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fruit-teeth · 2 years

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Chronicles of Love and War (chapter 18)

“I don’t understand it,” Spy stared down at his gloved hands, trying to process all he’d just heard. “He was dead - I swear, I stabbed him, and I saw him die…”

“You don’t have to keep repeating it,” Engineer sighed. "He had to have been unconscious, or literally seconds away from death when Zelda discovered him..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. “But…God. I never would have expected this.”

There was a long pause as Spy finally looked up at him, studying his face. “You’re sure you don’t hate me for this?” Spy questioned. “I stabbed your father and left him for dead, and you don’t seem to mind…”

Engineer pulled his goggles off, setting them on the kitchen table as he leaned closer to Spy. “Hey - listen, I always had it in my mind that this was gonna happen. You did what you had to do to survive and to get all of y’all out of there. Did I like not being able to have a funeral for my pa, because they couldn’t find his body? No. I won’t lie, it sucked. But…at least I know he’s not dead…”

“I see…” Spy sucked in a breath. “Well - that’s true. In this sort of business, all sorts of things happen, I suppose…”

Engineer leaned his chin into his hand pensively. “Yeah…I know. You don’t have to tell me, I grew up in this business. My pa used to almost always have blood on his shoes when I was a kid; do you think I didn't understand the dangers involved?”

There was a long pause, before Spy inquired, “You’re going to see him in the hospital, I assume?”

Engineer rubbed his eyes, rising from his chair. “Yeah, of course. Do…” he trailed off, and then looked at Spy. “Do you wanna come with me?”

Spy raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Well, I just…” Engineer shrugged a little. “You don’t have to,”

Spy considered it, before sighing. “I’d…I’d rather stay behind. Imagine if he wakes up and sees me, the man who stabbed him, coming to greet him out of his coma. Not the best look, you understand?”

“I mean, I get that,” Engineer replied. “But, I mean…I gotta be honest, I dunno if he ever is gonna wake up.”

As Engineer stood up from the table, Spy stood up as well, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Do tell me how he is, when you get back.”

“Will do,” Engineer mumbled, heading to leave.

As the wind picked up significantly, Dell climbed into his truck and started it.

He remembered how his mother had always told him to ‘name the feeling’ whenever he felt upset. One particular instance stuck out in his mind, a day when he was sobbing, pacing, and rocking back and forth when the sound of his mother's voice broke through the agony:

“I’m here, Dell. Can you name the feeling for me?”

Whining, nine-year old Dell clapped his hands over his ears. “No! No, you can’t make me!”

Sitting on the floor in front of him, Pearl calmly took her son’s hands into hers and squeezed them. “Take a breath,” she urged him, her voice as soothing as always. “Name the feeling. Don’t focus on what happened, focus on where you feel it…”

Though he was still very much on edge, he listened to her. Dell closed his eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating on the burning, uneasy sensation in his face and chest.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and blinked back tears, looking up at his mother. “I feel angry,” he said finally.

“Why do you feel angry, darlin’?” Pearl asked softly, taking a moment to tuck a bit of hair behind her son’s ear.

“Because…” Dell sobbed and hiccuped. “Pa promised me he would take me fishing today, but he’s busy again!”

Pearl frowned, and she pulled her son close. “I know, pumpkin,” she took a moment to stroke a hand through his hair, hugging him close to her. “He’s very busy, I know…but it’s almost Thanksgiving week! He’ll have time off for that!”

Dell wiped his eye, pressing his cheek to his mother’s shoulder. “But that’s when I’m gonna work on my science fair project!”

“Science fair?” Pearl’s brow furrowed, and she pulled away slightly to look at her son. “But, baby, that ain’t for another two months!”

“I know,” Dell sniffed, rubbing at his eye. “But I have the plans for my robot, and it might take a real long time to build…I’m just thinkin’ ahead, like you always do!”

Pearl watched his face for a moment, before her face broke into a smile. She hugged him tightly, murmuring, “My sweet, sweet lil’ boy…you’re just so smart, ain’t ya?”

“Uh-huh,” Dell agreed proudly, nuzzling into his mother’s red hair.

Downstairs, the door could be heard swinging open. Pearl perked up, looking towards the doorway. “Oh, speak of the devil! That must be your pa, he’s home early!”

As Dell climbed off his mother, he watched as she headed down the stairs to greet Fred. Moments later, he decided to follow her downstairs, but as soon as he did, he felt a wave of uneasy tension.

Fred appeared particularly disheveled, and Pearl was assisting him in removing his work boots.

“Oh, god, oh, god,” Pearl repeated frantically. “What happened to you!?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Fred grunted. “Please, can you just – could you please get the coffee started?”

Pearl gave her husband a sympathetic nod and hurried to the kitchen to make him some coffee. Fred left his work boots by the door and stumbled into the living room, practically falling onto the couch.

Dell nervously followed his father, worried about what might be wrong. “Pa?” he asked meekly. “Are you okay?”

Fred took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping something off of his face. It appeared to be a mixture of sweat and dirt, but it looked as though there may have been some blood mixed in.

“Oh,” Fred seemed to suddenly see Dell, and he put the handkerchief away, clearing his throat. “Howdy, lil’ scrapper - what’s up?”

“What happened?” Dell wanted to know, stepping closer to his father.

Fred just reached over and patted Dell’s fuzzy head with his broad palm. “Eh, it’s nothin’, I’ll walk it off…what have you been workin’ on today?”

“My robot, for the science fair,” Dell explained, climbing onto the couch beside Fred. “Can I show it to you?”

Fred rubbed his temples, sighing. “I’d love to see it, but…maybe later. I’m real beat, you understand?”

Dell nodded slowly, looking down at his hands. “Yeah…yeah.” He tried not to sound overly disappointed.

Pearl entered the living room shortly after that, passing a cup of coffee to Fred. “Here ya go, sugar,”

"Thank you, Pearlie," he crooned before kissing her on the cheek and returning to his coffee cup, his mood slightly lifted. “God, my head…I’ll tell ya what, I’m lucky I get paid for everything I do,”

Dell curled closer to his father, looking up into his face. “Pa?” he asked. “Do you like your job?”

Fred glanced over, seeming surprised by the question. “Well…yeah! Of course! Why else would I do it?”

“You just get tired a lot by it,” Dell gave a little shrug.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like it,” Fred sipped it at his coffee, before reaching over to ruffle Dell’s hair again. “You’ll get it someday, when you’re my age and you’re workin’ this same job,”

Dell perked up at that, surprised. “Oh– the same job?”

“Well…yeah,” Fred tilted his head slightly. “You know that, right? We got it set up so you’ll do what I do when I retire?”

As Dell processed this information, Pearl quickly cut in, “Of course, you don’t need to, sweetie! If you don’t wanna, you don’t have to…”

“What do you mean? Of course he wants to! Right, scrapper?” Fred wrapped a large arm around Dell’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze.

Dell wasn't sure he wanted to come home ragged like his father always did, but the thought of making his father happy outweighed his reservations. He leaned into the touch, nodding with enthusiasm. “Yeah! Sure do, pa!”

“That’s what I thought,” Fred chuckled, taking a long swig of coffee before standing up. “All right, I’m gonna hop in the shower. Be right back!”

“Sure, honey,” Pearl nodded, watching her husband ascend the stairs with a blank look on her face. Dell noticed his mother’s expression, and he felt that same wave of unease that he’d felt before.

“Ma?” he asked, shifting closer to tug on her sleeve. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” Pearl looked back at him, and she smiled again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she got up, smoothing her dress out. “You want any cocoa?”

“Sure thing!” Dell chirped, sliding off the couch and following her into the adjacent kitchen.

It was a memory tainted with a melancholy that Dell could not quite explain. He knew he would have to tell his mother, who was still alive and well in a retirement community in Texas, that her estranged husband was actually still alive, but at this time, that seemed like an impossibly difficult task. Would she even want to see Fred, after their disastrous falling-out?

What could even be said, after all that had happened? Dell could still remember the terrible shock that washed over him like cold water the day he received that phone call from his mother. He was nineteen years old and a freshman in college when his roommate approached him in the pool hall and told him that his mother had called.

The instant he answered the phone, he heard Pearl sobbing out, “I couldn’t stand it, Dell! I’m sorry, but I had to leave! It’s too much - all he cares about is that damn company and what he gets paid! I’m calling from Auntie Linda’s phone, I ain’t going back!”

“Ma!? Slow down!” Dell implored, his heart hammering against his chest, but Pearl would not be stopped.

“The same thing’s gonna happen to you,” Pearl cried out, distraught. “Those Mann Brothers will drain you and stuff your mind with money, fighting, and everything else but the people you love! Oh, I can’t stand it! I just can’t stand it!”

Dell called his house phone after this conversation, hoping and praying that it was a mistake or misunderstanding. Alas, it was not.

“Yeah, your ma…” Fred trailed off, his voice sounding far away. “She and I haven’t been gettin’ along too well lately…”

“What did you say to her?” Dell wanted to know.

“Nothin’ - I said nothin’. That was the problem,” Fred explained, his voice very matter-of-fact. “If I talk, she says I talk too much. If I don’t talk, she wonders why I’m too quiet. No matter what I do, she’s got a problem with it…”

Dell paused for a moment, rubbing his temples, before responding, "Do you only talk about work with her?"

“No!” Fred insisted, defensive. “I…we talk about other things. We talk about you,” the tone of his voice suddenly shifted. “Oh, and speaking of which: we have a training day comin’ up at the office next week. How about I pick you up and we go together? You can look around and get a feel of what you’ll be doing once you graduate and start workin’ there. We’ll make a day of it, we’ll get lunch at the diner and sit in the same spot. Yeah?”

Dell was at a loss. Pearl had just left, leaving Fred alone, yet all he could think about was work.

However, despite the uncomfortable feelings, the thought of eating at their favorite diner was comfortable and felt like an oasis in the desert. He pushed down his thoughts and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sure thing, pa.”

“Great,” Fred breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief. “See you then, lil’ scrapper!”

Dell, now an adult, recognized a recurring pattern in his relationship with his father: much of their time together was spent working. Fred was never mean about it, and yet it was what eventually led to the two of them growing more and more distant. Everything in their family revolved around work, intelligence, and money. As Dell reflected on this, he thought about his grandfather, and he couldn't help but wonder if it all started with him.

“That was an hour?” Dell murmured to himself as he could see the hospital up ahead. He pulled into the parking lot and stepped out, taking a moment to feel another cool breeze that floated by.

It was called: The Kindred Soul Medical Clinic. It seemed quiet, remote, though somehow much larger on the inside than it appeared. When Dell approached the front desk, the young blonde nurse stopped what she was doing and looked up at him.

“Are you with the audit people?” she asked him, which instantly struck him as odd.

“I…no,” Dell shook his head. “I’m here to see a patient named Fred Conagher, can you take me to his room?”

The nurse paused, before she leaned in and whispered, “You mean that guy in the basement?”

Dell nodded. “Yep, the very one.”

“Oh…” she pursed her lips together. “I can tell you where he is, but…I might get in trouble…”

“Why?” Dell questioned, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“I didn’t ask the staff here why, I just know some kinda third party wants him to stay here,” the nurse grunted. “If I tell you where he is, do you promise you won't tell anyone I gave you this information?”

Dell gave curt. “I’ll keep a secret, you don’t need to worry about me, ma’am.”

The nurse pulled out a notepad and scribbled down a room number, before handing it to him. “Take the elevator to the basement floor,” she instructed, “And go to room 42. It’s down the hall and to your left. The door isn’t locked.”

Dell accepted the note, nodding. “Okay. Thanks a lot, ma’am.”

Following the nurse’s directions, Dell took the elevator down to the basement. He made his way to room 42, but on the way there, he was struck by just how glum the place looked. Furthermore, it was a little chilly. He felt a terrible sadness as he considered the possibility that Fred, despite being comatose, was freezing to death in a gloomy, cold hospital room.

His fears weren’t terribly far off from reality, come to find out. When Dell opened the door, he saw his father: Fred was in a hospital bed, in a room with no windows, hooked up to a heart monitor and several other wires, connected to machinery that Dell couldn't even see.

The moment he saw him, tears suddenly filled his eyes, and he pulled up a nearby chair to perch beside the bed. “Pa,” he said finally, his voice quaking. Fred did not answer, his eyes still closed, though his chest moved slowly with his breaths.

He didn’t even look the way Dell remembered - he was gray and haggard, with more wrinkles than he’d ever had. It looked as though he was dead, but obviously, the beeping of the heart monitor dispelled that notion.

“What happened to you?” Dell whispered, slowly taking Fred’s hand into his. Surprisingly, his hand was warm.

Something wasn’t adding up. Spy said he had only stabbed Fred…did a stab wound really require all of this? On top of that, would that really cause a coma? Unless someone had secretly hidden him away and put him into a coma using medical means.

Dell left the room, using the payphone that was right outside the door to call Medic. He felt he could not trust the doctors at this place, but he could count on Medic to, at the very least, show up.

“Hey, doc?” Dell cleared his throat when he head Medic pick up. “Could I request your help with somethin’?”

#OOF done #here ya go....#my writing #tf2 #tf2 fanfic #tf2 spy #tf2 engineer #tfc engineer #tf2 oc #i hope theres no typos...#tf2 medic

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youarewhatyoulove-blog · 6 months

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the violence of the dog days.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

summary: In the midst of summertime, after a week of neglect, your boyfriend has a way of making you feel even more heated.

you're hot and horny for jeongguk.

rating: mature🔞 (minors please dni)

genre: non-idol au, college au, established relationship, smut, fluff, pwp

word count: 9.2k words of unadulterated smut.

warnings: reader and jeongguk are absolute horny simps for each other, but they're also so inlove, soft boyfriend jeongguk (because yes that is a warning), jeongguk is a law student (oof), overuse of the petname 'baby', reader hasn't been getting it seven days a week😔, switch jeongguk (kinda), hair pulling, hickeys, making out, thigh riding, nipple play (jeongguk is proudly a boob guy), religious imagery because jeongguk worships reader like a god, usage of the words 'c*nt' and 'p*ssy' (because i know some people are iffy about that), cunnilingus (f-receiving), jeongguk is low-key a sadist y'all (in his fantasies), a bit of dom/sub dynamics, prayers for reader because jeongguk's got that big d🙏🏽, unprotected sex, doggy style, degradation, a teeny weeny bit of overstimulation, creampie - like this is just pure smut guys 😬, possessive sex, choking, aftercare, reader kinda hints at having attachment issues (but don't we all).

author's note: 1. please ignore any typos :). of course, i'd appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism. but if you find yourself uncomfortable by any of the themes in this fic, there's no need for hate, just kindly move on. 2. also, this is a lot longer and softer than i intended. this fic was supposed to be purely hard smut, but i fell in love with the characters and their relationship, and some aspects of the story just turned out sickeningly sweet - so proceed with caution.

You're an hour into tossing and turning when you can't take it anymore.

The heat.

With June coming to a close end, the surviving remnants of summer creep in through your bedroom window with barely a whisper of a breeze. It clings to every part of your skin, that ever-lingering humidity thickening the air, and wraps itself around your body like a cloak. For some reason, you thought that scrolling aimlessly through the various apps on your phone would help distract your mind from the muggy weather or maybe, by some miracle, even lull you to sleep.

But it hasn’t—of course it hasn't. Because summer is here to stay, burrowing deep within your bones and making a home there. Each passing minute is a testament to that, insomnia creeping up your spine with ill intent and wriggling into every cranny of your mind until you feel like you're losing it.

Perhaps you are, you think.

Because when the desk fan a few feet away suddenly stops whirring and the fumbling grasp you had on sleep slips from your reach like a fleeting dream in the morning light as a result of it—drifting further and further away—you hit your breaking point. The lack of white noise and cool air blowing your way mounts your frustration into place. It hangs there in the ether like a looming shadow but, unlike your slumber, has no plans of deserting you.

With an annoyed huff, you drop your phone back onto the nightstand for the umpteenth time and kick your leg out from under the duvet.

“Fuck.” You sigh, rolling onto your back.

A thin sheen of sweat lingers on the surface of your skin, causing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to every part of your body. You spread your limbs out like a starfish in some futile attempt to cool them down, hoping that you'll catch a draft, but the action only reminds you of how largely cavernous your bed feels right now.

The space beside you is missing a particular doe-eyed boy and, as your hand brushes over the empty spot, you realize that it's not so much the seasonal heat that's making you feel weirdly restless, but rather Jeongguk's absence. In an inconveniently clingy way, you need his body settled next to you at night, your legs and arms a tangled mess beneath the blankets.

