#One more week though and then I just get to be a zombie through the family stuff and then HIDE FROM PEOPLE until 2024 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queenimmadolla · 7 months

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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mascdestr0yer · 3 months

Text

Number one (1)

Hopkins!Paige x Fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, a bit cheesy, a girl and basketball player (zombies ref)

Trope: slow burn

Synopsis: Senior year just started, who knew paige was sooo ‘charming’ (eye roll)

“do you ever stop talking?”

Previous | Next

YOU’VE GONE THROUGH the first three out of six periods fine, until you got to calculus. You walked into class, your nose scrunched up at the coolness of the AC blasting.

The room was dimly lit, but also cozy in some way. Fucking partner desks.. You hated tables where it was big enough to fit two seats, maybe because you hated the awkward silence of the infamous ‘turn and talk’ that all teachers seem to enjoy.

What you did enjoy was the fact the table were higher, you liked swaying your feet in the taller chairs. Plus, lunch was after this, so a win is a win.

The class was three quarters of the room was empty, mainly because the bell hasn’t rung for the end of passing period or people are just lost.

“What’s your name?” A young woman, with a dark brown bob and mushroom earings, asks. You assumed who was your teacher, obviously.

“Y/N,” You answered, the youthful woman jogs over to her desk and looks at her laptop.

“you sit,” Her voice trails off when she’s up from the screen. “there.” She points to the empty partner desk in the back, you muttered a small ‘thanks’ and made your way to your seat. you decided to take the one close to the wall, charging your phone is at the top of your priorities right now.

You put your backpack down, scrolling through your phone, since class didn’t start yet. About three minutes later, a tall blonde girl, okay, you know who she was.

She threw a basketball at your head during pe freshmen year, she kept apologizing for months everytime she saw you, you felt like she was mocking you.

Then, she followed you on instagram, that summer. you saw her oddly large following for a now sophomore in high school. she was a basketball player, good one at that. how ironic, you thought.

You had to admit, paige bueckers, was so.. you could never explain the feeling, but you knew, it was definitely something.

You guys didn’t really talk much, unless it was for those stupid icebreakers for the first two weeks of school. Then she became the biggest chatterbox of them all.

“psst,y/n?” The taller girl whispered, lightly tapping your knee.

“we’re right next to each other, you don’t have to ‘psst’, it’s stupid,”You mumble, trying to keep up with Ms.Carson’s, your teacher, notes.

“are you always upset or do you have some grudge only against me?” She whispered back.

“no, how could i have s grudge when i barely know you,” You, getting annoyed even more by the second, scoot over in your chair.

she snickers, “well, your actions say otherwise.” You ignored her, continuing to highlight away in your notebook. “you know-“ she starts, before you cut her off.

“you talk a lot..you know that?” you mocked, finally looking up at her, making eye contact. She just smirked and opened her notebook, writing down her notes.

You could tolerate her bugging you in class but, ever since she found out where you hung out at during lunch, it’s starting to become difficult.

“What are you reading today?” the taller girl asks, as she sits down next to you in the library. “this is a different one from yesterday, right?” You just ignored her, finding the book more important.

“i don’t have basketball practice today, we could like.. hangout, only-only if you want too, i mean.. you don’t have too if you don’t want too,” She rambles on, talking your ear off. “do you have friends, i mean it must be boring-“

“paige, please..” you scolded the girl, she was making it harder to focus.

“right, my bad,” she whispers, she began fiddling with her fingers. “for real though, do you have friends? like actual friends?” you closed you book, making sure to bookmark it.

“why does it matter?” your face was scrunched up with confusion.

“Well, i was thinking.. we could be friends, you know, since you don’t have any.” she fidgets with the hem of her shirt, not making eye contact anymore as her voice trails off.

“you’re so weird.. i never said i didn’t have friends,”

“you think i’m weird? crazy comjng from you.” She sits up, now completely offended.

“i’d love to be friends with paige bueckers..” you softly replied to her earlier comment.

it’s not finished or proofed, so bare with me

#millie talks❀*̥˚#uconn wbb #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #wlw #paige bueckers x reader #drabble #fluff

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teapartyprincess4two · 3 months

Note

Y/n and Matt get closer when it's just them 2 in the house, and i was thinking Fluff and Smut like a lot of Smut. Maybe Matt is a virgin but Y/n aint so she teaches him???

End of the World- M. Sturniolo

pairing: fem!reader x Matt

classification: Zombie Apocalypse AU, smut, fluff, angst/sad (kinda? Idk it’s a mix of everything)

inspiration: request^^

warnings: 18+, MDNI, set in modern day, use of y/n, literal sex, slight cursing, zombies & general apocalypse stuff (death, lnives, guns, killing, blood, hunger, dehydration, etc.), kinda long

summary: No one deserves to die a virgin, not even at the end of the world.

—

If anyone would’ve told you two years ago that you’d be huddled around the hood of a car, staring down at a worn out map, covered in blood, you would’ve called them crazy.

Two years ago your life was convenient. Now? Now life was simple, all you had to do was survive. All the things you wished would disappear; homework, bills, work, none of them mattered anymore. But they were easily replaced with an even greater burden, a zombie apocalypse and the end of the world.

Two years ago you wouldn’t have had even a spec of dirt under your fingernails, yet here you stand covered in blood that isn’t yours, weeks worth of dirt and grime, and sweat dripping down your forehead. Your hair is pulled back into a ponytail, exposing your shoulders to the harsh Texas heat and further working towards dehydrating you.

Two years ago you wouldn’t so much as hurt a fly. Now you wouldn’t think twice before pulling the trigger if it meant you had a chance at survival.

Two years ago you didn’t have to worry about where your next meal was coming from or if your bedroom was secure enough to sleep in. But the world has changed and so have you.

It’s been months since anyone in your group has had a good nights rest or a warm meal. All you’ve done is run from anything that threatens to harm you. Although you’ve all managed to set up a temporary moderately safe camp within the woods, it’s been difficult to stretch resources that are already scarce.

Food, water, clothing. These are all things that you wish you didn’t need. Why? Because leaving camp to retrieve them is dangerous. But, it’s been 2 days since your last run, and canned goods can only last so long, especially when there’s mouths to feed.

Chris uses his knife to point to an unmarked location on the map, “Nick and I will head south. I saw an old water tower in that direction when we passed through, maybe there’s a town nearby.” He uses the back of his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead before returning it back to the map, tracing the blade up a road.

“Matt and Y/n, you two try looking in this area. We haven’t checked there yet and if we’re lucky it hasn’t been completely ransacked. You might find something…” Chris pauses, taking a look at the group of people not far behind. They’re chatting, all of them wearing exhausted expression and filthy clothes. “…something to get the group through the next couple of days. We can’t stay here anymore, place is crawling with infected.”

Chris became the leader of your group easily. He had a great way of talking to people, of showing them that even though the world was ending, the glass was still half full.

“You want us to split up?” Nick whisper shouts, a clear alarm evident in his tone. “Remember what happened last time? We lost a third of the group!” Nick flails his arms in desperation, almost like he’s willing Chris to realize the stupidity of his actions.

Nick was reasonable and smart, but too kind for his own good. If he wanted to, he could’ve become the leader of your group and done just as good of a job as Chris, but Nick was too empathic to take on that responsibility. He felt the needs of the group and often was led more by emotion than by reason or logic.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Chris bites back.

You stand next to Matt, watching the argument unfold. This was typical for Nick and Chris, but it stressed you out every time.

“If we had more people, we wouldn’t have to split up. But we’re low on supplies and can’t wait around for food to magically appear,” Chris says.

“If we hadn’t split up the first time, we’d have more people,” Nick snarks, storming away. Chris groans, running his hand through his hair. This was much more responsibility than he could handle, but as the youngest, strongest members of your group it was up to you all to pull the heaviest weight.

