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ganymede-princess · 1 month

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A Hazy Shade of Winter | Angus Tully

PART 2

ship: Angus Tully x fem!OC

warnings: Angus is literally so mean, but he's like that in the movie anyways.

summary: Carol's parents send her to spend the winter break with her uncle at Barton Academy, and a certain curly-haired boy takes an immediate (dis)liking to her.

word count: 2790

a/n: I watched the Holdovers like 2 nights ago and I’m obsessed with it now so here’s this! Maybe a second chapter coming?

written by @ganymede-princess

Misery. Absolute fucking misery. That’s all Angus could see for the foreseeable future. Just an ocean of black, sticky misery, stretching out to the horizon in every direction. As he settled his bony rear on the hard edge of the ping-pong table and listened to Hunham gleefully dole out their sentences, he thought he would vomit any moment, or drop dead. He kind of hoped he would. He scoured his eyes over the pitiful creatures he’d be bunking with this winter break; two little boys: a religious fanatic and a foreign exchage student, the school’s star quaterback, and fucking Kountze. Five little Christmas orphans. Angus would blame karma, if he believed in that hippy-dippy shit. The most unbelievably unfair part of all this was that he wouldn’t even be able to jack off in peace since all five of them would be bunking in rooms one and two of the infirmary, with Hunham in room four. God knows why they couldn’t use room three, but Hunham seemed determined to avoid any questions pertaining to that.

Just when he thought his holiday couldn’t get any worse, the girl arrived. She skittered in like a mouse, out of breath, red-faced and shaking like a handbag dog. Six little Christmas orphans.

“Ah, you’re here.” Hunham extended his hand welcomingly, and gestured to her to step forward.

She crept over, giving the ping-pong table and couch full of boys a wide berth, then nervously shook Hunham’s hand and scuttled away to sit on the floor and tuck her knees up under the frumpy men’s jumper that swallowed her whole, like a turtle retreating into a shell. She waved at the five of them, cherry lips curling into a tight smile.

“Is that a girl?” Kountze said, loudly.

“Indeed, it is. Students, this is Miss Carol Hunham, my niece. She will be joining us at Barton for the winter break.”

“Teddy Kountze.” The little freak said, practically falling over himself to shake her hand. He looked ridiculous crouching there beside her like he was about to accost a rabbit at a petting zoo. If brown-nosing was a sport, he’d be a world classer. “Wonderful to meet you. If you need a tour guide, come to me. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

She nodded in thanks, regarding him with huge puppydog eyes. Angus thought she must be dumb or tongueless. Five-foot-nothing, wearing unfashionably tapered plaid pants and Chelsea boots that were all the rage a decade ago, huge turtle-shell glasses that made her brown eyes bulge out of her head like a salmon… the only cool thing about her was her dirty blonde shag haircut, but even that came across as trying too hard. With that, and those round cheeks and fat mushroom of a nose, Angus almost expected to hear Hunham introduce her as his niece. Almost.

“You’ll be taking her nowhere without a chaperone, Mr Kountze. Now, gentlemen, and lady, off you go to the infirmary building.” Hunham’s one good eye roved over the room, then settled on Angus. “Mr Tully.” He addressed him in his weasley way, voice dripping with schadenfreude. "Be a gentleman and help Miss Hunham take her bags to room three."

Now it made sense why they'd been forced to leave it empty. The little fuck had a whole room to herself.

"I'm not a gentleman." He responded, insolently as possible.

"Then play the part."

"Fine." The ping-pong table screeched backwards as he stood up, grabbed his case and stormed over to the girl who leaped to her feet, eyeing him warily as he marched her out of the room and collected one of her ridiculously heavy suitcases and set off outside with the puppy in tow.

"Um." She began, her voice a pathetic whimper. "I'm Carol Hunham."

"I heard."

"And you?"

"Angus Tully. Are you deaf or something?"

"He d-didn't say your first name." Angus grunted in response. "So, you're- you're holding over?"

"What?" The question was so insipid it made him stop in his tracks and gawk at her. "Of course I'm holding over! Are you stupid?"

"Sorry." She whispered, averting her eyes. Angus felt a rush of regret as her lip trembled, but he swallowed it and marched on.

The air was biting cold, and Angus wished he had two jackets on- or better yet, a hot-blooded model on each arm- but unfortunately he was stuck between this girl making goo-goo eyes at Kountze and her machiavellian gargoyle of an uncle. As the rest of them caught up, his simmering rage suddenly bubbled over and he broke the silence in a voice thick with hatred.

“This is the most bullshit ever! If we have to stay, why’d we have to draw Wall-eye?”

“Uh, y’know he used to be a student, right?” Quaterback drawled.

“Yeah, that’s why he knows how to inflict maximum pain on us, the sadistic fuck.”

“Yeah.” Quaterback agreed with a giggly laugh. “I mean, no offence Hunham, but your uncle sucks.”

“I don’t know him.” The girl had retreated to the fringe of the group, and when she spoke up her voice didn’t command much attention.

“At least we didn’t draw Decker, he’d be perving all over us.” Kountze sidled up alongside her and let his arm brush against her. “And we wouldn’t have Carol here with us.”

Angus rolled his eyes, but felt vindicated when he noticed her pull away from him, almost fearfully.

“Hey, guys, hold up for a second.” Angus leaned up against the pickup at the side of the road and lit up a cigarette, eager to relieve all this tension.

“No, I got something else.” Kountze pulled out a stinking doobie and gestured for his lighter. “Gimme that.”

“Hey, don’t smoke that out here.” He chided. “I don’t wanna get busted by Wall-eye.”

“Don’t be such a pussy.”

“I’m not a pussy.” Angus felt his blood pressure rise. “I just don’t want to get up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”

Kountze didn’t bother responding, just blew out a fat drag and smiled in satisfaction.

“Teddy Kountze.” He said, offering the joint to Quaterback and trying to sling an arm around Carol but she sidestepped him to Angus’s amusement.

“Jason Smith.” Quaterback responded with a sickeningly charismatic smile.

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Fucking bootlicker. “You wanna hit this?”

He cast a glance up the road, but Wall-eye was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, yeah.”

He took a puff and offered it to Carol.

“No, thanks.” She held up her mittened hand. “I-I hear pot can give you the heebie-jeebies.”

“The heebie-jeebies.” Jason repeated, grinning. “Cute.”

She was sort of cute- Angus begrudgingly admitted now that he’d seen her up close- in that pitiful way that those fucked up little pug-dogs are cute. He wondered if she had asthma. Besides, it’s not like he cared. At least, if somebody like her could be cute, maybe he was too, with his hawkish nose, narrow eyes, five o’clock shadow, gangly limbs, scraggly hair… No, that’s ridiculous. Unless… He wondered if she thought he was.

“It’s mellow stuff, babe.” Kountze assured her.

She blushed and shook her head, then turned her massive obsidian orbs to Angus.

“C-can I…?”

He sighed heavily, arranging his face into a scowl before he handed over the cigarette. She took a dainty puff, then handed it back. He took a drag himself, savouring the knowledge that his lips were touching the same place that a girl’s had just rested.

“More?” He offered it back.

“No, thanks. I don’t really… y’know.”

“‘Course you don’t.” He scoffed and stuffed it back in his mouth. “Such a pristine girl, I bet you never did anything wrong in your life.”

Flushing, she averted her eyes.

“So, how’d you get stuck holding over?” Kountze queried, his demeanor forced casual.

“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack,” Jason said cheerfully. “But my dad put his foot down, said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”

“So why don’t you just cut your hair?” Angus snorted, feeling a fresh rush of anger. How could you throw away a perfectly good winter break just because you’re sentimentally attached to your godamn freak flag?

“Civil disobedience, man.” He grinned.

“I dig it.” Carol spoke up suddenly. “Conformity is a dangerous thing.”

“See, she gets it.” Jason put his arm around her shoulder.

“You like Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young?” Her blonde lashes fluttered as she gazed up at him. Angus could have puked all over the sidewalk, and Kounze looked like he might actually do it.

“Man, I love ‘em!”

“Almost Cut My Hair?”

“My anthem.” He nodded solemnly. “That album was my whole life last summer.”

“Neat.”

Angus noticed her head tilt to rest on his shoulder as he offered her the joint. This time she took it, allowing herself a long drag. He gritted his teeth and fought off the urge to deck that filthy hippy then and there.

“Anyway,” Jason waved his hand, as if clearing the conversational slate. “My dad’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was kinda hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”

Jason’s hand made its way into Carol’s hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. Angus’s fist closed involuntarily while Kountze’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, lip slightly curled in frustration.

“What about you, Mr Moto?” He said, locking onto his target. “Why are you here?”

“Uh, no. My name is Ye-Joon.” The boy explained innocently. “Uh, my family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken.” Kountze laughed and looked around for approval, to which he found none.

“Uh, wh-what’s a rickshaw?” Ye-Joon seemed genuinely baffled.

“You’re an asshole, Kountze.” Angus said darkly. “Your mind’s a cesspool, and a shallow one at that.”

“Who’s the asshole, Tully?” He sneered back. “You’re the one who blew up history.”

“Hey.” Jason held out his hand gently, then turned to the other kid. “What’s your story, man?”

“Alex Ollerman.” He responded, his voice stronger than the other boy’s. All that faith in a higher power, I guess. “I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS.”

“Mormons, right?” The kid nodded proudly.

“Don’t you guys wear some kind of, like, magic underwear?” Kountze gawped.

“That’s a common misconception.” Alex began. It seemed he had all his bases covered, and he turned to address the Korean kid too, as if he might convince someone to join. “Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when we-”

“Hey, what’s up with the townies?” Kountze interrupted, already distracted by something shiny. Angus was mildly relieved he wouldn’t be hearing any more panty-talk- he’d had quite enough for one day, what with his bathing suit and all- but, his relief quickly turned to annoyance when he noticed the two men coming down the road, hauling a Christmas tree between them.

“Hey!” He hollered. “What are you doing with our Christmas tree?”

“The school sold it back to us.” One of them responded. “Scotch pine, still fresh.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna put it back in the lot.” The other explained. “We do it every year.”

Angus turned back to the group and shook his head darkly.

“This is the most bullshit ever.”

______________________________

Angus didn’t think he’d ever be so happy to be in the infirmary, but when they stepped into the heated building, he might have sighed in relief if he wasn't in such a black mood. His arms absolutely caned from carrying that stupid suitcase, and Kountze had been smack talking the whole way up the hill. He thought the only thing worse than bunking with the two kids would be sleeping in with Kountze while he tries to tickle Jason’s balls. He’d much prefer to cosy up in the girl’s room, irritating as her face may be. He abandoned his luggage outside room two and hauled Carol’s down the hallway while she pattered along at his heels.

"Why do you need two cases, anyway?" He sneered, stealing the comfort of silence. "You can't have that much shit to carry."

"It's-" She paused and cleared her throat. "Well... well, why should I tell you, huh? You're- you're-"

"What? An asshole? A jerk? A philistine, as your mole uncle says? Y’know, I'm pretty sure there's a faculty rule against targeted insults towards pupils."

"You're mean." She admitted in a small voice. "And I don't know why."

"Yeah, well get used to it sweetheart. Just wait till Kountze gets over your gyno-gimmick and starts treating you like he does everyone else, you'll be begging for 'mean.' And by the way, you’re just antagonising him by hanging all over Jason all the time.”

“What’s Jason got to do with it?” She snapped, raising her voice for the first time.

“Aw, I hit a nerve, huh?” He delighted in watching her face turn scarlet.

"Y-y'know, when you stood up for Ye-Joon earlier, I thought you might actually be cool. I'm disappointed."

She said nothing else, just ducked her head and ran ahead to open the door for him. Baffled, he barged past her and dumped the suitcase on the nearest bed.

“Thanks.” She whispered.

"Why are you even here, anyway?" He rounded on her, suddenly tired of the way she let him walk all over her. "I mean, other than to ruin the ambience with that hideous sweater-"

That did it. She let out a choking sob and made for the door.

"Hey, hey wait!" He flailed out his long limbs and caught her around the arm, but she wrenched herself from his grip and made off down the hall, away from Hunham and the other boys to Angus' relief. "Carol, wait I didn't mean it."

She didn’t respond, just sped off and careened around the corner. Angus caught up just in time to see the door of the broom closet swing shut. He clucked his tongue and sat down on the hard floor outside, feeling a wave of disgust as he listened to quiet weeping. Gently, he rapped the door with his knuckles.

“Carol?”

“Go away.”

“Carol, I’m sorry.”

“Go away!”

He paused for a moment, and considered his options.

“Your sweater isn’t actually ugly, by the way. I was just ribbing you, y’know? Horseplay?”

“No.” She said firmly, voice muffled through the wood. “No, I know ribbing and that wasn’t it. Y-you were being cruel, and you wanted to see me cry, I know it.”

“What? No!”

“You enjoy it, don’t you? You’re so miserable, the only fun left for you is making everyone else feel as wretched as you.”

He swallowed thickly, feeling a lump of shame coating his Adam’s apple. He took another long moment to collect himself. He resented how easily she read him, but if he wanted to keep her from finking, he’d have to choose his words carefully, and eat a large portion of his pride.

“It’s true.” His stomach roiled in revulsion as he grovelled to her. “I’m sore about holding over, and I wanted to take it out on someone, and you looked like easy pickings. I’m brash, I’m rude, I hate everyone including myself, and I make it everyone else’s problem.”

She paused her sniffling, as if sizing him up.

“Well.” She said thickly. “Thank you for admitting it. That was very… self reflective.”

“I go to a shrink, I kind of have to be self reflective.”

“Ah.” She sniffled. “You can leave me alone now.”

“I would,” Oddly, it felt good to tell somebody… Good enough that he was able to go back to being sly. “But this closet doesn’t open from the inside. Every time we get a new janitor they get locked in here. Happens like twice a year.” She said nothing, but Angus heard her breathing pick up in pace. “I mean, I can always leave you in here.”

“No!” She said urgently. “Let me out, please.”

“I will, if you promise not to fink.”

“I-I won’t fink. If you leave me be, I won’t fink. Pinky promise.”

“Alright. I’ll stay as far away from you as humanly possible.” He clambered to his feet and opened the door for her. She was already standing, and as soon as she saw the light, she tried to scoot out beside him, but he moved his arm to stop her. “Pinky promise, remember?”

Begrudgingly, she curled her finger around his, then slipped out past him and returned to her room. Angus watched her go, and something broke inside his chest as the door closed behind her.

#dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers #angus tully #angus tully x reader

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thought--bubble · 4 months

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To Punish My Darling

Canon Aemond (Dark) X (Maid Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 3,375

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Based off THIS request

Warnings: Child labor, Arranged Marriage, Execution, Dub-con, Smut. (Oral male receiving)

"It is a privilege to work at the red keep" Your mother had said to you as she fixed a bonnet on your head.

At the age of 10 you did not see it this way but alas you were the oldest of your siblings and your parents did not have much money, it was your turn to start helping the family, so you would join your mother in being a chambermaid at the red keep.

"I have been working up there for years and haven't had any trouble. You will simply take your work and keep your head down." This is how you came to work at the red keep. Your first assignment had been collecting the washing.

At the age of ten you were not trusted to do much else other than scuttle about the castle collecting clothes for washing and then once washed bringing them back to their rightful owner. This was an easy job and the first few days you completed the task without so much as a hiccup. But today, your third day, you were to pick up the washing of the Prince Aemond Targaryen.

The problem? He had recently received a grievous injury, which left him recovering in his chambers.

"He will be in there; you will need to knock and await a clear order to enter. is that understood?" The head maid Alandra had warned you. You nodded your head furiously in understanding and skipped through the corridors making your way to his chambers. When you arrived you simply rapped upon the door as you had done with all the others putting your ear to the door to await a response.

"Enter!" You hear a voice muffled, from the door and distance. You open the door and enter the chamber looking for the basket for washing.

" I said do not enter!" The angry voice of a young boy came hurtling at you as you freeze in terror. You avert your eyes "M-m-my Prince my apologies, I thought I- I- I heard-" He cuts you off abruptly "Thought what? that you could just enter my chambers when I advised you not to! Come to see, did you? Come to see the horror?" As he says this, he keeps his head turned from you.

"N-no I am here to pick up the washing! I swear!" Your entire body shakes, you have clearly made a grave mistake and upset a Targaryen Prince and even at this youthful age you understand the repercussions that could result from an incident like this.

"Take it and go" he says quietly, still turned away from you. "Do not come back in here.” You bow your head quickly grabbing the basket of laundry and run from his chambers. You quickly drop the laundry off to the woman doing the washing and run to find your mother.

Your mother, most distressed to hear this news, tells Alandra who simply states that all they can do at this point is wait to see if anything comes of it.

3 more days pass and you continue your work waiting for the hammer to fall but it never comes. After a month or two you had all but forgotten the incident, the only lingering reminder being your refusal to return to the chambers of Prince Aemond.

That is until he is released from his recovery, eyepatch firmly in place. Now it is much more difficult to avoid him, this becomes especially apparent when you accidentally stumble onto his hidden reading spot which happens to also be the place you like to eat your midday meal.

"Oh, my apologies my Prince" You bow your head and back up desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible. "What's that?" He gestures toward the oranges in your hand.

"O-oranges my Prince" You back up one more step itching to remove yourself from his presence. "Give me one" he holds his hand out to you; you timidly step forward until you are just close enough to place the oranges in his outstretched hand.

"I said one" He leaves his hand outstretched waiting for you to remove one of the oranges. With a quivering hand you reach down and lift one of the oranges. Once you have it you grip it tightly and take a step back preparing to drop into a curtsy. "Stay" he doesn't lift his head when he makes this command, he simply starts to peel his orange.

You stand rooted in place.

"Well sit. I Cannot have you standing over me like some sort of ogre" he gestures to the empty space to his left. You quietly and slowly lower yourself to the ground and the two of you quietly eat your oranges not exchanging a word.

This one chance meeting develops into a regular meeting tucked away in the back of the garden. The silent meetings change over time into brief conversations which further change into much longer and much deeper conversations.

Before you even understood how impossible this situation is you had become besotted with the prince. You found yourself rushing to your meeting spot and laughing with him until your sides hurt.

Your feelings only got stronger as you saw him grow from a boy to a man. lithe, assertive face and lone purple eye that you still see every night when you lay down to sleep.

The little fantasy you had built up in your head all comes crashing down when your mother announces the son of the local butcher has expressed interest in you.

"I am not interested in him!" You scream. "My heart belongs to another!"

"Do you think I am a fool?" Your mother seethes. "Do you think I do not see the doe eyes you make toward the prince?" You look up at your mother, eyes welling with tears.

"I ... I love him mother." Your mother runs her hands down her face. "He is a Prince of the realm! You are but a maid!" she pulls you in for a hug "Darling it is impossible. You are so bright, my pride, you have to know this."

You cry into your mother's shoulder. You know it is impossible. You have known this all along, but you were happy being able to pretend that maybe, just maybe you could have what your heart most desired.

You lament the thought of marrying another and putting that fantasy to rest. Ending that dream in its entirety.

"He will be a butcher. That is a comfortable life for you. I cannot imagine we could find a better match" She strokes your cheeks fondly. "All I wish for you, my beauty, is a life easier than mine, and with this match, you will get that" her eyes convey a silent plea as she looks at you.

"I understand mother. This is a smart match." You nod your head as you fight back your tears. As much as this hurts, you know she is right. Life as a butcher's wife would be one of moderate comfort, while the life of a Princess would never be yours to have.

Over the coming weeks you are introduced to the young man your parents have decided to be your husband. Alden is a nice boy. He is decent looking and overly sweet. You were pleased to see that he wasn't quite as plump as his mother or have as little hair as his father.

You move about your daily duties in the castle the way you always have. You have not told Aemond of the match set for you by your parents. You knew he would not care but, you had a lingering feeling of discomfort over breaching the topic with him. You did, however, want to tell him before you were wed. Your husband-to-be had decided that he did not want his wife to be a maid at the castle. You would work in the butcher shop like the rest of his family. So, with a heavy heart just two days before your planned marriage you sit down in the garden next to Aemond, two oranges in hand.

He lifts his head from his book. "You're late. I was thinking I may have to go fetch my own orange today. "

"My apologies, I have a few tasks I have been training some of the new girls on" You squeeze your orange in the palm of your hand digging your nails into the course skin.

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't want a different chamber maid; you do things just as I like."

"As will they, I will make sure of it. My.... My time working here has ended. I am to join my husband’s family at their shop in town"

You avoid his gaze as you speak just watching the orange in your hand as you squeeze it tighter and tighter your fingernails buried in the outer layer.

"I did not know that you had been wed." He closes the book he was reading placing it in his lap.

"Look at me" he nearly barks.

The tone shocks you out of your daze "I-I-I-I am not, not yet. I am to be wed in two days."

The playful look he had worn when you arrived has vanished and been replaced with a steely cold look. "To whom?" his voice is quiet but controlled.

You look at him with a dumfounded expression. You were not expecting a reaction like this from him. You really did not expect a reaction at all, let alone one so passionate.

"I asked you a question, I expect that you answer it." His one eye is locked on you, and he taps his finger against the cover of his book.

"Alden. He is the son of the local butcher" You look down at the ground and lower your voice "It is a smart match."

"Hmmmm.... Seems so"

The rest of your midday meeting passed in silence, Aemond's jaw clenched his orange resting upon his book.

Eventually, you bid him farewell and continued with the training of your replacement maids before heading home for the night.

You wake up the next morning preparing for your last day working in the red keep. You will be married the next day, and your new life will start. Your meetings with Aemond, will be just memories of a young girl. Plenty of fodder for dreams and nothing more.

