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logical-grave · 3 months

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✧ Pretty little thing ✧ Ch.2

♡ Pairing ♡ - Rafe Cameron x Plus Size!Reader

♡ Warnings ♡ - Public sex, Smut, some mean!Rafe again and some nice!rafe? Creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talk, some tit play, hurtful comments, and ofc unedited mistakes hehehe

♡ A/N ♡ - Erm I need this man biblically. Pls don’t lose respect for me hehe

♡ Word count ♡ - 2.7k

♡ Part 1 ♡

“Of course! Let me know if you need anything else.” My cheeks hurt due to the forced smile on my face, a side effect of my customer service persona. The serving tray in my hand was two seconds from toppling over, but I made it to the club guests with their drinks before that could happen. The older gentleman of the group slipped me a twenty, and I smiled, slyly taking it and stuffing it in the waistband of my skirt. Twenty was cheap. On a good day, I made close to twelve hundred in tips alone, but every penny counts, I guess.

“Hey sweetie.” Another man called for me and I rolled my eyes before turning to him with another forced smile. “How can I help you, sir?” I tucked the tray I held under my arm as the man approached me, toying with the racket in his hand. His partner busied himself by playing with a tennis ball like a golden retriever, and I stifled a chuckle. “Here,” he holds his racket out towards me, “play a game with us.”

My lips form into a tight-lipped smile, looking at him with hesitation. “I should get back to work.” A dry chuckle follows my words, and he makes an unsatisfied face. “Come on, aren’t you guys supposed to attend to our every need?” He asks, and he’s right, we aren’t supposed to say no to the guests, but it’s also not supposed to be knowledgeable to them. He steps closer to me, making it obvious as he looks me up and down, eye-fucking me right in front of my face. “Apologies, sir. I’m neede-”

“Fuck off, ballsack. She’s busy.” Rafes voice cut through the air and I looked over my shoulder to see him approaching us, holding a racket as well. My eyes widened slightly as I took in Rafes frame. He was shirtless, a sheen of sweat coating his body, telling me just finished a match, and a pair of black shorts hanging low on his hips, accentuating the ‘V’ of his torso along with a backwards hat. Jesus, it’s like looking at a fucking marble statue. It didn't help when he stepped close enough for me to feel his body heat emanating onto my back.

“You’re gonna let this douche speak for you?” The man stepped closer as well, still keeping a safe distance from me, but I could feel Rafe tense up. His reaction caused the man to smirk, showing he was getting what he wanted out of Rafe. “Please, forgive us.” I turn and push on Rafes chest, urging him to walk backwards, and he keeps his attention on the older man. He was in clear view still as Rafe lifted his arm, pointing his racket at the man in a threatening manner. “Watch yourself, gramps.” He yelled out, eventually turning around to walk until we were far enough away from the man.

“What the hell, Rafe?” I bit, drawing my eyebrows together in a pissed off manner. Rafe flared his nostrils, throwing his racket on the ground next to the benches on the court. Great, now he’s going to rip me a new one. “He was harassing you, I wasn’t going to sit on my ass and do nothing.” He was in my face now, anger written all over his face, and I closed my mouth, deciding not to talk back due to the fact that another guest might overhear. “He asked me to play a game, and I was telling him no.” I turned, walking off the courts and towards the pool.

Recently, we cut our laundry attendant because she was smoking joints on the job and made all the towels smell like weed. Of course, complaints ensued and now towel duty that was a one-person job was now a six-person job, dividing it between my coworkers and I.

I groaned as I heard footsteps trailing mine on the wet tile of the pool deck. “You would’ve had to tell him no twice. That’s one too many for my liking.” He reasoned, and I ignored him as I walked over to the first cabana on the pool deck, stripping its sheets and towels. It was close to 10 o’clock and the guests were beginning to trickle out of the club, so it was time to start on my closing duties, but Rafe didn’t give a shit. “I could’ve handled him.” My voice was harsher than I intended as I turned to him, dropping the sheets I held onto the cabana.

I look at Rafe, and he doesn’t say anything, just huffing his chest, which doesn’t help when I’m trying to be mad at him. His broad shoulders compliment him well, his eyes narrowing on me as he walks closer to me. I could feel his body heat again, and I looked forward, facing his chest, which was beautifully structured. He hooked a finger under my chin, leading my face up to meet his, his other hand resting on my hip. He doesn’t say anything, just staring into my eyes longer than he’d ever done. In fact, I think this was the first time he actually took the time to look at me and could answer what color my eyes were if he was asked by someone.

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, as a gasp left my lips from the feeling of his hand pushing my back to bring my body flush against him. Something flashed in his eyes, igniting something inside me, and it was all centered around him. I couldn’t tell when he placed his lips on mine, but when I realized it, the anger that resented him seemed to fade along with whatever else was around us. The kiss felt like a pull that I refused for so long, and the relief of his lips on mine was something that burned into the memory of my brain. His lips are soft, pink, and so perfectly tender as passion brewed between us from the way he pushed his tongue passed the slit above my bottom lip. The kiss was needy and intimate, exactly the kind of kiss Rafe would give.

I pushed his chest, urging him away from me, and I could swear he didn’t want to until I pushed him further. He sighed, pushing his hips forward and making me gasp. “Are you hard?” I giggled with a small blush, looking down at his prominent bulge, pressing it against me. Rafe looked at me and gave me a small shrug. “I get turned on when you yell at me.” His face was unchanging, as if his statement was matter-of-factly.

My head turned as I searched the pool deck for any signs of life. The golf course was not far and anyone in a cabby driving by would see, as well as tennis players returning from a match. Even worse, a lot of the workers walk through the pool deck as a shortcut to the gym. It was simply too risky and though this wasn’t the best paying job, I didn’t want to lose it over something as trivial as sex. Yet, I’m reminded of our agreement as Rafe presses his body against mine, prompting me to sit on the edge of the cabana.

“Rafe, we can’t. I’ll get fired if we get caught.” I move to sit up, but Rafe pushes me down, making me let out an exasperated yelp. The comfort of the cabana on my back was welcomed as I laid down on it and my head rested on the bundled sheets. Rafe moved to stand between my legs, making me bite my lip at how perfectly aligned we are. I stretch my neck up to look around once again, the fear of someone coming rushing through me. “Rafe, we shouldn’t.” I looked at him with worry, but he’s busy trailing his fingers under my skirt and up my thigh, leaving goose-bumps over my skin due to his delicate touch.

Fuck, he makes this hard.

“What did I say about these?” Rafe hooked his finger on the waistband of my panties before snapping them back against my skin, warranting a small wince from me. I looked up at him and bit my lip nervously. “Not to wear them anymore.” My voice was soft-spoken, his intimidation drawing this out from me. The side of his mouth curled up, his eyes darkening at my response, just like he wanted me to. “Good girl,” He said in a low voice, a tinge of husk aiding it. Rafe pulls on my polo that was tucked into my skirt, pushing it over my breasts, and my eyes widen.

Though, I don't stop him. The worry of being caught by someone has been pushed behind the lust that began to cloud my mind, and Rafe took notice. He pulled the cups of my bra down under my breasts, giving them a small push-up and exposing them perfectly to him. He makes no hesitation to reach and palm at my breasts, biting his lip. “That's what I love about girls like you,” He pinched my nipple. “You have tits and ass for days.”

I look away, attempting to distract myself from his words. I knew what he meant, the compliment not even close to being considered one with how backhanded it was. The worst part? Rafe genuinely meant it, as if bigger girls didn’t have much more to themselves than our sizable assets. It reminded me that to him, I was good enough to fuck but not to date, much less even save my phone number.

Rafe doesn’t take notice of my sudden disinterest, instead removing one hand from my breast, and I hear a rustle of fabric. I crane my neck and look at him standing between my legs, taking his shorts off to circle his knees, fully baring himself. I let out a small gasp as I looked at his cock. It was painfully hard, with a string of pre-cum falling from the tip to drip onto my thigh. “See what you do to me?” He pumps himself a couple of times, letting out small moans as his other hand bunches my skirt up at my waist.

He thumbs my clit, making small circular motions as he narrows his eyes at me, making sure I’m reacting how he wants. I blush as I bite my lip, holding back the moans that threaten to spill from my lips. This just warrants him to press on it, eliciting a moan from me as he intended. “I wish you could see yourself right now.” His eyes are hooded, clouded with lust and desire. I look at him innocently, his comment giving me a small surge of confidence. It was insane how quickly he shifted my mood and I, more than, let him.

I watch as he removes his hand, moving it to grip my hip as he presses his tip on my clit. I make a small noise at the sensation before he starts to drag his tip up and down my folds, gathering my slick with his pre-cum, the act lewd in itself. Finally, after out his tease, he slowly eases in until fully sinking in me, prompting a moan from the both of us. I shut my eyes as I let out a show exhale, delighting in the feeling of him in me time and time again. Rafe pushed my thigh down, as he began his thrusts, his other hand moving to cup my breast.

My head falls back against the bundle of sheets as Rafe thrusts into me, my hand reaching over my head to grip the sheets. “Fuck, Rafe.” I whimper, his cock stretching me out, and I bite the inside of my cheek against the burn, ignoring it due to the pleasure accompanying it. The familiar way his cock curved always lightly grazed over my g-spot, adding to my lust. Sometimes, I swear he knew my body better than I did.

“Rafe,” I whine, “S’too much.” This only drove him to pound into me harder and at a faster pace as well. If he had the chance to ruin me completely, he’d take it without hesitation. “You can take me,” Rafe pants, looking down. “Look.” I follow his eyes, and it takes everything in me not to cum as I watch his cock slide in and out of my abused cunt. The image, so pornographic, I almost subconsciously tell myself to look away, but then I remember I’m a part of that image. The indecent sound of our shared arousal fills our ears with each slap of his skin against mine, along with my strangled moans.

This was wrong. This was so incredibly wrong yet the seemingly never ending list of consequences wouldn’t even be considered when asked if this was worth it. Rafe grasps onto my hips as he pushes me into the cabana, driving into me enough to hit my cervix. He squeezes his eyes shut, a habit he’s formed when he’s trying to hold himself back from finishing quickly.

“Rafe,” He looks at me with lust-driven eyes. “I need you to cum in me.” I whine and something behind his eyes shifts. As if he’s been waiting to hear those words leave my mouth for as long as we’ve had this relationship. Rafe always came inside me, thanks to the IUD I have implanted, but I had never asked him once to do the sinful act myself.

Then, It started at the base of my stomach, the familiar tightness of my walls causing Rafe to hold my hips harder, and I winced at the pleasurable pain it drew out. “I’m close, baby. I’m so close.” He reached his finger to my clit and circled it with his thumb, the stimulation allowing the force of my orgasm to crash into every crevice of my body. My head fell into a daze and my vision blurred slightly as I milked his cock, my walls clenching him oh so nicely.

He thrusts forward, the fill of his cum settled into me with pulses of his cock, and the overflow dripped down between our thighs. The stutter of his hips made a slow stop and his body fell slack over mine, and a silent buzz of content settled over us. Rafe and I panted as we attempted to recover our breathing, the feeling of his chest pressing against mine almost giving me a sense of comfort. A blush pinched my cheeks as I felt Rafe pepper small kisses over my chest and neck, the ticklish feeling making me giggle. Rafe stopped himself at that sound and looked at me and in an instant, he was Rafe Cameron again. The subtle changes in his expression weren't subtle enough, clearly.

Rafe pushes off me and takes himself out with a groan. I cross my ankles as I sit up, pulling down my shirt before reaching behind myself to grab a pillowcase and clean myself off but its taken from my hands before I could do so. I look up at Rafe, and he rudely avoids my gaze, instead wiping his shaft before I get a chance for myself. I sigh and reach behind again for another pillowcase, but Rafe grabs that one and throws it behind me as well.

“Put your panties on.” He says, pulling up his shorts and wiping his hand. I quirk an eyebrow as I look at him, finding some sort of tell that says he’s not serious. He seems to notice and darkens his expression, reaching to pull on my arm and stand me up abruptly, making me stumble into his chest. I stare at him in disbelief at his man-handling, ready to speak on it, but he beats me to it. “If you're going to wear your little panties, you’re going to wear them to keep my cum inside you.” He lightly grasps my chin to look up at him, and I slowly nod in response. Rafe pecks my lips with a small smile before taking the waistband of my panties and pulling them up, giving my ass cheek a slap, and I jumped slightly.

Rafe gives me a small nod as a goodbye before walking out the pool deck, and a strike of fear surges through me as soon as he’s gone. Just above the door he left through, a camera sits idly facing the entirety of the pool and all the blood drains from my face. “Fuck!” I yell to myself, into the sheets I held in my hands out of frustration. Attempting to push the problem from my brain, I continued stripping the rest of the cabanas on the pool deck until a notification made me pause. I take out my phone and read it to myself.

“Rafe Cameron sent you $1,500.”

thank you for reading!!! lmk what you think! love you!!

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val-cansalute · 3 months

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PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch. 5

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 3

ch. 4

ch. 6

a/n: 😪 banners by cafekitsune and saradika-graphics

Snow still lays thick upon the soil once you’re gone. Along its boundless surface, specks of silver glisten, basking in the gentle glow of the moon, smothering the town’s bustle.

“You sure?”

The wind is cruel, lashing auburn locks erratically about Ellie’s face, numbed by the frigidity. In spite of the burning cold overtaking her limbs, her grip on the straps of the saddle tightens and her eye contact with Tommy turns ever so slightly hostile,

"Tommy, it’s been less than a day. She can’t be far. You comin’ or not? ‘Cause I’m doing this with or without you.”

He looks back at her wordlessly with a furrow in his brow, piercing through the tense silence laced with the distant bustle of Jackson,

“Alright… Let’s set off quick then.”

“Okay.”

Something compels her to silence, an impulse to keep her lips sealed over restless secrets. Maybe she knows that going after you is illogical, that it was a choice you made on your own. But she can’t bring herself to indulge in those realisations – all she knows is that she has to find you; there is no hesitation. Thankfully, the urgency in her tone was explanation enough for Tommy.

With a rushed onset, they split up to cover more ground, venturing onwards into the overrun territory encompassing Jackson with eyes vigilant, searching for signs of you, but seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to hours of vacillating between trot and gallop, losing sense of direction and fragments of determination to the exhaustion that mutinies her mind.

Thank god the hoofprints come into view when they do - as if by magic or a blessing, the impressed snow shows itself clear as day, juxtaposing the sea of white bordering it, darkened by dirt and grime. Ellie perks up with desperate intrigue so she pulls the reins and crouches down beside them, muttering to herself,

“Huh, what do we have here?”

And then her heartbeat quickens in anticipation of relief,

“She's close.”

Verily, she follows, the tracks guiding her further into the dense vegetation with senses working overtime to accommodate the fact that it is winter and hordes are rampant. She fucking prays you didn’t run into one, but the forest is deafeningly silent, seeming to hold its breath tonight.

She’s fast on your track; in this moment, the path is hope, a lifeline steering her along. Every now and then, a rustle of leaves, or the distant echoes of infected throw her mind into disarray, but she scans the area rapidly, shaky grip tightening on her firearm, before pushing on.

Just under an hour, the prints become faded and scattered, and the apprehension makes her stomach twist before she lifts her head to greet the destination - a desolate clearing.

“Fuck me.”

Dim moonlight hangs over Ellie and Tommy’s exhausted figures. The night has been relentless. The trail resulted in nothing more than wasted time and the discovery of a empty clearing, devoid of any sign of you.

Frustration and fatigue etched on her face and lingering in the air around her, Ellie kicks at a loose stone on the ground like a little kid, the full regret of having set off hurriedly with no real plan or navigation overcoming her. They’ve gotten nowhere.

In a see-through attempt at remaining pragmatic, Tommy pats her shoulder and states with a tone of reassurance, though it’s betrayed by the wearied rasp in his voice,

"We'll figure it out, Ellie. We just need to rest for a bit and rethink our strategy. She couldn't have gotten far."

But Ellie's resolve is fixed and her jaw is set in determination. It’s too late to turn back now, she knows that.

"I can't rest, Tommy. Every minute wasted is another minute she's further."

He sighs heavily with complete sincerity, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Ellie, she’s probably asleep right now, or some shit. And pushing yourself like this won't help anyone."

Their intermingling voices rise, threaded with increasing aggression until the tension has thickened beyond salvaging, and the rift between their convictions seems insurmountable in the darkness of the night.

Finally, unable to find common ground, Ellie announces,

"I'm not waiting. I'm going to keep searching. You wanna go back? Fine."

And, without waiting for a response, she takes off, leaving her horse and Tommy, who mutters quiet cusses into the heavy stillness of the night. She moves with purpose, the flashlight attached to her backpack tearing through the darkness.

She refuses to let the ache in her feet claim her; every step she takes echoes the silent plea for you to be found. Even as the hours wear on, Ellie's determination refuses to wane in spite of the fatigue gnawing at her bones. She can’t let herself think, she can’t let herself dwell, she has to keep searching, even if she can’t tell herself why.

However, the moon, as always, gives surrender to the encroaching dawn. Ellie's flickering hope of finding you dims as her steps grow heavier and her eyes wearier, and the first light of sunrise bleeds into the sky from the horizon.

Eventually, shattered and running on sheer god-like willpower, Ellie stumbles upon a vantage point, and stands over the landscape, large enough to swallow her whole millions of times over, like she’s the last person on Earth, staring into the face of impending destruction.

But it’s just dawn, and the overcast warm glow showers upon her as the realization that she has been searching through the night hits her. The screeching thought of you inevitably having gotten hurt plagues her mind. Deep breath, in and out, she lets the weight of it all settle upon her weakened shoulders, yet there’s still no time for rest.

The search is far from over.

You strain your neck to squint up at the skeletal structure that has born the brutality of the post-apocalyptic world, barely making out the details past the overgrown foliage seeping out of its broken windows and destroyed walls.

You enter with caution and heightened senses, searching for any signs of danger. The creaking floorboards beneath your feet shatter the palpable silence in the damp air.

Shifting through the shadows, your senses remain sharp and attuned to the slightest noise, scanning the objects illuminated by the dim light of dawn filtering through the cracks in the abandoned building. Shadows loom outstretched along the corridors.

In a shadowy corner, a man is crouched over a bag, and you watch him with a racing heart before you emerge, your silhouette a silent spectre against the dilapidated walls.

Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment before you both jump into action instinctively, but you swiftly disarm him. The struggle is brief but intense, and he is overpowered, because, if there’s one thing fear has taught you, it’s that each movement has to be calculated and purposeful.

And when he’s on his knees, trying to plead for mercy, when he’s scraping pathetically at the scruples of humanity left in your soul, you remain resolute - just don’t think. Your grip is firm as you subdue him.

A few blows leave him incapacitated, and you leave it at that because you have never been able to succumb to gratuitous violence. He lets out a muffled groan with his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor.

Swiftly, you bind is wrists and ankles taut, ensuring he can’t pose a threat before confiscating his meagre supplies and rifling through them. Food, water, anything that could sustain you on the journey ahead, you take, and then you drop his bag my his side and arise.

You turn to leave, but you glance back at the man over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with a solemn expression. You haven’t done this in a while, not since you arrived at Jackson, and your penchant for showing no mercy has been buffed down.

There’s so much you have to beg your mind to steer itself away from, beg it to not to linger on the helplessness in his eyes as he looks back at you, or how you would’ve slit his throat without a doubt when it was just you and Soren.

With the stolen supplies secured, you walk through the entrance. You have to convince yourself of one last thing.

Mercy takes on different forms.

Out into the muted light of dawn, the air is brisk, and the horizon enlightening drags the worry of not making it out of the treacherous night you endured off your shoulders. A new day. A momentary respite washes over you; you’re only a little scathed.

With the first light of dawn illuminating your path,

“Only an hour or two away …”

It is a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but it’s enough for someone with your past.

Mounting her horse, the familiar weight of the saddle grounds you as you set off once more into the unknown. The rhythmic, muffled thump of hooves against the snow-blanketed floor, and the shadow of the horse and rider stretched long over the ruins, a lone traveller navigating the remnants of a world.

You ride on, your mind numb to the thought of returning to Soren. Back to the old house, to the doorstep where your heart lies dormant.

Crestfallen, the fruitless landscape stands before Ellie, as if to mock her hunched over figure, bathed in the warm hues of the noontime sun. She has been traversing since the wee hours of the morning after stopping momentarily to map out a journey in her relentless pursuit of you, trying to stay determined, but the urgency that keeps her moving forward is dulled by the incessant pangs of hunger and the desperate struggle to keep her eyes open. Doubt creeps in as the vast emptiness erodes her resolution.

Just as thoughts of turning back infiltrate her sleep-deprived mind, a faint sound carries along a whistling gust of wind, drawing her fading attention. Pained noises, barely audible, leave her instantly alert, and Ellie follows the source of the sound with a subtle limp in her step. Though her senses are sharpened by the urgency of the situation, everything still seems blurrier and muffled.

Guided by the haunting echoes, she carefully weaves her way through the silent surroundings, every step weighted with anticipation, into a derelict building.

She approaches cautiously, entering a room where the sound is amplified and she comes face to face with the source: a man, bound and gagged, his eyes shut as he lies, weakened by his restraints. Without hesitation, Ellie kneels beside him, pistol pressed to his pained temple, her gaze unwavering,

“Who did this to you?" she demands, her voice edged with a fierce determination. His eyes fly open, looking up at her fearfully.

“Shit! Some fuckin’ girl – I don’t know!”

“… When did she leave?”

“Like ten minutes ago! I haven’t got shit, she took everything! I’m begging you, please untie me!”

She stands, contemplating it for a moment, before she kicks him over so that he can contort his body into a sitting position, eliciting a sharp groan. He wasn’t tied up beyond hope of managing to undo the knots, you made sure of it,

“You can figure that out on your own, I got shit to do.”

With a sense of exhilaration, Ellie jogs out and circles to the back of the building, her eyes scanning the snow-covered ground for any sign of movement where she notices a fresh set of foot and hoofprints, meeting at a point along the line where they become one trail of hoofprints, a delicate dance littering the frozen canvas.

Hope surges within Ellie as, once again, she follows the tracks. She has to move fast; you have a horse and she has only her feet. The air is tense with anticipation, but she somehow manages to power through the all-consuming exhaustion and hunger with the promise of getting closer to the elusive figure she seeks.

The sun dips lower on the horizon; the bitter cold forgotten in the warmth of purpose.

Nothing is left of your house but the gnarled bones of the home it once was. The memories of all you left behind seep through the cracked walls – the good and the bad, a silent witness to the passage of time. You hold your breath captive in your tightened chest and push open the door, its rusty hinges protesting your return with a shrill creak.

The air is thick with dust dancing in the slivers of dim light that manage to pierce through boarded windows. Everything surrounding you, once thriving and familiar, is now reduced to mere echoes, whispers. Your fingers gently trace the life left in the fray, your gaze sweeping over the remnants of all you lost to the destruction. There’s nothing but blood left to salvage, to hold onto.

You lay in the centre of what used to be your bedroom, save for the actual bed, beside the shadow of the place where Soren used to lie, but there is no reprieve. You can’t look at it, your gaze pointed to the damp-stained ceiling, rust-coloured organic forms scattered across it.

If there’s one thing you can trust to remain a constant in your life, it’s that memories flood your mind no matter when or where you are, unbidden and unwelcome. Here, you can let them play out wholly, succumb to the deserved guilt that you cannot let yourself escape.

Trace the mustard outline of the leakages in the wallpapered walls with the movement of your weary pupils, stop trying to battle the thoughts as they influx from the depths. Turn your head to look at the ruined wall – no matter how hard you scrubbed, droplets of what once was his blood, and his blood only, taken over by that cruel evil, seeped through and infected it just as the clicker infected him. They still burn as hot and bright as they did that night, staring back at you.

You had been splayed out on the floor, over tattered blankets, similar to now, waiting for Soren, who had heard a noise beyond the gate. The worry was becoming an annoyance, so you got up and ran out into the night to find him, further out than you usually would on your own.

You should’ve stayed. Never should’ve wandered. It was your fault he had to fight off that clicker, the scar etched into his back for all eternity, evidence of your fatal error. Even though you made it home with adrenaline pumping through your veins, the nagging sting eventually became an undeniable ache, and from that point, Soren was already dead.

He begged and begged, eyes glassed over for the first time since your mother died, but your pathetic selfishness left him shrinking beside the new force overcoming his body, till he became what he prayed he would never become.

Then, and only then, did you do it. Coward that you are, bashing his obliterated skull over and over in the haze, blood and brains sent adrift, consuming all the surfaces they landed on, your mind, body, and soul, for the rest of your life, and anything that lies beyond.

There’s a violent shift and you jolt back to the surface, gasping for air like you were drowning with sharp, shallow, greedy breaths.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Ellie's urgent voice cuts through the remnants of the memory.

"I got you," she whispers, a breathless relief in her voice. You, disoriented and still caught in an intersection between past and present, struggle to hold back the already fallen tears and even in spite of the glaring truth that you came here wilfully, the sight of her brings sweet relief.

