a bat out of hell whenever his dad told him to. He learned that he was too much to take care of; his father constantly complained about feeding him, keeping him clothed, taking care of him like a father should. He learned that showing emotions would only get you hurt, that he had to hide them to survive. He learned what all the different white powders did to someone, how they would affect your mind and your body. How they made his father violent, or remorseful, or depressed, but never happy.

His father was on a bad trip when a rush of red and blue lights invaded their windows, sirens blaring and making Eddie’s ears ring. Their front door was kicked open, the old wood splintering easily under the force of a steel-toed boot. Police flooded the house, and Eddie was grabbed and dragged out before he had time to comprehend everything that was happening.

He was sitting in the back of a cop car with the door open, body completely still as police went in and out of their house. He couldn’t let them know he was scared out of his mind, that he was afraid of what they would do to him. He knew the best way to get through it was to show nothing at all. To be indifferent. Emotionless. It was the only thing his father taught him that he deemed useful.

His father was dragged out of the house by two policemen, kicking and screaming at them but Eddie couldn’t hear what he was saying, ears having gone deaf to anything other than the ringing in his head. Next thing he knew, his father had broken free and punched one of the officers, causing several to tackle him to the ground and handcuff him before practically throwing him into a car and hauling him away. All Eddie could do was watch, knowing there was nothing he could do to help him.

“You got somewhere to go, kid?” One of the cops that took him out of the house asked, leaning against the open door and blocking the flashing lights. Eddie nodded, and the cop took him back to the station where he called Wayne.

“Eddie, son, where are you? Are you okay? If that bastard hurt you, I swear to god—“

“Wayne,” Eddie began, his voice rough from not using it. “Can you come get me?”

A pause. “Sure, kid, where are you?”

“St. Louis,” Eddie supplied. There was cursing on the other end, muffled so Eddie couldn’t tell what was said but he knew Wayne well enough. Even after only two months, the man had become more like a father to him than his own dad ever was.

“I’m coming right now to get ya, just hold on tight, okay? I’ll be there ‘fore the morning.”

True to his word, Wayne showed up right before dawn in his beat up truck. He stormed the station like a madman, looking for him. He was rumpled, like he threw on just enough clothes to be decent before booking it all the way here. If he knew Wayne, that’s probably exactly what he did.

“Eddie? Eds, where are ya?”

“Sir,” the lady at the front desk interrupted. “I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice—“

“Wayne!” Eddie perked up from the desk chair he was sitting at in the station, running around desks before jumping straight in his uncle's arms. Wayne held onto him just as tight, and he could’ve sworn he heard a sniffle or two come from the man.

“I was so worried, Eds,” Wayne whispered. “I tried lookin’ for ya, I swear I did, just—If I’d known he’d taken ya to another state I wouldn’t’ve stopped ‘til I searched the whole damn country.”

“I know, Wayne,” Eddie muttered. “I missed you too.”

As much as Eddie tried, he couldn’t put up that mask of indifference around his uncle. He could try, sure, but it never worked longer than five seconds before he saw right through it and it crumbled at Eddie’s feet.

“Let’s get you home, son,” Wayne insisted and before he knew it, Eddie was asleep in the passenger seat of the truck as they took the highway home.

Since then, Eddie and Wayne had become inseparable. There were no secrets between them, no masks. They weren’t needed, not when Wayne was more than good to him. They weren’t wanted, either, since Wayne made sure to remind him that showing emotions wasn’t a bad thing. That it was good, healthy.

It wasn’t until much later in middle school when he learned that having a mask was necessary sometimes. Especially when people started calling him a freak and a weirdo because he wasn’t identical to everyone else. Because he lived in a trailer with someone that wasn’t his biological parent and wore hand-me-down clothes that were baggy on him since his growth spurt hadn’t hit yet. He donned the air of indifference he had left behind long ago, letting the names and rumors bounce off his skin like water off an umbrella.

That need intensified when high school hit and the rumor mill grew exponentially. Suddenly, he was bombarded with accusations of Satanism, prison time, drug dealing—though that one was true—pet raccoons, and, at one point, an army of undead babies he sucked the life out of that he could command at will. Really, the shit people came up with was astounding, and Eddie learned to shove it all away. None of it was true—save for a couple things he would never, in a million years, tell another soul at Hawkins High—so he made sure to act like it was true. Let people believe what they want to believe. In the meantime, Eddie used it to his advantage to prevent anyone from getting too close. From looking past the barrier he put up between himself and everyone else.

So yeah, Eddie knows a little bit about where Mike’s coming from.

“Actually…” Robin starts. “Steve’s not doing so great—“

“What?!” Dustin squawks out, cutting Robin off and all but jumping up from his seated position. “Why the hell did you not start this whole damn thing with that?!”

“We were getting there, Henderson!” Eddie clarifies. “Now sit your ass down.”

Dustin—for once—does as he’s told. Eddie looks to Robin and gives her a nod, letting her have the floor.

“Steve’s got it in his head that he’s the only one allowed to sacrifice himself for us, that he’s only needed or wanted when he can put himself in the line of fire. So, like the caring dumbass he is, he’s been wandering around Hawkins at night because he’s worried that something will happen.”

“But I closed all of the gates,” El starts, head cocked and eyebrows scrunched like a confused puppy. “We are in no more danger.”

“I think part of him knows that, Supergirl,” Eddie explains. “But he needs to know for certain, to make sure you guys are absolutely safe.”

She nods, and sadness finds its way to her eyes. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy for her, knowing that learning how to live all over again is never easy.

“He’s not been sleeping much,” Robin continues. “It’s like he’s barely there anymore. Like he’s just… a shell.

“He thinks you all hate him. He thinks he deserves this for all the shit he did in the past, even though we all know he’s more than made up for it by becoming a decent fucking human being,” she spits out. There’s anger in her eyes now as she glares at a stain on the carpet, unwilling to look at the kids but needing to get her point across. “He broke down in my arms because this is the fifth fucking time the people he’s loved has left him and I think… I think this time broke him.”

She raises her head and looks over the kids, tears balanced on her lower eyelashes and threatening to spill over.

“You’re his family, the family he got to choose, and you still… you left. Just like everyone else has.”

The room fills with silence as the words sink in.

“How… How do we fix it?” Will asks, his quiet voice now loud. Eddie sighs and rakes a hand through his hair—a motion that keeps reminding him of Steve—before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I know part of it is my fault, I admit that. I shouldn’t have just stopped talking to him all of the sudden, I should’ve… well, there’s a lot of things I should have done but I didn’t, so I plan on fixing that,” Eddie admits. He looks around the room, makes as much eye contact as he can to drive his point home. “You should too. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to cut it, not this time. Not for this.”

The kids all nod, and Eddie gestures to the door to dismiss them. They all look like kicked puppies with slouching posture and ducked heads, walking out of the trailer with their tails between their legs. Dustin and Mike are the first to hop on their bikes, ready to either apologize and get it over with or get as far away from his and Robin’s disappointed glares as possible. Before they can push off, Eddie calls out to them.

“Hey! Give it a couple days,” Eddie orders. “Steve… He’s going to need some time. Go to him when he’s ready, okay?”

He’s met with various nods and ‘will do’s as some of them take off, their knobbly knees hitting the handlebars of their too-small bikes. Then, he notices a particular brunette has yet to leave, her bike with little white training wheels still standing in the grass. Her big brown eyes lock with his and, even though there's a porch between them, he can feel the seriousness in her gaze.

“I miss him. He was always very nice to me,” El confesses. “He always gave me piggyback rides.”

Her face falls a little. “I did not know we were being mean to him.”

Eddie finds himself softening a little at her words.

“I know, Supergirl,” he winks at her. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

She giggles in response and hops on her bike, meeting up with Max who stopped to wait for her a few yards away.

Eddie closes the door, falling against it with a thud. He groans, the sound bouncing off the thin door and out in the empty trailer. He turns to go to his room, preferably to wallow, before nearly jumping clean out of his skin.

Well, he thought the trailer was empty, except there now stands one Robin Buckley who has resumed her unimpressed, hands-on-her-hips, "you're a fucking dumbass" position from earlier.

"Jesus H. Christ!" He exclaims. A hand comes up to grab at his heart which is actively trying to beat out of his chest as his lungs grapple for air. "Birdie, I forgot you were there."

"Yeah," she deadpans. "Clearly."

Eddie straightens up, and quirks an eyebrow at her rather over dramatically. Robin rolls her eyes.

"Well?"

"It's a deep subject," Eddie sarcastically responds. Robin, unfortunately, doesn't find that funny. "'Well' what?"

"Go apologize!" She yells.

“Okay, okay, geez!”

Eddie pats himself down, looking for the keys to his van before Robin clears her throat. He looks over at her to see an unamused quirk of her eyebrow before she points to the hook by the door where his keys hang.

“Thanks, Buck!” he exclaims, pressing his hands together in prayer to the saint she is. Grabbing them, he throws the door open and clears the steps in one jump, stumbling a bit on the landing but really, he’s quite proud of this rare athletic appearance.

Jumping in his van, he slams a random tape in the deck, grinning a little at the song that plays first. Despite his obvious avoidance of the second track, the Master of Puppets album still holds a very special place in his heart. So it's really not a surprise that the song that just so happens to play first reminds him of the very man he’s going to see, sacrificial tendencies and all.

He slams on the gas, tires squealing as he peels out of Forest Hills trailer park faster than he ever has before.

He’s not running away this time; not running from a small cheerleader’s body trapped on his ceiling, not running from angry town hicks with their fiery pitchforks, and not running from a creepy interdimensional demon who enjoys sucking the life out of depressed teenagers.

No, this time, he’s running to something. Running to Steve.

He just hopes Steve will let him.

———

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lizhaoyu · 2 months

Text

Why so shy? PART 2

(A/N): Hello, gaymers. I'm back at it again. Sorry for the late update, I've been busy malding in VALORANT lately. Thank you for all of the support in part 1, it means the world to me. Now, some of the things here are referenced to that one casual Iso fic. Huge thanks to whoever wrote that, I'm in love with that fic. I physically gagged and cringed at the part where I made the reader channel their idk to do sum shit I can't do this. Enjoy thirsting, gaymers.)

(I also accept requests, please request about Iso)

(Iso x Shy!GN!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2 (You are here.)

Nervous.

That's exactly what you were feeling right now.

Not nervous for yourself, but for Iso.

Today marks the day of Iso's first ever mission in the VP. To your advantage, you were assigned as Iso's lead comms.

You were busying yourself with taking breathing exercises in KJ's command room.

Iso was gonna be hearing your voice, following your orders and intel, counting on you to tell him what to do at the right moment and he's probably gonna fall inlo-

A knock on the metal door of the command room broke your trail of thought. It opened, revealing Iso.

"Hey." Iso walked in with a small smile, nodding to you.

You look up from the mission brief that Brimstone gave you and look at Iso. This time, you actually managed to train yourself to try and not stutter in front of Iso. You're not exactly there yet, but you're trying your best.

"Hi, Iso. Ready for your mission?" You offer him a small smile, feeling a little nervous for him and his safety.

"Yeah. I made sure to read the brief at least five times." Iso nods.

"Better safe that sorry." You smile, typing in the last command needed to start the mission.

"Right, uh... I just wanted to say that I wish you a very good luck on your first mission." You try to smile despite your nervousness.

"Thank you, but... I don't understand why I have to do this mission alone." Iso sighs, shaking his head.

"Brimstone says that he thinks that you're strong enough to handle it yourself, but I think he just doesn't want to admit that everyone is busy with everything else, so they can't go with you." You stifle a laugh.

"But I agree with Brimstone, whether or not he thinks you're strong enough. Your abilities are really powerful and you handle yourself pretty well. I think you got this." You smile at him, trying your best to hide your blush.

"Thanks a lot for your encouragements, it helps a lot." Iso smiles.

"And our training sessions, too. They're really helping me improve." Iso adds.

That alone was enough to make your heart race faster than normal.

"A-Anyway, I'll be the lead, and only, comms for today's mission. If you have any questions, calling for backup, or need help locating the target, I can help." You explain, turning to the table behind you.

You carefully took an earpiece from the table, turning to Iso and offering it to him. He follows your gentleness, taking the earpiece with careful hands.

In the process, his fingers brushed against yours. It was enough to give you butterflies on your stomach.

"This is what we use to communicate to each other from great distances. You can talk to me or hear me through it." You explain, snapping out of your thoughts.

"We have two trackers on you. One on your phone that we requested you to add, and one on your earpiece. Although you can turn off your location trackers, I advise you not to, just in case." You smile at him, hoping he'd understand what you were trying to say.

"I got it. Thanks for explaining it to me." Iso nods, taking off his left earbud and replacing it with the earpiece.

You took note of his actions, observing him closely.

"By the way, if I did ask for backup later on..." Iso paused.

"Yeah?" You tilt your head with a smile.

"Since you said that everyone else is busy, will you come?" Iso asks.

IS HE IMPLYING SOMETHING????????? AM I JUST DELUSIONAL OR WHAT, you thought.

"W-Well, yeah. I'm still responsible for you and your safety, according to Brimstone." You nod, pushing the thoughts to the back of your head.

"I'm glad." Iso nods, smiling.

WHAT DOES THAT MEANNNNNNNNNNNN???, you thought.

"Can I only talk to you about anything related to the mission?" Iso asks.

"Not necessarily, as long as you're not in the middle of a gunfight." You shook you head.

"Great. Uh, one last thing." Iso rubs the back of his head.

"After my mission, do you think we can go out for hotpot? My treat." Iso smiles, looking at you.

WHATWHATWHAT OHMYGOD IS THIS REAL FUCKFUCKFUCK, your thoughts raced.

You had to take a moment to process what Iso just asked you. Was this some kind of prank? Maybe Phoenix told him to prank you? Was this just a friendly gesture-

"You okay? You don't have to say yes, or we can get different food. Anything you like will do." Iso smiles.

"I- No! Hotpot is fine... A-Anyway, yeah, we can go out after your mission as long as you come back unscathed." You nod, your face turning visibly red.

"Then, I'm looking forward to it." Iso smiles.

"A-Anyway... The jet should be ready to transport you to the mission site. You can head to the departure wing now." You look back to the screen.

"I'm going, then. Thanks for your help." Iso nods.

You look back at Iso and smiled.

"Good luck on your mission, Iso." You nod as Iso walked out of the room.

You turn back and sat on the chair, all while letting out a shaky sigh. Was it just a friendly gesture or something more?

Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by Iso's voice in your earpiece.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Iso asked through the comms.

You snap back to reality and let out a small huff.

"Yeah, loud and clear." You nod to yourself.

"Right, thanks. I'm in the jet right now, heading to the location." Iso says.

"I got it. I'm writing the report for Brimstone right now." You reply, typing out a document.

After a moment of silence, Iso speaks up.

"Hey, when you first arrived in the VP, how was it?" Iso asks.

"Huh? Well... It wasn't really easy." You say, recalling back to your newbie days in the VP.

"I was kind of an outcast and everyone thought I was creepy and stuff." You shrug, still typing.

"Why's that?" Iso asked.

"Well, just like Omen and Fade, I have abilities related to shadows or darkness." You paused.

"I was really quiet and stuff, so some were afraid to even look my way, because I can just merge myself with their shadow without them knowing." You shrug.

"But hey, I managed. Omen became my very first friend. He understood me." You smile.

"Wow... Omen? That's kind of him." You hear Iso hum.

"How about your first mission? How did it go?" Iso asked.

"Back then, I had little to no control of my abilities. I was merging myself to shadows back and forth because I didn't know how to control it." You laugh.

"But I learned how to control it, thanks to Omen. He knew exactly how I felt and why, and he taught my how to control it, even if he can't control his own." You sigh.

"My first mission went really well because Brimstone paired me up with Omen. He was really helpful, teaching me how to defuse the spike." You explain.

"Anyway... How about you? How are you feeling? This is your first mission, after all." You ask.

"I was kind of hesitant when Brimstone first told me." Iso says.

"But when I found out that you're gonna work closely with me, I feel much better." You could almost hear Iso smiling. Wait, was that even possible?

You could feel your heart beating faster and your face turning red. Surely, he didn't mean it that way. Maybe it was just a friend thing?

"I think I can handle this mission." Iso continues.

You quickly shook off the lingering feeling.

"I'm sure you'll do great." You nod.

"By the way, what kind of milk tea do you like? Sorry, that was a random question." Iso chuckles.

"Me? Well, I like heavy oolong milk tea with tapioca pearls." You paused for a moment.

"Jett and Phoenix often made fun of me for being so basic, but I think it's really good." You smile.

"What about you? What do you like?" You ask.

"I actually like the same thing. I get it all the time." Iso replied.

"Whoa, really?" You smile.

"We have a lot of things in common, hey?" Iso says.

"That makes me really happy." Iso added.

It was starting to get hard trying not to think of this as a gesture of interest and not just for friends.

"Oh, we're landing now." Iso says.

"Be careful, Iso. You'll just need to eliminate the Omega Earth Radiants and defuse the spike if planted." You nod.

"You'll come if I ever need help, right?" Iso asked again.

"Yes, I will. Don't worry." You assure him.

"Okay, I'm heading out now." Iso says.

For the past hour, you've been helping Iso locate the enemies and giving him instructions. You watched his location attentively while writing a report, all while talking to Iso.

"Iso, there's one enemy left. Do you think you can defuse the spike until half?" You ask.

"Yeah, I think so. I'll try." Iso replies.

On the other end, you can hear Iso running to the spike. You heard beeping, which means that he was defusing now.

"Don't let your guard down. Don't rush, there's still plenty of time left." You remind him.

"Almost half, come on..." You hear Iso mutter.

A few seconds later you could hear a Vandal being fired, then Iso grunting.

"Iso?!" You stood up from your seat.

"Spike is half... I got shot on the shoulder..." Iso groans.

In the background, you can hear Iso firing his Sheriff, presumably at the assailant.

"Okay, okay... He's down, I can still defuse with my other hand..." Iso coughs, followed by the beeping sound again.

"Iso, listen to me. Just hold on and keep defusing, okay? I'm coming." You connect the comms to your phone, running out of the room.

"Really? You're coming...?" Iso asks, his voice low and pained.

"Yes, I'm on my way. Just a little longer, okay?" You ran to the departure wing, getting on the jet.

"I'll wait for you." Iso grunts.

"Keep talk to me, Iso. I need you to stay awake." You frantically went through the jet's storage for some medical equipment.

"Put some pressure on the wound to prevent excess bleeding. I'm on my way." You say, your voice shaky.

"Will we still go out for hotpot after this?" Iso asks, his voice low.

"Yes, I promise we will when you get better." You promised.

The jet hovered over the mission location. You shout for the pilot to open the door, as it'd take longer if you waited for the jet to land.

The door opens for you and you look out from it. Your eyes scanned the mission area from above, looking for any kind of shadow you can merge with. Once you do, you stepped back to prepare yourself to jump.

"I see a jet in the sky, is that you?" Iso asked, coughing.

"Yeah, it's me. I'll be with you soon." You breathe out shakily.

"What are you planning to do?" Iso asked.

But before you can answer, you dashed out of the jet. Your eyes locked onto the shadow of the building, preparing to channel your ability. You closed your eyes, letting your shadow take over.

In seconds, your body turned into a shadow-like orb, heading for the shadow of the building. Your body reached it immediately, merging with it. Once you did, you jumped away from it and ran to Iso.

"Iso! Hey, I'm here." You pant heavily, kneeling beside Iso.

"Hey..." Iso grunts, sitting up slowly. Beside Iso was the defused spike.

"Don't move, stay still. I'll do my best to help you, okay?" You mumble shakily.

How will you even do this? You weren't a healer, you weren't even trained for this. You look at Iso's pain expression and you knew you had to do something, anything.