Leaving your home, which normally was no special affair, led you directly into a scene of chaos. People all around you chattering about the execution of a thief, a thief who dared to steal from the icy cold Prince Aemond.

A general sense of dread fills your body as you follow the large crowd into the courtyard. Aemond and a few of the guards stood around a man on his knees his head down.

"Stealing from the crown is an offence punishable by death" Aemond states loudly his voice quieting the crowd. He twirls a large sapphire between his fingers.

"You have stolen something very precious to me."

"M-m-my Prince, I do not know how that came into my home!" The man you now recognize as Alden pleads.

You gasp covering your mouth. Why would Alden steal from the prince? He is hardly at the keep. Only ever there to help his father deliver meats, when would he have had time to steal from Aemond?

"It was found not only in your home but on your person" Aemond's voice is loud, crisp, clear, and cold as ice.

Your mother walks up beside you and takes your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. You look over at her bewildered and frightened, but her gaze is set toward the horrifying display before you.

"Let this be a lesson to all" His one cold eye scans the crowd until it lands on your mother.

"For those who wish to steal from me.... this is the fate that awaits you" his eye stays locked on your mother as the executioner behind him raises an axe over a quivering and crying Alden. Your stomach is cold, as if full of ice as you look at the man you thought was your friend. His eye set on your mother making sure she understands his silent threat.

You hear the sound of the axe come down and quickly lower your head, focusing your thoughts instead on your mothers’ shoes. Her feet are so dainty.

The crowd starts to disperse, and your mother tugs your hand bringing you toward the keep.

"No! I am not going in there!" You try to yank your hand away from your mother, but she pulls it back to her quickly.

"There is no choice in this, I think that much is clear" She snaps at you keeping her voice low. "We go back to work and continue on."

You nod your head; words do not come to you, but you continue with a kind of mechanical movement. One foot in front of the other. You complete your tasks in much the same way. The only deviation being that you decided to skip your midday meal.

Only 2 hours after your usual meeting time you were summoned to Aemond's chambers. He never summons you. He always knew when to expect you to turn over his linens, collect his clothing for washing. He never needed to summon you.

You approach his door as if you are the one being led to the axe. It could not be a coincidence that yesterday you told Aemond you were to marry Alden and today Alden is publicly executed.... could it?

You lightly knock on his door and await his usual call for you to enter; instead, the door flies open. You flinch back slightly at the sudden movement looking off to the side.

"Come in" He stands to the side giving you space to enter.

"You requested my presence my Prince?" you try to keep your voice low, and eyes angled so you are looking just behind him, hoping beyond all hope that he cannot see how absolutely terrified you are.

"Look at me" he stands directly before you, so close you can feel the heat springing from his body. You slowly raise your head and look up at him through your lashes.

"You are to stay working here, at the red keep as my personal chamber maid."

"Yes, my Prince" You slightly nod your head.

"You missed midday meal, I waited for an orange that never came" he places his hands behind his back and leans forward ever closer, bridging the already miniscule gap that lay between you.

"I found myself without an appetite."

"That may be so, but I was famished...." he clicks his tongue. "Still am"

He grabs you by your chin tightly. "You couldn't have possibly thought I would have let him have you" He growls up against the side of your face. "There are many things that I deserve that are given to others, but I would not lose my darling to a butcher" his voice is filled with disgust.

"This is not possible, you cannot marry me I am a maid!" you look at him eyes pleading as he starts to chuckle.

"I know that, I do not plan to marry you."

You look at him questioningly "Then what-"

" I plan to keep you as my own." he lightly traces his finger down your cheek.

your face falls.

"Now, it brings me no pleasure to punish my darling, but you have left me no choice" He moves in close dragging his nose along the side of your face inhaling your scent. "You will be an obedient servant for me? Won't you?"

"Yes, my prince" an unfamiliar feeling of fear mixed with anticipation creeps up your spine as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer to him.

"Now.... I will give you a set of instructions and you will follow each one with immediacy and accuracy." as you go to respond he interrupts "Do not speak unless I ask you to". You nod just to let him know you understood his instruction.

"Good.... now remove everything" You look at him your face conveying a look of confusion.

"Everything that you are wearing" He tilts his head to the side, again putting his arms behind his back, a small smirk on his face.

You slowly start to unlace your dress, hands nervously shaking.

"Quickly now. I have somewhere to be." You take a deep breath in and just as before your movements become mechanical. Taking your clothes off as you would at home before washing. As you pull each piece of clothing off you fold it and place it in a pile by your feet. Once you are fully undressed you look back to Aemond awaiting his next order.

He walks up close to you. "Now me"

Your trembling fingers slowly start to unclasp the buckles on his doublet. He chuckles and clicks his tongue "Quickly".

Your fingers move along his buckles and laces like a musician playing an instrument, quick and precise. Once he is as bare as you are, nothing left on but his eye patch. He motions you over to the bed, as you move to get on it his voice echoes through the room.

"No" he stops you and pulls you back toward the edge of the bed.

"Kneel here" you get down on your knees facing the edge of the frame as he sits before you.

"As I told you, I have someplace to be" He wraps his hand around your chin, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb. "My pretty little darling" He starts to pump himself to full hardness, while gripping your chin tighter, the nail of his thumb digging into the sensitive skin of your lip.

He hits your chin with the hardened tip of his cock and chuckles.

"You look even prettier like this." He slides the tip of his cock against your plush lips.

"open", you open your mouth looking up at him through your lashes. "That's good" he slides the tip into your mouth as you settle yourself down between his legs. He grabs the braid tied up on the back of your head and grips it tight slowly lowering your head. As he pushes you further and further down his shaft you start to sputter

"Shhhhh darling" He coos gently as he strokes the side of your face. He holds your head in place as you get used to the sensation, breathing through your nose.

He continues to push your head down until your nose is buried in his groin and you are gagging, tears flowing from your eyes, drool dripping from the sides of your mouth. He sighs and chuckles, before grabbing your braid and holding your head in place as he pulls you slightly back. You struggle to take in a gulp of air before he is back inside your mouth, his hips thrusting feverishly as he uses your mouth as if it were not attached to an actual human.

The sounds of his sighs and pants, along with your gagging and slurping fill the room as the heat and tingling between your thighs grows almost unbearable. He stands from the bed still gripping your hair tightly shoving his cock further into your mouth battering the back of your throat as he increases his pace.

You attempt to look up at him, but your eyes can only see the blurry shape of the man above you.

Just as your head begins to feel light, like you could just float away, he stiffens in your mouth and presses himself all the way to the back of your throat and holds you there. You fight the urge to pull away as you feel him empty himself directly down your throat as he lets out a choked groan.

When he finally pulls himself out of your mouth and walks back toward his clothes you sit back on your feet, wiping the tears from your eyes and gasping for air.

"Turns out I lied" he says coolly.

You look over at him still panting heavily, face red, chin covered in drool.

"I did find pleasure in that."

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oreosmama · 5 months

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What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It's how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you're not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn't take kindly to you avoiding him, and he's never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he's not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he's seen the proof that you've fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: idk man i accidentally googled who ghost was like a week ago and fell so deep into the hot cod men rabbit hole so here we are. Enjoy!

Word count: 8261

Gaz is pretty sure he’s in love with you.

It’s a surprising discovery at 11 pm in an American hotel bar drinking the worst scotch he’s ever had. It’s even more surprising because he just discovered you existed all of thirty minutes ago.

He’s got his glass swirling between two nimble fingers, trying to find that line between hating his drink and actually putting it down. And he’s watching you.

You’re the same bartender who’d asked him (in a horrible imitation of his accent) if he’d wanted his neat scotch “shaken, not stirred.” You’d flushed after you said it and promised to leave him joke-free for the rest of the night. He’d laughed, a bit hollow from his circumstances, and told you it was all right. That he liked it, and that made you flush a little more.

Now, you scuttle like an ant past the other worker, a blonde who’s been making eyes at him all night. Your face is split into this unabashed grin, grippable hips bouncing off the counter as you sweep by and reach below for a bottle, giving him a view of the enviable dip between your breasts.

At first, he thinks it’s just that. Too much American booze, not enough inhibitions; both sending him into that post-mission spiral that makes him touchy and want to touch all at the same time. And he finds it’s nice to watch you rattling glasses and wiping up spills; it’s soothing, the way your eyes are alight with life in this ritzy place, seemingly unbothered by the high level of customers. He especially likes the way you mock the spoiled sods when you can get away with it.

The hotel must be experiencing the perfect storm of weddings, proms, and business meetings—not to mention one very unfortunate layover for one very unlucky special forces sergeant.

He watches as teens keep stumbling back to the counter with pink cheeks, flashing their IDs every time they ask for a new drink. Despite their prom getups and obvious ages, they swear they’re just guests from Mr. and Mrs. Weddington’s ceremony.

The girl you’re with now, stumbling from her heels but selling it as though she’s tipsy, begs and begs for another lemon drop before she “goes back to work on Monday.”

You nod either way, and he watches as you make a display of pouring alcohol into one shaker and juice into another, swapping them out when the teen looks back towards her friends.

You send her on her merry way with a sugared rim and a lemon rind, saying something like “Go easy” as she wanders back to her table. You smile to yourself, amused at this little game you’re playing with half the customers here.

You must feel the heat of his gaze, because you glance at him then. He hopes it’s burning you up as much as it looks, that nervous pinkening of your face as you give him a shrug like what else was there to do?

And Gaz, again, thinks it’s just that. Lust. He thinks about wiping that small smile off your face with his lips, stumbling with you into his hotel room, frantic fingers peeling off clothes. He thinks about how it would be—giggly, probably, despite his surprising coordination when he’s plastered. It’d be you and him swapping words back and forth, back and forth the whole time, silence only filling the room when you’re kissing him and when you feel so fucking new it steals your and his words away.

He doesn’t know why he latches more onto the idea of the moments afterward, the biggest thing being that you decide to stay. Then it’s more back and forth, hobbies and pet peeves and every little thing that’s been on your minds since the 2000s. He gets to know you inside and out, inside again a few more times even as your conversation runs on.

It’s no longer lust at that point. He knows that.

He’s ruthlessly torn from the fantasy by the blonde bartender who, judging by the looks you’re swapping with her, has gotten the entirely wrong idea about the direction of his stare.

He swears to God he was being obvious about it. It was you—it was fucking you that whole time.

But he’s noticed a couple things about you.

The first is that you’re quiet when your customers aren’t overwhelmingly sloshed; awkwardly so, for a bartender. You’re something of a mirror when they are, far more relaxed, laughing easy and cracking jokes, like you preferred your real self be forgotten the next morning.

The second is that you’re soft. Around the edges, all pillowy at the hips and thighs, a sloping curve down each side. And you were soft with your words, no yelling, no arguing with customers, just easy little jabs that no drunk mind would ever cotton onto.

You were only snappy with him the second his head started growing fuzzy.

He wants more of it, even as the pretty bartender makes friendly conversation.

She asks about his day, then his job, then his adventures. Three of the last things he wanted to think about tonight, let alone discuss with a stranger who wants in his pants. However, because she “loves a man with a British accent” and he’s too damn polite to give her the boot, he reveals a little.

Yes, his job is hard. Yes, he’s jumped from an airplane. Yes, he’s killed someone. Of course they were bad.

Until they weren’t. But he won’t tell her that.

However, above all things, Gaz is a planner. And though he’s caught the wrong fish with his bait, his plan B is working excellently.

Gaz glances at you, brushing your hair behind your ear in the increasingly crowded room. The wide array of customers spread out among the limited seating are starting to flood the bar. You can’t pass out beers and shake cosmopolitans at the same time, and a wonderful warmth blossoms in his chest the second you glance at him too, growing desperate.

There’s something like an apology in your eyes. You’re sad you have to ruin your friend’s chances; meanwhile, he thinks it may just be the best part of his night.

The third thing he discovers about you: you’re trying to be the wingwoman for your pretty friend here, and Gaz won’t have it.

You’re going to have to come over here. Beg for help from your friend.

Ruin this little flirtation she’s got going on—what a shame.

You’re too damn polite, just like him. The second he talks to you when you make your way over, you’ll think you have to stay. Humor him for a bit. He’ll ask you for a drink, forcing you to come back a second time around, when the bustle has slowed. He’ll rope you in for the rest of the night by then, and the wait’ll be over.

He feels like a damn schoolboy when you take that first step toward him, and he’s practically vibrating when you get close enough that he can hear your voice for the second time today. It’s far less grating than your friend’s, he’s certain of it—he wouldn’t mind if it was you badgering him, is what he means.

After all, Gaz was on leave, and when Gaz was on leave, he liked things slow. Fresh off a mission, he liked to roll through the motions, order drinks and let the memories turn into static from the corner of the bar. He’d planned on calling Price and damning him for saying it was a blessing to get trapped in the US, set up at a posh hotel on the task force’s budget.

But you stop before him, contrite eyes softening, and he’s getting better at seeing the upside of it all.

“Hate to interrupt—I know you two are trying to get all cozy in the dark over here, but I could use your help, Jeanne. ‘Hugh Janus’ is asking for another beer and our non-alcoholic tap just ran dry.” You look off into the distance, frowning slightly. “I fear we may have genuinely drunk teens on our hands soon.”

Jesus, was her name Jeanne? Gaz hadn’t caught that.

On the bright side, he’s able to confirm one of his sneaking suspicions. Your eyes really are fucking gorgeous up close, and they’re so expressive that he can read you like a book.

But he hates the way you say “you two.” It’s so nonchalant.

Was it too much to ask for a little envy? Just a hint of spite, to prove that some part of what he’s feeling, even a little speck of it, isn’t one-sided?

Your friend— Jeanne , apparently—gives him a disappointed sigh, looks at him like he and her are two conspirators planning on eloping any second. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, trying to find that balance between polite understanding and absolute relief, but his head grows foggier by the minute and all he can manage is a “sounds good.”

You dive into an explanation when the pair of you are far enough away to inspect the taps, gesturing at a couple of them, and then discreetly at a group in the crowd.

From here, he can see it a little more clearly. You’re younger than the blonde, probably just by a couple years, which means you’re newer here. Younger than him, too, since he pegs Jeanne at around his own age.

The blonde disappears into a storage door wedged between two shelves loaded with glass bottles and illuminated white-blue. A manager, maybe.

Only thing he knows for certain from observing this quick interaction is that you’re finally alone.

He flags you down, and his chest floods with that warm, fuzzy feeling all over again when you hustle over, genuine smile on your lips—because you’re so damn easy to read.

“Know you’re busy, ’nd I hate to bother you, darling, but can you get me another scotch? Shaken, this time, if you please.”

The pet name lands perfectly. Even through all the chatter and music, he can hear the quick stutter in your breath. Then you laugh at his joke, like you think he deserves it.

It’s cheap of him to force that laugh out of you with a shitty joke like that, but he’s feeling a little needy. Wants a preview of what the real thing would sound like.

Fucking music, surely.

“I’ll go get it—”

Not yet. I need more time.

“Not right now. I’ll finish this one off while you work through that fresh hell–” he nods toward the anxious crowd “–then you can come back to me. You’ll find I’m pretty patient.”

A little less so, when it comes to you, but you don’t need to know that yet.

The slight slur to his words must be comforting, because you give him that small smirk you’ve been conservative with all night. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ve heard Brits are perfect gentlemen; be a shame if you proved me wrong.”

“I’m all that and more, darling.” He winks. “You’ll see.”

He could be the bloody worst man on the planet, too, if you wanted.

And he could come out and say that to you, all the things he could be for you tonight, if he wasn’t so keen on the instant change in you.

Because here’s what he expected: a few more little flirtations back and forth, everything kept light and easy. He’d keep you smiling and smirking like that, comfortable in your own skin for just a little bit longer before you have to go back to the other customers and slither back into your shell. He’d get to see that breathtaking blush of yours, pink splotches that tell him he’s on the right track. And then he’d get your rapt attention for the remainder of your and his night, quite like he’s given you his.

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, you’re instantly sheepish, finding yourself leaning a little closer, so close he could reach out and run a finger along the back of your hand (a small touch, but it would certainly floor him).

And then guilt. Pure, heart-wrenching guilt, like you’re taking every word of his to heart in the worst possible way.

Gaz panics.

But you’re not wearing a ring, so no husband, no fiance. He guesses boyfriend or some long-standing crush he can’t—shouldn’t—burrow his way in front of. It’s a disappointing discovery, something he’ll be stewing on for the rest of the night or maybe week, depending on how long he’s stranded here.

He’s not a fan of infidelity, and he sure as hell isn’t changing his opinion on that anytime soon. So he settles himself for a night at the bar cut short. Maybe he’ll order drinks up to his room from now on, praying the task force won’t try and shift the bill onto him. He can’t imagine coming down to the bar and seeing you will be nearly as satisfying anymore.

“I shouldn—I mean, Jeanne really likes y—I mean, we kinda have this rule where we, um,” you fumble with the rag on the counter, suddenly invested in a stain he’s been avoiding all night. You swallow. “I’ll just, uh, bring you your drink later. As promised. I should go help her.”

And you dash off as fast as you can between the counter and the precarious wall decor, almost running into the storage door the other bartender whips open while dragging out a new keg for the tap.

Meanwhile, Gaz…

He has a question.

Were you feeling all that guilt over some “dibs” rule at your bar?

He wants to laugh. The whole first-come, first-served thing makes you look as guilty as if you clubbed a baby seal. So what if Jeanne wants to ask him out? If he says no, does that mean he gets you?

Then he actually laughs a little, because it’s so ridiculous that it’s honestly cute. You care about and respect your coworkers, and support them when they’re hitting on guys at bars. So cute. You’re like the ultimate wingwoman, he’s sure, but that’s not going to change the fact that he wants you.

But the night drags on, and this half hour of patience Gaz promised you becomes paper-slim when you pass off his drink to Jeanne and avoid his end of the bar for far longer than is acceptable.

But you’re still giving her reassuring smiles and manning the bar as she lays her interest on thick, asking how long he’ll be staying and telling him when she gets off.

Gaz isn’t laughing anymore. And that little thing you do where you back off and play wingwoman? Definitely not as sweet as he’d thought it was.

Fuck, it might be the one thing he hates about you.

Because you avoid him for the rest of the night, and he still can’t take his eyes off you.

Not to worry, though. Gaz is a patient man. More importantly, he’s a planner.

He’ll find a way.