“Ellie-”

“Shimmer.”

“Huh?”

“The horse’s name is Shimmer.”

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creative-caramel-coffee · 8 months

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Ch 2 Acrophobia: Fear of heights.

Acrophobia: Fear of heights.

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.9K

Summary: The helicarrier is too high for your linking and you refuse to go on deck. Steve drags you out onto the deck for a mission and you cry and nat hurries to take you back inside knowing your fear.

TW: dry heaving, panic attack, flashback, hyperventilating, fainting, past trauma (mentioned), themes of isolation, themes of fear, Steve being oblivious(haha), HYDRA (yep it’s a TW),

A/n TIMELINE DOESN’T MATCH CANON COMPLIMENT CUZ WANDAS ON THE HELICARRIER

Normally it was fine. You could simply pretend it was fine at least. You stayed below deck. Never going up there. The whole base never went too high that you couldn’t see the ground, so it was usually fine. Except now it wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t.

Fury had decided that instead of dealing with the storm like a normal person would. He had ordered the whole Helicarrier to go above the clouds. Which in your opinion was the stupidest thing he had ever done. It was a death sentence. Now you actively refused to leave your room. Fear was the main reason. Heights were never your thing. Not since you were a kid. Of course, HYDRA tried everything to beat it out of you, a solider that can't do heights wasn’t a solider at all was what you were told. Growing up in hydra was hard. Learning to trust was harder. The only one you trusted was Natasha. But she was either too busy to notice the problem or simply didn’t care. You hoped it was the first. Nobody else knew. Hydra had instilled a deep fear of inadequacy. That if the team or the director found out you would simply be kicked off the team. That was what you feared. Losing your new family like you had lost your old one kept yoi awake at night. Long long into the night.

You had been lounging on your bed when a voice came over the system.

“Avengers report to the deck. Agent Romanoff, Stark, Rogers, Banner, Barton, Maximoff and L/n.” The voice said and you knew you were screwed. Sure, they hadn’t noticed your absence over the last few days, and you could survive off the food you had stashed in your room for emergencies. But you had all the windows covered in your room, there was no evidence you were even in the sky at all. And you liked it that way. Anything else and you may end up a panicked mess on the floor. You sucked a deep breath knowing if you didn’t go, they would come after you. Part of you wanted to stay, hope they send nat and then fake an illness or something. The fear of the team ridiculing and shunning you was too much. You knew you simply had to suck it up but that was easier said than done. Slipping on your boots you tried to steady your shaking hands. Hydras attempts seemed to only reinforce your fears. Throwing you out a plane isn’t exactly proven exposure therapy but that had tried regardless.

Shaking the memory from your mind you placed you trembling hand on the doorknob. The safety of your room seemed too good to leave. Feeling your breathing pick up you closed your eyes and steadied it. In a moment of fleeting courage, you opened the door quickly. You had barely stepped a half foot out the door before you peered into the hall, seeing the big window leading to nothing but clouds and blue sky you slammed the door shut. Screw the meeting. You thought. You pressed your back to the door and held your head in your hands pulling your knees to to your chest and rocking slightly to give yourself s rhythm to steady your breathing too. After around fifteen minutes you were breathing normally when a knock sounded on the door. Three short raps. In a moment of panic, you called out.

“Im sick leave me alone.” It was a pathetic excuse, but it was all you could think of with your mind spinning at the idea of having to go back out there. Feeling the door move you scrambled away from it until your back was pressed against the bed as it swung open. Steve stood there looking unimpressed.

“Firstly, why are you on the floor and second you don’t look sick. We need you on deck L/n. You can’t simply avoid doing work forever.” He said his arms folded. He was clearly frustrated and had mistaken your fear for laziness. Before you could open your mouth, he seemed to have had enough. Grabbing your wrist, you struggled in his hold as he began dragging you into the hall. You slammed your eyes shut breathing and chest feeling tight and restricted. You pulled away in his grip, but his super strength was having none of it. Tears began to fall down your cheeks, but he hadn’t once looked back at you simply dragging you through the halls head held high. Many agents shot you odd looks but held their tongues knowing the repercussions for insulting a higher-ranking agent. Fury didn’t like bullies as much as Steve, which seemed rather ironic right now. You went limp your feet going on autopilot from years of conditioning to follow him. Often you were dragged by shackles, but a wrist wasn’t uncommon either. Hydra played over in your mind. Steve morphing between your shield college and a hydra agent, the one with cruel eyes and a tight-lipped smile. His hair flickered between black and blonde, and your eyes closed again out of fear. Fear it had all been a dream. Fear you had never left. You choked back sobs. Each sob was a punishment. And from what you could tell this was already heading south fast.

By the time Steve pulled you onto the deck you were dizzy from the lack of oxygen, your surroundings spinning. Nat was there and you prayed she would save you. The hydra agent was gone now, it was just Steve. But your fears were only getting worse. At least in the flashback you couldn’t see just how high the Helicarrier was. The railings seemed too small. Useless. Your stomach was doing flips from both the fear and the dizziness. Your head was spinning, and you felt lightheaded.

You missed Wanda elbowing Natasha in the ribs, her powers picking up on your distress and loud thoughts. Nat looked over at the younger redhead and Wanda nodded her head to you. Nat was quickly spurred into action. She rushed over and detangled you from Steve’s grip. Fairly harshly. She was mad at his lack of care or concern towards your current situation.

She scooped you into her arms and made quick work of hurrying back to the lower decks. You whined buried your face in the crook of her neck, tears streaming onto her uniform. She rubbed her hand up and down your arm as you saw her mouth moving but couldn’t decipher the words.

“Breathe Y/n. You need to breathe sweetheart. Your safe love. Your safe here.” She repeated over and over exceedingly worried at how short and sharp your breathing was.

After a moment you screwed your eyes up and leaned away from nat to dry heave. She slowed her movements, so she didn’t jostle you as much. Luckily you hadn’t had any real food in days after being holed up in your room. You hadn’t even noticed Wanda had followed you until you felt the rumble of Nat’s chest as she spoke to the witch before the cool tingly feeling of the red magic wrapped around your mind and your vision dipped as she knocked you out. Or at least you had thought she did. However, after she had been given the go ahead from Nat, she tried to help calm you down. Yet despite her magic not being a good idea, if you kept hyperventilating you were going to pass out and they wanted to avoid that. It was rare for you to panic this badly, but the flashback and fear had triggered you something awful.

And despite Wanda’s best efforts you passed out in Natasha’s arms. Nat slowed and adjusted her grip to support you head more to stop it lolling around. She swore softly as she and Wanda hurried you back to your room. Wanda stopped in the doorway as she saw the food plates and messy room.

“So, this is why she hasn’t been around. She hasn’t left her room” Wanda said slowly as Nat carefully set you down on the rumpled sheets.

“Yeah, I was too stupid to notice. She trusted me. She trusted Steve and we both failed her” Nat said shaking her head.

“Nat you know it's not your fault. Don’t beat yourself up.” Wanda said.

“I know but i still feel like we let her down.” She said huffing a sigh.

“Right now, we just need to look after her. Nobody is to blame. Expect maybe Steve because he’s a bit oblivious.” She said shrugging and nat gave a forced sounding laugh as the guilt continued to gnaw at her stomach. You had looked so helpless and afraid in her arms. She had only ever really seen that a couple times before. After or during the flashbacks she knew you had or when they had first rescued you from hydra. She had sworn each time she would protect you and now she felt like she had failed.

She moved over and pulled herself onto you bed, gently guiding your head into her lap. You screwed your eyes up and she gently tapped your cheek to rouse you. Wanda sat to your left watching with kind eyes.

“Hey baby girl. It’s ok.” Nat said and you squeezed her hand. Even half-awake with a pounding headache you could read Nat like no other.

“It's not your fault.” You said and Nat smiled softly.

“Don’t worry about that right now love, just take some deep breathes for me. Do you need your weighted blanket love?” She asked.

“N-no. Just…” you trailed off.

“What is it? You know I’ll get you anything you need.” Nat said softly as she patted your knee with an equally gentle and tender touch.

“C-can you lay with me. Just for a bit?”

“We’ll stay with you as long as you need y/n/n” Wanda said, and the two girls curled around you as you grounded yourself on their touch. Everything would be ok.

“Im fine. Steve…”

“Steve what baby?” Wanda asked gently.

“Steve just… he triggered a flashback when he grabbed m-me, and I was already afraid from being up this high. It just… it brought a lot back that I don’t want to r-remember.” You said exhaling as shaky breath. Nat squeezed you tightly in a hug.

“I’ll kill him.” She joked and you laughed quietly.

“No. All I need I have right her on this bed.” You said softly and the two women beamed at you. Feeling the tips of your ears heat with an undeniable blush you buried your face in your pillow as the two women cooed at you.

“Just hug me dammit.” You said and they complied. Maybe this is what you had been needing for those past few days. But now they were here everything was feeling a little more manageable.

MASTERLIST

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izvmimi · 5 months

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malevolent enterprise ch. 1

cw: ceo!au. sukuna and yuuji are siblings. drug use. header by @/cafekitsune! a/n: background to a series of oneshots. masterlist

Exactly two unexpected things occur exactly one week to the hour of Wasuke Itadori’s death - 1. Yuuji Itadori, second grandson from his only son Jin Itadori, inherits all of Itadori Enterprises and its subsidiaries and 2. Yuuji’s older brother and lifetime antagonist Sukuna formally changes his name to Ryomen, and establishes Ryomen Industries.

Yuuji, in moments, is saddled with the grand title of C.E.O., and Sukuna, if he didn’t have enough reasons to dislike his kind, caring younger brother, has finally added yet another one to the list. This part doesn’t particularly bother him, after all, even Yuuji has to admit, no matter how much he has tried to love his brother over the years, Sukuna is fundamentally a piece of shit.

And that’s exactly why he’s the perfect choice for the job.

Yuuji sighs and takes another piece of sushi off of the left flank of the poor girl who’s been laid prone and nearly naked on the table for most of the evening. He’d ask her if her shift was coming to an end soon but even he had to admit it felt weird asking about the work conditions to a girl who was meant to be a prop at an event that was theoretically in his honor. The salmon is exactly the right temperature and feel in his mouth and he can’t ask for more. He offers her a thumbs up as he walks past her which has her somewhat confused, then makes his way back to the lounge chairs.

Sukuna by now has stopped schmoozing all the other industry leaders in the room and now contents himself with four giggling floozies in his lap, his practically blood-red eyes glowing in the neon club lighting as he smirks at him. Yuuji gives him an exasperated look but finds a seat far away alone. He’s actually not sure why he’s still here - the new personal assistant that was assigned to him is already sending emails from the interim chief that he still doesn’t understand and Sukuna’s already told half of the attendees he expects him to run Grandpa’s business into the ground. A few girls venture in his direction, one of which Yuuji has to admit is pretty enough to make his cheeks warm (if it’s not his last three beers finally kicking in) but Sukuna’s already whistled and called them over by the time the first girl opens her mouth to introduce herself.

“I’ve got plenty of arm space to spare!” he practically cackles, and the last girl, the pretty one, takes a last look at Yuuji before apologetically sauntering over to his brother for attention. Sukuna and another young CEO, who Sukuna cruelly trash-talked just less than a month ago, take shots off of another woman’s chest, and Sukuna finishes off the theatrics with a line of coke down her abdomen.

Yuuji rolls his eyes, but before he can get up and finally convince himself to leave rather than tolerate his brother’s antics, another body slides into the booth next to him, bumping him on the shoulder.

“New CEO!”

Indoor sunglasses cover the young man’s eyes and before Yuuji can smile and embrace him, Satoru Gojo has him practically in a headlock mussing up his hair.

“Oi! Stop!” Yuuji hisses, embarrassed to be treated like a kid, especially in the presence of his older brother already trying to force him back into the shadows. Yuuji recollects himself, adjusting the lapel of his shirt but Satoru frowns.

“I’m shocked you made it,” Yuuji says. He’s delighted to see his family friend, just as odd and eccentric as Sukuna can be but with less of the dickish behavior.

Somewhat.

"I mean hopping on my jet, cutting my vacation short-” Satoru stops and sighs, stretching out his long limbs as he leans deeper into the soft cushions, “but of course I’d show up to congratulate you.” Gojo sits up suddenly, leaning in, and Yuuji doesn’t ask himself how he can see through those.

“So are you gonna compete with me now? Throw me out of the market?”

Yuuji grins. “I don’t think you’re touchable in all honesty, but even if you were, I think we can both agree to be successful.”

Gojo is satisfied with this answer. Clinking his beer bottle on Yuuji’s forehead, a move that genuinely throws him off guard, Gojo downs the rest of the bottle then turns, winking at a girl in Sukuna’s court, and when she nearly rises, Sukuna gives him a practically glowing red glare.

Gojo laughs, then turns back to Yuuji who snorts.

“I think there are enough girls to spare, Aniki,” Yuuji teases. He leans in, draping his arm over his senpai’s shoulder. “After all, I’m pretty sure Sukuna’s laywer friend is here, just waiting for you to get on her nerves.”

Gojo laughs. “She hates my guts but I know she wants me in hers.”

Yuuji sips on the beer he’d set aside, not bothering to make an additional comment, remembering the last time he mentioned the redhead to him, he’d spent nearly thirty minutes just talking about her tits. Despite this, the same man could easily be found in numerous news articles with a number of different women, so he couldn’t actually be sure of the depth of his interest, but Yuuji had the feeling that Gojo felt a little differently about her.

A sideways glance makes it clear that Satoru is already scanning the room, to see if she’s still here amongst the throng of people. Yuuji watches Sukuna who seems to have chased away the extra floozies and now sits with one girl straddling him, his own hand suspiciously low down the curve of his ass, and the other licking and whispering into his ear, something that looks vaguely doglike. Yuuji frowns and looks away, but Gojo has already risen, his own instincts prompting him to find someone to go home with.

But before he can go off and get really wasted, Yuuji realizes he has a serious question for the more experienced corporate bigwig before he calls it a night.

“Aniki.”

Gojo’s head turns to him, a drunken half-smile on his face.

“Ne?”

“It’s a work question,” Yuuji answers with a tinge of discomfort. Asking for help is embarrassing at this stage, but Gojo is the only one who doesn’t judge him, rather helps even if it’s in a way that seems ridiculous, like some kind of flippant genius.

Gojo frowns.

“Fine, but you have to promise to have a good time.”

With that, Gojo starts to sway with the music, and with the great length of his body and limbs, dressed in all black from head to toe, Yuuji is briefly reminded of bamboo gently swaying in the wind. He stifles a laugh before rendering himself serious again.

“You’ll call me a dumbass but I have a new vacancy that’s sort of high up and I’m trying to figure out who to hire.”

The lenses obscuring Gojo’s eyes don’t help Yuuji gauge his thoughts but Gojo is still dancing so Yuuji continues talking.

“I want someone from the outside. Someone who didn’t know my grandpa or Sukuna. Any recommendations where I should start looking?”

Gojo does a full body roll, then stops.

“I’ll send you an application tomorrow. Now loosen the fuck up.”

Yuuji blinks, then starts the two-step of a man who is under too much stress but not drunk enough.

“Okay.”

#yuuji x reader #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #gojo satoru x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #mimi writes: malevolent enterprise #daydreams: jjk #mimi's notes

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feyhunter78 · 9 months

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Among the Sun Ch 2

Description: Your mother must make a choice for the good of the kingdom. Ch 3

Your corset feels too tight, but you relish it, taking comfort in the grip it has on your rib cage, pretending it’s a firm hug, a grounding measure as the throne room fills with armored soldiers.

“You must forgive me y/n, you must.” Your mother says stricken, your hand in hers, her grip ironclad.

“All will be well, do not fret.” You whisper, standing beside the throne, the hem of your skirt wet with blood.

“The Great Sun of the Empire, the Conqueror, He Who Bled Among Demons and Lived, Miguel O’Hara, Emperor of Nueva York, stands before you.” A herald announces as the doors slam open.

You flinch back at the sound and force yourself to turn towards the doors.

“Forgive me, y/n, forgive me, my child.” Your mother whispers over and over again, the sound setting your nerves on edge.

The room quiets as he enters, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off the walls and up to the high domed ceilings.

He is…not the monster you envisioned. He has monstrous traits, but your first thought is that he’s quite handsome. Tall and muscular, with thick black hair and piercing brown eyes. His features are strong, almost divine in their arrangement, and you fight the urge to move towards him for a better look.

“Queen Cyathea, you have my deepest sympathies for the loss of your husband and son, but I am a man of principle, I cannot make exceptions, so I offer you a choice, bend the knee, pay tribute or—”

“Take her.” Your mother says, cutting off the emperor.

You look back at her in shock, but she pushes you forward. “You must do it, y/n, for our people.”

You stumble forward, catching yourself right before you topple into the firm, armored chest of Miguel.

It’s as if he hadn’t noticed you before, but now he grabs your wrists, pulling you closer, inspecting you with an uncaring eye. “You wish to offer your daughter as tribute? My people do not believe in slavery, nor do I.”

“Take her as a bride, a servant, a bedwamer, she is pretty and a quick learner she can do many tasks.” Your mother says frantically, sounding very unlike herself.

Your face burns at her words, and you struggle against Miguel’s grip.

“Stop.” He orders, his voice cold.

You freeze, glancing back at your mother, silently begging her to do something, anything.

“Take her, leave our kingdom alone, we will not trouble you.” Your mother says a tone of finality to her voice.

She has made her choice.

Tears sting your eyes, and you stare up at the ceiling, praying they will not fall. You can’t cry in front of the Conqueror; you can’t show such weakness so early on.

Miguel laughs, it’s a booming sound, soon echoed by his men. It’s terrifying, and you fight the urge to curl in on yourself.

“I will take the girl, your kingdom remains in your hands, My Queen.” He says, giving her a half bow before throwing you over his shoulder and departing.

He doesn’t set you down until you’ve entered some kind of tent. It’s large and lavish, lanterns hanging from taunt ropes, trinkets, and pillows thrown about.

“Please, my mother is grieving, she did not mean what she said, I will return, and we will not trouble you. You can take anything you desire from the kingdom, but I beg of you, please let me go.” You can’t stop the tears from falling, and you try to quickly wipe them away.

Miguel towers over you, his arms crossed, his broad chest rising and falling in an even motion. “An arrangement was made; will you not honor it?”

“I—”

“A queen, a princess, a kingdom without honor is no good to me. It serves only as kindling.” Miguel says the lack of concern dripping from each word.

“No, no, please, I will honor it, I will.” You stumble over your words, cursing yourself for such weakness.

“Good.” He says curtly, his hands settling on your shoulders before they begin to slide down your body, his large warm hands caressing every inch, the skin so hot you fear he’s attempting to burn through the fabric of your dress.

You jump back, mortified. “How dare you?”

He grabs you, pulling you back, one hand on your waist, the other continuing its path. “I am checking you for weapons, cariño, cannot have you attempt to kill me as I sleep.”

You relax, slightly. “Oh…well I did not bring any weapons, I was not allowed to bring anything, but clothing and a few personal items, all of which were checked by your men.”

“But they are not me, they are not allowed to touch you.” He says, his hand leaving your wrist as he crouches down, his hands sliding down your waist, hips, legs, until he stands back up seemingly satisfied.

“I have no weapons.” You tell him.

He hums in response and grabs a dagger from the wall.

“Wait, wait, please, I swear I have nothing.” You plead, throwing your hands up in front of you helplessly.

He throws the dagger with surprising speed, and it tears through the fabric of the tent. Then you hear a thump. He leaves you there, then reappears dragging a body behind him. “Recognize him?”

You force yourself to look at the dead man’s face, he has a strange mark on his neck. You don’t recognize him. “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

Miguel hums in response.

“Should I recognize him?” You ask, inching closer, trying to place the man.

“Stay back.” He warns.

You freeze and your stomach churns as you watch the flesh melt off the man, revealing a twisted, demonic form beneath.

“He’s an anomaly, a human who strayed too close to dark magic and was consumed by it. They prowl the land searching for victims, destroying lives with a single act.” He explains, before he snaps his fingers, and the corpse dissipates.

“And he was coming here? For what reason?” You ask, a chill of fear settling over you.

“There is no reason to these creatures, y/n, if you see one, with that mark on their skin, you run. You find me, and I will kill it, do not attempt to engage it, no matter what it says to you.”

“They speak?” You’re both curious and horrified.

“They lie.”

He’s silent after that and finishes removing his armor, leaving him in simple breeches and a linen shirt. The shirt is unlike any you’ve ever seen. It dips low in a sharp “v” exposing his toned chest, with loose laces you assume meant to close the gap, but Miguel has them undone.

“Where am I to sleep?” You ask carefully, your hands behind your back to hide their fidgeting.

He looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. “In my bed.”

Your face heats up and you shake your head. “I—that is not appropriate, I am unmarried.”

Miguel makes his way over to you, his amber eyes burning into you. “Would it be more appropriate if you were married? If I kept you half bare in my bed while your husband was languishing in a castle somewhere?” He leans down skimming his nose up your throat inhaling deeply. “Yes, perhaps it would, how pathetic he would seem. How tortured he would be knowing that his wife is well satisfied night after night, drooling for my cock like a whore.”

You rear your arm back and slap him. Shock reverberating through you, your hand stinging, your head reeling. You were going to die.

Surprise flickers across his face, then he starts laughing. He keeps laughing, doubling over, the sound rich and still booming, echoing off the walls of the tent, and you take a panicked step back.

“I—I am so sorry, Your Majesty, truly, truly sorry.” You cry, tears welling in your eyes once more.

Miguel straightens up and in one swift motion throws you over his shoulder, then onto his bed. “You have fire cariño, I enjoy it.”

He’s hovering over you, strong arms steady, no sign of fatigue from holding up his weight. Gray ram-like horns protrude from his head, their bases hidden by his thick hair, the ends tipped with gold. He trails a clawed finger down the curve of your cheek, until all you feel is a calloused fingertip resting at the corner of your lips.

Can he retract them? You wonder, your eyes on the cloth ceiling.

Miguel gently grabs your chin, guiding your eyes to his. They’re brown like the rum barrels you often see rolled off ships, and just as potent as the intoxicating liquid they hold.

“Please do not harm me, I will not cause you trouble, I swear.” You promise, feeling a strange tugging at the edge of your consciousness as Miguel keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“Sleep, I will not touch you. I am not an animal who forces himself upon others.” He reassures you, a bitter tinge to his tone, his eyes shifting from yours for a moment, that tugging feeling receding.

You’re too stiff to sleep but try to force yourself to relax. “Thank you.”

Miguel’s eyes snap back to yours, red scattered within the brown, blood flecking the dirt of a battlefield. “Do not thank me, sleep.”

His words echo in your mind for a moment, then you sink into the arms of sleep.

TL: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @maxi-ride, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer, @zeyzeys-stuff, @tayleighuh, @loser-alert, @envyjmoney, @allysunny, @princessloveweird, @freehentai, @xlittlebubx-blog, @berry-potchy, @drefear, @jkthinkstoomuch

#meg's writing #among the sun #very much my mom sold me to one direction to pay off her gambling debts vibes in this chapter #still need an official tag ughhh #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #emperor!miguel #princess!reader

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bidisastersanji · 5 months

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IT IS HERE! the filthy french smut epilogue of the Zoro learns French story is here. Get it right here on this hellsite (ch.1 ch.2 , ch.3 and below) or straight from the source on AO3. Thank you to everyone who comments or screams in the tags you absolutely give me life

Special shoutout to @jooqlz for their wonderful art inspired by the story I'm still not over that check it out right here: (pt 1 & 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

And without further ado, please do not ever perceive me after reading this absolute filth. thank you.

Sanji had always been a very handsome man. A man so distractingly handsome that Zoro had to put effort into not noticing certain...things about the cook, effort to keep his eyes from wandering to dangerous places that would unfailingly leave him wanting and ears pink from the lecherous thoughts swirling between them. He’d retreat to the crow’s nest and train his impulses away, hoping that the heavy weights and burning muscles would ground him back into a relaxed, meditative state.

It was the hypnotising way his fingers danced, so elegant and long when working in the galley- he simply couldn’t tear his eyes off them when they handled his impeccably sharp knives- or how deliciously taut and strong his calves and thighs would feel against him as they sparred. More than once had Zoro woken up breathless, drenched in sweat, uncomfortably hard and blinking away the vestiges of a dream where those deadly legs had been wrapped tight around him. There was just something so enticing about the resounding power emanating from Sanji- his mind going haywire from the knowledge that this man could handle him, meet him blow for blow all while cheekily throwing taunts and insults in his face.

It was also how beautifully free his form looked when he jumped above him in a skywalk, the way his ocean blue eyes would crinkle when he laughed at the crews’ antics and how his soft blonde curls would catch the sun sometimes. Those moments were possibly harder for him to get out of his system, leaving him with both a heavy and fluttering sensation in his chest.

And his ass. Oh fuck, his ass.