You don't know why that is. Why sleep eludes you like a compass without direction, unable to find its way to you when Jeongguk isn't near. But you don't mull over it or give the thought a foothold to stand amongst the endless anxieties already in your head.

All you know is that cuddling up with him in the evening is perhaps one of your favourite pastimes. Akin to a baby with it's bottle, falling asleep in his embrace is something you've grown incredibly used to, maybe even a little dependent on—like a security blanket or night-light—and there's nothing you can do about it.

Sneaking a glance towards the dim light spilling in from beneath the bedroom door, you picture Jeongguk on the other side. Chances are, he’s still where you last left him. Sitting cross-legged on the couch with a laptop balancing carefully on his lap, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, as he catches up on coursework.

You worry your lip, the thought of your boyfriend causing your mind to wander...

He looked so good tonight; adorned in a pair of grey sweats and a baggy t-shirt with his tattoos fully exposed. His dark hair was strewn across his forehead, falling into his eyes in a way that made your fingers itch.

You, on the other hand, are sporting an old, oversized shirt you opted to steal from Jeongguk's wardrobe to combat the high temperatures, but it hasn't helped much. The heat still loiters, creeping up the back of your neck and imbuing your cheeks with warmth.

It makes you long for winter, for the bitter nip of frosty ice and pelting rain, and the desire for that inadvertently reminds you of that fucking silver lip ring Jeongguk had gotten recently.

The memory of its cold, metal sting against your lips as he kissed you goodnight sends a distant, carnal hum coursing throughout your veins. It's probably tugged anxiously between his teeth right now whilst he types away, eyes deadset on the screen before him, and the image of that sends you reeling. Makes your skin flush further, yearning to feel its steel bite again.

For some reason, it propels you into motion, skin prickling as you throw your legs over the edge of the mattress without a second thought.

The last thing you want to do is bother his progress or interrupt his work, but selfishly, you persist. That gnawing feeling deep within your chest is too hard to ignore, heart beating voraciously with each step you take because it longs to be satiated by Jeongguk's presence. Your boyfriend is only one room over, just four thin walls separating the two of you, yet still—you miss him, want him.

Treading lightly, you hear the persistent click-clack of his keyboard and the muffled sound of typing only grows louder as you step out into the hallway. The wooden flooring is frigid beneath your feet, a sensation you immediately relish in as soon as the fiery crawl of discomfort across your skin begins to lessen. Your shirt—or more precisely, Jeongguk’s shirt—falls flat from your waist, landing a few inches above your knees, as you wander further into the apartment.

Just as you’d predicted, Jeongguk is all pretzelled up on the sofa, too focused on his work to hear you enter. A few empty bottles of soju and convenience store snacks litter the coffee table, serving as silent witnesses to the length of time he's been out here. He must have dimmed the lights as well because a faint, warm glow shrouds every facet of the room, making him look particularly soft at this hour.

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around the length of his shoulders as you bend over the couch's headrest to envelop him in a hug. ”Hey,” You hum softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Jeongguk startles slightly at the contact, shaken from his deep concentration as he angles his head to look up at you. “Shit, baby. You scared me.” He breathes, voice rough from disuse. It rumbles through you like a distant thunderstorm, body vibrating with electricity.

“Sorry,” You murmur, glancing at the assignment he's been working on and tiny pangs of guilt gradually trickle into your stomach. “I didn't mean to disturb you, but-”

“You're not disturbing me.” Jeongguk instantly reassures, scanning your face with a knowing look. “Can’t sleep?” He asks and you nod, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The scent of his body wash immediately encompasses you like a warm embrace, wild pinewood and bergamot invading your senses.

“I thought you’d be in bed by now.” You mumble against his skin, unable to hide the pout in your voice.

Jeongguk frowns, eyes flickering to the time at the bottom of his laptop screen.

Shit, he hadn’t even noticed how late it’s gotten, the hours skulking along the cusp of a new day. He should probably be turning in for the night, head to bed and worry about this project tomorrow, but he’d rather not postpone his responsibilities. Not when you’re staying over the weekend and he could be spending that time with you instead.

“I know.” Jeongguk responds, hand coming up to intertwine with yours. “I’ll be there soon, okay?” He promises, bringing your knuckles to his lips. The featherlight kiss he presses there soothes you like a curative balm.

“Okay,” You relent, untangling yourself from his body. “But, can I stay here for a bit? It’s too hot in there.” You half lie, gesturing towards the bedroom while simultaneously walking over to the kitchen only a few feet away.

“Yeah, of course.” He murmurs, eyes following your movements.

“Thanks, Kook.” You smile, sparing him a glance over your shoulder as your eyes sparkle with mirth. “By the way, your fan broke down again.”

“Again?” He laments, eyebrows furrowed together whilst he runs a disgruntled hand through his hair. “I seriously need to get that old thing repaired or maybe even replaced.” He grumbles to himself, before a guilty afterthought occurs at the sight of you. “Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby. No wonder you couldn't sleep.”

You don't tell him that it's not so much the heat keeping you awake but, more so, him.

“No, don't worry about it.” You settle on instead, trying to dispel his concerns. “It's not your fault.”

This isn't the first time that Jeongguk’s fan has given him problems. He's had the thing since high school; so it’s no surprise that the motor tends to give in every now and then, running a little too hot. He’s been meaning to get the issue sorted, but hasn’t really found the time to do that these days.

“Plus, I'd much rather be out here with you.” You add.

Jeongguk smiles at you so sweetly then, dimples making an appearance, and your body flushes all over, burning once again.

God, what is wrong with you tonight?

You need to calm down, cool down. At this rate, you feel like an overheating engine, bound to crash in on yourself and combust.

Grabbing a glass of ice water from the fridge dispenser, you rein yourself in, distracting your mind with conversation. “I promise not to be a bother though, like you won't even notice I'm here.” You say, before chugging the cold liquid down on the spot, completely ignorant to the way that Jeongguk drinks you in.

A welcome sight is what you are, so cute tonight with your hair all mussed, practically drowning in his shirt. “You’re never a bother.” He responds, mouth going dry when you lean back to empty the glass. The action causes your shirt to hike up, the creamy expanse of your thighs further exposed to his hungry eyes.

He feels his dick stir at the sight.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be?” You ask, wiping your lips with the back of your palm, as you place your cup in the sink and shuffle over towards your boyfriend.

“Uhh…” Jeongguk clears his throat, broken out of his stupor. He turns back to face his laptop, skimming the Word document that's open before him when he feels you nestle into his side a second later. Automatically, he brings a hand down to rest against your leg.

“I’m not sure,” He grumbles, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your bare thigh. The absent-minded touch ignites something in you, skin blazing at the contact, and you try your best to suppress the goosebumps that rise in Jeongguk’s wake. “Maybe another hour or so?” He guesses.

“Oh.” You mumble and, although you fight the disappointed curl of your lips, Jeongguk doesn’t miss the deflated look on your face.

“I’m sorry,” He squeezes your thigh apologetically, frown overtaking his pretty features. “I know it’s been a while since we spent time together.”

A week exactly, you note, but ultimately keep that detail to yourself. After all, neither one of you is to blame for being so busy, constantly caught between work and university.

You think that's maybe the reason you're feeling so needy tonight, body set ablaze by every minor look and touch from your boyfriend. In a way, you're feeling a little neglected since your relationship’s taken the backseat, not by choice but by consequence, and you don’t know how to deal with it.

“It's fine.” You shrug. "It's not like we can help it.”

You try to be nonchalant about the matter, injecting the slightest hint of indifference into your tone, but Jeongguk sees right through you.

He always does.

“Come here.” He says suddenly, voice soft as he shifts his laptop onto the coffee table.

You look up at him, confusion clear on your face.

“What?” You blink, but your question falls on deaf ears because Jeongguk merely uncrosses his legs and pats his lap.

“Come here,” He then repeats and reaches for your waist.

You're uncertain for the briefest of moments, eyeing Jeongguk suspiciously, before you ultimately give in like malleable clay in his soft hands, allowing him to pull you onto his lap with ease. “I've been working for hours.” He grumps once you're comfortably straddling his waist, hands resting on either side of your hips. “Hardly seen you since you got here.”

You hum, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. It's no secret that you've been spending a lot more time at Jeongguk's place in lieu of your ratty little dorm room. You felt bad about it at first, feeling as though you were invading his space and overstaying your welcome. But your boyfriend couldn't be happier about it. He rather likes the idea of your lives interlocking, melding together as if they were puzzle pieces falling into place. He likes that when he's working, like on nights like this, that you're just on the opposite side of the door, not one phone call or car ride away.

He likes that you're his and he is, equally as much, yours.

“I wanted to leave you to your work.” You explain, curling your arms around his neck. Your fingers absentmindedly play with the ends of his hair that have grown out and the light touch only brings about the memory of how much he has missed you these past few days.

“Well, it's about time I take a break, don't you think?” Jeongguk muses and you become hyper-aware of the way his fingers brush up your spine. “Give my girl some attention…” He trails on, eyes flickering to your lips.

You practically preen at the idea, smiling shyly as you lean into his touch. “I wouldn't object to that.” Your heart patters in your chest, beating wildly at the mere sight of Jeongguk. At the thought of him finally touching you, kissing you, quenching your thirst after this week-long drought. “I've missed you.”

Jeongguk chuckles faintly. “Me too, baby.” He murmurs, perching his head upwards to press his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle, chaste, his plush lips feeling so featherlight against yours. You almost imagine they were never there to begin with because Jeongguk pulls away before you can truly savour the taste of them.

“You know, you look so pretty in my clothes.” He begins, large hand spreading lazily around your left hip and up your back. “Kinda makes me want to wreck you.”

“You already wreck me.” You breathe without missing a beat.

“Yeah?” Jeongguk rasps, his voice low and a little dark. It sends a thrill straight up your spine.

You nod in response, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “No one makes me feel the way you do.” You admit, eyes flitting across his face. It's an unwavering truth—one that simultaneously scares and excites you in this quiet dead of night.

“Can I kiss you again?” The words come out as a breathy whisper; as if you've been holding on to them for too long, as if they're the oxygen you so desperately need to breathe, and Jeongguk tilts his head, bewildered frown on his face.

“How is that even a question.” He gripes, slanting his head in a means to meet your mouth halfway, but you have another idea.

You press into him instead, leaning forward, and set out to peck lovingly along the curvature of Jeongguk’s jawline. He huffs in amusement, endeared by the way you take control. Because, although he’s usually the dominant one in the bedroom, he doesn't mind when you take charge like this. In fact, he's grown to love it. Loves the way you come into your own, toying and teasing with him, until your own actions cause you to grow desperate.

It's one of his greater weaknesses, his Achilles heel, and right now, you want nothing more than to expose it. Unveil a certain side of him. The one that'll see how far you can push before he starts to push back. The one that'll give in and take you right here on this couch after he's entertained your antics for long enough and you finally beg him to fuck you.

Your body practically hums at the thought.

You map out his skin, lips brushing against the surface like you're exploring a new land. Every movement careful, every touch claiming what's yours. And it almost goes to your head—how quickly Jeongguk submits to your mouth’s assault, his body relaxing into the couch like he's letting you have your way with him.

Jeongguk doesn't tell you that he is. That your lips are a holy grail he'd happily yield to.

When your teeth graze lightly at a particular soft spot below his ear, he lets out a small groan, eyes falling closed at the sensation. You feel the sound roll through you, the ache between your legs becoming hard to ignore when you think about the fact that you've roused that melody from his mouth.

It spurs you on, makes you want to hear it again and again. You want to paint the entire column of his neck red and then watch your confession of love fade to a bruised purple in the weeks to come. You want to rediscover all the ways that you can make Jeongguk sing, and the way your body dances to his tune in turn. Your lips lap him up, kisses becoming indelicate with desperation, teeth nipping with intent along his upper jaw, tongue tracing over the skin before you repeat all these gestures twicefold.

You can feel yourself growing wet, relish in the way that Jeongguk's hands tighten around your form. “Shit,” He mumbles and your body crows. Without pause, you shift against his lap and move to the neglected side of his neck, targeting the skin there. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, your core situated right above his growing erection, and it causes a shiver to run down your spine.

You plant a few messy kisses against his throat, nibbling vehemently, but then Jeongguk tuts and pries his eyes open before you have the opportunity to really sink your teeth into him.

“Baby,” He warns, curling a hand into your hair to form a makeshift ponytail. “No marks. I've got a presentation on Monday.” He says and pulls you back by an inch. His movements are somewhat hesitant, voice rough, like he's not entirely sure he truly wants you to stop.

But he has to. He can't afford to show up to class on Monday and present the most important project of his life with hickeys all over his neck.

“Next time.” He promises, but you consider outright ignoring him for a second, even though it's nonsensical, like some twisted form of punishment for a week of neglect.

But it’s Jeongguk—Jeongguk who’s been extra stressed lately about completing his degree. Jeongguk who’s carving time out of working on his big assignment right now—one which, not only counts forty percent of his grade, but could also earn him an internship at one of the top law firms in Seoul if he's lucky enough—all to pay special attention to you.

So, “Fine.” You give in, albeit a little petulantly, and brace your hands against his chest, face feeling flushed. “I’m sorry. I just wanna be close to you is all.”

“I know. Me too.” He rasps, grip on your hair loosening a touch, but not completely. “We don't have to stop though, just don't mark me up.” He explains, free hand rubbing up and down your thigh.

“Okay,” You slide your palms up his chest, feeling the toned muscles tense beneath your touch. “I really love you, you know?”

Jeongguk's eyes soften, a hint of a smile creeping up on his face. “I know,” He hums, tugging at your hair in a way that makes your scalp tingle. “But I don't think it comes close to how much I love you.” He rasps, using his grip as leverage to pull your head backwards until the delicate skin of your throat is exposed. “It's incomparable.” He murmurs, placing a single kiss on the side of your mouth before he travels south, lips peppering across your jawline.

You shiver, hands twisting into the thick material of Jeongguk's t-shirt. You want to tell him that it's not a competition, that you'd love him until the sun stops rising and, even if this one week of distance had been more, you know that he feels the same.

But the heavy palpitations in your chest causes the words to dissolve on your tongue because Jeongguk pulls the collar of your shirt to the side a second later, exposing more of your skin, before he traces a path along your décolletage. He's touching you like a starved man, mouth just as desperate and feverish as you’re starting to feel.

A stuttered gasp escapes your lips, your hands moving upwards, unsure of where to be, when he nips at a particularly sensitive spot. You settle them on his shoulders.

“Jeongguk,” You moan, the tingling between your legs maturing into an unbearable ache.

“I know, baby.” He abruptly pulls away from your clavicle—lips red, eyes blown. “Tell me what you want.”

His demand goes over your head because you don't know what you want; can barely think straight with the lingering feeling of Jeongguk's lips on your neck. With the growing wetness sticking uncomfortably to your panties. With the burning, hot embers laying at the base of your stomach, begging to be set ablaze. And Jeongguk knows that. Knows that you're neither here nor there, only somewhere in the middle, teetering on the line of endless choices. So he lets go of your hair then, manoeuvres your body until you're straddling only his left thigh.

“Don't think about it, baby.” He murmurs, both hands moving to your hips. He guides them back and forth, slow and gentle, with just enough pressure to relieve that desperate throbbing in your pussy. “Just feel.”

And you do, sinking into your own little bubble, a paradise as impenetrable as the gates of heaven. You take your time to grind up against him, moving in tandem with the flow of his hands and a soft whimper climbs up your throat at the sensation of your clit brushing against the firm muscles of Jeongguk’s thigh. You're already so soaked, underwear absolutely sodden from the relentless pendular motions of your pelvis, and when you look down to find a dark, damp spot beginning to stain Jeongguk's sweatpants, you can't help but intensify your movements.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly you've become turned on, how much you're dripping, when Jeongguk's barely touched you, but instead you just feel liberated. Pure power coursing through your veins because your boyfriend has given you the reins, is letting you use his body like a bitch in heat, and it's exhilarating; intoxicating every facet of your mind.

“That's it,” Jeongguk purrs, deserting your hips once you gain momentum to instead sneak both hands up the hem of your shirt.

Your breath escapes its chambers when he trails past the soft curve of your waist and straight to your breasts. “Fuck, you're so beautiful.” He grunts, gaze intent on your every reaction, like he's watching artwork unfold. His nimble fingers circle your nipples, tracing them with the most tantalizing pattern, until they begin to harden.