He always does.

~~~~~~

Gaz barely sleep that night. Too busy thinking about the mission, the lives that were lost, all that blood that had coated his hands just three days ago.

The way it bothers him comes and goes in phases. Some missions slip off him like rain water over a slick road, rivulets down drives, and he sleeps just fine.

Others soak into him, further than skin deep, where his body becomes a subcutaneous cache of nightmares and gunpowder, and he wakes up choking, smoke filling his lungs, tearing at the tissue of his throat enough that water can’t soothe the burn.

Mornings like this is where he fights fire with fire.

The hotel bar is unsurprisingly destitute but still oddly open at 11 am on a Thursday morning, and he takes a seat more daringly center-staged than he had last night. He glances around, letting thoughts of you, a bartender whose biggest issue was a dibs rule on men, swathe around him.

Admittedly, a lot of it is foggy. He remembers wanting you—a lot , actually. Too much, he might even say, but after all he drank he’s surprised he even found his way back to his room. But the place, a little more aglow with the open windows (that make his head fucking spin, by the way), looks the same as last night, which means he can still envision you wandering over every inch of it.

And he thinks no, you probably weren’t that attractive. Maybe your snipes weren’t that funny, and he’d had no reason to get so upset with you over a rejection. And every little wish he’d had that you were the woman who could warm his bed while he was out on missions and greet him when he came home was a bit over the top, even for drunk Gaz.

Sober Gaz knows better. Sober Gaz knows that no other human being can have that much of an effect on him anymore, because he’s had to rebuild himself after joining the military, after seeing the most honorable and dishonorable things humans can do, and he’s just not fit for something unconditional.

Drunk Gaz, though….

Hammered and horny. That’s all it was. A terrible mixture, and he’s damn ashamed that an innocent girl like you became the target of it. God, did he even tell you his name? Or was it just instant come-on and creepy watching from the corner of the bar?

Gaz notices he’s not alone as he lets his eyes wander; there’s a group of three elderly women jabbering in the corner, waving too-friendly when he spots them. He tosses them a dashing smile, the one that makes his grandmother’s friends burst into titters and giggles.

It has the same effect.

“Who knew you’d be just as charming sober?” a familiar voice rings out.

Gaz’s heart thump-thump s forcefully.

“In all fairness, you do have a shot with them too, if you really wanted to take it.” You lean a little bit closer over the counter, one-ended smile pulling at your lips, and when he catches a trace of that same perfume, his chest twinges.

Fuckin’ hell.

“She’s newly widowed,” you nod to the gaggle again, demeanor conspiratorial, “and happy to be, apparently. Why am I not surprised you’re popular to all ages?”

He’s got no clue what you’re talking about. Damn, he’s not even listening. Your lips look too soft to him right now, and it’s downright unfair how domestic you look in morning light, placid and playful, like the last thing you were made for was exacerbating nightlife.

“All ages?” he mumbles, because he can’t quite think straight, and the best thing he can do is repeat the last few words he’d heard you say before his train of thought had caught fire, derailed, and crashed explosively against brick wall.

He’s struck still, is what he means. He can’t quite think past the idea of you, coming a little closer to him, letting him trap you against his chest. Letting him breathe in the scent of your hair as you tell him about your day—boring, maybe, if it wasn’t you who was telling the story.

But your voice and tone, that playful edge that sounds like the sweetness of cotton candy and would taste like fucking everything to him, it draws him in.

Gaz comes to the conclusion that not everything was a drunken haze last night.

And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t quite the fisherman he thought he was, trying to catch you. If anything, he was the fish snapping after your line, bait or no, wanting to be yanked out of the water and gutted until everything he ever was was bare for those pretty eyes.

And he’s that very same fish this morning, gaping and blinking wide-eyed.

Fuckin’. Hell.

“My God, those teenagers last night? And then Jeanne, and the bridesmaids? And, okay, I shit you not, even the bride. You’re a menace in this bar, you know that?”

“Are you included in all that?”

If he remembers anything from the night before, it was the way you clammed up after he made his first move. You’re the spitting image of it now, pursed lips and antsy fingers, even after all that big talk.

It’s an absent thought that flies past him in that moment, but he recalls that you were only loose enough to joke around with people already tipsy. He lets a small consideration tag along, a half-thought, really, that maybe you felt as comfortable around him as he did around you.

That, or he still looked smashed from last night.

You dodge his question completely.

“So what can I get you this morning…?” You let the tail end of the question drag on a bit, and he decides it’s because you can’t remember his name. He tries to stave off the gross pinch in his stomach by recalling there’s an all too real chance he never even told you.

“Kyle.”

You shake your head quickly, mumbling, “No, I—I remember.”

Gaz, though he can’t help but feel like an asshole for it, grins at your stutter.

“Surprise me, then.” He sits back, not remembering when he made the decision to lean a bit closer. “YN,” he tags on, smiling a bit more at your nervous laugh.

You look him over, some short glance that stuffs his head full of cotton, and start working on a concoction with a small grin.

He’s patient, minds his own business and fiddles with his phone as you shake and pour.

No messages from Price, and Gaz shoves down any distant panic that he might have sent an aggravated text or two in his state last night.

But no messages means no updates, which means it’s safe to assume he’ll be marooned at this hotel for another two weeks.

Not as bad as he thought it would be, so far.

You step away with a tray of drinks and return empty handed. Then you slip a glass in front of him, frosty and golden, slowly seeping red by a single maraschino cherry.

He guffaws. “Mai Tai? What, no umbrella?”

You slip a mini umbrella into his drink. “You underestimate me.”

His headache is killing him. The sun’s too bright, and he’s thanking God that the music in here isn’t nearly as pounding as it was yesterday. The memories still haunt him, horizoning his mind. Every drop of blood, every plea, every blank-eyed stare.

And then there’s you. Just you. You read like a sheet of paper, and you’re soft around the edges, and you couldn’t even comprehend half the things he’s seen.

You spoon another maraschino cherry out of the cooling jar and pop it into your mouth, laving your tongue over it before biting down, the juices dying your tongue red.

Fuck.

Gaz wants to kiss you.

He wants you to taste the Mai Tai on his tongue and sigh happily, eyes rolling the exact same way. He might die if you don’t.

“It’s on the house, only because you were true to your word.”

He gets peeks of that red tongue of yours and shifts in his seat. “What d’you mean?”

“You were patient, as promised, and I’m afraid I’ll need a little more of that today.”

Any of it. All of it, for you. Fuck, he could be so patient for you.

Gaz furrows his brow anyway. “Didn’t know you were so greedy. Why d’you ask, love?”

“I guess you couldn’t tell from last night, but I’m a pretty shitty bartender. That’s why they got me working mornings.”

He glances at the Mai Tai. “So you’re sayin’ I’m shit outta luck.”

“I’m saying that if you’re going to let me pick your drink, you’re going to keep getting whatever’s left in the mixer from formerly Mrs. Jones’ group of three. I should warn you, they party hard.”

Gaz sighs. “What’s next on the menu?”

“More mimosas. That was their warm-up. You wanna catch up?” You frame a carton of orange juice in your hands enticingly.

Fruity drinks from here on out. Gaz doesn’t exactly mind the idea, though he’d come down to the bar for something with more of a kick. But he’s wondering how long your shift runs if you’d worked the night before and the morning after.

He’s got a chance here; without your friend present, your guilty conscience must feel balmed.

Gaz shakes his head, tearing a finger at the mini umbrella’s ridges. “I’ll stick to their schedule. Have a feeling I should be pacing myself with that crew.”

“Good feeling,” you nod.

The air of silence that settles is comfortable. There’s the rattle of ice and champagne, the slow slosh of orange pooling in three going on four glasses, and Gaz watches you through it all. But he can see the way his gaze makes you nervous. Your movements are all rickety, and you can’t quite find that rhythm between shaking the mixer and making eye contact.

Gaz wasn’t lying. Most if not all the women he’s met (sans a few of his targets) agree: he’s a kind man. Chivalrous, soothing, amiable.

So he’s not sure why seeing your nerves gets a lovely thrill rattling its way down his spine. Sure, he wished you felt a smidge less timid, a lot more loose and sunny in his company. But, he guesses, it’s because with you, he’s willing to settle. Take what he can get; it’s not unlike a stakeout, really. He’s parked here, waiting for you to come out of your shell on your own time.

Can’t really help that he’s greedy when it counts, though, and when you set the mimosa in front of him, he reaches before you can pull away, getting that warm slide of your fingers against his.

“So what are you doin’ here, in a place like this, if you’re not a good bartender?”

He has to salvage your courage before you slip into the backroom for space to think. He can’t let that happen, overthinker that you are, and you’re too nice to abandon him mid-conversation.

He’s okay with manipulating you that much.

“Gap year. Several actually, but I don’t like to think about that.” You’re fidgeting with a rag, twisting it until the damp cotton creases under your fingers.

“What are you gappin’ to?”

You huff out a laugh. “Med school, hopefully. Grad school, possibly. Just want to do something more, you know? Since apparently a bachelor’s gets you nowhere nowadays, and I’m just thirty grand in hole for nothing.”

“It’ll work itself out. For you, I’m certain of it.”

And he thinks he’s nailed it.

Look. Look at all he can say and do to make you feel comfortable. And look! He can make you laugh and smile. And his touch was nice, right? Warm, gentle, everything you’d want. He’s got it right here. Waiting for you.

And then you blink, long and slow, eyes on the counter. Then…

“You know, I’m really jealous of Jeanne. I mean, she has it all figured out.”

Gaz fights the urge to grind his teeth, but he drops his elbows to the counter and cups at the mimosa. Not good enough, doesn’t burn enough. Too easy on the champagne, and he distantly wonders if you pull what you did last night all the time.

That thing where you go easy on drinks by coming around less, or neutering them completely before you pass them out.

That thing where you’re trying to do better for everyone , where you think you know better. He can only guess that it’s come so often with a cost to you that it’s all you know how to do anymore—giving, no taking. Helping always; never, ever hurting, no matter what you want.

“C’mon,” he mutters, but you’re reaching for another red cherry. Chewing on it as it dyes your teeth pink.

“She’s one of the managers here, did she tell you that? And she’s only a couple years older than me, and she’s just… she knows what she wants. And goes for it, too.”

Is that what it was? You weren’t willing to go for it?

He’ll build that bridge for you, dammit. He’d hold you hand across the whole fucking way if you’d just let him.

“She’s the only person in the whole area willing to give me a chance, even though I’d never bartended before.”

He lets you ramble, lets the sound of your voice sink into him, gives encouraging responses when he has to.

Jeanne likes to go hiking.

Jeanne likes to swim.

Jeanne loves nights out.

Sure, yeah, okay. But do you like any of that?

You don’t. You hate it all, actually. You even have a fear of drowning, heights, the whole works. You’re very much a homebody, curled up on your couch reading, drinking tea—not a huge fan of wine, or alcohol, actually, but don’t laugh! It was the highest paying job you could find, and yes, you do see the irony. Yes, you make a good cup of tea. Why?

Trying to find out even that much about you was like playing a damn tennis match. You won’t stop shoving the topic away, getting all insecure when he asks what you like. What you want.

He plans to change that.

But for now? Fine. You won’t talk about you. But he’s not going to let you talk about Jeanne.

So you’re talking about him.

“We don’t get much of your type around here.”

“Special forces?”

“British.” You give up on wiping the counter, instead leaning on two hands and watching him sip at the piña colada you’ve just made. He’d offered you the pineapple slice. After you’d said no, he watched you watch him bite in, wiping off the juice off his lips with his thumb.

He had to remind himself that it was patience you were looking for, even with your lips parted in a daze like that.

“Special forces, though, huh?” You glance around with faux wariness. “Should I be worried?”

“Depends. How many people round here are up to no good?”

“I mean, there’s the occasional bad tipper but, between you and me,” you lean in, give a small shrug, “I deal with them in my own way.”

Gaz raises a brow, smile growing. “Maybe I’m the one who should be worried.”

“Depends. Are you going to be rifling around for a five or a twenty-five dollar tip in that wallet of yours?”

Gaz sighs, “The best company always comes with the highest price, don’t it?”

“Not as high as you think,” you laugh.

If there was ever a groove to find between you and him, he’s finally located it.

Five minutes too late, it seems.

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear rustling in the storage room, and the blonde bartender that’s bloody haunting him now pushes through the swinging door.

“Jeanne.” You voice is a wonderful mixture of fake enthusiasm and slight disappointment. “Look who’s here.”

Trapped. That’s what he is.

And you leave without a goodbye or a glance in his direction, too.

He tells himself you’re shy, insecure, delicate little thing that he keeps pushing the boundaries of, trying to find the edge of having you and scaring you off completely.

Like taming a wild animal.

Fucking patience. For all his years, all his adventures, he never knew he’d run out of it in the most civilian of circumstances.

He sticks around a while longer, humors Jeanne’s interest. Amazingly enough, they have so much in common, who would have thought?

And who would have thought that after last night, that was the last thing he’d ever want.

~~~~~~

You’re doing that thing again, where you ignore him.

He’d think it’s cute, how shy you were, if you only didn’t sic your friend on him each time you did it. He’s fairly certain his interest is clear.

He’s been going to the bar for the last few days. Sometimes he sees you, sometimes he doesn’t. He prefers the former, and when it’s the latter, he’s reminded of just how shitty the alcohol is in the US, and that he’s trapped here, and how it’s starting to become hell.

But he won’t tell you that. That your home and this hotel are the last places he wants to be on the whole planet, present company excluded.

Despite the fact that present company feels like she has to include her friend in every conversation. He loves how selfless you are, no man left behind and whatnot, but he wishes you could see the failing attraction right before your eyes.

You try to slip off, leave the pair of them alone, but Gaz won’t have it. If you wander too close, he’ll drag you in, call your damn name across the bar if he has to, wrench on that ever-guilty, ever-pleasing heart of yours to go and answer him, talk to him, pay him the attention he needs nightly, apparently.

As of late, you’ve started playing this game. Gaz’ll bring up a topic, anything from the horrors of war to butterflies.

And you think there might be some upsides to the horrors of war, maybe. And butterflies are ugly and gross, always.

Gaz loves how beautiful the mountains are up north; you despise them. They look cold.

But he thought you loved cold weather?

Well, you don’t like cold weather when it’s… on mountains. You guess.

An interesting play, he quite thinks. Such odd tactics you have running in your mind. But you’re trying so hard to be this good, loyal friend. You want so badly to find the middle ground here, please Jeanne and Gaz, let them both be happy.

But when push comes to shove, Jeanne had dibs. And Gaz has to bear the brunt of it.

Two weeks have gone by before Price contacts Gaz again. Tells him the 141 had lain low long enough that he can come back home and get some well deserved leave. The news makes him fucking ecstatic when he first hears it. Thank fuck he’ll never have to use the launderettes here again, never have to listen to the damned click-click-click of the aircon or the mini fridge.

He misses so many things from home.

Shepherd’s pie. Good cigarettes and tea. A whiskey sour from that bar just three blocks down from his flat.

And his flat. His bed. His sofa, the kitchen he barely uses, the door that whines because he can’t bring himself to oil it; gone too long, too often for it to really matter most days. The toaster he doesn’t plug in ever because it damn well almost burned down his flat last time he was out for two months.

All of it empty. Cold and bare. Too unused to really miss.

Gaz slows while packing his things. He stops, grabs his phone, then lowers to the bed. He stares at the recent calls list, Captain still at the top, call ended twenty minutes ago.

Home has a different taste in his mouth than it used to. Not horribly bad, but different enough to notice.

It’ll be quiet. Gaz used to love quiet.

Being here has changed something in him.

Nothing big—all small things, in fact.

A pondering floats down on him, comes to his mind and makes the rest of his body tighten, a coiled spring waiting, wondering. It’s such a small question, too, but things with you always seemed so small and insignificant, until he got a moment of quiet to consider it.

Do they sell your perfume in the UK?

It’s not a huge thing if they don't.

Really, it’s not life-changing. He’s just trying to consider never having it again, never having it flood his senses when you get too close, lean a bit closer to slide him his drink.

Then it’s you not leaning in close ever again. Then no you, ever again.

Gaz can’t quite make it make sense.

Home is good. Hell, he misses it.

But home is no set place anymore. Home could be two poles repelling each other but attracting him, pulling at each half of him, waiting to tear him down the middle while he tries to decide.

Two fucking weeks? Gaz has to check his phone to make sure. Has that really all it’s been?

Bullshit.

Tell him why it feels like it’s been years. Tell him why he can’t imagine going home as anything other than a misstep, one bad fucking decision away from sealing his fate.

A slice of shepherd’s pie and a nice cup of Earl Grey—it can wait.

A little longer, at least. He needs some time to make certain on some things. A month, maybe. On his own dime now. After all, what’s four thousand dollars compared to a missed opportunity for something better?

…He’ll see if they have deals on extended stays.

~~~~~~

“YN.”

Nothing.

“YN.”

Still nothing.

“YN!”

You’re avoiding eye contact and maintaining a six-foot radius at all times, like he’s got the damn plague.

It’s been the same setting for the past four weeks; corner of the bar, closer to the same dark shit that swirls in his glass now, aiming for privacy and good company.

He used to think he was a good shot, but his accuracy’s been bloody terrible as of late.

Twelve times. He’s tried asking you out twelve times.

After the most recent attempt crash-landed with you interrupting to tell him about your sister’s obsession with popping zits, he considered it. Oh boy, did he consider giving up, asking himself why the hell he ever got so desperate in the first place.

Tonight was supposed to be some last hurrah of sorts. His flight leaves tomorrow morning, and his patience with you has become so thin it could snap with a single breath.

But he gets here, sees you.

Sees you bustling around the bar—which, in his mind’s eye, is his flat. And you look right at home, by the way. Wandering in and out of his room, his kitchen, the living room. Curled up on the settee, your soft thighs winking at him from beneath his own sweatshirt. Then you’re dancing in the same way, hips swaying to the obnoxious beat, leaning in closer instead of pulling away when he grabs onto you like he ought to.

For all that’s good and pure, you never distance yourself like you do now.

There’s no easily spooking the you in his head that wants him just as badly as he does you.

Your name falls from his lips an unavoidable number of times from the corner of the bar, and you finally fold.

See—wasn’t so hard, was it?

Not so painful if you’d just give in and go on a date with him now, too.

You saunter over, a world-weary sigh falling from your lips. “My God, Kyle, you sound like a damn cockatoo over here. Or my mom, which was a bit unsettling. Need I remind you I regret telling you my middle name.”

“Then you won’t be surprised to know you’re getting a good scolding, with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

That same look takes up your features, pouty lips and wrinkled brow, like he’s barking up the wrong tree all over again. Might be his favorite expression of yours, second only to that little grin when you see him each day.

The same one that keeps him barking.

“You know it’s for a good reason, Kyle. I’ve told you this.”

“Remind me again, darling. Is it a boyfriend?”

You huff a sigh. “No.”

“Husband?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Lesbian?”

“What?” You stare at him wide-eyed, and he shrugs.

“Just makin’ sure my bases are covered. So what is it, then?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m also dead fuckin’ serious,” his voice raises when you try to walk away. He can barely refrain from swatting out at your wrist, spinning you back around to look at him. Over the weeks, he’s discovered your biggest weakness is his eyes, and he puppy-dogs them now. “Out with it. Please.”

His white-knuckled hands ache from where they grip under the bar’s ledge, and he’s trying blessedly hard to keep still as you look him over. Every scar, every bag under his eyes, every premature wrinkle. You can see it all and more, probably even see the nightmare he had three days ago, where it was you tied up, enemy’s gun pointed at the pliable skin of your temple, your cries echoing in the empty warehouse.

Where, a building over, in sniper-position, Gaz’s frozen. His fucking trigger finger won’t twitch, and he can’t breathe, can’t move even as the gunshot lit up your skin, and he rolled out of the same hotel bed, coughing on the floor, wheezing.

He tops off his eyes with a dashing smile, pleasant like his mind hadn’t painted the picture of you bloody and dying, still haunting him.

Gaz isn’t as easy to read as you are. You wouldn’t be able to tell.

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like I’m whipped?” As if he could look like anything else.

“No, like…” You bite your tongue, and Gaz would give anything to know what you’d planned on doing with the hand you’d raised toward him just then, only to let it drop down at your side. “Never mind.”

“C’mon.” God , his hands ache. “Just tell me. Thought we were friends?”

“We are friends, Kyle.” You ignore how smug he gets, fixing him with a look. “But that’s all we are.”

Gaz scoffs, “I don’t get it. Just because your friend has, what, a li’l crush on me, and she doesn’t even know me, this can’t happen?”

You know what this is. He knows you know what this is. And he knows you want it, too.

“It’s…” you bite the inside of your cheek while avoiding his gaze, and he knows it’s because you can’t think when he looks at you like that. Pleading. Desperate. And so damn breathless at the sigh of you that it makes it that much harder for you to say you don’t want him. “It’s a whole big thing we agreed on when I started working here. It’s how the peace is kept, not just between Jeanne and me—but for everyone. That’s just how we do it.”

“YN…”

You ignore him. “And I like this job, Kyle. I do. I don’t care that I’m horrible at mixing drinks, and that I can’t handle drunk people to save my life. It feels good to have something to do when I don’t know what else to do with myself, and I can’t have some little lover’s quarrel ruin that.

“And Jeanne is a great person. And I know you don’t like it when I bring it up, but it’s true. She saw you first and called it. So I’m stepping back, not getting in the middle of it because I owe it to her, and I don’t get why you won’t just do me that solid and give her a chance. You two are a much better fit than you and I would ever be—”

“You hate camping.”

You fall silent, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You hate camping. And the woods. The outside, really. You told me that. Then you told me your daily circuit is the bar, then your home, sometimes to the café down the street from here, but that’s rare. And that you like books, but I know s’not the cute, adventure-y ones you pretend to like. I googled a few of yours, ones I caught you sneakin’ on your breaks—dirty little bird, you are, by the way. But I like that about you. All of it. Everything you think you have to keep under wraps.”

“Kyle…”

“I like the way you say my name, too. And how soft your skin looks, and those thighs—fuck me. Is your perfume cherries, by the way?”

“Peaches,” you mumble. He nods.

“That too. I mean, every little thing, darling. I swear, I want it. Don’t care that we’re complete opposites, that you’re scared of what I do, what I’m built for. I need you to know that I want you because of that, not in spite of. I don’t need you all the time, I promise. But I don’t think I could handle it if I didn’t have you at all.”

You want him. He can see it. You’re melting into a goddamn puddle before him, wandering nearer and nearer like you can’t help it.

What else can he say? What the hell else does he have to do to prove that he wants you so bad it’s driving him up the walls? Gaz is wrenched so tight in his seat that he could snap and hurdle the counter, drag you out of here and show you everything he’s willing to give.

He needs a promise before he leaves. Something.

“God, Kyle, I didn’t…” your breath stutters, but you won’t pull your gaze from his. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were so serious about this.”

You didn’t know? You couldn’t fucking tell? After a month of him puttering around here, begging for your attention, doing anything he could to get you to look at him—

“I thought you were just…”

Fuck.

Gaz shakes his head.

Fuck.

Messing with you? Teasing you? That’s all you thought it was?

He tips his head back, locking onto the ceiling.

What could he have said during the past five weeks that would make you think that?

He runs through every conversation, every interaction, every whipped, needy look he couldn’t hold back because he couldn’t stop them around you.

And then he thinks about Jeanne. How you’ve been pushing her on him. And how he’s a perfect fucking gentleman and entertained her interest with polite conversation.

Then there’s you, his shy little rabbit watching from the other end of the bar, so damn skittish that he can only draw you back in after she’s long left him alone. Not even surveying or passively watching, but crafting wildly inaccurate conclusions in your little overthinking head.

No.

No, no, no, because, fickle as you are, you’re a giver.

And Gaz’s been stealing that role from you this whole time.

He hasn’t let you show your worth. He doesn’t need to see it, no, but you think you have to prove it. You like your trials by fire. You don’t like winning by default.

You don’t think you could be wanted for wanting’s sake.

In all fairness, Gaz didn’t think he functioned like that either—unconditional terms and all that. So he thought he’d had to give back. Give back so much that it frightened you, and you couldn’t hold up what you thought was your end.

A bloody fool. That’s what he is.

His little American rabbit plays by different rules. In the UK, women in bars are so straightforward, so honest.

What a fuckin’ sod he is.

His flight leaves in nine hours, and he hasn’t packed, hasn’t slept.

Too busy thinking about you. How much of a wrench you’ve been in his plans.

He didn’t think wanting you would be like asking the world to spin the other way.

And, hell, what’s he supposed to do when he does leave, gone off on the mission Price’s hinted to him, the one that’s halfway across the globe, and you’re back here, trying and probably succeeding at forgetting he exists.

Fuck.

You not knowing he exists.

Him having never met you.

The ideas make him sick.

But Gaz…

Gaz is a planner. Above all else.

And if you want an opportunity to show what you can give him, he’ll give you just that. While he’s on a mission, mind on worse, far more horrible things, he’ll give you that chance you’ve been itching so hard for.

“Your phone.”

You’ve been watching him go through phases, even refilled his glass while he was out. Scotch on the rocks, this time. Like you thought he had to start taking it easy from here on out, like you think he deserves it.

“What?”

“Let me give you my number.”

“Kyle… that’s not a good idea.”

“Don’t care, love.”

To your credit, you have a healthy amount of wariness. In several jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket, open it to a new contact, and pass it to him, eyeing up every little thing he types.

Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick.

His phone number.

Then he texts himself quickly, saves your number too, and holds your phone out.

When you grab at it, he holds tight, tugging for your attention.

Like he hasn’t, in a most wonderfully heady way, already got it.

“No funny business with this, love.” His features turn grim. “No giving it to your friend so she can woo me—”

“Woo you?”

He gives you a stern look. “A phone call. A text. A fuckin’ pocket dial, I don’t care. But I want it from you, or no one, yeah?”

Only after you nod, slow and unsure, does he push himself out of the barstool for the last time, nodding to you. Eyes soft as he whispers, “Have a good night, darling.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he walks away, phone still gripped tightly in your hand.