“We’ll be fine. Y/n and I are always careful,” Matt finally chimes in, placing a firm hand on Chris’s shoulder to ease any tension. “Besides, that part of town is pretty deep into the woods. I doubt any infected will be lurking and if they are, Y/n’s good with a gun and I’m fast.”

“I’m fast too,” you chuckle, knowing that Matt is trying to make light of a dark situation.

“True. I just gotta be faster,” he replies, sending you a cheeky wink. You laugh, earning a small round of laughter from Chris and Matt in return.

Chris visibly relaxes, grateful that at least one of his brothers isn’t giving him a hard time. But truth be told, Matt didn’t agree with Chris’s plan, he was just smart enough to keep it to himself. He knew that doubt created fear, and once fear infected you, you were as good as dead.

That’s what Matt was good at, being quiet. It came in handy on runs like this, especially because he was so quick on his feet. It’s your favorite characteristic of his, he’s a good listener, he’s observant, and you know that you’ll be safe as long as Matt is with you.

“Alright. Let’s head out, we’re gonna lose the light,” Chris instructs, jogging in the opposite direction of the camp to begin loading up a few trucks with guns and ammo.

“You two can take the car.”

Matt mulls the idea over. A car would be faster, but definitely much louder. Noise attracts anything looking for its next meal, especially the infected, and with only you to cover him he’s not sure he’s willing to take that risk.

“Nah. We’re walking. The town’s not too far, we’ll make it back by tomorrow morning the latest,” Matt replies, tossing a rifle in your direction. You’re quick to catch it and just as quick to respond, “Are you sure? A car would get us there and back before dinner.”

He understands your concern, but he can’t risk losing you, not after all the losses he’s already suffered. “Just trust me,” he murmurs, the look in his eyes being enough to calm your nerves.

“Whatever you have to do, Matt. Just come back,” Chris says, slamming the trunk shut.

—

Leaves and dry grass crunch under your feet with every step. It’s late summer and the Texas heat has managed to kill everything left alive that wasn’t infected.

You’ve been walking for two hours, only running into a few infected on the way, managing to take them out with nothing but your blade. Matt hates using guns, in fact you’ve only seen him use them on very rare and necessary occasions. You never understood his apprehension, I mean it’s the end of the world for Christ’s sake, but you’ve never questioned him.

“Heads up,” Matt whispers, nodding his head in the direction of a gas station.

You follow his gaze. It seemed like an easy place to loot. Apart from the few rotted corpses that roamed the exterior, only parked cars litter the parking lot, most of them still connected to the gas pumps.

“We’ll go in through the back. There’s got to be dry storage there,” Matt says, crouching and leading you towards the back of the building. You hum in response, readying yourself with your weapon and following closely behind.

Your scent must carry because as soon as you’re within 10 feet of the infected, their attention is drawn to you. Their arms are limp at their sides and their walk is more of a stagger, but it always manages to get your blood pumping.

“Hurry!” Matt whisper shouts, reaching behind him for your hand. Soon he’s pulling you into the building, shutting it securely behind you and bringing his pointer finger up to his lips to instruct you to keep quiet.

“I’ll go left. You go right,” you mouth, beginning to walk the aisles of the store while ensuring to keep your back to the wall. Matt nods, perusing the aisles as best he can while his life is in immediate danger.

Infected bite and claw at the glass windows, snarling as they watch you and Matt like prey. Sometimes you wondered what their life was like before they were bit, but the second one is close enough to harm you, all sympathy leaves and you don’t think twice before unloading the clip.

When you’re sure the building is secure you put your knife away and grab a shopping basket, securing it in the pit of your elbow as you load it with as many supplies as you can. Chips, jerky, candy, canned food, oil, rags, water, any and everything you two can carry is being thrown into these baskets.

“How are gonna get all of this back?” You ask Matt, noticing the even greater pile he’s accumulated. He scratches his head, taking a look around for something that’ll help lighten the load.

From the corner of his eye he spots a few duffel bags. Matt grabs a few and motions for you to begin packing them with as much as possible. “If they get too heavy I’ll carry them.”

“Bet you wish we had a car now,” you chuckle, neatly organizing the duffel bags.

“Not when those things are staring back at me,” Matt says, shuddering as he looks behind his shoulder to see the group of infected that have pooled at the entrance of the building.

—

You’re carrying two duffel bags full of supplies, one weighing on either one of your shoulders. Matt’s holding three, two rest on his shoulders and he’s carrying the other in his hand. He holds the straps so tight that his knuckles have managed to turn white.

The both of you are exhausted from the strength you’re using to carry this supplies back to your camp, from the long trek up-hill, and the energy you exerted to take out at least a dozen infected.

You stumble on a rock, the weight on your shoulders making it difficult for you to fix your footing. “Hey, you okay?” Matt asks, examining you with his eyes.

“I’m fine. Just tired,” you wheeze, hunching over and supporting yourself with your hands on your knees.

Matt’s tired too, of course he is, but it’s not like you two can set up camp in the middle of nowhere while surrounded by infected. He remembers seeing a few houses further up the road, it’s not a long walk and if you can make it, you’ll be able to rest there until morning.

“C’mon I think I saw a neighborhood, just push through a little longer. We’ll rest there for tonight and pick back up in the morning, okay?”

He waits for you to catch your breath, rubbing your back and comforting you, but never once letting his guard down in case something gets a jump on him.

You take a deep breath, straightening up and adjusting the duffel bag’s straps on your shoulders.

“Okay.”

—

The walk to the neighborhood was much longer than you thought, and you were starting to wonder if you were lost.

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

Matt looks at you from behind his shoulder, subtly rolling his eyes before averting his gaze forward again. “You wanna lead the way, princess?”

The nickname makes you chuckle, mostly because you knew Matt used it when his mood was starting to sour and that only ever happened when he was hungry or tired. By the looks of it, he was starting to become both.

A small town comes into view just as you’re about to reply. It looks like you’ve stumbled across the Main Street, and as packed as it is with abandoned businesses and stores, a residential home is nowhere to be seen. “Didn’t I tell you I saw a town,” Matt snarks, a hint of sass laced in his tone.

You hum. “No. You said you saw a neighborhood. There isn’t a house anywhere to be seen. We might as well season ourselves for the damn infected to eat.”

A twig snaps in the distance. Your voices, although relatively quiet, have already worked towards alerting the undead of your presence.

“Shut up,” Matt grits, pulling you close to his body. You know better than to argue, instead pressing your back against his and unsheathing your knife.

Snarling and growling echoes through the town, bouncing off the buildings and making it difficult for you to pinpoint exactly what direction they’re coming from. That doesn’t stop Matt though, instead he uses the hand that isn’t holding a knife to grab your arm.

“Stay close,” he mouths, so inaudible that you almost don’t catch it. You nod your head, taking a fleeting look at your surroundings before following Matt through a back alley between a cafe and a gym (or what used to be a cafe and a gym).

The alley is a dead end, fenced off at the end with nothing but hungry zombies reaching through the metal rods in attempt to grab you. The old you would’ve screamed and cried for help, but you’ve learned to suppress your fear in order to survive.

You take a firm hold of your knife, stabbing it into the head of as many infected as you can. Quiet grunts emit from you and Matt as you clear the path, watching undead body after body hit the ground. For a second you feel sad, but only for a second. You don’t have time for trivial things such as emotions anymore, especially not when a trail of flesh eating monsters follows closely behind.

“Through here. C’mon,” Matt ushers, opening a door that leads into a gym. Although it’s safer than being stranded outside, the brick walls can only protect you for so long. You do a quick sweep of the room, looking for anything useful while also ensuring there aren’t any hidden surprises.

Once you’re sure it’s safe, you motion for Matt to follow you with a head tilt. He locks the door behind him, barricading it with an old elliptical before following you into the next room.