“Please,” You choke, clasping his shirt in between your fists like it's some sort of lifeline. You're not even sure what you're begging for, pace quickening as you ride Jeongguk’s thigh more aggressively. Every rut forward sends sparks shooting throughout your body, nerve endings alight, and when Jeongguk pinches your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, your back arches in pleasure. A throaty moan penetrates the room otherwise filled with nothing but your uneven pants and the sound of Jeongguk's voice.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” He groans, hands inching towards your shirt’s lower seam. He drags it over your torso, itching for better access to your breasts. Even in your muddled state, you meet him halfway, raising your arms above your head until the damned thing is off and you're left in nothing but your lacy underwear.

You hardly have time to adjust to the humid air hitting your torso, when Jeongguk tips his head forward, enveloping your right nipple into his mouth with reckless abandon. The response is instantaneous, a strangled sob slipping past your lips at the feeling of his warm mouth encased around your stiffened peak. His tongue swipes across your nipple, shockwaves manifesting at the blissful contact, and you don't know how much longer you're going to last—an embarrassing feat you don’t ponder on too much.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the attention Jeongguk pays you. Whimpering when the pads of his fingers move to fondle the nipple of your forsaken breast while the other submits to his mouth’s pleasurable torment, each purposeful pinch causing them to tighten all the more. Your skin feels like it's on fire, the warmth of Jeongguk's touch igniting the cinders glowing from deep within your belly. “I-I think,” You swallow, your pussy rubbing deliciously into Jeongguk's leg. “I think I'm going to come soon,” You manage to admit through a repressed whine, voice so strained it sounds foreign even to your own ears.

You don't think you've ever hit an orgasm this quickly. You've never had to. Because you and Jeongguk are like inseparable magnets; every atom in your bodies drawn to each other, always connecting like two poles seeking the other out—never going more than a few days without some form of intimacy. Never mind a week.

At least, not until now.

So when Jeongguk bounces his leg upwards to meet the force of your pussy coming down on his quadricep, adding to the way you slam into him, your clit positively throbbing at the impact, you feel the onset of that familiar coil in your stomach tightening.

“Just let go, baby.” Jeongguk rasps, granting you permission with one final flick of your nipples and then you're coming undone, white fiery heat flooding every fiber of your body, as you cry out his name. Only his name, forever on your lips. You feel the way your entire form convulses, the way Jeongguk helps you through it, flexing his thigh so that you can get the most out of your orgasm, and your hips buck forward—unrelenting and greedy—before they finally ease into a slow rut. Grinding into him until the receding, minuscule waves of pleasure begin to fade.

With the last few clenches of your pulsating core, you slowly catch your breath, muscles slackening as you become pliant in Jeongguk's arms, the weight of your body suddenly too much for you to bear. Your boyfriend holds you tight though, both hands moving to your waist to keep you secure.

Behind the darkness of your closed eyelids; you hear Jeongguk softly murmur your name and feel the way his hand comes up to your face, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear before he cups your cheeks. “You okay, angel?” He asks, voice emerging as a hushed tone.

When you manage to tear your eyes open and give him a soft, affirmative nod, Jeongguk seems satisfied, pressing a delicate kiss to your sternum before he shifts you from his lap and onto your back in one fell, but gentle swoop.

Your head hits the soft leather of the sofa with the aftermath of your climax still lingering against your skin like crackling electricity, fuzzing up your mind. “You think you can take more?” He asks, eyes flitting across your face to get a read on your current state of mind.

You nod your head assuredly, reaching out to make a grab for his body, to bring him closer. “Yeah I can,” You say confidently, arm's snaking up his back to explore the taut muscles that reside there.

Jeongguk is hovering over your body, thigh pressed hotly between your legs, and even though you can feel the rush of arousal, brought on only a second ago, pooling uncomfortably in your underwear—you want more. You want him. “I want to carry on.”

Jeongguk studies your demeanour, casting your body and expression a careful once-over, because he wants to feel you, be in you, wants to make you see stars. But it's only a matter of whether you're able to handle that right now. He has barely had his way with you, but you already look so fucked out, so perfect for him. It makes the blood rush straight to his dick. “You make me crazy.” He rasps, eyes locking with yours as he brings a hand up, tracing his thumb along your bottom lip.

You almost cower beneath his touch, beneath the sincerity of his gaze; appraising the very depths of your being as if you were a delicate treasure, as if he were staring at a god or something of a divine beauty.

Jeongguk thinks that maybe he is; thinks you’re the light, the one thing he’d worship morning, noon and night through blind faith. And there are barely enough words in the dictionary for him to express this notion to you, so instead he settles for “I love you.” Voice as rough as the high tides, but softer than moonlight.

He feels compelled to tell you this every chance he gets, a hopeless slave to his feelings for you. “Like I've never loved anything else in my life.” He continues. It's a quiet confession in the night, not a new one, but the words mean just as much as the first time he admitted them to you.

You feel yourself melt, can't remember ever feeling this cherished. Not since before Jeongguk and hopefully, never after. “I love you too.” You murmur, taking a moment to drink in every detail of the man who has left you restless all night.

Your eyes flicker over the defined cut of his jaw. The delicate curve of his lips and the pretty mole resting just beneath it. The small kissable scar on his cheek. The feathery flutter of his eyelashes. The strands of hair that have fallen over his face, and you retract your hand from his back to push them away.

How did you ever get this lucky?

“So much.” You emphasize and your voice thickens with the weight of your words, spoken from the very depths of your soul. “More than you could ever know.” Because there aren't enough words in the dictionary to get this notion across, so instead you lift your head, planting a firm kiss to Jeongguk’s lips as if sealing a vow, a promise of forever.

Jeongguk receives your kiss like he does with everything else related to you; openly, hungrily. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip—once—twice—and you instantly become pliant under his weight. Your fingers find his hair, tangling into the dark tresses as you deepen the kiss. It’s hot and it’s heavy, and in the distant part of your mind, you register that Jeongguk tastes like peaches, most likely from the alcohol he’s been drinking.

The sweetness of his lips immediately goes to your head; drunk and euphoric, and all grace flies out the window the next second. “Touch me,” You murmur breathlessly against his mouth, fingertips skimming over the nape of his neck. “Please, I need you.”

Jeongguk groans, a husky sound resonating from deep within his throat. “Fuck,” You can feel how rock hard he’s gotten, his erection pressing into your inner thigh and it's making you delirious with need. “I’ll give you anything you want.” Jeongguk rumbles, his mouth forming a wet, messy trek away from yours to embrace the flesh of your breasts.

You want to tell him that it's him, only him you want. Puppeteering your every move, body relinquishing itself to his touch. But you don't. You can't, not when Jeongguk's teeth leave scarlet marks across your chest that render you mute, words evaporating on your tongue like sacramental bread.

“My pretty baby,” He coos tenderly and you fight the urge to rut up against him. “Always so fucking ready for me.“ He praises, kisses traveling southward and it burns, searing, everywhere that Jeongguk touches you. You think you might erupt or shatter, and nothing less, if he doesn't meet you where you really need him to, your cunt begging to be satiated with his fingers, or his tongue, or his dick—anything.

A whimper escapes your lips, an embarrassing, desperate sound hanging in the thick air, as you glance down past your heaving breasts. You watch as Jeongguk abandons your boobs, planting a trail of kisses across the expanse of your stomach, your hip bones—takes the tiny little ribbon on your underwear between his teeth and tugs. The deliberate gesture causes your panty to rise up a bit, ever so slightly brushing against your clit in the process, and you bite down on your bottom lip, holding back an ungodly moan.

You can't take it anymore, all this teasing.

Jeongguk can read it on your face; sees it in the way you swiftly tilt your head back, eyes closed, brows scrunched together. He knows you like the back of his hand, which is how he gauges that you've fallen back into a place of submission—done with the tortuous foreplay, done with calling the shots, done with delaying the inevitable. You want him to fuck you, to use your body the same way you had used his mere minutes ago. And if his dick could get any harder at the thought, it would.

Jeongguk licks his lips, slips a finger into the curve of your waistband as he murmurs, “I’m gonna take this off now, okay?”

You nod your head, not daring to open your eyes to confront the image of Jeongguk's face a mere hair's breadth away from your cunt. It's too erotic. Too much. You feel him drag the thin garment down your legs, a string of arousal following suit, and suddenly feel self-conscious, attempting to close your legs to hide how shamefully wet you are.

But Jeongguk's not having any of that.

He carelessly chucks the lacy material to the side like it’s nothing but a rag, a nuisance, and then grips your inner thigh. “Don't you dare,” He grunts, using his grasp to keep your legs apart, lifting them upwards until your knees are bent to your chest and your ankles are resting over his shoulders, giving him the perfect view of your dripping cunt.

You barely have time to register the ticklish feeling of Jeongguk's breath fanning against your core before he dives straight in, licking a long stripe across your pussy, and your hips instinctively buck up. “Shit,” You mewl, rejoicing in the way his tongue traverses from your slit to your clit, lapping up every drop of arousal.

Jeongguk groans, a sound so low, stemming from the heart of his diaphragm, when he samples that first morsel of your leaking nectar. You taste like heaven, so sweet and unbearably wet, and all just for him.

“So fucking good,” He grumbles, mouth drinking you in. His tongue is unrelenting in its efforts to devour your pussy, and the overwhelming sensation of him slurping and sucking—of him eating you out like a connoisseur tasting the rarest of delicacies—causes frenzied pools of pleasure to ripple within the base of your belly.

He keeps at it, nose brushing against your clit as a byproduct, and after a few minutes the pure, unwavering rapture of Jeongguk's tongue becomes excruciating. A feeling so good, it’s almost too much. “Jeongguk,” You wail, heels digging into the couch as you try to back away from his mouth, but your boyfriend merely hooks his arms around your legs and pulls you closer. Holding you in place; unable to run or escape from the ruthless onslaught of his tongue, from the metal bite of his piercing brushing against your lower lips. “I can't,” You cry, writhing beneath his touch.

With his grip keeping you firmly anchored, Jeongguk brings one hand down to toy with your swollen clit, fingers moving in languid, clockwise motions. “You can,” He grunts thickly, tongue slipping between your folds and prodding deliciously at your hole. “I know you can, baby.” He mumbles in between fucking your drenched pussy with his fleshy muscle.

You shake your head frantically, eyes screwed shut, as you feel the waves of your second orgasm surfacing. “Not like this,” You beg, using your hands to reach down, fingers twisting into his fluffy hair as you desperately try to push him away. “Please, I want you in me.” A sob runs free, your walls pulsating around nothing because Jeongguk is taking his time with you, teasing your opening like he's got all night. But you don't. You're close, so fucking close, you can feel it in the tightening muscles of your pelvis, in the quivering of your legs.

But Jeongguk isn't giving you enough. He isn't giving you what you need. Your boyfriend, in all his hot glory, is taking you there with his tongue, swirling insufferably along your orifice—bringing you right up to the edge of the plank with an ocean of pleasure waiting just below your feet, but then he pulls you back. Drags you from the precipice before you can allow yourself to fall in, and it causes a frustrated whine to escape your lips. You need his cock deep inside, filling you up, pushing you off the ledge and into troubled waters. Your pussy throbs at the very thought. “Please Kook,” You find yourself beseeching for the second time. “I wanna cum with you in me.”

And any thread of composure Jeongguk has been holding on to up until that point, snaps at the pure neediness burrowed within your tone.

He looks up at you; lips glistening, eyes dilated—a mess of a man. But you don't look any better—or, if you were getting a glimpse of yourself through Jeongguk's point of view, never better—skin flushed, gleaming with a fine film of sweat, lips swollen from the way you've been biting them, and all at once, Jeongguk is overcome with the desire to give you everything you've ever wanted.

“Fuck, okay,” He curses, rising to his knees and you force your eyes open at the rough edge tainting his voice, at the overwhelming relief of getting what you wished for. “But it’s going to be a bit of a stretch, baby.” He says, not having prepped you fully. It's been a while since the two of you have had sex and, if he had it his way, he would have given you his fingers first, would have warmed and widened your lubricated walls, to ease the initial discomfort of him entering you.

But you look so pretty beneath him, so impatient, and—“I can handle it,” You mollify, voice a sweet concoction of sultry persuasion.

He nods in response, a curt motion, because if he thinks about how eager you're being, about how you're willing to take a little bit of the pain for the insurmountable pleasure, he might just come right there. Might just think of all the other ways you like to hurt; of the way you'd react if his palm made rough contact with your ass cheeks, or what would happen if he handcuffed you to his bedpost and stuffed you full with a vibrator and butt plug—if he fucked you tonight with no end in sight. He wonders if you'd cry, if you'd beg him for more or want him to stop, sopping and spent. More than that, he wants so badly to find out.

Jeongguk’s dark eyes find yours, their typical doe-eyed demeanour having turned hooded a long time ago. Yours are twinkling with anticipation, watching intently as he pulls his sweatpants down, letting them hang low beneath his buttocks. His cock immediately springs free, slapping against his stomach, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip at the sight.

“Come here,” Jeongguk's voice carries a jagged intonation, raw and untamed, and breaks through you like crashing waves. But when he makes a grab for your body, his hands are nothing but gentle, hoisting you up onto your knees and positioning you on all fours.

With your ass bared before him, face pressed into the cold faux leather of the couch, Jeongguk smooths a hand down your back, watches with satisfaction as your spine yields before his touch, and then he takes a hold of his dick. Doesn't even bother giving it a few preliminary pumps because he's already painfully hard, precum leaking from the tip as he lines himself with your hole.

He doesn't put it in though.

First, he teases your little cunt with only the head of his length, not fully embedding himself within your warmth just yet. You whimper pathetically at the testing prod, fingers balling into frustrated fists, while Jeongguk watches in awe as your entrance narrows, pleading to be stuffed.

“God, look at you.” Jeongguk groans, eyes traveling from your glistening pussy to the state of your overall servile form.

He places one hand on your hip, fingers digging into the skin there, as he inches just the slightest bit forward, his dick slowly pushing into you. Your mouth parts at the sensation and you shakily prop yourself up onto your elbows, head falling forward with a moan. “So fucking needy, huh.” He goads when you attempt to meet him in the middle, subtly backing up against his pelvis.

“No,” You shake your head as if it's some sort of lie, as if you haven't been thinking about this moment since you stepped over the doorsill of Jeongguk’s apartment earlier. And your boyfriend laughs—he actually laughs—a maniacal, derisive sound that rings in your ears.

“There's no need to deny it, baby.” He drawls like smooth liquor hitting the back of your throat, a silky succour that, for some reason, has you dumbly nodding along. Because Jeongguk’s entering you more now, his dick fighting against the tight restraint of your heat, and you're too distracted by the feeling of it to fully comprehend what he's saying.

“I mean,” He continues, reaching down between your legs to gather the wetness clinging to your folds before he bends over your back, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You’d think you've never been fucked a day in your life.” He murmurs, bringing his slick fingers to your level of sight.

You flush instantly, burning at the way your arousal dwells on Jeongguk's digits and forms a translucent web when he parts them into a V shape. “I can't help it,” You breathe shamefully, about to protest that it's his fault for letting you go so long without attention, for not taking care of your sexual needs and making you this susceptible to moments of depravity, when Jeongguk fully entrenches himself into your heat without so much as a warning.

“Aah,” Your jaw slackens at the sudden stretch of his length against your walls, the sensation so unfairly delicious you find yourself clenching around the intrusion with a gasp, and your boyfriend uses the opportunity to stuff his letch-laiden fingers into your mouth.

“Clean them.” He grunts, lazily rocking forward and you choke back a moan, mouth instantly closing around his fingers. Head full of clouds, pussy filled to the brim, you obey. Your tongue licks up the juices stuck to his slim digits, gliding sensually across each one with care, and you vaguely hear Jeongguk curse below his breath, hips grinding into your core. “Fuck, just like that, angel.” He praises, allowing you to suck them clean for a few more seconds before he pulls them from your lips altogether with a lewd pop.

“Such a good girl,” He murmurs lovingly, pressing a singular kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightens to his full height behind you. “Always so perfect for me.”

Jeongguk's hands find your ass again and he gives the supple flesh a few gentle squeezes, savouring the way you whine in response.

“Please,” Your words come out embarrassingly broken and wretched, heart hammering in your chest with want, as you peek at Jeongguk over your shoulder. “Please, no more teasing. Just fuck me.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” Jeongguk asks, eyebrow raised, voice harbouring a hue of cockiness. He withdraws his thick length from your warm embrace at an agonizingly slow rate before thrusting right back in, repeating the motion steadily. “I'm fucking you right now, aren't I?”