You could make use of your abilities, the shadows. You remember what Omen told you, about how if you channel enough energy to your shadow, you could make it do what you desired. If you could do it, you could use them to absorb the wound, the pain and the bullet and save Iso.

Could that even work? Were you crazy? But you knew you had to try.

"Iso, listen to me." You hold his bloody hand shakily.

"This'll hurt a bit, okay? Do you trust me?" You squeeze his hand gently.

"I trust you." Iso nods.

"Stay with me." You mumble, letting go of his hand.

You place your hand over his wound and your other hand on your shadow. You close your eyes, channeling your shadow to your hand. You press your hand firmly on Iso's shoulder, your shadow entering his open wound, earning a pained hiss from Iso.

You focused your mind into commanding your shadow to absorb whatever it would have to absorb in order to heal Iso. You didn't know what you were doing, you were going crazy.

You let a few minutes pass, with your palm pressed on Iso's wound. You didn't know if what you did worked, but you were growing lightheaded.

pleaseworkpleaseworkpleaseworkpleasework, you chanted in your mind.

Once you feel your shadow disappear from your hand, you opened your eyes, slowly removing your hand from Iso's wound.

It was gone.

The would was no longer there, just the skin of Iso's shoulder through the hole of his hoodie. All that was left was Iso's blood.

"It... It worked..." You let out a shaky sigh, still not believing in what you did.

"What?" You hear Iso ask as he looks at his now-gone wound.

"It's gone? How did you..." Iso looked back at you.

"I don't know, I..." You mumble, looking at your shaking hands.

"No, I... It doesn't matter right now. Let's go back to HQ." You shook your head, shakily standing up.

"Can you stand? Do you need me to support you?" You offer your hand for him to take.

"I think I can." Iso nods, using his other hand to take your hand as you pulled him up.

"How did you do that? You never told me you could do that." Iso asked, looking at you in awe.

"I didn't even know that I could do that." You shook your head.

"Let's go back to the extraction point. I'll definitely need to write a detailed report about this..." You mumble, walking with Iso.

You and Iso walked for a few minutes, before finally arriving to the extraction point. You both got on the jet as it took off.

You plop down on the seat, still feeling a little lightheaded.

"Are you okay?" Iso asked, sitting beside you.

"I should be asking you that. How are you feeling? No more pain?" You sigh.

"I feel fine. It doesn't hurt anymore." Iso shook his head.

"Hey, thank you." Iso says.

It was enough to catch your attention, so you look at him.

"You came to save me, and I'm really thankful for that." Iso smiles.

"We can't have you dying on your first mission, Iso." You smile.

"But you hurried here, you tried your best to use your ability and ended up learning that you can actually heal me." Iso shook his head.

"Can I be honest with you?" You ask.

"I came to you despite knowing that I couldn't help at all." You admit.

"I had no medical experience and I wasn't anywhere near Sage's level." You sigh.

"But I still came to you. It was... an urge." You mumble.

"But now, I'm glad I came, after all. I learned a lot." You smile.

"I'm glad you came." Iso smiles.

After that, Iso was sent to the medic wing, where Sage checked Iso's health.

Brimstone informed you of this, so you went to check up on him for your hotpot with him later.

As you were about to slide the door open and walk in, you heard Iso talking with Sage.

"I'm glad you're okay, Iso." Sage says.

"Thanks a lot, Sage." Iso replied.

"Hey, do you think we can go out for milk tea later today?............" That was all you heard before your ears blocked out every other noise.

And here you thought that you were making progress. You really thought that Iso liked you back? Of course it was Sage.

You thought back to his interactions, how he'd look at her, how he'd call her his senior. But you were dumb and ignored all of it.

Now, here you were.

You had hoped for something when he talked to you earlier today, when he asked to go out for hotpot with you and only you.

Maybe it really was just a friendly gesture.

#iso valorant #iso x reader #valorant x reader #valorant iso

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puddle-nerd · 5 months

Text

You’ll Do

Summary: You’re lucky you survived the crash but after you crawled to safety, well, the phrase was out of the pot and into the fire, right?

(Recombinant Jake Sully/Human Reader)

Story Tags: No Use of Y/N, Pre Way of Water, Slight Mention of Gore, Restraints, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Neytiri Died, I’m Sorry, Manhandling, Verbal Degradation, Knife Kink, Mention of Non-Lethal Self-Harm, Mention of Blood, Panties Uses as a Gag, Extremely Dubious Consent, R4p3/Non-Consensual, Interspecies Sex, Na’vi Biology (Avatar – Cameron), Na’vi Language (Avatar – Cameron), Vaginal Sex, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Belly Bulge, Jake Sully Definitely Babbles During Sex, Creampie

So, this story was requested by @jakesullywhore, happy early birthday, baby girl 😘😘😘, on Tumblr back during Luna’s Kinktober Challenge (and she’s been wonderfully patient with me, I’m so, so, so sorry it took so long) and then it turned out… uh… quite a bit longer than I was originally expecting (insert sheepish shuffling here) in amongst several things happening all at once IRL so if you want to skip to the smut, and you’re over the age of eighteen, scroll down to the

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* Beginning of 18+ / NSFW Scene *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Na’vi Translation: Hì’i — small, little (size) Mawey – calm Olo’eyktan — clan leader (generally gender-neutral) Sevin — pretty (mainly for female(s)) Tawtute — human | Sky Person Toruk Makto — rider of last shadow | currently, Jake Sully

AO3 Link

You looked up as your supervisor groaned in protest as the supply train rumbled down the freshly built tracks, rocking with its momentum slowly but surely back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Your gaze didn’t falter from him as he closed his eyes, trying to center himself so he didn’t vomit while his motion sickness made itself known. “Ya good, sir?” you asked over the hum of the engine and the sound of the wheels turning, your words making your mask fog up briefly. The compartment was atmospherically converted to oxygen but with the increase of raids by the one known as Toruk Makto and his Na’vi followers, it was better to be safe and have your mask on, just in case. “You’re really pale,” you added.

Actually, he looked kinda green and you were beginning to think he was going to puke any second now.

Your supervisor looked up at you from where he sat across the way and gave a weak smile from behind the plexiglass of his mask, sweat beading up visibly upon his forehead. You’d think he’d have been used to the way a train rocked, having claimed to be from New York back on Earth, but who were you to judge? You all had come out here for a chance at a better life and there really wasn’t anything back on your home planet for you, personally, so when they opened up opportunities for grunt work (i.e. luckily you were a high value information system tech), they let you grab a space on the next flight out to Pandora. Only to find yourself in a middle of a war zone and having to take care of people who hadn’t been informed of what they were getting into. You hadn’t really known either, but that was beside the point. You reached beneath your seat and leaned forward to hand him a vomit sack. Suddenly, the illumination turned a reddish hue from a warm white, a skreiching alarm blaring over the speakers, a voice shouting, “Missiles inbound! Port side! Brace for impact! Brace f–”

Then the world went topsy turvy as the train de-railed.

What happened next came to you in spurts. The screech of metal on metal. The blur of the red warning lights amongst the darkness of the cabin with the world turning itself upon its head mimicking a high-speed roller-coaster back on Earth. The pain of smacking your masked face into the cushion of your full-body harness. The reek of liquid iron and the stench of something burning, stinging your nose. The sound of high-pitched screams ripped from several throats. The taste of copper upon your tongue. Pain radiating throughout your body from the top of your head to the tips of your booted toes.

Then nothing.

No sight, no sound, no smell, no touch, no taste…

Was it seconds later when you slowly regained consciousness?

Minutes?

Hours?

Your skull felt heavy and full of cotton as you very slowly lifted your chin, your eyelids blinking slowly as you took in the scene now, acutely aware of the ringing in your ears muffling everything else out. Shock rippled through you, icy and paralyzing, as you stared uncomprehendingly at the wreckage that had once been the train car you had been sitting in. Were still sitting in. Were you sitting? Your head ached.

Fear gripped you, your stomach turning as you surveyed the shattered glass, the debris of metal, splashes of dark liquid that smelled like the sharp tang of fuel and blood, and chunks of unidentifiable meat. You blinked slowly but the throbbing in your head refused to comprehend what you were gazing at – or maybe it was the shock of it all – and so you looked down at your own body. The harness was pulled tight around your chest and hips and your leg looked like it was bent at a funny angle for a moment, until you realized… it wasn’t your leg. Your hands trembled with a surge of adrenaline as you struggled to press the release clasps. Once you managed to liberate yourself from the strangling body-belt, you fell forward and stumbled to your feet, wobbling forward over questionable piles of… things you refused to look too closely at to get towards where you could see the light of day peeking out from where the door had crumpled in like tin, your limbs feeling like they were weighed down with lead blocks but you managed to slide yourself out, your gaze hazy and your mind slow as a turtle.

Pieces of shattered glass twinkled menacingly from the smoldering dirt in the sunlight amongst pieces of metal that should have been on the train.

Something huge suddenly swooped over your head and you lurched to the side as you saw a couple of colorful Mountain Banshees for the first time ever. You stared at them as they landed further down the wreckage and then noticed several very large bodies crawling over the train and the upturned earth.

You blinked and struggled to focus as you saw one of them, huge and blue, turn towards you, painted with black and green paint stripes all over his face and body beneath his battle band and very human-style tactical vest. You watched him incline his head before his lips drew back and he hissed in your direction and a new wave of adrenaline flooded your body.

You were going to die.

You didn’t think.

You just turned and ran.

You weren’t fast enough, though, and a sharp pain to the back of your head had you blacking out.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

You could hear them moving around you as you took stock of your situation, your eyes currently shut as you regained your other senses. There were at least two beings hissing at each other in a foreign language you recognized as the Na’vi tongue that you had no hope of understanding. The air smelled stale and recycled while you could taste a touch of iron on the back of your tongue. Your wrists were tied to the unforgiving metal table you were laying on, the cold seeped into your skin.

Your bare skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the realization that you were stripped almost fully naked and your eyes shot open. You tried to sit up only to jerk backwards, your wrists pulling tightly from where they were secured above your head. Your ankles were restrained as well.

“Oh, good, the sevin hì’itawtute is awake.”

You twitched, shrinking in on yourself as far as you could when you laid your gaze on two big blue striped beings watching you with interested golden eyes.

One was more serious, more intense, with his beaded braids hanging about his rounded cheeks and bordering his red ornate necklace. His broad shoulders, built chest, and thick arms looked more human-like except for the generous smattering of bioluminescent freckles adorning his striped sapphire skin. His torso tapered down into a slim waist, a leather band encircling just beneath his pecs. A light purple loincloth hung from a thin band over the front of his pelvis, a dagger longer than your forearm gracing his left hip. The other Na’vi was smirking much more mischievously at you, his heated golden eyes scanning your body with a hunger that made you shiver. His own braids, unadorned except for two hanging in front, were more towards the top of his head, the right side of his skull shaved. The second male was also so much leaner and gangly than the first, all long limbs with an equally lengthy torso and slutty, little waist though he was easily a couple of inches taller with less freckles that you could see. His dagger, hanging from his left lip, was a littler shorter as well above his simple green loincloth. They were both quite handsome in their unique ways.

“Go get Dad,” the broader male hissed in English.

You blinked.

Brothers?

The leaner male rolled his eyes with a sigh and turned on his heel and you felt your eyes widen as a blush stained your cheeks seeing that his loincloth left his firm backside on display. You glanced away only to see the remaining male raise a brow at you with a knowing look in his golden gaze. You flushed further and looked away, turning you eyes up towards the restraints holding your arms and then down to your ankles allowing you to see you still wore your sports bra and your thin, cotton panties.

The whoosh of the door opening again drew your attention and you choked.

While the two males were handsome, this third Na’vi – their father – made them pale in comparison. His long black hair was styled into thick, unadorned dreads and pushed back from his black and green streaked face. A woven band crossed over his forehead with something shimmering over his burning golden eyes was adorned with small, sharp bones that were probably as long as your hand from base to the tip of your middle finger. A wide, flat nose tipped in pink flared as he scented you, his thin lips pressing together. A comm unit acted as a choker as it settled at the base of his throat, just above a second necklace with five small stones. His shoulders were wide beneath his tactical vest, his chest was… beefy to say the least, and his biceps were near double the size of your head. His built torso tapered down into a trim waist cushioned lightly with an ever so slight, soft and inviting plushness, his brown loincloth embroidered with specialty woven knots around the hem and over the belt clinging to his hips. From mid-thigh to just above his ankles, dark brown leggings clung to his strong legs in a most sinful way that had you swallowing around a growing lump in your throat.

“Out,” the adult male hissed, his gaze not leaving you. He added something in the Na’vi language you had no hope of understanding.

The serious teen male nodded quietly and grabbed his brother by the back of the neck, pulling the mischievous-looking one roughly out of the… you supposed it was originally a shack laboratory that had been retrofitted to become your jailcell, hence why you could breathe without your mask.

You swallowed, watching the adult Na’vi male look over your nearly naked form once more.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, reaching down and unbuckling his tactical vest slowly, revealing a battle band in red and brown nestled just under his thick pectoral muscles, tossing the vest over to the side once he was freed. You shook your head because you weren’t sure. “You probably have heard of me. I’m known as Toruk Makto, more commonly called Jake Sully.”

You felt the blood drain from your face.

This was THE Jake Sully?

Oh, fuck… No wonder General Ardmore was determined to have LOTS of man and firepower because every inch of this Na’vi gave of vibes that screamed ‘lethal’.

You swallowed again and nodded, letting him know you now knew who he was. Your eyes flicked over every single inch of him once more and you shivered again at seeing that his whole body was defined muscle that human men wished they could have. And you weren’t entirely sure if it was because of the cold of the table, the chill of the air, or the fact that he was seriously fucking hot but your whole body trembled. Not, that that meant anything. God, you hoped his ability to smell things was seriously overstated. “I’m telling you this so that you understand what’s about to happen to you.”

You wetted your lips with your tongue and whispered hoarsely, “You’re going to torture me for information?”

Golden eyes – darkened with rage – flicked your way and a slow smirk that promised things pulled at his thin lips, revealing sharp fangs that had your heart doubling in speed. He replied, “Something like that.” He removed the leather strap from around his middle and tossed it over to where the vest was now. “I know it’s not entirely your fault, you’re just a drop in the bucket of problems known as the human race trying to destroy Pandora,” he removed his headpiece and added it to the growing pile, “but I need to know who’s in charge and what your superiors are planning.” His tomahawk from the small of his back was the fourth thing he removed from his body, though this he placed on the table by your hip, chuckling meanly when you attempted to shift away from the sharp edges of the weapon.

“I’m just a lowly IT,” you admitted, fear making you jittery upon the table. “General Ardmore doesn’t even know my name.”

Jake leered at you nastily, unsheathing his front dagger and slamming it down by your head with a startling SLAM. You recoiled sharply, twisting your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as your heart beat vibrated within your chest. “That’s alright,” Jake hissed, bending down and breathing hotly into your ear. “I’m sure I can make use of you… somehow.” You trembled as he pulled back and circled your body on the table. “You know, up until about a year ago, I was happy,” he told you conversationally, trailing his callus roughened fingers over the softness of your body, causing you to flinch again and tremble. “Y’know, I was the Olo’eyktan, wha’chu call the clan leader.” He pinched at your fleshy hip, the one on the other side from where he had left his weapon, chuckling as you baulked away from his touch. “I was respected by The People,” he continued, moving towards your feet and you hoped to god he wouldn’t tickle your soles, “all throughout the vast jungles of Pandora. I had a wife and four beautiful children. Had.”

Oh… shit…

You met his gaze and now understood the fury in his golden depths.

Jake told you, voice flat and ice cold, “My wife, my mate, my better half, my Neytiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite died today because all of you stupid humans had to come the fuck back here where you weren’t wanted.”

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t killed her. You hadn’t killed anyone. But you could see the absolute wrath and the soul-shattering hatered burning deeply from within the golden depths of his eyes. You understood from just looking at him that he wouldn’t really listen to any of your words or, even if he did hear what you said to him, he wouldn’t actually care about them. Either way, he was about to take it out on you in one way or another.

“So… what do you have to say about that?” Jake demanded.

You gulped and murmured, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Jake’s ears flicked back and he bared his teeth, shaking his head as his tail – he had a fucking tail! – lashed back and forth in agitation. “Y-you’re sorry? You’re sorry?! How’s that – how is that going to bring back my wife!?”

“It’s not! It’s – it’s not,” you yelped, flinching away from the fists he pounded down onto the metal table between your secured ankles as best you could, though it wasn’t much. You stuttered, tripping over your words, “But I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Sully! I – I swear, I swear, I swear I had n-nothing to do with it! I – I’ve never killed any – anyone, I swear. I’m just a, uh, just a computer jockey!”

His nose flared as he scented you again and a wide, dark smirk adorned his features as a switch seemed to flip and an idea came to him.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·. Beginning of 18+ / NSFW Scene .·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

“Well, if you’re not high enough up the chain and have no useful information to give me, guess I’m gonna have to find a different use for ya,” Jake announced and reached down. The Na’vi male pressed a lever on the table and the table flipped nearly vertical to about a 75-degree angle, causing you to yelp in surprise as you were suddenly jerked upright, the tomahawk and the dagger sliding – luckily – harmlessly down to hit the floor with a loud double ‘CLANG’. He chuckled meanly down at you, pressing something else to lock you into place.

You gulped, begging to know as your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, “What are you going to do to me?”

The painted male just smirked, flashing his fangs.

Kneeling down between your legs, your whole body shivered of the sight of Jake exchanging your ankle restraints for his large hands, his grip strong and unyielding giving you no chance to kick him in his stupidly handsome face. You felt your belly twist itself into knots as a warm bubble of dread – yes, it was definitely dread and nothing else – began to build inside of you as an idea of how he was going to “make use of you” formed in the back of your mind.

Jake manipulated your legs apart and leaned in, pressing his flat, pink nose against the front of your panties, flaring as he sucked in a deep breath with a chuckle. “Well, …look at that. You’re liking this, little girl,” Jake hummed, rubbing his nose over the material separating him from your femininity. “If I strip you, how wet will I find you, you stupid fucking slut?” You could hear the grin in his voice as he added, “Guess I’ll find out in a second. Don’t move.” Letting go of one of your legs after placing it over his shoulder and nipping at it in warning to not kick him or anything, he grabbed his dagger from the floor and brought it up to your crotch. You whimpered, trying not to squirm as the sharp edge of his weapon was drawn carefully up the silken skin of your inner thighs, leaving little red welts but not actually splitting the skin, getting closer and closer to your cunt. You recoiled slightly. “Don’t. Fucking. Move,” Jake reiterated with a rumbling growl, ears and tail both flicking in irritation.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whimpered, flinching when he tucked the sharp edge under the hem of your panties and tore it beyond repair. “Please…”

Jake smirked as he cut away your panties completely, muttering up towards you, “You’re gonna be saying that for a different reason in a little bit, little girl.” You froze, watching as he tossed the scraps of fabric away and raised his knife one more time, lifting it to the material of your sports bra and hooking it beneath the front hem. The material gave away just as easily as your panties had, ripping like paper up the middle, revealing your tits to his gaze before methodically cutting the shoulder straps of what used to be your chest covering. “Huh, you are actually pretty, aren’cha?” Jake muttered, more to himself than to you as he tossed the now useless fabric away and set his dagger back down onto the ground. His gaze drifted down to your pussy and he smirked. “Oh yeah, you are such a dirty little slut, aren’t ya?” Jake chuckled, finally placing your other leg over his shoulder and inspecting you. “Gonna be a tight fit but now… I can smell you even better, all sweet and musky. Wonder if you taste just as sweet?”

He leaned forward, cupping your upper thighs with his blue hands, and pressed his nose against your center, breathing deep.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, cringing as much as you could away from his touch. “Oh, please don’t do this. I – I don’t want this, Sully. Please.”