You enter a changing room, lined with showers and lockers that were sure to have at least one fresh pair of clothes. You set the heavy bags you’ve been carrying down, sighing with relief as you stretch your shoulders. Matt does the same, joining you in rummaging through the lockers for a new, clean shirt.

A lot of the clothes is tucked away in backpacks, most of it being unflattering male clothing, but you weren’t big on fashion nowadays. “Here. Found this for you,” Matt says, tossing a white tank top your way. You hold it up in the light, “Cute. Thanks.”

You’re about to change your shirt, without any real warning for Matt, so he quickly looks away and fixes his gaze on the shower heads and tiled walls. His hands fiddled with an unopened bar of soap he found in one of the lockers. Matt doesn’t know why he grabbed it, it’s not like he had access to running water, but a man could dream.

“I wonder if the showers work,” he thinks out loud.

You stand behind him, wearing only your bra and underwear as you wonder the same thing. God knows you could both use a shower right now. “Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head in wonder.

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug, pushing past Matt and sauntering over to the knob. You twist it quickly, patiently waiting for even a single drop of water.

Nothing, just groaning pipes and a slap in the face for naivety.

“Guess they don’t,” you say, standing under the shower head and looking at Matt with a sad smile. He chuckles, and just as he’s about to give up too, hot water spurts out abruptly, hitting the back of your head and running down your spine.

“Holy shit that’s hot!” You gasp. In all the excitement, Matt forgets how inappropriate it would be to join you in the shower under regular circumstances, and throws his clothes off. You’ve somehow already managed to remove your remaining clothing and have started scrubbing at your skin with your bare hands, letting the water run down your face.

“Matt! Hurry before it runs out!” You say, waving your hand behind you blindly. He doesn’t skip a beat, joining you under the shower head and letting it relax his sore, aching muscles. The water draws an audible groan from his lips, bringing you back to reality. You were naked and taking a shower with Matt, someone who was a stranger to you before the end of the world.

Suddenly, he remembers the bar of soap still in his hands and he accidentally takes in your naked figure as he opens it. His dick immediately rises, a clear indicator that he’s enjoying the view.

“Turn around,” he instructs, running the soap under the water and lathering his hands up. You do as your told, immediately feeling his fingers tangle themselves in your hair as he massages your scalp. It wasn’t necessarily an in depth hair wash routine, but it would suffice for now.

Soon, you’re turning around and rinsing the soap from your hair before reaching for the bar and instructing Matt to do the same.

“Here lemme get you now.” You shuffle behind him, tip toeing to reach better. Although it was odd and unexpected, you were glad to be sharing this moment with Matt.

The rest of the shower is silent as you and Matt bask in the warm water that runs down your bruised and battered bodies. You try keeping your limbs to yourselves, save for the brief moments Matt’s erect member brushes against your thigh or butt, but it’s hard when there’s only one shower head. You want to say something, mostly because you’ve had a crush on Matt from the moment you met him and his group, but you don’t. This isn’t about pleasure, not in this world at least. It’s about survival and the second you forget that, you get hurt.

“Haven’t felt that clean in years,” Matt chuckles, shoving a shirt over his head. The shower seems to have brought his spirits up, providing both of you with a new surge of energy. Little things like running water meant so much more now, especially when you’re trudging through highly forested areas and fighting for you life on the daily.

As you’re about to reply, a loud bang echoes through the locker room, followed by the sound of shuffling in your direction. You’re putting your pants on, buckling them quickly as you try to keep quiet. Your eyes are wide in fear and anticipation, watching Matt for a signal on what to do next.

He doesn’t say anything, instead grabbing the duffel bags from before and darting his eyes towards the exit. Your gun, which you hadn’t used at all today, rests in your hand. Matt holds his as well. He’s on guard, raising the weapon close to his face as he inspects the area.

You follow behind him trying to keep as quiet as possible, fully expecting him to shoot whatever lurks behind the wall. But, as you near the exit, you see it.

Tense shoulders relax, lowering your weapon and sheathing it back into your belt. A squirrel sits on the cement floor, grooming itself and chittering away. You want to approach it, maybe even pet it, but Matt stops you with a hand to your chest.

Unlike you, he’d inspected the entirety of the situation and didn’t let himself become distracted by the first cute animal that crossed his path. After recognizing that it was a squirrel, he wondered what could’ve lead it into the building in the first place, causing him to check the window it entered through. A reanimated corpse stood right outside the window, dragging its feet as it paced back and forth in search of the fluffy animal.

“Let’s go. We’re done here,” Matt ordered, pulling you back towards the exit. And just like that, you were off to find somewhere to sleep, leaving the fluffy animal to fend for itself.

“Bye little guy.”

—

“Forgot how quiet and boring the world is,” you huff, slumping down onto the worn out mattress. Whatever energy the shower provided you was now long gone. You and Matt walked for another hour before finding the initial neighborhood you were searching for. And, after that, you spent another hour finding the perfect house and clearing all its rooms.

“Quiet’s nice,” Matt replies with a soft groan, joining you on the mattress. It sinks with his weight, the coils creaking as he becomes comfortable.

“You’re just saying that cause you want me to shut up so you can fall asleep.” You kick your shoes off and unbuckle your belt, letting it fall to floor with a soft thud. A smile tugs at Matt’s lips. “Right now yes. But in general, quiet’s good. Means we’re safe,” he replies, toeing his own shoes off.

Matt shuts his eyes, fluffing the pillow under his head and willing himself to finally get a full nights rest. This house is safe. He secured all the rooms, barricaded the doors, and his weapon is on standby. He can finally rest and relax. But, of course, your mind begins to wander and when your mind wanders, your words follow. “Guess you’re right… But quiet also means you’re not learning anything about the people you care about.”

A deep breath causes Matt’s chest to rise and fall. He doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be all philosophical at the end of the world. Nonetheless, he responds, “I know you, Y/n. I know you’re strong, I know you’re a kind person, and I know you have my back. I also know you’re annoying, but I trust you and I learned all that from watching. Sometimes you just have to watch people. In quiet. Can we sleep now?” He turns onto his side facing away from you in hopes that you’ll drop the topic and fall asleep.

You stare at his back. “Those are all things you learned about me now. I was nothing like this back then.”

Matt takes another deep breath. It’s obvious you’re in the mood to talk, maybe because you finally feel safe enough to keep your voice anything above a whisper, so he decides just to give in and turn your monologue into actual dialogue.

“Back then?” He asks. Matt shuffles on the mattress, now staring at the ceiling as your eyes remain on him. “Yeah, before everything went to shit. Before the end of the stupid fucking world when the little things used to matter. You know, like first kisses and picking the perfect outfit for a date with a cute guy.”

Matt picks at his fingernails, listening to every word that escapes your lips. When you put it that way, he really didn’t know anything about you. “Okay, so tell me about yourself then. Pretend like we’re not in a strangers house, in a strangers room, on a strangers bed, and tell me all about Y/n… Before the ‘end of the stupid fucking world.’”

You chuckle, preparing yourself for the vulnerability you’re about to put on full display, but now that he’s put you on the spot it’s much harder than you thought.

“Okay so… you already know my name. Hmm. My favorite color is pink?”

Matt scoffs. “That’s the real you? C’mon, you can’t go on this whole tangent about how you were different before and then say THAT.”

“Fine fine.” You think for a second. “I was a waitress at a hotel bar. Mixing drinks was easy, the customers were nice, my coworkers made the job tolerable. Mostly only worked weekends because I was at school during the week… I went to UCLA. Go Bruins!,” you let out a breathy laugh, “My siblings were going to visit me that weekend, the weekend it all happened. They had planned the trip for a long time and finally were gonna make the drive.”

Your mind goes to a dark place, the only thing anchoring you being the hand that Matt places on yours. You clear your throat before continuing, “I had a small off campus apartment. Cleared the living room out and everything for them. Even deep cleaned.” Matt squeezes your hand.