You want to cry, your need to come so severe, it's starting to physically hurt.

Your fingers leave deep indents in the couch as you tackle the burning coals of frustration setting every inch of your body on fire. “M-More,” You stammer, feeling a pearl of arousal trickle down your thigh. You're so turned on right now, your mind an empty haze as Jeongguk edges you into oblivion, cunt so wet, you can barely feel the brush of his shaft against your walls anymore. “I need more.”

Jeongguk grins, feels the crown of his cock brush against a particular soft spot, and then decides to give you what you want. Because he loves it when you beg, when you become a blubbering mess beneath him, so cock-hungry, you forget yourself.

Without a moment's pause, Jeongguk pounds into you with unbridled vigour. His hips slap against your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room, and your body jerks forward at the impact. Your core is so drenched he's able to enter you with little resistance now. Emitting a rough, throaty groan, he fixates on how your creamy arousal coats his cock, disappearing in and out of your cunt.

“F-Fuck,” You hiss, your hand reaching back to firmly grip Jeongguk’s wrist for support, but he takes advantage of your extended arm and yanks you up until your back is pressed to his chest.

The new position gives him better access to your front and Jeongguk ghosts a hand around your waist without a second thought, smooths it down your stomach until he reaches your clit. Your body jolts the instant his fingers make contact with the swollen bud, legs quivering with the strength it's taking you to stay upright.

Your boyfriend notices your struggle and hooks his other arm around your waist, his fingertips holding you so tightly you won't be surprised if some bruises appear there tomorrow.

“Fuck, I've missed this.” He rasps, more to himself than you, whilst drilling against your g-spot. But the words affect you just the same as your pussy tightens in response, squeezing him into a death grip, and Jeongguk's hips stutter. “Jesus,” He groans, making a mental effort to stave off his own orgasm, trying to focus solely on you.

You really are going to be the death of him.

He breathes heavily through his nostrils before starting up again, slowly driving into you and his cock burrows so deep, you swear you can feel it in your uterus.

His fingers skim over your clit, tracing the nub ever so slightly because you're starting to flinch from his touch, starting to grow sensitive. And when your head falls back against his shoulder, a choked whine forcing its way out your throat, Jeongguk knows that you're close.

“You gonna come for me?” Jeongguk's lips brush against your temple, his hand deserting your pussy in sympathy to knead your breasts instead. You feel his thumb run over your nipple, static lightning steamrolling across your skin with each sweep.

“I-ah!” You can barely form a coherent sentence, the inklings of even one lucid thought slipping from your empty, fucked out mind as Jeongguk slams into you. He's setting a brutal pace, the noise of skin-against-skin undeniably obscene, but you can hardly find the will to care when the muscles in your abdomen begin to tense. They twist up like a clockwork toy, winding and winding, until Jeongguk hits a particular spot that makes your toes curl, and then you're coming undone for the second time tonight, knees buckling with the sheer force of your orgasm.

It hits you like a freight train, your body spasming. White dots of euphoria blur your vision, the pleasure so blinding, and Jeongguk's hold around your midsection is the only reason you don't collapse right there onto the couch.

“That's it, baby.” He reveres, hips never ceasing their movements even as your walls contract sporadically, determined to fuck you through it. An uncannily pornstar moan spills from your lips, mind and body having finally plunged into the silvery, stormy torrents of your climax, and the strangled sound causes something impossibly primal to rupture within Jeongguk. It thrashes at his chest like a wild caged animal, demanding release, and he recognizes the feeling all too well.

“You're mine, right? ” He finds himself grunting, voice husky with strain. The hand that was attending to your boobs instinctively ascends to your throat, squeezing slightly as he chases his own high, gives in to that grueling streak of possessiveness that only every rears its head when he has you like this—naked and vulnerable—and you groan at the familiar pressure.

You hum, walls clenching around him. “Only yours.” Your own hand reaches up, cuffing around his wrist for support as a tremor runs down your spine.

Jeongguk feels his balls tighten, the knowledge that he’s the sole witness to this side of you, so subservient and docile, sets him off the deep end.

Then you angle your head to the side, joining your lips with his. It's a messy, sloppy kiss, but the intimacy of it all causes Jeongguk's last bit of composure to crack.

He spills into you with a groan, the sound muffled by your mouth, as he rocks forward until every last drop of his seed is snug within your warmth.

The feeling of his cum bursting inside of you, length twitching, causes your pussy to flutter by reflex, milking Jeongguk of every ounce of cum, only suspending their contractions once he's thoroughly depleted.

By the end, you're both a heaving mess; chests rising and falling in unison as you come down, the electric current pulsing through your bodies fading into a comfortable hum.

Your skin is still buzzing, head befuddled, when Jeongguk presses a few lazy kisses across your shoulder—as if to ground you, to bring you back from the constellations he's painted behind your eyes.

“You were so good, baby.” He commends, smoothing the hair at the side of your profile and you can't help the soft, but dopey smile that breaks out onto your face then.

“I've been dreaming about that for forever.” You murmur, submitting to the assault of his lips. Your boyfriend chuckles in return, nuzzling your neck as he commits the smell of your skin, an alluring scent of sex and lavender, to his memory.

“Me too,” He hums, thumb gliding gently across the contour of your waist. Your sensitive pussy throbs at the light touch, rousing from the stimulation; which only reminds you of the unpleasant remnants of arousal coating your inner thighs.

As if reading your mind, Jeongguk whispers against your skin. “Let's get you cleaned up, okay?”

He eyes your figure carefully, waiting for any hint of consent before he leaves you here alone.

You manage to muster a nod and then feel his dick slip from your entrance a second later, withdrawing in a way that makes you cringe and leaves you feeling oddly empty.

“I’ll be right back.” He assures, his lips quickly, but comfortingly, brushing against your hairline. Thereafter, from your peripheral, you see Jeongguk detach himself from your side, pulling his pants back up as he disappears into the bathroom to do what he does best—take care of you.

In the meantime, you resist the temptation to slump back onto the sofa, feeling a hefty load of cum leaking down your thighs. Every muscle in your body feels relaxed, those sparks from earlier sizzling down into sleepy, smoky remnants that weigh you down. Mind a dazed mess, not sure of how much time has passed, you almost give in—the slumber you so desperately sought out at the beginning of the night finally settling into your bones—when Jeongguk walks back into the living room. He's changed into a pair of briefs and is carrying a wet cloth, as well as, a small tube of ointment.

Your body instantly perks up, a little rejuvenated by his presence.

“Hey,” Jeongguk murmurs once he's back in your close vicinity, fingers brushing against your cheeks as he peers down at you with a soft smile.

“Hey,” You tiredly grin back, pointing a finger at the items in his hand. “Those for me?”

Jeongguk hums, draping an arm around your waist to steady you. If you had the energy to freshen yourself up, you honestly would but currently, you can barely keep your eyes open. So instead you lean on your boyfriend—figuratively and literally—clutching onto his biceps as he brings the warm cloth to your nether regions. You hiss a little at the contact, still feeling delicate down there, but Jeongguk handles you with a gentle mindfulness that makes your heart swell. Makes you think back to a little over an hour ago, when you were alone in bed unable to fall asleep because he wasn't there.

And sometimes it worries you. How much you need him. How much something as simple and basic as sleep, needs the warmth of his touch to make its mark on you. How much you’ve grown to love him in the span of a few months, your life endlessly orbiting around him like the earth to the sun. How much the deepest crevices of your soul, where the vile fear of abandonment and instinctual desire to run, relinquish themselves to the light of Jeongguk’s unconditional love.

You watch him toss the used washcloth to the side before unscrewing the top of the ointment. Sigh; as his fingers, tender with purpose, apply dabs of vitamin K salve to your hips where the marks from his fingertips are starting to surface. “Shit, I'm so sorry baby.” He apologizes, the raspy, hushed tone of his voice communicating how guilt-ridden he feels. “I didn't mean to be this rough.”

And, you've never known a love like this. One that rustles through your hair like the wind on the drive down to your parents. One that meets you in the dead of winter between classes, wrapped up in coats and scarves, and coffee as the snow falls. One that kisses you goodnight, hands cupping your cheeks while the street lamps flicker outside.

One that dresses all your bruises.

It makes you want to run in the opposite direction every now and then, fleeing until you forget that you ever knew it could be this good, this safe.

But, staring at Jeongguk and the careful, intricate way he's massaging ointment onto all your black-and-blues, you bury these trepidations away, laying them to rest in the one place they belong—the past.

Because yes, you’ve never had this sort of love before—the seriousness, the commitment.

The emptied-out drawers for your clothes.

The spare toothbrush at his place.

The conversations of a future together—the clear line being crossed from fling to forever.

Even though it's a concept so scary and unfamiliar, and foreign to you—you never want to let it go.

You never want to let him go.

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minisugakoobies · 5 months

Text

It's You - Choi San | 3 AM

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around, sloppy making out, lots of cuddling and kissing, honestly this is super soft, drunk San is a whole different type of menace, a little angst on OC's part, pet names deployed as weapons (baby) Word Count: 2.1k Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: This started with talking about drunk San with @minttangerines and @kiestrokes, and then @moni-logues made me miss this couple, so boom! New vignette! I should warn you that I wrote this over the course of 2 days, entirely between the hours of midnight and 5 am because I've been staying up wayyyy too late to watch the Coachella livestreams (can we talk about Chellateez?! because holy shit!), so it's probably a mess and it's unbeta'd, so… blame any typos or incoherency on my fucked up sleep schedule! 🥱

Lyrics are from "Moondance" by Van Morrison, inspired by that one toktoq of San singing that song, which absolutely killed me.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It’s three in the morning, and you’re wide awake, at your desk, working frantically on an article whose deadline is mere hours away. For not the first time tonight, you curse your natural inclination towards procrastination and scrub your hand down your face, wishing you’d chosen a different career.

There’s some noise outside your door and you realize San must be home. He’d been down at the Blue Bird with Hongjoong, drinking and hanging out with Wooyoung as he bartended. From the way San’s shuffling around, it sounds like Woo had been his typical kind self and given San more generous pours than he should have. A loud “oof” resonates, and you hear the armchair scrape the floor a bit, as if he were setting it back in its place. You wince, hoping he didn’t wake his sister, who has an early shift and needs to be up at dawn.

“Noona. Nooooooona.” Tap tap tappity tap. “Are you up? I can see - I can see your light.”

San raps on your door, calling out to you in a voice that’s hushed but maybe not quite as quiet as he thinks it is. From his spot on your bed, Nero lifts his head off his paws at the sound, then blinks at you with his bright green eyes.

“I know. He’s loud as fuck, isn’t he?” With a cluck of your tongue, you quickly hop up and open the door. San must’ve been leaning against it, because suddenly you’ve got a mountain on top of you, a loose-limbed one at that, eagerly but clumsily wrapping its arms around you. “San!”

“Hiiiii,” San coos into your shoulder, where he’s buried his face. You shudder slightly as his breath tickles your skin exposed by the tank top you wear, and stagger away from the door enough to close it quietly as you can, not an easy task to do given the giant mass of man hanging his dead weight on you.

“You know, your sister is sleeping just on the other side of this wall,” you remind him, but he doesn’t respond, too busy lathering the column of your neck with tiny kisses. “San. Come on, sit down.”

With some stumbling from San and a not insignificant effort on your part, the two of you make it over to your bed. Your attempt at coaxing San into a sitting position fails miserably as he promptly splays on his back, pulling you on top of him. Nero hops off the bed in a huff.

You go down like a sack of flour, not a gram of gracefulness in your fall, but San appears not to notice when your chin bounces off his sternum or your knee rams his thigh. He sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around your back, tucking you against him.

“Mmmm. So nice,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

It’s three in the morning, and you need to finish this damn article. Except that right now, your body is telling you that what you really need is to stay exactly where you are. Because the minute the warmth of San’s embrace surrounded you, your stress melted away. The steady rise and fall of his chest calms you, makes your own breathing slow. You close your eyes, nestling closer to him, sliding your own arms around his waist. You could so easily fall asleep like this.

But he can’t sleep here.

“San. San, are you awake?”

“I’m awake,” he replies, but with closed eyes, which doesn’t really give you a lot of confidence in his response. “I am,” he insists when you shake him, rolling his head away, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warn him sternly. “I mean it!”

San smiles, the one that tells you that he knows you’re going to give in to him, which is the smile you tend to see him flash the most often, because you’re weak for him and always giving in. But this isn’t one of those times when you can indulge him. No matter how much you want to.

“Wish you’d come to the bar tonight. Wanted you there.”

You knew that. He’d told you as much when he’d texted earlier. Unfortunately, you had to turn him down for the sake of remaining gainfully employed. He’d tried to convince you otherwise at first but finally said he understood. And then sent you a series of sad selfies, each one more pathetic than the last, lips puffing to an extreme. Because he understands the power that pout holds over you.

It’s embarrassing how bad you’re down for this man.

San’s fingers dance idly down your spine, and you sigh, eyes slipping shut again as you speak. “Believe me, I would’ve rather been there with you.”

He hums, fingertips quickening their light minuet. He mumbles something into your hair, low and unintelligible from the way his lips are smushed against your head, so it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not talking, he’s singing.

“... marvelous night for a moondance, with the stars up above in your eyes…”

“San,” you begin, but before you can warn him not to get any louder, he does so anyway, raising his beautiful voice a little, starting to get into it.

“A fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of October skies…”

“Shhh!” Your shushing is cut short by your giggling, as you clap a hand over San’s mouth. “Oh my god, now is not the time for this!”

This is one of San’s more notable habits - when a song gets stuck in his head, you’ll hear him singing it for days, just walking around the apartment humming the melody or, if he has an audience, belting out the lines. He knows how much you love his sweet tenor. Another fact about you he’s filed away to devastate you with at the most opportune times.

Like when you need to kick him out of your bed.

He continues singing despite your hand pressing on his lips, slurring the words directly into your palm. His eyebrows are working overtime, top half of his face playfully conveying whatever lyrics are being smothered against your skin. He’s so ridiculous, so over-the-top, even at three in the morning when anyone else would be exhausted, like you felt before he walked into your room, since his energy is infectious and perked you up better than the multiple cups of coffee you downed in your desperate attempt to stay awake. That’s San for you - he’s always giving you something when you need it - his time, his help, his energy.

So you decide to give him something back, and replace your hand with your mouth, drawing him into a tender kiss, imbuing it with all those things you feel but never say. His muffled singing becomes a hum becomes a moan, at first surprised, then pleased. One of his hands drops to your thigh and with a bit of urgent tugging, he maneuvers you on top of him, chest pressed to chest.

His kissing is only the slightest bit sloppier when he’s been drinking, wetter from his tongue caressing yours with somewhat less skill than usual, but it’s never bothered you. You like seeing this side of him, looser with his inhibitions, with whatever holds him in place - or holds him back. One day you’ll ask him to show you more, when you’re both sober.

And when things are different. Less… ambiguous between the two of you.

If you reach that point.

“Noona.” San whispers, thankfully pulling you from the heavier thoughts threatening to sink you right out of the moment. You open your eyes to look at him as he pecks your cheeks. “I like kissing you.”

You grin, letting your forehead knock against his. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” The look he gives you would melt the hardest of hearts. This is why you’re not afraid to be needy with San. There’s no reason to be, not when he’s just the same.

“I like kissing you too,” you declare, kissing the tip of his nose, laughing at the way his eyes cross as he follows your lips. “But now’s not the time for that, either.”

“Then what time is it?”

Laughing, you gently guide him into a sitting position, keeping your arms looped over his shoulders. His lust is morphing into sleepiness, eyelids drooping as he gazes at you, and your heart goes so soft at the sight of him.

“It’s time for you to go to bed.”

“Okay,” he chirps, immediately flopping onto his back again.

“Ohhhh no, not here. You gotta go. I still have to finish my work, and you…” The words stick in your throat. You can’t be here. You don’t want to say them. You want him to be here. Tonight, and tomorrow, and on and on.

But that’s a conversation for another time. Not three in the morning.

“You have to go,” you groan, sliding off the bed and grabbing his arms, less gentle and more insistent this time. “Come on, get up!”

San lets out a whine of protest. “But baby, why can’t I stay here?”

Oh, he would drop a ‘baby’ now, slipping it in so casually, so naturally, like there’s nothing unusual about him calling you that. As if it’s not something new he only started doing the other day, happening maybe a handful of times since.