Zoro was an ass man through and through: he’d sailed up and down the Grand Line and had never seen anything else like it. The cook’s proclivity for crisp, tailored suits that stretched decadently across his backside with every kick made it impossible to ignore. So many times had he been dangerously close to just reaching out and grabbing it. Fingers tensing at the primal urge to know how they would fit, would feel in his hands, it fanned the flames of an ever-growing heat in the pit of his stomach. Those perfect, round mounds of muscle just out of reach, teasing him whenever the cook bent over to retrieve something in a low cupboard or when he’d catch a glimpse of their bare pallor in the baths. No wonder he didn’t spend much time on hygiene- Sanji always took his damned time in there, and he wasn’t a glutton for punishment.

The blonde also had a rather elegant neck, just begging to be kissed. To be fair, there was nary an inch of Sanji that Zoro didn’t think of kissing. For so long had Zoro fantasized about just tugging him by his tie or the lapels of his jacket to shut him up nicely, tasting his nicotine-stained lips. Which he had the pleasure of doing right now.

Finally.

He’d imagined this a hundred- no, a thousand times over, but it still didn’t compare to actually holding the beautiful man pressed against his body and hearing him let out positively sinful little whines of pleasure as they hurriedly kissed in the Sunny’s unoccupied first mate’s quarters.

Brunch had been a rowdy affair as usual, with Zoro buzzing for it to be over as soon as possible, knowing the cook wouldn’t be able to relax until everyone had had their fill.

The wait was worth it, he thinks to himself as one of his hands slithers its way down from Sanji’s flushed cheeks, enjoying the soft little exhales he lets out as his hand caresses down his neck, his chest, his narrow waist, his lower back, finally settling on his perfectly round butt. He pulls Sanji in even closer- the other man’s growing arousal poking against his thigh, firm and warm through the fabric separating them. Zoro treats himself to the enticing thought of that heat in his mouth but is quickly distracted by the fingers the cook had threaded into his short hair suddenly tightening, the pleasing pulling sensation on his scalp shooting down his neck like a shiver.

Fuck. That feels good.

Zoro can’t fight the needy groan that rips out of his throat at finally getting his hands on the cook’s ass, and his other hand quickly joins it, happily palming and squeezing it, fortuitously causing some delicious friction between their legs. He drops his head into the crook of Sanji’s neck, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing need coursing through his veins. Need to feel skin flush with skin. Need to make this man come undone and cry his name, over and over. This was a long time coming.

“J-J’ai envie de toi...” he stumbles a bit on the delivery, the foreign words still unfamiliar on his kiss-swollen lips. (I-I want you...)

Pressed up close, he doesn’t miss the high-pitched moan that Sanji tries to swallow down before he feels himself get tugged up by his hair, his eye brought back to level with the cook’s own. Maybe it’s the gratifying sting of his hair being pulled some more, or maybe it’s the heavy-lidded, wanton look that Sanji gives him, but he feels a shiver run across his skin. Nervously, the blonde’s pink tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, catching the swordsman’s eye.

“Comment me veux-tu, abruti?” (How do you want me, moron?)

Zoro honestly could go either way, but something in him stirs at Sanji’s provocativeness, and the following words spill out of him, words he’d have never said with a straight face before his run-in with a certain type of French literature.

“Je-” his voice comes out raspy, deep. “Je te veux...plié en deux sur ce lit me suppliant de te prendre,” he starts, and Sanji’s breath hitches, his hand dropping to grip at Zoro’s shirt, steadying himself.

“que tu te serves de tes satanées cuisses pour te bercer contre moi.” Zoro grins, confidence growing, feral at the sight of a lone drop of blood oozing from Sanji’s nose. “Et quand tu seras assez désespéré, je veux te faire jouir jusqu'à ce que ta voix se brise.”

(I want you... bent in half on the bed, begging me to take you, using your damned thighs to rock yourself against me. And once you’re desperate enough, I want to make you come until your voice breaks.)

He can almost feel Sanji’s brain short circuit in front of him. Things are a blur after that. It’s a race of getting each other out of their stifling garments, the singing relief of skin-to-skin contact, desperate kisses, nips, bites and nails pressing deep into Zoro’s biceps as he works the pliant man under him open with two lubed-up fingers.

They’re both on the bed now, Zoro holding himself up over the writhing blonde, hair a sweaty, curly mess in a beautiful halo around his head and his legs hooked in a vice-like grip around his torso, arms wrapped around his neck. The messy, pleasured noises Sanji makes are positively obscene, shooting straight to his dick, and it’s taking all his concentration to focus on rubbing up against his sweet spot, just enough to drive the cook crazy but slowing down every time he can feel him clench hard, getting closer to the precipice.

“Enfoiré! Si tu-” (Bastard! If you-)

Sanji’s impassioned rant at Zoro edging him is immediately cut short by a third finger pressing against his rim, and he eagerly presses his hips up into the pleasant stretch of Zoro’s thick fingers spreading him even more, eyes screwing shut.

“Mnh! Yesss,” he purrs into the swordsman’s ear.

A wet heat envelops his earlobe and his three earrings chime against each other as Sanji decides to play with his them. Head foggy with lust, Zoro wonders how Sanji was so easily able to find this weak spot of his, his hand’s pace stuttering and slowing down at the sensual licks against his sensitive ear.

“S-shitty cook-”

“Bet you can’t say that in French,” Sanji coyly challenges him, a hot whisper in his ear.

Zoro times his answer with a couple of sharper thrusts, making Sanji cry out at the onslaught against his prostate. “Cuistot de merde,” Sanji can probably hear his smugness in his voice. “What, you don’t think that’s one of the first things I asked to learn?”

“You- hnng! You fucker, even in French you don’t call me a proper chef!”

Zoro chuckles and decides this is a good time as any to still his fingers once more. Angry, needy eyes with blown out pupils crack open to stare deeply into his own. He takes the moment to wipe away the blood under Sanji’s nose and licks it, the metallic taste coating his tongue beautifully.

“Fine. If that’s how it is.” The stubborn cook leverages his legs’ hold on him to fuck himself onto Zoro’s fingers. He slowly builds himself up again, simultaneously rocking on the swordsman’s hand and stroking his length with his own, and it’s not long before his eyes flutter close in concentration, chasing his release, brow damp with sweat.

Zoro makes a little strangled noise, dumbstruck by how stupidly good he looks taking his fingers, how hot and swollen his dick is, and how the obscene wet noises and hypnotising dance of his hips are making the tip of his cock leak against his stomach. Why wasn’t he fucking him into the mattress again?

Sanji’s breathless voice cuts through the fog. “You happy? ‘this what you wanted, mosshead?”

Ah, right. He remembered now. “Close. I said I’d make you beg for it, curly.”

“Fuck. You wouldn’t dare. Not again.” Sanji’s free hand shoots down to try and stop his thick wrist from pulling away.

“I would.”

Sanji makes a choked, desperate sound at the feeling of Zoro's hand starting its slow retreat, a small litany of ‘nos’ dropping from his lips as he once again feels his orgasm get away, his practiced hand stroking his dick not nearly enough to get him there at this point.

Adorable. Zoro hears his blood roar in his ears at the sight, making a point to burn the cook’s desperate look into his memory. He’s aching to be inside him at this point, but unless he hears the magic word, he’ll keep holding himself back.

After a few more fruitless pumps, head thrown back, Sanji seemingly makes up his mind. “Please,” he sobs.

Zoro’s three fingers immediately resume their movements with purpose, pressing perfectly against Sanji on each powerful thrust. The swordsman is positively transfixed by the sight of the sweaty, flushed and desperate man before him, the shaky moans and gasps egging him on, driving him into a frenzy as he builds him up once more.

Sanji felt dizzy with want after having been denied so many times. First, the stupid brute short-circuited his brain by whispering those filthy things to him with his cute stupid little accent, and then had the gall to call him a cuistot, and fuck!

He honestly can’t even form a coherent thought at this point. He can only feel. His body is so strung-up and buzzing with pent-up pleasure, the mind-numbingly good stretch and press of Zoro’s fingers inside him and the stuttering jerks of his fist around his cock are all that his world have boiled down to, and nothing short of a buster call can stop him from coming into his lover’s arms.

Distantly, he feels Zoro ghost his lips over his collarbone, whispering dirty nothings to him, licking up his throat, kissing his jaw... How dare he be so stupidly attentive, so good, so-

“MMmn!” He bites down on his lip, hard.

Sanji comes, dissolving into pleasure, rippling, splintering heat rushing through his body, muscles pulled tight as Zoro keeps working him through wave after wave, kissing his temple and holding him close as spurts of his cum stain their stomachs. He faintly registers that the moans and repeated cries of Zoro’s name and yes, more, please, right there are his own voice, but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s semi lucid again, he loosens his legs’ death grip on the man’s torso, idly wondering if bruises will bloom there overnight. Chest still heaving, he opens his eyes and is met with a sight he’s sure to never forget. Zoro’s wild look of pure, unadulterated hunger as he licks a drop of his cum from his fingers would make his knees buckle if he were standing, and knowing he’s like this- a panting, flushed and sweaty mess because of him makes Sanji preen with pride. He’s barely even touched the man.

Speaking of, he finally gets his hands on the broad, scarred chest he’s itched to grope oh so many times, letting his thumb experimentally start teasing a nipple. He drags his eyes down and wets his lips at the sight before him. He’d been right. Zoro truly has it all, and he can feel himself stirring again already.

“Like what you see?”

In lieu of an answer, Sanji reaches down and wraps his long, deft fingers at the base of the swordsman’s wonderful girth, earning him a little hiss of pleasure as he starts lazily gliding up and down the velvety heat.

“Que veux tu mon grand?” his voice comes out hoarser than he expected, and the cook revels in Zoro’s nearly predatory gaze and the hitch in his breath.

(What do you want, big boy?)

“Mes mains?” His strokes get more precise, faster, taking care to rub the head just right.

(My hands?)

Zoro groans, and Sanji’s pink tongue darts out to lick his lips, smiling devilishly as he calls for the marimo’s attention there. “Mes lèvres?” (My lips?)

“Ou...” he trails off and guides the aching, leaking length to his entrance, giving a little teasing wiggle of his hips.

(Or...)

The dark expression on Zoro’s face is absolutely intoxicating. His callused hand grips Sanji’s hip and pushes up, wordlessly encouraging the cook to flip onto his front. Still a little blissed out, Sanji grins and complies and positions himself on his hands and knees. The blonde watches over his shoulder as the swordsman reaches for more lube, lathering a generous amount onto his cock before aligning himself with Sanji again, kneeling at the edge of the bed.

Feeling a little vulnerable, Sanji can’t help teasing his lover. “C’est pour aujourd’hui ou pour demain?”

(Are you gonna do it this century?)

And then Zoro presses into him and oh fuck- the stretch of each thick inch sinking into him is a divine mix of pain and pleasure that steals his breath away. The swordsman's’ grip is bruising on his hips, evidently doing his best to let Sanji get used to him before he loses control.

A few moments later he must hear Sanji’s breath even out a bit and he adjusts against him, finally burying himself to the hilt fully, hands possessively taking hold of his ass cheeks.

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me like this,” Zoro’s words were going to be the death of him, Sanji thinks as his face burns like a furnace. He was sure of it.

“Can I?”

“Ye- mmn, yes go ahead,” Sanji spreads his thighs wider and braces himself on his forearms.

He feels Zoro pulling out slowly, his fingers climbing up and digging into his slender waist, and then he’s being pulled down onto his dick once more as the man starts thrusting into him earnestly. With each slap of the man’s hips against his backside, each steady glide against his prostate, he feels so perfectly full, so good, and his toes curl when Zoro leans over and nuzzles his neck, his grunts and growls of pleasure a sweet melody he’ll never tire of hearing.

“Tu me prends si bien...”

(You take me so well...)

Sanji bites the back of his hand to stifle a moan and keeps throwing his hips powerfully back against Zoro’s rutting. It feels mind-numbingly good to finally let go and be able to use his full force like this, knowing he can give as good as he’ll get.

Zoro doesn’t think he’ll be able to last long if the cook keeps looking and sounding like that.

Fucking hell, what a sight. His lithe, athletic form splitting itself open on each thrust, their bodies working together towards rapture, harmoniously in synch from years of sparring and fighting side by side. The swordsman briefly worries that he won’t be able to spar without getting distracted by the memory of this, of the blonde splayed out under him, back arched sensually and hands straining against the crumpled sheets.

He’s not surprised that Sanji is a vocal lover- he expected it, has fantasised about it on some lonely nights in the crow’s nest. But he didn’t expect that each broken moan and sigh he fucks out of him would bring him closer and closer, fire pooling low in his abdomen and coursing through his veins. He straightens back up and off Sanji’s back for a better angle and oh no, that was a mistake. He groans. He’s once again met with the tantalising sight of his dick burying itself in Sanji’s ass, again and again, a small ripple dancing across the tempting flesh to the rhythm of his punishing pace.

“Fuck”

He slides his right hand around to take hold of Sanji’s dick, and Sanji melts at his touch, head dropping straight against the sheets and moaning his name with abandon at his ministrations.

“Oh-oh god, Zoro, I’m so close-”

Zoro redoubles his efforts, fucking Sanji into the mattress with abandon, chasing both of their releases. Sanji’s muffled mewls of pleasure grow into louder and louder moans and expletives, stuttering with the pounding of their hips and the fist milking his cock.

“Come for me, cook.”

The blonde stills against him, crying out his name as he comes, shuddering and tensing beautifully in the low-lit room. Zoro falls right after him with a shaky moan of his own, time slowing at the feel of Sanji’s glorious, clenching heat around him. Tight, white, hot electricity rolls like waves through his body as he spills, pulsing into his lover.

Craving to stay close to Sanji, Zoro drops and rolls them to their sides, spooning the blonde from behind, arms tight around his waist and nose nuzzling the nape of his neck.

“Je t’aime.” the loving words come out like a sigh.

A dazed, sleepy Sanji hums and clasps his hands on top of Zoro’s, inching himself even closer against him.

After getting its fill of sleepy cuddles, Sanji’s blissed out mind slowly comes back online and the questions that have been gnawing at the back of his mind return in full force. Just where had the stupid swordsman learned to speak French, let alone say things like that?

His cheeks feel warm at the mere memory of it. Now that he thinks about it, it’s even a bit odd- he assumed that Zoro wouldn’t be the type to say such corny, vulgar stuff in bed- if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was straight out of one of his romance novels. It was uncanny that he’d kind of played into exactly the kind of things Sanji was into.

He lets out a small, amused sound at the thought of Zoro reading those kinds of books. Did Zoro even know how to read?

“What’re you thinking, curly?” Zoro asks gruffly, his hands still distractingly caressing his skin from behind him.

“Wondering where you learned that kind of language, marimo. ‘s not the typical vocabulary people get when learning French.”

Sanji turns in his lover’s embrace to face him and waits for an answer, idly thumbing at the scar on his face.

“Oh, that.”

Was Zoro...blushing? “Yes, that.”

“Learned it from those, uh, Harlequin books.”

Sanji’s mouth parts, flabbergasted, but Zoro isn’t done surprising him.

“I thought if you’d read that kind of book multiple times it must’ve meant something, so I kind of...went on a limb earlier.”

Sanji is beet red. “W-wait so you,” he takes a steadying breath. “You've read my Harlequin book?”

“No.”

A sigh of relief.

“I’ve read way more than one.”

Shock.

“From Mihawk’s private library.”

“mIHAWK?!!!” Sanji sputters.

“Yeah, I accidentally let him find out that I’d been learning a bit of French and then next thing I knew he was forcing me to learn it proper ‘n all.”

Sanji feels his chest warming as he starts connecting the dots. “A-and you’d been learning French-”

“-for you, yeah.” he grins.

Unable to stop himself any longer, Sanji closes the distance and captures Zoro’s lips in a tender kiss.

“Imbécile.”

“Ton imbécile.”

They both smile stupidly at each other.

“I can’t believe you. I’m gonna tell everyone you accidentally learned French because of your crippling addiction to boddice rippers.”

“Oi!”

THE END--

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this story, it's been so fun and lovely and your reactions make me so happy!!! I like to think that after this Zoro just takes advantage of the fact that only he and Sanji (and Robin) speak French to flirt and say absolutely debauched things in public to embarrass him. But also he uses it to say soft, romantic things when Sanji least expects it. and Sanji makes good on his threat and tells the crew about Zoro's peculiar French syllabus.

#zoro learns french #zoro learns french story #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zosan fic #one piece zosan #smut #minors dni #this is #i can't show my face again #aaaaaaaaa #fgiksdqjkflsdg #how could i have written this #anyways it's over now.#do nOT perceive me

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ruinsofcrysis · 15 days

Text

Fall From Grace - Lucifer x Fallen Angel! Reader - Ch. 2

Ch. 1

When I took Lucifer’s hand, a smile creeped onto my face. It had been barely any time since the Angels above had abandoned me, and yet this man, the King of Hell, had managed to brighten my spirits a bit. Never in a million years would I have imagined this to be where I would end up, but I had to try to hold onto hope and faith. I had nothing left to lose.

When Lucifer and I entered the lobby, I took notice of many unfamiliar faces. Lucifer let go of my hand, placing his upon my shoulder. I forced my smile to widen, a bit nervous about meeting the new residents. Sure, the ones I had met thus far were nice, but this was in fact Hell.

“Charlie, dear,” Lucifer began, “I don’t believe she’s met the rest of the hotel, has she?”

“Hi,” Charlie began, a smile upon her face. “I guess you met already?”

“Yeah,” I replied softly.

“Great!” Charlie appeared behind me, pushing me towards the group of residents that quickly shifted their attention towards me. “Soooo, here are our two guests, Angel and Cherri,” she cheerfully pointed towards the two sitting on the couch, just before turning her attention towards the left.. “Over there at the bar is Husk. He’s our bartender. The one next to him is Niffty, our maid.”

“I’m Alastor, quite charmed,” a rather menacing figure appeared next to me. It seemed like he had teleported. I forced a smile, shaking his hand. Something about him gave me a strange feeling, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

“Charlie,” A short, silver haired girl stepped in front of the girl, a spear in hand. “You said you found a new resident,” she said. “Where did you find this girl?”

“She was lying on the ground outside of Cannibal Town,” Charlie replied, sounding a bit confused.

“And you just brought her here with no questions asked?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t leave her there,” she replied. “What’s wrong, Vaggie?”

I quickly took notice of this girl’s features. The x over her eye reminded me of the outfit Lute wore. Was this just a coincidence, or is this what he meant when he said I wasn’t the only other Angel besides him?

“Don’t you see she’s an Angel?” she looked towards Charlie for a second, then focused her attention towards me with a serious expression. “You showed up here this soon after the extermination. What do you want from us?”

“Lower your weapon,” Lucifer stepped forward, standing next to me. “She hasn’t threatened anyone. If she does for whatever reason, I’m here to handle it. Nothing to be so worried about,” he said casually, turning to face me. “I get the feeling what happened wasn’t so great, but maybe you should explain yourself….just a little.”

“I didn’t come here to harm any of you,” I said softly, staring at the ground. “I didn’t have anywhere to go after I fell, I felt so lost,” I began, my eyes shifting towards Charlie, “but you helped me and brought me here without having any idea who I was, or where I came from. I don’t really know what I can do to repay you, but I’d like to help with the hotel if you’ll let me.”

Vaggie finally lowered her weapon, her expression softening slightly. She looked towards me for a second, then turned her attention towards the bawling Charlie. Why on earth was she crying?

“You know she’s kinda in the same boat as you,” Angel began, throwing his hand into the air, “Hell, if you and the big dick weren’t here we’d all probably be dead. Why not have another Angel here to protect us?”

“You know, he’s got a good point,” Husk chimed in.

“Fine,” Vaggie simply said, stepping to the side. “I guess you’re right.”

“Ooooh, I’m so excited!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her arms around me without hesitation. “This is cause for celebration!”

After only a few days at the hotel, Charlie had put together a welcome party for me. She had decorated a banner, gotten food prepared, and so forth. Everyone at the hotel attended the party within the lobby, including Lucifer. It had only taken a few days for the misfits within the hotel to grow on me; sure, they had flaws, but they were genuine people nonetheless.

Later that night, most of the other residents had gone to bed. I remained seated at the table, listening to the music in the background while I finally got a plate of food. Something about eating in front of others made me nervous, so I felt more comfortable on my own.

“Hey, Y/N! Come drink with us!” Cherri yelled from the bar.

“Oh, I um…” I stammered a bit, standing up from the table I was eating at.

“It doesn’t have to be anything strong, or even alcohol,” Angel chimed in. “I know you’re an Angel, so you’re probably not used to the stuff.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” I replied, making my way over to the bar seat and plopping down next to Angel. “You’re right, I haven’t done this before,” I laughed, a bit nervously.. “But maybe I need one after these past few days.”

“What can I get for you?” Husk asked casually, wiping out his glass. “Something non-alcoholic, something weak?”

“No, give me something strong,” I replied. “But maybe not too strong. It is my first time.”

After drinking with Cherri and Angel for a little while, my face began to burn and I had a terrible headache; maybe I should have skipped the alcohol.

“Hey, ugh,” Angel began, pointing towards my red face, “Maybe you went a little overboard there. I think you’ve had enough.”

“I…didn’t have that m-much,” I hiccuped. “I feel like I could do sooooo m-much more.”

After Angel forced me to stop drinking, I stumbled up the stairs and made my way towards the top balcony of the hotel. Once I made it there, I crossed my arms over the railing, staring up at the dark, red sky wistfully. My home was once up there; my best friend is up there without me.

“You’re out here pretty late.”

I heard a familiar voice sound behind me, causing me to turn around. When I looked behind me, I took notice of Lucifer slowly approaching me, a concerned, curious look upon his face. I just paused for a moment, then turned back to the railing. Lucifer made his way next to me, placing his arms over the railing as well.

“I-I’m just cooling off a bit,” I said, trying to sound composed. “Just c-can’t sleep that’s all.”

“You sound a bit drunk,” he stated.

“Oh yeah, well that might be true,” I replied, “Not that I would know what it’s like… We didn’t do that in Heaven.” I paused. “Well, I think some Angels slipped it, but someone like me couldn't get away with that…I think.”

“Yeahhh, you’re drunk,” he said. “I take it you were a high ranking Angel? Archangel?”

“Yeah, it was so draining…” I trailed off, slurring a bit. “I d-didn’t have many friends, or anything like that. It was just work work and more work all the t-time. I don’t even know how to talk to people, can you believe that s-shit?”

“I know what that’s like,” he replied.

“Y-yeah so, after all the hard work I put in they threw me down here. All I did was give a damn about my people and the sinners down here and suddenly I’m not fit to be an Angel, that b-bitch Lute…” I paused for a second, a few tears in my eyes. “I lost everything… respect, power, the only friend I had. Now I’m just a Demon with no social s-skills.”

I stumbled a bit, Lucifer catching me by the wrist. When he did so, I took notice of the golden ring upon his finger. How had I not noticed this before?

“Hey, where’s y-your wife?” I asked. “I bet someone as pretty as you could pull someone reeeaaal nice.”

Lucifer gave me a saddened look, his hand trembling a bit as he let go of my wrist.

“I haven’t seen her in a long time,” he whispered softly. “Near the end of that time we had already grown apart I think, so I guess we’re not together anymore…”

“Why wear the r-ring then?” I asked, so drunk that I didn’t understand the boundaries I was crossing. “J-just get a new wife.”

“I…” he trailed off.

Suddenly, I tripped, nearly falling off the railing. Lucifer grabbed onto the fabric of my shirt, then put an arm around my waist to prevent me from falling. When he did this, my eyes locked with his and I felt like I was in a trance. My already flushed face became even hotter. I wrapped one of my arms around his neck, pulling him a little closer without even realizing what I was doing.

“Look,” he began, letting go of me and pushing me away. “You need to go to bed. You’re pretty fucked up…”

The next morning, I woke up with my head feeling like it was going to split open. For a second there, I had completely forgotten what had happened. I rolled over in my bed, then I took notice of the note next to my bed.

“We need to talk about last night.”

-- Lucifer

I cringed, biting down on my lip as I remembered what had happened the night before. How had I been so insensitive and rude? He had shown me nothing but kindness, and yet I acted like a complete moron. Despite everything, he helped me back to my room since I was too drunk to carry on on my own.

After having breakfast that morning, I decided to head towards Lucifer’s room. As much as I dreaded confrontation, I knew that the more I dwelled on it the harder it would be.

I stood in front of the man’s door, rubbing the side of my arm nervously and biting down on my lip. I took a deep breath, then knocked on his door rather gently.

“Come in.”

I hesitantly opened the door, immediately locking eyes with Lucifer standing near his bed. Had he been waiting for me?

“So, I guess we know now that you’re one of those truth spilling drunks,” he said, sounding rather nervous too.

“Lucifer, I’m so sorry,” I blurted out rather quickly, taking a step towards him. “I feel so ashamed…” My eyes met the ground, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“No, it’s okay,” he replied. “I wanted to tell you that…despite the fact that you were really fucked up, you told me some things I needed to hear.”