You didn’t know who you were trying to convince more.

Jake or yourself.

He ignored your words and opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue and sliding it up the seam of your cunt from the bottom to your clit. You yelped, jerking away from him again at the feel of what you might describe as sandpaper touched your most intimate of parts. It wasn’t… unpleasant… but it was, definitely, strange. He tightened his grip on your legs and did it again, collecting your wetness upon his tongue. And then again. And again. You chewed on your lower lip, trying not to make any further noises or to move, lest he got angry or thinking you were enjoying this.

‘You weren’t enjoying this. You weren’t. You weren’t. You weren’t,’ you chanted to yourself.

“You can try to be quiet all you want, but I’ll get’cha to sing,” the Na’vi male told you confidently, smirk firmly in place on his azure skin. “Singing like an ol’ opera singer.” With that, he leaned in and began his attack on your pussy, dipping his tongue inside your cunt and rubbing his nose against your clit, determination pouring off of him to make you enjoy yourself, whether you liked it or not. The control this man had over his tongue made you bloody your lower lip from biting down so hard on it, just as equally resolute to not give in. No matter how good it felt. But Jake was a man on a mission, practically shoving his face against your pussy and feasting like you were going to be his last meal.

You felt the pleasure undeniably building, a choked whine building in the back of your throat.

Jake lifted his gaze and pulled back, seeing the blood trickling down your chin from where your teeth had dug too deeply. “Ah, fuck, don’t do that,” he grumbled and looked around swiftly. Spotting the remains of your bra and underwear, he grabbed your ex-chest covering and balled it up, wiping away the red liquid from your skin roughly, ignoring your mewl of pain. Now that your underwear was even more ruined, he tossed the sports bra back down and grabbed your panties, balling them up and shoving them into your mouth. “There now, no biting yourself while I enjoy my snack, you ungrateful brat,” he snarked picking up right where he left off and devouring your cunt like he was starving, humming as he dug his tongue deeper into your passage than you ever got with your own fingers. And his tongue was thick enough to almost resemble the girth of the silicon dildo you’d smuggled in the luggage you’d been allowed to bring with you from Earth.

You could no longer hold back the whimpers, your makeshift gag muffling your noise only somewhat.

“Yeah, that’s it, you needy little whore,” Jake chuckled against your clit before lapping at it greedily. “Let those noises out. Let me know what a filthy little slut you are for the first male Na’vi that gives you attention.” He laughed a little more to himself and then leaned in sucking on your hard nub as he slipped two broad fingers into your wet heat, curling them just so that had your eyes crossing as you jerked against your restraints and dug your heels into his shoulders while also trying to rut your hips up into his mouth and hand. “That’s it, bitch. I can feel you tightening. You’re getting close, aren’cha? Gonna cum with your enemy finger fucking you like a dirty, little slut?” Your inner walls clenched greedily around his digits and then he found a spot deep inside of you.

Your climax took you by surprise, running you over like a bus or a train…

‘Oh, too soon,’ you thought just before the euphoria overtook your senses.

You jerked in your restraints, screaming through the gag as you unraveled, your whole-body trembling with bliss.

“Fuck, yeah, look at you,” Jake sneered as he sat back on his heels, still curling his fingers inside of you as he rubbed circles over your clit to draw out your orgasm. “What a fucking little whore. Look how much you came for me.”

You sagged in your restraints, panting heavily and continuing to tremble, eyes widening when you saw how much his loincloth had tented.

The Na’vi male pushed himself to his feet and began to circle you, casually licking his fingers and palm clean of your slick while his tail flicked behind his toned, bare backside. You looked up at him as he came back around and stood in front of you, gazing at you expectantly but your throat didn’t want to work, didn’t want to form words. Especially with that monster of his pressing against the inside of his loincloth. So, you didn’t bother to try. Instead, Jake spoke up for you. “Got nothing to say?” the Na’vi demanded. You breathed out heavily through your nose and shook your head slowly. He snorted and lowered his gaze to watch the remnants of your orgasm trickling down your leg. He gripped himself, muttering, “You do taste as sweet as you smell, pretty, little slut. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me.”

In any other situation, you might have been flattered.

Jake moved forward and towered over you, your head barely coming up to his sternum as you hung from the upright table. He smirked and reached down to untie his loincloth. “Think it’s gonna fit in your tight, little pussy, slut? You were squeezing my fingers all nice and snug,” he commented, letting the cloth drop, “I’m wondering if I’m gonna fit inside of you.” You whined, seeing the thick human-like cock spring upwards, firm and full. Jake’s dark blue shaft was decorated with pretty stripes of a lighter shade and bioluminescent white freckles scattered amongst ridges and nubs all over the length of him. What made you clench though, besides the sheer size of him, was that his light blue foreskin was pulling back from the pink tip of his cock to reveal that his slit was beginning to bead with pearlescent precum tinged silvery blue.

“Oh, fuck…” you whimpered, quietly through your makeshift gag, no longer able to deny you were enjoying this.

Whether you liked it or not.

The Na’vi male chuckled and stroked himself a couple of times. “Yeah, thought you’d like this,” he leered down at you with a smirk. Letting himself go, his cock bobbed but continued sticking straight out from his pelvis. Jake stepped closer and grabbed your wet thighs, lifting you up and settling himself between your legs, his shaft hot and hard against the seam of your center so you could feel the texture only a Na’vi penis had; you whimpered, trembling in his grasp, pleasure skittering through your nerve endings. “I can feel how slick you are, you filthy little whore,” Jake commented, grunting as he rutted against you, coating himself in your natural lubricant. “Getting me all nice and wet. Gonna have to go slow, though. Don’t want to tear you.” You whimpered as he continued to lift your hips up and back, dragging your dripping cunt up the length of his cock, teasing you with his firm shaft but not yet putting it in.

You bit down on your gag and jerked in his grip, seeking more stimulation.

“Look at you, you needy little thing,” Jake chuckled, watching you with a derisive jeer. “Yeah, you need it, don’cha? Okay, here we go, then.” Carefully, Jake took his shaft and lined it up with your entrance, slowly easing his thick mushroom head into your channel. You whined as he began to push himself further inside, the stretch burning your inner muscles slightly and forcing all of the air out of your lungs. “Mawey, baby. Mawey. Daddy’s got’chu.” The Na’vi male adjusted your thighs around his lean waist and reached down between you, circling your clit as he continued sinking himself further into you, the inescapable pressure and the incredible feeling of absolute fullness making you let out a whine through the fabric in your mouth. Your inner walls keep tightening and loosening, as if your center didn’t know whether to allow Jake’s girth further inside or to try to push him back out of your body. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jake groaned through gritted teeth. “Le’me in, little girl. It’ll feel so good. I promise.”

You whined, his thumb still circling your clit as he finally, finally bottomed out.

Jake couldn’t quite fit his entire cock into your pussy, the tip of him pressed against your cervix in a way you weren’t entirely sure was painful or pleasurable. Either way, you felt so utterly stuffed you could barely breathe, breaths shuddering in and out of your nose in short bursts. The hand gripping your thigh was definitely going to leave bruises later as he reveled in the feel of your center stretched around him to your utter limit, his free hand still rubbing circles over your hard, little bud.

“Fuck, baby,” the Na’vi male groaned, shifting his hips to test how you felt now that you had started to adjust to his intrusion. “Tightest pussy Daddy’s ever had. Fuuuck, yer strangling my cock.” The noise that escaped your throat barely sounded human in pitch, more like it was an unintelligible fusion of a whine and a groan, muffled by the panties still in your mouth. He chuckled and added, “Pretty sure you were made for this. Huh? You were made to be my little cock slut, baby, right? Daddy’s little whore.” You whimpered and nodded slowly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you again. “Yeah, I thought so.” Then he sucked in a sharp breath and whistled. “Fuck, yeah, I can see myself in your belly.”

You looked down to see your stomach slightly distended to accommodate the total girth of his length and you released a wail.

“Isn’t that a sight,” Jake laughed quietly, hissings as you subsequently clenched internally. “Okay, okay, ya greedy little thing. Daddy’s gonna start moving now, little girl. Tell me if it hurts.” You made a muffled noise of complaint and tried to spit out the panties still forcing your jaw wide. “Ah, forgot about that,” the Na’vi male chuckled to himself and finally pulled the cloth out of your mouth, tossing them off to the side. “That better, little girl?”

“Yes,” you moaned quietly, moving your jaw to relieve the slight ache. “Oh, fuck, Sully. Feel so full.”

The male chuckled, “Yeah. Bet you do.”

Jake pulled out of your center a little before rolling his hips slowly back inside of you, glancing between your face and your belly bulge as you whined, feeling the friction of his textured shaft to cause the most exquisite of pleasure to tease your nerve endings, his heavy testicles bouncing off of your taint with each move of his hips. He slowly began to increase his pace, the sound of his thrusts squelching wetly through the air as he pounded his length deeply within you with the power and the consistency of a machine, causing that coil to tighten once more inside of you.

Without the gag hindering you now, you whined aloud, “Huh, fuck. Oh god.”

“Yeah, my little slut likes this,” Jake snarled, quickening his tempo further and growling low in his throat as your center tightened further around him. “Fuck, little girl, gonna cum for Daddy like a good whore? Gonna gush all over me when you climax? Bet you will, you greedy little cock slut. I want to see how your belly bulges further when I finish deep inside of you.” You whined nonsensically as his thrusts got sloppy as he sped up even further, the head of his cock pressing a spot that made your toes start to curl. “Oh, fuck, baby. I can feel you getting close. You’re even tighter around me. You ready, baby? Daddy’s gonna fill you up.”

You wanted to feel the pleasure but you didn’t want it.

Not like this at least.

The Na’vi male’s breathing increased as his rhythm stuttered further, slamming wetly into your depths even more loudly, his balls now smacking against your taint with each shove of his cock, pushing inside of your pussy even deeper until he shoved himself in firmly one last time, burying himself in to the hilt and –

“Ohhh, fuck, fuck, fuuuck, yeah baby! Cumming. Cumming!”

If your first orgasm had been like getting hit by a bus, your second one was more like getting swept away by a tsunami, the pleasure-pain of Jake’s cock being wedged just beneath your cervix and pressing in from behind your bellybutton caused you to release a nonsensical throat-aching scream as well as you beginning to weep in humiliation from the heat overtaking your senses making you feel like you had peed yourself as the lush flow of your and Jake’s combined finish both bulged your stomach and dribbled steadily down your buttocks while every muscle within you spasmed almost violently and your toes curled painfully.

“Fuck, my little slut is a gusher,” Jake chuckled, groaning as he trembled in pleasure. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna keep you. You’ll do just nicely.”

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 24 November 2023 Word Count: 5,500

#avatar #avatar smut #atwow #jake sully #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #jake sully x human!reader #graphic violence

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muffinsin · 3 months

Note

Sorry bothering you again, i asked about the reincarnated reader having nightmares about their death and it was a bit all over the place 😅 so how do you think each sister would react to reincarnated reader screaming from her nightmares?

Absolutely adore ur content

Not a bother at all hon! :) I understood, don’t worry😊 I’m glad you like my works! :)

(Full/original request attached as pictures, will be answered by a text linking to this post)

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

(Full request), torture post referenced can be found here

Bela

You’ve been taken from her entirely too early

She knew she had enemies, just never thought you would fall victim to them. And that she couldn’t protect you

When they took you, and took you from her in the end, she was completely broken

She’d never forgive herself

Yet, you returned to her. Somehow

At first, she doesn’t believe her eyes to see you work at the castle

She can’t understand it. It’s been nearly a lifetime

And still, she has never stopped loving you

To have you back brings all the feelings back up within her. All those she has stuffed down and covered with cement, simply back at the surface

Against her better judgement, she immediately swarms to you when she sees you

She needs to apologise, to make it better, somehow

But, she finds things have changed

You are yourself. But, you’ve forgotten your past life. She’s nothing but “Lady Bela” to you now

And perhaps, she thinks, it’s for the best. Her mind is plagued by what happened in the past, and if it takes her distance to keep you safe, it’ll be done

She watches from afar, never truly interacts with you or allows you to see her

But she watches out for you. She ensures not too much work is dumped on you

She pulls strings to allow you a room for yourself, quite a spacious one. Officially this is “for your hard work”, despite having only started at the castle

She watches you smile with the staff. Your happiness is still the most important thing to her, even if the distance makes her heart ache

She yearns to feel you back in her arms. But your safety comes first

Bela understands, her love means danger

She wants you to live a happy life now. And you do, for a while

Yet, the castle, as well as time, brings memories

Nightmares

Each night, building up

It starts with innocent dreams, memories, of holding Bela’s hand and being intimate with her. Kissing, dates, confessions of love, quality time together

Bela knows nothing of this. She does notice you looking around, however, more often than not when you work

She feels your eyes stare at her when you are in the same room as her as her dinner is served

She hears your breath hitch when you are tasked to place a plate down in front of her and smell the oddly familiar scent that Bela carries with her

Still, she stays distant. She can’t risk your life for her love again

Yet as time goes on, you begin to have nightmares

Smaller ones, of horrors that have your heart beating wildly and have you wake up drenched in sweat

Then, there are major ones

Bela is immediately alerted by your scream at night. She fears for your safety, and immediately comes rushing to you

Instead, she finds you screaming and crying in bed, sweating and turning in your sleep

For just a moment, she agrees to screw her promise to stay away

You need her

Perhaps you won’t even remember this in the morning anyway

It hurts, yet feels so right for her to move over to the bed and pull you into her arms

You struggle and scream still, caught up in whatever dream you have

Bela shushes you and coos, her voice low and her arm tight around you. Securing you

The scent of her perfume surrounds you. Even asleep, you seem to take notice of it. You relax a little, crying and gasping out words like “No” and “Bela”

Are you having a nightmare about her? The thought pains her. Maybe she shouldn’t be here, she figures

Yet, just as she attempts to let go, your eyes flash open wide, fearful and confused, and your hands grip her wrists tightly

Upon looking at the tall fly woman in your room, you manage to calm yourself a little

Memories have been coming you, and seeing her- really seeing her- and feeling her, opens the floodgates

She gasps when you tug her forwards, arms around her midsection as you bury your face in her stomach. She stands awkwardly next to the bed, unsure what to do. Are you aware of your actions?

You sense her confusion and nervousness. You just need to feel her close. Even closer

“Iubirea mea”

Bela’s eyes widen at this. You stare up at her, shaking and with teary eyes

“My love”, she repeats back in nothing but a whisper, emotions welling up in her and silent tears wetting her cheeks

When you tug her again, she wastes no time. She’s yearning for you, and incredibly deprived of you. She wants- needs- you. She has, always

You grip her tight as she swarms into your bed, your body rested against hers

In a way, you’re both each other’s teddy bears, content and desperate to be as close as possible

Dresses and shirts are discarded and tossed away. She wants to feel as close to you as possible

Only when you’re on top of her, with your bare skin pressed against hers, the two of you can begin to feel content

You haven’t realised how much missed her cold skin until you remembered everything

Bela has missed your warm skin each passing day

She has her arms around you, and you’re holding onto her shoulders tightly, the blanket slung over both of you

“I felt something missing. I spent each day wondering what it was. Now, I remember”

Bela pulls you tighter. Her finger tips run lightly against your back

“I don’t want to lose you again”, she confesses quietly. You feel her nuzzle against your neck, where a mark laid long ago

“You won’t”

“I won’t”, she promises

She spends all night with you, and all day the following morning. Never lets she go of your hand

The two of you have a lot of catching up to do

Cassandra

She’s lost you- not to time, nor animals

To humans

Hunters

Kidnappers

They took you when she wasn’t around, and never was she able to forgive herself for it

Upon finding you dead, Cassandra feels utterly broken

How could she not have saved you? How could she not have been there?

Even as the years pass, this makes it very difficult for her to go about her life

She can’t stop thinking about you and has never found herself a replacement

No partner, no flings with random maidens, even

Then, one day, she finds you at the castle again

She doesn’t trust this. She can’t

She is enraged someone is pretending to be you, her lover!

But- you aren’t

You have no idea who she is, and are terrified when she comes for you, sickle raised and demanding answers you don’t have

She’s hurt by this, at first, and it confuses you

Her appearance, though, seems familiar to you. You’re not entirely sure why

Cassandra sees the confusion in your eyes. The lack of fear

No- she won’t let you get close again, she decides

She won’t let you get hurt

And so she snarls at you, bares her teeth and shows her sickle, fake laughter ringing out as she chases you away

She ensures you’re too scared to be intrigued by her again. It hurts, but it will have to be done

She refuses to let you get hurt again

So, as time goes on, Cassandra distances herself. And not just that

She ensures you will not reach out to her, by scaring you, often

Still, she is protective of you

Those that give you a hard time are dragged to the basement and become her newest playthings

It’s more or less an open secret, that you’ve got the murderous sister on your side

And it’s giving you strange, mixed messages. To feel you must fear for your life around her, while knowing she will make your life comfortable among servants

Even does Cassandra secretly leaves plates of food on your bed, knowing the staff never quite receives as much food as they possibly should

You begin to have dreams of her, however, and she can tell

Cassandra rarely sleeps since your oblivious self is at the castle. She wants to ensure your safety

And with this comes that she likes to have a few flies in your room. Spying, no- watching over you

She hears you sigh her name dreamily when you sleep, and knows your memories are returning

She sees the yearning look you send her when you think she doesn’t notice your presence

And lastly, she sees the small paintings you make of her. Secretly, she pockets them. You never know where they go off to

She remembers being your muse before your death…

Cassandra tries to be distant more and more. She snarls at you, but it hardly does anything

It’s as if you know she won’t hurt you. That around you, she’s not going to bring her sickle down on you

Cassandra even goes as far as to bite your neck roughly, even if your familiar taste brings back memories

Still, you don’t flinch away from her

It’s incredibly frustrating to try to stay away when you’re reaching out to her more and more with each passing week

Eventually, she feels like the chased prey. Backing away against walls and swarming when you approach, wide eyed and trying to move when you catch her eye

She knows, you remember her. She knows, you want answers

But she also knows you don’t yet remember the whole truth. As much as she wants to, she can’t give in

Your death is all that is on her mind

She fears, when you eventually remember, you will hate her. Rightfully so, in her eyes

For weeks on, she avoids you. She knows you remember more and more of your life

Then, one night, she notices something is up

You cry and squirm, whimper and gasp

Immediately, she swarms to your room. She jumps when you scream, hands grabbing the sheets and twisting them

All her distance, her caution, her worry is thrown out the window the moment you are distressed

She climbs in bed with you, and pulls you to her large and soft chest. Tears fall on it as you cry

Cassandra isn’t sure what to say. She has never been good with her words

She holds you though, tightly, in a comforting embrace, her fingers in your hair and on your back, gently stroking you

She can’t help but press a kiss to your head. This closeness is bringing up feelings and thoughts she shoved so far down

She holds you tighter as you tremble and shake, scream and gasp

When you wake up, your wide, fearful eyes stare up at her

And she stares back at you, unsure what to do. Is this right? Should she not distance herself?