“College was fun while it lasted. My parents worked really hard to send me off. They threw me a going away party and everything, even dressed up my dog as the school mascot,” a small pause as you recollect your thoughts, “I had a puppy named Pig. Well he wasn’t a puppy, more like an old fart, but the name suited him. Named him after my favorite animal and because he had the pinkest nose when he first adopted him.”

You feel yourself becoming increasingly sad as you reminisce on what once was. “You know what? Maybe quiet is nice,” you laugh solemnly, wiping the tears that are rolling down your face.

Matt offers you a warm smile, thinking of something, anything, to get you to smile again. But he can’t help it, he’s curious, and since you’re already on the topic he wants to pry further into your personal life. “What were you going to school for?”

“Engineering. I’m shit with numbers, but I was pretty undecided so my parents just chose for me. Brandon would help me a lot. He was really smart… really sweet… But enough about me, tell me about you. Who was Matt before all this?”

Matt ignores your question, instead posing one of his own. “Who’s Brandon? Was he your boyfriend?” He cringes slightly, both at his boldness and at his lack of awareness of your vulernable, emotional state, but his curiosity keeps getting the best of him.

You snort. “Brandon? God no. He was my best friend, sure, but I was definitely not his type. Plus, I never had time for anything serious. I made time for the fun stuff, but never the commitment.” Matt couldn’t hide the relief on his face even he tried. A relationship status meant nothing during a zombie apocalypse, yet he found himself relieved to know that your heart didn’t belong to another.

“I’m sure you had girls swarming you,” you continue jokingly, poking Matt’s sides with a teasing edge. He makes a noise, something between a groan and chuckle as he runs his hands down his face.

“I take that as a yes?”

He hums, remembering the short lived internet fame he shared with his triplet brothers before shit hit the fan. “Some would say that. If you consider subscribers and followers as swarming girls.”

You visibly cringe, “Oh God. Were you one of those thirst trappers? Bet you went to influencer parties and vlogged your morning routine.” Matt laughs loudly, a genuine laugh, one of the few you’ve heard from him since you met.

“Rent was due, okay?” He replies between laughter. Soon you’re both laughing, bodies clumsily bumping as you clutch your stomach and wipe away tears. Your bodies are impossibly close, closer than they should be on a queen sized mattress, and you only notice it once your laughter dies down.

Your eyes have locked with his and your noses even manage to graze. Neither of you make an effort to look away or even to apologize for invading the other’s space. Instead, you do the unthinkable, the one thing you didn’t allow yourself to even think about doing even when he was naked in front of you earlier. You kiss him. You lean forward and close the gap, moulding your lips onto his.

Matt doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the kiss. His hands find a comfortable resting place on your upper thigh and lower back, using the little energy left in his body to pull you closer. One of your hands lays on his chest while the other gently weaves its way through his hair.

The kiss is sweet and innocent, and it could’ve been over by now, but because you’re both so touch starved you separate for air and dive right back in. You moan against his lips, caressing the side of his face your thumb before moving so you’re cradling his waist. Subconsciously, as if on instinct, you grind down onto him, wanting to feel and explore him further.

Matt wants to go further, and he knows you know it too, especially with the display he put on earlier in the shower, but he’s a virgin who’s afraid to disappoint. So, he pulls away from the kiss and holds your hips in place with strong hands.

“I— Give me a second,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut and gulping so hard his adam’s apple bobs up and down. Matt’s mind is racing, every possible outcome for this situation playing through his mind.

You sense his apprehension, plus it’s written all over his face. You never want to push his boundaries or make him uncomfortable. So, you do the only thing you can think to do. Quickly, you shuffle off of him and off the bed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought— today in the shower— I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch.”

You begin to gather your things, leaving Matt dumbstruck as he stares between you and his raging erection. If he didn’t speak up now, you were going to get the wrong idea and he’d miss his chance at a shot with you. Your face is red hot with embarrassment.

“Wait.” He reaches out and grabs your hand, gently pulling you back down onto the mattress.

Matt prepares himself for the vulnerability he’s about to display. He’s nervous, embarrassed, scared, and to top it off you’re the hottest girl he’s ever seen. And it’s not just because you’re the only one left either.

“I’m a virgin.”

Your eyes blow open in shock. “But earlier you said about the? I just thought?” He laughs at your inability to form a coherent sentence, but he gets the gist.

“It was hard to trust people when I was famous, especially girls. I never knew if they truly liked me or just wanted to have my name associated with them for the clout. But it’s different now, I know I can trust you. We took a shower together without making it weird after scavenging through old worn out clothes to find something slightly newer than what we had. You’re covered in the blood of monsters we killed to keep each other safe. You’re here with me when I have nothing permanent or safe to offer.” Matt pulls you back onto his lap, sitting up against the bed frame so your torsos are parallel.

“I should’ve said this a long time ago, but it’s hard to find the time when you’re fighting for your life on the daily… I care about you, Y/n. A lot. I’m not sure what to call it yet, but I care about you and I trust you. I trust you enough to do this.” You’re touched by his words, feeling their effect on your heartstrings and your throbbing core.

“I trust you too, Matt. So much more than you’ll ever know.” In that moment those words felt more real than an ‘i love you’ ever could. Matt leans forwards and kisses you, holding you by the neck. This kiss is different than the one from before, it’s needier and laced with lust.

His hands travel towards your tank top, tugging until he successfully untucks the fabric. You pull away from the kiss and lift your arms, allowing Matt to remove your shirt in one swift motion. The smile on his face as you slowly begin roaming your hands all over his body is genuine, filled with admiration, love and lust.

Your fingers beginning slipping his flannel over his shoulders, your mouth falling down to his broad shoulders to pepper kisses on the skin there. Soon, you’re both removing the rest of your clothes and Matt’s excitement has him flipping you over on the old, worn mattress. He gawks at the sight beneath him. You lay there completely exposed with only the soft moonlight that trickles in through the blinds to illuminate your body. Matt takes it all in, relishing in your beauty like it’s the last time, because in this world it very well might be.

A gentle hand trails from his stomach down to his penis, tracing the outside of his cock and watching intently at the way Matt’s eyes screw shut in concentration. It’s been so long since he’s touched himself and the sight of you alone is enough for him to combust, but he pulls himself together. You trace your thumb over the slit, coating his member with the natural lubrication that’s already spilling out before dragging his cock along your folds. Matt’s breath hitches at the new sensation, you already feel so warm and soft, he doesn’t know how he’s meant to last even one second once he’s actually inside you.

“We can stop if you want to.” Matt gulps, shaking his head feverishly. He doesn’t want this to stop, he’d never want this to stop, even if it hasn’t even really started yet. “No,” his voice is choked, “don’t stop.”

Your lip is caught between your teeth as you continue to guide the tip to your entrance, finally unwrapping your fingers from around him and instead wrapping your legs around his waist. Finally, Matt moves, sinking his cock into you slowly until he’s completely bottomed out. The initial feeling is euphoric, so euphoric in fact that his arms wobble as he tried to keep himself from collapsing on you. You love seeing him like this. A strong man who’d do anything to protect you, so weak and vulnerable from your touch.

His head finds the place where your neck and shoulder meet, forehead resting in the divot there as he slowly begins thrusting. Soft grunts and groans brush against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Praises fall from your own lips as his tip continues to kiss your cervix, egging him further in helping you reach your climax. But tonight was about him, as long as the man on top of you convulsed with pleasure you’d be happy.