“I…did?” I asked, confusing lacing my voice as I lifted my head to look at him.

“And now I know that you and I…well our upbringing wasn’t all that different,” he said softly, his gaze meeting mine. “Or our falling…”

“R-really?”

“I can tell you’re feeling a bit hopeless here, but you’re trying,” he replied, taking a seat on his bed. “I’m in the same boat. I had completely given up there for a while, but Charlie convinced me that there were still things left worth fighting for.”

With a little hesitation, I made my way over to him and sat beside him. I stared at my own feet, trying to think of something to say at that moment.

“You fell because you stood up for what you believe in,” he began, “And I fell because I fell in love…..with someone else’s wife; Charlie’s mom, Lilith.”

“Adam’s ex wife?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We had already started to grow apart, then one day she just disappeared….seven years ago…” He trailed off.

I placed my hand on his arm, not really sure what else I could do in this situation. I didn’t really understand why he was telling me all this, but I was happy to listen. The man before me was rather different from the stories I had been told in Heaven.

“I”m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you, that’s pretty rude,” he laughed nervously, looking away. “It just feels like I can relate to you a bit… since you fell from grace like I did.”

On instinct, I went to grab his hand to comfort him. When I did so, I noticed that the ring on his finger had been removed. Did my drunken ramble convince him to remove his ring? In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if I had done a good or bad thing, but I had high hopes that Lucifer would continue to heal. It was evident to me that he had many wounds, just as I did. He gave up everything, just for him to be left all alone in the end‒it felt all too familiar.

“No, It’s okay,” I replied. “I’m here to listen.”

#lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #lucifer magne

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adoreeenina · 7 months

Text

I wanna be yours - Ch. 2

(Recom! Miles Quaritch x Sully! Reader x Recom! Lyle Wainfleet)

(Warning: Polyamorous relationship. Angst. Enemies to Lovers. Slow burn. Falling in love. Redemption arc. Canon deaths (but not really). Romance. Smut. Jealousy. Threesome. Anal(both F & M receiving). Mention of suicide, self harm, depression, anxiety. PTSD. Feelings being revealed. Jake and Neytiri not being good parents to reader. Reader being a motherly figure to Spider.)

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Tarsem, I’m fine” Y/n slaps Tarsem’s hands away for the 3rd time.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I did not know it was Lo’ak that I handed the gun to” Tarsem apologizes. Y/n sighs, visibly irritated. Tarsem hasn’t left her alone all morning, she hates being crowed all the time. She doesn’t need to be cradled to.

“Forgive me, Yawne” Tarsem grabs Y/n’s hand to pull her closer to him. His chest bumping into her’s. Y/n mentally cringed, not liking the close proximity between them. Y/n gently pushes Tarsem away from her.

“Tarsem I-“ movement is what caught Y/n’s attention, she looks over Tarsem shoulder seeing Jake, Neytiri, and Neteyam, looking like they’re preparing to fly.

“Excuse me, Tarsem” Y/n abruptly leaves, leaving him behind.

“Dad, what the hell? You didn’t tell me anything about scouting” Y/n stops in front of Jake. Jake only gave her a glance before checking his comms.

“That’s because I didn’t” Y/n’s jaw clench.

“Y/n” Neytiri softly calls, Y/n turns her head to face her.

“You are hurt, you need rest”

“I’m fine” Y/n snaps. She hates being treated like this.

“No, you’re not” Jake growls, finally looking at his eldest child. “You’re testing my patience, girl. Listen to your mother and rest. Do you understand?”

Y/n shakes her head as she pokes her cheek with the tip of her tongue, trying to fight back any insults she wants to throw at his way.

“I said “do you understand”” Jake demands as he takes a threatening step closer.

Y/n meets his gaze and mockingly salutes.

“Lima Charlie, sir”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“I don’t understand why am I being punished for this, dad grounded you, not me” Y/n angerly shoves her bow and arrow onto Rawm’s saddle.

“Easy sister” Lo’ak throws his hands up in surrender. Y/n breathes out a sigh to calm herself, she knows she can’t blame Lo’ak. Y/n wraps the comm around her neck and the earpiece on her ear.

“Why not come with us?” Spider pipes up with a giant grin.

“To one of your stupid adventures? What are you? A “wilderness explorer”” Y/n mocks with her arms cross over her chest.

“Hey! Adventure is out there!” Spider dramatically points, both quoting one their favorite movies, making Lo’ak and Y/n laugh.

“Thanks guys, but I’m going to head out to grab some herbs for grandmother” Y/n bends a knee, placing her foot on Rawm’s harness and pulls herself up, making Tsaheylu as she does.

“Tryna avoid Tarsem again I see” Lo’ak tease.

“Maybe” Y/n smirks.

“Oh can you bring back-“

“Yes Spider, I will bring back Yursyulang for you” Y/n smiles down at Spider. Spider fist bumps the air excitedly.

Yursyulang is a flower that the Na’vi uses to bathe themselves. It’s cleaner and makes your body soft not like what the humans use. Spiders loves the stuff, always ask for it when Y/n leaves to gather herbs for Mo’at.

“I’ll be back, both of you behave. And please for the love of Eywa, stay out of trouble” Y/n practically begs.

“We promise” both boys say sync, making Y/n shake her head with a sigh.

“I wish I could believe you. Radio me if you get into trouble” with that, Rawm flaps his wing as he jumps off the ledge.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“What is it?” Kiri curiously ask as she watches Lo’ak and Spider crouch down on the floor.

“We’re always supposed to be home by eclipse” Tuk ushers her siblings and Spider. Tuk doesn’t want get into trouble for staying out longer than they should have, and it doesn’t help that they shouldn’t even be near The Shack.

Lo’ak ignores Tuk as he touches a footprint from most likely a boot, the footprint doesn’t look human. Avatar maybe? But no one isn’t allowed near The Shack not even the science guys back in the lab.

“It’s way too big for a human” Lo’ak frowns.

“Avatars?” Spider ask.

“Maybe, but they’re for sure not ours.” Lo’ak stands to follow the footprints, Spider follows close behind.

“What are you doing?” Kiri hisses as she follows her idiot brother and friend.

“Shh, I’m tracking”

The four of them follows the tracks and leads them right into the old battlefield took place.

They crouch down, blending in behind the tall grass, from afar they see Avatars in military gear.

“We are never supposed to come here. Dad is going to ground you…” Kiri warns.

“Shh. Can you stop?” Lo’ak groans quietly, interrupting her

“…For life” Kiri finishes.

“Bro, we have got to check this out” Lo’ak tells Spider with a mischievous glint in his eye. Spider hesitates, he promised Y/n he wouldn’t get into any trouble, but they’ll watch from afar, if things get bad, they could just leave.

“Let’s go” Spider agrees, he gestures his head towards the Shack.

They stall closer in between the trees and hid behind a log, watching as the Avatar explores the campsite. Spider frown recognizing the place.

“Bro, that’s where your dad and my dad…fought” Spider points out quietly.

“That’s your dads actual suit” Lo’ak whispers to Spider enthusiastically.

“Holy shit” Spider chuckles in disbelief.

“Lyle, see if you can pull some data off that dash cam” Quaritch instructs Weinfleet. Weinfleet raises an eyebrow.

“That things deader than shit Colonel” Weinfleet scoffs but none the less listens to his superior and moves to the Ampsuit.

“So were we”

“All right” Lyle shrugs

“I gotta call this in” Lo’ak gulps, he really wishes Y/n had tag along. Lo’ak knew how much trouble he’s going to be in but he knows the avatars aren’t here for the view.

“No, bro, we’re gonna get in trouble” Spider insist. He wasn’t worried about Jake or Neytiri, in all honesty, he was more worried about how Y/n is going to react to his stupidity of going to the Shack.

“Let’s go” Lo’ak motions for Spider to follow him to go back with the two girls they had left behind.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Devil Dog, Devil Dog, this is Eagle Eye, over” Lo’ak hesitantly press the comm around throat. His heart beat rapidly, already fearing the wrath that his father will throw his way.

“Eagle Eye. Send your traffic.”

“I got eyes on some guys. They look like Avatars, but they’re in full cam and carrying ARs. There’s six of them. Over.” Lo’ak explains, not taking his eyes off the unknown avatars.

“What’s your pos? Over” Lo’ak gulps as he makes eye contact with Kiri, hearing his father irritated voice through his ear piece.

“Oh…” Lo’ak hesitates. “We’re at the old shack” Lo’ak admits. Spider sighs next to him.

“Who’s we?”

“Me, Spider, Kiri, and… and Tuk” Lo’ak turns to look at his sister, Kiri hugs Tuk closer to her to comfort her.

“Where’s your sister?”

“She’s not with us” Lo’ak makes eye contact with Spider, worriedly. Should they call you? Would you come for them? What would you do if they told you they were at the shack? Probably beat the shit out of them, most likely.

“Son, you listen very carefully. You pull back right now. Do not make a sound. You get the hell out of there. Move! You copy?”

“Yes, sir, moving out” Lo’ak replies as he stands up, motioning the others to follow.

“See, I told you!” Lo’ak rolls his eyes at his sister. “Go, go.”

The four of them makes a get away, to get far away from the shack as possible.

“You’re going to be in so much trouble” Kiri reminds, she mentally curses herself for even coming along and bringing Tuk with her. Tuk running ahead of them.

“Shh! Kiri, stop” Lo’ak replies, already feeling irritated. He didn’t need to be remind of how bad he fucked up this time.

“Guys, come on” Spider calls from in front them.

“It’s almost eclipse, come on” Tuk jogs ahead of them, looking behind her, before shrieking as a female avatar grabs her.

“Tuk” Kiri screams, new avatars that they haven’t seen back in the shack surrounds them as they aim their guns.

“Put it down! Down! Put it down or I shoot you!” one of them yell.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Y/n grabs the last of what her grandmother needs. She walks closer to the stream and grab many Yursyulang for Spider. Once she was satisfied, she imitates a bird call, to call for Rawm.

Rawm flaps his wings with a screech as he lands close by. Y/n smiles as she tosses a fish towards him, Rawm catches it with ease, gratefully swallowing it. Y/n adjust Rawm’s harness and fixes her saddle.

“Black Mamba, this is Devil Dog. Come in Black Mamba. Over.” Y/n hears her fathers voice through her ear piece. She sighs annoyed. What could he possibly want? She wraps her hand around the communication band around her neck and press the button.

“Go for Black Mamba. Over.” Y/n responds before pulling herself up onto Rawm, making Tsaheylu

“What’s your 20? Over.” Y/n frowns, confused by the question, she looks around before replying.

“100 miles out of the Hallelujah Mountains. Over.”

“Listen very carefully. Your brother notified us about avatar soldier”

“Where?”

“The old battle ground, at the shack” Y/n jaw clench. What was the first thing she said? Not to get into trouble, that was the first thing she said. Those idiots promised her.

“Do you copy?”

“Loud and clear. I’m on my way” with that Y/n mentally tells Rawm to fly near the old shack.

“These aren’t normal avatars. They’re trained soldiers. Fall back” Jake demands.

“Negative. I ain’t going to stand by and let my siblings get hurt”

“Y/n-“ Y/n takes out the earpiece and shoved in her bag, not wanting to listen to whatever her father had to say.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Kiri!” Tuk cries, feeling frighten, being held in uncomfortable hold, its hurting her.

“Get over here! Come on! Get down! Stop fighting” One of them roughly grabs Kiri, kicking the back of her legs, forcing her on her knees.

“Don’t move!” Spider snarls being manhandled by another Avatar.

“Kiri” Tuk whimpers.

“Tuk, Mawey” (Tuk, be calm) Kiri softly try’s to comfort her little sister.

“Shut up. Don’t move” pulling Kiri back as she tries to reach for Tuk.

“What have we here?” Quaritch and Lyle appears. Quaritch looks between all the children that his squad caught.

Lyle being the nearest to Kiri, glance down at her, noticing her hands. He crouches down and grabs her wrist, forcing her to stand up.

“Hey Colonel” Lyle holds Kiri’s hand out for him to see. “Check it out. four fingers. we’ve got a halfbreed”

“Shit” Spider quietly cursed under his breath.

Kiri grunts being pulled by her braid by Lyle. Quaritch looks at Kiri with a look of familiarity before turning to Lo’ak.

“Show me your fingers” being a smartass, Lo’ak shows his hands by flipping him off, making Quaritch chuckle. “You’re his, aren’t you?” He ask amusingly. Lo’ak snarls at him. “You’re his, all right” he drawled out, before roughly grabbing Lo’ak by his queue and pulling him up, making Lo’ak groan.

“Where is he?” Lo’ak doesn’t respond, making Quaritch tug on his queue.

“ngaytxoa” (Sorry) Lo’ak speaks in Na’vi “oe rä'ä plltxe ìnglìsì… ne vonvä” (I don’t speak English… to buttholes)

Quaritch ears pins flat against his head as he snarls far less fluently,”tsengpe ngeyä sempul?” (where is your father?), he once again grips Lo’ak queue harder, making Lo’ak groan louder as he glaring daggers at him.

“Really? You wanna play it this way?” Quaritch says as he pulls out a huge combat knife from behind him. Quaritch forcefully throws Lo’ak to the ground and walks toward Kiri.

“Kiri! No!” Lo’ak yells for his sister as Quaritch gets closer to her “Stop!”

“Hey! Hey, don’t touch her!” Spider tries to break himself free, trying to get the avatar that’s holding him to let go.

“Hey!” Quaritch tilts his head as he looks at the only human in the group, in curiosity.

“What’s your name, kid?” Quaritch narrows his eyes. Intrigue.

“Spider” Spider huffs out as he glared daggers at the the tall avatar. “Socorro”

A look of realization passes Quaritch face before glancing at Lyle who looks away from Quaritch with a grim look.

Quaritch waves off the solider that’s been holding Spider, a signal to let him go, he slowly kneels in front of Spider.

“Miles?” Spider jaw clench, finally knowing who this man is. The man he hated being compared to. The man who he despise.

“Nobody calls me that”Spider scowls.

“Well, I’ll be damned…” Quaritch mumbles to himself. “Well, I figured they sent you back to Earth” not being able to take his eyes off of predecessor.

“They can’t put babies in cryo, dipshit” Spider snaps back. Spending too much time with Y/n made him a bit of a smartass.

Not taking his eyes off Spider, he flips the combat knife inwards as he stands up, letting the soldier grab Spider once again.

“What are we doin’, boss?” Lyle ask. Not responding to Lyle, Quaritch reach for the comm around his neck.

“Iron Sky, Blue One, Actual. We are standing by for extract, over. Be advised we are bringing’ in high value prisoners”

“Let us go”

“Shut up”

They lead the kids back over near the amp suit. Quaritch stands near his predecessor amp suit, with a datapad in his hand.

“Lyle, get me some audio on this” Lyle walks closer as he leans his chest close to Quaritch shoulder, Quaritch glance at Lyle in the corner of his eye, but Lyle doesn’t pay him any mind.

On the screen, they see Neytiri.

“That’s Sully’s woman”

“She’s an animal”

With the 4 children, Kiri holds Tuk close to her trying to comfort her.

“Kiri, I want Y/n” Tuk whimpers, Kiri whispers comforting words into her ear.

“I know, Tuk, I know. I want her too” Kiri prays to the Great Mother to be saved.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Yeah, there’s nothing after that,” Lyle murmured as the last of dash cam footage from Quaritch’s old AMP cut out. Footage of his death.

Spider watches the footage of his fathers death, so Neytiri was the one who killed him. He never knew the story of how his father died, all he knew was he died during the battle.

Lyle takes the datapad as he takes a worried glance at Quaritch, noticing Quaritch’s stoic visage faltered for only a moment before he reached in and plucked the skull, holding it in his massive four fingered hand.

Lyle reaches in to grab his dog tags before pocketing them.“You want us to recover these remains?”

Lyle watches as he grimaced and crushed the skull of his human counterpart. He takes that as a ‘no’.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Y/n growls seeing her younger sibling and Spider being held at gun point. She’s been waiting for her mother and father to arrive for 15 minutes, she can’t wait any longer. Y/n jaw clench as she pulled her drawstring taut until it stretched to her ear.

Y/n froze, hearing her mother calls getting closer. Movement caught her attention. She glance over seeing her mother looking at her.

Not breaking contact with her daughter, Neytiri yips. Y/n yips right behind her, letting specifically Spider know she’s right here. Y/n knows Neytiri would protect her younger siblings with no doubt, it’s Spider that’s she’s worried about.

Hearing Y/n calls, Spider turns to glance over his shoulder at Lo’ak who only nods.

Neytiri signals her to lower her bow before she raises hers to aim at the one holding Kiri and Spider.

Hearing Kiri praying and the soldier tugging on her queue, Neytiri takes a deep breath, firing her arrow snugly between the eyes of the man who held Kiri and Spider at gunpoint.

“Contact rear” Bellowed Quaritch. He shoved Spider and Kiri behind him, opening fire upon Neytiri who narrowly dodged his downpour of bullets as she ducked away.

“Lo’ak!” Neytiri shouts. Lo’ak pulls on the pin of a smoke bomb on Lyle vest, the smoke blinding the soldiers closest to him. Lo’ak sinks his teeth into a man, being let go, Lo’ak reaches for his sister and runs.

“Shit.” Y/N cussed. Y/n throws herself head first from the tree, she lets her body flip forward as she aims her arrow to an avatar with a bandana around his head.

“Ahh” Y/n gasp falling forward, feeling a scorching pain on her left side. She glances down seeing blood, she looks up seeing a bald avatar, making eye contact. He aims at her against, pulling the trigger.

Pushing her legs out from under her, she ducks away to avoid the bullets, scrambling to get out of there. Y/n calls out in pain as a stray bullet graze her left thigh.

“Spider” Y/n calls, seeing him and Kiri run.

“Grab ‘em”

A woman grabs Kiri by her queue. With all her might Y/n kicks the woman away, using her bow, she swings with all her might hitting her straight in the face. The woman calls out in pain, letting go of Kiri’s queue. Y/n goes for another attack before an arrow is shot at the woman’s chest, recognizing the arrow, Y/n turns to grab Kiri and Spider.

“Come on” Y/n pushes them forward. Spider looks over his shoulder, a feeling of relief washes over him.

“Y/n. you’re bleeding” Kiri softly whimpers, worried seeing so much blood on her older sister.

“I’m fine. I don’t even feel it. Adrenaline” Y/n answer when she sees both Kiri and Spider look at her. They continue to run up a tree to get up to high ground.

“What the hell were you thinking” Y/n hisses down at Spider. “What happened to staying out of trouble, huh”

Spider flinch being scolded by Y/n. Kiri runs ahead of them, Spider in the middle and Y/n behind them, keeping them in her sight.

“Go, go, go” Y/n hurries them, hearing projectiles bombs close behind her.

An ear-shattering explosion behind her completely knocked her off her balance. It sent both her and Spider tumbling down.

“Spider” Y/n grabs Spider as they fell, wrapping her body around his as best as she can, to avoid him getting hurt. Y/n grunts feeling her body getting hit in multiple places, she groans feeling her wounds being graze against the rough ground. A hard hit against her head before slamming against the floor, knocking her out. Spider body rolls, seeing Y/n unconscious.

“No” Spider scrambles himself to crawl closer to Y/n, grabbing her jaw to face him.

“Y/n, wake up. Please, we gotta get outta here” Spider desperate please falls on deaf ears. Hearing footsteps coming closer, he snaps his head seeing many of the avatars coming closers, including the clone of his dead father.

“No, get back” Spider hisses. Spider goes for a punch, Quaritch easily dodge before grabbing him and hoisting him over his shoulder, with him kicking and screaming.

“Grab her” Quaritch orders Lyle. Lyle nods as he lets his gun drop to his side before kneeling down, to pick her up as he slung her over his shoulder.

“C’mon buttercup” Lyle lowly chuckles.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Jake watches as the avatars leave, seeing Neytiri and Kiri run up to them, he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Mom” Tuk whimpers as she hugs her mother.

“That’s it. It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re okay” Jake hugs his two sons

“Oh, thank you, great mother. Thank you” Neytiri praises. Lo’ak looks around noticing they’re missing two people.

“Where’s Spider? Where’s Y/n?” Kiri turn with watery eyes.

“They took them. They took them”

Jake felt his heart stop beating. This is what he was afraid of, if only Y/n listened to him and not to disengage, she wouldn’t have been captured. He knew Y/n acts on impulse to protect the people she adores. He almost lost her once and now he truly did lose her. Now his fear has come true, he lost his oldest daughter. His baby girl. Jake knows his daughter is a fighter, he knows she can protect herself, including Spider, she’d done this before, sha can do it again. He prays to the Great Mother to protect his eldest daughter from the dangers that’s heading her way.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Hey! Don’t touch her!”

Quaritch ignores Spider as he cuffs him.

“Make sure she’s sedated, don’t want her to cause chaos on the way there”

“Yes, sir” Ja nods to his superior as he takes out a needle and inject it into Y/n’s neck, despite Spider’s protest.

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/aninelover21-blog/731326408887042048/bound-to-you-masterlist

#miles quaritch x reader #recom lyle wainfleet #sully reader #lyle wainfleet x reader #recom miles quaritch #spider x reader #polyamourous #polyamory #throuple #miles quaritch x reader x lyle wainfleet #I wanna be yours

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eddies-house · 7 months

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Nine - Blue Eyes

W/C: 8.4K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Blue eyes never caught your attention...until they stepped into The Bourbon.

A/N: this was such a monster of a chapter to edit just because there's a lot going on...i hope y'all like it <3

Masterlist

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“Okay, well that’s not gonna work. We can’t afford all that.”

“What if I gather some…I dunno…donations?” You ponder.

“Bambi, enough.”

Eddie huffs at your persistence, crossing off a few items from the list placed in front of him. Your adorable handwriting had spelled out numerous options for fundraising ideas; something to get the bar back into a somewhat profitable margin. He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he wasn’t grateful for your efforts but he had proven to become more and more annoyed as your list grew throughout the week. An impatient Jett stands next to you, rocking back and forth on his heels as he sucks in his cheeks, attempting to keep his thoughts to himself, though it was never his strong suit to remain quiet when necessary.

“Dude, just pick one!” He blurts out.

The tiny office looked comical, three bodies crammed in a small space that would certainly run out of oxygen had the door been shut. A displeased glare catches Jett’s attention, only offering you a shrug in response to his outburst. You’d mentioned before even approaching Eddie for the umpteenth time this week that the key was going to be patience. Let him come to you. Make it seem like part of it was his idea so he doesn’t feel like you’re doing charity for him.

“No, we can’t afford to put on a…a wine tasting or a—hoedown?” Eddie questions with furrowed brows as he underlines the words with his pointer finger.

“Eddie, if you let me–”

“I’m not letting you do anything.” He asserts.

“Listen–”

“No.”

Eddie Munson was the most stubborn being on planet earth, that much you could attest to. But you weren’t going to let him tackle your plans to the ground without a good fight.

“Munson.” Jett tries, only to be met with an inflamed scowl.

With wide eyes, you attempt to pull his attention back to you, hoping to save Jett from receiving an earful later. “Eddie–”

“Nope.”

“Eddie!” You squeal, eyes squinting shut painfully as you throw a miniature tantrum.

“Bambi.” He deadpans, leaning over his desk to stare you down. “Leave it.”

The look that used to scare you weeks ago now only had you rolling your eyes. He was at it again, refusing any ounce of help that was offered. When he got like this, you could only play it up and bring out your begging eyes. Hope for the best.

“Jett, can you give us a minute?” You clear your throat, an overly polite tone taking over.

“Fine.” He sighs before leaning in to whisper. “The hoedown…make him pick the hoedown.”

With a playful smack to his shoulder, you escort Jett out of the office–or rather you push him out and kick the door shut. His sights were set on that hoedown ever since the two of you sat down to scrawl out a few ideas the previous week. It was bold of him to assume that you could ‘make’ Eddie pick that option. If you’d learned anything since moving here, it was that Eddie Munson was a force to be reckoned with.

“Alright Munson.” You lean over his desk as he takes a seat in the squeaky office chair, you were a bit too comfortable in his space as your perfume flooded his nose. “We are doing one of these, whether you like it or not.”

His stare should frighten you, large intimidating eyes nearly black as the patience drains from him, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as if he were contemplating a scolding remark that would force you to back off. It only encourages you.

“Oh, we are? I wasn’t aware we were under new management.” He counters, seemingly deciding to choose a softer approach.

“Yes, we are.” You bite. “Because if not, we aren’t even a we. There is no bar. Will that make you happy?”

If it seemed harsh, it still needed to be drilled into his thick skull.

“I know that!” Eddie raises his voice, caught up in the heat of the moment. He didn’t allow himself a moment to think, only act.

He wishes he could punch himself for the way he made your face drop. A hint of fear taking over your graceful features. It wasn’t who he was—or at least that’s what he was trying to convince himself. He didn’t yell to get his way, he was not his dad.