Cassandra can’t bring herself to move

She gasps when you pull her tighter, cuddling her like a gigantic, sadistic teddy bear

“They hurt me so much”, you gasp out between cries

Her eyes widen at the realisation that you finally remember

Tears flood her eyes too

“I’m so sorry”, she cries, words she has never said in her newborn life, but ached to tell you the moment you returned to her, even oblivious to who she was

Cassandra gasps again when she isn’t pushed away, but rather you climb fully on top of her like you used to

She can’t help but cup your cheeks, and hums happily when she crashes your lips against yours

Perhaps, this is the most intense and passionate kiss she has ever shared with you

With both of your cheeks wet from tears and memories making both of you shake

Daniela

Daniela still remembers your death

She remembers racing to find you, the adrenaline and the fast beat of her hearts

She remembers you dying her in her arms

And she can never forgive herself for it

She sees your face in her dreams years later, a decade later even. Haunting her

She still loves you. She still sees you in everyone. She tries to be happy again, to move on, yet finds herself yearning for you

Her lovers reflect this; she chooses only those that reminds her of you

And yet, none of them are you

This is to change

Daniela nearly faints when she sees you at the castle one day, fixing curtains and cleaning the shelves of the library

She feels so much at the same time

Love, happiness, relief, guilt

She so wishes she could have saved you

The moment she sees you, she swarms for you and pushes herself against you

In return, she receives a scream, before you can cover your mouth

She hears your heartbeat, fast, yet not the way it used to be

You’re terrified. Of her

Daniela draws back immediately. You stare at her, scared and confused, your rag dropped to the floor

Daniela just doesn’t understand

“Is there anything I can help you with, Lady Daniela?”, comes your shaky voice

For a moment she wonders, are you playing a cruel joke on her?

Is this because she was unable to save you?

No; you would never do such a thing to her. She knows, she was precious to you

Was

No longer. Your memory is gone, it seems

She croaks out a “No”, and immediately swarms off. She can’t stand seeing you while knowing you are no longer hers

Daniela considers trying to court you again. She’s won you over once, after all

Then, she remembers how it ended. How you’ve died in her arms

She decides, it’s best to stay away

She doesn’t want you dying again. She loves you so much

Staying away is the most selfless thing she has ever done, she feels. And the hardest

She yearns to be with you, to feel your touch

For a long time, this holds up

Though, Daniela can’t help but try to keep you isolated. Should she hear someone express interest in you, she tries her best to intervene

It would hurt so much to see you with someone that isn’t her

After a month or so, she notices you act stranger than normal

You glance at her, when normally you try to avoid her attention entirely

Daniela feels you stare at her sometimes, and sees you advert your eyes a second before she can fully turn around to face you

You seem to be curious about her, but she can’t understand why

She’s entirely unaware of the sudden memory flashes you experience at times

Nor the dreams that sometimes appear in your mind when you’re asleep

Memories

Memories of Daniela

Memories of holding her. Cuddling her, kissing her

Memories of reading together and giggling under the covers

Memories of shared baths and serious conversations

Precious memories, that suddenly come to you

Are they truly memories, or dreams?

Daniela feels observed by you. Yet, she doesn’t try to scare you off

She can’t, not with you so important to her. She can’t bring herself to even snarl at you

Of course, this is also picked up by you

You’re bold around her, bolder than a staff member should be

When you step close to her one day and look into her eyes, trying to see whether it was a dream that her eyes reflect beautifully, her breath hitches

She knows she should be distant. She just can’t help herself properly at times

Most of the time, she opts for escaping you. It’s a fun thought, considering she is a predator

Still, she swarms away when she sees you walk in her direction, acting as though she can’t hear you call out for her

You desperately want to see her. You’ve been having an odd dream as you of lately

It showed you a memory, of cuddling naked with Daniela. You need to know if it’s real

In the dream, you are shown a small scar between her shoulder blades. You must know whether the memory is real

It’s as though you remember and don’t remember her at the same time. Your feelings are still in the past, not yet discovered fully

Daniela blushes bright red when she finds out you volunteered- no, asked, to be assigned as her private maiden

Made to clean her room, to dress and bathe her, to tend to her every need

At first, she shuts this down. She picks someone else

Eventually, nobody else is available. No other staff member wants a position this deadly

Daniela attempts to stay cold and quiet when you bathe her. You used to always do that, and often joined her in the warm water

She notices you still remember, it seems, the bath temperature she likes, somewhere in the back of your head

No matter her efforts though, Daniela is a flustered and blushing mess under your fingers

She hears you gasp once, but your face is difficult to read when she turns to you

You’ve got your answer in the form of the small scar underneath the sponge and soap. It’s real, whatever your dream have been showing you

Yet you can only remember parts. Without the full picture, you feel as if lost in the dark. Curious, yet not quite the same yet

As another month passes, your memories come back more and more

Daniela jumps to attention when she takes a stroll through the castle and hears your scream

Immediately, she swarms to you

Is there an intruder?!

No, she finds your room empty, save for you on the bed

Crying, shaking, trembling, screaming for Daniela

She runs to you and immediately wraps her arms around you

These screams remind her far too much of what was done to you. What she couldn’t prevent

“I’m here, my love”, she whispers, over and over again. She’s not letting go of you again. She’s not

Daniela shakes with you, but holds you tight. When you awaken, your eyes are wide, terror written across them

Daniela knows, you remember it all now

She cries with you as both of you attempt to escape the painful memory

Your arms are tight around her, the way they used to be

“My precious Daniela”, you whisper shakily. She cries, and holds you even tighter

“My perfect love. It’s always been you”, she reassures

All night you two hold each other. Daniela is so happy to be given another opportunity with love

This time, she will ensure you are never taken from her again

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #deluded anon

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minervadashwood · 1 year

Text

Daryl Dixon x gn!Reader (plus size) - Soulmate AU

Careful

Summary: You have a soulmate you've never met. When their injuries stop appearing on your body, you worry that they're dead. As the apocalypse starts, you're convinced of it. How very wrong you are.

Note: This story is a one-shot AU of the Scars and Stitches (Tumblr | AO3) universe. I think it can be read as a standalone, but if you want to read the whole series first, go right ahead. There is one specific event referenced in the chapter "Safe" (Tumblr | AO3). You can check that single chapter if you’re curious. Huge thanks to @livingdeadblondequeen for giving me this idea of soulmates who experience each others’ injuries and pain. This story contains: angst, scars, blood, a secretive Daryl Dixon, and a happy ending. Word count: 3.3K

Masterlist | Taglist

The first scar happened when you were only four. One day, you were playing outside, just after a summer storm, making mud pies with your little brother. There, up to your wrists in wet, squelchy mud, sudden scrapes appeared on your hands, your knees, and your left cheek. Your brother screamed for your mother, and he started weeping uncontrollably. “Y/N’s dying!” he said, over and over. But you weren’t. Each of your scrapes, including the slashing wound on your forehead that bled profusely, were treated at the kitchen sink. You bawled through it all, but back then your mother was gentle. She soothed you with kind words, a soft touch, and endless patience.

More injuries came after that. Your nose was broken in the third grade, your wrist in the fourth. Not a month went by when you didn’t get bruised or banged up. Your mom went back to work, taking the nightshift with your dad at the local coal refinery. You were racking up doctor’s bills right and left, and the insurance was better with both of them working.

When you were twelve, your mom sat you down one Friday night--morning for her--and told you about the birds and the bees, including soulmates. She explained that the reason you got hurt so much was because out in the world somewhere, your soulmate was getting hurt, too. You cried, worrying about the person who was injured so often.

After that, your own troubles started. Your parents took up drinking, and your cozy little trailer became a nightmarish prison. The first time your mother slapped you, you sent a silent apology to your soulmate. They’d been hurt so much already, and here you were making it worse.

At fourteen, a fight with your mother, who wielded a broken lamp, left you bleeding from a gash in your oblique. Your younger brother got in the family car, barely able to see over the steering wheel, and drove you to the doctor’s office to get you patched up. You had a jagged scar from that, and so must your soulmate. Every night you prayed to that distant person, telling them that you loved them and that you were sorry. Not for anything specific, but just because both your lives seemed to be filled with pain.

But the worst scars came when you were fifteen. You were in English class--your favorite--when your back erupted into a sharp, bruising pain that made every other injury feel like tiny scratch. You wailed, right in the middle of class, falling out of your desk chair and writhing face down on the floor. You jerked as more and more pain hit you, the force of it shaking you right to your bones. Then the bleeding started. Huge cuts formed under your shirt, soaking the garment in seconds. Your teacher ordered all the students out of the room, and she called the nurse on the intercom. You were in a fog of pain and tears, and soon too weak for even that. You woke up in the hospital, laying facedown on a gurney, your little brother at your side.

More came later, bruises on your face from what you eventually realized were fistfights, once a sprained ankle. Another broken nose. Then a third. But as you grew up, left home, and got your library degree on a state scholarship, the hurts came less and less.

You half wondered, through most of your twenties, if your mate hadn’t simply died from all their hard living. But deep down, you still felt a connection to them. Whether that was false hope or something else, you weren’t sure.

Now, you are somewhere in Georgia, staring down miles of abandoned cars. Your arm is in a sling because one of your companions put you in a wrist lock two nights ago. You have two friends here. A stressed out cop and a surly redneck. The latter keeps a close eye on you. He knows about your scars and about your mate, whom you are certain is dead.

After Shane hurt you, somehow Daryl found you. Tipsy from the liquor he’d been drinking, he took one look at you and demanded an explanation. After you showed him your arm, he wrapped it with an elastic bandage and fashioned you a sling from a pillowcase. The whole time, you sat there and cried your eyes out. You went on and on about your lost soulmate, all the pain they’d been through--all the pain you’d been through. Daryl listened, silently, his expression sometimes tense and sometimes soft. He is a man of few words, to say the least.

(You never noticed that since that night he started favoring his left arm, and that he usually sleeveless hunter took to wearing long-sleeve flannel.)

Daryl catches your attention as the group begins to split up to search the nearby cars. “‘M goin’ up ahead to get some gas wi’ T-Dog.”

“Okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll look for clothes and medicine. Maybe find something that will actually fit me.”

“Will ya try ta stay close ta the RV?”

You nod with a half smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’m one handed at the moment, and not looking to be a hero.” Daryl leaves you with a nod, and you watch him walk away from you; his broad shoulders seem large enough to carry the weight of the world. Maybe they do.

Rick approaches you a few minutes later, convinced that Daryl is the one who hurt you. You fall back on the lies you and your brother would spin after your parents had too much to drink. Lori demanded your silence, and you want to keep your promise.

“It didn’t happen to me,” you explain, “I have a soulmate. I thought they were dead, but hey, guess what? Miracles do happen.” The end of the world apparently has made you snarky. You give Rick the short version--not the weeping monologue Daryl suffered through.

“Maybe you’ll find them,” Rick says, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly.

Getting back to your task, you somehow find a suitcase with plus size clothing. Most of it is in floral prints or with obnoxiously bedazzled phrases like “hot stuff” and “super cute” spread across the front. The other options include garish Hawaiian prints and stretched out polos. You aren’t picky. If something might fit, you grab it.

You have a good-sized bundle when Daryl suddenly grabs you and pulls you to the ground. In doing so, he has saved your life, again. Under a jeep, you huddle with him, holding your breath as he glances around and grips a long knife in his hand. The walkers pass you by, miraculously, and Daryl helps you to your feet. Just as he did after the CDC exploded, he holds you close, his arms wrap tightly around your thick middle as he whispers in your ear.

“Ya did real good. It’s gonna be alrigh’.” A moment passes before he loosens his arms and lets you go.

You wonder what he must think of you. Some helpless person who cried and moaned over a bruised wrist. Someone who needs constant looking after because they can’t protect themselves in this world.

Not all of your group fared as well as you and Daryl. In fact, he has disappeared into the forest. You sit with T-Dog, stitching up his arm and digging through long-lost Merle’s stash for antibiotics.

Later, as if you’re some child to be handled, Daryl demands that Glenn take you to the farm, ostensibly to take care of T-Dog. But you know better. You’re in the way and virtually helpless. Daryl doesn’t want you underfoot while he continues the search for Sophia. You can’t blame him.

At the farm, your scant first aid knowledge isn’t much good when there’s an actual physician around. You are partially relieved. Carl has much better chances without you getting in the way.

Carol, practically a walking zombie--no, not that kind--only frets and cries. Normally, Lori would comfort her, but Lori has her own troubles. You help organize the camp, before it gets too dark, pitching tents and making up beds for Daryl, Shane, and Carol. After, you sit with Carol, and she tells you stories of Sophia, some that break your heart and some that make you smile. Her tirades against Rick bubble up in between the tales. You let her talk; it’s not like Rick’s around to hear, anyway.

Night has fallen long before you hear the now-familiar sound of Daryl’s motorcycle. He talks with Carol, and the woman cries and pounds her fists against his chest. The sight affects you so much that you feel pressure on your heart, the repetitive pulsing almost making your ribs ache. You watch as she cries herself out, and Daryl’s head hangs low. Unable to bear the sight, you leave to get some food and water for him.

Carol escapes into her tent, and as she leaves, you bring the food to Daryl. You sit next to him while he eats in silence.

You want to hug him again, like you did in his truck, like you did on the highway, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere.

“Thanks fer the grub,” he mumbles, standing up.

“Sure, no problem. Did you get enough to eat? Drink?”

He nods, biting his thumbnail and looking at the ground.

You know he’s exhausted, but there is something boyish and lost in the way he stands and the drooping of his shoulders. All at once, he reminds you of home, of family. Indeed, a wave of familiarity overtakes you, as if you have known Daryl all your life.

Ignoring the voices of your better angels, you reach up and gently draw his hand from his mouth to hold it in yours.

He lets out a long sigh and runs his thumb over your knuckles. “We got someone keepin’ watch?”

You stare at your joined hands in the moonlight, at Daryl’s thick, calloused thumb moving over your skin. His touch grounds you, somehow. Nothing is okay right now, but with Daryl next to you, this chaos feels almost bearable.

“Dale on the RV, T-Dog in the camp,” you answer. “We set up a tent for you. You need some rest.”

He nods.

Still holding his hand, you lead him to a small copse of trees, where his tent sits, apart from the others. You know that Daryl likes his privacy.

On the way, you tell him about Carl, about Otis and Shane heading out in the morning. You tell him about Hershel, too, warning Daryl that the man is protective and opinionated. You finish just as you reach his tent, and you reluctantly let go of Daryl’s hand.

(You don’t notice how he clenches and unclenches his fist, or how he puts his other hand on that wrist, trying to dull the pain there.)

“Ya got a place to get some shut-eye?” he asks, his voice raspy and soft.

“With Carol. Don’t want to leave her alone overnight.”

He grunts, giving you a small nod. Resisting every urge to hug him, you turn and walk back to Carol’s tent. Sleep comes fast, but Carol’s cries wake you up in the night, over and over. Each time you try to comfort her until eventually she falls asleep again.

The next day, in the late afternoon, the heat has taken its toll on you, so you find respite in a shaded part of camp, drinking from a bottle of water. The grass, soft and tempting, practically invites you to take a nap. Even without Daryl or Rick close by, you are relatively safe, so you give in.

When you wake up, Dale’s face is directly above yours. His hat askew, his brow covered in droplets of sweat, Dale’s mouth is moving, but you blink in and out of consciousness. Another concussion, you think, that would make three, now.

Forcing yourself to focus, to stay alert, you try to sit up, but Dale holds you down, his lips moving even faster now. A shadow moves above. It’s T-Dog with bandages and a bottle of tequila. His voice becomes a muffled sound, then all at once, you hear Dale saying your name, over and over, telling you to stay still. T-Dog shouts for Andrea, but she is nowhere to be seen.

“Wha--”

“Save your strength,” Dale tells you. “We’re just trying to stop the bleeding before we get you inside.”

The throbbing in your head gives way to a white-hot burning in your belly. You hurt from the inside out, as if something has clawed its way through you and left agony in its wake.

A soft touch wipes a cloth across your brow. The blood on it catches your eye. The throbbing in your head must be bleeding.

“Was it a bullet?” Carol’s voice asks. She cradles your head on her lap. “They must have fallen and hit their head, too.”

“Can’t be. We would’ve heard somethin’,” T-Dog replies.

Aches, bruising and intense, bloom all over you, like smatterings of hammer blows on your joints, torso, and legs. A whimper passes your lips, but the others don’t seem to notice these fresh bumps. You start praying, like you did all those years ago, telling your soulmate that you love them, to be strong, to get themselves to safety.

Consciousness comes and goes, at one point your shoulders are caught in a bruising grip, but no one is actually touching you there. Quickly, after that, new agony rips through your open wound, making you scream and moan on the ground.

Dale’s hands are shaky, you feel the trembling at your wound. All at once the three of them turn you on your side. You can’t help the piercing scream that erupts from your mouth.

“Whatever it was, there’s an exit wound,” Dale says. “Didn’t see that at first.”

A pair of hands press against your belly and another at your back.

The new pain has you on the verge of fainting until the disembodied voice of Andrea shouts, “WALKER!”

“Shit!” T-Dog exclaims.

All of a sudden, he lifts you. The world whizzes by, a steak of green in your peripheral and a wisp of clouds overhead.

Something slices across your temple, a quick burst of pain that fades in the wake of your torso being shaken and jostled as you are carried across uneven ground.

You can’t keep your eyes open. The voices around you are silenced and your vision goes dark. Again.

“That’s two more rounds of antibiotics, Rick. Your people can’t seem to stop getting hurt.”

“I understand that, Hershel. A few of us will go out in the morning and look for what you need. For now, I need to know if they’re going to be alright.”

“They’ll need some time to recover, but, yes, they’ll be fine. Eventually. Now, I need to check on my own family.”

You hear a door slam shut, and force open your eyes. “Rick?”

The room is dark except for the light from a lantern near the table. In a chair next to you sits the deputy.

“You gave us quite the scare today,” he tells you.

“What happened?” You try sitting up, but think better of it when you realize you are shirtless under the covers. You have more scars than words to explain them.

“Daryl was tracking Sophia, fell off his horse, and down a ravine.”

You clutch the covers to your chest. “Is he okay? How bad is it?” You tremble in the bed, sick with worry.

Rick smiles and says,, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You turn to see Daryl laying next to you, his head wrapped in gauze. Distantly a door opens and closes: Rick making a quick exit.

Daryl’s eyes are watery as he speaks. “Didn’ ‘spect ya ta find out like this.”

He takes your hand and places it on your forehead. Instead of hair, your fingertips trace over gauze. You realize it's wrapped around your forehead, just like it is his.

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest, sounding in your ears like the hastened beat of a bass drum.

Next to you, Daryl slowly pulls the covers down to his waist. He has a tank top on, but it does not cover the bandage on his stomach. The white gauze has been placed on the same part of his belly that caused you incredible pain before you blacked out.

“All I thought ‘bout out there was gettin’ back to ya. Jus’ thinkin’ of ya hurt as bad as me. I had to pull the arrow out to stop the bleedin’. I know it hurt like hell.” He lays on his side, but under the covers, his hand finds the soft flesh of your stomach and rests there. “‘M so sorry. Fer this, fer everythin’. If I knew before--” his voice cracks, but he keeps talking. “If I knew ya was ou’ ‘ere, gettin’ hurt ‘cause of me, I woulda been more careful all them years. I knew I didn’ deserve ya the moment ya told me all them times ya prayed to your soulmate, worried ‘bout him, ‘bout me.”

You take his hand and use it to pull him closer. His rough fingertips find their way to your upper back and hold you gently.

“I don’ deserve a soulmate, let alone someone like you,” he whispers. “Look what I done to ya. All yer life you been hurtin’. ‘Cause of me.”

Tears fall from your eyes. You cup his face, stroking your thumb on the apple of his cheek. The scruff from his beard pricks your skin, but the discomfort is welcome. “You’re real and here. That’s all that matters to me. You weren’t the one to carve up my back or break my nose. The world did that, to both of us.”

You move closer to him and cradle his neck until your noses almost touch. “I’ve been dreaming of you all my life, Daryl, scars and all. Your life--our lives are told on our bodies. Every scar a story of the time before we met. I want to write a new one. Together.”

He stares at you in the orange lantern light, and a few tears fall down his cheeks. Heart in your throat, you stay silent, watching him watch you. You lose yourself in his eyes, the soft way he gazes at you, unblinking and searching.