~~~~~~

Part 2

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz cod #cod gaz

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vaguelyapeanutbutterandjelly · 8 months

Text

This isn't over, I hope you know.

Price x Male Reader Requested: Yes! But there were some technical issues. Pt 1 (Here! :])/ ??? Warnings: Break-up, Argument, Angsty angst angst A/N: *Drops this and scuttles away* This was intended to be longer but I'm cutting it in half to see if Tumblr will actually let me post it. If it does the 2nd-supposed-to-be-this-part will be out soon after :]

"Look, [Name], I get you need attention-" John started, following your pacing form as you quickly walked back and fourth in his office. Whipping your head to meet Johns gaze dead on. Your eyebrows raised as you stalled for a second. Jaw dropping as you quickly caught up with what he said, your blood boiling with nothing put resentment and frustration, "Attention? Atten-" Taking a deep breath you summoned all you had to just keep yourself from yelling. This was something that stayed between you, and him. "John when was the last time we slept in the same bed? Hmm?" You snarled, arms uncrossing so you could use them to accentuate your point. Anything to try and convey your anger to him, to somehow shove his own actions into his thick skull. John's eyebrows furrowed as he sat back in his seat. A calloused hand coming up to rub his beard like he did whenever a missions plan changed last minute, or a recruit did something stupid. He looked exhausted, and annoyed. Fucking. Annoyed. Like you were just a child that was having a tantrum over not getting a treat. Not like you were his boyfriend of 6 years. Like you weren't the man he'd laid in bed with, whispering honey sweet words of a distant future where you'd settle down and marry. Like you weren't justified for being upset that he'd been ignoring you for months in favor of his beloved taskforce.

"When was the last time we kissed, John?" You spat, "Do you even remember? It was a month and a half ago. 45 days ago." Throwing your hands up you began to pace again. Quickly walking back and fourth to try and do, something. You weren't even sure why you were anymore, your thoughts too muddled to make out anything coherent even if you tried. You were probably working yourself up, probably making yourself more angry then the situation called for. But at this point? You deserved to be angry. You deserved to be fucking pissed. You weren't even looking at Price, "Do you really have nothing to say, John? Do you-" John stood up, slamming his hands on his desk with a harsh slam. Making you jolt to a stop, eyes wide as you stared at him. Johns usual calm, even soft demeanor around you turning into something you didn't recognize. "[Name] for god's sake I don't have time for your shit. I have things to do and that doesn't include you having a tantrum in my office. Get your fucking act together or get out, lieutenant." John practically yelled through gritted teeth as he glared at you standing there. Probably looking like a deer in headlights. With a long exacerbated sigh he sat back down in his chair. His eyebrows knitted together as he looked down to whatever paperwork he was busying himself with. You simply stood there in shock. He looked so much different now then he did when you'd first met. Johns famous mutton chops were starting to grey and all the stress he constantly held made him look 10 years older. His soft baby blue eyes now were jaded and grey. Filled with a hardness you could only get through time. Then it just, clicked. John, your John, was always a workaholic. Against his best interest he'd work himself into burnout just to be overworked and under-appreciated the next day. Only to wake up in the morning and do it all again. But your John would always make time for you. He'd always make sure, even if it was 10, hell, 5 minutes, some part of his day was spent with you. That John would be the first to seek you out after missions and check you over for injuries. To make sure you were alright. His hand resting on your shoulder just a second longer then it should as he passed you a loving look. Grinning ever-so-slightly before going back to his normal stoic appearance. But the man in front of you wasn't your John. Your sappy lover was long replaced by Captain Price, smothering John with his overwhelming force until there was nothing left of the man.

#price mw2 #price x male reader #john price x male reader #cod x male reader #cod

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slamminslamminmcgill · 1 month

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petplay w/ joel would go crazy. thinking about how he called somebody over in the show by whistling? dude. him patting his lap n telling you to come here <33 awwruff wrufrufruff

UR SO RIGHT UR SO RIGHT

anatomical terms: cunt, t-dick

*whistle*

Having been scoping out the pantry for a snack, your head snapped in the direction of the sound. Its source was your roommate with benefits Joel, lounging on the living room couch, manspreading like a motherfucker. Having gotten your attention from the other side of the apartment, he slapped his thigh twice. “C’mere.”

You could guess what he had in mind. Not one to look a gift horse(cock) in the mouth, you started to strut your way over to him, but he stopped you.

“Nuh uh. Not like that.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor.

He wanted you to crawl. To get down on all fours and debase yourself like a fucking animal.

And you did it without a second thought.

You dropped to your hands and knees and scuttled across scuffed-up floorboards until you landed at his feet.

“Christ. Ya really fuckin’ did it, huh?” Joel scoffed, then reached down to ruffle your hair. “Good boy. Good li’l doggy.”

You practically purred at the pleasant touch, leaning into his hand absent-mindedly. Calloused fingers tangling in your hair, blunt nails scritching at your scalp, it was all just perfect. Perfect for you to rest your head on his thighs and just enjoy the sensations. Then, he asked,

“‘f I tell you to bark, you gon’ do that for me, too?”

“Mmm, ruff, ruff…” You sighed, a halfhearted attempt at what he wanted, you knew, but he didn’t specify. Maybe he’d let you get away with a sleepy puppy bark.

“Look at me, pup,” Joel tightened his grip on your scalp and yanked your head up. He looked… unimpressed, to put it mildly, staring you down like he had expected so much more from you. The pressure was on. “Bark like you mean it.”

You could feel your cunt throb at his instructions. Naturally, you’d do whatever he said, self-deprecation be damned. “Woof woof! Woof!” You barked, now with the energy of an overexcited puppy, wiggling your ass like you were trying to wag the tail you didn’t have.

Joel snickered, “Aw, good boy… That’s a good boy.“ He let go of your hair and went back to petting you, even leaning over to pepper your forehead with affectionate smooches. “You really like bein’ my little doggy, huh?”

Yes. Yes you did. It felt safe, comforting to know that you had a big strong man to look after you. You nodded, a giggly mess, and answered with another, “Woof woof!”

“Yeah, thought you would. Alright, boy. Y’wanna act like a dog?”

Joel kicked one of his legs in between yours, wedging his calf right up to your crotch and putting an unfair, obscene amount of pressure on your t-dick, even through so much clothing. You squeaked, giving him just the leverage he wanted.

“Then hump my leg like one, bitch.”

#anon #ask #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller headcanon #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us

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siriusleee · 9 months

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adamantine chains | part 11 - finale

"Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus." "What does that mean?" "Love is rich with both honey and venom." "I suppose that is true." Or which in König finds you broken in the mountains. König | F!Reader a/n: if you like this, and you can, consider donating on my ko-fi or commissioning a custom fic. We'll we're finished. I know I'm the worst at replying to comments, but I want every to know who has - you've really kept me going with this.

find the rest of the chapters on my masterlist

König agrees to your suggestion of a hike. He zips you into your jacket, protection from the snow that threatens to flurry on the mountain. His hands tease against you, tickling the sensitive skin beneath your ears until you twist away from him.

"There's a trail near here," he says, nearly lifting you off your feet as he straightens the shoulders of your jacket. "It's a fifteen minute drive. I've got sandwiches made - do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm good."

Camera around your neck, you follow him out of the house. You make sure to leave your phone in the bedroom, tucked beneath your pillow. You'll check the doctor's voicemail when you get home; you don't want to spend today worrying after all the time König has been gone.

The wind has shifted through the night, pouring down colder from the mountains - the heater in the car doesn't do enough to warm you up in the short drive it takes for you and König to make it to the trail head: a small cut out in the trees that line the road that winds into the mountains. You try to take the backpack of lunch, but König takes it from you before you get the chance to get it on your back.

"Watch your step, Taube; the trees here have a habit of reaching out and grabbing you."

His voice is light, but the image doesn't make you giggle like it usually would.

König sets the pace, slowing down for you when he realizes that your legs could never keep up with him. Every so often the two of you stop so that you can take a picture, you try to capture the way König walks ahead of you - like he's spent his entire life prowling these woods and he's finally back home.

"The first time I saw you here," König says, walking just slightly in front of you, "I thought you were dead. You were so still, and so blue that I didn't even realize you were breathing."

A stitch is building in your side, and it tugs on your lungs when you speak.

"What made you save me?"

König pauses without looking back at you. When you catch up to him, he looks down at you, the mask he usually wears outside of the house hiding his expression.

"You were so beautiful. So still and quiet. I would have never been able to live with myself if I left you there."

You wind your fingers in with his, breaking the gaze between the two of you as you speak, pulling König forward.

"I thought I was dying," you start, rubbing circles on the back of König's hand, "I was praying that I would die quickly. Everything was going so slow. I thought - I thought you were the wind picking up and carrying me down the mountain, you were so soft."

König's hand squeezes yours painfully, and you know he's back there with you, remember the walk down the mountain with you in his arms.

"I was so scared of you when I woke up," you continue, not pulling away from König even though the feeling of him squeezing your hand is starting to hurt, "I thought you were some monster come down to get me. I dreamed of my grandfather; he was telling me to run. And when I woke up, I thought you were who he was warning me about."

The two of you crest a fallen tree, König lifting you up so that you can scuttle across.

"Oma told me I was a fool to keep you here. I have connections in the United States - I could have sent you home any time you wanted. But I wanted you to stay with me."

It's a confession; König says it in a whisper, refusing to look down at you. You grip his hand tighter as the two of you turn a curve in the trail, the trees dropped away from the side of you guys to show a view of the mountain - the village just a speck in the distance.

"I know. But I never asked you to either."

"I laid in bed with you," König's voice is basically a whisper through his mask as the two of you press on, following the faded signs promising a stop to rest, "you were so cold. Oma and I couldn't warm you. We tried everything. But you were screaming in your sleep, and you didn't stop until I got in with you."

You know he's waiting for you to recoil, to pull away at the confession that he crawled into bed with you when you were still just a stranger to him. Instead you pull him towards you, feet catching on one of the roots emerging from the ground below.

The snow starts to fall when the two of you pause on the switchback, a fallen log where you take your rest. König hands you your sandwich, as you watch the snow melt the moment it hits the ground.

You eat slowly, trying to figure out a way to capture the way the snow hits the ground for half a second on camera. König wanders towards the trail edge, peering down the sharp face of the mountain at the jagged rocks below.

So when hot hands grab you, you scream, camera smashed beneath your feet as you try to struggle away. Before König can get back to you, there's a knife under your jaw and the feeling of familiar hands around you.

König finds you pressed tightly against Marcus and freezes, hands half raised in a defensive position. They stare at each other over your shoulder before Marcus pulls the knife closer towards you.

"Take your mask off. I want to see your face."

König, so slow you're almost not sure he moves at first, peels the mask off, blonde hair stuck sweaty to his forehead. You can see his pulse jump at his throat, but he looks like he does this every day.

The knife is cold against the soft bite of your underjaw. It bites into you; you can feel your blood warm as it runs down your neck and onto your chest. He still smells the same as he always has. Mint and cognac - a bitter that you'd never gotten used to.

"It's been a long time, I'm surprised you're still here with him."

You claw at Marcus' arm, trying to pull him away. Trying to get a better purchase against the wet ground.

"Marcus what are you doing here?"

"He didn't tell you, did he?" He growls in your ear, eyes still trained on König. He jerks your hair back, forcing you to make eye contact with König across the trail. "What he really does for a living. That's why you're still here, why you haven't left yet."

A low growl emits from König, and you realize with a second sharp cut of the knife beneath your chin, that he's been the wolf stalking your dreams. He has been the warning you were supposed to heed.

"I bet he told you he was in the Special Forces? Right?"

Marcus shakes you when you don't answer fast enough, and König lurches forward, only stopping when Marcus digs the point of the knife into your throat. A warning to stop, to stay frozen.

"Answer me."

"Yes! That's what he told me!"

Marcus laughs mirthlessly in your ear, the hand that's not holding the knife wrapped around your stomach, pulling you closer to his body. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, and his breath - spearmint like always - washes over your face and turns your stomach.

"He's a fucking liar," Marcus growls. "He's a fucking mercenary. All those times he's been gone away from you he's been out killing people. How else do you think he can afford to take care of you? You fucking leech."

"Marcus please-"

"He's the one who tried to kill me."

At his words, König stiffens, hands curled into claws by his side. The only thing marking him from a statue is the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But König doesn't make a move to say anything against him. His lip curls, teeth digging into his lip.

"He was supposed to kill me. He came after me because of my job. Can you believe that? You've been fucking the man who tried to kill me. He was so busy trying to save you that he didn't realize he left me alive. Tell her!"

"Taube, listen to me-"

"Don't you fucking - you don't have the right to call my wife anything other than her name."

With every word Marcus speaks, he digs the knife in deeper. You clench your jaw together so tight you feel the ache in your teeth, trying to bite back the scream growing in you.

"You're wife?" König's voice is low, dangerous, and teasing. "She never seemed very sad that you were gone. She never seemed like your wife when she was in my house - in my bed."

"She's mine - you've done nothing but defile her."

"Nein. She doesn't belong to anyone, not like you want her to belong to you. But know - when we make it down this mountain, she'll be my wife. Have my last name."

The knife beneath your jaw loosens for a half a second before digging in again; you can feel it dig into your jawbone. This time you scream, biting it off halfway when Marcus jerks you. König circles the two of you, mask discarded in the dirt beneath him. He doesn't look at you.

"Did she tell you?"

Marcus' voice is razor thin, and you know he knows. Knows about the doctor's appointment, about the phone call you've been trying to avoid. Whatever he'd been looking for in the house, he'd found a different sort of secret.

"Marcus - please."

Your blood feels frozen against the front of your jacket.

"She's pregnant, you know. Your bastard child."

König doesn't move, but his eyes betray him. Marcus picks up on the way König's eyes open just a millimeter wider, and keeps the taunt with glee.

"Oh she didn't tell you? I'm not shocked - she's probably scared of you. I saw them all, all the pregnancy tests in the trash when I broke in. Do you know what she used to tell me when I mentioned kids? She would laugh at me - tell me she never wanted to have kids."

Marcus is winding up; his hands shake so bad that you feel the knife cut nicks into the bone. The pain is sharp enough to make you want to pass out, but you keep your feet under you to the best of your ability. König's lips twitch up, his incisor digging into his bottom lip. You can see his thoughts behind his eyes - know he is measuring what to say next.

"Of course I knew; when I fucked that baby into her we laughed about how you never could."

That does it; Marcus' hand jerks down, cutting you from your jaw to your collarbone. You hit the ground hard, vision white at the pain. But you keep your eyes König, trying to keep your focus from shifting into black.

The moment Marcus' hands leave you, König springs on him. You had imagined what he did when he was away, but there was no amount of imagination that could have prepared you to watch him tear Marcus apart.

He is the wolf your grandfather warned you about - all gnashing teeth and curved claws. The two of them tear at each other, but König is feral. He fights Marcus with everything in him; through the tears in your eyes you wonder why Marcus even tried; there is not a moment where König isn't ripping into him. The knife that had been beneath your jaw flashes, and you hear König grunt. You worry that it had found its mark, buried itself inside him, but the next moment it's flung into the woods.

It could have been hours your blood mixed with the dirt and new snow or minutes in the time it took König to destroy Marcus; the only think you know as you watch Marcus' limp body thrash around is that König had already killed him, and the anger kept him going.

When he finally lifts off of Marcus' limp body, the blood runs down his face, pours from his mouth. But you know it is not just his. It's viscous and heavy against his pale skin, leaving crimson trails as it drips down.

You've never seen that look in his eye before - the sharp flint that strikes against the gentleness he normally has inside of him. The adrenaline inside you doesn't differentiate between touches; ears still ringing with the sounds of König's growls and Marcus' screams as he was being torn apart.

So when he reaches out to you, you flinch back, hand scraping against the rocks beneath you. Something wild inside of you screams that he is the predator to run from; that the blood pouring from your jaw and chest are from him. König doesn't flinch back, just crouches down before you, wiping away the blood from his mouth casually.

"You are going to pass out Taube if you don't let me stop the bleeding."

You can't speak around the pain, around the shaking and the shivering. Slowly, the flint in his eyes starts to dissipate. But you don't move towards him.

"Remember the last time I carried you down Taube? I was the West Wind, and so gentle with you. It's just like that this time."

You skitter back from his hands that reach out again, but this time you're stopped by a stump in your path. König sighs, hands on his thighs, ready to push himself into a standing position. You think that when he speaks again, he's going to be angry, but his voice stays soft.

"Remember Taube. You are mine, and I am yours. Please."

Finally, the fear starts to loosen inside of you, and you reach out to König, hands needing to find some purchase. His hands find you, pressing against the blood that still flows on your jaw. He picks you up, the West Wind again, and your blood mixes with the viscera on his shirt.

Your vision slips in and out on the car ride, but König's voice is gentle the entire time. You can't make out what he's saying to you, sharp German intermingling with English. At times you think he might be speaking in Polish, your grandfather's voice rumbling out of him.

But his hands are warm when the hospital is cold. When the doctor tells him to leave, König argues. You try to tell him to be nice, but you can't make your mouth open up wide enough.

You dream again of your grandfather, crying gently as you hold his hand. You're in his hospital room again, but this time you're the one laying in the bed. He apologizes to you, and you try to beg him to stop. You can't listen to this - can't listen to him begging for your forgiveness for something you can't even remember.

But he doesn't stop.

Warm hands brush the hair out of your face, and pull you out of the dream. The room rolls around you, and you heave, stomach acid and bile the only thing that can come up. A gray basin is shoved beneath your mouth.

Your jaw burns where it stretches - your chest where it pulls as you heave up an empty stomach. Gentle German tries to soothe you, but you don't stop until your entire stomach is empty.

"Hush Taube. I don't want the nurse to tell me I have to leave again."

König swims into view, one hand still in your hair and the other holding the bed rail so hard he's white knuckling it.

"Why?" Your voice cracks beneath the strain of not being used, "why did the nurse tell you to leave?"

You hope that he can hear the teasing edge of your voice. When he smiles, you realize that he doesn't have his mask on, eyes dark from lack of sleep.

"They wouldn't let me bathe you. They said I could make you bleed again. But I couldn't stand seeing you like that, so - " he trails off, smiling sheepishly.

"So you were rude?"

"I suppose."

His fingers trace the edge of the bandage that starts at your jaw; the itch of the adhesive is starting to pull at your skin.

"How bad is it?" You ask, refusing to look down at the stitches on your chest. König sighs, resting his head against the edge of the bed so that he's eye level with you.

"The doctor said your jaw was wrecked, but they put it back together. You'll have a scar on your chest, but he said it could heal nicely."

The dull ache of pain is starting to build; you know you only have minutes left to talk before you can't anymore.

"Am I hideous?"

"Disgusting."

It hurts to laugh. The IV in your arm crinkles as you shift, trying to turn to face König better. He looks as horrible as you feel, but you keep that to yourself. His breath is warm on your face.

"I'm sorry Taube."

"König-"

He hushes you, hands gripping the bed rail so hard you think it might shatter beneath his fingers.

"No Taube. I should have sent you home. I should not have kept you trapt here with me. I didn't give you another choice. I just - I was so in love with you from the moment I picked you up. And this is my fault."

His hands shake, just minutely enough you can barely see. You hook one of your fingers with his, trying to calm whatever is threatening to break through.

"And now this - he could have killed you. And the baby-"

Even in the haze from the pain and the painkillers, you can tell this is what he has been sitting here worried about. What he's been racking around in his mind to try to tell you.

"Did the doctor confirm it then?"

"I am sorry Taube."

And you know that he is apologizing for tying you to him, for what he thinks is some sort of death knoll he has rung for you. You pry his fingers off of the bed rail, and grip them tightly between your own.

"König, it will be ok."

His voice is steady, even though he can't look at you when he speaks, his eyes trained on where your hands hold him.

"I didn't even do you the honor of marrying you first."

The pain in your jaw is too much to speak anymore. König notices, and reaches over your body to press a button wired to the opposite side of your bed. Beside you, some machine starts to whirl, the liquid in the IV starts to flow. You can feel the burn in the crook of your arm.

You fall back asleep with the warmth of König's hands on your own.

When you get home, bandages on your chest still being changed every two days, König tucks you into the spare bedroom. Into your bedroom. Each day you can open your jaw a little further, Valentina coming to visit you with some horrific soup that she swears her grandmother makes and can heal everything. Behind her back you pour it down the kitchen sink.