“Fuck–’m sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…get all mad and blow up on you.” He sighs, shyly shifting his gaze toward the ground. “I’m just…” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m stressed and–that’s not an excuse, I’m just trying to–fuck I dunno.”

“Eddie...” Your saccharine tone pulls him out of whatever hole he was currently digging himself into. So candied and coated in tenderness.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to continue, the look on his face telling you everything. The wrinkles forming between his eyebrows are extra prominent, frown lines growing deeper in his anguish.

“Let us help.” Your words are dripping in honey. It’s obvious that you’re buttering him up, putting on your extra sad puppy dog eyes just for him, lip puckered out extra pouty, such a pretty sight, all for him.

“We want to help.”

There’s no saying no to you, he can’t stomach it. It was getting worse as time went on, every time he had the urge to tell you no, he couldn’t help but feel sick. Maybe if he pulled Jett back into the equation he’d have better luck. The kid got under his skin especially when he egged Eddie on and didn’t take a hint. But when you’re sitting all pretty for him, your elbows propped on his desk as you stare at him like you want nothing more in the world, who is he to deny you?

“Okay.” He exhales nervously. “Whatya got?”

“Really?” Your eyes twinkle, something he’d pay to see every single day, even if he was on the verge of bankruptcy. Which he was.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

From just outside of the door, Jett chews on his nails, the argumentative tone of conversation just seconds ago still riddling him with anxiety. It would do no one any favors to rile up the boss who had clearly already been under an immense amount of pressure with his inherited business crumbling around him. Jett knew the steaks, he knew that Eddie would refuse to give up given that his grandfather had passed down everything to his only known grandson, leaving behind his legacy. Unfortunately, it’s hard to offer help to those who refuse it. But Jett knows that if anyone can persuade the big, bad Eddie Munson who was too stubborn for his own good, it was going to be you.

Every time you walked into the room, Jett witnessed a miserable man come to life. Bored, tired eyes became enamored and filled to the brim with infatuation. A bland day would instantly be cured the second you sauntered in with your tray, more often than not dropping it in the process of securing your apron around your waist. You never learn, always opting to struggle with the tray tucked in between your arm and body while your hands fumbled with those damn strings, sending the tray straight into the floor, your pens spilling out of your apron and startling you every time as the items clanged against hardwood. And every time, Eddie is there, watching from across the room before the inevitable happens. Every time, he is at your feet, collecting your mess and questioning ‘got it?’ in a gentle tone that Jett doesn’t ever recall hearing before you came into the picture.

Every time, Eddie Munson is reduced to a puddle of a man right before everyone’s eyes. Only ever for you.

It’s infuriating.

Jett supposes had he made his move sooner he would hold your attention like Eddie does. He would catch your gaze from across the bar, a tiny smile gracing your lips. The sparkle in your eyes would be for him and only for him.

Reality delivers a punishing kick and reminds him that Eddie had you from the beginning, even when he was outright rude to you. He had your curious eyes from day one. It wasn’t fair, Jett was so convinced at first. It wasn’t fair that Eddie had been the biggest asshole and yet your mind seemed so made up on him, eyes never lingering on another soul as long as they did when Eddie was around.

He was sure that he was over it, he told himself there was no chance, but something about the banter he heard muffled by the office door only stirred up every pessimistic cell in his body. Every giggle you let out at some stupid ‘joke’ that wasn’t even funny, every fucking time Eddie called you Bambi, every time you playfully scolded him only to reel back and flatter him, all of it drove Jett nuts. His fists were clenched at his side, knuckles threatening to split at the tension and face a raging red.

Because Eddie Munson had the very thing he desired. And he didn’t deserve her.

–

Your negotiations intrigued Eddie, the way you had a solution for every problem he attempted to create didn’t even frustrate him anymore. It used to aggravate him when you would offer a simple solution to a problem he deemed unsolvable. Now it only made his pupils dilate, his breathing becoming uneven solely because he couldn’t get enough of your energy. He thrived off of it, a different kind of high taking over him when you would voice your ideas, your eyes lighting up as he watched the gears turn in your head.

He almost misses your offer to persuade Jett into snagging some hay bales from his family’s farm should he end up choosing the Hoedown Night from your extensive list. Truthfully, he was lost. Lost in swirling thoughts of the girl in front of him who nearly two months ago, he would have never given the time of day to. And he didn’t…at first. But now…now he would give you any time of day you wanted. Rain or shine, day or night. He didn’t care, he would do the impossible if it meant your face lit up like a Christmas tree every time. He just couldn’t quite admit it to himself yet.

His lack of enthusiasm concerns you although you don’t show it as you continue ranting on about Donnie mentioning some old table cloths and picnic blankets she no longer wanted that could be used. She even mentioned her husband having a few empty barrels out in their garage that could be great for apple bobbing. She went as far as to ask around for different items they could use from her neighbors, already collecting an array of items they could use at their disposal.

“-and then we charge for entry. I know it’ll probably only make a small profit but it can hold us over somewhat, right?”

He’s thinking again.

His bottom lip is tugged on by his teeth and his lids are heavy with that far off look. You didn’t think your pitch was that awful in all honesty. You would admit that Donnie’s idea of a stripper night could be taking it too far but there were so many other ideas that had such potential and if he turned every single one down, you didn’t quite have a backup plan prepared.

“Eddie?”

He blinks, twirling his pen in between his fingers as if it were a drumstick but he still remains unresponsive. It’s not a good sign.

“I-I know it’s a lot of work and–”

“Okay.” He breathes.

“Okay?”

Your eyes become doe-like, ironically. You were really living up to that nickname, the one that sent goosebumps up your spine if he said it soft enough.

“Okay.”

His agreement doesn’t feel genuine, his gaze cast somewhere far off from the tiny room.

“Eddie.”

Your tone goes stern. Or at least stern enough for him to break out of his thoughts. Within seconds, coffee colored eyes are regarding you in a way that can only be met with heated cheeks and twiddling thumbs. He had been lost in his mind again, only returning at the mention of his name a second time through that firmness you displayed when you really cared about something.

“Bambi.” The word is grounding, anxieties settling where they were once fluttering around in your stomach. You no longer worried if you had upset him in some way. Not when his voice sounded so smooth, so satiny that it almost killed you.

That welcoming voice that felt like a tight hug echoes in your ears. Brown sugar falling from his tongue and sweetening any further exchange of words, no matter how conflicting his mindset could be compared to yours. As long as he kept using that tone, you would be putty in his hands.

“Um, so…we’re doing this?” You question meekly, a contrast to the confidence you had just displayed.

It’s quiet, though his red cheeks are louder than any words. He’s apprehensive, his irises darting around the less than decorated room. It’s obvious that he’s fighting an internal battle, engaged in a horrible disagreement with himself. Harsh words are probably prodding at his brain, forcing him to be reluctant in accepting any fraction of help.

What he doesn’t realize is that while he swears you’re staring at the biggest coward to walk the earth, you find him to be brave. It was clear after previous nights of long talks and shared trauma, that this wasn’t easy for him. Giving up control was the most terrifying thing he could do. Accepting this form of help was foreign to him, people back home in Indiana never offered him such courtesy.

So you wait.

With a stupid amount of patience that Eddie will never understand, you soften your gaze. All pressure is removed. Your attention shifts to doodling some kind of a flower on the paper sitting atop the desk in between you. You don’t await an answer from him, you only exist with him. Nothing is required of him and somehow, you both understand that.

He doesn’t want to be held to such requirements. He wants you to raise your standards and he wants to meet them, exceed them. You shouldn’t have to dull your bright personality for his shattered dignity. He’d always been a shadow looming over those he was closest to, always a dark cloud among a sunny day reminding everyone of his detrimental existence.

Good things did not happen to Eddie Munson.

Not in the past, not in the present no matter how convincing life could be in coaxing him into its trap, and certainly not in the future. Anything disguised as a saving grace would always end up being Eddie’s eternal hell. It always has and it always will.

Either way, his fate was determined. So why not let you take the lead? In his eyes, it would honor him if you ruined his life and although the mere thought of you leaving him behind in the aftermath of destruction haunted him, he couldn’t help but give up his control.

He was tired of fighting off the ‘good things’.

Especially when he would be left to piece himself together either way. It’s just another event he would have to endure, another lesson he wouldn’t learn from because he was too goddamn stubborn. Another mountain he would have to climb with his bloody, bare hands.

You continue waiting, not once pestering him for confirmation. He hates it.

He hates it, he hates it, he hates it.

You should be screaming at him, demanding an answer after his prolonged silence. Your hands should be smacking the surface of the desk in annoyance, your eyebrows should be pinched in frustration, and they aren’t.

There’s a comfort in the abuse.

Secretly, he begs you to lose your cool, pleads with some higher power that you snap out of it and just slap him across the face like he deserves. He is being difficult and you aren’t reacting. He has gone mute and you are simply okay with it. Even in the most forgiving situations he braces for impact but you make it so hard to.

His guard is supposed to be up, the walls are supposed to close him in and keep everything out but they’re crumbling around him, fast, exposing him. He feels naked but you don’t stare at him with expectancy, you don’t reach out and snatch what vulnerability he has left.

“I–” He breaks the unforgiving silence, wincing as his voice cracks. It’s only when you glance up at him with understanding eyes, your heart on your sleeve, that he relaxes.

Tension still pulls at every muscle, but he breathes. He breathes through the nausea of putting his trust into another person. Something he swore to never do again ever since his dad dared to show his face one last time back when Eddie was in high school. It was only the last time because he had gotten arrested, Eddie was sure he’d be stupid enough to give him several chances in hopes of fixing his deranged father. He was only human and the six year old kid in him only wanted to see the good in people, especially his ‘pops’.

“We–we’re doing this.” He practically demands of himself.

“Eddie we don’t have to–”

“We’re doing it.”

With glassy eyes, he nods as if he’s still convincing himself. You can’t help but intervene.

“Seriously, I know we were coming on strong but it’s just because–”

“I know.”

You don’t need further confirmation from him, big brown eyes doing enough of the talking as you begin to assure him he was the one calling the shots.

“Do you?” You ask genuinely.

Again, a part of him is pissed that you won’t just take the answer and tell him he didn’t need to be such a baby about the whole thing. Maybe slam the door out of irritation, enough to shake the wall. Maybe ask for a raise for all of your efforts. People didn’t do things for him just to be nice and he was already hating himself for being so pitiful that Donnie was offering to help without any compensation.

“Yeah.” He whispers.

“Are you sure?”

“Can you just–”

Eddie finds himself on the cusp of blowing up again. Anger bubbles in the back of his throat like bile, his hands clenched into fists repeatedly as his lips trace those familiar numbers before letting anything he regrets fall from his mouth in his moment of fury.

“Can I just what?” You question softly, hand reaching for his.

“Nothing.” He breathes.

There’s a pause, a brief moment where he’s clearly panicked, resembling a spooked horse. It disappears just as fast as it came, his eyes softening as he processes the situation. You just had to go and ruin it.

“Why do you count?”

The question spills into the air without you even thinking, your mind simply throwing it out there without fear of any consequences. Without thinking that maybe now isn’t the time. You regret it as his shoulders tense up, his guard up once again. The guard you’d patiently chipped away at only to destroy any progress you’d made.

“I–”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry, I–just pretend I didn’t ask.” You attempt to stitch the messy conversation back together.

“No, uh, I-I…”

Stop letting her in.

You’re gonna get hurt.

You don’t expect his shoulders to untense as he sighs, you don’t anticipate how quickly his guard falls again, any hesitance he displays faltering before completely disappearing into thin air. All that remains is sincerity, face no longer contorted in worry and eyelids drooping ever so slightly in his sudden relaxation.

“I just–I started doing it after…after everything back…back home.” He answers before his thoughts can steer him away. “I dunno why.”

You’re satisfied with his answer, you’d even be satisfied with no answer. He didn’t owe you explanations and yet he kept giving them to you. Spilling his guts out to you, practically letting them fall onto the thin, dingy carpet of the office.

“I, uh, I’ve asked my therapist about it.” He elaborates, voice quiet and mumbled. “She said it’s part of the PTSD.”

You didn’t expect him to reveal such a personal detail although you find yourself squeezing his hand, settling into the quiet of the bland room. Words aren’t necessary, they never are between you.

“I don’t even know how to throw a hoedown.” Eddie snorts to himself, the energy shifting into something more familiar, more comfortable in the blink of an eye.

You’re willing to unpack whatever baggage he had revealed but it’s clear that he no longer is. And that was okay.

“Oh don’t you worry, I’m gonna get you a big bedazzled cowboy hat and everything, just let me take care of the details.” You partially joke, deciding not to tease him over his not-so-subtle choice of Hoedown Night.

“No, nuh-uh. Not happening.” He protests, arms thrown up dramatically.

“C’mon, you need to look the part!”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

His smile is contained, a grin threatening to pull at his pretty lips as his thumb grazes the top of your hand. A small gesture that nearly burns your skin.

“Well, I think you’d look cute in a cowboy hat.” Again, your mind speaks for you without any contemplation.

You should take it back.

You want to regret it.

You don’t.

It’s worth it when his face flushes red again, his fingers coyly pulling a curl over his face as if to hide, a sight you wanted to capture if only you had your polaroid with you. You’d have to settle for mentally pinning this moment to the wall in your mind that was ever growing. He doesn’t return the flirtatious banter but it doesn’t go unnoticed when he beams at you from his chair as you offer him sparkling eyes and fluttering lashes on your way out.

Two Weeks Before Thanksgiving

“Okay, Jett’s bringing the haybales in for Friday?”

“Yep.” Your pen glides across your messy, scribbled out checklist in a hurry.

“Did you get the apples yet?”

“Nope, was gonna stop by Thursday so they’re fresh.” You mumble, jotting down a few more tasks that had yet to be done.

“Alright and Nathan’s gonna have his truck all set for hay rides outside, that’s another charge right? We can charge extra?” Donnie questions, her scatter brain on full display.

“Yes, that would be great.” You assure, grace in your tone.

“Alright and then, Eddie’s friends should be here on Wednesday to surprise him–” Donnie begins to mutter.

What?” Your eyes widen, practically bulging out of your head.

“Yeah, Steve? And then the others–” Realization hits Donnie like a train, her eyes nearly falling out of her skull just as yours were. “Oh shit! I forgot to tell you.” She hisses.

Glancing around, she ensures the coast is clear before waving you out back. It was a Monday, the lack of patrons allowing you to do all the planning you needed to for Knife’s Edge first ever Hoedown. Donnie had been mapping out the place, assisting you in drawing out the layout for the event on paper. Eddie had been managing the bar, the sluggish evening rendering him positively bored, making it a point to initiate a huge yawn every time you passed by throughout the evening.

It drove him crazy when you pretended to ignore him.

“Do you think he heard you?” You whisper, the safety of being just around the corner not enough to convince you.

“He didn’t, that boy is nearly deaf.” Donnie seems certain. “God, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.” She throws her arms up in exasperation.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“Here’s the deal.” Donnie pulls herself together, grabbing you by the shoulders. “They come into town Wednesday night. Four of them I think, I always forget their names, god it makes me feel like shit. Anyway, they’re gonna surprise him at the bar. They usually stay with him.” She nearly runs out of breath in her explanation.

“Okay.” You breathe.

“Did I answer your questions?”

“I, uh, I think so.” You nod.

“You cannot tell him.” Donnie stares you down. “They’ve never surprised him, he usually knows when they’re coming to visit. Swear you won’t say a word.”

Her demeanor is almost threatening although you find it sweet that she cares so much. Eddie’s best interest had always been something she prioritized, same as you. In your eyes he was a golden boy with a golden heart who was dealt shitty cards. You weren’t sure if Donnie had been enlightened about any pieces of his past but you both seemed to have the same goal in mind.

His happiness.

As you continued to prepare for Friday’s events, you avoided eye contact with Eddie at all costs throughout the night, especially after you had learned about the ‘big surprise’. You’d walk past the bar, the shaker in his hands as he prepared a drink. He’d pause, the shaker mid air as his gaze trailed after you. You felt awful for denying his puppy eyes but it was all for his benefit in the end.

You couldn’t lie though, holding his attention as you continued to ignore him over and over offered you an ego boost. You’d never been looked at in such a way, you never felt so desired in your life.

–

“Have you seen the way she ignores me?” Eddie complains, Jett only muttering nonsense in response that Eddie couldn’t decipher.

“She won’t even look at me when I talk to her!” He almost whines.

It was getting to him, your constant neglect. It had been a day, a whole day since you’d started avoiding his eyes, never smiling at him the way you usually did throughout your shift. Not one little wave thrown his way. He felt starved. He’d never been so needy for someone’s attention, he was starting to feel like a leech.

“Dude, she’s just working.” Jett grumbles, his hands occupied as he stacks a hay bale against the back of the building. They’d been instructed to go out back and relocate them to make things easier come Friday night. They’d previously been stacked near the dumpsters, a little ways away from the building and were now being hauled next to the back door for easy access.

“You don’t get it, she’s being weird. It’s like she hates me.” Eddie grunts as he lifts the brick of hay.

“Maybe she does.” Jett sighs, not a single thought behind his words.

“What?” Eddie questions, attempting to hide the panic that had begun to shock his nerves, his head snapping toward his supposed friend.

“I–I dunno.”

“She say somethin’?” Eddie demands, shoving the hay onto its corresponding stack as he diverts his attention to Jett fully.

Jett’s gaze only gives off that he’s hiding something, his eyes avoiding Eddie at all costs, an ongoing trend poor Eddie was beginning to find. It only fuels a fire inside of him, embers growing angrier each moment Jett stands there dumbly.

“Did she?” The look in Eddie’s eyes resembles that of a bear that had been poked. Jett regrets letting his innermost thoughts fall from his lips in a moment of irritation, now he was subject to Eddie’s unforgiving inferno that was never easy to escape from.

“No.” Jett snaps a bit too aggressively.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know why you think she owes you attention.”

If Jett hadn’t fucked up yet, he certainly had now. If only he could’ve kept his stupid, naive mouth shut.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Eddie’s fist clenched at his side says enough, it screams that the conversation should stop here, that Jett needs to stop egging him on but he refuses to let it end here.

“Yeah, you practically pissed on her, claiming your territory and shit.”

If looks could kill, Jett would be in for a world of pain. Just when Eddie thinks the twerp is finally going to realize his place, he keeps going.

“She’s not your property, what if she had her sights set on someone else? You gonna swoop in and piss on her again?”

It feels as if someone grabbed his heart straight out of his chest and chucked it off the nearest cliff. The blood had stopped pumping and he swears he feels his veins run cold. He didn’t think he stood a chance with you but the thought of you becoming absolutely infatuated with Jett sickened him. Did you really have the intention of going after Jett? He couldn’t stomach the idea. He might as well sell the bar and run now to save himself the heartache, the only thing he was good at.

“I–” Eddie’s speechless, rage and sorrow clouding his vision.

“Oh, now you’re gonna shut up about–”

“I never claimed her, or pissed on her, or whatever the hell you’re saying.” Eddie argues.

“Yes you did! ‘Bambi’? What kind of shit is that?”

Eddie can feel himself vibrating with anger, his blood heating up once again as he scowls. Jett had not once expressed any interest in you and now here he was, attacking Eddie over something as stupid as a nickname.

“Go fuck yourself.” He spits before storming inside.

No one would ever want to be on the receiving end of the absolute death glare he’d shot Jett. It lasted seconds but some would go as far to say those seconds were torture. Deep down Eddie knew he could punch Jett and be done with it, assert his dominance. But that’s not what his intent was, you weren’t some prize to be won. You had simply fallen into his life and he couldn’t help but fall in lo–

He couldn’t help but surrender to your existence.

And now? Now he was in his head again. If you were going to ignore him, he was going to let you. You didn’t owe him a thing, even after the late night talks and spilled guts of vulnerability. Jett could have your attention for all he cares now. Except, he does care. And that’s what causes such an ache within him, the fact that he does care even if you don’t.

–

“Eddie, can you hand that glass to me?” You request sweetly, tip toeing as you point toward the shelf above him.

He looks up, a wine glass tucked nicely on the top shelf within his reach but clearly outside of yours. The frown on his face puzzles you though you keep to yourself as he garnishes a drink with orange.

“Mhm.” He mumbles bitterly, reaching up to grab the glass and handing it to you without so much as a glance.

You should be glad, looking into his eyes would only force you to engage in conversation with him and doing so could lead you down the path of honesty. You’d for sure give up the surprise and you only needed to last one more day, you couldn’t fuck this up.

“You okay?” You question, hesitantly gripping the glass in your smaller hand.

“Mhm.” He mumbles again, sliding the cocktail across the counter to its awaiting customer.

“You sure?” You betray yourself, attempting to catch his gaze, no longer caring that there was a chance of spoiling the surprise.

“Mhm.”

It was the third hum in a row. It drove you crazy, he would usually say something snarky and act like the smartass he is by now. He’s not and it worries you. Maybe it’s not your place to worry but you do.

“Eddie.”

“I’m fine.” He huffs, chest heaving.

A warning glance has you nodding, slowly stepping away to resume your original task. It was humbling, one day bantering and somehow falling into conversation about each other’s deepest secrets and the next being treated like a stranger. You obey his stare, his chocolatey eyes no longer displaying any trace of affection or depth, only pure hostility. The spark that had threatened to ignite so many times had disappeared completely, only what appeared to be ash leftover from the small fire that once burned within him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jett announces himself next to you, breaking down a dirty table as you go to retrieve one of The Bourbon’s most expensive bottles of wine for a snobby customer.

“I, I don’t know.” You whisper in despair.

The rest of the night, you’re met with spiteful glares from Eddie and lingering touches from Jett.

Wednesday Night

This was it, after tonight you wouldn’t need to be so avoidant of Eddie. You wouldn’t have to lie to his face. It was becoming apparent however, that he had become irate. Every second of the day. That morning you waved to him as you got the mail and he tinkered with his truck to which he practically snarled and went right back to work. It was like you were back to square one with him, back to when he hated you and you had disturbed his precious, quaint, little life.

It could just be that he’s in a bad mood, it was early after all and maybe his truck had given out on him again. It was reasonable enough, it would piss you off had you been in his shoes. You weren’t entirely sure you’d take it out on everyone but it would sour your mood.

It was hard to keep a smile on your face while he glared at you from behind the bar just as he had done the previous night. You were trying to be the bigger person, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was just making it so difficult by purposely delivering daggers to you whenever he could.

“Hey!” Jett greets you, emerging loudly from the kitchen.

You greet him back, a muttered ‘hi’, your eyes unable to tear themselves away from the man that seemed to suddenly hate you. You were in no mood to be friendly anymore, not when Eddie was creating such a venomous atmosphere using only his face.

“Is everything pretty much in place for Friday?”

“Uh huh.” You don’t even so much as look at Jett, a head full of curls the only thing holding your attention at the moment.

“You going with anyone?” He asks, pushing himself into your line of sight, much to your dismay.

It was as if you were trying to read Eddie’s mind from across the room and if you stared hard enough, you’d finally get through. You had no such luck and it could potentially be because Jett kept pestering you with questions.

“I’m working.” You state obviously, wiping down the table you had been clearing.

“Well–yeah…yeah me too. I just—maybe after? Once everyone’s cleared out, would you wanna…go out?”

It takes you by surprise and for a second, you’re unsure if he’s asking you out as a friend or if he’s making a move. As you evaluate the situation, you determine that it’s the latter with the way he shyly smiles and averts his eyes ever so slightly, his cheeks tinting a bright pink. You’d done nothing to feed into his interest, even when you figured he was just being friendly, simply too busy working to engage in the conversation he continued to try and force. Now it was just going to get awkward.

“I–I, Jett I’m sorry but…no, I’m not–I can’t.” You choke out, the sheer humiliation of the situation for both parties dragging you down.

“Oh.” Is all he says, disappointment evident in his eyes, gaze casting toward the floor as he twists a rag around in between his fingers.

“I just–we’re friends–”

“Yeah.” He sighs bitterly, spinning on his heel to speed off toward a busy table.

There was no further conversation, he didn’t let you finish, didn’t even offer to talk privately. It was just…done. And now you feared you’d made an enemy simply by saying no to a date. You were now the villain in his story. It seemed you were becoming the villain in everyone’s story at this rate, what’s one more?

It was t-minus two hours until Eddie’s friends would be arriving to surprise him and you were already worn out. If there was any hope of making a good impression at some point, there wasn’t a chance anymore. They’d be met with a mess of a girl with smudged mascara and crazy hair, apron stained with melted cheese that you had leaned into earlier on one of the tables.

They were going to hate you.

–

“Honey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Donnie ushers you toward the hallway leading to the back, only stopping just before going outside to talk in private.

The whole night it seemed you were a brainless mess, messing up orders and forgetting in general how to do your job. Donnie had been keeping an eye on the time, ensuring things were set up for when Eddie’s friends arrived all the while making sure he had no idea. You’d helped set up the table for them and set aside the alcohol they liked but in all honesty you don’t even remember your entire shift. You were right back to being a stupid girl that didn’t belong.