Since the two of you have been doing this undefined thing, there’s really only been one unspoken rule. You sleep in your bed, and he sleeps on the couch. Even on the nights when Haneul’s working the late shift, or she’s over at Jongho’s. You never know if she’ll come home early, so you don’t risk it. It’s just easier this way.

Doesn’t mean you like it, though.

“Because. If Haneul catches you coming out of here - “

The sound of a door opening makes you freeze right down to your tongue, leaving your sentence unfinished. Your head swivels towards your own door. A pair of feet pad down the hall, getting closer, then fading away, until you hear another door being closed. The bathroom.

“Noona.”

You turn to find a sober-looking San staring at you. He reaches out, hands settling on your hips, holding on to you as you stand between his legs. Clinging again.

“She’s in early today, right?”

The two of you probably know Haneul’s schedule better than she does. You nod.

“Then I’ll just stay in here. She’ll think I never came home.”

He makes it sound so simple. So reasonable. He’ll stay here until she leaves. Why didn’t you think of that? Is it because you don’t like thinking of San with someone else, even if said person is an imaginary person who exists solely to provide an excuse that will allow you to get what you want? And if you get what you want now, it’s only going to hurt more when you can’t have it anymore?

Yeah, that’s probably it.

“I don’t know…” you bite your lip.

“Come on,” he wheedles, drawing you into his lap again, cupping your face with both hands. “Let me stay with you. Don’t you want me?”

And there it goes, the last remaining bit of your resistance.

“Okay.”

San seems a little shocked, face lighting up in delight, and you wonder if it’s at how quickly you agreed, or that you agreed at all. Maybe both.

“But we have to be quiet. So, you know…” You trail off, gesturing wordlessly.

“No moondancing?” He emphasizes the word heavily, lifting a brow, and you roll your eyes but grin as well.

“Right, none of that.”

“Just cuddles?”

As if he needs to ask. You nod. “But I’m not coming to bed until I finish my work.” You reclaim your seat at your desk, folding your arms over the back of it, trying to give the appearance of someone with a solid backbone, since yours is apparently made of pudding.

“That’s okay,” San says, already tugging his shirt off, then his pants, until he’s only in his boxer briefs. He peels back your comforter, sliding into the soft sheets, and again the action is so natural, so normal, like he does this every night, that something in your chest constricts. “I’ll just wait for you.”

Your first thought is that you should inform him that he’s going to be waiting a while, but then again, maybe he won’t.

You’re feeling suddenly inspired.

(It’s three in the morning, and you’re falling in love.)

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

#ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #san x reader #choi san x reader #san fanfic #ateez angst #choi san fanfic #fic: it's you

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hopelesslonelyghost · 5 months

Text

part 2 for simon and his emotional support medic (protective mode)

part 1 can be found here

tw for assault, choking (the unsexy kind), violence, medical inaccuracies probably

i promise there will comfort, but i just love the idea of simon going feral if anyone ever laid hands on his medic

as always, this isn’t beta read, sorry for any typos. enjoy!

in all honestly, the enemy getting the jump on you while you were crouched and hunched over an injured soldier, trying your best to keep them alive, was a bitch move.

simon was always drilling it into you—

“never turn your back for too long. it leaves you vulnerable, love.”

oh how you should’ve paid more attention then, instead of ogling his huge biceps.

a strangled yelp escapes your throat, but is subsequently cut short when an arm bears down. you instinctively go to grip your assailant’s forearm, digging your nails as deep as you can in hopes they’ll release their deathly grip.

they snarl and bark something in a language you can’t understand. whatever it is they said must have been them voicing their displeasure at your action, because their vice grip tightens around your neck, effectively cutting off your ability to breathe.

that’s when the panic really sets in and you earnestly start to struggle against them. you tried all the moves simon taught you when it came to this exact situation. you tuck your chin into the crook of their elbow, then place your right foot behind his. you can feel your eyes drooping from the lack of oxygen, so with all your might, you bite down onto his arm.

you make sure to dig your canines as far as they can go, the taste of blood floods your mouth. the man screams, gripping your hair as they release you, tugging as they try to free themselves from your unforgiving clamp of sharp teeth. in the process of pulling your head back, you bite down harder and then throw your head back the rest of the way, ripping off a chunk of his arm, spitting it out.

there’s no chance for you to continue your attack before a fist comes flying down, hitting your face dead center and roughly getting thrown onto the concrete ground of the abandoned building you’re in.

despite the attempt to break your fall, your forehead comes into contact with the floor, a splitting pain running from the front, that travels through the nape of your neck and down your shoulders.

“гребаная сука! (1)”

your ears are ringing, but you try to bring yourself to sit up—only to be kicked back down, steel-toe boot burying itself into your ribs.

a groan manages to slip through, a small oof! as well when you fall to your side. it’s your first time able to see your attacker’s face. an angry snarl etched on their face. you feel a little satisfaction build in your chest when you see them tightly clutching their right arm, a stream of blood trickling down their fingers and onto the floor, forming a puddle.

“тебе не следовало этого делать (2)” the man spoke again, letting go of his arm and reaching behind him, a tanto coming to view as he holds it up, twirling it, “я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку. (3)”

his boot shoves at your shoulder, forcing you onto your back. you scramble to get up, but he’s in much better fighting shape than you are, and he jumps on you, straddling your waist and shoving you back down. your head hits the ground with a loud ‘thud’ forcing a pained whine from your lips. your ribs throbbed, the weight pressing down on your probably broken ribs was unbearable.

you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the cold metal press against your neck. you did not want your attacker’s face to be the last thing you see before you died. your mind immediately flew to simon. simon and his pretty face. his pretty brown eyes and his pretty blonde hair.

it wasn’t fair. there were more things you wanted to do with simon. you had your whole life ahead of you, and you wanted your sweet lieutenant to be in it.

suddenly the awful weight on top of you was gone. snatched and dragged off. you heard a growl. something so primal and scary. you slowly opened your eyes and sat up, leaning on your elbows as you took in the scene before you.

simon—no—ghost—sat on top of the enemy, just like he had you, thighs around his waist and was viciously landing his fist with all the weight and strength he could muster over and over again. once satisfied the man wasn’t in any shape to get up, ghost stood, unholstered his handgun and fired 3 shots into the bastard’s skull.

you could see his shoulders heaving up and down. his back expanding and deflating with every breath he took. you wanted to so badly wrap your arms around him.

you rolled over on your right side, feet dragging broken glass as you dragged yourself up onto you knees. your hand immediately pressed down on your left side, where the enemy landed that nasty kick. you swore you could feel your ribs shift, breathing getting more and more painful each passing moment.

you hunched over, left arm supporting you up, preventing you from face planting. your pained wheezing must’ve caught ghost’s attention. quick footsteps made their way towards you. from your peripheral you made out a pair of black combat boots, and then he was kneeling by your side.

a gloved hand delicately cupped your chin, moving your head up and to the side to face him. he inhaled sharply.

“jesus fuckin’ christ.”

he dropped your head, going around and coming towards the side your uninjured ribs were.

“cmon love. we have to get up.”

he threw your arm around his shoulder, gently lifting you. you gasp as what you can only explain a lightning bolt ran down your left side.

ghost crooned, shushing you, “i know love, i know. i’m gettin’ us outta here.”

once on your feet, he left go and turned to look at you, “can you walk?”

you nodded, “i can— i can try.”

all you got was a hum of acknowledgment, “grab onto my vest, we’re leavin’.”

•••

ghost and you were the only survivors. the mission was a bust, according to laswell. the intel was false. it was an ambush.

ghost finished up talking to price and laswell through his radio. yours, as you would later find out, was ripped out and stepped on during your fight. shattered into tiny little pieces.

through his sniper’s scope he had seen the enemy make a break for you shortly after rushing inside the building to assist a fellow teammate. he’d raced down from where he was perched, and hauled ass towards you.

“found ya in the nick of time.” he had said. he didn’t see the way you silently winced, the thought that you were mere milliseconds away from certain death.

you two settled inside a safe house, where he stripped you of your gear (and unfortunately) your top.

“hafta see your ribs love.”

after wrapping them tightly, he’d moved on to cleaning up your face. butterfly stitches carefully applied after he’d wiped the dried blood from your face. then came the worst part.

“your nose, it’s broken. i need to set it.”

you think you passed out, because you woke up bundled up on the dusty leather couch. opening your eyes was hard, feeling the effects of your nose being broken as it swelled with broken blood vessels and blood.

sitting on the floor next to you was simon. skull mask long gone, and so was his balaclava. staring back at you was your sweet simon. his face bared for you.

you reached for him, trembling palm making itself home against his cheek. your thumb rubbed his cheekbone.

you swallowed the knot in your throat, “thank you.”

his brows furrowed, “wha’ for?”

“coming for me.”

simon reached up and gripped your wrist, pulling your hand away. his hand moved up and cupped yours, leaning in and kissing your palm. you shivered at the feeling of his lips.

“don’ ever thank me for something’ like tha’.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he beat you to it, “i’ll always come for you. always.” he shook your hand, “got tha’?”

you felt tears well up. despite the ache in your neck, you nodded.

simon kissed your palm again, “need to hear ya say it, sweet thing.”

“you’ll always come for me.”

he leaned forward, dropping your hand and gently cupping the back of your head, careful not to move you too much, and kissed your forehead.

“‘m proud of ya, you know tha’?” he murmured against your skin. you hummed. “tore off a piece of his arm, could see the bloody tendons.”

you groaned, “i swallowed his blood, si. gonna have to get tested now.”

that pulled soft belly laugh from him, “i’ll be sure to let the medics on base know.” he pulled away from you, pushing your hair away from your face, “rest up. i’ll keep watch.”

you gripped his wrist, “but you’re tired too, si.”

he only shook his head, grabbing your hand and pulling it off his, before kissing the back of it. he stood up, “‘m not the one who’s got broken ribs. rest love, i’ll wake you when we’re headin’ out.”

•••

you were placed on mandatory medical leave for 3 weeks. simon requested leave as well. said someone had to watch after you. which is how you ended up now, laying on your bed on your good side, watching tv that was mounted on your wall with simon laying next to you. his hand was on your hip, drawing lazy circles into your skin.

“you’re gonna put me to sleep if you keep that up.”

“tha’s the point, love.”

you hummed, settling further into your pillow. simon pulled the strap of your top down, allowing him to place a chaste kiss in the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

“sleep, love. i’ll be here when you wake.”

and who are you to say no to that?

“promise?”

“promise.”

•••

translations (done by yandex translate, probably not accurate!

1. гребаная сука! —> you fucking bitch!

2. тебе не следовало этого делать —> you shouldn’t have done that

3. я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку —> i’m really going to enjoy slicing your pretty neck open.

#es!medic!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod x you #ghost cod x y/n #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley

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kybercrystals94 · 1 month

Note

hey dude!!! I totally get if you’re busy but I had to ask:

I’m leaving for college tomorrow (11 hour drive babyyyyy) and I’m excited but it’s just. A lot. And one thing I’ve noticed that really helps is kind of thinking about the Bad Batch, and what they’d say to encourage someone in a similar scenario.

And so i was wondering: would you have the energy to write something of literally any length (could be 10 words idc) of the bad batch encouraging Omega to make her decision to join the rebellion?

If not that is A-OKAY dw!!!

Thanks :3

Oof! Long car rides are exhausting —but how exciting! Heading to college to learn and create new memories…I think I could write you something 🫶

“Are you gonna go?”

Omega sits with her back against the curved wall off the house. The night is mild for Pabu in late summer, and a soft breeze brushes by, sifting through Omega’s hair and making the tear tracks left on her cheeks feel cool. “I don’t know, Wrecker. I feel like I should…like I need to…but…” she cuts herself off, wiping the sleeve of her jacket roughly across her face.

“But what?” Wrecker prompts, moving to sit next to her. He moves slowly, on worn joints and aching muscles. Age has claimed his youth so much sooner than it should have.

Omega waits until he is settled before she leans against him and his endless warmth. “What if I leave,” she whispers, “and something happens. Here.”

Wrecker chuckles. A rumbling thing that rattles her. “Nothing’s gonna happen here, kid. It’ll be the same old thing it’s been since we settled here. You’ll come visit, and it’ll be the same as it was, like ya never left.”

Omega smiles. Her brothers have found so much comfort in their routines. Their familiar, comforting routines. Maybe she’ll miss that more than she first thought. Knowing where her brothers are any time of the day simply based on where the sun is positioned in the sky.

But that isn’t what she meant. “What if something happens…to one of you?”

Wrecker is quiet for several long moments. “We’ll look after each other, Megs, you don’t gotta worry about us. Fear shouldn’t be what makes you stay.”

“Hunter doesn’t want me to go,” Omega says, “and Crosshair pretends he’s neutral on the subject…but he’s not. Do you want me to go?”

“Want ya to go?” Wrecker puts an arm around her, holds her tight against him. She’ll always feel small next to him, always feel like the child she outgrew years ago. “Yes and no. Yes, because I can tell it means a lot to ya, and I think what you wanna do is important. No because I’ll miss you. More than anything. But I can’t let my fears make ya stay either, Omega. Neither can Hunter or Cross. They just want what’s best for you.”

“Helping with the Rebellion…I could make a difference. I could use all the skills I’ve learned to help…”

“And that’s what you’ll do,” Wrecker says, voice low. “No matter what, we’re all proud of you. So kriffing proud.”

“Really?” Omega mutters into him, snuggling closer.

“‘Course we are. You’re gonna rattle the galaxy, kid. And we’ll be here waiting when you come home.”

END

I hope you like it, anon! I wrote this little snippet before getting ready for work, so pardon my typos 🥹

Have a safe journey to college!! And thanks so much for the ask! 🫶

#star wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #TBB wrecker #TBB omega #post season 3 #anon ask

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zer0wzs · 4 months

Note

hihihi!!! i love ur work sm!! would u possibly write something about ryro :-) something fluffy like cuddling or something ^_^ thanks!!

𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨, 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨 ( 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨 )

[ gn!reader ] if an evening with him is what you want, it certainly is what you'll get wc :: 647 ryro x reader

AN :: hii!!!! this is my first ever req here omg!! i hope this ok thank u so much ure so kind ^_^ 🫶 um if there are any typos ill correct em later HAHA im sleepy T-T

Needless to say, you missed him.

Crap, if you had to be honest, you’re almost certain that you spent a significant part of your day just wanting to be with him.

Who could blame you, though?

You’re sure that anyone who has ever had the privilege of knowing, loving him could never be the same ever again. You’re sure you aren’t. He’s changed you—you reckon for the better.

Your whole day was a miserable waiting game. From the moment you set foot outside your bedroom (Ryan was still out like a child.) to the final moments of your trip back home, all you could do was just wish for time to take itself more seriously and pass by faster.

Like a bored high schooler in their math class, you’d been watching, waiting for the seconds to count down.

Needless to say, you were impatient.

Finally, you reached the footsteps of the door. You find yourself haphazardly going through your bag for your keys and making multiple attempts at jamming it in the door. Patience. Patience is something you lacked, clearly.

“Oh, hey, babe. How was your da-”

When you got the key in and opened the door, without thought—almost like instinct, or perhaps just an overwhelming need, your body kicked your shoes at the entrance, locked the door, and dashed to Ryan, who was sprawled out lazily on the couch. Heedless, you stay put, resting on top of him.

“Oof.” He buzzed with his small chuckle that filled rooms up. He immediately pulled you further into his arms, then carded his fingers through the strands of your hair.

“Are you okay?” You feel a sense of worry laced in his words.

You hummed. That was enough for him to know that you were alright. Clearing it up, you mumbled into his shirt a soft, “I just missed you.”

Not missing a beat, he replies, “I missed you too.”

For a few moments, both of your eyes are glued to the TV.

You find this whole moment you’re sharing at least a little funny because, parallel to the two of you, Ryan was watching Goodfellas. In fact, what was playing as you two were cuddled up was the spider scene.

More than distracted, though, you looked around the living room and saw Elwood and Dottie snuggled up against each other in a similar fashion to you two.

While out of concern, you already knew the answer to your question and yet asked, “Has Dottie eaten yet?”

“Mhm.” He answered, nodding.

Maybe you just wanted some attention. No, you knew you did. “What about Elwood?”

“Yes, dear.” He laughed, bringing a hand up your cheek and squeezing it. Seems like he knows it very well himself, too. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Mmmmmmm.” You buzzed, smiling at him—be it a mix of both giddiness and guiltiness.

“Ahh,” he clicked his tongue. “I haven’t either. Come on, I’ll make us something.”