Matt’s hips snap against yours, picking up the pace as he chases his orgasm. It’s so close, right on the edge, and from the way he sounds and feels you’re close too. “Keep going, Matt. Don’t stop,” you moan, pulling him in closer with your legs around his waist. Matt whimpers your name, sucking and biting on the skin of your neck harder with each passing thrust.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, words choppy and interrupted by pants and moans. All you can do is whimper in return, snaking a hand between your bodies to rub your clit. As soon as your fingers touch the sensitive bundle of nerves, your body goes into overdrive. Your legs are shaking, pussy fluttering around his cock as you grip his shoulders and moan his name. The feeling of your walls pushing and pulling around him, mixed with the way you chant his name, pushes Matt over the edge. His hips tremble slightly as he spills his load inside of you, his inexperience making it to where he’s unable to pull out before the wave of pleasure washed over his body.

Your bodies remain intertwined for a while, both of you trying to catch your breath. Matt reluctantly pulls out of you, relishing in the way your body chases after him. The mattress dips as he slumps into the spot next to you.

“Thank you.”

You turn to face Matt, a confused look on your face. You’re not sure where this will lead your relationship, but you never expected a thank you after sex, nor had you ever received one.

“Thank you?” You chuckle, curious to where the conversation was heading.

He hums. “Yeah, for not letting me die a virgin.” You can’t help the snort that follows.

“Well in that case, I guess you’re welcome. No one deserves to die a virgin, not even at the end of the world.”

Matt smiles again, a sight you’ll never grow tired of. He leans in for a kiss, pulling you close and keeping you there. The kiss is sloppy, mostly because you’re both exhausted from the days events, but neither of you dare pull away. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring or if there will even be a tomorrow, all you know is that this moment right here is real and you’d like to enjoy it for as long as possible.

“Get some rest, we have a long trip tomorrow.”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Thank you so much for this request my sweet anon. I’m currently rewatching (binging) TWD and needed to get some zombie apocalypse type story out of my system, so I hope you don’t mind that I used that idea on your request. Also, I know you requested for the reader to teach Matt and I didn’t include really any of that here. I focused on the whole Virgin!Matt aspect of it all. Hope you all enjoy, sorry for not writing a lot recently :P I’m deep in the trenches of Daryl Dixon fanfiction right now so if u need me, that’s where you’ll find me (if u can’t already tell by my reblogs lolol)

ps, I didn’t go to UCLA so if that’s not the mascot don’t kill me. A quick google search told me that much

luv u all xxx

- L.A.M.B 💗👼🏻

—

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star-stilinski · 28 days

Note

stiles with virgin reader? maybe she's like insecure or like is just scared he'll look at her differently 😩😩 everytime i watch the eichen house basement scene i literally die because he is so sweet and gentle and GHRHHSHEHDH

okay so i actually have that written from before i deleted my blog... would you guys want me to write another?! i'll repost the one i have but this concept is really super fun to me and i like writing it a lot so... maybe you guys would want to see more?? anyway here's the old one!

☆

yep, stiles is perfect. dominant, but just to guide you. observant and overly educated (he once spent an all nighter researching female pleasure and orgasms. he stayed a virgin for a long time after, but at least he knew!). he wants you to feel good.

i feel like he had a conversation with allison once when she was really frustrated with scott where she basically ranted about how he was great in bed, really, but he sometimes got too excited and forgot about her until later. or his wearwolfness made him a bit rough. stiles just kinda stood there, but he was determined to keep that from being his reviews when he finally got laid. it was very educational.

set right before season 4.

you're reading up on the spanish mafia on your bed while stiles types away on his computer with one hand and breaks to texts scott with the other. he seems to be especially stimulated today.

"i think my excuse will be that we're camping." he mumbles randomly, setting his phone down face-up to take a swig from your water bottle. you frown. he smiles. "when we go get derek."

"for your dad?" you set the library book on the floor and scoot up on your bed, sitting back against the pillows.

"yeah. he's all worried i'm isolating myself after... everything. so he'll like that anyway. hey, scott invited us to the lake later tonight, wanna go?" your boyfriend talks so quick you almost get dizzy. that subject change was so stiles though, and seeing him as himself after those worrying days of the possessed, zombie-eyed shell of a man he was makes your chest feel fuzzy.

but at the mention of swimming, you glance away from him. you hadn’t been feeling super awesome about your body lately. It’s just… stiles is amazing, really, but he never says much about your looks and you’re scared he’s not into that part of you. It’s not like you need to be constantly hit on, but knowing that he wanted you in every way would be… well, it would make you feel better than you do.

so you hesitate, at the thought of being in a swimsuit in front of everyone. “uh, i dunno, i have a lot of homework.”

he laughs and his eyebrows shoot up. "what? we got ahead on, like, everything. did you fall behind again?”

"okay, first off, we did not get ahead on everything. we did everything due this week. you’re just used to waiting until the night before to rush through. second of all, i’m not really feeling the lake right now.”

“why not?” he frowns, tilting his head at you. you roll your neck and sigh, wishing you hadn’t said anything. It was so annoying to try and explain it.

“i mean…” you shift uncomfortably on your bed. “i don’t know. i’m just feeling weird lately.”

stiles stands, grabbing a stray pen to fiddle with as he stretches his legs, pacing your bedroom floor. "yeah, that's what you say, don't you? that you’re feeling ‘weird’.”

"you're weird." you deflect, watching him pace. he likes it when you do that, you both realized one day a long time ago when his hair was buzzed and you had braces. a lot has changed since then, but he still liked to know that you’re listening when he has to move around.

"and yet here you sit, after inviting me over to listen to me ramble." he teases back, throwing you a look before turning to walk the other side of the floor. he scans the pictures and posters on your wall, back turned to you. "seems like my weird is good weird and yours is bad weird."

you're thankful he isn't watching as you flush a light pink color in the cheeks. it's the stupidest stuff getting you flustered recently. the other day he said 'atta girl' to you and you were still blushing ten minutes later. kira actually thought you were sick.

you know why. Part of you just wants to ask him, but a larger part of you assumes that -even as his girlfriend- he’ll be grossed out if you asked to have sex. He’s just not into you like that.

stiles swivels around to look at you, frowning curiously. "you went quiet."

"oh, um," you shift on the bed and fiddle with the hem of your shirt. he watches you do so with a look on his face before stepping closer to the edge of the bed while you scramble to remember what you were talking about. "your weird is tolerable weird."

he smirks and scoffs but it's kind of a laugh, one that makes your stomach swoop pleasantly. "what makes yours bad weird?"

"it’s nothing, sti’.” you fiddle with one of your stuffed animals, growing antsy under his gaze. “just thoughts.”

you feel the bed dip beside you as stiles sits, feeling his shoulder brush with yours. there's plenty of room on the bed. you know he did it on purpose.

"i like to know your thoughts.”

"yeah, well, sometimes i prefer to keep them in my head." you huff, still not looking at him. “and anyway, they’re just-”

"weird?" he interrupts and you look up at him. he's smirking, brows up, eyes sparkly.

you frown at his cockiness. you were going to say weird, but still. you can hear him silently asking you to elaborate.

"you’re not allowed to get all pitying, okay?" you feel yourself about to spill anyway, so you might as well tell him. it would usually take a lot more encouragement for you to say anything, but it's stiles and he's using his stupid pretty eyes on you and you trust him with your life. “lately i just feel kinda… just like, um, not great, i guess? i’m just scared i’m not doing enough for you, or something’s wrong with me because you never say anything about my looks and i dont need you to, but if you’re unsatisfied i want to change that because i want you to be happy in every area to do with me.”

stiles is silent for a moment. you look up and catch him look away from you. he frowns and looks back, meeting your gaze head on.

"that's not weird.” he says, quietly, brows upturned. “you… wow, you’re dense.”

you laugh abruptly at the jab stiles pulled, embarrassed. "stiles! I’m not upset or anything, i just dont want you to not be into the way i look. which might be unrealistic, i guess. not everyone is going to be physically attracted to me. that's fine."

"you say that a lot." his tone drops to something more thoughtful. you give him a face and tilt your head.

"what? no i don't."