Some days Oma comes to see you, helping you change the bandage that disappears between your breasts. König's hands had shaken too hard the day you asked for his help. But when the stitches are ready to be cut out, you ask König to go with you.

The sound plucks at something inside of you when the doctor snips the stitches away, leaving you with a trail of small holes down your chest - Frankensteinian in nature. König helps you button your shirt, fingers pulled away as far as possible from the swell in your stomach.

The ride home is quiet, fingers tapping against the window. Outside the snow is starting to grow thick, and the ice on the road gets thicker each day. The blacktop rolls smoothly underneath the wheels when you finally grow the courage to speak.

"Are you ever going to let me move back into the bedroom?"

König 'hmms' at you, fingers tapping against the steering wheel anxiously.

"The house only has two bedrooms," you explain, shifting to relieve the pressure that starts to grow on your hip. "Unless you want to give the baby the big bedroom."

König's breaths are measured, and you give him the time to shuffle his thoughts before he speaks.

"You do not wish to go back home when the baby is born?"

"Why would I do that?"

You know König is thinking of a thousand reasons, but he doesn't voice any of them. When he speaks again, his voice is thin and nervous, accent so thick you can barely understand him for once.

"Do you want to come back to bed with me?"

Fingers sneaking across the center console, you touch him gently on the thigh.

"Every night."

The snow crunches beneath the tires as König turns into the driveway, lights illuminating the side of the house. Neither of you move once he shifts into park, engine idling smoothly in the winter air. König speaks as he turns the key, killing the engine.

"How about tonight?"

#konig cod #könig x y/n #konig #könig #cod #my fics #cod konig #konig mw2 #konig x you #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare

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starlessea · 1 year

Text

Your scent lingered

Drabble: Come morning, you leave behind nothing but crumpled sheets and your scent. But Daryl craves more.

A/N I'm starting a 10-min drabble series where I write something on my phone quick before bed. Here's the first.

Your scent lingered but you never did.

Daryl wondered why that was - why you'd pack yourself up and haul yourself out of town before his eye could crack open to the dawn.

It wasn't a commitment thing. You were committed to a lot of things: him, sex, chaos.

And you always came back.

You were always there when he needed - with fingers of ice but breaths of fire, and a heart a few degrees south of molten core.

But then you were gone. Away with the night and like a fleeting dream come morning.

The excuses would vary. "Supply run." "Weapon maintenance." "Some Alexandrian snob got a blocked drain (again)."

Daryl had grown tired. Tired of waking up tired to an empty pillow and a scent that always lingered.

Would it kill you to once stay for the dawn, to stay in his arms through morning and to only leave once the knocks came at the door?

It probably would. He knew that by now.

The only thing in this world powerful enough to tie you down was a headstone. And even then, he wasn't sure.

So Daryl stretched out his arms over the king-sized, royally pompous bed, and felt his fingertips brush the sheets where you had lain.

Warmth lingered there. But you did not.

And so Daryl spent half an hour more wondering where you had scuttled off to in your usual hurry, and why you'd kissed his chest so tenderly as you dressed near his bedside.

He'd been awake then. He always was when you left. And every time, you'd whisper him a chaste goodbye as though it were the last, and Daryl would struggle to feign sleep - fretting that it might really be.

Your scent lingered but you never did.

Yet that alone was enough for Daryl. Because there would come a day when neither would remain. And on that day, Daryl knew, this world would become a drop more cold.

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munsster · 2 years

Note

i’m so glad u want to start writing for keys i feel like he’s pretty underrated on here </3 maybe something where him and reader have interacted a lot in the game and one recognizes the other’s voice in real life in public? idk i think that would be really cute! x

free life on earth

A/N: listennnn i consumed every tumblr fic i could find of him in one night and decided there was not enough nor will there ever be.

Pairing: Walter “Keys” McKey x GN!Reader

Summary: He thought he was just out getting coffee. But then he bumped into his cyber crush. 2.1k words.

Warnings: fluff, meet (?) cute, you know i had to put this in a coffeeshop, shamelessly awkward flirting, mutual pining, a teensy little accident kiss (unless…), cursing

He was fascinated. From the very beginning, despite how cliché and theatrical it sounds; he swore up and down he'd never go all puppy-dog-eyed again. And then you let out a whip of deafening expletives, and he swan dove right into a new obsession.

But saying obsession seemed too intense and creepy, so he's been calling it his online thing like it's a business meeting. Like he's not lovesick and doting and you have no idea he's worming himself around your little finger.

"You've gotta be—Keys! Don't fucking throw that while I'm standing right here."

The laugh rips out of him and jolts him back in his chair. To think that the limited amount of time he spends not working on this godforsaken game he happens to spend playing the game. He must have something wrong with him. He drops the flashbang back into his inventory and scuttles over to your crouched avatar.

"Sometimes I wonder why they let you graduate," you poke, swiveling in circles in the wavering shade of a big tree, blank eyes staring up at the sky.

"Hey, if I didn't graduate, we never would've met."

You chuckle. "Oh, Keys, life would be so horrible without you"—you click your tongue and your avatar's knees straighten, and his heart shouldn't skip a beat the way it does with your digital face this close to his—"because I have nothing better to do than sit at my desk all day and talk to a stranger on the internet."

"A handsome stranger," he teases.

"I'm logging off."

"Wait—"

"Nope!"

"Come on," he whines, "you know you love me."

Curse him with that sometimes confidence and all-the-time charm. And maybe that's the one thing you don't know. He smoked you out just to get at you while unassuming and lovely. You blink hard just to realize you've gone a little blurry, and the sun slices through your blinds and glares against your monitor.

"Is it light where you are?" you mumble, a songbird cooing and flapping away outside your window. His character goes still, no longer shuffling across the grass, just still. Strands of his hair animated to flow. It makes you smirk every time you think of it.

"Yeah, think so. Geez—"

"What if I was a stalker? Now I know the sun is up for you. That eliminates like... a lot of places," you say, very proudly and kind of worried. You don't rest well as it is, and now this boy might be giving out his address to random users.

"Okay, but is the sun rising or setting?"

"...Maybe it's neither," you hum.

"Maybe it's both."

It takes a second for him to laugh, and he's crazy but it's contagious. You shake your head and press your face into your palms to muffle a soft laugh. Hoping he doesn't hear you humor him. But you do, and he does.

"You're delirious, go have caffeine," you huff, definitely smiling, even with your jaw aching from wearing a headset for much too long. But you're sure the tightness in your neck is worth it when he hums softly and rustles with something on his desk.

"No," he whines, spamming the space bar, sending his character hopping down the grassy slope of the park's small hill. He sighs. "Alright, fine. Didn't feel like staying online anyway."

"Oh, hush, it'll be good for you. Plus, I gotta head out, and I don't want you missing me too much."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, "but you better be on tonight."

"C'mon, baby, you know me," you say, head lulling to the side as he sprints back up the hill just to slip down once he's halfway there. He must be too tired to think about it. Because you've called him that once before, and it sent him reeling. He's glad the game wasn't designed for webcam gameplay. Not only would that be nightmarish, but you would immediately catch him beet red and fidgety.

He yawns.

"Alright, see ya."

You chirp something nice into his ear. Like a goodbye, but you'd never say it. He powers his desktop down and throws on a crewneck before heading a couple blocks north, hands shoved in his pockets the whole way. Head incessant with the thought of you. Even if he could stop it, he wouldn't. If you'd stay holed up in his noggin until the next supernova, he'd be satisfied. And the coffee shop is sticky and warm when he steps in from the chill.

But something makes him smile. Only a few tables have anybody seated there: mostly couples. Except, there's one person sitting alone. Occupying the table closest to the register, scarf draped over the back of the oaky chair, fingertips patting along a dim phone screen.

"Morning, two sugars," the barista chirps, "the usual?"

Keys hisses in a deep breath, eyes flicking over the extensive, swirly-lettered menu.

"You know what—?"

"Aw, break my heart, man—don't tell me you're switching it up on me now."

Keys chuckles with a shrug, "what can I say? I'm a sucker for a limited time offer. Gimme one of those seasonal drinks.”

"That's it, no more discounts for you," he huffs, already scribbling 'Keys' and a pouty face across the side of a bright orange cup.

"You were giving me a discount?"

"Keys," a soft voice chirps. And it's not something he could've imagined if he tried, because it sounds like you, and maybe this is some wishful thinking hat trick, but he turns to the side. And there you are. Arm perched on the back of the chair, torso twisted around to peer up at him. And he peers back. It's you. Wide-eyed and grinning.

"Hi," he pants, "it's you."

Your chair scrapes across the wood flooring, and you get real close to him like you're still not sure this is real life and not a simulator. Or you accidentally signed up for a drug-induced sleep study, and this is the desired, coma-adjacent lucid dream.

"In the flesh." You scoff, hands on your hips. He wonders if you're letting him look at you. It's a little perverted, but he's in denial, watching your mouth and the way it's so different from your in-game avatar. "I was hoping... I mean, I wanted it to be you. You sound like you."

He nods. And his hair flops into his face. Hides his soft pink forehead and the line between his furrowed brows.

"You're... taller than I thought you'd be. And you wear glasses," you say, lifting your hand like you're about to touch him. It makes him happy. He knows you—he's known you exclusively by your code and the sound of your voice, and yet your first instinct was to reach for him. And even though you drop your hand and glance away, he smiles.

"Disappointed?" he teases like he's expecting the rejection. Like you'll laugh and tell him to scram because yes, he's not what you had imagined. Maybe you had imagined him to perfection and doomed him in the process.

But you shake your head.

Decisively, a serious conclusion, borderline frowning at the sentiment. How could you be disappointed after spending days upon days doing absolutely nothing and everything with him. Just him.

You sigh, "You techies are always a wild card. To be honest, I'm just glad you're not a serial killer."

He chuckles and takes a deep breath. Letting it buzz through him because by some miracle, you're glad.

"I take it my dashing looks are just an added bonus," he huffs, raising his brows, but out of the corner of his eye, you smile. You don't laugh, but you smile. Brightly, too, sincere in the creases by your tired eyes.

"Toffee latte for... Keys?"

He scratches the back of his neck when you look away, feeling like he's sweating buckets all over the polished floor. Then you look back at him, lips only parted for a breath, mouth quirked. You look cute. Like he couldn't have imagined you sweeter. He just knows you're gonna leave him all syrupy and stuck on you after this.

"So... d'you—"

"Keys! Latte for Keys?"

"I think that might be you," you tease, nodding over to the pick up window with a grin.

"Oh. Oh, right!"

He hurries over to the disgruntled employee, grabbing his coffee and a couple of napkins and a stopper between his teeth before popping it into the lid. When he turns back around, you're not there. And his heart sinks. Frantic, he cranes his neck, spinning dizzily before catching your wave and the bell above the door. And you duck outside.

The cold smacks him into reality. It’s terrifying the way you look back at him with a smile because he’s been thinking about it since the day he first heard your voice. And now you’re letting him catch up to you, walking backwards with your arms crossed over your chest.

"Sorry for ditching. It was kinda stuffy in there—"

He chuckles, suddenly shy with the way you look right through him. And you’re right. Everything’s clearer. Crisp and frosty, but it’ll melt away with the sun.

"No, yeah, it's totally..." he huffs, "I know."

"Good, 'cause I was hoping you'd walk me home."

He shudders, not knowing whether it's the cold or the way you're so sure of him. Even with sweat rolling down his back. He doesn’t think he’ll make it as far as you plan on taking him. Not after you've flattered him enough to lay him bare on the sidewalk.

“You live around here?”

“‘Course I do. I’m not about to drive fifteen minutes for a cup of coffee,” you grumble, skipping over the cracked pavement where weeds sprout up into teensy yellow flowers. Then the toe of your show catches a jilted and offset curb, sending you teetering forward.

“Woah”—Keys catches you by the hand, too focused on the way your fingertips find their way to his, slotting down hard and curling. “I gotcha.”

“Pssh,” you scoff, tugging him close as an excuse to catch you breath. Only, you’re in the middle of the sidewalk and a biker wheels by with a groan. “White knight.”

“I prefer the term gentleman, but whatever floats your boat.”

You stick your tongue out at him when he takes a swig of his coffee and flinches away from it, fingers clenching around your knuckles.

“Hot?”

“Burning.”

“Thanks,” you say with a wink. And his tongue isn’t the only thing burning when it settles into his ears and nose.

“So, are you nearby, or…?”

“Oh! Yeah, this is my building.” You thrust a thumb over your shoulder and yeah, he’s hooked. So hooked he doesn’t realize you’re less than a block up the road from his building. He doesn’t realize he could have been yours. He could be yours, but he’s too hooked.

“Shit. Then I guess this is goodbye.” He leers up at the art deco apartment complex with a squint. Kind of disappointed before he realizes his palm is damp pressed to yours. Suffocating into the space you give him when he scuffs against the rough concrete.

“Guess so.” The sunlight beams from between the strands of his mussed hair, catching the rim of his lenses, and rendering you in awe. “At least we have the game.”

He scoffs. “We’ll always have the game.”

You shrug and tap the bottom edge of his cup. “And you’ll always have this.” Your finger traces the digits and dashes along until they’re dotted off with a heart. “Definitely didn’t slip him ten bucks for that.”

“You’re pretty desperate, huh?”

You smile. “Yup.” You squeeze his hand and tug him close to kiss the supple place his cheek dimples just slightly when he smiles. And he shifts a little. On accident. But suddenly, your mouth is pressed to the corner of his, and he’s short-circuiting when you pull away. “Sorry!”

“It’s… it’s okay, I’m not—I don’t mind,” he sputters and you laugh despite yourself, “Really, don’t worry about it, I mean, I’m not worried, it’s not a big deal, I just—”

You kiss him again. In front of the steps of your apartment building, holding his hand, and boiling him up inside. He can’t help but smile when you tongue at his bottom lip and drop his hand in favor of his waist. He thinks only you’d be so delicate with him. After all, it’s you. And when you pull away, his mouth is a little pink and a little slobbery, and you swipe your thumb across his chin.

“You better call that number,” you warn. He smirks.

“Beats talking to strangers on the internet.”

masterlist

#walter keys mckey fluff #walter keys mckey fic #walter keys mckey x gn!reader #keys x reader #walter keys mckey x reader #keys x gn!reader #x reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #fluff #meet cute #free guy #keys free guy #joe keery x reader #joe keery #walter keys mckey #keys fluff #keys fic

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heyidkyay · 1 year

Text

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Eighteen

A/n: Hey, this part is a lot tbh, lots of emotions!! But we're also at like 75k words now and this was meant to be a one parter...?? I'm spiralling but I'm also so invested in this fucking plot. Hope you enjoy!:)

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: a few changes in pov! Lots of swearing but if you're reading this fic then you should be used to it by now.. um, arguments, tears too.. not sure what else:/

Masterlist

(Continuing on with Ross’s pov!)

—ROSS’S POV—

“Dickhead’s here!”

Ross made a face at the welcome received as he made his way through the front door- hadn’t even been here a full minute and yet Matty was already being a prick. Though it was to be expected, sort of like turning up to one of those fancy fuck-off restaurants knowing you’d only be leaving more hungry. What the fuck was it with them and those tiny portions?

He shook away the thought before it could start to piss him off and footed the door closed behind him, honing in on his best mate who was stood leaning against the wall, typing away on his mobile.

“Well, hello to you too, knob-face.” Ross huffed as he moved past Matty to make his way into the kitchen. “Always love spending time with you and your phone, mate.” He mocked and dropped the carrier bags he’d brought in with him on the counter.

Matty gave an impish smile as he slid in right behind him and Ross gave his choice of clothes a quick once over, deeming that he was probably headed out on the pull tonight.

“Sorry, was just texting Y/n. Said you were here.”

Ross paused from where he’d made a start on unloading the shop to frown over at him, “Didn’t you just do that?”

With a careless shrug, Matty jumped up onto the counter and started riffling through the contents too. “Easier. Sometimes she’ll hear me but can’t make out what I’ve said. Other times it's… a whole thing.” He shrugged again, giving a pack of biscuits the eye, “First few days I thought she was in a right strop with me, ignoring me and crap. But nope, just didn’t hear. Oi, where’d you find mini-eggs this time of year anyway?”

“None of your business.” Ross quipped, quick to snatch the Easter treats back before the nosy rat-faced prat could open them up, then went on, “Is it really that bad then?”

“What, with her hearing?” At his nod, Matty mimicked the gesture, only a little more avidly, and continued with his reply, “Yeah, mate. Been worrying over it for a while, enough to speak to the doctor’s about it at her last appointment, but even they keep spouting shite about time and telling.” He rolled his eyes then grabbed at one of the many chocolates that’d been haphazardly added to his shopping basket before Ross could even blink.

He narrowed his eyes at the blatant theft whilst Matty merely grinned at him from his perch and begun munching away.

“Wanker.” Ross muttered before he carried on with the unloading, actively making sure to place all the good stuff out of the shorter man’s reach. “Anyway, figured we’d do a movie night or just get plastered like we usually do-”

Matty cut him off rather promptly with a heavy hand to the shoulder, Ross stopped and glanced between his mate and the opposing limb. Matty’s eyes widened briefly before he hastily pulled away, only to then scuttle his entire body a little closer. The curly headed freak tossed a fretful look over his shoulder out towards the hallway whilst Ross just simply stared at him.

“No alcohol.”

Ross blinked at the nutter.

“No alcohol?”

Matty nodded solemnly. “Sorry, mate, no alcohol. Doctors orders. She can’t mix it with all the medication she’s on.”

With a scoff, Ross shook his head. “That’s bullshit. What’s she even on- pain killers?”

“Nah, diuretics or some shit like it, alcohol will only counter them they say. Looked it up.” Matty informed him as he fiddled with the empty wrapper he now held. “That and these other ones she has to take for the dizziness and balancing shit she’s been going through. Vertigo or, I don’t know. We reckon it’s down to her hearing though, not the head injury. Which is the only good thing about it.”

With a wave of his hand, Matty pulled away again and Ross had to take a moment to really look at his mate. The same bloke who’d spent most of his life looking for the next best buzz, for only the fun and fruitful times, who’d wasted so many of his years on the edge of almost nearly killing himself. This was not the same person he was currently stood with.

No, this Matty knew all the odd bits of information about medication he wasn’t even on. Who looked so sincere in his warnings, in his understanding of the things he’d gone out of his way to research. This Matty was the same Matty that’d camped out in a hospital waiting room for hours on end, and then stayed for days, weeks. Who hadn’t left even after threats and arguments. Who’d waited with agonising patience during his best friend’s emergency surgery, who’d been there when she’d seized and coded, sat there through her comatose state, paced in waiting rooms and hallways before he could even get to her bedside.

This Matty cared.

Not to say that Matty had never cared. No because that just wasn’t true. When you were one of his people, Matty cared so much it was honestly a struggle to try and match his affection. He loved and gave like no other. But he could also tend to be selfish. As most could be, sure. But Matty wasn’t the type to mind it, it was the same with his arrogance, his ego, his in your face charisma, too. Sometimes he just didn’t care who suffered as long as he was riding high.

Ross blinked out of his musings when Matty nudged his arm in silent warning, completely unaware of his inner thoughts, and gave him a stern look. Ross frowned down at the action, confused, but it all made sense when he heard a soft scuttle coming down the stairs.

“Not another word about this, yeah? And hide the fucking alcohol.” Matty whispered waspishly, already moving to hide the liquor bottles that’d been placed on the countertop into one of those seamless cupboards he had under the sink.

Swallowing, Ross fought to clear his heavy head and plastered on a grin when the woman he’d been waiting on finally walked through the door.

—

I halted in the kitchen’s doorway to find Ross surrounded by a very large variety of food and snacks, whilst Matty was faffing about with a couple of glasses in the sink. I snorted at the very sight.

“Are you actually washing up?” I asked him, bewildered and in utter disbelief. “In all the time I’ve been here- actually scrap that. In all the time I’ve known you, not once have I ever seen you wash up.”

I was met with a playful scowl from the man himself when he pivoted to face me. “Yeah, yeah. Keep on laughing it up, but I do know how to do some basic tasks, darling.”

With a sarcastic hum, I simply nodded. “Sure, Matty. You also speak Cantonese and can deep sea dive too.”

Ross’s sharp bark of laughter filled the room and a gasp from me quickly followed it when Matty flicked a round of soap duds in my direction.

“Careful, Healy.” I warned him with a finger pointed his way. “Keep at it and I’ll have to ruin that swanky new outfit you’re trying to pull off.”

“Trying?”

“Swanky?”

Both Matty and Ross replied at the same time and I simply shrugged them off before I made my way over to where the bearded giant stood. I stared up at him until he finally glanced back down at me, then motioned towards the countertop with a jerk of my head. Ross raised an eyebrow in retort and so I countered him, raising both of my own.

He relented with a mere sigh and a roll of his eyes, but was rather careful when he did finally lift me up by my hips and onto the side, delicately dropping me just outside the mountain of chocolates he’d since created.

“Ta.” I smiled at him, patting his arm twice before I peered over at the buffet he’d brought along with him, simultaneously ignoring the unsubtle look the two men shared over my head. “What’s all this then?” I quizzed him.

“Movie night.” Was what Ross answered with.

“Movie night?”

“Yeah, movie night. As in a night, where you watch a bunch of films in a row, whilst engorging yourself on a shit ton of crappy food.” Ross slowly told me in a sarcastic tone, “I mean, we can order in if you’d prefer but I spent ages picking this lot out, you know. This one oldie working in Tesco’s kept giving me the evil eye too, reckon she thought I was gonna nick a couple crisp packets or something. As if I fucking would.”

“What ‘cause you’re such a sweetheart?” I replied, fluttering my lashes up at him mockingly.