As you felt him bring the both of you up, you made a quick effort to stay put on the sofa. “No.” you pouted.

“Hmm?” He replied, turning his head to the side in slight confusion.

“I wanna stay like this first.” You said, wrapping your arms around his waist as tight as you could as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

It’s not that it felt like he’d disappear if you let him go. Like, he would—only to make you guys some food. It’s just that you’re just really fucking clingy, and you wanted his touch and full attention all to yourself right now.

But what’s the harm in that when he assures—more like enables—you?

“Alright.” You feel his smile radiate above you, brushing his knuckles with a feather-light touch against your cheekbone.

Yeah, you both know you’re both all to each other right now. What’s the matter with a little bit of indulgence?

#ryan ross x yn #ryan ross x you #ryan ross x reader #zero's writing °｡⋆⸜ ✮

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ihopesocomic · 9 months

Note

Are you kidding me, I'm looking at Hope's family tree and Breccia has heterochromia? How did I not notice her blue eye before? That looks great! And it's only now that I've noticed how "popular" stripes on the head are in Hope's family. Vicious, Clever, Hope, Quiet and Daffodil, all have them! Also, the fact that Daffodil has a white stripe/future mane after their grandfather is a super cute detail! Ivanatwotails did a great job, as well as you guys did a great job with the character designs!

I TOTALLY THOUGHT THIS WAS AN ASK PUTTING US ON BLAST FOR HAVING SOMEBODY STRAIGHT WHO SHOULDN'T BE THERE FOR A SPLIT SECOND LOL

(believe me that's a kind of typo that's happened before oof) but thank you so so much, anon. I love the head stripes sm too and yee yeah, I just had to have Daffodil carry on Merry's legacy by having a lovely white mane. <33 - RJ

#ask #ask us stuff #rj answers #golden grove

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bizaar · 2 years

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 10

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 10k

warnings: Angst, some fluff, descriptions of violence, mentions of throwing up, so sorry if I forgot anything!

A.N.: Part ten!! A little later than I had hoped to get it out (you know... life) honestly I think we can all just agree that Jason Carver is a douchebag — if you see typos, no you don’t I posted this while I’m at work lmao

It’s all weirdly fucked in the worst way and Eddie is not sure it’s entirely his fault, despite how you’re certainly endeavoring to make him feel that way, and how his psyche is pulling out all the stops to help.

It had been such a bizarre fight, one he was only semi-conscious of as just as it had last summer, Eddie’s brain clicked off the moment you started in on each other, rendering him useless to defend you from whatever hurtful things his psyche drummed up.

He shouldn’t have said what he said, he knows that… but goddammit if you didn’t break his heart a little saying what you said.

Maybe he was a fool to think you could pick things up where you left off, that things going forward would be okay again… maybe he’d allowed himself to get lost in a flight of fancy that you’d come looking for him out of anything beyond the promise you’d made to Wayne.

Maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself.

At the time, Eddie didn’t know if he was glad you followed him to the back of the boathouse, on account of the black cloud of violent hatred his hurt feelings were endeavoring to stir up in him to muddy his mind. That part of him, the rational part, was only glad that everyone else had taken the hint and left the room because they’d already seen enough, and if you two were going to fight he much preferred not to have an audience.

Only you aren’t that couple, you never fight.

The way Eddie sees it, most things aren’t worth fighting about, but the problem with when you did is that neither of you is willing to back down and let the other win.

You’re both just too damn stubborn.

“So, what, you’re hanging out with Steve now?” Eddie had asked sullenly, cutting off the apology you were trying to make and gesturing to the house.

You recoiled in response, eyebrows jumping up to your hairline, blinking rapidly as you shook your head like it was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard.

For some inexplicable reason, it only made Eddie furious – maybe because the rational part of him knew it was ridiculous but it was an easy irrationality to jump to, a quick way to get angry, and he was angry with you, just not for that reason

“Steve?” You choked, “What are you — Eddie, that’s bullshit. We aren’t even friends,”

“Coulda fooled me,” he sniffed, “‘Cause you two? Oof, gettin’ real heated — lotta tension there … And jumping in to save him like that? From me, no less—”

“Stop that,” you spat, “Don’t be mean over nothing,”

The word struck him like a slap to the face and Eddie had to fight very hard to stay calm.

“Nothing.” He echoed, taking the time to breathe before really reacting because you’d just thrown him away like garbage in front of everyone and now you were calling it nothing?

Talk about bullshit.

The fight went on from there, needless and stupid until you finally threw up your hands and made a harsh, aggravated sound.

“Why are you being such a jerk? I mean why are we even fighting?”

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood in a futile attempt to keep his mouth shut, but just like with everything else in his life, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Well, Princess, it’s like you said, I’m not your fucking boyfriend.” He sniffed, feeling a bit too much like he’d just opened his mouth and breathed in a lung full of water to drown himself, considering the way he knew how much you hated that pet name — Princess.

Your jaw flexed as you clenched your teeth and fought the rush of tears suddenly shining in your eyes and, like coming back to his senses, Eddie could feel himself breaking the surface too late, just like last time.

“… and you don’t love me anymore — silly me, how could I forget,” you spat, and the venom in your tone burned him down to the bone.

Oh, that’s not fair… it’s just not fair…

Despite the deep and penetrating ache swelling behind his lungs and all his hurt feelings, hearing you say it made Eddie’s guts seize and his vision go briefly spotty.

The blame swung around and hit him with enough force to leave him winded, one final blow before the ringing of the bell, and just like that it was over. As suddenly as it had descended, the black cloud of his anger lifted, leaving Eddie alone in that room with you and the ringing echo of what he had just said.

He’d done it again.

It’s not fucking fair.

You turned on your heel and stalked off into the house before he could even try to think of what his next move was — should he defend himself? Apologize?

He didn’t do either, instead, he followed you and called your name only to have it drowned out when you slammed the door and left him standing there, feeling like an asshole with everyone staring at him.

You didn’t speak to each other the rest of the night following the departure of Dustin and the others. Eddie didn’t even see you again until the following day, as you stayed in the room you’d closed yourself in, and he took the couch because you needed your space and he was too ashamed of himself to try and go face what he’d done.

In the morning Eddie was a little braver, and when you finally reemerged, eyes red and swollen – from sleep or crying, he couldn’t rightly tell, he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask – he’d tried a whole host of jokes, and comments to test the waters. He complained about his sore back, gently teased you about sleeping in Rick’s bed, wondered idly if this is what Wayne imagined you’d be doing when he sent you to find him, anything he thought might get a reaction out of you.

None of it garnered any sort of response, save for you gently asking him to leave you alone.

Eddie could hardly believe he’d heard you correctly.

“Are you serious?”

You wouldn’t look at him as you twisted the sleeves of your jacket down over your hands, just like Chrissy had in the hallway only a few days ago – Christ, that felt like years ago now…

His whole life came rushing back to him in a second, and Eddie remembered with a start the conversation he’d had with Ms. Kim – he’s graduating … he needs to tell you that he’s finally graduating … but you won’t look at him.

“I just need some space, okay?" You'd sighed, "You stay on your side of the room and I’ll stay on mine and we’ll leave it at that until we’re both ready to talk about it.”

He was ready to talk now, but much as it hurt to do so, as much as it felt like you were hurtling down the road toward breaking up all over again, Eddie took the hint and left you alone.

It's a miserable day, sitting together in the deafeningly quiet house, weighed down by the miasma of everything you’d said to each other the night before.

By the time the sun sets again, Eddie is crawling out of his skin.

He needs to apologize, beg your forgiveness, but he doesn’t want to make things worse by trying to talk to you before you are ready. So far he’s been smart enough not to push it, but it’s dark now and you haven’t so much as looked at him all day – he can’t stand another minute of this bullshit tension.

He doesn’t care about what you said, he doesn’t care that you hurt his feelings, he just needs to fix what he’s broken so that you can move past it already and try to get back to the good part.

From his spot on the couch, he can see you sitting at the kitchen table, shuffling a deck of cards you’d pulled out of a drawer a few hours earlier – he’d seen you do it and asked if you wanted to play Hearts, but you’d pretended you hadn’t heard him and slunk silently into the other room.

He wishes you would look at him, that he could crack a stupid joke and be certain that you’d level him with that same dour look and pretend you don’t think it’s funny like you always do.

It’s now or never, he supposes.

Eddie swallows hard and fights to bring the words up around the knot in his throat.

“Hey,” He calls.

He feels tender and bruised under the harshness of his voice, ringing strangely against his ears after not speaking all day.

Slowly, you glance over at him. You hold his gaze for a brief moment before looking away again, and Eddie tells himself it’s a good sign. At least you aren’t ignoring him anymore.

He takes it as permission to approach and leaps up from the couch to cross to the kitchen with an odd desperation, practically tip-toeing as he goes like he’s afraid to make too much sound.

When he reaches the table, he lingers at your side, standing idly for a very long moment and anxiously wiping his palms across his jeans as he waits for you to say something.

Silence.

Eddie gestures awkwardly to the chair.

“Can I sit?”

You shrug.

It’s not a no – Not-a-No is a win in Eddie’s books – so he whips back the chair beside you and plants himself in it, realizing too late that maybe the one across from you would have been the safer option, but he’s too committed now to get up and move.

You don’t acknowledge him as he settles, you just keep shuffling those damn cards.

It’s another long moment of watching your hands move before Eddie musters the courage to address the nasty little elephant in the room.

He clears his throat and your hands stutter over the cards.

“... So… about last night,” He starts, “About what I said–”

“I don’t care.” You bite, and Eddie feels his heart seize.

Oh… shit.

Thankfully, before he can drive himself crazy beginning to try and decipher what that could possibly mean, you heave a sigh that carries the weight of the world and finally — finally set the cards down.

“I mean I don’t want to talk about it,” You clarify, folding your hands neatly in front of you and twisting the cheap silver ring you have sitting on your middle finger.

Eddie hadn’t noticed it before, he can’t help but stare at it with a strange and misplaced vehemence before glancing reflexively at the ring with the dark stone sitting on his own hand.

He resists the urge to take your hand and slide the delicate silver band off of your finger to replace it with his own as you continue.

“I’m over it.” You say, shaking your head.

“...Even so–” He insists – he's been quietly practicing his apology all day and he'll be damned if he doesn't get to say it.

You don’t let him finish.

“Look, we both said things we shouldn’t have, but there’s no taking them back and now we’re just going to have to live with it.”

Eddie doesn’t know what that means – just live with what?

All he wants is to bask in the euphoria of you finally talking to him again, but he doesn’t like the jagged edge of what you're saying. It sounds too final, like you’re going to suggest that once this is all over, you should go your separate ways and never speak to each other again.

He doesn’t know if he could handle something like that, even if it would be fair, he thinks it might break him.

“...All I want to say is that I’m sorry.” Eddie says in a rush, tentatively reaching out to trace his index finger along the ridge of your knuckles, “And that I do love you…”

You breathe out hard through your nose and furrow your brow.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” You bite, glaring at him from the corner of your eye, but you don’t flinch out from under his touch, so he uses it as permission to take your hand, in spite of his better judgment.

He turns it over in his, lacings his fingers with yours, and searches for comfort in the familiarity of how his hand dwarfs yours in size.

“I’m sorry…” he says again, and then because he’s been silently rehearsing this speech all day, he can’t help but finish the line, “I love you…”

If things weren’t so heavy, he might have tried to lighten the mood by prompting you to return the feeling.

Now you say it back, he would say, but he doesn’t dare, despite how desperate he is to hear it.

It’s the fourth time he’s told you he loves you in less than twenty-four hours – not that he’s been counting – and he hasn’t been able to keep himself from getting stuck on the fact that you haven’t said it back…

“…I know,” You mumble, hanging your head and picking at a piece of laminate, flaking up from a deep groove in the tabletop.

It hurts more than he’s willing to admit. Part of him wants to brush it off, chalk it up to nothing more than a Star Wars reference – Empire Strikes Back no less, which under normal circumstances would be very fucking cool of you – but another part, smaller if not decidedly louder, is insisting that you’re refusing to tell him you love him because you simply don’t anymore – it makes Eddie feel like his throat is closing up.

That part of him wants to grab you and shake you out of this weird, sad version of the person he inadvertently manufactured – it wants to tell you he loves you until he’s blue in the face and you have to say it back so that he doesn’t keel over and die from the apparent lack of your love…

Eddie doesn't get the opportunity to address it, however, as suddenly there is the sound of an approaching vehicle, drawing your collective attention and cutting the moment short – tires crunching on gravel, the dull roar of an engine pulling closer before cutting out, and the whine and thump of car doors opening and slamming shut.

“Finally,” You sigh, “I was wondering where those guys had gotten to.”

Eddie watches as you push up from the table and breathes out harshly as he tries to swallow the emotion rising in his chest.

It’s not fair that after a full day of radio silence, they would show up now when he’s trying — and failing — to bear his soul to you.

He wants to ask where you stand, if you’ve got any chance at a future after all this, but he’d gone and wasted the whole day trying to muster the courage to say his piece, and now he’s just going to have to wait.

Still, he tells himself that it’s probably better this way. With Dustin and the others here, it will give him something to distract from the gaping question mark that is your relationship and whether you’ll ever want to see him again after this.

Only suddenly Eddie can’t help but wonder why they would pull the car right up to the house after all that talk about laying low, not drawing attention to his whereabouts – that seems… wrong.

You cross the room to the front window just as a cold and creeping foreboding begins to ooze into Eddie’s veins, like the jelly from inside an ice pack – something is not right, and the feeling is only amplified by the little voice quietly but persistently warning Eddie to proceed with caution.

When the first of the flashlight beams cross the window, Eddie feels his heart drop into his stomach and ricochet right back up into his throat. He chokes on it.

Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

“What the hell are they doing?” You ask no one in particular, inching toward the window to steal a peek through the shuttered blinds.

“Sweetheart, don’t—” Eddie starts, jumping up from the table to reach out and try and grab you, but then your body goes rigid and you rocket backward, colliding bodily with him.

There’s that trilling alarm once again, screaming run! Only this time you’re there to back it up, which is highly disturbing.

“It’s not them.” You gasp, curling your fingers into his jacket sleeve as you twist around to face him.

Of course, that’s exactly what he was worried about, but being right doesn’t do anything to alleviate the way Eddie’s body is attempting to send him into cardiac arrest.

“Shit —”

You take him by the hand and pull him through to the living room as the shining of the flashlights intensifies through the kitchen window. You move as quickly and quietly as you can, slipping through the inner door and back out into the boathouse which has suddenly become that much worse by darkness and imperceivable danger.

Eddie had foolishly hoped he wouldn’t have to go back out here, what with the spiders and the lingering atmosphere of your fight, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and any creepy crawly creature is suddenly much more palatable to whoever it was you’d seen out the window.

You shut the door behind you with a loud thump, and he holds his breath as he can only imagine the sound must have rung out through the house like a gunshot.

He didn’t see you grab the walkie-talkie, but suddenly you’re holding the big clunky device out to him and imploring Eddie to take it.

He doesn’t need to be told what to do with it as he switches over to channel two and presses the button on the side.

“Dustin, come in Dustin— are you there?” No response, just loud, screaming static. “Hello?”

Of course, it is absolutely fucking typical of his luck that no one would be on the other line. What else did he expect?

You’ve got your ear pressed to the inner door, listening for any apparent signs of movement inside the house, which is extremely unnerving.

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper

You don’t answer, electing instead to put a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart —” you shush him harshly, and he turns his frustration with it back on the radio “Dustin, do you copy? It’s me, Eddie — remember me? Pick up, pick up, somebody pick the fuck up!”

Nothing but static.

Eddie can feel himself breaking into a cold sweat as he watches you move from the door to one of the tiny windows, peering carefully out into the darkness. He strains to listen for any sort of movement – in the house, outside of the house – thinking back to the blinding terror he’d experienced in the moments before he’d discovered you skulking around outside the day before.

For a long moment, there is nothing but the whirring white noise of the walkie-talkie and a very tiny part of Eddie starts to wonder if maybe they’d gone, whoever they were. That part of him, foolish as it is, hopes that maybe you jumped the gun on panicking and it’s just Wayne out there, coming to meet up with you.

Somehow Eddie can’t imagine he’ll get so lucky twice.

“Sweetheart—” He starts, hoping to circle back to the looming question of just who the fuck it was you saw out there, but you drop from the window and steal a glance back toward him before he can get the words out.

“It’s Jason Carver.” You say flatly.

Eddie feels his blood run cold.