"yeah, you do. 'oh, well, lydia's the beauty out of all of us anyway.' 'malia, you should dance with kira to blend in. that would be casual and guys will find you two hot, anyway.' 'that isn't my color.' 'i'm breaking out.' 'i'm bloated.' 'i don't think anyone would want to see me in something that revealing.'"

you feel heat crawl up your neck as he quotes stuff you've said the past few weeks. you scramble to make him wrong. "stiles, literally all of those were different sentences."

"no, they were not." he shifts, like he's revving up to explain something. you press yourself against the pillows to create space between you two. he notices. "you keep saying you think you're ugly. just the other day, a girl you didn't even know came up to you and said you were pretty and when she walked away you said she was lying. i remember, you were convinced. thought it was just to be nice because you had let her cut you in line for drinks. it was at the movies."

you look away from him, narrowing your eyes. you're embarrassed right now, and he knows. why isn't he stopping? "she was lying, stiles. you're a guy, you can't see that stuff like girls do."

"i'm a guy, i'm not blind." he gets hotter in his voice. both in tone and in attractiveness, getting sterner. saying 'i'm right' without saying it. "are you blind? you're so pretty. like, objectively."

"stiles, can you drop this? I shouldn’t have said anything." you curl in on yourself, drawing your knees up to hide your body. you feel so exposed, like he tugged the part of you out that you don't really like to talk about.

stiles goes soft. like a flip being switched, he loses his fight and shifts to face you better, placing a hand on your knee. "hey, i'm sorry."

you desperately want to go back to when he was a safe distance away and pacing your room and teasing you. you hate it when you ruin the mood with your feelings. you hate how much you love it when he touches you, especially since he'd never want you the way that you want him.

"it's fine, i promise." you claw around your brain for something to change the subject, but you feel it short circuit as stiles' hand begins to hold your cheek. he lifts your chin to look at him. you feel your cheeks flame hot and your whole body warm at his touch. you stare at him as you feel your resolve practically melt away.

"do you think you're pretty?" he asks, curiously. like you're something he doesn't fully understand yet, but he's on his way and he's getting excited to speed up the process. it makes you nervous.

"umm... i don't know..." you don't think so. you're very confident that you're ugly. but telling stiles that is letting him win. and you don't know what you'll do with a cocky stiles when he's already ballsy enough to corner you like he is now.

"i do." he says with finality. stiles gets closer and his hand leaves your cheek, only to part your legs gently and crawl in between them. "i think you’re hot. and pretty. and when you focus you nibble your lip and it kinda makes me want to pin you to the nearest flat surface and eat you out.”

now your legs are on either side of stiles and he's leaning over you, eyes roaming over your face hungrily. you stutter dumbly for a moment, face flushed and feeling like a cornered bunny getting stared down by a wolf. his scent becomes stronger and you resist the urge to ask him to do just that, opting instead for feeling like a gross creep and fretting if you’ve shaved well enough.

"you don’t have to say that..." you trail off, still flustered at stiles' boldness. "i just didn't really know what you thought about my looks, i guess. b-but i guess that’s kinda conceited, huh?" you laugh weakly at your joke. stiles doesn't laugh at all. instead, he watches you quietly for a moment, a hand landing on your knee again.

"i don’t say anything because i never want you to feel uncomfortable." he states breathily. you squirm under him as he leans forward, a determined look in his eyes. “do you want me to tell you what i think about you?”

"stiles, c'mon." you turn your head away. maybe you can resist this question by acting pathetic. it's not really working, and stiles just gently guides your chin so that you're looking at him again. he knows the answer. he kinda has to, doesn't he? otherwise he wouldn't be doing this.

"I want to hear you say it." he looks into your eyes like it would actually literally kill him if you said no. you feel that rush you get when he talks like this, all quiet and deep like he's breathless. and despite you thinking that stiles thought of you as a low-physicality girlfriend, you find yourself nodding slightly.

"yes, i do."

stiles sighs out like you just healed every one of his wounds and leans forward, shifting himself so that he's propped on his hands and knees above you. one hand moves to your waist and the other holds his weight as he leans down.

the kiss sends a spark down your spine. as he goes back in again, kissing you harder, deeper, gently guiding your mouth open, you think it's better than any other kiss you've experienced. his hand inches your shirt up to reveal your stomach and he pulls back.

"you're beautiful. okay? i feel like you're not hearing me. i want you to see it." he says, still upset about that. you're still a bit flustered by the quick change of events, so you don’t respond.

he frowns at your lack of response but it softens as your hands slide onto his neck, pulling him down again. he smiles and goes back in for another kiss.

this one's even more than the last. stiles' tongue... well, it works. that's all you can describe as he makes you gasp in surprised pleasure from just a kiss. you can feel his slightly cocky smirk as he kisses again, but it gets lost when you rake your nails lightly against the back of his neck. he manuvers you both further down the bed so you're laying more comfotably and kisses you deeply again, like he can't get enough.

he presses his knee up against your core as you kiss and it sends a pulse of pleasure up your body, making you pinch your brows. stiles pulls back abruptly, and you're both panting. you can see your spit making his lips glisten prettily and you want to hide under the covers and pull him back into you at the same time.

"hey," stiles dawns a little smile. it's sweet, and when he tugs at the hem of your shirt gently your heart flutters. "can i take this off?"

you pause at that. if he takes your shirt off, he'll have to see you shirtless. you didn't wear a nice bra today, just the grey t-shirt bra you got at walmart. but he wants to see you shirtless. and you want to see him shirtless.

then again, you’re no pornstar-level body. maybe stiles will be disappointed. or laugh. no, no, he won’t laugh. but if he doesn’t like it, he won’t say anything, and you’ll be stuck wondering what he’s thinking again...

"i can hear you overthinking, you know." stiles' big palm lands on your bare waist, his thumb rubbing your skin softly. "we can stop if you want."

you meet his eyes. he looks like he really means it, like he'll pretend none of this happened if you asked. his hand leaves your waist, cups your cheek, and his thumb presses against your bottom lip softly. you breathe in. "i don't want to stop."

he nods, smiling. it's crooked and you almost giggle because of course stiles is excited to keep making out. and then his gaze shifts and he takes his hand off your cheek to tug on your shirt again. his brows lift in question.

"uhm, yeah." you nibble your lip. fuck it. "take it off."

"that was not enthusiastic enough."

"i-?! don't blame me if you don't like what you see! i just don't want you to be unimpressed!" you squeak defensively. he laughs and pulls you up just enough to lift your shirt off.

"you can be so obtuse sometimes." he mumbles as he tosses your shirt out of the way. you're propped up on your forearms when he turns back around and you can practically hear the breaks in his brain screech to a halt.

his eyes roam your body in a way that makes you flush and his hands aren't much better, spreading over your now-exposed middle like they have a mind of their own. he lets out a breath and blinks a few times, one hand sliding up to cup your bra. “s’ this okay?”

you swallow and nod. it is. really. you like the way stiles’ hands feel on you and how his eyes track over you like he wants to devour you but doesn’t want to hurt you. you like how eager he is to touch you. it makes you feel like maybe he really wants to.

he leans over you and presses a kiss to your neck. you tilt your head back on instinct as he grows more persistent, pressing open mouthed kisses along your jaw and nibbling your neck to pull a sound out of you. you gasp when he nibbles your earlobe and he reacts positively, hands getting more confident as he cups your breasts or you waist or whatever he can get ahold of.

you feel him press his knee up against you again and it makes you jolt momentarily. your thoughts are getting hazier, you feel yourself relaxing every second you spend underneath him. his hand travels up your back and finds your bra clasp and he kisses down your collarbone as he undoes it.