“I wanna kiss ya,” he mumbles. “I jus’ want ya to feel somethin’ good from me, an’ not all this pain.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

Daryl’s hand snakes up your back until it cradles the base of your head. The world goes silent the moment his lips touch yours. The taste of him sets off fireworks in your soul, as if part of you was not truly alive until this moment. You kiss him back, all those years of praying and crying over him coalescing so that you can forge this new path, together.

Some time later, you break apart, lips wet and swollen from endless, slow kisses, kisses trying to make up for decades spent apart.

“Was tha’ alrigh’?” Daryl asks, biting his bottom lip.

You smile for what feels like the first time in your life. “Not sure. We better do it again. Just in case.”

The end. Thank you for reading!

==Taglist==

@livingdeadblondequeen @phoenixblack89 @green-eyedladywrites @in-this-minute @takeabreathdeath @ravendixon @gypsytraveler86-blog @xojdmasf @daisy107 @angelrenee239 @sleepyamaya @no-tresspassing @carol @taintedxkisses @bl4ckt00thgr1n @glitch0o0 @micheleamidalajedi @lonelywolfheart @jad3djay @catholicraisin @harringtonstudios @brittney69 @littlelovebug98 @aureolinb

#mdop #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #minerva writes #scars and stitches #dd/xm #nonbinary reader #enby reader #gender neutral reader #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon x gender neutral reader

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sparklypinkflightsuit · 3 days

Text

Stars Align: Part 3

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol Misuse, Drinking, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff and a lot of it, Mentions of Abuse, Sexual References, Violence, Anger, Pining, I think that's it?

-- Part 2 Here --

_____________________________

18+ Only

_____________________________

Present:

You went back inside to let Gabby know you were going to grab a drink with Bradley, and to ask if she wanted you to walk her to a cab.

Bradley followed you to the dance floor.

“Rooster!” A voice rang out from the crowd, and a tall blond man emerged.

“Hangman.” Bradley responded, “I’m gonna shoot off, can you let Mickey know?”

The blond man raised his eyebrow, “Find yourself a little lady?” He looked over Bradley’s shoulder at you as you waited patiently.

“She’s my old best friend, haven’t seen her in years so we’re going somewhere quiet to catch up.” Bradley explained.

“Right, sure.” The blond winked. “Don’t be late tomorrow, Mickey will kill you.” And he turned around to leave.

Bradley faced you with a grimace, “Sorry about him, Jake’s a piece of work.”

“I’m more interested in the part where he called you Rooster. You kept the nickname?” You chuckled.

“Call sign.” Bradley corrected you with a grin.

“Wait… do you mean-“ you were cut off by Gabby barging into you.

“Whoops! Sorry. Are we leaving? I think I’ve had enough for one night.” She breathed, bunching her hair up off of her sweaty neck.

“Actually, yeah Bradley and I are gonna grab a drink and catch up. Can we walk you to a cab?” You asked, wrapping your arm around her waist to steer her towards the exit.

“Much obliged.” She saluted you and you chuckled.

Once Gabby was safely in a cab and on her way home, you turned to smile at Bradley.

“Where to?” You asked.

“I know a place.” He held out his hand and you took it, walking next to him as he gently steered you through the crowds. His hand felt remarkably strong yet so gentle at the same time, like he was gently cupping something he was terrified to break.

“So… call sign huh? That mean you got into the Navy?”

“Yes ma’am. I couldn’t wait to tell you about it… but you changed your number.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you cautiously.

“Oh… I didn’t.” You looked to the ground awkwardly.

Bradley glanced at you, confused, your number had been disconnected when he’d tried to call you years ago and had been ever since.

You bit your lip, “But that’s a long story, not sure we’ll have time for it tonight. I am sorry I wasn’t there for you when you got to experience that, though.” You felt horrible for missing such a milestone in his life.

Bradley smiled down at you, “I get to share it with you now, don’t I?” He nudged you until you grinned, and then let go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulder instead.

“Can’t believe I bumped into you, here of all places.” He mumbled absentmindedly as he walked.

“Yeah that’s fate I guess, Rooster.” You joked, referencing something from your past you always used to tease him about. He’s shot you a playful glare and you chuckled.

He suddenly stopped, “Here we are. I passed this place earlier and weirdly enough, it made me think of you.”

You looked up at the sign and scrunched up your nose, “A Cat Cafe?”

“No.” Bradley laughed, and moved you over to the left slightly, pointing at the sign next to it.

“Oh! An art bar, that’s better Bradshaw, for a moment there I thought you forgot that I’m a dog person.” You chuckled as you walked inside.

Bradley sat you down at a cozy corner booth, and squeezed in next to you as you scanned the menu for their cocktail list and some nibbles.

Your heart began to race as you felt his strong arm rest behind you on the seat as he read the menu over your shoulder. His breath was minty as it wafted over you.

“You think they’ll be serving any food still? It is 2am.” You said looking over at the other tables to distract yourself from your sudden emotional overtake, some of which had food on them, and your stomach growled.

“I’ll go ask, what drink do you want?” Bradley asked as he stood up, his hands propping himself up over you on the table, and you had to fight with all your might not to ogle at the size of his arms and the veins that protruded from his thick neck.

You gulped, “Sex on the beach, please.”

Bradley winked at you, “Whatever you want, Birdy.” And with a cheeky grin, he left to the bar to order.

He left you flushed and breathless, your rapid heartbeat doing little to distract from the sudden growing tension in between your thighs. You gasped to yourself as you realised your feelings were somehow still there.

Sure it didn’t help that Bradley was now a man, like really a man, or that his confidence was bordering on cockiness, but the real Bradley, or the old Bradley you should say, was still there underneath, and glimpses of him kept trickling through, reminding you of why you fell for him in the first place.

You were lost in thought when Bradley got back, jumping as he placed a plate of fries and your drinks on the table. He pulled a small canvas and a mini easel out from under his arm and positioned it on the table, with small tubs of primary colour paints. He pulled out two tiny paintbrushes from his pocket and handed you one as he eyed you up.

“Sorry.” He chuckled, “Care to tell me where you just travelled to… up there.” He gestured to your head and you rolled your eyes.

“Trust me you don’t want to know what goes on up there.”

“Probably for the best, bet it’s all lady stuff.” he said sitting down next to you.

“Ew, only you could make those two words sound gross, Brad.” You flinched.

Bradley chuckled, and you spent the rest of the evening catching up on all the things missed while you were apart, while picking at the fries and painting random squiggles on your canvas every now and then. You purposely left out the section of your life involving Jacob, as that was a story for another time, far too dark for a catch up date.

You learnt that Carole had passed away, and you were suddenly on the verge of tears. You felt so guilty that you never got to say goodbye, and that you weren’t there for Bradley when he needed you most.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been there for you.” You whispered, biting your cheek to stop the tears from falling.

“Hey, it’s okay. How were you supposed to know? She knew you loved her, I told her so many times towards the end.” He reassured you, but even as he did, his voice broke and you could see him swallowing down the lump in his own throat.

You were both sufficiently drunk at this point, Bradley more so, and your conversation had turned deep and emotional. You sat with your legs draped over Bradley’s thighs, while he played absentmindedly with your knees, a habit he’d picked up years ago, a coping mechanism of sorts to distract him from any issues at hand.

The first time he’d done this, you’d been at home watching a scary movie in the living room, and about halfway through Bradley had picked up your legs and put them on his lap. “You have really wobbly knee caps.” He’d commented, distracting himself from the gory scene ahead.

You’d looked at him, confused at the time, but it had come to be a comforting position for the both of you.

“What did you mean, earlier, when you said you didn’t change your number?” Bradley asked suddenly, clearing his throat of the lump.

You drew in a sharp breath, looking down at your hands. “It’s a long story Brad, another time?” You asked.

Bradley nodded, squeezing your calf.

“Should we make a move? Think the suns about to come up and you’ve got a wedding to attend.” You grinned.

“Yup, probably a good idea.” Bradley slurred, and you swung your legs off of him. He stood and immediately swayed, shooting a hand out to steady himself on the table.

“Woah, one too many whiskey sours, me thinks.” He chuckled. You got up and slotted yourself under his arm to steady him.

“Guess so. Let’s get you back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”

Bradley thought for a moment, and then looked down at you confused, “I can’t remember.” He snatched up the canvas and wedged it underneath his other arm.

You groaned. “Can you text that guy you were with earlier? Or do you have a keycard?”

Bradley pouted and shook his head, “Hangman and I are sharing a room, he has the keycard and he’ll be asleep right now. Can I crash at yours? Like old times?” He grinned his boyish grin and fluttered his pretty eyelashes, until you sighed and steered him towards the street.

“Yeah, okay, but a fair warning, I’m living out of boxes right now.”

“I thought you said you lived in an apartment, not in a box?” He slurred again, swaying on the spot as you stood and waited for a cab.

You laughed at his poor attempt at a joke, and patted him on the back. “You’re gonna feel awful tomorrow.”

“I know.” He grinned down at you, but his eyes were so sincere and gentle it made you want to kiss him.

A cab pulled up and you shuffled inside after Bradley. You told the driver your address and sat back.

Bradley was asleep on your shoulder within 2 minutes, and not long after you pulled up outside your building. You paid and thanked the cab driver and shook Bradley awake.

“Hmm?” He mumbled as he came to.

“We’re here.” You said gently, stroking his face to rouse him.

Bradley moaned at the touch and you found yourself having to clench your thighs, the sound vibrated through your entire body.

You managed to get Bradley to follow you, although wobbly, up the 5 flights of stairs, but you cursed the elevator being broken as it was like trying to coax a stubborn child.

Eventually you stumbled through the door and kicked your heels off.

“Home sweet home!” You sighed, eyeing up the mountain of boxes.

“It’s nice, bit crowded but it’ll get there.” Bradley slurred, walking into the kitchen and looking through your fridge. He pulled out a bottle of beer and was about to open it when you charged at him.

“What are you- ouch, what the fuck, Birdy?“

You collided with Bradley and wrangled the beer from his hand.

“Absolutely not!” You held the beer out of reach.

Bradley grinned and tried to swipe for it.

“No! It’s… 5:23am!” You groaned, checking the time on your phone. “You need to sleep or you’ll never make the wedding.”

“I’ll be fine! I don’t wanna sleep yet, we’ve got way too much catching up to do still.” He reached for the beer but you turned your back to him and held it as far out in front of you as you could.

Suddenly two strong arms were wrapping around your midriff and lifting you into the air. You squealed and tried to struggle, but a fit of laughter overtook you, zapping away any strength you held. Bradley smiled at you over your shoulder as he watched you lose yourself like you had when you were teenagers, and a wave of emotion and nostalgia overtook him. He put you down suddenly and turned you around.

Your laughing slowed and you looked up at Bradley, who’s eyes were brimming now.

''Brad are you okay?'' You were suddenly concerned at the sudden change in atmosphere.

Bradley pulled you in for a bear hug, and this time he just held you for a long time.

You rubbed his back soothingly, his fingers now thread in your hair as he held your head in place against his broad chest, his heart racing.

“I’ve really missed you, kid.” He said through a shaky voice.

“I’ve missed you too, Rooster.”

———————————————

Past:

You walked home with your heels in one hand and the other shielding your eyes as the rain poured down onto you. You were sure it rained so heavily that night because of how heartbroken you felt, and that Mother Nature just wanted to mask your tears with her own.

You burst through your front door and went straight upstairs, dumping your soggy shoes and purse by the door. Your parents turned from the movie they were watching in the living room in surprise.

“Jeez, when I said be home by 11, I meant more like 11:30, not 8:40.” You dad commented.

You slammed your bedroom door.

He looked at your mom who just shrugged. Your dad followed you upstairs, your mom hot on his tail.

“Honey, what happened?” He asked, pushing your door open gently.

“Nothing. I just want to go to bed.” You sniffed, undoing your braid to allow your wet hair to dry.

“Where’s Bradley?” Your mom asked.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

You tried to hard sleep that night, but sleep didn’t find you easily. You kept going over the night in your head, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

Eventually you stopped crying and your sadness turned to anger. You hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place, Bradley had begged you to go, and now you were furious he had.

It was close to midnight when your door creaked open and a sliver of light filtered in.

“Birdy.” Bradley whispered.

Your head shot up off of your tear stained pillow, and you glared at him for a second. “Who let you in?” You demanded.

“Your dad. But not before he gave me a talking to.” He admitted sheepishly. You slammed your head back down on the pillow.

“Birdy I’m so sorry.” He walked in and gently closed the door. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, I’m not really sure what came over me.”

You said nothing, smushing your face further into your pillow to avoid even seeing your best friends face. You were so mad.

You felt the bed dip behind you as Bradley lay down.

“Lil bird, please look at me.”

“I can’t right now.” You huffed.

“Okay, I get that. But at least let me apologise.”

“Don’t bother. You left me there Bradley, after you begged me to go with you, I don’t think apologising is gonna fix this one.” You said as you propped yourself up on your elbows and glared at him.

Bradley suddenly felt the immense guilt of what he had done when he saw how puffy your eyes were from crying.

“I know, I shouldn’t have. I came right back, once I’d calmed down and realised I was being a total idiot, but you were gone already. Sophie’s friend Kate said she overheard Michelle talking to her friends. I know you didn’t do or say anything, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“You’ve known me for years, Bradley. The fact that it took someone else telling you I wasn’t lying to believe me is a real gut punch.”

“I know, I’m a dick. It’ll never happen again. From now on if you say something, I’ll take your word. I swear.” He stuck out his pinky.

You stared at it and then at him for a moment. He seemed genuinely sorry, and you had missed him in the few hours since you’d last seen him, so you nodded and hooked your pinky in his.

“Fine. But I’m still mad at you.”

Bradley grinned, ruffling your already frizzy hair. You groaned and lay back down.

“Can I sleep over?” He asked, propping his head in his hand as he turned on his side to look at you.

“Only if you stop calling it a sleep over. We’re not kids anymore.” You huffed.

“Okay… can I stay the night?” He asked in a deep voice and wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“That’s better. You can wear my princess pyjamas.” You joked, finally cracking a smile.

Bradley rolled his eyes, sitting up and peeling off his dress-shirt. “If we’re not kids anymore, I don’t need pyjamas.” He lay back down in just his pants, and you blushed.

You wondered at times like these if he knew how you felt about him, and just enjoyed teasing you.

———————————

Present:

The sun filtered in through your curtain-less windows and you groaned. Your hangover hit you as soon as you peeled your eyes open, and you pulled your duvet over your head.

You breathed through the rolling nausea, and squeezed your eyes shut to stop the feeling of the world spinning a little too fast. Suddenly you heard a loud thump outside the room followed by a deep voice mumbling “shit”.

You’d forgotten all about Bradley. You shot up suddenly as the night before came into memory.

You could hear Bradley groan in the living room, as he shuffled around trying to get dressed.

You walked to the living room and watched as Bradley searched frantically for his shirt.

His toned body looked unfairly delicious in the morning light. You bit your lip as you watched.

Bradley noticed you finally, and relief washed over his face. “Oh Birdy, thank god. I can’t find my shirt and I’m so late for the wedding.” He walked over to you and grabbed your hands, pulling you into the living room. “I can’t remember the end of last night.”

“Well, that’ll be the last beer you had.” You raised your eyebrow at him. “Okay let me think.” You pressed your fingers into your temples as you walked around the apartment.

“Okay… so we had a little moment in the kitchen-“ you pointed to where you stood hugging Bradley for what felt like forever.

“Oh did we?” Bradley jiggled his eyebrows.

“Shut up, not like that Bradshaw.” You shot back and rolled your eyes.

You kept walking, your eyes scanning the boxes and floor space.

“And theeeen… you gave me a piggy back ride to… the bedroom?” You couldn’t recall why. You walked back to the bedroom with Bradley hot on your tail.

Bradley’s shirt lay on the floor next to your bed, and you picked it up and handed it to him.

“Thanks, Birdy.” Bradley said sincerely. He took a moment to put his shirt back on and then gave you a sad smile. “I guess I better get going. Will I see you again?”

You suddenly felt a lump in the back of your throat, and swallowed it down as best you could before you nodded.

“I hope so, Brad. I really did miss you.”

You showed Bradley out and waved him goodbye as he walked down the stairwell. As soon as he was out of sight you bit back tears and went back into the apartment. You sniffled as you unpacked your kitchen essentials, and laughed wetly as you remembered some of the events of the night before. You suddenly recalled why Bradley was in your room, he’d insisted on waiting until you fell asleep before he went to bed himself, and he sat singing 80’s and 90’s hits softly to you as he drank his beer, and as it had worked so well in the past, it still worked perfectly now.

As Bradley sang Aerosmith, your eyes fluttered shut;

“… Don't wanna close my eyes,

I don't wanna to fall asleep,

'Cause I'd miss you baby…

And I don't wanna miss a thing.”

The last thought that sank through your mind as you drifted off into a comforting slumber, was that you finally felt safe, like really safe, and you hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.

Not since you moved away.

——————————————

-- Part 4 Here --

Taglist now open 💛 Please let me know if you'd like to be added!

@dizzybee03

#miles teller x reader #miles teller #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #romance

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ggomos-maribat · 28 days

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 1: the assassin and his servant | AO3

CW: Suicide, blood, injury, referenced childhood trauma, mild violence

It is no surprise that the League of Assassins has its own fair share of enemies at its tail. Yet recently, there has been an onslaught of attacks, prompting its members to switch between the network of bases—its young heir is no exception. The third base to house Damian sits between two frosted peaks towering over a Tibetan village, first founded by the demon's daughter herself. Though the instigator of the attacks is unknown, it seems that the abilities of the opposing group is nearly on par with the trained assassins. Damian has scoffed at this piece of information; no one stands at the same level as the League.

Unfortunately, Damian has been kept away from the frontlines under Talia's strict instructions despite his insistence to fight. Knowing his status, Damian begrudgingly complied to escape and hide. Even if the food is cold and the night wind sometimes sneaks in to bite his bones, he sits still to wait for news announcing that it's safe to return to the main base.

He sits up on his creaky bed. The ends of the sheets are fraying, and the floors are ice cold, with the gray and brown meshing into a drabby color. The only semblance of a decoration is his twin katanas leaning off the side of his bed frame. It's a far cry from the home he knows, though his routine is mostly unchanged: training from dawn to dusk. But he can tell this day is different. From the commotion happening outside the room and the lingering tension in the air, Damian deduces that another attack is on the way.

Finally, his thoughts are confirmed when he hears the door open. "Master Damian?"

He has his back turned to her, his servant, but he can already picture out her presence. An unsteady stance dwarfed in a thick coat, calloused hands wrapped in fingerless gloves, cheeks that have lost a tad bit of their rosiness nowadays, and hair pushed back into twin braids. A child just like him, but raised an assassin nonetheless. "Lady Talia wishes for you to be relocated again. We will use the back tunnel and rendezvous with our guides halfway down the mountains. They will escort us to out—"

"Where are we relocating to?"

". . . I don't know, Master."

She swiftly moves to the side to pack his things. Damian picks up his weapons, biting back the habitual click of his tongue. He's sick of the cycle, feeling like a coward running away endlessly. "And why can't we hold them off?"

"We do not have enough people. Between guarding the Demon Head and the Pits, and covering all bases . . . The enemies have become too much to handle." Marie ties together the strings of the backpack, before strapping a rolled-up sleeping bag on top.

"If our assassins are competent enough, we would not be struggling ," Damian hisses.

The servant doesn't reply, but he catches the twitch of her upper lip. Like him, Marie has been forbidden from fighting the enemies, but she has been helping with the supplies and cleaning, apart from assisting him in training. She should know how weak the League has become.

"We will leave in five minutes," she says, offering his coat to him.