“Shit —”

Surely this has got to be some kind of sick joke the Universe is playing on him, some kind of karmic justice for all that thinking about corrupting Chrissy just to spite Jason.

“Hey, Dustin, it would be really great if you would pick up because we’re in serious need of help here!” He hisses into the radio.

Static.

He is so fucking stupid, and he is so, so fucked… and now he’s pulled you into this, and no one is coming to help.

“Dustin? Fuck— anyone! Please!”

Nothing.

In a fit of desperate frustration, before he realizes what he’s doing, Eddie swears harshly and whips the walkie-talkie to the side. He regrets it immediately as it collides with a heavy tackle box and sends it and its contents scattering to the floor with a thunderous crash.

Eddie exchanges a wide-eyed look with you and for a moment it is all either of you can do but hold your breath.

There are muffled voices then, sending you skipping across the creaky floor back toward him.

“Please tell me you’ve got a plan,” Eddie says in a quiet rush, feeling ever so slightly dizzy from the blood pounding in his ears as you come together in a huddle, “Because we’ve gotta get the fuck out of here right now.”

He watches you think, biting your lip then like you’re frantically wracking your brain for solutions. Then your brow smooths and your eyes go wide as something like a lightbulb going on flashes across your face.

“...Not both of us,” you say slowly, “...just you.”

He thinks he must not have heard you correctly because that sounds an awful lot like you’re suggesting he leave you behind.

“What?” He stammers.

You jerk your head toward the space behind Eddie, and he turns to see the boat launch, the moon shining on the black water behind him. He feels a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach.

Surely, you must be joking.

“Get in the boat.” You say, “Make a run for it. I’ll try to buy you some time.”

Yeah… that’s what he thought you meant.

“…What are you nuts?” Eddie practically shouts, whipping back around to gawp at you – he drops his tone when you put a frantic finger to your lips, imploring him once again to shut the fuck up.

When he fails to act, you push past him to begin untethering the dinghy. Eddie follows, doing absolutely nothing to help and everything to try and make you see reason.

“You’re just gonna go out there and… and what? Talk to those guys? Just act totally casual and pretend like you haven’t seen me?”

“Yes.” You insist, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world as you unwind the last bit of rope anchoring the boat to the post.

It drops to the water below with a thunderous splash and makes Eddie feel sick.

“No —” He says, fervently shaking his head, “No, no way, this is crazy – Babe, they’re crazy. They’ll tear you apart!”

“We don’t have a lot of options here, Eddie.” You argue, taking him by the shoulders to twist him around so that he is facing the boat.

This is so crazy, he hates every part of this stupid plan.

“We have at least one other option –” he insists, “We both get in this boat and get the hell out of here!”

Eddie takes an involuntary step forward when you give him a gentle shove and suddenly he’s standing with one foot in the hull and one foot on the deck.

“Look – see the motor?” You say, pointing, “It’s pull to start, just like a lawnmower.”

He turns to look, dutifully, but barely gives himself the chance to register what he’s supposed to be looking at – the motor? Fuck the motor – before he turns back and says your name, begging you to reconsider.

“Please tell me this is a big stupid joke and you’re about to tell me the real plan.”

You aren’t listening to him anymore, your attention is fixed on the outer door where the sounds of voices are growing steadily louder.

You are very quickly running out of time here.

“Go,” You say, dismissing him with a wave that feels entirely too flippant for the gravity of what you’re suggesting – what, just leave? Without you?

Fuck that.

Before he’s realized he even moved, Eddie is grabbing at you, pulling at the sleeve of your jacket to try to coax you down into the boat with him.

“Come on,” He says, “We can go. Let’s just go.”

You tug against him, but he refuses to release you.

“We won’t make it if we both try to go.” You say, and he hates how rational you sound, “I’ll be right behind you, I promise – just go.”

As you turn to leave, Eddie snatches your hand up and holds you firmly to the spot – he’s so sorry he ever picked a fight with you because this has got to be some bizarre way of punishing him for saying all those things, trying to push you away a second time.

He can’t imagine what else it could be considering you’re not that stupid to go risking your life for him like this – he’s suddenly so afraid that if he lets you go out there, he’ll never see you again.

He’s losing you again, watching you slip away with you standing there right in front of him.

“Baby, please — please, just come with me —”

You jerk your hand out of his grasp and whirl around.

“Will you get the fuck out of here already?” You hiss, raising your voice as much as you dare.

Eddie’s heart is in his throat, throbbing, and swelling and threatening to choke him, and he’s halfway to panicking that if he leaves you behind something terrible is going to happen, and it’s going to be his fault.

He can’t let you go out there and face Jason and the Argonauts on your own, but you won’t listen, no matter how he pleads with you.

You’re really going to do this. Oh, Jesus fuck, you’re going to get yourself killed. For what? For him? No, no no no please no.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” Eddie chokes, getting caught on the jagged edge of his breathing and fisting his hand in the front of his shirt as the pervasive skittering of panic begins to wash over him – it always hits him in the worst moments…

“Eddie, I’m not leaving you.” You insist, staring back at him with wide-eyed desperation, “I’m trying to save your goddamn life.”

Of course, some part of him knows that, but it’s still shocking to hear you say it, like the clanging of a bell.

He’d been so caught up in the rush of having you back and the concept of losing you again so soon that he’d completely forgotten that this isn’t about your relationship — Eddie remembers too late that he is in danger. Real danger. He’s still that animal caught in a trap, and suddenly he’s lingered too long. The hunters are closing in and there is a very good chance that they will kill him if they catch him.

The crunch of gravel beneath approaching footsteps reaches you and Eddie stands paralyzed, helpless to stop you as you rush to the door.

You latch the flimsy lock – some good that will do if those fuckers decide to kick the door in.

This is wrong, this is all so wrong. He’s not safe, and you’re here which means you’re not safe and he can’t let you go but if he stays he’s going to die. He doesn’t know what to do, and it has him frozen to the spot.

Eddie doesn’t know when he took that second step back, but suddenly he’s standing in the boat and you’re kneeling on the deck above him and you’ve never felt so far from him as you do now.

Your hands come down to bracket Eddie’s face and you force him to look at you – you have to say his name twice before it makes it through the haze of his panic.

“Eddie – you have to go, now.” You plead, and he can’t help but shake his head, like a petulant child – he’s got to run, but he won’t leave you, and you’re very clearly hell-bent on staying — somehow he knows there is nothing he can do to change your mind, and it makes him feel like he’s about to come apart at the seams.

“Please go,”

“Not without you,” he argues, hands coming up to grip your wrists.

“Eddie–”

“No, Man – I’m not gonna leave you here!”

You stare at him, brows pinched tight over your eyes as you search his face for the answer to an unknowable question.

The faintest hint of something he can’t make out flashes across your features and you make a harsh sound of aggravation before pushing forward to slant your lips over his in a hard, frantic kiss. It’s startling, in a brightly euphoric sort of way, but it is a rushed thing that is over before it’s even really begun.

Still, it does the job of breathing a little rationality back into Eddie’s shaking form.

There is no time for sentiment, but when you pull away it is only to press your forehead tightly against his.

“Why do you have to be so goddamn chivalrous all the time?” you grind out, and in spite of everything it pulls a short burst of airy, relieved laughter out from Eddie’s lungs. His head is swimming from the kiss, from the sudden and inappropriate levity of the moment, and how desperately he loves you — only he realizes too late you weren’t being funny.

You breathe out harshly in a way that is more of a sob than a sigh and the sound is disturbing enough to startle Eddie into a strange clarity.

“Eddie… please just go.” you whimper, fighting a losing battle against the tears collecting on your lashes, “I can’t – I can’t lose you again.”

Hearing you say it causes his heart to thump solidly in his chest, and suddenly there’s no arguing with you. You’re not calm, you’re scared, scared enough that you’re willing to risk life and limb to make sure he gets away because you don’t want to lose him — it’s the closest thing to I Love You he’s heard since August, and he decides in an instant it’s enough.

Now he has to go.

Eddie can hear Jason’s voice barking orders right outside the door, and he feels you bristle under him.

It’s now or never. Move or die, Man.

“You’ll be right behind me, right?” He prompts, failing to suppress the anxiety spiking in his midsection when you nod against him

It’s not enough, he needs to see your eyes when you say it — he puts a hand on your neck at the base of your skull and pulls you back to make you look at him, really look at him.

“Yes? You promise?”

“I promise.” You breathe, red-faced and sniffling.

“Okay… okay… get out of here.”

You push up in a flash and bolt to the inner door shared by the boat house and the house proper, and Eddie stands in the boat, turning in useless circles and fumbling with anything else he thinks he needs to do to escape. Any kind of proper nautical procedure flies right over his head – he doesn’t know boats, he barely knows cars except for how to hotwire them, and he’d gained that knowledge against his will.

You don’t know anything about cars or boats, but he wishes you were coming with him.

He can’t shake the feeling that this is about to go horribly, terribly wrong, because as much as he hates to admit it, you have never made the best plans.

You’ll be right behind him, you promised, but suddenly, there is an old familiar voice screaming at Eddie to call out to you, the same one that had implored him to call out to his mother the last time he saw her.

Just in case, it tells him, and the suggestion of it seizes his heart in a cold panic.

“Hey!” He bites, perhaps a little too loud, whipping around to look at you where you’ve paused at the door, hovering just over the threshold, “I swear to God, if I don’t see you in two minutes I’m coming right back for you, you hear?”

You nod breathlessly, then disappear back into the house. Eddie stands listening, stretching what borrowed time he still has to the nanosecond until he can hear the faintest sound of your voice calling out to the interlopers. It is met by their own shouting, and the sound of receding footsteps as your challenge is met with a chase.

Another wave of paralyzing fear threatens to wash over Eddie, but he shakes it off with a harsh exhale and twists around to become acquainted with the motor.

Pull to start, you’d said, just like a lawnmower … Eddie’s never mowed a lawn in his goddamn life. He thinks he hears a desperate shout, but he brushes it off.

He tells himself that you’re fast and you’re smart, smarter than any of those meathead jocks, you know what you’re doing, even if he doesn’t know if he really believes it himself.

You’re fine, you’re going to be fine.

He does his best to steady the rock of the boat as he takes one, two, three steadying breaths, then rips back on the rope with everything he’s got.

The engine roars to life.

+++

It was a bad plan from the start, you’re big enough to admit that, but you never in your wildest imagination thought it would take the turn it did.

The fingers of your right hand are broken – bent and twisted up out of shape like Patrick McKinney’s body, lying at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, and the pain is bad.

Worse than anything you have ever experienced, worse even than the time you’d foolishly let Dustin get behind the wheel of your Toyota and he proceeded to back the car over your foot.

That idea had been just as stupid as the thought that you could just lead Jason and the others away from Eddie with no trouble.

Worse than the pain is the image burned into the back of your eyelids. You can’t stop seeing it every time you close your eyes, can’t stop hearing the way Patrick’s bones snapped, the wet smack of his body hitting the water as he dropped.

It makes you feel like you’re going to be sick.

The memory combined with the throbbing pain in your hand is too much, and before you have time to realize what’s about to happen, you double over to empty your stomach contents into the underbrush creeping up around your ankles.

You’re so glad you didn’t eat those Spaghetti-o’s.

You cough and spit, and then miserably kick at a pile of leaves to cover the mess before twisting away from it. You’re exhausted, you’re cold, and you’re starting to think you’ll never feel anything but pain and fear ever again.

You’d walked all night through the woods, and Eddie spent half as much time walking as he did turning around to make sure you were still there, like Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the underworld.

Only you didn’t fade away under his gaze, you were there every time he turned back to look at you, dutifully trudging along after him, cradling your hand against your body and offering only the briefest hints that you heard him when he asked for the hundredth time if you were alright.

You’re really not, but you couldn’t seem to answer him, no matter how many times he asked.

Your jaw had wired itself shut and your brain had deflated in your skull to the point that you were really only even vaguely aware of everything around you. The pain in your hand shooting up the length of your arm, the dull throbbing of the bruise you were sure was forming over your eye, the crunch crunch crunch of Eddie’s footsteps as he led you on through the woods.

Sometime after the sun had risen, you reached the clearing, and Eddie set you down on the big flat rock that you’re currently perched on, promising he’d be right back before disappearing through the trees beyond.

You don’t know how long ago that was, you don’t even know where you are in relation to the lake, to town, to anything, you only know that you should have just gotten in the boat with Eddie and made a run for it, but you didn’t, and you paid dearly for that spectacularly bad decision.

You don’t know why you thought you could outrun Jason and the others, except that you’d fooled yourself into believing it for Eddie’s sake.

You needed him to run, but he wasn’t about to leave you behind, the big dumb chivalrous idiot that he is, so you made a promise you weren’t optimistic about keeping – you told him you’d be right behind him.

You suppose you were, though not in the capacity you’d imagined.

You went out to face the tigers, and you ran when Jason and Patrick chased you – that was the extent of your plan.

Get them to chase you, find a way to give them the slip, and then go find Eddie on the other side of the lake.

Lots of moving parts, lots of variables, and lots of ways it could go wrong, and you’d very conveniently forgotten how your plans always seem to go wrong.

Maybe you thought you could reason with the basketball team. You’d been the herald of their celebrations not even forty-eight hours earlier, after all, maybe they trusted you enough that you could simply send them on their way with a false lead and a phony promise of honesty.

Then again, you’re good enough friends with Lucas that you had no doubt in your mind he would have vouched for you, had he been with them. He wasn’t, of course, because that’s just typical of your rotten luck.

You ran when they chased you, and they caught you because you foolishly hadn’t accounted for the fact that they would split up in their search for Eddie. It was Jason and Patrick lurking outside of the boathouse, and it was Andy, the fucking skeezeball, who’d caught you coming out of the house and held you by your hair until Jason could catch up.

“Where’s your freak boyfriend?” He taunted you as you thrashed under the grip of his sneering toady.

You didn’t have time to answer, as the roar of the dinghy’s engine cut the air and answered for you — well what do you know… he’s right there.

Jesus Christ, you really didn’t think this one through.

You did, however, take the opportunity of their distraction to escape, bracing one foot in the gravel and kicking out hard with the other. Your foot collided with Jason’s stomach and forced you backward into Andy, who toppled over backward with a surprised grunt and pulled you down with him.

Escaping his clutches was as easy as slipping out of your jacket, and once you were free, you scrambled to your feet and made a break for the shore.

You knew well enough that you hadn’t bought Eddie enough time to put any kind of distance between himself and the shore, but then again he’d only given you two minutes to throw these guys off the scent, so really, bad plan all around.

Still, you thought maybe if you could reach the water you could swim for it, get out to the boat and to safety — no such luck.

You’ve always been fast, but you’ve never been a star basketball player running purely on rage, adrenaline, and the blind determination to catch the girlfriend of the guy who apparently killed your girlfriend.

Vengeance is one hell of a motivator.

Jason was on you in an instant, tackling you and wrestling you to the ground – you managed to slip from his grasp if only briefly, but you cried out in strangled protest when he seized you by your ankle and wrenched you right back.

The sound echoed across the lake like a skipping stone, alerting you to the fact that it was suddenly much too quiet over the water — you could no longer hear the boat’s motor running, but you could hear the faint trilling of Eddie trying to reason with the piece of shit. Your heart seized with the realization that he was now stranded out on the water, and you twisted and thrashed in an attempt to claw your way to freedom.

That’s when Jason’s foot came down on your hand. There was nothing you could do to stifle the scream that tore itself out of you when you felt the bones in your fingers snap, giving way and folding beneath the force of all his weight pressed into his stupid sneaker.

He was saying something to you, monologuing about Chrissy you’re sure, or maybe about what he was going to do to Eddie when he caught him, but you could hardly hear him over your own pitiful sobbing.

How had this gone so, so terribly wrong so goddamn fast?

Then that same stupid fucking sneaker came down to collide with your midsection, driving the breath from your lungs with a harsh gasp and a fit of coughing.

You rolled onto your back, trying simultaneously to shield your abdomen and cradle your ruined hand as Jason straddled you in the sand and held you pinned. You thrashed beneath him, kicking and screaming and fighting for an escape until your good hand came free, then you thrust the heel of your palm up into his face and dug your nails in, scratching deeply where you could find purchase across his skin.

He seized you roughly by the front of your shirt – Eddie’s shirt – and jerked you forward. And then he hit you, a hard crack to your brow that sent stars skittering across your vision as your head snapped back into the dirt.