“you’re so pretty.” he starts, pulling back. you blink up at him as he sits over you. “you are, I don’t care what you think. I can’t believe you’re so convinced otherwise.”

he pauses, giving you time to reject him or tell him to stop or do anything. instead, you tug at his shirt, pulling it up.

he takes it off immediately and you press your hands against his bare skin. “stiles, i’ve never done anything before. I’m not gonna be good.”

he scoffs and shakes his head, toying with your loose bra strap. it’s still on, unclasped. he’s waiting.

“you’re doing so good right now, idiot.” he hums affectionately as he traces the seam of your bra, fingers brushing your breast. you suck in a breath. he watches your chest rise. “i’ve, um, thought about this before. a lot. and it’s ten times better having you under me than daydreaming about it.”

you blush at that. he traces the underside of your breast, fingers slipping under your bra to feel your skin. “I want to make you feel good.” he whispers, meeting your eyes. you nod slowly, fingers running along his abdomen as you admire him.

“you do?” you ask, as if he wasn’t practically pinning you to the bed already. he nods eagerly and it spurs you on. you shift, slowly pulling your bra off. he helps you and tosses it away with your shirt, but his eyes never leave you. instead, they dart all over your chest, hands cupping your tits. he sighs and his thumbs swipe over your pebbling nipples, making you squeak in shock.

“you’re so beautiful. ‘m gonna make you believe it, okay?” he says with finality, maneuvering so that he can kiss your breasts. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple and he pulls up just to envelop your mouth. “you sound so pretty. just relax, I’ll take care of you.”

you’re embarrassed at how easy it is for you to make noise and how eager you are to listen to his instructions. you sink into the pillows and let your eyes flutter shut as stiles kisses you. it's soft and slow, but it makes you a puddle anyway.

stiles gets the both of you down to your underwear shortly after. his hands are incessantly gentle and when he does something new he leaves a sort of gap for you to tell him to stop.

you never do.

he's mouthing at your neck when he first presses his long fingers against your clothed clit, and you sigh lightly in relief. the pressure was more than enough and you had completely soaked through your panties anyway. he pulls away from your neck to watch you as he rubs a slow circle against your nerves, humming in approval when your lips part and your brows pinch.

"does that feel good?" he questions quietly, still rolling a circle against you with his middle finger. you nod and hear him swallow as his eyes roam from your exposed tits to your wet spot and everywhere in between, locking eyes with you at the end.

"i can't wait to hear you. you're gonna sound so good." he mumbles, mostly to himself as he slowly pulls your panties off. you whine in embarrassment and cover your face with your hand.

"don't say stuff like that!" you huff, scrubbing your face like it will make the blushing subside. "you're getting your hopes up."

"jesus christ." he groans, and it sounds super fucking hot. you peek through your fingers and see him looking at you like you've wounded him. "you've exceeded every single one of my very high hopes i've been getting off to since freshman year so far. you-i mean, look at what you're doing to me."

he gently takes the hand you're using to cover your face and guides it against his bulge. he's hard as a rock, and when you press your hand against him he tilts his head back and sighs out. "seriously, you're so gorgeous. and you're a great kisser. you're doing so good. i mean..."

with your panties off and him in between your legs, he has easy access as he slides two fingers through your slick. you can both hear it in the quiet of the room and you feel that heat rush of embarrassment again, eyes widening as he literally moans. "you're so wet. just for me."

and as he presses his finger to your clit, it feels ten times better than it did with your panties on. you gasp and your eyes flutter closed as you whimper "god," completely on accident. his hands aren't amazingly skillful, but the way he watches your reactions and tweaks his performance, fucking a finger into you and keeping his pace on your bundle of nerves-it's almost hotter than a guy who isn't looking to improve, because stiles is adjusting things to your preference. not just what every woman would generally like.

"how's it feel, pretty girl?" he hums against your stomach, kissing down your body. you don't know what the hell he's doing but most of your mental focus is on how stiles is making you feel, anyway.

"feels good, sti'," you gasp, feeling his mouth against your thigh. he moans when you say his name before sucking a hickey onto your inner thigh. your eyes snap open and you prop yourself up to look at him, eyes wide. "are you leaving a mark?"

stiles looks up at you, and then at your neck, and then your tits. he pulls away from your skin slowly and mumbles "uhm..."

"whatever, just... don't make it ugly. hickeys can look so weird." you flop back against the pillows and sigh, but your thoughts are cut short as stiles-

"oh, fuck," you moan, rolling your hips against stiles' tongue unconsciously as he presses his mouth on your clit. he flicks his tongue and you gasp out another moan, hips lifting.

his big hands land on your bare hips and press them back down, holding them there as he looks up at you. meanwhile, his tongue is laying claim on you in a way no one ever has, and he's making you feel better than you ever have. you sit up on your forearms to watch him and he sucks on your clit, making your eyes roll back. "stiles, oh god, that feels really good-"

he moans at your noises, mouth moving with more fervor against you, hands pulling you closer to him. he's doing everything perfectly, or so you thought, until he pulls a hand away from your hip and presses two fingers inside of you. it's a stretch, but it feels amazing, and your brain is fried as you feel yourself hurtling towards that edge-

and then he pulls back.

you look down at the speed of light, glaring at him on accident. "wha-? why-?"

his eyes are dark, something you haven't seen in them before. his mouth is covered in your arousal and he's sitting up, leaning over you. "i really want you to finish with me inside you. does... is that...?"

your previous annoyance falls away and you bob your head enthusiastically. "yeah. yes. please."

he grins and licks some of your slick off of his lips before kissing you sweetly. when he pulls back, you look down to take his boxers off but realize he took them off already. you also realize you've never seen stiles' dick before.

"your staring is making me nervous." he teases, rubbing your thigh. you blink and look back up at him, smiling sheepishly. he smiles back, and it's crooked, and he's tilting his head and panting and sometimes his eyes are wandering to your tits before snapping back up to your eyes. and.

"you're the hottest guy in the whole world, i think." you hum, reaching up to cup his cheek. his eyes go wide and he laughs, kissing your palm.

"is my dick that big?"

"not what i meant."

"it could be."

you laugh, biting the inside of your cheek. "'s it gonna hurt?"

his eyes go soft, a bit worried. "proabably for a second, but we'll go at your pace so you can stretch out properly, and if it's too much i can just finish the way i started, kay?"

you nod. stiles would never, ever hurt you. and with the way he's looking at you and how he moans when you feel good and how his hands always have to find a way to pleasure you... something in you switches and you realize he really wants you to like this. that he's being honest when he says he's thought about it a lot.

so as he quickly rolls on a condom (which included him admitting that he usually grabs one before he leaves to see you) and presses into you -slowly, slowly- you try your best to relax against the pillows. it's not unbearable, but you have to ask him to pause sometimes. he always does, and layers praises on top of each other while he does it.

"you're doing so well. just breathe, okay? just like that. holy shit, you feel amazing- b-but how do you feel? you alright?" he rambles halfway inside. you nod, breathing deeply.

"it actually feels... good..." you close your eyes and pull on his waist, urging him forward slowly. he bottoms our and gasps out a moan at the same time you do, feeling him reach the spot you're never able to. his hand snakes in between the two of you and presses against your clit. you gasp out his name, tilting your head back. it's almost too much.

almost.

as you urge him to move, he presses slow circles against your bundle of nerves and kisses any patch of your bare skin he can get ahold of.