"What if I don't want to leave?"

"I am sorry, Master, but Lady Talia said—"

"Nevermind what Mother said. I can do it. I can fight."

Marie's expression changes just a little, and her hand reaches up to clutch her sleeve. He knows that even though she serves under him, she mostly answers to his mother. And defying Talia had greater consequences. It is not the first time Damian has wanted to go against higher orders; Marie has often eased him into not breaking the rules.

"I think it is better for you to reserve your energy for training, Master. Let the rest of us worry about the enemies."

"Tt. Grandfather should do something about this."

When Marie finally persuades him, they venture out to the winding halls. She navigates expertly, avoiding the rings of the gunshots and clashing of swords. Damian knows that they are near the exit when he feels the chilling gust of wind. The rocky snow-topped terrain welcomes them outside—there is only white and gray for miles that everything looks like a lifeless desert. Damian blinks against the sunlight, puffs of fogged breath floating along his vision. In the snowy landscape, Marie looks even paler, as if her skin has become translucent.

The swords on Damian's back feel heavier too. He has found that fighting in the cold is more troublesome—his joints are hardened, and the blood rushes out of his limbs. The stiffness of his muscles limit his movement and the thin air makes it difficult to breathe. Their escape party is too vulnerable, and if they were to encounter a hostile group, he will have to make the kill quick.

He glances at Marie every now and then. Her skills are average, and she looks smaller when bundled up. He doesn't miss the way she favors one foot when she trudges in the snow. Though she has been mentored by Talia, she is not like his mother, nor like the other women he is familiar with, like Nyssa or Lady Shiva. She's practically dead weight for Damian. An easy target.

He doesn't remember when she first started serving under him. He only recalls huffing in annoyance seeing the tiny girl hanging around on the sidelines as he trained, occasionally joining him for a spar. He only knows her as the one who brings his food, supplies him with his secondary weapons, escapes into other bases with him, and acts as his mother's slave. She looks more attuned to the civilians in the towns Damian sees during his missions, not someone who has blood in her hands. Rarely does she show emotion, not even some annoyance or defeat when he easily beats her during practice, not even flinching when the other servants delivered sharp slaps on her arms, not even a hint of awe like when Damian first gazed upon the second League base in Nepal. Her expressions are usually blank or incomplete, as if she suppresses her reactions.

She marches close to him, head darting around to check for danger. Damian stops and asks, "How long until we meet the guides?"

"We have one day of travel, Master."

"One day? Could they have not sent a plane?"

"It's too risky…"

Damian clenches his jaw. A day of hiking through frozen hell. He pulls his hood over his head and quickens his pace.

"Wait, Master, we should slow down." Marie calls after.

He doesn't care. The faster they walk, the faster they can meet up with their allies and get out of there.

"Master, wait—" A thump sounds out. Damian looks behind him to see Marie scrambling to get up.

"Tt. You could have stayed behind if you can't even walk."

Marie mumbles her apologies while catching up to him. "We should keep ourselves from tiring out quickly. There is still a long way to go."

"What if the enemies catch up to us?"

"They will not." She purses her lips. "They should not know you're escaping. They should not know you're here in the first place."

"They always know." Damian continues along the nonexistent path. "I'm certain there are moles here."

As they keep walking, Marie sometimes wobbles with the humongous bag but she doesn't trip again. Damian doesn't keep count how many steps they have taken or how long they walk, but soon he starts to stagger and shiver, and the sun fades away slowly. Marie directs them to a small cave carved out on the side of a cliff. It is small and still cold, but it will do for the night. Damian gives in to his aching legs, putting his swords in front of him, while Marie sets up the camp. She kindles a humble fire and takes out the supplies to make a meal.

"A seating mat, Master?" Marie lays out a folded cloth off to the side. Damian crawls to it wordlessly, leaning against the bumpy wall and draping an arm over his eyes.

She hugs her knees and watches the boiling water. "There might be a storm tonight. I can cover up the entrance, but I do not know how well it will hold up."

He doesn't reply.

"Any food you prefer, Master?"

"What difference does it make? It's all tasteless meal kits."

"But—"

"I don't care. Whatever you can make."

"If we wake up early, we can reach our destination in time," Marie continues, "It is colder in the morning but I have heat packs in the bag."

“...”

Damian peeks as she cooks a simple stew. The aroma spreads around the cave, mingling with the shadows created by the fire. The warmth chases away the chill just a little. His servant seems to note his unwillingness to make small talk, so they eat their meals in complete silence, basking in the crackling flames instead. Marie unrolls the sleeping bag and positions herself near the opening of the cave with a knife in hand.

"Please get some sleep, Master Damian. I will keep watch," says Marie.

Damian rolls to face the ceiling. Camp-outs are often bleak, and he practically has to sleep with one eye open. But owing to the soreness of his body, he drifts into deep slumber. He has no clue how long he sleeps but when he wakes up, the fire has gone small and the numbed pain in his back has become more persistent. Damian sits up to see Marie staring off blankly into the foggy snowstorm. She's trembling badly and her chapped lips have turned into a light shade of blue. They make brief eye contact before she jumps up to push out the little snow starting to pile up at the opening.

Damian averts his gaze, buries deeper into the sleeping bag, and thinks to himself how foolish it is for her to stay awake and away from the fire.

He lies awake instead of going back to sleep as the cold has won over his drowsiness. An eternity of gazing up at the darkness, his eyelids begin to feel heavy—

Damian's hand darts up to grab the wrist hovering over him. “What are you doing?”

Marie recoils back in surprise. "Hea—heat pack, Master. You looked cold."

"Tt. Forget it. I will get one myself if I'm cold."

Marie nods weakly, lowly muttering her apologies again, and returns to her post.

***

The next time Damian wakes, it's from noises nearby. The morning light has spilled into the cave, and the fire has reduced into ash and some smoke. The second thing he notices is the lack of Marie's presence—Damian scrambles up and runs towards the cave opening to see his servant locked in a fight with a stranger just on the edge of the cliff. An enemy assassin perhaps. He has her pinned to the ground, but her fingers are tightly wound around his neck. Marie lets out a choked scream when the man jams the hilt of his weapon on her injured foot.

Damian immediately pulls out his katana and swipes at the enemy's neck. He tugs Marie by the collar and kicks the man's large body off the drop. After looking around for other assassins he looks down on his servant, who's already making a makeshift splint from her knife holder despite her ragged breathing and the cut running across her hairline.

"Where's the bag?" Damian asks, wiping off the hint of blood from his blade.

Marie's eyes widen up at him, and they slowly follow down the height of the cliff.

"Really? You can barely hold off an enemy and you've lost our supplies?" Damian's hand clenches around his sword.

"I am sorry, Master, I was packing up and—and I was about to wake you." Her voice wavers. "I—I still have some food in my belt—"

" Save it," he cuts her off. "We have to get down from here as fast as we can."

Even if that assassin is a lone wanderer, they can't risk another similar encounter. If that happens, Damian isn't certain if he can keep himself alive, much less the both of them, especially if they're overwhelmed by numbers. He curses at his stiff hands; he could've been much faster if it were any other circumstance.

"I—I am sorry, Master," Marie gasps out.

"I said save it." Damian begins to hike again, and she follows while limping after crawling into the cave and packing up his sleeping bag.

He's surprised that she survived and held off the assassin, but she did so sloppily that her injury was aggravated. Because of that, they will be slowed down indefinitely, unless he chooses to venture on ahead. That is the truth in the League of Assassins: that kind of weakness isn't tolerated, even if she has some ability to defend herself. Those incapable are quickly rooted out, and those who are prodigies train to become more vicious.

Damian momentarily halts when he observes that the path has narrowed down. They can still cross and climb down, but after one wrong move, they will be falling into a merciless death. He tests the rock, moving one step at a time and clinging onto the shallow crevices of the wall.

He turns to Marie. “Climbing gear?”

She bows her head in guilt. “Inside the bag . . . Master.”

“That is your own fault,” he spits out. “If you cannot cross this, I'm not helping you.”

He feels her trying to follow closely, but her balance is dangerously off. Damian watches as she struggles to walk through. Her breaths are unsteady as she keeps her gaze on her feet. On top of that, she's shivering more than the previous day.

When Marie makes a misstep and gasps sharply when she slips, Damian jumps in to grab her sleeve to keep her from falling. She swallows and thanks him, to which he sternly directs to hold onto him as they cross. It takes them a longer while than he hoped for, but they finally come towards a more spacious and safer landing. Still, the bottom of the mountain is still too far to see.

“I thought Mother sent you to escort and protect me,” he tuts, looking down at her as she collapses on her knees to catch her breath. “Yet you are slowing us down and putting both our lives in danger.”

“You . . . you are right, Master. Forgive me.” She coughs a little, rubbing the area near her wound. “But I was trying to protect you—”

“You were as good as dead if I had not stepped in. Who were you trying to protect?”

“I apologize for my inadequacy.” She has lowered herself into a deep bow, head touching the snow. “Please punish me or kill me as you wish. We are nearing the meeting point anyway; I will be of no use soon.”

“Tt. You don't even deserve to perish by my hand.” Damian looks down at her in distaste. The heir of the League should not be accompanied by such a servant in the first place. It's already a miracle that she has survived for this long, and he doesn't want to get rid of the little help she can offer. Perhaps as a convenient shield if they encounter enemies again.

“Stand up,” he orders. “You are delaying us again.”

She carefully does so, but when she shows her face again, Damian is nearly taken aback, seeing her again up close. Her forehead is smeared with dried blood and the side of her face is slightly swollen. But what surprises him is her usual dead eyes are now glistening with tears.

“You are right, Master. I should not delay us any longer.” Marie sniffles, moving over to the edge.

“Wh—what—”

“I am sorry for not meeting your expectations. There is no excuse for my actions.” She takes out her knife.

“Wait—”

“Our allies are nearby; it will not take long.”

Red. All that fills his vision is red: bold, flowing red against the canvas that is the frost. The intricately-carved hilt sticks out of her abdomen, spreading the ghastly color into her clothes. The blood isn't anything new for Damian to see, but he has never seen it like this.

The white sky and red.

Her white fingers and red.

The white shine of the blade and red.

Heavy drops spill onto the snow, then crushed underneath her boot as she sways backwards.

“Please take care . . . Master Damian.”

Before he can tell his body to move, she has disappeared by the hand of gravity, falling until the fog covers up. Damian wonders where the scream he hears comes from until he realizes his throat is hoarse.

***

Damian jolts awake, cold sweat slithering down the nape of his neck. It takes him a second to realize that he is in his bedroom in the Wayne manor, and the sun is yet to rise. He shivers even though he feels warm, as if the memory of the cold has followed him back to reality. Frustrated, he tugs hard at his hair as he tries to even out his breaths.

He just dreamed of that again.

Next Chapter →

#tw child abuse #tw suicide #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #daminette #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #tw blood #ggomoz #maribat damian wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #SS:H&G

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 4 months

Text

UMMM UM I'M SORRY TO DO THIS BUT UHH

HOBIE x SPIRITUAL!OC

HOBIE X BLACK!OC THAT'S LIKE ERYKAH BADU

Do you see it do you see it

Like an incense-burning super-calm natured, grounded, centered black sista

They both have natural hair she compliments him on all the time. In fact, it was one of the first things she said to him - and it stuck with Hobie. Hardly anyone compliments his hair - that like that.

To others, his hair 'interesting' or at most 'stylish'. But he's never had someone call his hair beautiful, or healthy, or inspiring.

She's like 'brotha you need to put me onto what you're on' because seeing Hobie with hair so free and thriving in the world is something so rare and valuable

And her saying that sticks with him so much.

She talks JUST as cryptically as he does.

Most of the things she says are almost phrased like poems. Always dropping little nuggets of knowledge about spirit and racism and balance

Lots of time she'll make references to poems, of quote lines of books from black female writers like Maya Angelou.

She sees him after a long day, telling him 'Look at you, giving a caged bird a reason to sing'

Their conversations sound confusing as FUCK. Hobie and her are always talking in metaphors and making jokes referencing leftist thinkers

They're very into black love.

They bond over literature written by black anti-apartheid thinkers in South Africa, she teaches him how to celebrate Kwanzaa - after Hobie spent years ignoring the holidays (bad memories)

She probably plays the guitar or the bass, but her music is the opposite of his. Hers is the 'smoke sesh' type of slow lofi. Full of hypnotic soothing cards and whisper vocals. Just a politically charged, just as socially concious

She's a lot more spiritual than him, and it's something he has to get used to.

It takes him a bit.

She's ALWAYS burning incense. She'll tuck one behind her air and forget about it, she only wears Earth and jewel tones.

Her house is stacked high with nonfiction books, and she's the only one who can make his cup of tea better than he can - she even got him into green tea. Now he knows what oolong is. What the hell

Sure she makes him take off his boats EVERYTIME he comes over - and was horrified the first time he just walked up in her place with them on - he's still over there all the time.

It's one place he knows he can find calm, or feel safe.

To be honest, she's probably not into his music too much.

She's not into the big crowds and big speakers and drinking at the venues.

She loves hearing HIM play. She doesn't need the bright lights or vocalists or drummers or any of it at all-

Instead she'll just sit on the floor of his boathouse, barefoot and criss cross as she watches him strum away.

And she ADORES when he plays accoustic - something he'll do exclusively for her

The DYNAMIC THE DYNAMIC OKAY

She's not a Spider person. She's a helper in this world too, but she'd rather be a healer than a hero.

It's how she keeps her peace. She's a lot more quiet and soft-spoken than him, but not because she's shy. She's just chilling. Fully committed to never letting no one stress her over NOTHING

Half the time Hobie will be joking or messing or playfully teasing her and she'll be like 'Boy, stop stressing me out.'

And when he's pushed to the edge, full of anger and bitterness and resent at the world, at what they're forced to, by the responsibility he carriers - she's always there to rub circles into his shoulders, putting a record on the player as she fixes them some tea.

He doesn't believe in all that mystic shit, not that much.

The first time he went to her place he raised an eyebrow, asking about her supposed 'rock collection'.

'Those are crystals.'

She explains what they are, and why she keeps them. How she uses them in her spiritual work. He thinks it's a load of bullocks.

Does he actually think this hunk of clear rock is going to 'purify' anything in a world like theirs? NO.

He won't say it, but she can read his vibes like a book.

But she explains that - regardless of all that - most of her crystals were taken from the motherland. And that she's happy having them, it's a way to reclaim a bit of the land they all were taken from.

When he asks what the hell is motherland is she's like

'Africa, Hobie.'

They have some interesting conversations. They were the world VERY VERY differently, but they always see eye-to-eye eventually.

He may not believe in it, but he believes in her.

And when he's at the end of his rope, coming to get place beat to hell and back - and she puts on that incense, the sound of her music hypnotic and sedative - he can't help but feel like he's lost in that world with her.

Hobie believes in anarchy, in all things. He'd love to think that the universe has it all figured out, that everything is in perfect balance as is - but he's not buying it.

And yet sometimes she seems so sure, and so grounded, that he can't help but fall back on her. And she's okay with it, that's what she's there for.

She's happy to exist in silence with him, quietly teaching him the difference between Frankincense and Myrrh incense, the historical uses and how to tell the difference.

She gives him small gifts if things she's made - Florida Water (the spiritual cologne not literal Florida water 😭) for him to use as protection, a cowrie shell bracelet, herbal tea blends made by hand.

She sews up holes in his vest or suit, humming quietly as he lays on the floor, soul food cooking on the stove

DO YOU FEEL THE VIBES DO YOU DO YOU

He's fire and brimstone and loud guitar solos. She's wind and earth, and meditation sessions. She's not a pacifist and she doesn't judge

Despite being two very different people, who approach life in two very different ways, they still find themselves on the same path of wanting to help people

HOBIE AND A SPIRITUAL SISTA. HOBIE AND A BLACK!HIPPIE!READER. PLEASE. I BEG OF YOU.

LET HOBIE FIND PEACE

#imma be real this is COMPLETELY me projecting #like im one step below astral projecting right now with how hard I'm going 😭#I love spiritual shit I llve Erykah Badu #alright I'm out *leaves to go light incense*#Diane probably grows more to be like this after years of them being together but she's still a LOT more dazzly and not calm at all #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #Hobie brown x oc #hobie x oc

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callsign-bunnie · 3 months

Text

52 Letters To Simon Riley - Chapter 2

Week 2

The problem with grief was that even when you were distracting yourself from it, it was still there. Like a gaping bullet wound in your chest. This was… a pretty sizeable bullet wound. You could try to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. Even stitching it up and letting it heal was ultimately useless because you still had leftover damage. You would take off your shirt, look in the mirror, and there the scar was, reminding you of what had happened. Who you had lost.

Warnings: main character death, grief, drug use, and referenced suicide, homophobia

Dear Simon,

I read in an article somewhere that going outside for even just ten minutes can help depression and grief. So, my ask of you this week is that you go outside for just ten minutes a day. Even if it’s just to stubbornly stand on your patio, glare at the outside world, and then come back inside. Just… at least ten minutes. You can set a timer, I won’t mind.

You mentioned, once, that when you’re on leave, you don’t generally go anywhere. That you lay in bed and occasionally look at your phone, but for the most part you put on shitty television for background noise and just lay in your bed and rot. I love you too much to let you just rot for me.

I know that Sometimes when we’re It’s embarrassing how nervous you make me, Simon. Even while I’m writing letters, meant for you after I’m dead… I’m so anxious, I want to impress you.

That was one of the only thoughts in my head, in Las Almas. “I wonder if Ghost thinks I’m cool.” I was trying so hard to impress you, to make you like me.

Really, I’ve always been like this. I grew up with this knowledge that there was something different about me because the minute I get around guys Fuck.

When I was younger, I pretty much always knew I was gay. I know we had this conversation, together, about how you were the same, but… bleeding hell Simon, it was bad for me. I’d get around guys I was attracted to and the only thing I cared about was getting them to like me. Sometimes, it was to my own detriment, but… most of the time, it was just embarrassing.

I’m cringing pretty damn hard just remembering what I would do.

But that’s how I felt in Las Almas. All I cared about was keeping your eyes on me, making sure you thought I was impressive. When searching for Hassan in Al Mazrah, when searching again in Las Almas… that was all I cared about.

You told me that I make you nervous, too, but… I don’t think you understand just how nervous you make me. I was so terrified that you’d think I was a loser or maybe worse. It got in the way, sometimes, but those were always the times you would show up and save my ass, so hey, maybe it worked out.

When you started to call me Johnny, I was on cloud nine. When you let me call you Simon? When you didn’t correct me? I thought I would die. Then, when we were in the safe house, Rodolfo told me something.

He told me about him and Alejandro, about the struggle they had went through before getting together, and he told me that all he’d ever wanted was for Alejandro to see him and I realized that I was wrong. I didn’t want these guys or even you to really like me, though it was nice, I wanted for you to see me. I wanted to take up space in your consciousness, I wanted you to notice me.

Now, though, now I regret it more than anything because I know what my death is going to do to you, and I know it wouldn’t have mattered if you had never saw me. I love you, and I wish you didn’t love me, because then you wouldn’t be in pain.

I’m so sorry.

Yours, forever and always,

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish

Well, for the first day, Ghost had done exactly as Soap had said he could and he’d set a timer on his phone and then sat on his balcony and waited for the timer to end, before taking his ass right back inside and going back to bed.

It had not made him feel better. In fact, because it was winter in Manchester, he was now fucking cold and miserable.

See, the problem with grief was that even when you were distracting yourself from it, it was still there. Like a gaping bullet wound in your chest. This was… a pretty sizeable bullet wound. You could try to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. Even stitching it up and letting it heal was ultimately useless because you still had leftover damage. You would take off your shirt, look in the mirror, and there the scar was, reminding you of what had happened. Who you had lost.