Your mouth filled with the tang of blood as your teeth snapped closed on the tip of your tongue and you made a harsh, pitiful sound. Somewhere in the distance, you thought you could hear Eddie shouting your name, kicking up a wild, desperate fuss, but your ears were ringing too loud to hear any of it.

You could hardly believe any of that had just happened. You could almost dismiss the whole breaking your fingers thing, but he’d punched you in the face.

Jason Carver punched you in your goddamn fucking face and you’re pretty sure you’ll never get over that.

You don’t even think Billy Hargrove, the equal opportunity motherfucker that he was, would have sunk so low as to sock a girl in the face like that, but apparently, Jason Carver would – some upstanding fella he turned out to be, truly one of Hawkin’s finest.

Strange to think that getting punched in the face and having your fingers stomped into oblivion wasn’t even the worst thing that happened in the time it took to flee Rick’s place and find you sitting on this rock in the middle of the woods.

Your clothes have not dried yet, and you sit shivering where Eddie left you, feeling the chill and the horror of what you’d witnessed seep into your bones.

Much of what happened after is a blur, you don’t know how you finally managed to get away from Jason, you only know the shock of the cold water when you finally hit the lake was enough to stop your head from spinning enough to force some clarity to the front of your mind.

You remember swimming, you remember Eddie pulling you up into the boat, and you remember him grabbing you and trying to shield you from what was happening.

“Jesus Christ – don’t look–!”

You remember thinking his voice sounded strange, high, and panicked like that, and when you looked Patrick McKinney was fifteen feet up in the air, rigid and trembling – you’re gonna think I’m crazy, she started fucking floating…

You choked on a strangled scream when the first of his bones snapped up out of place, and you staggered back a step, instantly forgetting that you were not standing on solid ground. You weren’t even really aware of your body moving, jerking backward in alarm, but then you collided with Eddie, the boat listed, and you were in the water again.

The dream was bad enough, but dreams are dreams. Dreams are bullshit, what happened to Patrick was all too real, and somehow you know you’re never going to stop hearing the sound of his bones breaking.

A ruckus draws your attention to the copse of trees standing ahead of you on the other side of the clearing. Your head snaps up in alarm, and you hold your breath, bracing yourself for the gold and greens of the Hawkins Tigers catching up to you, but it’s only Eddie who comes crashing back into the little hollow that has become your temporary haven.

You force a harsh sigh of relief out through your chattering teeth and watch him lope across the clearing toward you.

He has a new walkie-talkie strung around his body and a white plastic case swinging in his hand – you realize with a start that you don’t know how long he’s been gone. It could have been fifteen minutes, it could have been two hours.

You don’t care, you’re only so desperately glad he’s back.

Eddie skids to a halt and drops to his knees in front of you.

“Hey,” He says breathlessly, discarding his new items and reaching out to grab you and rub his hands up and down the length of your arms, trying to create some kind of friction against the way you’re shivering, “Sorry that took so long, how are we doing? Are you good? …talk to me, Baby.”

You shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut, because how are you supposed to be okay after something like that?

“I threw up,” You say honestly, breathing hard against the way his touch jostles you and makes your arm throb.

Under normal circumstances, you might be ever so slightly embarrassed about admitting that, but the only thing you can manage to think about is how badly your fingers fucking hurt.

“That’s okay,” Eddie hums, “Hey— I’ll tell you a secret. I did too. After Chrissy…?” He trails off under the harshness of your gaze.

It doesn’t make you feel any better, you don’t want to talk about Chrissy anymore.

Almost as if he can read your thoughts, Eddie drops the subject quick and releases you. He turns his attention to the little white case, flipping the lid open then to reveal a host of standard first aid equipment — bandaids, burn cream, gauze.

“Where’d you get that?” You manage to grind out through your clenched, chattering teeth.

Eddie dismisses the question with a quick shake of his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, but you are worried about it. You know Eddie to be a lot of things, but discreet has never been one of them. You watch him carefully as he sifts through the little case.

“Did you steal it?” you press.

He flinches and hesitates, glancing warily at you like he’s afraid to admit it.

“...Construction site,” he says after a moment, and you feel your stomach bottom out. “Nobody’s gonna miss it.”

But of course, that’s not the point. He’s perhaps the most wanted person in Roane County by now, and he’d gone off on his own for the indiscernible amount of time it took to find the walkie-talkie and the first aid kit. Someone could have seen him.

“Eddie…”

“We need it more than they do.” He mumbles.

You can’t argue with that sentiment, as much as you hate to admit it.

“Okay, let me see,” Eddie says once he finally finishes taking inventory of the first aid kit. He reaches for your ruined hand, and his brows come together over his eyes when you hesitate. “Let me see it, Baby.”

It takes you the better part of half a minute, but you finally relent and peel your arm from where you’ve had it pressed to your body. The movement alone is enough to send a lancing pain surging through your broken digits, but when you feel the pressure of his fingers on the throbbing flesh, as gentle as you’re sure he’s trying to be, you flinch involuntarily away from him and draw a sharp intake of breath – fucking shit that hurts.

He releases you quicker than if he’d put his hand on a burning stove and makes a distraught sound in the back of his throat.

“Christ — okay, it’s okay.” He says immediately, breathing out a shaky sigh to try and steady himself, you can’t be sure if he's saying it for your benefit or for his own.

By the time you went in and out of the water and finally got to the shore on the other end of the lake, Eddie had been a wreck — of course, you hadn’t accounted for that in getting stuck out in the doldrums like he had, he’d been forced to sit helplessly in the boat and watch Jason kick the shit out of you.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s apologized to you since you crawled out of the water.

It takes all of your willpower to resist the overpowering urge to jerk your hand back, as you know that the movement of doing so is going to hurt just as much as his tender probing does.

You whine out a pathetic noise as he turns your hand over, pressing down on the palm of your hand with his thumb to try and assess the damage.

“Shh, I know,” Eddie assures you gently, “I know it hurts.”

You swallow hard against the sentiment and watch him in an attempt to try and gauge his reaction.

It’s not good. You knew that from the moment it happened, but part of you hopes that maybe it is not as bad as it seems.

Somehow you are having a very hard time trying to convince yourself of that.

Your ring and smallest finger are bent and twisted out of shape where Jason crushed them under the heel of his shoe, the purpling bruise is spread across the length of your hand, stretching up nearly all the way to your wrist.

It throbs unbearably under even the faintest ghost of Eddie’s touch.

It takes him a long time to react, and when he does, he makes a strange lilting sound in the hollow of his throat, an uneven, shaky thing he hums out as he tilts his head.

“Oh, it’s not so bad.” He lies, and based on the way his tone does not match his words, you know it must be for your benefit because it actually is that bad— he clicks his tongue, dark eyes flicking up to regard you with a wry smile that he has trouble holding, “Look at you. Such a baby, making all this fuss over nothing.”

You know he’s joking, trying to lighten the mood, but the only problem there is you don’t think it’s funny in the slightest. There’s not a lot that is funny about what happened over the last few hours, despite the way something deep inside your psyche is imploring you to try and lighten the mood.

You can’t muster the effort, so you just sit there and try to breathe against the pervasive ache that lances up the length of your arm with every throbbing beat of your pulse.

A moment of heady silence bleeds between you as Eddie finishes his assessment of your broken hand.

“Okay.” he finally says, “So d’you want the good news or bad news first?”

You don’t have to think to answer.

“Good news,” you force yourself to say. “Always.”

Eddie breathes out an airy laugh and tries to bite back the smile quirking up his lips as he shakes his head, sending his shaggy curls dancing across his shoulders where they are still damp at the ends.

“Good news, huh?” He hums, then, “Okay, yes ma’am. The good news is it looks like that fucker only really got these two little guys on the end here,”

Eddie reaches for your fingers like he means to tug on them, but stops short as he thinks better of it and shows you his instead, waggling his ring and pinky finger at you.

He holds your gaze when you glance up at him and waits for you to acknowledge him.

You give a curt nod.

“Good girl.” He says, “Now the not-so-fun part – the bad news is … I’ve gotta set ‘em.” He hesitates a moment before continuing, “…it’s gonna hurt, Babe. I’m so sorry”

Your heart leaps up into your throat as suddenly he’s got your twisted fingers pinched delicately between his own.

“No, don’t — please don’t!” you gasp, seizing him by the wrist with your good hand and trying to jerk the wounded one away.

Eddie holds you to the spot and levels you with a deeply apologetic look.

“I can’t fix you up with ‘em bent like that.” He insists, but you shake your head.

“Eddie—”

You don’t know what it was you planned to say, how you planned to reason with him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to say it.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart, it’ll be over real quick. I promise,” then, strangely, he perks up ever so slightly. “Hey – I’m a child of abuse, remember? I know what I’m doing.”

It’s yet another joke that doesn’t land.

“That’s not funny.” you snap.

Eddie offers you a lopsided shrug.

“It’s a little funny.”

You breathe out hard and feel a hot and burning panic welling up in your chest. It already hurts so badly, you can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like when he tugs them back into place.

You won’t dare ask what his exact qualifications are, how many times he’s done this before – you don’t want that kind of context, but you’re smart enough to know it isn’t going to be like it is in the movies.

A harsh tug followed by a loud click, and a manly grunt, then miraculously you're healed? Not a chance in hell.

“I don’t think I can do this.” You whimper, leaning reflexively into Eddie’s touch when his hand comes up to cup your cheek.

“Sure you can,” he says gently, “Come on, Babygirl, you’re way tougher than me — we'll go on three, okay?”

“Eddie, please…” you whine, “Let’s just wait, let’s just…” you trail off.

Just what? Just find a hospital? Sure, just go waltzing in with Eddie in tow and try to explain what happened to a doctor. There’s no good option here, it’s all so fucked.

“I ever tell you about my pet raccoon?” Eddie says suddenly.

It leaves your ears ringing. You feel your brows come together over your eyes as you gape stupidly at him.

“…What?”

“Yeah … I’ve made some stupid decisions in my day, but that one … well, it’s up there. Gotta be top three at least.”

You don’t answer right away, though only because you don’t expressly know what to say. You can’t say you’re exactly shocked, it’s a very Eddie thing to say, it’s only just that you cannot possibly fathom what has possessed him to break into a story about a childhood pet.

“What has this got to do with anything?”

“Shh, just listen, it’s important,” He says, “So, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a pet – this was before I went to live with Wayne, so it’s not like we didn’t have the room. The old house had a backyard and everything, it wasn’t exactly what you might call nice, but it was a legitimate house, y’know? So every year, all I asked for was a pet. Christmas, birthdays, it’s all I wanted. I was obsessed with it, but my old man didn’t like dogs and my mom was allergic to cats, so no dice in that department. Then one day, I get it in my head that if I can’t have a cat or a dog, I’ll just have to go and get myself some other kind of pet… so I’m like nine or ten, and somehow, I managed to lure this big fat raccoon into the yard and trap him under a milk crate – I know, hey I was a kid, I didn’t know any better–”

“Still don’t,” you can’t stop yourself from saying.

Eddie pulls a face.

“Hush – so I get him in the house, and I’m so proud of myself. I run my ass down to Benny’s where my mom worked, just like, so excited to tell her, show her how clever I was rigging that trap, right? The whole way home I’m hyping it up, I’ve got this big surprise and I won’t tell her what it is because I want her to see first hand. Only problem is that raccoons – they’re smart little fuckers, right? Getting out of traps is like their bread and butter, and this guy… man, this guy was crazy. Like, certifiably. He got out and he just went ape shit. We get home and the place is trashed, curtains are torn down, scratches all over the couch, pillows are ripped to shreds. My mom starts to freak out, so I panic and go looking everywhere for him like I’m gonna find him and fix it, right? I end up cornering him in the kitchen, you know, like an idiot, and what does this fucker do? He bites me–”

Without warning, Eddie jerks your fingers straight and they snap back into place with a loud click that you feel more than hear.

“Oh, fUCKING—SHIT!” You gasp and cry out, slumping forward to press your face against his shoulder.

For half a moment it is all you can do to suppress the urge to be sick as spots and colors explode across your vision.

The agonized sounds you make are muffled by the layers of denim and leather as Eddie rubs wide circles into your back and whispers reassuring, sweet nothings into your hair, punctuated by a litany of soft kisses.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart —I know — you did so good — try to breathe.”

You do, sucking greedily on a deep inhale and shouting out your pain and frustration and alarm and everything else you’re currently feeling.

“What happened to three!?” You wail, rocking back to level Eddie with a tense, incredulous glare.

He pulls a face that is almost halfway apologetic.

“You’re right, that’s on me.”

He reaches for your hand again, and you are reluctant to give it to him, for obvious reasons, until you see the ball of gauze in his hand. You relent, and watch him make quick work of binding your fingers, individually at first and then together.

It takes a long moment for the worst of the pain to fade back to the dull ache, and even longer for the urge to punch Eddie in his stupid, handsome face to go away. You won’t do it, especially considering the outrage you still feel over the fact that Jason punched you.

“So what happened after?” you sniff in an attempt to try and distract yourself – Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, “What was so important about the raccoon?”

You watch as he goes through a strange journey of several emotions flashing across his face all at once - realization, chagrin, and humor even, and you feel your stomach sink as you can guess what it is he is about to say.

“Nothing,” he says honestly, and shrugs. “I needed to distract you,”

You aren’t sure if it’s the lingering effect of having your fingers pulled back into place or the bell-clanging shock of his response, but your ears are ringing again.

You could kill him.

“You’re the fucking worst—!” You shout, shoving him hard enough to knock him from his knees onto his ass. You regret the decision immediately as you remember your broken fingers and yelp as they light up in white-hot pain.

Eddie is laughing as he tries and fails to catch himself.

“It worked didn’t it?”

You ignore him in favor of stoking the fires of your indignation because as much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. He’d held you enraptured in the palm of his hand with that stupid story, and you hate that you’d let your guard down like that.

Then again, this is Eddie, isn’t that what you’re meant to do with him?

He watches you, groping aimlessly in the dirt, digging up handfuls of leaves and tossing them to the wayside as he waits for some kind of reaction you are unwilling to give him.

“If it makes you feel any better, that story ends with me getting a rabies shot.” He hums.

“It doesn’t.” You snap, but immediately regret it when he gives you a weak smile. You breathe out hard through your nose and chew at your lower lip, “...Was she mad? Your mom?”

Eddie huffs out an uneven breath and shrugs.

“Yeah, she was fucking pissed.” He says, casting his eyes down to his sneakers and smiling to himself in a way that feels secretive, “Only time I was ever in real trouble with her.”

Suddenly, inexplicably, you feel like you’re intruding on the moment. You are not oblivious to what it means, the fact that he shared that memory of his mother with you. You’d have to be living underneath a rock to miss the size of that gesture.

It hits you like a bolt of lightning – Skull Rock, not too far from your old house, and almost guaranteed to be abandoned in the middle of the day like this. It's the perfect place to hide.

“...I know where we should go.” You say suddenly. “Where we might be safe? For a little while at least…”

Eddie glances up at you with those big, dark eyes and nods to himself after a moment. He stands, brushing the detritus from his knees and backside, and offers you his hand.

You give him your left – the good one – and let him pull you to your feet.

“Lead the way, M’lady.” He says, still holding tight to your hand.

You stare down at the point of connection, then look back up at Eddie and feel a sudden and overwhelming rush of affection for him. All that fighting, the stupid way you’d ignored him all day – what did any of it mean in the face of everything happening here? Considering all the time you'd spent without him, missing him, what is the point of fighting about who said what when you’re together?

You surprise yourself by pushing forward then, closing what little distance there is between you with two short steps and wrapping your arms around his neck. You can’t help the sigh of relief you breathe when he pulls you tightly against him without a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay.” Eddie says immediately, stopping you before you can clarify what it is you are in fact sorry for, “It doesn’t matter,”

The sentiment makes your chest hurt.

“It does though…” You insist, stepping back so you can meet his gaze. “It matters to me,”

He purses his lips into a tight, horizontal line like he really has to think about it, then nods.

“Okay …” He hums, “No more splitting up though, okay? I know you’re out here being all brave and shit, trying to save me, but no more hero stuff. Together is better.”

You nod, and he gives you a very pointed look.

“Let me hear you say it,” Eddie prompts, and you nod again.

“Together is better.” You repeat, dutifully.

“Good girl,” He says. He adjusts the strap of the walkie-talkie across his shoulders and nods to you, “Let’s go.”

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#cruel summer #cruel summer fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things #i think i need to take a bit of a hiatus after this just because life is NOT slowing down and not even in the good fun way you guys #also I need to figure out how to get from here to there lmao

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