“I-I just–do you think Eddie is upset with me?” Your lip wobbles pathetically.

“What!?” Donnie gasps, as if it were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Why would he be mad at you? That boy likes you better than he likes me. Better than he likes most of us.”

That was news to you, you’d never been the favorite. And you doubted her words, no matter how sweet they were.

“I-I dunno. He seems–he seems really on edge and I’m just…I’m really overwhelmed and–” You whimper, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” She rubs your shoulder almost uncomfortably. Physical affection was not her specialty. “I’m gonna–I’m gonna go get him–”

“No!”

Before your protests reach her ears, she’s gone, rounding the corner straight to the bar. You’re well aware that you should rush out the back door behind you right now, that you should just spare everyone your existence but before you can pick up your heavy feet from the ground, a mane of curls comes hurling at you, hands reaching out to grip your shoulders. You look pathetic, tears beginning to trail down your cheeks, mascara more than likely following them, creating the most psychotic image.

“Bambi, what happened?” He asks, sincerity creasing his forehead rather than irritation as you’d grown used to in the past day or so.

“Nothing.” You attempt to brush past him, swallowing what pride you had left only to be firmly held in place.

“What happened.” He demands.

Chocolatey irises refuse to look away from you, his mind made up as he pushes for an explanation. Determination settles in his gaze, he wasn’t going to let you take the easy way out, much to your dismay.

“It’s not like you care.”

Your words bite, pain spreading as you regard him with such fire in your eyes. His hands remain on your shoulders, keeping you there while he continues his interrogation. It’s all too much, everything is falling apart in a matter of seconds. At least that’s how it feels in your mushy little brain.

“What?” He scoffs, offense evident in his pinched eyebrows.

“You don’t need to sit here and pity me. I’m sure you have better things to do like mad dog me all night. ”

It’s childish, the way that you cross your arms and jut your hip out to make a statement, but you can’t help it, especially when he had been such an ass the past few days. You’d done nothing to instigate–at least nothing you could think of and if you had, he wasn’t manning up to communicate the issue. The ball was in his court as far as you were concerned.

“What the fuck has gotten into everyone?” Eddie removes his hands from your shoulders to drop his arms heavily at his sides, almost as if he had given up. You hate that you miss the tiniest bit of warmth from his hands.

“No, what the fuck has gotten into you?” You counter meanly.

“Me!?” He raises his voice in the slightest but it doesn’t startle you, no, it only aggravates you.

“Yeah, you!” You match his volume. “You’re acting like a giant baby, moping around all day! We’re all just supposed to put up with it cause you own the place!?”

Eddie bites his tongue…hard. It’s useless when his stupid brain shoves his words out of his mouth, no longer a private thought that he could forget when he managed to calm down later.

“You’re the one who’s been ignoring me all week! What, are you too busy dry humping Jett to engage in actual conversation these days?”

There are several people scattered throughout the bar but at this moment, only her and Eddie exist. It’s not how she imagined in her daydreams. In her daydreams they’re smiling, unable to take their eyes off each other, his eyes swallow her lovingly and his rough hands brush against her cheeks as they drink in each other’s existence. They don’t fight, they don’t argue.

It would be too good to be true and she knows that. But she didn’t expect him to be like every other guy. He wasn’t like every other guy…until now. Until he reduced her to some other guy’s side piece the moment he disagreed with her.

“I–what?” You breathe in disbelief.

“I didn’t mean that.” He wishes he could turn back time and slap himself, take the words back, and apologize for his toddler-like behavior. Real life doesn’t offer such luxuries.

“Just–” Your words are lodged in your throat, unable to defend yourself as he pathetically dials back on his insult.

When he reaches out to place his hand on your shoulder as he had before, you wince painfully. Because it was painful. His touch would be enough to singe your skin except this time it would be out of malice. You wanted nothing to do with whatever apology he was about to improvise, you just wanted him to get out of your sight so you could finish up the night, clock out and cry into your pillow at home.

The progress you’d made with him seemed to have disintegrated like grains of sand passing through your fingers. It was such a miniscule issue that had only become larger with each sentence exchanged, an escalating argument between immature adults who were emotionally stunted and stubborn.

“Where’s Munson!” An unfamiliar voice calls from the front.

He ignores it, ducking his head down to catch your eyes only to be met with seething anger. His brain was scrambling to find a solution, a quick fix to tide you over. There wasn’t. He made his bed and he had to lay in it. He was in the dog house, if you even would be so kind as to provide him a dog house. He wouldn’t blame you if you chucked him out in the freezing cold for his behavior.

“Bambi–”

“Don’t.” You grit, pushing past him, his shoulder taking an impressive hit.

As you round the corner, it’s obvious that the four strangers lingering around the bar were Eddie’s friends. Good. They could be left to deal with his insufferable personality and rude comments.

“Eddie!” One of them shouts. He had to have been younger by a few years, maybe a college student. His curls are tighter than Eddie’s and he has an adorable grin that you couldn’t frown at any longer as he briefly glances at you. His attire was nerdy, some kind of polo decorated in graphics on his torso and khaki pants showcasing his unique style. To top it off, a baseball cap with a university logo sat snugly on his head.

The others appeared to be older, their demeanor a tad more mature than the boy that had yelled for Eddie like a younger sibling. To the right of him was a man with crazy voluminous hair, you notice how his pants fit quite tightly although it works for him. He wore a yellow sweater that seemed so cozy, you were starting to grow jealous. As you subtly look him over, you conclude that he has a handsome face, he was good looking, you weren’t gonna lie to yourself. He definitely wasn’t your type but you had eyes and could admit that he was in fact cute.

To the handsome guy’s right, is a girl with striking blue eyes and freckles dotting across her face. She sports a dirty blond bob with some messy bangs, a look that you knew would look horrendous on you but did her justice. She wears a blue toned flannel and some blue jeans with a few tiny holes and some converse. The grin on her face is contagious, though you really couldn’t find it in you to provide such a large smile in return, your ears still burning from your previous interaction with he who shall not be named.

Lastly, next to flannel girl, was perhaps a supermodel? If not she could certainly be one. Her face was also adorned in softer freckles and her eyes were a piercing blue, but she had these brown curls that reached just the tops of her shoulders that looked so lucious and well taken care of. Her outfit was a little bit quirky but it worked and she might as well be a trendsetter in your book. Her skirt was plaid and pink while her sweater was lavender with several tiny flowers creating a pattern across the fabric. She wore these boots that you’d die to have in your closet, truthfully.

Together, as a group they were rather intimidating, especially considering you were the only individual who hadn’t met them yet. So you idled near the bar, pretending to focus on cleaning a glass that had already been sparkling as all customers had already been served, Eddie tending to his surprise guests, leaving no room for you in the equation.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, seemingly less than happy.

Each of his friend’s faces fall, no doubt taken back by the fact that they weren’t met with an elated friend they hadn’t seen for a while, instead they were met with his wrath that was more than likely supposed to be reserved for you but happened to slip through the cracks and leak at their feet. He didn’t have a right to be upset with you, he’s the one who took it too far. No sympathy was spared for him in your eyes.

“To see you!” Flannel girl exclaims, hands gesturing wildly in the air.

“Do we smell or somethin’?” The handsome one asks playfully, a smirk displayed on his face as he pokes Eddie’s shoulder. “What’s got you so bent outta shape?”

Eddie sighs, visually huffing out a breath as he controls his irritation. An apologetic expression crosses his face and you only wish he had the guts to offer you the same look moments ago. Even if he did, it didn't fix anything. He still practically insinuated that you had been slutting around with a coworker that you had not once even hugged. At most, you’d awkwardly side-hugged him a few times.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry. Just, uh, just under a lot of pressure.” Eddie rubs the back of his neck. “Hi, and what are you doing here?” He asks, a tad more friendly.

“Do I get a hug?” The younger one asks with a shit-eating grin. You almost laugh, almost.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, engulfing the boy in a bone-crushing hug, his palm smacking down on his back which only makes the boy grunt in protest. Then, each of them receives a tight hug from him.

“It’s called a surprise, Munson.” The supermodel chirps, her voice gentle and sincere.

At this, you don’t know why but you can feel your teeth grinding. Your jaw tenses, fists balling up at your sides. You don’t even try to pretend that you’re occupied with something, that you’re too busy to even notice the interaction. And she notices.

“You must be Bambi.”

You hate that she seems so kind, bright blue irises full of compassion tuning in on you. How she knew the nickname Eddie had selected for you, you weren’t sure. What you did know is that the name only felt right falling from his lips, no one else’s. Politely correcting her with your actual name, you can only hope she picks up on the hint.

“Nancy Wheeler.” She introduces herself, gingerly shaking a hand that you had extended toward her.

You could play nice. Even as you will yourself to come down from your haze of rage, you can make nice. These people had nothing to do with what Eddie had said minutes ago, they didn’t deserve to have your first impression of them tainted by the rotten words he spat at you.

“Steve.” The handsome one brushes past Nancy, gracing you with warm eyes and a lopsided smile, shaking your hand gently. You wouldn’t expect it from someone dressed so preppy.

It all becomes so overwhelming-

“I’m Robin!” The other girl chirps in excitement, pushing Steve to the side to clasp her hand in yours. She wore a handful of delicate rings, a contrast to the chunky ones you were used to Eddie sporting.

“Hey!” Steve protests, offense written in every line of his face as he displays his disdain.

“Dustin Henderson!” The younger boy shoves past both of them confidently, his hand shaking yours impressively.

“We have heard so much–” Robin begins though she’s cut off by Steve lightly smacking a hand against her stomach.

So much personality bursts from each individual before you, not one of them the least bit shy as they continuously take over the conversation from one another. Robin’s statement only begs the question…what have they heard? Even further questions surface the more you think about it. Had Eddie alerted them of your existence back when you first crashed into his peaceful life? Maybe they’d heard all bad things, all things that painted you as some idiotic girl who cried at even the mention of a confrontation.

Among your silent panic, one question crawled to the forefront of your mind, clawing its way out of the millions of other haunting thoughts. A question that you had no right to be asking, even if only in the solitude of your brain.

Was Nancy Eddie’s girlfriend?

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson au #stranger things au #stranger things fic #eddie munson series

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sports-on-sundays · 8 months

Text

prince not so charming / CL16 / PART 5

Warnings : Nausea, vomiting, mention of sex, nudity (not described much), giving birth (not described much), switching from second to third person once at the end

Summary : Charles x princess!reader - Charles and his princess face the possibility of a child.

Author's Note : This is the last part! Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this, as this little series was my first bit of writings on tumblr ! If you enjoyed it, and are a fan of football or F1, I encourage you to check out my pinned post, because I do take requests ! But overall, special thanks from the bottom of my heart for everyone who read, liked, and reblogged this! And enjoyed it!

Here is the link to part 4, which contains a link to part 3, which contains a link to part 2, which contains a link to part 1.

Whoosh. Clip clop clip clop clop clickity clop clip. Fwoom. People chatter all around you, and some passionate individuals further from you scream out towards the track as the chariots go by.

All the noise and dust. You feel thankful for you umbrella, protecting yourself from the sun that could be beaming on you.

You're used to this. You've been to a few more of Charles' races since you married. It's something you're interested in watching. Not to mention that it's also supporting your husband of course.

So you're used to this.

So why, today, does it all seem to be to much? Why does the dust seem a little too hard to breathe, the sun a little too hot, and the sounds a little too loud?

You rub your head, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling out of your stomach. But there's nowhere for it to go.

Oh goodness. How much longer until this race ends?

You keep your mouth clamped shut as you feel anxiety sink in. You feel nauseous... And tired... So tired... And frankly, weak.

Please, Charles. Hurry up. I need this race to finish. I'm not feeling well.

The heat spins, making everything blend together into a mush of colors, and then your hand clamps over your mouth in panic. The umbrella drops from your shaking hand as you run out of the stands, tripping on your pink skirts multiple times. You don't care. You're sure they're now all dirty on bottom, but you just have to get out of here as fast as you can.

The moment you're out, you can no longer hold it back. In a corner, you vomit, tears coming from your eyes along with it, in shame of running out like that, and of throwing up in public like this, just on the ground.

You're glad your hair is tied up in a tight bun.

Finally, you finish, gasping. You stand there, feeling terrible, as your legs shake, your head spins, and your lip quivers. You breathe deeply, unsure of what to do, when suddenly your savior arrives.

Your savior also just happens to be your husband.

"Y/n!" he exclaims after taking in the scene. He runs to you, wrapping his arms around you.

"Charles, I don't want to get you sick..."

"It's okay," he says right away.

"How did you know where I was?"

"Someone told me you ran out so quickly right after I finished the race, so I came looking for you. Let's get going home, then, and get you in bed."

"Ch- Charles...?" you ask softly, glancing to Charles in the eyes, before looking back down at your fidgeting folded hands in your lap. You're sitting on you and your husband's bed in your nightgown as he finishes up getting ready for bed. "I need to... tell you something."

"Of course," he says, looking up in concern. "Anything, Y/n. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just... I think you should sit down for this."

Charles' eyebrows scrunch together as he sits down next to you, setting his hand on your thigh, giving it a little squeeze. "Yes?"

"I... I... Uh- hm, I think I might be... Charles... I think..." You exhale deeply, before finishing quickly, "I think I'm pregnant."

You must say it so suddenly, it takes Charles a moment to process. He sits, staring, eyes wide for a moment, before saying, a smile lighting up his eyes in excitement, throwing his arms around you, "Oh, my goodness... I don't know what to think... I-!" He squeezes you tighter, showering your cheeks with kisses, saying, "That's good! That's good, isn't it?!"

You nod slowly, feeling stress set in even further. "Y- Yeah..."

"How do you know you're pregnant?"

"Well, I don't know... But I should have gotten my period at least twice already, I think... And I haven't. And as you know, I haven't been feeling well... I don't know when I got pregnant, but... Maybe two months ago roughly?"

"We got married two months ago," Charles points out simply.

"Well, yeah, but... We slept together after the wedding."

"I suppose you're right... I think the midwives have ways if testing it, you know."

You shake you head 'no' slowly. "I think we should just watch it for now."

"Wait, turn around-" Charles suddenly says.

"Charles, it's not the time. I'm trying to get dressed. We're already going to be late, no?"

"It's okay. Just turn around. Please."

You sigh, doing so, and suddenly, his strong, big hands are on your stomach, feeling around. Then they cup a tiny little...

A little bump.

You exhale suddenly in surprise, your hands going to his shoulders.

"Oh, no... My goodness... You really think...?" you stutter softly.

"Yes, I do really think... I think? We should ask the castle's midwives. They have those tests."

You shake your head 'no', though. "We should wait and see if it grows into... well, if it grows into an obvious pregnant belly. I just... I just want to keep this between you and me for now."

"Of course. We'll just keep watching it."

Over the next weeks, the bump grows, until you're sure it must be what you thought it was from the beginning. Once you and Charles verbally decide this with each other, it's like he can't contain his excitement.

At every opportunity, he's kissing your tummy, placing his hands on it. When you cuddle in bed, it's the center of it all. Nonstop, he's talking about how excited he is, and how he can't wait. How he's going to take care of you and the baby. How he wonders if it's a boy or a girl. How he hopes he'll be a good father.

You keep telling him not to get too far ahead of himself, even though soon enough you know the secret of your pregnancy will have to get out. After all, something like that becomes hard to hide after a while.

You love the feeling of his warm hands and loving kisses on you, though. The fact that he has nothing but excitement calms some of your fears over the whole situation.

"May I speak for a moment, please?"

The table goes quiet as all eyes go on Charles. You know what he's about to do. You spoke it over. Regardless, you're still nervous about it for some unknown reason. You know there's really no reason to be...

Right?

But all those eyes on the two of you...

"Me and my beautiful wife are proud to announce that we're going to be having a child."

Those at the table are your family. Charles family, and your father. Both Charles' mother and your father's faces light up with pride. Lorenzo says, "Oh, Charles, that's wonderful!"

And of course Arthur's action is to lean forward (staining his royal white suit in his plate of food) to see if he can see your middle.

Lorenzo quickly orders the youngest Leclerc brother to have his seat and pay attention, because he got food all over his nice shirt.

You sigh of relief. You knew everyone would be very happy to learn of the news. But for some reason, you were still anxious. You're so glad it turned out.

You recline, eating some toast Charles brought to you after you complained about wanting some, licking the blue jam off your fingers, watching and listening as Charles sits at his piano, playing a nice little tune. A song he's apparently creating. He looks elegant and handsome there, sitting straight, his fingers moving over the keys so naturally, looking so relaxed.

King of like an angel, maybe.

But then it happens.

And you're reaction is to sit for a moment, eyes wide, before squealing, "Charles!"

Right away his fingers leave the keys of the piano, and he stands up, looking at you in concern. "Yes, my love? Is everything okay?"

You stare at him. "'My love...?'" you ask. Up until now, all he's called you is 'my wife', 'my princess', or simply, of course, just your name.

"Oh... I said that out loud?" he chuckles, after realising you're okay.

"Yes, you did!" you laugh, both hands resting on your pregnant tummy.

He smiles, sitting next to you. He pulls you onto his lap, placing both hands over yours. "That's how I think of you. I call you that in my head. Guess I've just never spoken it. I thought you would think it's too sappy. But I'm sure you already think I'm too sappy." He kisses your cheek from behind, before gently licking the edge of your ear.

"Oh, stop that!" you giggle

He huffs, but gently leans his chin on your shoulder with a nod. "Anyway, why did you call me over? Do you need something?" He leans back.

"No," you say, remembering with an excited smile. "But the baby moved, I think!"

Right away, Charles hands move under yours, and he sits there, just waiting, until suddenly he also feels it. "Y/n!" he gasps in excitement.

"I know!" You giggle softly again.

He hugs you tight, sighing in contentment.

From then on, every single night in bed, he takes to whispering. Whispering to the child inside of you, and rubbing your tummy. In the beginning, he whispers sweet-nothings in English, but soon enough, he's muttering in his own native language. You always love it when he speaks his language. It puts you right to sleep every night.

"Charles, I can't be going to a wedding!"

"But... we have to go. I know this person too much. If I don't go, that would look terrible. And it would look even worse if I went without you!" You can tell Charles is panicking (as much as he can panic. His panicking is like your moderate worrying) as he paces back and forth, and suddenly, guilt hits you.

"Charles," you sniff, stifling a sob as you look away. "I'm so sorry... I'll try more t-"

"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa," he suddenly says, slipping down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay. Sh, come on now, it's okay. I'll figure something out..."

"I'm so sorry... You're so stressed, and now I'm crying and you're trying to pretend this isn't bothering y-"

"Hey, it's all right. I just don't want you to cry, okay?"

But you can't help but cry more, "I'm sorry..."

He hugs you tighter. "You're dealing with a lot right now. It's hard carrying a baby. I know you're going through the effects of that."

"I've been aching so much lately..." you sniff.

"I know. It's a lot. I know. I could never be as strong as you are. I could never do that. It'd kill me. You're extremely strong, and I haven't told you that enough, but I'm very proud of you."

You sigh, snuggling into his warm body with a nod. "Thank you... Charles, I'm sorry for overreacting. I am only a little over halfway through this pregnancy. I can still go to a wedding with you. It's okay."

"Are you sure? The last thing I want to do is put you through discomfort."

"No, it's okay. I know I'll be with you. So I'll be okay."

He smiles softly at this comment, rubbing your lower back, where he knows you've been aching a lot. "Okay. Okay."

Lately you've just been staying around home (Charles worries about you going to his races, so you stopped until the baby is born), and mostly just wearing nightgowns or housecoats, so getting a dress to fit around your growing bump is a tiresome pain. Of course the servant girls gush over the baby soon to be born, which just drives you crazy. Only Charles is allowed to gush over it like that. (He does, too. Quite often.) And the chest area of your new dress has to be made larger, as well, of course.

While you're not excited about your growing chest and tummy as much, Charles definitely has been.

"Charles," you breathe, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I'm tired. Can we go? And itchy."

He kisses you and nods. "Of course."

The whole way home, you sleep on his shoulder.

"I had an idea," Charles claims, walking into the room.

"Be quieter," you mutter. Your hands are on your tummy, feeling as the baby inside you move. It still amazes you...

There is a baby growing inside of me.

Charles changes into more comfortable clothes and lays down next to you, putting his hand next to yours.

"What's your idea?" you ask him.

"I'm always touching your tummy. And you are too."

"Sure?" you ask, looking to him. You can't help but laugh softly when you see the little excited hope in his bright eyes. "You're adorable. What's your idea?"

For the past seven months, as you are now that far into your pregnancy, Charles has had that look. He's been so excited. Super protective over you and the child within your womb. He can't wait to be a daddy. And you're sure he'll be a very good one.

Probably a better parent than you'll ever be, anyway.

"I got this scented oil, and I thought it might feel good if I rubbed it on you."

You smile. "Sure. Why not?" You sit up a little, still reclining, as he sits up all the way. You're already wearing underclothes, your belly exposed.

Of course Charles (for no other reason but the desire in his eyes) decides that in order to do this, he must also remove your bra.

Okay, Charles.

But it feels good. It really does. He rubs all over your chest and tummy, and you lean back, letting him, inhaling the sweet scents of the oils.

You sit in the garden by yourself, rubbing your tummy.

The midwives say five weeks.

That number has hit you like the chariots Charles races in.

In five weeks or less, I'll be giving birth to our child.

A year ago, you would have never imagined being here.

You're terrified.

"Y/n?"

You sigh. Charles. How does he always seem to find you? He doesn't let you be upset. He's way too good at comforting.

He sits down next to you in the bench. It's chilly outside, but winter has passed, and you know spring is coming soon. You're wrapped in fur coats. He wraps an arm around your back. "Are you crying?"

You nod slowly.

"Oh, my love," he says, softly trying to wipe some of the tears away with his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Giving birth. It's coming so soon."

"I know it is... Why are you scared of it, though?"

"Charles, I don't think you know this. But there's a reason why you've never seen my mother. She passed away years ago. She passed away giving birth to me..."

Charles hugs you tight.

"Sometimes, I wonder how she was. What kind of person was she? What kind of mother would she have been? Was she a proper lady? Did she like athletics? Did she mind a little bit of dirt? Did she have a good sense of humor? My father never talks about her. I always wonder and..." you sniff. "I don't want you to have to tell our baby how I was, or what kind of mother you thought I would've been."

Charles sniffs as well, although he's not crying. "It's... please do not worry about such things. That was twenty-five years ago. Our midwives are very good. Experienced, skilled, and they know what they're doing in order to keep you and our child safe. I would never let anything bad happen to you. Or the baby." He places a hand on your tummy. "I love you both too much."

"But, Charles, what if there's not anything you could do about it? What if no matter how much you love me, it still doesn't work out, and your heart is broken anyway? I'm sure my father told my mother the same kind of things you're telling me before I was born..."

"Y/n, please. Just stop. I know it will be okay. I know we will get through. I know that in five weeks, you'll be sitting with a healthy little newborn in your arms."

"But what if I'm not? What if you're sitting with a healthy newborn in your arms, c- cr- crying? Because I'm-"

"Stop!" Charles suddenly yells, pulling away from you.

You stare at him in awe.

This is the first time he's ever yelled at you.

He continues, voice still raised, "You'll be okay! So will the child, and so will I be! Everyone will be safe and healthy, and everything will go as planned! Okay?" He's on the edge of screaming, his hand gripping your shoulder too tightly. "So stop worrying about nothing!"

You swallow, nodding.

Maybe he's worried, too. And instead of crying about it...

He's yelling about it.

Maybe he's trying to convince not only you of his words, but also himself.

This makes you cry more.

Immediately Charles suddenly softens again, and practically whines, "Please stop crying..." He sighs. "Please..." His head drops onto resting on your pregnant belly, which is now very firm. He stays in his position, but says, suddenly his tone bright, "Let's talk about something else!"

You stare at the back of his head, with his light brown messy hair that's in need of a trim.

When did you start loving this man so much?

You let out a shaky sigh.

In the past minute, he went from comforting, to angry, to panicking, to in a cheery mood.

What?

He continues, "I think after the baby is born, and after your father can no longer rule, Lorenzo will allow us to move to your island, where we can rule together! Doesn't that sounds good, Y/n?"

You shrug and nod, wiping away a tear. "Yeah, that will be nice... That would be... nice. It's what I want. Thank you for working for that for me, Charles."

"Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" he asks right away then.

You shrug. "I don't know. I'll be happy either way, I guess. I think you'll be a great father, Charles."

He smiles, and chuckles softly. "I hope so, my love. You will be a lovely mother. I can picture you with our baby, drinking from your breast... Your hair falling over your shoulders. Your skin shining golden. The love in your eyes. I'm quite attracted to the concept of you being a mother, Y/n."

You laugh softly. "Clearly. And I doubt my skin will be shining, but we'll see about that, I suppose."

"What are you thinking for names?"

You think a few seconds. "I don't know. Maybe if it's a boy, we could just name him after you. You know, Charles."