For Ghost, it’d always felt like a weight in his chest, akin to being strung up by his ribs again. Except, this time, he was being held over a space, his ribs exposed and weights hanging from each bone, struggling to pull his entire rib cage out of his chest.

Sometimes, he wanted to give in and let it.

However, if he did, then he couldn’t read the rest of the letters and he’d made a promise to Johnny, even if just internally, and so he would do his best to make it through the rest of the year, just to read the letters.

The second day had been about the same, however this time Ghost’s attention had been caught by a few little kids. Well, actually, they looked like a little gaggle of 13 year olds, but one was clearly getting picked on by the others as the other four were tossing what looked like rolled up balls of paper at the kid and yelling taunting words.

Fag. Queer.

Ghost had done as he had resolved to, setting the timer on his phone and stepping outside. He hadn’t even bothered with shoes, this time, kind of wanting the cold on his feet since it might distract him a little from the gaping in his chest.

The sun was shining a bit, which honestly only pissed him off. He wanted to be miserable, couldn’t the weather get with the program and at least make it cloudy? Overcast, but bright would be most desirable as he hated that weather the most.

But, no, the sun had to be shining or whatever.

That was when he noticed the kids. Their yelling irritated him very quickly, since again, he had shit to do. All he wanted to do was sit on his fucking balcony that he needed to get replaced because holy shit this thing was wobbly, bloody hell, and grief his dead fucking boyfriend and these kids just had to come along and scream.

“Yeah, you fucking faggot! You better run from us!”

Okay, that caught Ghost’s attention real fast. He watched the kids, watching one of them who was fairly smaller than the others, sprint through the parking lot before tripping over a curb and falling with an audible thump. He didn’t recognize the kid, and he probably should considering he only had about three tenants, none of whom had children.

All five looked like they were from the nearby private school, which did have Ghost rolling his eyes a little. It was when they started to throw things at the kid, rocks and what looked like wadded up pieces of paper that Ghost decided to intervene. He wasn’t a hero in any way, but he’d been that kid once and he didn’t want anyone else ending up like him.

So, his best course of action had been to yell, “hey!” before launching himself over the balcony, landing carefully and taking off towards the kids at a brisk jog.

As soon as he started in their direction, the four bullies just about shit their pants, all going pale and turning in the other direction, frantically sprinting off. Ghost couldn’t help laughing at the sight, knowing he was probably pretty scary with his height, build, and his skull mask that he was wearing.

“Little pricks.” He grunted as he made it to the kid on the floor, who looked just as scared as they had, staring up at him with wide eyes. His eye was bruised and his knee was bleeding pretty heavily, which had Ghost wincing a little.

He’d definitely gone through worse, but he remembered the very first time he’d scraped his knee up like that, chasing Tommy around the backyard. He’d ended up tripping and slamming it right onto a rock, and he had been fairly certain it was broken. But, his father had just snorted, told him to man up, and sent him right back outside.

Ghost wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t his father. Instead, he just crouched down, hoping he could make himself as not scary as possible, and knowing he was likely failing. “What’s your name, kid?”

The kid’s eyes did not leave him, and Ghost didn’t miss the way he flinched when Ghost touched his knee to inspect over it. “D-Dean, sir…”

“Don’t bother with that sir bullshit.” Ghost chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not an authority figure, don’t worry. You busted this up pretty good, looks like it’ll scar.”

Dean winced as Ghost again touched the wound, crying out when Ghost carefully used his sleeve to wipe at some of the blood. However, it was a scrape, not a wound. A fairly big scrape, which would make a pretty rough healing process, but it wouldn’t need stitches. “Where’s your family, kid?”

Dean was quiet, his eyes watching Ghost’s hands before his face went somber. “I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean?” Ghost decided to help the kid stand, standing up and then hooking his hands under the kid’s shoulders and lifting him to his feet. Dean again winced when he was placed on his feet, but he seemed to stand just fine on his own, even if he was placing most of his weight on his good leg.

Dean wiped at his face and almost appeared to sniffle. “I’m um… I… I live at the boys’ home a street over.”

Ah. Another orphan, just like Soap. And Gaz. You know, for how great his country tried to seem, they sure seemed to have a lot of orphans. Whatever. Ghost frowned, before shaking his head. “Come on, I have some bandaids in the tenant office.”

Dean appeared to hesitate before nodding and so Ghost led him to the building, the kid limping behind him. When they got to the front doors, Ghost had the kid wait outside, jogging inside and getting the first aid kit before coming outside and offering it to Dean. He wasn’t going to play nurse. Dean thanked him and sat down on the curb. He was clearly experienced, as he pulled aside the torn clothing to clean the wound with an alcohol wipe before applying antiseptic and the bandaid, wincing the least with the process, somehow.

“You know what you’re doing.” Ghost acknowledged, sitting on the curb beside him and then getting out a cigarette. “I hope you don’t have asthma, kid.”

Dean shook his head, ducking his head. “I have to patch up my own wounds a lot…”

“Makes sense. Do they often target you?” Ghost asked, lighting the cigarette and then glancing at Dean, who winced. “I see. Why?”

“I don’t know… I… I…” Dean appeared to hesitate, ducking his head, and Ghost caught on. He knew that look. He knew that “the taunts and slurs are the truth, not random” look.

So, Ghost shrugged. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m gay so I won’t let them call you that. Next time they start to pick on you… lead them back to me. I don’t mind beating the shit out of a couple of punk kids.” He did, but he planned to just threaten them again with some of the military stuff he’d brought home with him.

Dean looked up at Ghost, clearly shocked. “I… I’m sorry?”

Ghost chuckled, softly, and shrugged. “I’m gay.”

“You don’t look gay… sir.”

“Blimey, do you want me to wear a blinking rainbow??” Ghost barked out a laugh, watching Dean’s face go very red. “No, I guess I don’t. Funny, no one else has any trouble picking it up.”

Dean went quiet and looked down at the curb. “I wish I wasn’t… Maybe then they’d leave me alone.”

“No.” Ghost shook his head, sighing and taking a puff of the cigarette, slowly letting it out and thinking about his own experiences. “Prats like those kids that are bullying you don’t care if you’re actually what they call you. They just want to be assholes and they happened to land on the truth.”

Dean looked up at him, again, and frowned. “Were you bullied?”

Ghost almost knee jerk told the kid to go fuck himself, but he just sighed instead. “Yes. By the worst bully of all… My dad. He used to say a lot worse than those kids were. But… you’ll get your revenge, don’t worry.”

“Did you?” Dean asked, biting his lip. “I don’t think I will.. I’m a lot smaller than them, I don’t think I’ll ever be stronger than they are.”

“How old are you, Dean?” Ghost asked, glancing at the kid again.

“I’m 15, sir.”

“You have time to get bigger and stronger. Can you believe that, at some point, I was shorter than my little brother?” Ghost laughed, softly. “I was shorter until I was about 15, then I shot up and became around 6’4 by the age of 20, where I remained. I got stronger than my father, too. I got to a point where I could beat the shit out of him and he learned to leave me alone.”

Dean still didn’t look very hopeful. Ghost didn’t blame him, he hadn’t believed it until it happened to him. It was a good thing Price wasn’t around, he had a soft spot for kids like Dean, he might end up adopting the boy. “My name is Simon, by the way.” Ghost murmured, nudging Dean. “If they start to pick on you, again, you come back here. You get off of school at the same time?”

“3:00, sir…” Dean nodded. “It takes me about ten minutes to get home…”

“Alright. Then I’ll be out here.” Simon nodded and then he got an idea. “Here, stay out here for a moment.” He got up and quickly jogged inside, going up to his apartment and getting one of his small pocket knives, coming back down. It had the 141’s insignia on it, which Dean immediately marvelled at, as soon as it was in his hands. “Here, kid. Protect yourself with it, but only if you have to. Only if it’s you or them, okay?”

Dean touched over the insignia. “What does this mean?”

Ghost sighed and carefully sat down again, ignoring how badly his feet had started to hurt from the cold. “It’s… my squad’s insignia. I’m in the SAS.”

Dean’s eyes almost appeared to shine with admiration as he looked over it. “That’s… Special Air Service? You guys are so cool…”

If Ghost wanted to talk to Price, he’d consider making sure he’d be around when Dean was walking by, but… he didn’t want to talk to Price. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, honestly. Well… Dean was cool. “Thanks, kid. Again, though, not unless it’s you or them.”

“Alright… Thank you, sir.” Dean mumbled and put the knife in his pocket. “I’ll start walking by here every day…”

“Good.” Simon nodded. “You should go home, Dean. Do your homework, or whatever.”

Dean nodded and got up, waving before he was rushing off again. Ghost watched him, making sure those kids didn’t come back until made it to the front door of a small building, which Ghost did recognize as a smaller home for boys. He recognized it because he and Tommy had once spent a week there, while some shit was happening with his dad and mom.

Tommy would have liked Dean. So would Soap.

Ghost shook his head, going inside. When he checked his phone, he realised he’d been out there for close to 45 minutes. Oh well… Soap would likely be proud of him and… okay, maybe he did feel a bit better. Or… he did until he made it inside and he was looking at the letter, again.

As grief did, he climbed into bed, feeling as though his ribs were exposed, again.

The next day, he almost didn’t want to get up and go outside. However, not only had Johnny asked him to, he’d promised to make sure Dean was okay and he couldn’t find it in himself to let the kid down.

So, he’d gotten out of bed and dragged himself downstairs, putting on shoes this time as well as a hoodie, and he waited. As promised, Dean was soon running by, coming all the way up to the curb and plopping down. “I have something for you.”

“I don’t need anything, kid.” Ghost shook his head, before humphing when Dean held out a bag of fast food. “Nevermind, I’ll take it.” The brown bag reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in at least a few days, so he just took the bag. “Where did you get this?”

“My cousin works there, sometimes they have orders that are mistakes or never got picked up. So… he gives them to me because I can’t afford to eat during the day.” Dean shrugged. “I took a sandwich out of it, so now you can have the rest.”

Oh yeah, Soap would have adored this kid. Ghost grunted in response, getting out what looked like a half sandwich and starting to eat it. It was pretty good, so he thanked the kid, and then sighed. “Did those twats mess with you, today?”

“They did, but it was just their usual.” Dean shrugged. “I think they’re scared I’ll tell you or something. I think one of them recognized you, your last name is Riley, right?”

Ghost was impressed, though then he was suspicious. “It is.”

“One of them… his dad was also in the SAS. I think he knows you.”

Ghost wouldn’t have been shocked. He wasn’t blind to the fact that he was a legend in the SAS, that Simon Riley was both a ghost story and practically mythos. He could see why… goes missing for nine months, shows up practically insane before disappearing and allegedly wiping out an entire cartel. Not to mention the rest of Ghost’s career and his attachment to the legendary John Price. Bigger men had pissed their pants at the mention of Ghost. “Well… tell them that Simon Riley is watching out for you.” He chuckled. “They ought to leave you alone.”

Dean nodded before standing again. “I have to go, I have chores and Mrs Blathers is a real cunt when I don’t get them done in time.”

Ghost barked out a laugh, liking the kid’s spirit. “Well, go then. Thanks for the food, Dean.”

“Anytime!” Dean grinned before running off, again, already running better than the day before. The kid was sweet, he’d admit.

The next day, he just got a wave before running fully to the orphanage, but Ghost didn’t mind, just heading on to where he’d agreed to meet up with Jason, which was behind a store. “You look less like shit than I was expecting.” Jason chuckled, softly.

Ghost rolled his eyes, “thanks. No, some kid is stopping by every day, and I don’t want to look pathetic in front of him.”

Jason full out laughed that time, shaking his head. “Why is he stopping by?”

“Some kids are picking on him.” Ghost sighed, hopping up to sit on some crates and accepting the lit cigarette that Jason offered him. “They bully him for being gay and so I told him to start coming by on his way home so he wouldn’t get hurt, more.”

“You know, you act like a cold bastard, but you’re really a big softie when it gets down to it.” Jason sighed, leaning against the crates and then holding up a brown bag. “Don’t bother paying me. I know you won’t, and… I feel bad asking.”

Ghost got out the cash that he’d brought to actually pay Jason, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Oh, of course you bring the money this time.” Jason huffed, taking the money out of Ghost’s hand and shoving it in his pocket. “I’m taking it, but consider it reparations, bastard. Has that um… American, Alex, called you any?”

“He has a boyfriend, for one, and for two, no… He’s busy.” Ghost chuckled, watching Jason make a disappointed face.

“And the other… Alejandro, I think his name was?”

“Married.”

Jason groaned, shaking his head. “Of course he is. Man, you’re useless as a friend. You take my weed, you don’t pay me, and you can’t hook me up with any of your friends.”

Ghost laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think I was useless when I got you out of trouble… what was it, now, 13 times?”

Jason huffed and muttered something in response that sounded something like “it was only twelve, you cheeky bastard”. Semantics. However, they both then went silent and Ghost could feel his ribs exposed, again, the weight yanking at them.

So, he distracted himself by opening the bag and inspecting around in it, glad to see a couple pills in there, too. Nothing too hard, but enough that if it got really bad, Ghost had a way to escape for a few hours. Jason knew him well.

“They wouldn’t happen to be open relationships, right?”

“Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jason snorted and then looked down at the ground, again. “How bad is it, this time?”

Ghost wasn’t sure how to best answer. It wasn’t like his family dying, where all he thought about was ending it every minute of every day. Don’t get him wrong, he was considering it, but… no. This time, he was just exhausted, every day. He was so unbelievably exhausted. He didn’t know how he was going to make it to the end of the year without Soap.

If he didn’t have the letters forcing him to go week to week, he wouldn’t.

“It’s just as bad, but in a different way.” Ghost sighed, leaning his head back to rest it against the building. “It’s… a suffocating grief. Like I have no oxygen, not like I’m on fire like last time.”

Jason didn’t answer, remaining silent for a bit before straightening again. “I have to go. I have more stuff to deliver. I’ll see you in a few weeks?”

“‘Course.” Ghost agreed, since he’d likely burn through it by then.

“Get some sleep, Simon.” Jason sighed, waving at him before walking off.

Ghost grunted when he was gone, since all he did was sleep. Hey, he wasn’t going to do anything else, though.

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#Soap Cod #Ghost COD #Soapghost #Ghostsoap #Soap x Ghost #Ghost x Soap #Macriley #Call of Duty #main character death #grief #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish #cod #ghost cod #soap cod

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dilfspitdrinker · 9 months

Note

Hi, I've recently had to have my dog put down. She was 13 years old and my first ever pet, so I'm completely heartbroken.

I was just wondering if I could request a one shot with any Pedro character, where the reader has had her dog put down and he's doing whatever he can to help her?

Thanks

A/N: Hi anon, I’m so sorry for your loss. If it’s any consolation, know how you feel, my dog was also around 13 when she was put down, also a first pet. Thank you for this request, it means a lot to me that I can offer some comfort through writing. Here’s a Joel oneshot, but she’s the real hero. Made with love for you anon <3

Warnings: death of a pet (mentioned/referenced), hurt/comfort, established but undefined relationship, angst/fluff, just Joel trying his best

Rescue

The wallpaper was peeling, and you were staring at it so hard you thought you might be making it worse. Time had become irrelevant– sleeping and waking were the only things you’d done in the past 24 hours. So once again, you shut your eyes and wished for sleep, the same prayer you made every time you woke up.

Yesterday you took your dog to the Jackson vet to have her put down. You had come home and holed yourself up in your room since then, not emerging once.

You laid in bed, facing away from the door with no intention of turning, even as you heard footsteps approach.

Before he even spoke, you knew it was Joel from the sound of him clearing his throat. “Excuse me for lettin’ myself in.”

When you didn’t answer, he went around the bed and kneeled in front of you. You didn’t have the emotional energy to talk, so you pretended to be asleep. But he knew better.

“I heard about your buddy,” he spoke gently, “Came to check on you.”

You opened your eyes, brimming with tears for the hundredth time today. He could see you reliving everything, plain on your face.

She’d made it out of the QZ with you. She’d kept you safe from danger countless times along the journey. With her keen hearing and smell, she had sensed threats like infected and raiders long before you would’ve spotted them, giving you time to hide and escape unharmed. She kept your spirit up, despite having no luck in finding shelter, not even a dilapidated cabin. You were about to start in a different direction, cursing yourself for coming this far west, but she kept getting excited and distracted by something in the distance. You gave her all the credit for finding Jackson.

You followed her lead until the high walls came into view. The sight made your skin prickle, and you started pulling her away when you were surrounded by a group on horseback. You started to panic, positive that they were either going to kill you or abduct you to their compound. You clung to her, begging her to stay close when all she wanted to do was advance toward one of the men who had dismounted. She had always liked Joel. That’s the only reason you had trusted him since the start, unlike most anyone else.

You entered Jackson with your dog, and everything else you cared to call yours fit in the pack slung over your shoulder. Now, you lived in a house of your own, had miles of yarn to make colorful scarves, and your pantry was always full. But still…

“It feels like she was all I had,” you croaked.

Joel brushed your hair away from your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I know darlin’.”

He pulled you upright and into his arms, secure in his embrace. You sniffled into his shoulder, and he let you rest there, feeling the heave of your chest against his. Once your breathing evened out, he asked, “Have you eaten at all?”

You made a noise that indicated no.

“How ‘bout I make you something?”

You were too tired to refuse. You didn’t protest as he lifted you from the bed either, even though you felt like a sullen child in his grasp. But he didn’t think of you like that.

He carried you off to the kitchen and placed you on the counter between the sink and the stove. You stared at the faded flannel stretching over his back while he poked around the pantry, turning over jars and inspecting labels.

“Shoot, you got Chef Boyardee in here,” he mumbled, “How’s that sound?”

You hardly cared, but gave a small nod.

“Mind if I fix some for myself too?”

“Go ahead,” you responded flatly.

Wordlessly, he worked around you, emptying the contents of the can into a pot and heating it up on the stove. While stirring, he eyed your hands sitting limply in your lap. He reached out, fingers hovering over yours. You accepted the invitation, taking his one large hand into both of yours. A very Joel gesture, you thought, to offer what he could without much discussion. He continued watching the food while you turned over his palm. His entire hand was so calloused and scarred, you wondered how many stories you still hadn’t heard. Probably most of them– he wasn’t one for recounting his feats unless it was relevant. Ellie had readily shared what she knew, but you weren’t bold enough to prod the man himself about it.

A few silent minutes later, the food was ready, and he dished it out. He didn’t urge you to the table, just handed you the plate and a fork and stood there at the counter with you. It smelled good, but didn’t awaken any hunger. As Joel started eating, he peered at you from the corner of his eye, willing you to join him. You finally did, with little gusto at first, but the hot meal brought you more pleasure than you thought it would. He periodically stole more glances and was relieved to see the furrow of your brow gradually soften.

He looked around your space, “Kinda chilly in here, I can get the fire goin’ if you want.”

“That would be nice,” you gave a small nod.

He collected your empty plates and put them in the sink, turning on the water. You were about to stop him from doing the dishes, but he put a glass under the tap instead. Once filled, he handed it to you with the instruction, “Drink that.”

You complied, sipping the water while he crossed into the living room and crouched in front of the fireplace.

Joel knew more than his fair share about grief and loss, yet he hardly knew the right way to comfort someone through it. He only had his own experience to draw from, and looking back, he just wished he hadn’t let himself deal with it alone. He knew he couldn’t fix it, the unchangeable couldn’t be anything but felt. But if he could only be a reassuring presence for you, he was ready to provide that.

The fire was crackling softly now. You always found that sound to be comforting.

“You finish that water?”

“Yeah,” you set the empty glass aside.

“Good, now come here,” he beckoned.

You lowered yourself from the counter and followed him to where he now stood by the couch. He opened up a blanket that was thrown over a cushion and wrapped you in it.