“Nah, ‘cause I’d be caught before I could get far enough.” He quipped right back.

“Too fucking tall not to be spotted, innit?” Matty added with a slow nod of his head before Ross followed in agreement, my forehead pinched when I saw that the former had just bitten into a Double Decker of ours.

“Oi, those aren’t for you!” I chided, throwing one of the many Snickers provided at Matty's head.

Matty gave me a mardy sort of glower in turn but snatched up the offending chocolate before Ross could do so instead. “Cheers.” He grinned snidely.

Uncaring, I simply shrugged, “They’re shit anyway.”

Ross’s eyes widened as he choked at my words, Matty snorted. “Fuck off, they are not!”

“Are too?”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

It was safe to say that we were at it a while, long enough for Matty to have slipped out, thrown his shoes on, doused himself in aftershave, and then made it back to find that we were still going on.

“Are n-”

“Alright, kiddies! Daddy’s gotta get going, so can we stop with all the fighting please?” Matty mocked as he picked his house keys up off the side and moved around to where I was still sat.

“Don’t ever call yourself that.” I grimaced, feeling a tad bit sick at the implication. “And are too.” I was quick to add, knowing that Ross couldn’t continue on with our bickering and I’d win. He scowled at me whilst Matty simply tugged me into a hug.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?” He asked me, for what felt like the umpteenth time that evening.

“Yes. Don’t worry about me, ‘kay? I’ll be fine.” I told him, barely holding back a groan, “Plus I’m looking after Ross so I kinda have to be.”

Ross’s scowl deepened into a deathly glower that amused me to no end, just as Matty pressed a kiss to the side of my head and pulled away.

“Fine. But ring me if you need anything, yeah?”

I rolled my eyes but withheld another sigh as I nodded.

“Oi,” Ross called out just before Matty could make it to the door, “Where’s my kiss?”

He only received a finger in response.

—

I loved Ross.

I truly fucking did.

He was just this huge lovable giant that swore constantly and always smelt lovely. But at the moment he was really pissing me off.

It was just that... he kept on giving me these annoying little looks whenever he thought I wasn’t aware. Just out of the corner of his eye whilst we were sat watching one of the many films we’d decided on.

It was grating.

Ross was supposed to be the only normal friend I had!

The one I could count on to treat me as though nothing had ever happened. Like nothing had changed. As if I hadn’t been hit by a fucking car.

And he’d been doing a hell of a job of it, he’d been doing so, so good in fact. Before he’d gone and finally cocked it all up.

I don’t know what had occurred for the change to happen, but it was pissing me off. He was pissing me off. Enough that if he did it one more time I was willing to either snap at him or snap him in half.

But then what did he do? He did it again.

“What.” I bit out, turning myself towards him on the settee.

“What?” Ross parroted back, obviously startled by the break in our quiet.

“Why the fuck do you keep on looking at me like that?”

“Like what!” Ross exclaimed.

“Like some homeless man you’re passing on the street when you haven’t got any change. Or a- a fucking dying dog!” I retorted in a right huff.

Ross only stared back at me.

“A fucking dying dog?”

“Yes, a fucking dying dog!” I fumed- and you’d have thought he was the one with the dodgy ear. “It’s annoying. I don’t know what Matty’s told you, but I’m fine, alright? So just stop it.”

He held his hands up in silent surrender, and I rolled my eyes at him before I set my sights back on the tele.

A few tense minutes ticked by, but I was soon startled by a bag of sweets that’d been tossed my way.

“Here.” I heard him say.

I frowned down at the brightly coloured bag now sitting in my lap, then casted a confused glance towards him.

He dipped his chin, eyes still on the screen. “Your favourite, ain’t they? Used to use them as bargaining chips on tour, remember?”

I did. But still, I couldn’t find it in me to soften my frown.

“‘M not that hungry.” I quietly told him instead, dropping the sweets back into the pile that sat between us.

“Ah, come on.” Ross groaned, “I’ve been here ages and you haven’t touched a thing. Don’t make me eat this all on my own. Twitter will start a fucking hashtag when they see the extra pounds it’ll only add.”

I gifted him a soft snort in reply, unable to stop myself.

Ross seemed to take my pitiful laugh as an opening though and swept the sickly treats up into his arms before he slid closer to me on the sofa, throwing the mountain back onto the seat he’d just vacated. I gave him a bewildered look but he merely tossed an arm over my shoulders and pulled me in nearer towards him.

“Comfortable?” He questioned and, although confused, I could only nod at him in reply, shuffling slightly to ease the throbbing I felt in my side. “Alright then, good.”

And that was that, I supposed. He continued watching the film without anymore fuss, with me tucked up under his arm and his feet propped up on the coffee table (something that often drove Matty crazy), whilst I had mine tucked up beneath me.

We stayed like that for a little while longer as the film carried on playing, but I found it more and more difficult to make out what was happening from behind the blur of tears that’d gone and filled my eyes.

I think it was the sniff that I’d been trying so hard to hold back that finally caught Ross’s attention, he peered down at me to find me close to sobbing and I just wanted to curl up and die. His expression faltered ever so slightly before he wrapped me up closer, his chin falling to rest atop my head whilst I could only bury my face further into his chest.

I cried. I cried a whole lot. And I wasn’t even sure why. But in that moment I just felt so incredibly sad and embarrassed, and couldn’t seem to help myself.

And Ross, he just let me. He let me bawl into his shirt and didn’t say a fucking word, only rocked us ever so gently back and forth whilst I cried my little heart out.

—MATTY’S POV—

To say he was excited would be a MASSIVE fucking lie.

He hadn’t been on a night out in… well, ages. Since a little before the accident, he supposed.

But both Ross and Hann had reasoned that he ‘deserved’ it- that phrase had pissed him off a tad but he’d let it pass- and the pair had all but forced him out of the house. Out and away from the one person he was meant to be taking care of.

He’d smoked a little over half a pack in the cab-ride over then lit one as soon as he stepped out of it, handing the driver a couple extra quid for being a saint and having let him get away with it. He even waved the bloke off as the car pulled away, then took a deep breath before he made his way over towards the pub Hann had mentioned earlier.

He lingered outside on the curb for a bit whilst he finished off the cigarette and let the evening air chill fill his bones, trying his hardest not to think too much about how Y/n must’ve been feeling.

But she had Ross there with her, and Ross was almost as good a substitute for him. Almost.

Even so, it was still a struggle and a half to keep his mind off of it and in the end it only proved to be a futile attempt, seeing as he moved to light yet another fag before he fished his phone out of his trouser pocket to text Adam.

He’d actually just managed to pull up their last text conversation when a well-known voice caught his attention, Matty glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch sight of not one, but two familiar faces rounding the pub’s corner. He stilled.

“The fuck is he doing here?” Matty spat out the second the drummer’s eyes met his, and immediately pointed the hand holding his cigarette up towards George’s approaching figure.

Hann was quick to jump between them though, gaze darting skittishly between the two. “Take a sec to calm down, ey Matty?”

“Calm down?” Matty scoffed at him with a breathy titter, he shook his head at the blond, “Hann, ain’t it bad enough I have to put up with him in the studio? Now you’re lying for him and letting him tag along like he’s done nowt wrong.”

“Matty…”

Whatever crap George had just been about to say was promptly cut off by a sharp glare from him, before Adam’s voice then took over. “Look. This shit needs sorting, now. Whether you like it or not, you’re both adults, so act like it.”

“Are you for fuckin’ real?” Matty all but gawked, unable to believe this was the same man who’d looked ready to come to actual blows with George only a few weeks ago. Hann just stared right back at him, undeterred. “What- so it’s like that then, is it? Him or me?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Fuck sake, Matty. No, so stop being such a prat and listen to me, will you? You really think I’m not as pissed off as you? That I haven’t wanted to bash his head against the nearest wall just to get him to think straight?” Hann retorted, and Matty got a the tiniest bit of pleasure out of the expression George made then. “But we’re mates, and people fuck up, alright?”

Matty glanced between them, at Hann’s solemn face and then at George’s hunched shoulders. He did look like shit, in fairness. Almost as bad as he imagined he’d probably looked headed into rehab. Deserved it though.

“Look mate, he’s promised to actually talk.” Hann sent a prominent look towards the drummer when he said that, and even with his dropped chin George nodded at him. “Wants to give us an actual explanation for everything. Don’t you want to at least hear him out?”

Matty took a second to think it over, taking in their mate’s mopey state. George’s entire demeanour appeared to have changed completely as of late, like all the guilt he should’ve been feeling was slowly weighing him down. His shoulders were slumped, he had his hands stuck in the pocket’s of an old pair of jeans, his hair was in dire need of a good wash, and his eyes never strayed too far from the cracks in the pavement.

Matty huffed, then took a long drag as he dipped his head in silent agreement.

Hann seemed to loosen at it and so he nodded too, “Right then, I need a fucking pint pronto.”

…

The pub was half-full. As to be expected on a Thursday-fucking-night when there was no match on the tele.

It was mostly just the locals meandering about, a couple of grunts up by the bar, a few younger lads playing snooker, and some old pensioners perched in a nearby booth drinking shandy.

Adam had gone and left them on their fucking own. Because he was giant cock of a twat, and of course he had.

It was probably one of those reverse psychology techniques Carly had been going on about the last time they’d been over, and Hann probably reckoned he’d been slick with it, the fucker.

Matty fought down the urge to do anything but toy with a coaster that’d been sat on the table they’d taken in the far corner. Knowing if he did, Adam wouldn’t be too happy with him.

George was tapping anxiously away opposite him. First it’d started in his foot, but the tic had quickly transferred up into his hands. He’d been tap tap tapping away on his knee, then decidedly moved onto the table, and now the continuous sound was coming from the way he was tapping the backs of his nails against one another.

It was fucking annoying was what it really was.

“Would you stop that?” Matty hissed before he could catch himself. He didn’t dare look over towards the drummer though, instead he honed his intense stare on the back of Hann’s head from where the man was stood ordering them a round at the bar.

The tapping did stop and for a moment Matty felt like he could finally breathe, but then George shuffled slightly.

“Stop what?” The idiot asked, his voice sounding like gravel going through a mixer. Matty wanted to wince for him.

“That.” He replied instead, waving a careless hand over at him. “Faffing about with all the tapping. It’s pissing me off.”

Matty didn’t have to look over to know that George was watching him now, could feel the holes being burnt into the side of his head.

He sort of wished he hadn’t said anything at all then. At least if he went and lost his head to the incessant tapping sound, he’d be muddled enough to not have to be apart of this inevitable conversation.

With an irritated sigh, he tossed himself further back into the booth’s armchair to glance up at the wooden beams that lined the ceiling. Thinking about it, he reckoned that they’d been in this pub at least once before, only it’d been a whole lot livelier then, and a couple years back now.

“Oi, was this the same pub we almost burnt down that one night we went to smoke a joint under the pool table?”

It was a surprise to even him that he’d gone and asked that question aloud, especially after he’d been so avid in his avoidance of doing exactly that. But having been friends with George for so long it just felt strange not to, subconsciously his body was aware that one of his best mates was sat right there beside him, but his mind also hated him at the moment.

For everything he’d done, not just as of late, but for having been such a massive twat over the last year.

George must’ve been shocked by it too, because it took him a long second to come up with an actual reply. And when he finally did, it wasn’t much of one.

“Yea- yeah.” Then he coughed lightly to clear his throat.

“Right.” Matty mumbled and gave a curt nod.

They sat there a little longer, just growing more and more aware of the awkward silence that now stretched between them after the short interaction. Matty almost wanted to snap at George again, if only for something to fill it, but couldn’t find it in him to deride the bloke any further, especially when he sat there looking so fucking sad.

But then again, what fucking right did he have to act as though he’d been on the receiving end of a shitstorm? He’d been the one to create this whole fucking mess!

Matty was far too thankful when he finally saw Hann wandering back over, tray in hand, because his anger was suddenly reaching new heights and even though George looked like utter shite, he felt like the prick pretty much deserved it at this point. Even if they were mates, he’d gone and fucked up big time. So he reckoned he had a lot of grafting and grovelling to do if he even wanted to be spared the time of day.

“Alright?” Adam started up once he’d sat the pints down on the table and slid onto the chair just outside of the booth. It allowed them each to have their own sides and made an odd triangle of sorts. Matty didn’t linger too long on the realisation.

“Cheers.” He murmured as he took the nearest glass and necked a fair bit. George appeared to follow his lead, only he looked a little antsy in his movements, eyes flying between him and Hann as he pulled the pint towards him.

Hann glanced around the table then and Matty took that time to observe the rest of the pub, even taking in the fist-shaped hole that was presented proudly in a nearby wall. Adam only huffed.

“Look. We came out tonight to have a good time, yeah? And we can’t do that until we’ve finally hashed things out. So let's get on with it.”

Hann had a point there, but Matty couldn’t bring himself to be the maturer person here. If George had something to say, then fine, he’d listen. But he’d best get on with it.

“G?” Adam tried.

And Matty glanced over to find George staring down at the tabletop, cheeks hollowed as he shifted his jaw. He didn't reply.

“Fucking hell, man.” Matty blew out, having grown impatient with all the theatrics. “You gonna speak or what? ‘Cause I’m not hangin’ ‘round here all night when I’ve got better places to be.”

“What, like back home playing happy family with the new missus?” George snarked back, the harsh bite very apparent in his words. And so Matty couldn’t help his smirk.

“Jealous much?”

George’s eyes narrowed into fine slits that imitated the harsh lines that marred the skin between his brows and Matty watched as Hann placed a hand on his shoulder, as though to keep him seated.

He, himself, just laughed.

“You are, aren’t you?” Matty found himself pleasantly surprised by that and the alcohol only proved to savour the warm feeling he felt in his chest. “What a turn of events this is, hey! Go on, G mate, how’s it feel to be on the receiving end of all the backlash for once? Funny me sat here on this high horse you’re so used to, innit? Reckon it must be pretty fucking shit for you, seeing me all chummy with Y/n, taking care of her whilst you can’t. Does it wind you up, George? Does it-”

Matty cackled loudly when George jumped over the table to take a swing at him, only to be held off by Adam. He’d still created a bit of a scene though, even managed to draw the attention of the barkeep who gave them all a warning glance.

“Sit the fuck down, would you?” Hann whispered harshly whilst he shoved the drummer a bit, then he turned towards Matty. “And you, stop egging him on.”

Matty’s smirk still wouldn’t dim even as he took a sip from the pint that had spilt a tad in George’s tussle with the table.

“Fuckin’ prick.” George mumbled under his breath, obviously fuming.

“You’re both pricks.” Hann decided, perched on the edge of his chair just in case he need to intervene again. “Pricks who need to grow the fuck up. I mean, you’re meant to be best mates.”

“Some mate he is.”

All humour Matty had been feeling fled in that exact moment and he turned a dark set of eyes towards George. “Fuck you. Some mate-" He scoffed, "You’re really going there? I’ve been the mate trying to help clear up your mess.”

George rolled his eyes at that and Matty felt his jaw tick.

“You know what, Hann? I don’t need this.” He said, and his pint glass hit the table with a resounding thud before he moved to get up out of the booth. Adam jumped up to stop him, crowding him a tad.

“Matty, come on. Just, calm down and give him chance. Please.”

“A chance. How many’s that been now?” Matty replied instead of returning to his seat. “Gave him a chance after he went and broke her heart. Another one when he asked us all to lie to her about not knowing where the fuck he’d been after they'd split. Then again, when he decided he wanted to worm his way back in. Fourth times the charm though, right? ‘Cause how could he possibly fuck up again? Oh right, no that was when he went and let her get hit by a car!”

“How the hell was that on me?” George interrupted through gritted teeth, barely holding back.

Matty angled his body to face him then, looking him dead in the eye just as his lips dragged themselves up into a lifeless sort of smile.

“How’s it not?” He countered with an eery sort of calm he didn’t quite feel. “You told me you loved her, and when she came to you- when she came to you, George- you just let her walk the fuck back out again.”

“You told him you still loved her?” Hann’s quiet question lodged itself into the tainted air which surrounded them and Matty could only nod in reply, unable to tear his eyes away from George and his unblinking stare.

“‘Course he did. Outside that restaurant the night she got hit, didn’t he? Jealous then too, of that waiter, weren’t you?” Matty said snidely, and he leant in closer then, palm pressed against the tabletop he kept his voice hushed. “And then you went and left her in that ambulance alone. Fuck up, number five.”

George tore his gaze away, the whites of his eyes swimming. Matty could only shake his head in scorn and turned back towards Adam.

“How do you explain that away, Hann? How do you explain just leaving her?” He asked, feeling his own torment starting to overwhelm him now.

“When I got there she was already in surgery. They told me to prepare myself for the worst. And I sat there waiting. On my own. Thinking about where he was. And if he was okay. If maybe he’d been hit too. Because, the George I knew. He wouldn’t have just fucking left her with strangers. Not whilst she was vulnerable. Not when she was hurt.

"The George I knew would’ve been right there beside me when she seized that first time I got to see her. He would've been there when she finally woke up. But he wasn’t, Hann. He wasn’t, and I was stuck there wondering how many times it’d happened, how many times she’d been in so much pain that her body just couldn’t cope, and had to suffer through it all on her own.”

He sucked in a shaky breath and bit down hard on his tongue before he finally casted a pitiful glance back at George.

“Where were you?”

Part nineteen>

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metalmusingmoments · 10 months

Text

@alex21705 your request~~

A /N -had to brush up on the SG universe

Request: Tfp Bumblebee x SG Decepticon reader.

A groundbridge malfunction sends reader into noral TFP universe.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The mission was simple and standard. Check up on a Autobot mining facility. See how much resources they had. Log it. Etc. etc. No need for a partner as the Decepticon forces on earth were stretched thin as it was.

Going through the ground bridge was always a strange feeling. The humans would say that it gave them “goosebumps” and a feeling of pressure. For Y/N they could relate to that pressure but they doubted they would ever feel the sensation of bird skin bumps.

So when Soundwave locked in the coordinates with a thumbs up Y/N moseyed through the ground bridge with the expectation of pressure. What they weren’t expecting was the feeling of every wire in their body to feel like it was being pulled and squeezed. And in the final moments of consciousness they wondered if this was what goosebumps felt like.

…

Onlining with a sudden intake of air; Y/N opened their optics to the blinding light of the sun. A shudder passed through their frame as the strange sensation faded. A quick scan had shown that the bridge was successful and the coordinates had been reached.

With a groan they struggled to sit up and figure out just what in the pit had gone wrong.

“Y/N to base. Point of interest reached. Had a weird experience going through the bridge…any problems on your end?” Only static was their answer.

They tried hailing the base twice more before trying private coms.

“Soundwave? I’m at the drop point…you’re not answering base comms… is it safe to proceed?” No static but no answer either.

With a huff Y/N stood up and brushed themselves off in annoyance. The mines were only a half mile ahead; they could get the data, get out, and then figure out this slag.

With a renewed confidence they set off into the trees toward the mines.

….

This operation was bigger than they had expected. From a hidden distance Y/N watched on as bots scuttled to and from the caves loading up energon.

Something wasn’t right. These bots looked like the regular canon fodder of the autobot regime but Y/N couldn’t figure out what it was exactly. Curiosity won out over the uneasiness in their spark as they slid closer to an outlier of the group.

The pledged allegiance on their frame was very much autobot purple but in the shape of the decepticon symbol. With further investigation all of them shared the same mark in the same shade.

Y/N processor raced with a thousand scenarios; none of them good. Defectors? No. They had been so limited in resources and in conpower, why had these cons not notified the base they had landed and successfully taken over the autobot mine.

“Time to get out of here” Y/N muttered as they snuck back into the tree line.

Far enough away from the mines Y/N opened up their comms to Soundwave again with a bit of panic.

“Y/N to Soundwave… something is wrong the autobots at mine aren’t autobots… they’re decepticons but their marks are purple. I think the ground bridge might have glitched something. Tell Knockout I’m coming in as soon as I get back-“ their ramblings were cut off with the distinct whine of a cannon warming up.

Y/N helm swiveled to the left as they rolled out of the way of the singular blast.

Guns up they waited to see who emerged.

“Come out you coward!” Y/N shouted

Blue eyes was the first thing that they saw, then the face mask, followed by the red symbol making them do a double take.

Y/N knew exactly who this bot was and a cold terrified dread settled in their spark. Less blue; more yellow but this was Goldbug. One of Optimus Primes loyal commanders. Apparently Y/N had missed the paint change memo for both fractions.

Goldbug seemed to hesitate before eyeing the red Decepticon symbol on their chassis. Optics hardened as he raised his gun again and Y/N did the same.

Y/N wasn’t a fool. They knew their rank and knew they were severely outmatched against an autobot commander, so Y/N did the only thing in that moment they could do.

Fired at will and ran like the fallen was on their heels. With any luck Y/N would clip some part or down some tree to slow his progress.

*Part 2: coming sooner then later 😘

#transformers #tfp #bumblebee #shattered glass #bumblebee x reader

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weministertomonsters · 2 years

Text

"My, my, look at what my web dragged in," the drider chuckles as you enter the tailoring shop.

Two of his smoke-colored hands deftly snip a length of thread while the other two rummage through a box of colorful scraps of fabric.

"I have a party tonight and I literally have one decent outfit, which I accidentally ripped. Can you fix it?" You hold it out.

"For a price, darling," the drider purrs. "Nothing comes for free."

His long fingers pluck and worry at the edge of the rip. "I'll see what I can do. It shouldn't take long to mend, if you wouldn't mind waiting."

He smirks and gestures to a bench in the corner that has cobwebs clinging to the legs.