"I think our kid should have his or her own name. I don't want them to be named after either of us."

You nod. "Got any ideas, then?"

He shrugs, saying casually, sitting up finally, "For a boy, Jules might be okay."

"Why Jules?"

"My good friend and godfather. That was his name. Really the best man anyone ever met."

"Oh... I-"

"Anyone would be honored to be named after him. Either way, I don't know, though. You have to be okay with it too, and you idin't even know him. Got any ideas for a girl's name?"

You think for a few seconds. "For girls, I've always liked Eleanor. Ella would be a cute nickname. I also like Charlotte. And for boys, Jadon... or James. Something like that. But I don't know. We'll see when the baby comes, I suppose, no?"

He shrugs. "Yes, I suppose so, huh?

For the next weeks, because of Charles care about you, he always wants the midwives near you. Unless he's near you. He loves being alone with you, and gets excited at every single sign that the baby is just around the corner. At every sign, you get more anxious. When false labor starts, Charles stays with you whenever he can, and always makes sure midwives are close to help you in case...

Well, in case it's time.

The anxiety you feel is terrible, but you hide it from Charles.

Despite all the pain you feel as the days go on, and the heaviness of your large pregnant tummy, you prepare a bed for the baby with Charles, and other things your child will need.

You try to push out all your worries, but it's very difficult.

To hear his wife say the words, "It's now. I'm going to have the baby. Soon!"

That's kind of scary.

He gets the midwives right away, and she gets settled in the room they've prepared for her for the birthing process.

My nerves. Oh goodness, these nerves.

Charles' nerves could be cut with a knife.

"Charles, I'm scared."

"It's going to be okay. Just relax," are the words he manages.

Of course, he hates to hear those words, 'Charles, I'm scared,' come from his beloved's mouth. The wavering way it comes from her soft beautiful lips sends a sinking feeling into Charles' chest.

And then the process begins. The midwives try different positions with her, despite her wish to just lay down.

Charles keeps his hand in hers the whole time. It's like as if time stops in that little room, until Charles sees the sun rising outside the window.

How long has it been?

Please. Please, I need this baby to be born soon. She needs this baby to be born soon.

"Keep pushing."

Charles swallows as his wife cries, squeezing his hand tight and continues to moan in pain.

Oh God. Oh goodness, love.

Please... Please... Please make it.

You gasp when you hear the crying of your baby. Charles hand slips out of yours, and you watch as he walks across the room to the midwives. You're so tired, you don't understand what's happening.

You get a sudden sinking feeling.

"Is the- Is the baby okay? A- Alive?" you ask in panic, gripping the bed.

But the tiny little baby is placed into your arms. "Say hello to your baby boy, Princess Y/n."

You feel a tear slip from you eye as you look at the tiny little baby in your arms.

That you and Charles made.

You know, the one that's been causing you problems for the past nine months.

This little guy.

You've grown so much in these past nine months.

You feel Charles arm come around your back.

I can never let anything happen to this little beautiful, innocent, perfect child. I will never let anything happen to him. I can't. I love him too much.

Charles kisses the side of your head.

You sit, rocking the child slowly, for who knows how long, before he starts feeding from your breast. Charles rubs your back softly. "It feels funny," you softly giggle.

Charles laughs softly, too, taking your hand and gently rubbing it. "What did I tell you? I told you it would all turn out, didn't I?"

"Yes," you sigh. "Yes, you did. It was hard, and now I'm so tired I feel like I could pass out, but we made it. All three of us made it."

"You don't have to tell me how hard it was. I was here the whole time," Charles teases, but his smile becomes slightly more faint as he mutters with such love, "I'm so proud of you... It was terrible to watch you in such pain... I knew the least I could do was stay with you no matter what."

"It was hard. One time, you left to go to the bathroom, and I got worried. You know, I begged for you. The midwives told me you'd be back soon. And everything turned out, Charles, didn't it?"

"Oh, my love," he breathes in the sappiest tone. He kisses your cheek again, and you can feel the emotions radiating off of him- excitement, relief, pride, tiredness, desire, but most of all, love. "You should have believed me when I said everything would be okay."

"Yeah, I know..."

"Because here we are. Three of us. All safe and sound."

"Yeah... Three," you smile at the child in your arms.

After quite a long time, you hand your son to his father. Charles holds him, rocking him back and forth. Such contentment.

The way he holds him with that little smile down at the tiny little being. So much love and protection. So much fatherly love.

"I love you," Charles whispers softly, and you know he's talking to both of you.

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lacedinweb22 · 10 months

Text

Knight in Glitching Armor

(Miguel O’Hara x reader)

🕸️ Entangled series 🕸️ ch. 4 prev part

(Another flashback in between part 1 and 2 of the chapter “Drunk and Crushing”!!! This chapter is important to that storyline :D)

Summary: After your physics lab ends later than expected, you walk home alone rushing to meet up with your best friend, Miguel. When you’re attacked in an alleyway, a tall, mysterious figure with holographic armor, saves you.

TW: attempted SA, mugging, mauling, beating, blood.

*to skip the attempted SA, start at the paragraph with the violet colored beginning*

My lab ended late thanks to a couple of my group members messing around and spoiling our lab results one million times before they were deemed acceptable. The rest of my group agreed to go to a bar after, but I promised Mig we would watch a horror movie at my apartment after my lab. He said he would be interning late tonight at Alchemax, so I walked off of campus alone. It was dark and uncomfortably quiet. The city was especially lonely tonight. I knew Miguel would come pick me up if he sensed I was in danger or in this case, walking alone, but I didn’t want to be a bother especially while he worked; a text would suffice.

Me: I’m sorry Mig my lab ended a bit late :( I’ll be there super soon. Could you text and stay on the phone with me?

…

Fuck.

I looked down at the chat, waiting anxiously for him to respond. The text remained on delivered.

My gut instincts kicked in, which manifested in the echoes of Miguel's voice in my head: “Don’t walk home alone, Y/N, I’m serious, especially at night. Don’t be annoying, just call me, and I’ll be there.” Yeah, yeah whatever.

I sped walked by the sketchy alley I always avoided. A tall man stood by the edge, leaning against the brick wall. I picked up my pace, when I felt him pull me back by my shoulder. “What the fuck?! Let go,” I screamed, pushing him off of me. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the alley. “Come on, I just want to talk,” he hissed through gritted teeth. I screamed, and pulled my wrist hard away from him.

He ripped my school bag off of my shoulder, then ripped my jacket open, pulling me down to the floor. He dropped onto his knees, now in between my legs. “You fucker! HELP! GET OFF!” I kicked his crotch and punched him in the face. He groaned and dropped his face into my neck, “You’re going to be fucking sorry for that,” he grunted, furiously. “Please, no,” I breathed out, tears streaming down my face.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a figure jump down from the side of the building as I fought with the man. He pounced onto the man, pulling him off of me and onto the asphalt. I stood up, then backed away, stumbling back against the brick wall. He beat him into the ground, relentlessly throwing his fists at him. I watched in horror, failing to catch my breath.

He hovered over him, tearing the man up, mauling and growling. His back was huge and muscular, flexing as he demolished his prey. His suit was dark midnight blue and blood red, glitching and glowing as he moved. Is that him… Spider—?

His mask suddenly glitched below his nose, exposing his fangs, his mouth ready to bite the man’s neck. He turned abruptly to the side, and looked up at me; his mask glitched back closed.

He slashed the man’s throat fiercely, blood spraying onto him and the brick wall beside him. He slashed the man a final time, leaving a huge bloody gash across his body, spilling through his clothes, as he immediately stood up from the momentum of his final blow. He took a deep breath then looked back up at me, then back at the body.

I dropped to the floor, backing away in horror. “Is that Spider-man?” I whispered to myself. No shit. “Are—are you…?” I called out. He looked up at me slowly, nodding, clearly expecting what I was asking. He still hovered over the man’s dead body. I stood up, pulling myself together, shivering from fear and the cold.

His deep voice began, “are you… okay?” He stood up; he was so tall, almost the same height as Miguel.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” I whimpered looking down at the bruises on my wrists, then lifting my skirt up to reveal even more bruises on my thighs. “That was— I don’t know,” I adjusted my clothes and straightened myself out, trying to process everything that had just happened. “I’m going to go home… thank you, umm Spider-Man,” I muttered, slowly walking away. I felt the tears stream down my face. My stomach ached, and my body felt sore and exhausted, like I had just run a marathon.

“Wait— Y/N, I can walk you home,” he called out, “if you want, only if you feel comfortable… with that.”

I hesitated then took a deep breath. “I just watched you fucking mutilate and murder a man, and now— now what? You want to walk me home? I don’t— wait, how do you know my name?” I replied, quickly. He paused then replied, “My mask has… face recognition,” he said, pointing to his masked eyes. “Oh, cool, great,” I replied sarcastically, nodding.

He tilted his head at me, “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you wanted me to watch him mug and murder you, then you know, just let the rapist live and continue walking freely around Nueva York!” he exclaimed, pacing, his hands up in the air. I rolled my eyes.

“I– I don’t usually murder, but this was… different. He was attacking you,” he said, firmly, looking down at me. “I know, okay? I fucking know he deserved it! I just— that was a lot. You slashed his throat!” I cried out, trying to catch my breath.

“I’m… sorry okay? But you shouldn’t have been here, and god damn it! You shouldn’t have seen this, or seen me like this,” he exclaimed frustrated and pacing. I stood across the alley from him, observing his emotions under that mask. “Seen you? You’re Spider-Man, right? This is how you’re supposed to be seen,” I said, confused and perhaps harshly. Seen him like this? Mig— no. Nope. His voice is too deep and he’s at Alchemax working late. He wasn’t the one to save me tonight.

“I meant— I just, I protect and I try to do what’s right, and here, that meant ending a predator, but yeah, sure, see it that way,” he said, sarcastically. He looked up at me, then down at his bloody claws, “Yeah, I guess this is how I’m supposed to be seen,” he muttered.

“Fuck, I know alright, you’re right. Thank you,” I replied, backing off.

“Don’t thank me. Let’s just head to your apartment,” he muttered. I nodded and adjusted my ripped jacket over me. We began to walk towards my apartment complex, which wasn’t too far.

“Why are you out so late? And alone?” He asked. I couldn’t tell if he was judging me or trying to distract me from the traumatic events that just occurred. “Late class. I go to Nueva York University,” I replied, pointing back to the huge campus buildings. I continued, “And… my lab ended super late, and the rest of my group decided to go drink, but I have plans with a friend,” He nodded, “I see. How do you like it there? Are the students friendly?” He asked, softly. “I actually really love it. And yeah, for the most part they are. There are always going to be pretentious assholes but no importa, I’m just focusing on school, and the people I actually value,” I shrugged. “Who do you value— I mean who are your best friends? What are they like?” “Do you always ask your damsels this many questions? Is this an interview?” I asked, slightly annoyed. “Pretty much. That’s the Spider-Man rescue tax,” he shrugged. I scoffed.

“I have Jenn and Rosalynn, and… Miguel,” I replied, softly smiling at the thought of him. “You’re… smiling,” he pointed out. “Yeah, no shit, I love my friends,” I responded, quickly.

“Is Miguel… your boyfriend?” He asked, slowly.

“No, no he’s not,” “Wow, so defensive, I’m just asking,” he chuckled. “He’s my best friend, he’s really important to me, you know, and I don’t want to ruin things.” “How could you ruin things?” “By telling him— by wanting anything more,” I responded, hugging myself and looking down as we walked in the cold.

“How do you know he doesn’t want the same?” he muttered.

“I don’t know, I guess I just don’t see why he would,” I muttered. Why am I having a full on therapy session with Spider-Man? It feels oddly natural though, like I’ve known him for years. Oh god, I’m delusional. The trauma is getting to me.

“God, you’re good, Spider-Man. You should go into therapy, you’re clearly good at this.”

“I just care, it’s part of my job,” he responded. “Hmph, I can see that.”

We arrived at my apartment complex.

We entered the lobby and walked to the elevator. He was so tall beside me, having to duck when we entered doorways. “You must never take elevators, huh? Since you, you know, have those red web thingies,” I said, pointing to his hands. I pressed my floor number.

“I mean, I exist amongst normal people too so I kind of have to function like everyone else to blend in,” he said, pressing the close-door button. I nodded.

The elevator arrived at my floor, opening to reveal two old women waiting their turn. They both looked up at Spider-Man in shock, then down at me. I nervously smiled, then walked past them. “Good evening, ladies,” Spider-Man said to the ladies, who both giggled and said goodnight back.

He followed after me to my door. I stood in front of it, fidgeting with my keys as he looked down at me. “So… I guess this is goodnight and goodbye?” I said. He nodded, “I— I’m sorry about tonight… but take this as a lesson,” I rolled my eyes, interrupting his stream of thought. His mask’s gaze softened, “Just don’t walk alone at night again, please. There’s been too much going on, Y/N. Wouldn’t want to run into you again,” he said dryly, awkwardly nudging me. “Hmph got it,” I scoffed, breaking a smile. Hilarious. I unlocked the door then went inside, lingering in the doorway to say goodbye. “Thank you for being there. Goodnight, Spider-Man,” I said, looking up at him. He nodded, his face hard to read under the mask. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams,” he said, softly. I closed the door slowly. I need therapy.

✮⋆｡°✩ ✮

next part

taglist: @wingedturtledream @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @infirebaby @skaochii @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @qundadedingle11 @waiif-uwu @punpuun @migueloharaslxt @thbidkbutok @00macy2022 @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @qiaipia @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @imnotyourbcbe

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marvelavengerspovs1 · 2 months

Text

Winter Wolf - Chapter 1

Winter Wolf Master List

Warnings: Mentions of violence, use of Y/N

Length: 956

A/N: Hi! Here's Ch. 1 of Winter Wolf, I don't think I'll always put a/n on the chapters because I have most of them already written out. I am going to keep the same schedule that I use on AO3 and only update every 2 weeks!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You regret waking up this morning. Don't get it wrong, you love working with the Avengers. But you hate the constant bickering and fighting.

"You were supposed to go left!" Sam yells at Bucky.

"How was I supposed to know that!?"

"Because it is in every single action movie!"

"Boys!" You yell at them.

They look at you. "What!?"

"I'm going to let the yelling at me slide, but we are on a mission! Can the bickering wait until after the mission?" You give them a sharp look.

The boys roll their eyes but they continue to take out the oncoming Hydra operatives.

"It's clear on my end." You voice through the comms.

"I think Bucky could use some help." Sam chimes in.

You look over at Bucky when he suddenly gets knocked into an electrical panel. He tries to move his arm but it looks like it was fried.

"I can handle it, Sam!" Bucky yells.

You ignore Bucky and take out the Hydra worker. First a punch to the head, then you swept your leg under his. He falls to the ground and doesn't get back up.

You offer your hand to Bucky but he doesn't take it. "I told you I could take care of myself, Doll."

"I know, but it was fun." You smile at him while he gets up.

Something hits the back of your head and you fall forward. You roll over and see the same Hydra soldier standing above you with a metal pipe in his hand. He grabs your ankles and starts to drag you out of the building.

Before he could do anything else, Bucky tackles him. He punches him a few times before getting up to help you.

"Are you ok, Doll?"

"I told you I had him." You throw his words back at him.

"I know, but it was fun." He smirks at you. "Seriously, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" You touch the back of your head and flinch. "Ok, I may have a concussion or something, but I'm fine."

Bucky smiles at you before he leaves to make sure that the area is secure.

You and the rest of the Avengers finish the mission and head back to the compound in the Quinjet. Once you all get back to your rooms, shower, and get some fresh clothes, Tony calls you all in for a meeting.

"Good job tonight team."

"It would have gone better if Y/N didn't almost get kidnapped." Bucky looks at you.

You snort. "You're one to talk. Your arm short-circuited and I had to go save your ass."

Sam laughs. "She has a point, Buck."

Bucky looks at Sam. "Don't call me that."

"But Steve calls you that." Sam points at Steve who is sitting in the corner of the room.

"I've known him since we were kids." Bucky rolls his eyes at Sam before looking at you. "But all jokes aside, you did really well Y/N. You're even getting better at combat."

"Of course she is." Natasha gets up from her seat to stand next to you. She wraps her arm around your neck with a smile. "I'm training her."

"Alright. We still have some more missions to go on, but for now, we're done for the week." Tony says. You look at your phone and realize that it's Thursday. "We'll have a party tomorrow night and then you guys can take the weekend off. I'm having Friday get some last-minute details for the oncoming missions."

Tony dismisses the team and you all head to your rooms. You get in the elevator with Steve, Bucky, and Sam. They were all going to play a game of pool on the floor above yours.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" Steve asks you.

"Oh, I think I'm going to go see a movie."

"With your secret boyfriend?" Sam asks.

"Yes, with the secret boyfriend." You laugh.

You have been working with the Avengers for years but you have refused to disclose your romantic relationships with them. They mean well, but they become overprotective to the point that a relationship is impossible without them tagging along. The only time they knew about a boyfriend was when you first joined 5 years ago.

You had already been dating Jackson for a couple of months before you were recruited into the Avengers. Almost instantly they drove him away. Whenever Jackson would come around, the group wouldn't leave you guys alone. Thor would put Mjölnir on Jackson's things, knowing the mortal would not be able to do anything about it. Steve would try to be nice but he would just end up being awkward. Tony would just be... well, Tony. Natasha and Clint would be nice but gossip loud enough for Jackson to hear. Similar to Tony, Sam would just be himself. Bucky would always be in his room but when he wasn’t, he would be brooding in the corner of the room and make Jackson feel uncomfortable. The only people who didn't do anything were Wanda, Vision, and Bruce.

"So what will you guys be seeing?" Steve asks you.

"Probably an action movie," Sam laughs at his own innuendo.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You roll your eyes. “We’ll probably watch a comfort movie because it’s been a long week.”

“Oh, I loved Snow White!” Steve smiles at Bucky. “Do you remember when we first saw it?”

“You mean when we snuck into the movie theater and got kicked out almost immediately?”

“Captain America got kicked out of a movie theater?!” Sam asks excitedly.

You roll your eyes at them and the elevator opens to your floor.

"I'll see you, boys, later." And with that, you walk out of the elevator.

#avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut

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trashmouth-richie · 6 months

Text

Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 1: FLICKER

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THR REDLIGHTS

chapter summary: flashbacks provide some insight on our favorite metalhead.

chapter trigger warnings: 18+ only, character death, references to child neglect, upside down references, poor parenting practices, etc, blood, character death, killer reveal.

CH. 4: FAMILY VALUES

1974

The tires on Evil Kneivel’s Stunt Bike trudged through the familiar path of the bare thread carpet in the back bedroom of trailer 8 in Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie was on his stomach, ignoring the rumbling noise from the hollow emptiness in his belly, he pressed his lips together to vibrate a motorcycle sound through his mouth, casually blowing dark curls from his vision.

An annoyed huff echoed across the thin walls, “This is boring,” Billy snarled, he was laying flat on Eddie’s bed, feet on the wall, throwing up his stretch Armstrong to himself before tossing it across the room, landing with a splat on the broken closet door.

Eddie pushed himself up from the carpet, the fibers itching through the holes in his jeans and scratching his knees.

He shrugs, running his tongue through the gap of his latest pulled tooth, “wanna see my guitar?”

“No,” Billy huffed, his thumb nail catching along the ridges of the zippo lighter he had stolen from Melvalds, lighting a small flame that he quickly extinguished with the flip of the lid. “I wanna do something fun.”

“Alright then, genius,” Eddie scowls, sitting next to Billy on the brown and burgundy ripped threads of an afghan blanket, “what do you have in mind?”

Billy swings his feet around, landing with ease and standing before his friend, the smirk on Billy’s face was one Eddie knew all too well.

—

Neil and Al didn’t hear the boys sneak out from the back room, too drunk and elbow deep in “work” to notice their sons had pushed the screen outward and hopped down to the ground.

“The instructions are clear, Al,” Neil said, his mouth around a can of Pabst, scrubbing a dirty thumbnail through his eyebrow, “here let me see that.”

Al blows a cloud of smoke into the air, handing over the poorly written note on the back of the Hideout napkin, clad with ketchup stains and spilled coffee. “Don’t know how you can even read this shit.”

“I can read that’s how I can read it dumb fuck,” Neil snapped, grabbing the napkin from him, he looks over the scratchy pen marks, pointing at the instructions again, “see right there, Creel laid it all out for us.”

“Okay wise ass, but it doesn’t make sense. How the hell are we supposed to break int- into that place without anyone seeing us?” Al puts the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, blowing smoke around the side of his mouth. “It’s under surveillance and the guards are armed.”

“The guards are armed.” Neil mocks, “Jesus Christ you sound just like a woman, how many cars have we boosted?”

“That’s different, easy. Breaking into a secret government lab? This is above our pay grade, and your skill level.”

“Yeah and your big brains are why you got fired from the mill right?”

“Shit,” Al downplays, “they didn’t pay worth a damn, boosting and dealin’ keep my pockets lined just fine.”

“If only it was enough to keep Liz around right?”

“Don’t say that bitch’s name in this house, I’ll slit your throat and use it for an ashtray, Hargrove.”

“Ahh shit,” Neil quips, “don’t get your panties wadded up, but back to this,” he says waving the napkin around, “the tunnels, that’s our way in.”

—-

Eddie’s van is barreling down the highway like a bat out of hell. Nancy hasn’t stopped crying, slowly wiping her tears, with the front of her shirt, sniffling every so often.

You’re grief stricken, numb to whatever the hell just happened, and what those things even were— and to top it all off, Eddie somehow knows?

Steve is leaning on the center console between you and Eddie, back seat driving and giving him directions on how to get to his house.��

At first Eddie had thought about going to his trailer, he knew his dad and Wayne kept their rifles in the back shed, but decided against it at the last minute, hollering over his shoulder for anyone having an idea of where to go.

How safe could he keep everyone if his house was bordering on enemy lines?

—-

1983

The Hargrove’s house was nestled on Cherry. Older but comfortable, a damn sight better than the paper thin walls of the trailer, and the soggy couch that reeked of spilt beer.

Billy was going on and on about his girlfriends, yes plural. The blonde haired Gina or was it Jenny? And Tanya, the rich one who lived by Steve Harrington.

Junior year was different for the boys, where Billy excelled in popularity with the jocks being a basketball star, Eddie fell into a different crowd, the Hellfire Club.

They were still friends, still causing trouble on nights you couldn’t hang out, Billy now refusing entirely to hang out with Eddie when you were around, which you weren’t complaining about.

Eddie takes another swig of Mt. Dew and continues drawing a rogue for one of the older guys, Nico, in Hellfire. He was only half listening to the way Billy was describing the differences between the girls, body type mostly.

“If you want in on the action big boy just let me know, Gina loves hearing Metallica play when we steam up the windows in my car if ya know what I mean,” the cigarette hanging limply from his lips wiggled as he spoke, sending ashes down to his black converse.

Eddie immediately thought of you. He wasn’t sure of his feelings when it came to you but he wondered if you’d be weirded out that Billy was planning to get him a date. How would you feel if he went out with some chick?

The idea of you kissing someone made his stomach turn, and not in a butterfly way.

Instead of listening to Billy bitch about how much he can’t stand you and how you’re holding Eddie back he just went along with it, “yeah man, sounds good.”

“Sounds good?” Billy questions, racking the weights he was lifting with a thud, checking his traps in his reflection, shooting a look over his shoulder, “I’m trying to get you laid, dude.”

Eddie looks up from his seated position in the corner of Billy’s room, his fingers were silvery from shading the lines of his drawing, pinked eraser rubberings littered the front of his new Metallica shirt. “Yeah man, I’m down, what’s her number.”

Eddie wrote the number on the corner of his paper, barely registering what else Billy was saying, his mind wandering to what kind of shit his dad was up to this time.

Al was home for a longer stretch than normal this time, but he seemed to spend every waking minute at the Hargrove’s.

Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to think that his dad actually wanted to hangout with him.

Oh no, Al Munson had his priorities whenever he came back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, and seeing his only son wasn't the top of the list.

He went to the bar first, picking out the waitress with zero confidence, saying all the right things and tipping her just enough to make her think she was really something. When her shift was over, he’d bring her to a sleazy by-the-hour motel, giving her the ol’ Munson magic and then, when she was in the shower or cleaning up in the bathroom, he’d bolt. Driving to the nearest gas station casino and spending whatever money the waitress had in her purse.

He’d finally crawl back to Wayne’s when he was bone dry, claiming he was home “for good this time!” And how he, “just wanted to hangout with my boy!”

Turns out the “hanging out” was going over to Neil’s and getting shitfaced drunk, bringing Eddie to tag along, to prove to his brother that he was a good dad. He failed to mention that Eddie would end up locked in Billy’s room until dawn.

So no, getting laid wasn’t on Eddie’s mind right now.

“I told Tommy H to leave you alone, told him I’d fuck his girlfriend again if I caught wind of him messing with you.” Billy said, shoving his chest out proudly. Maybe if he helped Eddie spread his wings, he’d stop getting picked on, but in Billy’s eyes, Eddie brought alot of it on himself sticking up for those fucking nerds he always hung out with.