He smiled softly at you, a rare and special occurrence in your book. He pulled you down onto the couch and you let yourself fall into his embrace, resting your head on his strong chest. He held you, rubbing your back soothingly. You focused on the sensation, trying your hardest to think of nothing but the present moment. The crackling fire, the weight of the blanket over your shoulders, Joel’s hands roving up and down your back.

“Ellie told me a new one today. How do you organize a space party?”

“How?” you asked into his flannel.

“You planet.”

Despite yourself, you cracked a smile, and at the sight, he mirrored it with one of his own.

“There you go,” he held you a little tighter.

One of his hands came up to your head and raked through your hair.

The smile faded as you sighed, “Did you ever have a dog?”

His voice reverberated warmly in his chest, “I did, a long time ago. He was a rescue, had a tough life before I got him. He bit me one time, before he trusted me,” he hung a hand in front of you, “right there.”

You identified it, a relatively small scar near the side of his palm.

He continued, “He was just scared, protectin’ himself. Once he trusted me, he was a real good boy. My best friend.”

At that, your eyes stung, remembering your best friend.

“Some years after him, I ended up gettin’ another rescue. Her name is Ellie.”

You surprised even yourself with a laugh.

“Surprised she ain’t bit me.”

You both giggled together, and he added quietly, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

After a minute, you breathed out, “Thank you for coming by. I needed someone.”

“Anything for you sweetheart. You kicking me out now? Done with my services?”

You chuckled and nudged his chin with your head, “Of course not.”

He kissed the crown of your head.

Staring into the glow of the fire, you professed, “I miss her more than anything.”

“She’s okay now. You will be too.”

Your eyelids were too heavy to hold open, gently falling shut. You eased into a restful sleep, this time without having to beg for it.

Masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou game #pedro pascal characters

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cavinginhisfvce · 1 year

Text

'I'll be good, Stevie..."

Paring: Harringrove.

TW: Implied/referenced child abuse and domestic violence.

(DON'T KILL ME, THINGS GET BETTER, they're not what they seem. Kinda.)

This thing between Billy and Steve was fragile.

When it first started, they stepped on each other's toes more often than not.

Steve was always waiting for the day Billy would lash out, shove him or hit him.

No such day came, even in the most heated of arguments, Billy never so much as raised a finger in his face. He'd yell, they both did, but it never went further than that.

Steve never expected he would be the one to back the younger boy into a corner, never considered he would be the one to snap.

It all still feels like a bad dream. Steve's hand shoving Billy when he'd gotten close enough to the younger.

The way Billy stumbled into the wall, a startled gasp leaving his lips, is forever imprinted in his brain. The look of utter betrayal and hurt his boyfriend shot in his direction was heartbreaking. The look soon morphed into one of barely concealed anxiety, and fear.

Steve still doesn't know what evoked this response out of him. He doesn't know what came over him, he truly doesn't.

One minute they were shouting, and the next...

Billy had almost immediately began apologizing, his hands shaking as he stepped forward to grasp at Steve before letting his movements stop short, "I-I'll be good, Stevie. I'll be good, 'm sorry…"

He hadn't meant to upset Steve, hadn't meant to make the older of the two so angry he only saw violence as a means of putting Billy in his place.

And Steve's heart just shattered. His boyfriend was begging for his forgiveness after Steve hurt him. After he hurt him in a way he swore he never would.

But he had.

Steve's silence seemed to do nothing but send the boy spiraling further, his bottom lip wobbling as he sniffs, hands once again reaching out for Steve.

This time Steve hesitantly gathers Billy in his arms, noting how the boy almost immediately relaxed into his hold.

"Baby, I'm so fucking sorry. I should never put my hands on you...I know better than that. That's not the kind of man I am…" Billy, for his part tenses up briefly before shaking his head, "it's okay. I've had worse…" he pauses, seeming to ignore Steve's immediate interjection, "was my fault anyway. Shouldn't have started yellin'..."

The blond doesn't meet Steve's eye despite the elder's attempts, but Steve presses on.

"No! Fuck, Billy. No. It isn't your fault, it's mine. We yell at each other all the time, but what I did...I crossed a major fucking line."

Billy just shook his head, his face pressing further into Steve's neck as he let out shaky breaths. "Stevie, s'okay...I know you'd never...I know you didn't mean it. I shouldn't have gotten loud. Shouldn't have kept pressing when I knew you weren't havin' a good day.."

The elder tightens his arms around Billy's frame, only gently leaning back to make their eyes meet, "Baby, it's not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for, please listen to me…"

He pauses briefly, knows Billy is listening from the way he's tensed up in Steve's hold, "you have no idea how sorry I am, bug. I'll forever be sorry."

For a moment, the room is filled with deafening silence before Billy is peering up at the latter, his blues swarming with confusion and doubt, "what makes this any different from when we almost fought last year?" His brows were furrowed, a sign that he was well and truly at a loss and not attempting to rile Steve up.

Steve takes a breath, lips pursed as he mulls the question over. "We weren't dating then, Billy. Back then, we were just two dumbasses about to fight. But, this…" he cups the boy's cheek, relief flooding his system when Billy shows no signs of discomfort, and instead leans into the touch, "Us...it's not acceptable. You're supposed to be safe with me, you should never be afraid I'll hurt you, like he does…"

The 'He' in question being the blond's shitty father. The sole reason Billy is so willing to forgive Steve for this slip up. Neil Hargrove is the reason for most of Billy's tears, self doubt and general pain in life.

Steve always vowed to be the opposite of him. He was soft where Neil was harsh and unrelenting. He was warm whereas Neil closely resembles a frozen tundra.

But, somehow, Steve lost that about himself, no matter how brief, he'd been all too close to being the man Billy feared most in the world.

"Gods, Blue Bird, I will never stop making up for this. I'll never give you another reason to feel unsafe with me. I swear.."

The shorter leans up, quickly pressing a kiss to Steve's lips, the action so feather-like Steve could've imagined it, before he's nodding once. "I know...I trust you, Stevie. M'not afraid of you. Could never be." If not for the fact Billy never broke eye contact, Steve could've easily written it off as him trying to placate his nerves, or sweep an uncomfortable situation under the rug.

But, as blues held browns, the only thing that was brighter than the love in Billy's eyes, was the truth.

He wasn't afraid of Steve.

That felt like enough to have Steve relaxing into their embrace, another apology spilling from his lips as Billy molded their bodies together.

They had shit to work on, that's for sure. But he knew he was safe. He knew that should he decide this relationship was going down, Billy would jump ship with little thought. He'd keep himself safe even if it meant losing Steve.

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livelaughwhump · 1 year

Text

Whump Fic - Worthless - Part 3

Part 1 | Previous

For context, Whumpee had been in Whumper's captivity for a little over a year. Part 1 takes place only a few weeks after their rescue

Content: flashbacks, temperature whump, pet whump, implied past captivity, degradation, dehumanization, forced stripping (non-sexual), nudity (non-sexual), humiliation, drowning, emotional whump, referenced past captivity

(Italisized text indicates a flashback)

Whumpee's flashback is inspired by this prompt

As Caretaker led Whumpee back into the safety and warmth of their team's safe house, Whumpee noticed every member of their team crowded in the living room. When the door closed behind them, every single pair of eyes fixated on Whumpee and their pathetic, half-frozen state. Whumpee flushed beneath everyone's gaze, and their humiliation only worsened when several of their teammates came over to greet them.

"Whumpee!" Medic shouted. "Oh dear, are you okay? You look like you're freezing!"

"We're so sorry for making fun of you," Teammate A said. "After everything you've been through, we should've known."

"I'm sorry, Whumpee," Teammate B apologized. "I shouldn't have made those jokes. I didn't realize how it would affect you."

Whumpee whimpered and moved to hide behind Caretaker, who reluctantly wrapped a protective arm around them and said, "Okay, okay, guys. They're still a little shaken up, so please give them some space." With that, the team dispersed, but they still kept their gazes locked on Whumpee.

Caretaker continued to lead them in the direction of the washroom. Whumpee was still shivering, their teeth still chattering. Caretaker kept their arm around Whumpee's shoulders, which gave Whumpee the smallest semblance of comfort. It made them feel secure and owned wanted.

However, all of those feelings of safety and comfort melted away when they reached the washroom. The moment Whumpee laid eyes on the bathtub, they froze, terror flooding their system. They couldn't breathe.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker's muffled voice barely broke through their haze. "Are you all right?"

Whumpee didn't answer. They couldn't bring themself to move another step. Their mind filled with memories that they had fought so hard to suppress. Tears flooded their eyes and they collapsed to their hands and knees like the animal they were.

. . .

Whumpee was curled up in the corner of Whumper's cold basement, nothing but a pair of boxers and a thin t-shirt to keep them warm. They tugged at the collar around their thin, bruised neck. It was too tight.

They flinched and whimpered when they heard the door to the basement slam open. Light spilled into the dark basement and Whumpee pushed themself up until they were in a perfect kneeling position, head bowed, just like Whumper had taught them.

They didn't look up at their owner captor. They knew better than that. They just hoped their position pleased Whumper. All they wanted was to please them.

Whumper scoffed at the sight of Whumpee and prodded them with the tip of their shoe. "Morning, mutt."

Whumpee tried hard to suppress a flinch. "Good morning, Master." They struggled to keep their voice even.

Whumpee could hear the smile in Whumper's voice as they said, "Sleep well?"

"Yes, Master."

"Well, I didn't." Whumper abruptly snatched a fistful of Whumpee's hair, roughly tugging their head up. Whumpee yelped. Whumper dragged them to their feet and looked them directly in the eyes. "Want to explain why you kept me awake all night with your pathetic crying?"

Whumpee's eyes widened. They thought they'd been quiet. "I'm-I'm sorry, Mas-Master," they cried, tears flooding their eyes. "I didn't-I didn't mean to. I'm-I'm so s-sorry." Whumpee turned their eyes to the ground. They knew better than to look directly at their superior. "Please-Please for-forgive me, Master. I'm so-so sorry."

Whumper ground their jaw and said, "You're about to be." They quickly extracted a thin chain from their pocket that often served as Whumpee's leash and clipped it to Whumpee's collar. Then, they released their grip on Whumpee's overgrown hair and watched them crumple to the ground. Without giving Whumpee a second to gather their bearings, Whumper started dragging them up the basement stairs.

Whumpee crawled pathetically after Whumper on all fours, just like Whumper had taught them.

Because that's what animals do

Whumpee sniffled and cried, choking on their own saliva as they were dragged out of the basement. The leash pulling at their collar nearly cut off their airways, making breathing a nearly impossible endeavor.

Whumpee didn't know what was going to happen to them. They didn't know what kind of creative punishment Whumper would dream up this time, and they were absolutely terrified to find out.

Whumpee didn't know where they were being led. They stared at the ground the entire time, because they knew Whumper liked it when they were nice and submissive. Whumpee knew they were inferior to their master. It had been beaten into them since they were first kidnapped.

Eventually, Whumper had dragged them into a room and stopped. Whumpee didn't lift their eyes from the ground in order to survey their surroundings. They knew better than that. Instead, they quickly got into their kneeling position and waited for their orders, like a good pet.

I can be good. I know I can be good. I'm not a bad pet. I'm not

"Take off your clothes, mutt," Whumper ordered. Whumpee's breath caught in their throat, but they didn't dare disobey. This was their chance to show Whumper that they could behave, that they were still obedient and submissive and good. They knew they were good.

Tears slipped down their face as they slowly began to peel off their thin t-shirt and soiled boxers. Whumper kicked them and they released a quiet yelp. "Any day now, you stupid bitch!" Whumpee quickened their pace until they were fully naked, kneeling in front of Whumper. They set their clothes down neatly beside them and waited.

Their face burned bright red. They were utterly humiliated, even if Whumper was the only one seeing them like this. Fat, ugly tears rolled down their cheeks, creating a small puddle beneath them. They listened as the sound of rushing water filled the otherwise silent room, and Whumpee guessed they were in the washroom. That scared them even more. They didn't know what was happening, but they still didn't lift their head to check.

Whumper chuckled and crouched down in front of them. Whumpee still refused to look up. "Would my little dog like a bath?" They said it in the most degrading voice possible.

Whumpee didn't think it was possible to feel more humiliated than they did in that moment. They nodded submissively. "Yes, Master."

Whumper tugged on their leash and a pathetic squeak escaped Whumpee's throat. "Then, what are you waiting for, mutt?" Whumper dragged them over to the bathtub, Whumpee struggling to crawl behind them. Fully naked and crawling like an animal, they were absolutely mortified, but those feelings of humiliation quickly morphed into dread when they finally caught sight of what awaited them in the tub.

Several bags worth of ice filled the tub to the brim. Whumpee's stomach sank. They began to back away from the tub slowly, which Whumper didn't like. Whumper took a fistful of their hair and shoved them face first into the freezing water. Whumpee made the mistake of gasping under the water as Whumper held them there. They felt like a million tiny needles were pricking their skin and their brain seemed to freeze instantly.

When Whumper pulled them back up again, Whumpee coughed and gagged, sobbing uncontrollably. "Are you ready to do as you're told, you mangy mutt?"

Whumpee sniffled. "Whumper, please-" they were cut off by a sharp slap to their face.

"What did you say, you worthless bitch?" Whumper shouted, sharply wrenching Whumpee's head back.

Whumpee sobbed. "I'm-I'm sorry-" Whumper shoved their head beneath the icy water again, leaving them there for even longer this time.

When they pulled them up again, Whumpee's lips were already blue. "Are you going to keep disobeying me, mutt?" Whumpee whimpered and shook their head. "Good. I'm being nice to you by preparing you a bath. Try to be a little grateful."

Whumpee sniffled and flinched. "Thank-Thank you, M-Master."

Whumper didn't look satisfied, but they didn't shove Whumpee's head beneath the water again. Instead, they pushed Whumpee closer to the bathtub and said, "Now, get in!"

Whumpee didn't hesitate. They started with one foot, and though their instincts told them to jump out of the water and run, they forced themself to endure, slowly lowering the rest of their body into the bath until they were submerged up to their chest.

Just sitting in the bath physically hurt, and Whumpee instantly wrapped their arms around themself in an attempt to keep warm, but Whumper said, "No, no, no. Give me your hands, mutt." Whumpee sobbed, but they did as they were told. Whumper quickly locked a pair of handcuffs around Whumpee's wrists, chaining them to the towel rack beside the tub.

Once they were finished with that, they reached up to the sink, only to pull back a leather muzzle. Whumpee yelped, shivering harder than they ever had before. "M-Master, p-please," they begged. "I-I c-can b-be qu-quiet, I-I s-swear. I c-can b-be g-good."

Whumper ignored them, pretending not to hear them at all, as they strapped the muzzle onto the lower half of their pet's face. Whumpee didn't fight them. They knew better than that. Once Whumper was finally finished, they stood up to admire their handiwork. Whumpee kept their face lowered, hot tears burning their eyes. Whumper smirked. "Now, I think I'm going to curl up by the fire with a nice cup of tea." Whumpee released a heavy sob. If not for the bit in their mouth, their teeth surely would've been chattering. Whumper turned and made their way to the door. "Enjoy your bath, mutt. Oh! That reminds me." Whumper turned back around, only to turn on the shower head to its lowest temperature setting. The water instantly hit Whumpee from above, soaking what was left of their warm, dry skin in freezing cold water. Whumpee flinched and Whumper laughed as they made their way back over to the door. "Call my name if you need anything. I'll see you in a couple of hours!"

With that, Whumper slammed the bathroom door shut. As Whumpee heard the click of the lock, they broke down and wept.

. . .

"Whumpee," Caretaker's faint voice echoed through their foggy mind. "Whumpee, what's wrong? Talk to me, buddy. What's going on?"

As Whumpee came back to reality, their eyes darted around, taking in their new surroundings. They weren't in the washroom anymore. Instead, they were sitting on the couch, several warm blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Caretaker kneeled in front of them, terror in their kind eyes. Whumpee looked past Caretaker, only to find that every single member of their team was there and staring at them worriedly.

Whumpee whimpered and hunched their shoulders, turning their eyes back to meet Caretaker's. Caretaker smiled, but Whumpee could tell it was forced. "Hey, there you are," they said. "Are you okay?"

Whumpee's erratic breathing began to slow, but it wasn't any less ragged. "What-What happened? What-What did I do?"

Caretaker shook their head and gently took hold of Whumpee's hand when they saw the tears building in their friend's eyes. "Nothing, sunshine, you didn't do anything. You just got a bit scared, that's all."

Whumpee sniffled. "I'm-I'm sorry," they cried.

"Oh, Whumpee, no!" Caretaker exclaimed. They lifted a hand to wipe away Whumpee's tears. "You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault."

Whumpee's tears refused to subside. "You-You were trying to help me," they sobbed. "And I-And I ruined it. I'm-I'm so s-sorry."

"Oh, Whumpee-"

"Leave me alone," Whumpee demanded, pushing Caretaker's hands away. Whumpee pulled their knees up to their chest and threw off the pile of blankets around the shoulders. "I don't deserve your kindness. I deserve to be collared and chained and treated like the stupid animal that I am. That's all I'm good for."

Caretaker hesitated. They peered over their shoulder at the rest of their team, who all wore expressions of shock, pity, or confusion. "Guys, can-can you give us a minute, please?" Each member of their team turned their eyes from Whumpee over to Caretaker. After a moment of hesitation, each of them reluctantly left the room one by one until Whumpee and Caretaker were all that remained.

Once they were alone, Caretaker looked at Whumpee again. "Whumpee, please look at me." Whumpee didn't dare disobey. Their red-rimmed eyes met Caretaker's and Caretaker forced a weak smile. "Hi, sunshine." Whumpee sniffled, their gaze wavering. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" Whumpee whimpered and shook their head. "That's okay," Caretaker promised. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

Whumpee didn't answer. Instead, they shook their head again and said, "Why are you doing this?"

Caretaker furrowed their brows. "What do you mean?"

Whumpee sniffled and wiped at their dripping nose. They refused to look Caretaker in the eye. "Why are you still here?" They asked. "Why are you still pretending to care about me?"

Caretaker's eyes widened. "I'm not pretending," they claimed. "I really do care about you, Whumpee. You're my best friend." Whumpee broke into a fit of sobs, burying their face between their knees. Caretaker didn't know what to do. They had never imagined that someone so strong could be reduced to something so pitiful and weak. They felt horrible for even thinking that of Whumpee, but it was true. Tears began to pour down Caretaker's face as well. "Whumpee...what should I do?" They asked. "Please, tell me what to do to fix this. How can I make you believe me?"

Whumpee shook their head, their face still buried between their knees. "Don't bother," Whumpee mumbled. "I'm hopeless."

A sob unintentionally escaped Caretaker's throat, alerting Whumpee to their crying. Caretaker frantically shook their head and tried to wipe away their tears. "Whumpee, I-"

"I'm so sorry, Caretaker," Whumpee sobbed. "I didn't mean-I'm so sorry."

"Whumpee, it's okay-"

"It's not, it's not, it's not," Whumpee cried. "Please, punish me, Caretaker. Please, I deserve it. I want to be good. Please, punish me."

Caretaker merely stared at them, slack-jawed. They didn't know what to do.

I've decided to continue this story for as long as anyone wants it, because I've been enjoying it a lot as well

I'm also trying to come up with names for both Whumpee and Caretaker. I think I have one for Whumpee, but I haven't settled on it yet. So, if anyone has any suggestions for names, please let me know.

Taglist:

@l-antre-des-merveilles @pigeonwhumps @nicolepascaline

#writing #amwriting #whump #whump writing #writer #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #whump community #caretaker #whump fic #original writing #original characters #emotional whump #tw flashbacks #tw degradation #pet whump

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