"You kind of have a bad reputation already. The creepy act isn't helping," you sigh and sit down. "Doesn't scare me though."

"Living as the only monster in a town full of humans will do that to you," he replies. "Everything that is different about you is magnified. I appreciate your lack of fear. It is nice to have someone treat you normally."

He's finished sooner than you expect and you stand to head over to the counter to make your payment. Before you can do that, he slides out from behind the counter and skitters up to you. His spiderish legs tap on the floorboards.

You can't recall a time when he hasn't been behind the counter and your mouth drops open at what you see. Staring is rude but right now you really can't help it. He looks like a spider just fluffy enough to look cute and not scary. He's wearing a shirt on his upper half but the round globe of his spider body is bare, covered only with its own soft fuzz.

"Am I scaring you?" He asks, tilting his head, mandibles flicking.

"N-no. Luckily I'm not afraid of spiders. It's just that you're so... Different. It's pretty cool."

"Then I have decided on my payment. I want you to go on a date with me."

"What?" You look up att him, startled. "I mean no offense, but it was just a rip in my outfit."

"That I fixed with my own silk. That's valuable stuff."

He gestures the clothes. Where there was once a rip, there is now a patch of material that's soft to the touch and sparkles under the ceiling lights. It has been artfully repaired, so it looks like your clothes were made that way.

"Whoa," you gasp. "That's beautiful!"

"Worthy of a date?" He grins.

You glance around the shop and for a moment, the only sound comes from the ceiling fan whirring lazily overhead.

"It must get lonely up here," you say.

He blinks, once, twice. His smaller secondary eyes remain fixed on you, making it hard to look away.

"Company would be nice," he says softly, leaning forward like he's about to touch your hair.

But he pulls away, scuttling back behind the counter.

"It's up to you," he says simply. "A payment in cash is also fine."

"I need a breath of fresh air. Give me a second."

Slowly, you turn and trudge outside. Something made you hesitate about saying yes. Even though you don't really know him, you've come here enough times to get a feel for his personality. It would be nice to get to know him better.

You can still hear the fan whirring away in there.

What will it hurt anyway? It's not like I care about whether I get judged for it.

You poke your head back in.

"Hey, I'm free on Saturday," you tell him.

His smile in response is so warm and wide that you're thinking about it the entire walk home.

#monster lover #monster x reader #monsterimagine #exophilia #monster boyfriend #fluff

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therealmsdelulu · 1 year

Text

My Little Mermaid Part 4:For the First Time

Series masterlist

THE HUMAN WORLD

The now human girl quickly swam to the surface and flipped her hair once she was out of the water. She kicked her feet desperately trying to stay a float.

"Come on now child," Sebastian sighed as he looked at the girl sorrowfully,"It's sink or swim."

Seeing the crab and the guppy brought her some sense of relief as she began to swim towards the shore however she was abruptly stopped in her tracks when she found herself entangled in fishing nets. She was suddenly being lifted out the water and dropped onto the wooden flooring of a fishing boat. She looked around anxiously as the sun barely peeked through, she was covered in seaweed and couldn't see very clearly. She suddenly heard footsteps approaching her and quickly covered her nude body.

"Oh God, what are you doing here," the fisherman exclaimed as he untangled the net and saw the girl covered in seaweed. She opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it again remembering the deal she made with the witch. "You poor girl, you must be shooken up, I'll be right back, I'm going to fetch you some clothes"

She stared at him blankly before he went inside to go find her something to cover up with. As he left Sebastian and Flounder came from under the seaweed and Sebastian suggested Flounder to get off the boat, when he refused the crab simply pushed him off after telling him," you don't tell anyone about this, you understand,"

Suddenly Scuttle came and sat on Y/N's knees and tilted her head analyzing the girl. "Oh hey Y/N you look different," the bird concluded, "wait, dont tell me, its your hair huh, you've been using the dinglehopper" The girl simply chuckled and shook her head at the obliviousness of the bird.

"She got legs, you idiot" the crab exclaimed frustrated at the bird as Y/N removed the seaweed covering her feet and curiously wiggled her toes.

"How many times have I told you that I don't like it when you call me names," the bird began bickering with the crab. "Why don't you try saying something nice to me for once," the bird suggested, " Like, 'Hey Scuttle, your feathers look nice today'," she began but was quickly cut off by the fisherman coming back and shooing her away.

Sebastian tried to hide but the fisherman saw him and placed him in a trap.

"I'll take you to the palace, " he declared, "They'll know what to do with you there" Y/N widened her eyes hearing that she'd have a chance to meet the prince again.

THE KINGDOM

*PLAY FOR THE FIRST TIME FOR THE BEST EXPERIENCE*

Y/N now found herself in the back of a carriage being driven to the castle. She sat up and admired the scenery around her.

'Look at the sun and the sky and the sand,' she sung to herself internally, 'and the sea behind me'

'Look at me, suddenly I am on land and I'm free,' she smiled as she realized all the things she would get to experience for the first time.

'Don't mind me as I,' she vocalized mentally. 'Climb for the first time', she thought as she lifted herself up ever so slightly.

'Jump for the first time,' she suddenly shot up in the air and attempted to balance but soon realized it wasn't as simple as she thought,' Trying to stand but this gravity's pulling me down'

INSIDE THE CASTLE

"What happend to her?" one of the palace workers asked the fisherman.

"No idea," he replied, "the poor girl won't speak"

Y/N's attention was quickly diverted to the bright red and orange flames in the fireplace that she was seated across from. 'Look, it's a fire, it's warm and it glows,' she recited to herself, ' and it lights this chamber,'

Y/N stuck her hands out towards the fire,'Let me admire it, ow!,' she quickly retracted her hand and looked at it ,'Get too close and it bites'

'I came too close for the first time,' she smiled to herself, 'Burned for the first time'

'Everything's clearer and brighter and hotter,' she thought to herself, 'but now that I'm here like a fish out of water'

'I'm trying to stand but this gravity's pulling me down,' she thought as she fell once more. She was soon helped up by the palace worker and brought upstairs so she could take a bath.

Once in the bathtub she took notice of the wallpaper, multiple fish on fishing hooks by their mouths. 'Are we only food for slaughter?,' she asked herself as she looked around and realized the things Sebastian told her were true,'Is this life on land?'

'Well, you were lonely underwater,' she thought as she slowly leaned back to put head under the water.

'Come on, Y/N, time to stand,' she told herself as she abruptly sat up and gasped for air.

IN THE GUEST QUARTERS

'Squeeze in the shoes and the corset, it's tight,' she internally sang as she was being dressed by the palace workers,'And the seams are busting'

'Some women choose this, I guess it's alright,' she thought,'Are my dreams adjusting?' Now that she was dressed one of the workers ran off to go alert the prince causing Y/N to smile internally.

'As I wait for the first time,' she sung to herself internally, 'Here for the first time'

'Now for the first time', she smiled as she heard his footsteps inch closer,' He's coming through those doors'

'Up the stairs,' she thought as she heard the prince running up the stairs,"From the shore,"

'From that moment,' she felt her smile growing bigger as the footsteps were now mere inches away,' And he'll smile'

'Like he knows', she thought.

'When I say," she remarked internally but lost her train of thought when she heard the door open, she looked at the prince and attempted to speak but nothing came out. Embarrased she clutched her throat and looked at the ground.

"Do you have any place you can stay," he asked her cautious not to let her hear the dissapointmeant in his voice. He watched as she stared blankly. "Well, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like," he assured her and with that he turned his back to her and walked away.

'Realize the price that you paid with your voice,' she realized,'As he turns from you'

'Those sacrifices you made were a choice,' she thought to herself,'That you can't undo'

'Lost for the first time,' she recited to herself as she looked down at the floor sorrowfully, 'Scared for the first time'

'Gravity feels like an undertow pulling me down'

MINI TIME SKIP

Y/N sulked as she lay near the bay window and looked out at the sea.

"That was the most intense excersive i've ever had," Sebastian breathed out as he climped into the window, " they couldn't have given you a room on the first floor."

"Maybe its not too late, maybe we can get that sea witch to give you back your voice."She simply looked at the crab and then lay back down. "Fine," the crab sighed noticing the sorrowful state of the girl, "I'll help you"

Y/N instantly shot up and looked at the crab. "Don't forget about that kiss," he remarked. The girl instantly picked up the crab and gave him a quick peck. "Not me the prince," the crab told her as she tilted her head in confusion.

"Oh no, that witch, she put a spell on you," he realized, "you don't remember" Her mind was wiped clean of everything the crab just told her.

Scuttle once again found the pair and landed on the window and let Sebastian fill her in on the sequence of events since the boat.

"Well where is she now," asked the bird as she scanned the room and Y/N was nowhere to be found.

MINI TIME SKIP

Y/N was now walking around the halls of the castle but her attention was quickly caught by a room at the end of the hallway. The door was open so she just strolled in and looked around. It was full with books, maps, and several artifacts.

She looked at the various things on display but her attention was quickly caught by a small blue statue of a mermaid. Y/N carefully picked up the She quickly hid behind a shelf when she heard footsteps approaching.

"Hello," the prince called out, "is someone in here," He opened the blinds letting in the sun which revealed Y/N's hiding spot, "Oh its you," he smiled softly, "no one usually comes in here" She slowly came from out of her hiding spot and put back the mermaid.

"My little mermaid," he chuckled and Y/N quickly turned around and looked at him and widened her eyes as if to ask 'me'. "

It's alright," he assured her when he noticed that she looked a bit startled.

They breifly looked at each other as she made her way to the table in the center of the study. She picked up a rock that was on the table and got ready to drop it on the ground. "Wait no," he called out as she threw it at the ground,

She kneeled down and picked up a crystal that came from inside of it.

"How did you know that was in there?" he looked up at her with admiration in his eyes as he watched her pick up a conch shell and blow into it causing a noise.

"I had no idea you could do that," he chuckled and smiled at her. She walked up to him cheerfully and encouraged him to try it,"oh no, I," he began but gave in anyway.

She hesitantly reached out and put it in his hands and helped him hold it correctly. She then showed him the mouth motion that she used looking into his eyes making sure he was paying attention.

He attempted to replicate her movements, he puckered his lips and slightly put his tongue between them and blew air in the same manner as Y/N did.

He finally blew into the conch but it didn't sound as clear and sharp as it did when Y/N did it. They both laughed as he put down the shell.

Y/N once again wandered off and sat down at a table that had a map layed out on it. The prince sat next to her and pointed at some locations on the map and told her stories about them.

She looked at him for a few moments taking in what he was saying. listening carefully, he looked over at her causing them to have a brief moment of eye contact before they looked away from each other flustered.

Y/N looked out the window and saw the villagers celebrating. Eric followed her line of sight.

"Would you like to go?" he asked. She simply nodded her head in response. "We'll go tommorow," he smiled.

A/N: For the life of me I can't accurately recall the scene in the study exactly so I had to kind of put my own spin on it. Please bare with me i know things are going really slow right now but the next chapter will have so much cavity inducing fluff.

#prince eric x reader #jonah hauer king x reader #prince eric fanfic #prince eric fanfiction #prince eric x y/n #prince eric #the little mermaid live action #tlm 2023 #tlm live action #the little mermaid #the little mermaid 2023

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sanguineterrain · 2 years

Text

Twice Bitten, Never Shy - s.h. | e.m.

Summary: Eddie is alive. You don't know how, but it doesn't matter, does it? He's here, except... he's not back. He's been distant; sneaking out, skipping Hellfire. But tonight? You and Steve are finally going to find out why.

Word count: 4.3k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader x Eddie Munson

Warnings: vampire!Eddie!!! blood drinking, baby!!! if that grosses you out, maybe skip this one. I literally have no clue why Eddie would be a vampire but he is and he's still Eddie. Some self-flagellation (he chains himself up) and starving on Eddie's part, hurt comfort, angst with a fluffy ending.

A/N: oh lord. *drops this and scuttles away* Exposing myself as a vamp Eddie truther. Hope y'all like this one! In this fic, blood drinking provides a relaxing "high" for the drinked (blood provider).

BTW I wrote this with a plus sized/heavier reader in mind but there isn't much description of her body. If that bothers you then *shrug.* Eddie would think everybody's blood is fucking delicious.

Happy almost Halloween! Eddie Munson drink my blood WHEN.

divider by firefly-graphics

"We should do something special."

"Huh?" Steve looks up from where he was stacking videos. “You mean for Halloween?"

"For Eddie," you say. "I think he could use some cheering up."

“Is something wrong?” Steve asks, immediately alert.

“No, no." You shake your head. "I’m just worried about him.”

Steve hums. “Dustin said Eddie's been missing Hellfire.”

Eddie Munson had been pronounced dead seventy-seven days ago. Dustin had returned alone and Steve had held you while you cried. The funeral had less than twenty people, limited to Wayne, Hellfire and the lunch club. After they'd lowered Eddie’s empty coffin into the ground, you’d sprinted into the church bathroom and lost your breakfast.

Two weeks later, Eddie had climbed through an open window in his trailer. He’d nearly given Wayne a heart attack. Bloody and dirty, it'd been short of a miracle no one had called the cops on him.

But he's back. And that's all that matters. Right?

“Wayne says he hears him creep out at night,” you confess. “Won’t tell him where he’s going.”

You and Steve had found solace in each other after the earthquakes. You’d established a routine of sorts, both of you working to provide relief and comfort for the people of Hawkins. And at the end of the day, you'd slept over Steve's house more nights than not. While Hawkins had only known the earthquakes, those of you who’d experienced Vecna’s horrors up close remained haunted. Steve’s bed had been warm and he hadn't minded when you’d curled up closer to chase away the nightmares.

“Where do you think he goes?”

You can't see Steve behind the shelves but you hear his implication. No one has an explanation for how Eddie had returned. The frightening thought that perhaps Vecna isn't as gone as you'd hoped lingers. Eddie won't talk about what happened—not with Wayne, and certainly not with any of you.

“Please don’t make me tell you,” he’d said the first and only time you’d dared to ask.

“I don’t know, Steve,” you reply quietly. “I wish he’d talk to us.”

He stands and approaches, movies in hand. Steve pulls you close.

“We could check on him through a movie night?" He holds up three videos. "Eddie hasn't caught up with the new releases. No scary stuff.”

Steve tries for a smile. You mirror it, grateful he's on board.

“Yeah," you nod eagerly. "And we’ll get food from the diner. Eddie likes their burgers. Do you think he's eating enough? I mean, he has to eat something but I keep thinking what if the Upside Down made it harder. Is Wayne noticing? Should we—"

"Y/N," Steve soothes. "Hey, hey. Deep breath."

You lean against him, forcing air into your lungs.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I’m just worried. I miss him. Which is stupid, 'cause he's back but it's not same."

Steve squeezes your hip gently.

“I know. Gotta say, I miss the old Eddie too."

"I should've checked on him earlier," you lament. "Just seemed like he was avoiding all of us and I didn't wanna push but…" You throw your hands up. "I don't know!"

"No, I get it. I think checking on him is a smart idea, baby. Eddie’s been acting off and we'll sort it out. I’m sure he’s just been working through what happened, y’know? Like the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” you say, wanting to be as confident as Steve. “You’re probably right.”

The trailer park is dead. You suppose that's due to the fact that most people are still recovering from the earthquakes. You personally aren't too keen on being out after dark either.

Eddie's van is outside. Wayne's truck is not. Steve jogs up the steps first and knocks on the doorframe.

"Hey, Munson, it's us! We brought some food and movies. Thought maybe you could use a…" Steve glances at you questioningly. "Night in?"

"With friends," you add. "If you'll have us."

“I chose the movies,” Steve offers.

“I screened them to make sure they don’t totally suck,” you grin, earning an eye roll from Steve.

No reply. You peer in through the screen door. There are a few dishes in the sink and a single lamp is on by the couch. Besides that, no sign of life.

"Eddie?" you try again. "You there?"

"Y/N?" croaks a voice.

You catch a silhouette of dark curls, just out of light's reach.

"Hey, Eds," you say softly. "It's us. Me and Steve."

"Uh," comes the reply. "H-hey. What're you guys doing here?"

"Thought you could use some company," says Steve. "We come bearing gifts. Got diner food and everything." He shakes the bag. "Your favorite heart attack on a plate."

"And movies! We can finally make Steve watch all three Star Wars."

"Yippee," deadpans Steve.

"Oh," Eddie says thinly. "That sounds great, guys. Y’know I'd love to, it's just I'm—I'm super sick. Sick as a dog. You guys should go."

"We don't mind, Eds," you murmur. "We just didn't want you to be alone. Have you eaten? I can make you some soup."

You start to turn the handle.

"Don't!" he yells, loud enough to startle you.

Steve rests a hand on your back. "What's going on, man? Everything okay?"

"Nothing's… I just can't today. Go home, please."

The shadow disappears. You glance worriedly at Steve, who shakes his head. He pulls open the door and you hesitantly follow him in. The lock chain has been snapped off.

"Eds, you don't sound okay…"

Across the trailer, Eddie's bedroom door slams. You whip your head around. Steve steps forward, holding an arm out to keep you behind him. He sets the food on the counter.

"Eddie?" you call out, voice getting higher. "Eddie, what’s going on?"

"I'm fine!" is the instant response. "Go home. I'll c–catch you tomorrow."

There's a thump behind the door. Then a jangling sound, like that of metal. You peek around Steve's shoulder.

"Eddie, this isn't cool," he warns. "C'mon, man. If something's going on, tell us."

You both know what the other is thinking: had Vecna returned? Eddie had his oddities now and then, but he'd never shoot you down like this.

Steve puts a hand on the doorknob and turns. It's locked.

"You need to leave." Eddie's voice is sharper, like he's in pain. "I'm serious. Go."

More metal. A heavy clunk. Then Eddie cries out, quick and cut off.

"Eddie?" you say again, jiggling the doorknob. "Eddie, let us in!"

"Go away!" he growls, nearly unrecognizable.

That's enough for Steve. He drags you back and throws all his weight into the door. It splinters open, and you both stumble through.

"Steve!" You rush to him, hovering. "Oh my God. Are you okay? Anything hurt?"

"I'm fine." He picks up his head. "I'm… holy shit."

You turn. Eddie is in his desk chair. He's hunched over, wheezing quietly. Around his wrists and chest are thick iron chains. You can see burns where the iron touched his skin. He's paler than usual, alabaster to the point of concern. But the biggest difference is Eddie's eyes. Normally a rich brown, the irises are now a dull red. And they're locked on you.

He looks mortified you're here, though you'd bet good money he isn't as mortified to see you as you are him.

"Eddie, oh my God. What—what are you doing? What happened to your eyes? Are you on drugs?" you blurt, going to your knees in front of the chair. “Steve, call an ambulance.”

"No! Don't touch me! Y/N, please. Both of you. You have to leave."

"I'm not leaving you, not when you're chained up! Who did this? Eddie, what's going on?"

You struggle with the chains; you can hardly believe Eddie managed to heave them over himself. He rolls back before you have a chance to try to free him. He sags against the armrests.

"Leave 'em," he pants.

"They're hurting you! Steve, help me," you beg.

Steve gets closer, then stops.

"Steve, come on," you urge. "He's in pain, what are you…"

Steve looks at you, then at Eddie. Carefully, he steps in front of you.

"Eddie," he begins. "What happened in the Upside Down?"

"I," Eddie chokes. His eyes are glassy. "I was dead. I am dead."

You stand, about to approach. But Steve holds your arm. Wearily, Eddie watches you. He shuts his eyes and opens his mouth. Long white fangs protrude from his top gums. It's a wonder they don't cut into his lip.

"Jesus Christ," breathes Steve.

"Eddie?" you try meekly. "Wh-what…"

"I came back a monster!" he explodes. Steve's grip tightens on your arm. "I have to chain myself down to keep from hurting anybody. I can't eat, can't sleep. Hawkins should hunt me down."

"Don't say that," you say. Your brain is static. "You're not a monster, Eddie. Whatever it is, we can—"

"You need to leave. I can't—"

He crumples with a shout. You jerk forward, slipping out of Steve's grip.

"Eddie! Ed, talk to me. What's wrong? Steve," you urge. "Steve, please help me get these off of him."

"No," Eddie grunts. "Steve, get her out."

"No!" you yell. "I'm not leaving you like this. Tell me what will fix it. What'll make the pain go away?"

"I just have to wait it out," Eddie says, but his eyes are sunken, cheeks gaunt. Monster or not, Eddie is killing himself.

"Not if you're in pain! Is it Vecna? Is he making you do things?"

"No," Eddie sniffles. "No, he's not, and that's the worst part. It's all me. I'm the fuckin' sicko who has to chain himself up so I'll keep everybody safe."

"Safe from what?" Steve demands.

Eddie looks at him, maroon eyes wide. And you know. You both do.

"It's in all the D&D books," Eddie laughs wetly. "Should've seen it coming. Self-fulfilling prophecy, really."

"You�� " You swallow. "You can't wait it out forever, Eds," you say. You put a hand on his knee. "You have to eat."

"I can't," he cries. "I tried so many times. But I can't keep anything down. Not even animals. I swear to you."

"I know," you soothe. "I believe you. It's okay."

You bend over him, inspecting the worst of the burns. Steve hovers, still unsure. He winces at the angry red welts criss crossed over Eddie's arms.

"Steve," you say, swallowing hard so you won't tear up in front of Eddie. "Get the first aid kit. It's in the medicine cabinet."

You'd insisted Wayne have one after he'd sliced his finger fixing your car.

"Whoa, hold on. What are you doing, Y/N?" Steve asks.

"We have to tend to the burns. I'll stay with him."

"No," Eddie begs. "I don't trust myself. I don't wanna hurt you, Y/N. I can't. Please don't do this."