The Hargrove kitchen table was covered in the same paperwork they always were when Al came over. Weird haikus, and riddles that were partly solved, a timeline of when and where everything needed to take place, and lastly, a complete blueprint of Lonnie Byers’ house.

Everything was just about set in stone, the only thing the men couldn’t figure out is why Creel had decided that it had to be Lonnie’s son as the baited sacrifice. And whenever they asked, Creel would say the same thing, “an eye for an eye.”

—

1986

“Right here,” Steve said, pointing his hand in Eddie’s face and out the window to his big behemoth of a house.

The kind of house that belonged to a homeowners society, telling you when, where, and how to water and mow your grass. Not the type of neighborhood that housed the brown piece of shit on wheels that was arriving into the Harrington driveway at record speeds.

Steve fumbled with the door and had to pry Nancy away from the van, she was petrified, her body shaking and tense, beneath his arm.

Eddie turns to you, tapping you gently on the shoulder and when you don’t move he guides your chin towards him, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes.

“I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” His eyes were large and the worry on his face only made you more scared, but he tried to put on a brave face for you, “c’mon, we gotta get inside.”

Steve’s home was decorated with expensive paintings and gold fixtures. The kind of decor that wasn't available at a mall but ordered from some lavish designer in New York. The living room had vacuum lines in the carpet, as if it were never used. The wood floors in the foyer sparkled from the overhead chandelier, it was a catalog home, looking as if it were staged for a photo

shoot rather than people actually living in it.

Nancy’s cries echoed loudly around the empty Harrington home, Steve scooped her up like an infant and carried her down the carpeted steps to the open basement.

Eddie still wasn’t acting like himself, his eyes were clouded over with something you couldn’t pinpoint, plagued with grief? But you felt reassured when his fingers curled into the spaces between yours as you followed Steve and Nancy to the basement.

—

NOVEMBER 9, 1983

“You working tonight?” Eddie asks at your locker, ringed fingers working over the corners of a Polaroid of you and him last summer when he tried to teach you how to skateboard. One of his favorite memories.

“Nope,” you answer from deep inside your locker, looking for the crumbled history notes you swore you still had for todays test, emerging from the locker and hitting your head on the way out, “ow fuck! Nah I’m off tonight, Don closed since Joyce’s son has been gone, why what’s up?”

Eddie shuts your locker and shifts his worn notebook to his other hand, “it’s Wednesday, the Hawk has free popcorn, thought maybe we could see a movie?”

It wasn’t weird for two friends to go to a movie together, you and Eddie had done it multiple times. Completely casual. Even if the heat from his fingers bumping against yours sent flutters to your stomach and he quickly moved his hand like you were a snake that had bit him, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“What time?”

“I dunno, seven? Pick ya up at 6:30, that way we can stop and get snacks to sneak some snacks in to go with our free popcorn.”

His boyish grin was the same from when you were kids, dimple dipped cheeks, and the darkest eyes twinkling with mischievous glee.

The door to Mr. Stanley’s Chem 210 was open and you stopped before going in the classroom to give Eddie your answer, “fine, but I want twizzlers.”

—

“What the hell do you mean it’s not enough? We did exactly what you said, solved each fucking riddle!”

The weathered boards of the Creel House groan as a screaming gust of wind slaps loud against the old home, the late winter storm rattled the wooden foundation and pelted the window panes with ice, pinging loudly with each large gale that forced its way through the cracks of the poorly maintained home.

A small fire crackled in the sunken fireplace, wafting dark plumes of smoke into the living room and ashing soot onto the cobweb covered furniture.

“He makes the rules, I do not, I am simply a messenger, a ves—,” a tattered mitten hand cups around his mouth, acting as a poor excuse for a shield against a barking, wet cough. Lungs burning with each wheeze of oxygen leaving. He clears his throat when the fit is over, wiping his mouth with a moth bitten scarf around his sagging neck, leaving blood behind, “..vessel, I don’t make the rules, Neil.”

“A what?” Al quizzes, shifting uncomfortably from his left leg to his right, “we delivered that kid exactly where you told us to! The whole town thinks he’s dead! Hawkins PD put out the report last night that a body was found by the quarry.”

Creel pokes the fire with the blunt end of his cane, crumbling a reddened log into pieces, adding a wadded mass of newspaper, the face of Will Byers’ missing poster front and center, his cherub smile warping with the heated flame.

“The boy is hiding somewhere. The creatures can not find him, he is convinced that there is help from our side.”

“Impossible,” Al scoffed, rubbing the cold of his nose on his sleeve, “I just talked to Chief Hopper at the Hideaway last night, and according to him it’s a closed case, Lonnie and his former ol lady were making funeral arrangements.”

“What you hear, and what you see, seem different ways to hold the key.”

“Enough with the psychological bullshit!” Neil yelled throwing his beer across the living room, “tell us what he needs from us.”

The blackened tooth smile creeps onto Creel’s face his red chapped lips split and bleed, and he holds back his cough just long enough to whispers the same fallacy he was given only hours before, in another dimension identical to this one.

“A son.”

—

The wind was ripping snow across the streets of Hawkins. The windshield wipers on Eddie’s van had frozen in place, stopping half way in the middle of the windshield, the shitty wipers no match against the freezing, winter rain.

You were certain that the seat belt in the passenger seat had never been used before tonight, but Eddie was insistent that you wore it, foregoing his own with a you’re kidding right? look. The whites of your knuckles shine bright with each overhead street lamp that dances lazily on the windshield, and Eddie looks over with a laugh.

“Almost there Pebs,” he mumbles, his mouth snug around the filter of a cigarette, a half smirk on his lips, “don’t worry.”

The storm foiled more plans than just good driving conditions, apparently The Hawk had closed earlier that day when the windchill dipped down to the negatives, Sal ensuring that his employees had plenty of time to get home before the weather took a turn for the worst. Thankfully Family Video was still open, and Eddie’s trailer was empty for the night, save for a couple of beers in the fridge and the heat from an electric blanket. Apparently the manager of Family Video didn’t give a fuck about the roads, neither did the factory.

You and Eddie were met with the rolling eyes of Steve Harrington as you two shoved each other out of the way to get into the door first, bringing with you a cold gust of wind and chattering teeth. After securing The Poltergeist and two boxes of peanut M&M’s, you and Eddie were tucked into the tin can death trap on wheels, trekking slowly to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

The bumpy driveway was nearly covered by the falling ice and snow, causing Eddie to slide into his parking spot, well the front yard, of trailer 8. Before he jiggles the key out of the ignition, a man’s shadow illuminated the front door, the burning end of a cigarette glowing on a presumed inhale, and Eddie mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“Stay here, okay?” He says with a shallow voice, his eyes never leaving the front door of the trailer, “I’ll be right back.”

What the hell was his dad doing at home this time? Maybe he was confused, thinking it was Thanksgiving already— probably wondering where the turkey and green bean casserole were.

The door of the van groans as Eddie pushes it open with his shoe, slamming it shut and hearing the crinkle of built up ice breaking away from the frame. Ice was gathering in his hair as he scurried up the steps, the shadow moving away from the door so Eddie could come inside, and once the threshold was breached, he wasn’t surprised to see his dad standing in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, long fingers wrapped around a can of Wayne’s breakfast PBR.

“There’s my boy,” Al greeted with a false tone of cheer laced in his voice, “only been waiting here for an hour, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, shutting the door tight and shaking his hair free of the elements, “must have lost my schedule on your flight arrival.”

“Watch it,” Al snaps, his eyes are bloodshot and dark rimmed, voice gravelly, “I’m in no mood for your shit tonight, alright?”

Eddie tuts through his teeth and shoulder checks his old man before walking to the living room, pulling the cord from the wall jack, unplugging the tv. Holding it against his hip to bring it to his room.

“What the hell man, I was gonna watch that!” Al yells as Eddie trudges into his room, shoving shit off his dresser with a sweep of his arm, putting the small tv down he turns to find his dad right behind him, glaring menacingly at him, nose to nose.

“The rabbit ears haven’t worked in months, guess you’ll have to go to Neil’s..”

His insult is cut short as Al grabs him by the lapels of his denim vest, shoving him into the closet door, busting it off the sliding track.

“Listen to me you little fuck…” Al spits, literally into Eddie’s face, “I said I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight, ya got me? I need your fucking help for once in your life, can you manage that?”

“Get off me,” Eddie sneers back, trying to hide the trembling in his jaw as he grits his teeth, “I’m serious.”

I'm serious, Dad! Al mocks, shoving Eddie harder into the closet, the splintering wood busting beneath his shoulder blades. “I ain’t ever asked you for nothin’ in your whole damn life, let you live here with Wayne, no rules no nothin’ and now it’s time to pay up. I need a favor.”

His eyes were shocking in a desperate way, anger riddling his irises.

Eddie thinks fast to his underwear drawer, the wad of cash shoved into an old sock underneath a sticky playboy, “I don’t sell whatever you’re on, and I don’t have any cash.”

“Ain’t about money, or horse, Eddie boy, you remember my friend, the one that lives in the old house on Morehead?”

Eddie thinks back to all the “friends” Al had ever introduced him to. There was Bud the one who owned the bowling alley in Bridgeport that had a fake eye and an gnarly looking scar on his face from a dog bite, Willy Jack who helped take the plates off of the van and scratch up the VIN number when they stole it from that scrap yard north of town, he even painted it any color Eddie wanted, but somehow the friend he was talking about wasn’t registering.

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie shakes his head no. “Doesn’t matter,” Al said all too quick, “his son has been missin’ see, for years, and we need your boys’ help finding him.”

“Who’s we?” Eddie asks, finally wiggling free from his dads hands, straightening his jacket, “and why the fuck do I need to find him?”

A closed fist breaks through the paneled wall next to his chin, “enough with the questions Eddie goddamnit! I need you on this, and you’re not gonna tell me ‘no’ you understand me?”

Eddie had never hated his dad more than he did at this moment. If he were older he’d swing a fist into his gut, knock his lights out once and for all, but he didn’t dare, shoulders slumped and the weight of the world and all its guilt piled onto him. He had no idea what kind of shit his dad was getting him into, only the gut wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong, and the only thing he could do was nod his head, agreeing to lend his trembling hand.

Across town on Cherry lane, Neil Hargrove was having the same friendly little “discussion” with Billy, but the conversation was different, lighter, happier, and the two Hargrove men seemed to be on the same page for once in their lives.

—

OCT. 1986

The Harrington’s basement was set up much like the Wheeler’s but on a grander scale. Large tv tucked behind an oak cabinet,, a beige leather couch that seemed to stretch across the entire living room area, a surround sound system in each corner, two bedrooms and a full bathroom. Setting Nancy down on the plus couch and covering her small form with a wool blanket, Steve opens a closet door and wrangles out a new set of golf clubs, leaning them against the wall, and running his hair through his fingers, as if he’s trying to make a mental list of household objects that could be used as a weapon.

The phone rings noisily in one of the bedrooms and Steve leaves to answer it.

Eddie still has your fingers between his, his rings leaving small indents but you don’t mind, it’s a comfort. He’s muttering to himself, in a tone only he can hear, biting the nails on his right hand with grinding clicks of his teeth. Looking at you his expression falters for a split second, trying to put on a calming mask, nonchalant-like even though inside he was screaming.

It wouldn’t be long before the Demodogs came, especially if the Demogorgons were out, would he be looking for him? Wondering where he has been? Why he’s been gone?

He guides you to the couch, a grand gesture with his nail bitten hand, grabbing a blanket and putting it around you.

Steve emerges from the back bedroom, a tiny bit of relief in his eyes, “that was Robin, they’re on their way here, I guess they barely made it out.”

You wince at the thought of everyone dead at the carnival, the way Argyle’s body was ripped to shreds, the howling cackle from Creel, the way he stood with his arms in a welcoming hug, just an hour ago you were convinced you were going to kiss your best friend, now the majority of Hawkins was dead.

Steve turns to Eddie, with wide searching eyes, fumbling for the right words but failing, “I need answers man, right now.”

—

Robin hangs up the phone, blood drying on her fingers from when she tripped over the gaping carcass of Tammy Thompson, her face covered with streaks of dirt and god knows what else, “ Let’s go! Everyone’s at St—”

A stinging in her spine brings heat, warm and dripping, then fiery hot, a hand on her shoulder she turns to see his maniacal eyes, the blood from the gash on his head now trickling into his mouth, white pearls stained in ruby.

“I did you a solid Rob, killed that bitch for you—didn’t even think twice about it, because we’re friends,” blood now trickling down her back into the waist of her scoops ahoy uniform shorts, she garbles a breath cusping on the breath of a question.

“shh,” he reassures, wiping tears from her freckles lined cheeks, extracting the knife from the well in her back, he helps her lie down gently, “this isn’t going to kill you, it’s just temporary you see? I can’t have any distractions, I can’t let you get in my way, but don’t worry!”

He moves to rip the phone cord from its hook, “I’ve done so much research on this meticulously studying over books on ways to cut the human body, what would hurt the worst, the least, the angle of the knife was just right, I guess I could be wrong,” he scratches his head, the whites of his eyes rolling as the smell of blood starts to work him up, an ache he can’t scratch, “hmm… take care, yeah? I’ll be back.”

A pool of blood blossoms from Robin’s back, flowing into the blue carpet fibers of her room— in tandem with the slow blink of her eyelashes meeting.

The ignition of his car engine backfires with a gunshot noise, the bloody knife he used to kill the others laid gently on the leather of his passenger seat.

Driving down the desolate streets of Hawkins, he looks in the rearview mirror, and for the first time, Jonathan Byers likes what he sees.

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veganmikehanlon · 10 days

Text

Realizations Are A Funny Thing: 3

CH 2

The next morning Steve wakes up with a familiar ache in his back from the dip in the couch. Eddie had offered to share his bed once, when they first started hanging out, but Steve knew it was a bad idea. Now he deals with occasional back pain. It’s fine.

He groans as he rolls to his feet and stretches before dropping to the floor to do a few pushups. Just to get his blood flowing. When he pops up Eddie is leaning against his doorway.

“Freak of nature,” He intones and Steve mouths along because it’s what Eddie says every time he sees Steve workout. Eddie huffs a laugh and pushes himself off the doorway to sit on the couch. He brings a joint with him and turns on the news because he’s actually a Grandpa.

Steve settles in to watch the morning news, it’s all sunshiney good stories, unlike the evening news. When they finish smoking they ditch the news for coffee. Steve makes sentences with the word magnets on the fridge and Eddie sits on the counter next to the coffee maker and tells Steve the order of his next set list, you know, if he ever gets another whole band and a place to play.

He asks if Steve will be a groupie and Steve wrinkles his nose, pretending his heart doesn’t race at the thought. Eddie laughs at him and says he’s not cool enough anyway. Steve throws a magnet at him.

Eddie yelps and flails to shield his face, knocking the magnet out of the air. Steve laughs at him and Eddie whines, sliding off the counter into a puddle on the floor.

“Now what the hell you doin’ on the floor?” A gruff voice asks from the edge of the kitchen. Eddie lifts his head to look at his uncle.

“Steve assaulted me, kill him.”

Steve sputters out a surprised laugh and looks nervously at Wayne. He’s not worried the man is going to kill him or anything, he just makes Steve nervous.

“Ed, get off the floor,” Wayne sighs and with a dramatic huff Eddie uses the cupboard to pull himself to his feet. “Now listen,” Wayne says, walking forward and filling the mug he already had in his hands with coffee. “I just got called into work, which means I won’t be around to keep an eye on you.” He blows on his coffee and takes a slow sip.

“Aw, c’mon Wayne, you’re actin’ like I’m a kid,” Eddie whines. Wayne raises his eyebrows.

“You ain’t a kid, but I got work for you to do around here and I ain’t gonna be around to keep you on track.” Wide eyes meet Steve’s before falling to the ground. Wayne follows Eddie’s look.

“Steve, you got plans today?” Wayne asks. Just waiting around for Robin to call about her big gay disaster.

“Uh, no sir,” Steve answers quickly.

“You mind stickin’ ‘round? Keep an eye on this kid?”

“Wayne!” Eddie exclaims, his face red.

“What? You and I both know you’ll get distracted by this or that and leave things unfinished, ain’t that right?” Wayne says pointedly and Eddie’s face gets impossibly redder. They stare each other down.

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, crossing his arms and dropping his eyes. Wayne claps him on the shoulder.

“I’ll leave you the list,” He says, dropping his hand and walking to the junk drawer for a notepad.

Steve tries to make eye contact with Eddie but he stares resolutely at the ground. Steve rolls his eyes and leaves his spot by the fridge to get a mug from the counter above the coffee pot. Eddie startles when Steve draws near and Steve frowns down at the top of Eddie’s head. Shaking it off he grabs a mug and pours a cup of coffee. He goes back to the fridge because they always have vanilla almond milk and at this point Steve knows he’s welcome to it.

He pours the milk and takes a sip of his coffee. It could use some sugar, but the milk is already pushing it in this house of black coffee drinkers.

“Be good,” Wayne tells Eddie, handing him the list. Abandoning his coffee on the counter, he leaves the house. They listen to the door click shut and then Eddie is sinking to the ground with a groan. Steve chuckles against the rim of his mug and takes a sip. Eddie rolls onto his back and looks up at Steve.

“Am I a joke to you?” He asks accusatory.

“You’re the whole damn circus, man,” Steve laughs. Eddie cracks a smile and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” He bites out. He holds the list up over his head. “You ready to see me fail at physical activity?” He asks, looking over at Steve. Steve raises his eyebrows.

“I’m definitely interested in seeing that, yeah,” Steve nods, a large grin on his face. Eddie blows a raspberry at him.

“A joke,” He mutters, pulling himself to his feet. “That’s all I am. Just a joke.” He reaches standing height and sighs down at the list. Steve snorts and walks over and snatches the list from Eddie’s hand. It doesn’t even look all that bad. Pull weeds in the garden, mow the lawn, powerwash the shed.

“This isn’t so bad,” Steve comments, handing the list back to Eddie. He gives Steve a dead look and Steve shrugs. Eddie sets the paper down on the counter.

“Okay, first breakfast, then child labor,” Eddie says, turning to get a pan from the cupboard.

“You are not a child,” Steve points out.

“Fine then, adult labor that is killing my spirit,” Eddie says, waving his hand in a lackadaisical circle. Steve snorts.

“Alright, sure,” He concedes and Eddie nods firmly once. He makes them omelets with enough cheese to cause cardiac arrest. It’s one of the best things Steve’s ever eaten.

When they’re done, Steve follows Eddie down to the basement. He idly watches tv while Eddie changes. He doesn’t stare when Eddie comes out in an old pair of Hawkins High gym shorts. Like, an old pair, judging by how short and tight they are. Coupled with the white tank top that shows off exactly how muscular and hairy he is… Steve thinks he might be close to a heart attack for the second time that morning.

Following Eddie up the stairs is his next form of torture and he finds himself cursing Eddie for his choices, then Wayne for leaving any chore that may require such an outfit, then himself. Just for being the way he is.

They walk out the sliding back door and Steve follows Eddie to the garden and, well, garden is a nice way of putting it. Mostly it’s a box of weeds which makes this chore suddenly so much more work than Steve was expecting.

“Oh,” He lets out softly as the two of them stare at the mess. Eddie snorts.

“Not so bad, right?” He laughs, but there isn’t much humor in it.

“How much does Wayne like, expect you to do?” Steve asks, eyeing the thick weeds.

“Uhhh,” Eddie answers eloquently, scratching the top of his head.

“Great,” Steve mutters.

The sun shifts over them as the afternoon wears on. Eddie really is bad at physical activity, he manages to hurt himself pulling weeds, an activity little old ladies do, as Steve happily tells him. Steve did worry when it came to the heavy machinery but Eddie handles those like a pro. Apparently Steve need only be worried when Eddie only has to operate his own body. Although there was that bit of time when Steve needed to worry about his own body. Like when all he had to do was sit and watch Eddie mow the lawn. Or when Eddie expertly handled the power washer, his arms bulging as he controlled the stick, droplets of water sliding down the slopes of his arms.

Steve feels like he’s in a bad porno, like, he’s some housewife lusting after the gardener. Oh god, noooot a good thought. That one’s going in the “totally not horny for Eddie” box in his mind. It’s getting a little full in there but if there’s one thing Steve’s good at, it’s ignoring the things he doesn’t want to see.

“I’m fucking starving,” Eddie says after he’s stored the power washer in the shed.

“You cooking?” Steve asks with a smirk.

“Fuck no! After all that work I just did? No way, I need some pancakes,” Eddie answers.

Steve bums around while Eddie takes a shower. When he comes out he looks like a wet dog with his hair hanging around his face. It’s unfairly hot. An image of Eddie’s lithe body under a spray of water with his hair cascading down his back pops unbidden into Steve’s mind. Fuck. The only shocking thing about the thought is how vivid it is. Like, he loses sight of the Eddie in front of him his brain is so focused on conjuring up this incredibly inappropriate image.

He blinks and real life Eddie is giving him a weird look. Steve closes his slack jaw and gulps. Ah shit, he’s totally being a freak right now. Eddie doesn’t say anything though, just grabs his shoes and walks past Steve to the stairs. Steve takes exactly one second to breath before turning and following Eddie.

Steve drives because even on the outskirts of town there’s hateful people that believe Eddie could ever harm an innocent girl. So taking the beemer out is just safer. Even if Eddie gets out of the car with a jangle of chains, long hair swinging, his silver jewelry glinting in the sun. Steve thinks he looks like a rockstar but knows most just see a troublemaker at best.

Which Steve really finds ridiculous because the worst thing he’s seen Eddie do is be obnoxious. Maybe some light shoplifting. But nothing as bad as shit Steve used to get away with just because he was wearing a polo instead of a death metal t-shirt.

Eddie reaches the door of the restaurant first and swings it open for Steve. He walks into an almost empty diner, a few truckers here and there. They don’t look up from their plates and Steve appreciates the privacy.

They seat themselves at a booth and wait for someone to approach them. Eddie’s hair is starting to dry and get frizzy. Steve never understands why he doesn’t use product. Maybe it’s part of being “metal”.

An older lady approaches their table and hands them menus.

“How are you two cuties doing?” She asks with a genuine smile.

“Good,” Steve replies.

“Hungry,” Eddie replies. The waitress laughs and taps their table with her pointer finger.

“Can I start y’all off with something to drink?” They order waters and with a smile their waitress walks off. They look over their menus even though they both know what they’re getting, they’ve been here enough times to know what they like.

When the waitress comes back Eddie orders a stack of pancakes and a chocolate shake and Steve orders a Monte Cristo, because apparently they’re doing breakfast again.

Eddie leans back in his seat and kicks his legs up on the booth next to Steve, who tries not to be aware of their proximity. It’s hard when Eddie starts shaking his foot.

“So,” Eddie starts, drawing a piece of hair in front of his face. “Thanks for hanging out today, I know it wasn’t really a choice, ‘cause Wayne asked, but I appreciate it.”

Steve smiles across the booth at him, a swell of affection rising in his chest. It’s so cute when Eddie gets bashful, especially since it doesn’t happen very often.

“Yeah man, it’s not a problem, I always have a good time with you,” Steve tells him with a smile. Eddie’s cheeks pink and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, me too, or whatever,” He says quickly. Steve chuckles. The sound is wrapped in affection and Steve almost wants to take it back, feeling suddenly exposed. Then Eddie drops the hair hiding his face and cracks a smile at Steve and the feeling is washed away.

“I hope Robin isn’t too mad I stole you for all of today, I know y’all were supposed to talk today,” Eddie says. Steve winces, right, big gay disaster.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, she’s got Nance,” He reassures. And it is reassuring knowing the girls are still friends.

The waitress comes with their food and Eddie draws his feet back under the table. They eat and talk, and Steve only gets distracted by Eddie sucking on his milkshake straw twice, nevermind the flashes of wanting to lick the syrup off of his lips. It’s all going in the Eddie box anyway.

When the waitress drops of their checks they both pull their wallets out.

“No way man,” Eddie says, waving Steve away. “Let me pay you back for babysitting me today.”

“You don’t gotta do that,” Steve insists, his cheeks heating up.

“What? You want me to pay you back in some other way?” Eddie raises his eyebrows and Steve frowns at him in confusion. Then he feels the toe of Eddie’s boot traveling up his calf and catches the smirk on Eddie’s face. He jerks away, his face flaming, and Eddie dissolves into a puddle of laughter.

“You’re such a shithead,” Steve grumbles, his mind racing with unwanted thoughts. Eddie’s laughing starts to taper off.

“Yeah,” He agrees with a chuckle. Steve rolls his eyes and puts his wallet back in his pocket. Eddie pays and they leave the diner.

They drive back to Eddie’s and Steve tries not to think about Eddie paying him back in a different way. God his thoughts are getting out of control.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #mowrites #st fic #stranger things #stranger things fic

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