"Eds," you hush. "You won't hurt me. It's okay. I'm gonna help you. Steve?"

Steve, after much deliberation, hurries out to get the first aid kit.

"I don't need first aid," Eddie mumbles. "It'll heal as soon as I take 'em off."

"I figured," you say quietly. "Just wanted Steve to take a minute alone. Will you at least let me untie your feet?"

Eddie had bound his feet with heavy duty nylon rope, and they cut into his ankles.

"No," he grits. "I have to protect you guys."

So you crawl next to him instead. You aren't afraid. He's still Eddie.

"How long have you been doing this?" you murmur.

"C-couple months. Ever since I came back. At first I could ignore it but the hunger pangs got stronger."

You make a soft noise, chewing your lip.

"You gotta eat, Eddie. This is killing you."

"Can't kill something that's already dead," he huffs. "Anything's better than hurting people. I'll never eat again if it'll keep people safe."

You put a hand to the side of your neck, feeling your blood pulse through your veins. Eddie looks away, face twisted. Steve returns then, tossing the kit beside you. He goes to his knees next to you on the floor.

"What happened? Y/N?"

"I'm okay," you say. "Eddie's been starving himself since he got back."

Steve's mouth drops in horror.

"That's almost three months. How are you still going?"

Eddie eyes him warily. "I did what I had to. What if I attacked somebody? Couldn't—"

He stops, whimpering in pain. It's getting worse, his hair matted with sweat.

"Steve, get these off him," you order.

"No no, Y/N, you don't understand," Eddie panics shakily. "This is the only thing holding me back."

"You don't have to hold back," you say softly.

"What're you talking about?"

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice measured.

"You don't have to hold back because you'll drink from me."

Eddie throws himself backwards at that, shaking his head.

"Nope, no way. Absolutely not. No way in hell."

"Y/N," Steve starts. "Are you sure…"

"He's sick, Steve!" you burst. "This is the only way to help him. What are we supposed to do? Let him waste away?"

"But what if something happens…"

"Eddie's not some bloodthirsty monster," you snap. "He's starved himself for months and he's still lucid and begging us to leave. He'd die before he asks for help."

Steve's resolve is slipping. Eddie's close to losing consciousness.

"This isn't something a hospital can fix."

Who knows how much longer he can go like this?

"I can't lose him again," you beg. "He's our friend."

Steve sighs, body sagging in defeat.

"Okay, okay. But we need ground rules. If you start feeling dizzy or anything, it stops."

"Deal," you agree.

"I'm serious, Y/N. If anything feels off, you have to say so."

"I will," you insist. "Okay?"

"No, not okay, not okay!" Eddie wails.

"Eddie." You take his hand; it's like ice. "Let me help. I want to do this. You're not hurting me, not forcing me. I promise."

Steve lifts the chains. You help Eddie to the floor. When he doesn’t protest—or, perhaps, is too weak to do so—you scoot closer. He still won’t let you remove the rope, drawing his legs back each time. So you straddle his thighs, hyper aware of not letting all your weight sink onto him.

"Get comfortable," Eddie says when he realizes what you’re doing. "I can take it."

"I don't wanna hurt you, Eds."

“I got you. Can do that, at least.”

His hand fits over the soft curve of your waist. You glance at Steve, who's now on the bed. He gives a single nod, leg jiggling. You turn back, cupping Eddie's shoulder. His eyes are still a cloudy red. They meet your own.

"Are you sure about this?"

You tip your head, presenting your carotid.

"Yeah, Eds. I trust you."

Eddie hums, fingers digging into your plush hip. His eyes dart to Steve, then to your neck. He holds your other side like you’re made of glass.

The first pinch of teeth stings. You focus on not reacting too much because anything amiss will spook Eddie beyond reason. His breath is hot on your skin, and as the first sip of blood coats his tongue, Eddie's grip on you tightens. He groans against your neck, hand slipping down to grab the meat of your thigh. You gasp, body growing slack as he drinks.

"You alright?" Steve asks.

"'M fine," you reply breathily.

The more Eddie drinks, the heavier your eyelids get. The sting turns pleasant after the first pierce of teeth. You feel oddly euphoric, limbs syrupy. Even better, Eddie's strength returns as he feeds. He holds you to his chest and bends his knees.

The rope snaps like dental floss. He grunts, pulling your thigh over his hip. You cling. It’s getting hard to keep your eyes open. You've never felt like this before. Eddie pushes against you, chest heaving as he greedily gulps.

"Eds," you gasp, hyper aware of your pulse.

He seems to be in a trance.

"Shit, okay. That's enough, c'mon," Steve urges.

You’re slow in tapping out, feeling floaty. But as soon as you squeeze Eddie's shoulder, he’s off of you. He gasps like he’s just run a marathon. Drops of your blood smear across his lips. His tongue darts out to catch it all.

Steve supports your weakened body, easing you off Eddie. Your head lolls but you manage a smile, not wanting to worry them.

"Are you okay, baby? Did I hurt you?" Eddie asks, honed in on your expression.

"No," you assure. "Feels good."

His brows rise. "It does?"

"Mmhm. Floaty. Like… sleepy but good."

Eddie looks better. Guilty as anything, but you can handle that later. He isn't comatose and that’s all you care about right now.

"Oh, uh," he says, licking his lips. "I’m glad, then. Thank you."

"You can suck me anytime," you grin, which makes him smirk.

Steve helps you onto Eddie's bed, and you roll over to watch him. Eddie’s more alert, not desperate for blood. But he’s drumming his fingers and bouncing his leg, something he does when he’s nervous.

“What’s ‘a matter, Eds?”

“Hmm?”

You nod slightly.

“Why’re you all jittery?”

Eddie immediately stills.

“'M not. I’m okay, really.”

You frown.

"You're still hungry."

Eddie's eyes dart to you, not dull but still nowhere as vibrant as you know they can be.

"You need more," you realize.

Of course he needs more. After three months of starvation, it’s impossible one person would be enough. Especially when he’s not bleeding you dry.

"I'm not drinking anymore from you, Y/N," he tells you. "Absolutely not."

"You have to recover, Eds. How can you heal if you're not properly nourishing your body?"

"I got through it without eating at all. I'll be fine on half a tank. You're staying right there."

Weakly, you push yourself up on your elbows. Steve hurries over, trying to get you to lie back down.

"C'mon, sweetheart, you gotta rest."

"Eddie won't take care 'f himself," you protest. “What if it doesn’t work, Steve?”

"I'm fine!" Eddie insists. "Really, I feel much better."

Steve chews his lip. "Would more blood get you at one hundred percent?"

"Whether it would doesn't matter, Harrington. I'm not taking any more blood from her."

"I know," Steve shrugs. "Take it from me."

"Steve," you whisper. "Don't do it for my sake. I don't wanna push you—"

"You're not. But you're right: he needs to recover. And nothing will do it better than, uh… food."

Steve coaxes you back to bed. Then he goes to the floor and sits back on his haunches. The look he gives Eddie is pure King Steve, a ghost of the past. You know it’s all for Eddie's sake and maybe yours, this shroud of confidence.

"So, Munson? What d'you say?"

Eddie glances at him, shoulders stiff.

"You don't have to do this."

"I've got more blood than her," Steve reasons. "And you need it."

"I don't need it," even though sweat had begun to gather on Eddie's brow. "And I don't wanna force you into anything."

"You're not," Steve says, gentler this time. "C'mon."

"You're sure?"

Steve rests his tongue on his teeth, tilting his head.

"Yeah, I’m sure. Bite me, Munson."

"If I hurt you…" Eddie begins.

"I'll watch him, Eds. Promise," you say. "Go on, drink. It's okay."

Steve doesn’t sit as intimately as you had. But they aren't far from each other: Eddie holds the side of Steve's neck and Steve grips Eddie's forearm in return, their left legs slotted against each other.

Steve's breath hitches at the first bite. You see his grip tighten then relax as Eddie drinks.

"Jesus," Steve gasps. "How is this still not the weirdest thing we've ever done?"

"Nothing beats that Vecna creep," you giggle sleepily.

Steve’s arm starts to wobble from where it supports his other side.

"Feel okay?" you ask.

"Mm," Steve affirms, lids drooping. "Feels kinda nice."

"Tingly, right?"

He laughs. "Yeah. Warm, too. Sh-shit."

His arm buckles. You can't imagine trying to support yourself while Eddie drinks. The bite is meant to incapacitate, presumably. But Eddie's strong. Each time Steve slips a little further, Eddie hoists him back. Both hands now hold Steve's waist.

"Wait, Eddie," Steve slurs, tapping Eddie's side.

Eddie pulls off immediately, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. His eyes are fully crimson now, almost glowing in the dim light.

"You okay? Steve?"

"'M fine, just needa lie down. Don't have the strength."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, expression a little wild. "Okay, shit, uh—here."

And easy as anything, Eddie scoops Steve up into his arms. Steve scrambles for purchase, but you know how boneless he feels.

“Let ‘im carry you, baby,” you say. “He’s got you, ‘s okay.”

Eddie has to do most of the labor. He sets Steve next to you on the bed. You slip your hand in Steve's, drowsily curling into him.

"Y'want more?" Steve asks, open and trusting. "I can take it."

Eddie licks the drops of blood from where his fangs had pierced Steve's neck. Then, without hesitation, he dives back in, less delicate this time. Steve whines, hips canting slightly. You watch on in a doze, pushing Steve's hair away from his face. Your face presses against his neck, which twitches with each gulp of blood Eddie takes. Lazily, you drag your lips up to the shell of Steve's ear. He whimpers, hand slowly finding the back of your head.

"Y/N," he gasps.

"Hmm? Y'okay, Stevie?"

"'S good," he sighs. "F-fuck."

Eddie stops before Steve taps out. He pulls back panting, wiping the corner of his mouth with a knuckle. Steve is sedative. You’re nowhere near alert.

"Fuck," Eddie grunts, chest heaving. "Fuck, fuck. All those books that talk about the blood rush made no sense. Now I get it."

As if on instinct, Eddie curls an arm around each of your waists, hefting you up so he can curl into you. You pat his head blindly. Steve only hums, draped over Eddie's shoulder.

"Feel good, Ed?" you ask.

"So good," Eddie mumbles. "You guys are warm. Been cold these months. Can’t shake it.”

You feel his forehead with the back of your hand. It’s fruitless, logically; Eddie is dead—or, well, undead. His body temperature isn’t going to be like yours.

Eddie chuckles, vibrating your chest.

“Don’t think that’s gonna work, sweets. But the blood made me warmer.”

“Tha's good. Can we eat somethin’?” you ask. “Feel dizzy.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie hisses. “Shit, shit!”

Steve startles, trying and failing to wake up.

“Wha‘s the matter?” he slurs. “Eddie?”

“You need sugar! I had to retake that bio unit twice! Fuck, fuck. Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you something. Stay there, okay? What am I saying, you have to stay there… Jesus.”

Eddie carefully sets you down and climbs over Steve’s legs to race to the kitchen. You seek out Steve, like a flower to sunlight. He hums as you snuggle into him.

“Weirdest movie night I’ve ever had,” he mumbles.

You smile, kissing his cheek. Steve scrunches his nose happily.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm, yeah. Should recover soon. Feeling a little more clear. ‘M kinda dizzy though.”

“Yeah, we gotta get our blood sugar levels up,” you hum. “I hope Eddie knows leftover lasagna isn’t sugar-rich.”

“Got it!” you hear Eddie call back.

“Hm. Super vampire hearing. Dope,” Steve says.

“It is!” Eddie replies.

“Stop eavesdropping!” you giggle.

“Can’t help it!”

Eddie’s back in what feels like a minute. He sets down uneven chunks of sliced apples and a sleeve of Chips Ahoy, as well as two glasses of orange juice. Steve starts to try and sit up. Eddie’s quick to help you both up, stuffing pillows behind you.

“I’ll make it more comfy, I promise,” he says, frowning at the way Steve’s head lolls.

“‘S okay, Eds,” you yawn. “Next time.”

Eddie pauses briefly, then takes a cookie, putting it to your lips. You take it happily, chewing slowly. He brings a slice of apple to Steve, who frowns.

“I can do it, y’don’t—”

“The blood loss hit you harder, big guy. C’mon, take a little,” Eddie coaxes.

Steve pouts for another moment, but eventually opens his mouth, eyes droopy. Eddie beams.

“Good. You’re both so good, know that?”

Eddie brushes a crumb from your mouth.

“So are you, Eds,” you say. “And no more starving yourself, okay? I mean it.”

He nods, looking properly chastened.

“‘Kay. I won’t. But I dunno where I’m gonna get blood. I suppose I could try animals, but…”

“Hellooo?” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes. “We’re right here, man.”

Eddie blinks.

“What—”

“Did you think this was a one time thing?” you ask.

“You guys can’t do this every time,” Eddie scoffs.

“Why not?”

Steve reaches for the juice. Eddie takes it and holds it to Steve's lips before he can. You smile, heart swelling with fondness.

“There’s two of us,” Steve continues, wiping his mouth with his hand. “It makes sense.”

“Steve, you can’t be serious—”

“The hell I’m not, Eddie. We’re not letting you get sick like that again. Now shut up and let us take care of you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and feeds Steve another bite of apple.

“Don’t remember you being this bossy, Harrington.”

“Well, that was before earthquakes and vampires, Munson. Tell ‘em, honey.”

“Yeah, Eds,” you say softly. “We’re here.”

“Oh.” He swallows hard. “Fuck. I didn’t—you guys really…?”

You open your arms. Eddie falls into your embrace. You kiss his hair.

“We missed you,” you say.

“Missed you too,” he whispers. “So much. ‘M sorry I kept disappearing. Was just scared.”

“We’ve got you,” Steve soothes. “No more doing this alone.”

Eddie sniffs, wiping his nose.

“Shit, guys. ‘M supposed to be this badass vampire. You’re cramping my style.”

“Your secret’s safe with us,” you laugh, patting his shoulder.

“Can big, bad vamps still watch Halloween movies?” Steve asks. “Is that in the handbook?”

“'Course, baby.” Eddie leans in close, fanged grin on display.

“And don’t worry. I’ll protect ya from the monsters.”

#steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #vampire eddie munson #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington x reader x eddie munson #steve x reader x eddie #vampire eddie x reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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bella-goths-wife · 1 year

Text

Female rage presented by (y/n)

Lost boys x daughter reader

The cave was unusually silent one Friday night. Everything was too quiet for the boys, they grew slowly more worried as the hours ticked into midnight.

After David had prevented you from leaving the cave you had fell into a sort of depression, you wouldn’t eat, sleep or talk to anyone. Star had ignored you at the start because of her anger at your attempt to leave but now when she tried to talking to you, you would just leave the room.

The boys sat outside your room as they listened for any noise that might give them a clue of what your doing. They straightened up when they heard the sound of your bare feet hitting the caves stone floor.

You walked in with a messy face of make up, hair messy and knotted and an old hoodie on. The boys stilled and looked at you for an answer. You refused to give them one as you avoided eye contact with them and carried the plate which still had the food on your plate that Dwayne had prepared for you.

David stood up in an attempt to physically intimidate you when he noticed how small you had gotten. You normal healthy weight had dropped drastically and now you were barely standing as your clothes hung loosely on your frame. He had decided that enough was enough.

“Are finished with your hissy fit yet?” David questioned in a bored tone, the others flinched as they knew he was prodding for a reaction from you

You refused to give him one as you carried on carrying the food to the table and left it there before attempting to leave again.

“You have to eat eventually y’know” David remarked as you tried to walk away “unfortunately your human so you’ll have to eat at some point”

David grabs your frail wrist and drags you to the table and forces you to sit.

“We’re gonna sit here until you finish the entire plate” he takes a seat opposite to you and looks you in the eyes

You push the plate away and raise an eyebrow as a way to say “what are you gonna do about it?”. David just sighed and raised a brow back

“You should be lucky your getting fed at all, any other dad would have kicked you out by now” David replies as he attempts to light his cigarette

You didn’t take the bait, you simply kept your mouth shut and crossed your arms in front of your chest in a defensive position.

David rolls his eyes and calls over marko who nervously scuttles forward and stands behind you as if he knows his next command

“Marko, baby” marko preens slightly under the title “hold her mouth open”

Your eyes shoot open as you feel markos cold hand on your jaw. You wrapped you hand around his wrist but your weakened state couldn’t fight him off. You shot david a pleasing look. Please don’t do this. Please.

Marko prys your mouth open painfully as his sharp nails dig into the delicate porcelain of your jawline and leaves half crescent moons in their wake. You have a slight fear in the back of your mind that he might rip your jaw off.

As soon as your mouth is open, David forces the sandwich into it and closes your mouth to get a chewable piece off of it. You feel it sitting on your tongue as it inches closer to your throat.

“Chew baby” Marko whispers gently, but his hold is anything but gentle “chew or you’ll choke”

You refuse to give into his command. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes and fall tragically down your cheeks. You wanted it to stop

You felt yourself trying to cough up the piece of sandwich as you choke on it slightly and force it to the front of your mouth with your tongue.

“Chew” David commands but you don’t give in, you would rather choke then give in to this monster. David slams his hand on the wood table and creates small cracks where his palms rested “chew or I go out their and slaughter your little boyfriend. Don’t test me (y/n)”

The threat alone made you slowly begin to chew and swallow. David smirks and forces the sandwich on you bite by bite until all that remained were the crumbs that stuck to the edge of your mouth.

“Good girl” marko coos at you as if you were a pet rather than a 17 year old.

You yank yourself out of markos weakened grip and rush to get up from the table and away from them but a grip on your shoulder pushes you back into the seat.

“Not so fast kid” David says before sitting back down across from you “thank us”

You tilt your head at him in confusion and David just rolls his eyes obnoxiously.

“Thank us for giving you a meal” David said without a hint of humour in his voice.

You shoot him a glare and keep your mouth shut as if it was sealed closed. David just over exaggeratedly pulls something from his pocket. You see a picture of you and James

You remember this picture, you were wearing James’s jacket and he was holding you up by the waist in an affectionate manner. It was raining that day and the two of you had just gone swimming at the beach so your hair was wet and clinging to your face. James looked at you with pure adoration and only seconds after that photo was taken he had captured your lips in a passionate, loving kiss to show you his pure devotion to you. You had kept that photo in your pillow case and James kept a copy in his wallet. Your blood ran cold, who’s copy had David taken?

“Thank us for the meal” David brought his trusty lighter out “or I torch the photo”

You thought for a moment before deciding to call his bluff and remain silent. David quickly caught onto your tactic and tauntingly brought the lid of his lighter up and sparked a flame and brought it close to the picture. You launched at him but he yanked his arms back in defence and laughed at your attempt.

“You know what you need to say” David mocks “it’s only polite kid”

You spent a moment contemplating before deciding to swallow your pride if that’s what it took to get the photo back.

“Thank you for the meal” you spit out, you look over to marko who knows this is wrong but is to brainwashed by David to even attempt protecting you from this situation. You thought he was pathetic

David sarcastically claps and cheers before he loses all humour and looks you in the eyes with a serious expression.

“Too late” David exclaims before lighting the photo on fire and using it to light his cigarette before dropping it on the ground.

You attempt to gather the still on fire picture in your hands to salvage it. The pain quickly invaded your palms but you don’t make a sound as you hold it in your hands tightly. The cave fills with the smell of burning flesh before marko drags it out of your hands and attempts to put it out.

You stand up calmly and slowly walk out of the room with your palms still stinging. The boys shoot each other confused looks as they assume that you went to cry in your room.

They are quickly proven wrong however when you emerge from your room with a base ball bat that had been embedded with various sharp nails. It had been a gift from James after you told him that your father had once gotten violent and choked you. He even told you how to swing it properly to get the maximum amount of damage, he is so caring.

The boys first assume that your going to go for David so they encircle him and try and reason with you but you head straight past them, to where David’s precious wheelchair throne sat.

Before anyone could reason with you, you brought the bat above your head and swung it down on the chair.

You let out various screams of rage as you broke this chair down piece by piece and revelled in the sounds of metal hitting metal as the nails impaled it with violent intent.

Your hands hurt and your back ached but you continued on in your destructive mission until you saw all the separate pieces on the floor away from each other. You let out a huff of air as you felt relief wash over you before you heard David speak up.

“Are you done?” David asked in a bored tone, he couldn’t care less about your destruction or revenge.

You felt the previous rage ignited again as you saw red once more and looked for the next target to be your outlet. Your eyes zeroed in on the ‘wine’ on the side, they had spent an entire month collecting it so they could have a few weeks for them to spend time with each other since the drama over the last few weeks prevented them from leaving you alone.

You had set your mind on it now. You calmly stalked over to where it was and swung but you only got a few before David grabbed your bat furiously and threw it away before looking at you with a angry yet curious look.

You didn’t let the lack of weapon stop you as you grabbed a bottle and threw it on the ground this caused black splash and you had thick blood covering your front but that was the least of your concerns. You continued until all that surrounded you was glass shards and you were drenched head to toe in blood.

You walked forward, ignoring the glass that stuck into your feet and caused you to bleed. Most of the boys had to cover their mouths and noises as the smell of your blood mixed in with the others from the bottle was starting to become to much.

You stood face to chest with David and looked him straight in the eyes with no emotion on your face but you huffed out deep breaths out of exhaustion.

“Why would you do this?” Marko asked behind David but you refused to break eye contact to acknowledge him. You simple stated

“He took something I loved, I took something he loved”

Hope you guys enjoyed! :)

#lost boys x reader #poly lost boys x reader #lost boys x child reader #dad lost boys #yandere lost boys x reader #platonic lost boys x reader #the lost boys #yandere lost boys #yandere lost boys x child reader

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