"just relax, baby- fuck, god, you know how may times i've thought about this?" he pulls out slowly and pushes back in, and all of his stimulating mixed with his moans and his words... he's doing a good fucking job, that's for sure.

you moan when he moves a little quicker, gasping. he presses his tongue into your open mouth and kisses you sloppily, going a bit faster with every thrust. you whine when he flicks your clit almost crudely, pressing your head back against the mattress and gasping, "faster, sti'"

he obeys without further encouragement, snapping his hips a little quicker than comfortable. you feel your body adjust and watch stiles as he leans back to admire you.

his eyes rake over you, one hand cupping your breast and kneading it softly. he lets out a higher pitched moan than you've heard from him when he sees the point where your bodies connect, slowing his thrusts just to watch. "you're perfect, i swear to god."

you can't respond, not when he's already leaning down to overstimulate your nipples. your brain feels like it's in the other room and has been replaced with stiles' hands, almost solely focused on his kneading of your tits and his circling of your clit. his mouth makes its way back up your neck and he kisses you again, still with very little concern for the proprieties of it.

it's sudden, the feeling that crawls up on you as his hips snap quicker and praise falls from his mouth in between kisses. you gasp for air and tug his head back by pulling his hair, causing a loud moan from him that you'll have to unpack later. you're arching your back, whimpering "faster, faster," squeezing your eyes shut as you feel that sweet release low in your belly. he speeds up his hips, but more importantly his fingers on your clit. your vision goes white for a split second as you cry out, chanting his name like a prayer. you hear him moaning too, and it only helps you as he rides you through your orgasm.

"holy shit," you gasp as you come down. he nods, pulling out of you carefully, and you both lock eyes. you're smiling and he's kissing you and everything feels kind of perfect for a split second. then you remember him, and feel like an idiot. "oh, did you, i totally forgot, did you-"

"don't worry," he laughs sheepishly and glances away from you. "i did. it was, um, when you pulled me away from kissing you."

"when i pulled your hair?" you ask incredulously. he buries his face into your neck and groans.

"maybe we should focus on you again." he kisses up your neck and all over your face. "you did so good, you're so perfect and pretty and oh my god you thought i wasn't attracted to you. you're so out of it sometimes."

"stop insulting me! you never said anything!" you defend, slapping his shoulder. he laughs and cups your face.

"i'm going to say every thought i have now. okay?"

"i feel like this isn't going to end well..."

he grins mischievously. "you look so good when you're cumming. let me make you make that face again?"

you close your eyes and sigh. "yeah, i knew it. this is going to be the death of me."

he laughs, loudly, excitedly, and kisses you. "it's funny how you think death will help. i bet you'd be a sexy ghost. oh, fuck, now i'm thinking about that. yep, it's hot."

you shout and push him off of you, laughing.

☆

when i wrote this originally, i wasn't super happy with it. even now i'm like... ehhh.... i dunno.... so if you guys want more of stiles with virgin/inexperienced reader, i have a lot of ideas and would totally post some if given the 'okay' from my fellow stiles lovers! let me know!!

(please say you want more because i want to make more lowkey tho just lowkey like idec but please)

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine #dylan o'brian x reader #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski smut #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf x reader #dylan o'brien #teen wolf #fanfic

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froggibus · 2 years

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The Three Times You Share A Bed - Leon S Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Genre: fluff, some light angst thrown in towards the end?

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: two times you sleep in leon's bed, and the one time he sleeps in yours

CW: roommate! Leon, kinda friends to lovers?, light angst, abandonment issues, paranoia, fear + insomnia, mentions of zombies, bedsharing, leon has intimacy issues (get therapy challenge)

OMG HAPPY RE4 RELEASE!!! I am SO excited to play once im done work this weekend! Leon looks so damn fine in the gameplay ive seen and i am going FERAL! pls no spoilers for anything new in the game! <3

RE4 remake spoiler free zone!! I have yet to play the remake so there are no spoilers in this!

————

The telltale clicking of a key in the door has you on your feet in seconds, abandoning the plush throw blanket on the couch. Before it even opens, you’re standing on the doormat. You feel a little silly, like a golden retriever waiting for its owner, but the shame is washed away when Leon steps through the door.

It’s been three weeks since you’ve last seen your roommate and best friend, and just as long since you last had company. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of you standing in front of him, the dark circles under his eyes becoming more prominent.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He sighs and drops his backpack on the floor, locking the door behind him.

“How was it?”

You fight the urge to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and inhale his scent, knowing that’s not what friends do. Still, the feeling is there and if he went in for it, you’d reciprocate in a heartbeat.

He opens the fridge and beams at the fully stocked drinks and snacks. He cracks open a can of cider and leans against the counter. “Long,” he admits, “way too long. And my nose is still burning from the smell of rotten flesh.” You crinkle your nose at the thought. Leon’s never been much of a talker and most of his work being classified didn’t help. Whenever something wasn’t top secret, though, you were sure to sit there and listen no matter how horrific the details were.

You settle in on the couch next to the agent, listening to him drone on about a zombie-like creature that had peeling flesh and fifty eyes. You could vividly picture it from his words alone, and the image of the creature sent a shiver up your spine.

Leon talks for hours, spilling every miniscule detail of every horror he encounters. You stay the whole time, nodding along. Leon laughs at the way you scrunch your face in disgust or close your eyes in fear. He hates how cute you are, but he can’t seem to stop telling you stories. After many hours and a few drinks between the two of you, he’s almost run out of stories to tell.

Leon pats your shoulder gently, collecting his cans from where he’d set them on the coffee table. “I need a shower,” he states. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Go shower. You stink,” you joke and punch him in the ribs.

He feigns injury at your blow, pretending to suck in a breath like you’d really hurt him. He keeps up the facade the whole way to his bedroom, only leaving character when he shuts the door behind him.

It’s only when he’s disappeared that you realize how late it's gotten—and how dark. Even though your shared apartment is on the 19th floor, you can’t help but worry something is going to crawl through your window. You shake the thoughts away and get ready for bed, but every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes you flinch.

You close your eyes and tug your comforter over your head, hoping that if there is something out there, it won’t know you’re there. You toss and turn for a while longer, staying dead quiet and pushing your fears away.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You take a deep breath, throw your comforter off of your shoulders, and sprint to Leon’s room. It’s like your brain is on autopilot—it knows exactly where to go to be safe.

You don’t knock on the door, instead quietly twisting the knob and slipping in through a crack in the door. Leon sits up as soon as your feet touch the wooden floor, eyes snapping towards your silhouette. He’s been a light sleeper ever since Racoon City, waking at the slightest of sounds.

He relaxes at the sight of you but only for a second. He glances at his digital clock, eyes widening at the time. “Y/n? What are you still doing up?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep…I feel like a flesh eating zombie is going to climb through my window and eat me.”

He chuckles. “That would be my fault.” He shuffles over in bed and pulls back the comforter. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for the night.”

You crawl into bed next to him, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible. You can feel his body heat radiating through the blankets and smell his body wash on his skin. The feeling is new, yet so familiar it eases you instantly.

“Leon?”

He hums in response.

“Is it safer to sleep next to the window or the door? From like, a secret agent standpoint.”

“We’re on the 19th floor so window, but unless it's a hotel room, the door. You would more than likely hear it if they broke down the front door so you’d have more time to get out.”

You think for a second. “Can we switch places?”

“Honestly, y/n,” he laughs dryly, “the safest place to sleep right now is next to me.”

Your face warms at that and you nod, relaxing into his pillows. While you drift off to sleep, Leon watches over you. He knows nothing is going to come for you here, but he did promise to keep you safe, and he’ll keep that promise no matter what.

—

When you get home, you’re in a foul mood. You practically throw the groceries onto the counter before walking to your room and throwing yourself onto your bed. It’s been a long day. All of the stores were so busy you could hardly get through the aisles, and all of the people you encountered were rude.

Leon comes out of his room a few minutes later. Seeing the groceries abandoned on the counter, his first thought is to check on you. He doesn’t check on you, though. Not yet, anyway. He knows you’ll just be more upset if the frozen items melt and the milk sits out all night, so he sets out on putting them away.

After almost an hour of laying in your bed trying to recuperate after the day you’ve had, you’re snapped out of it by a text.

Leon: Come here, I have a surprise for you

You don’t feel like leaving your bed, but you force yourself out of it anyway. It’s not Leon you’re mad at. Leon is probably the only person in the world you don’t hate right now. You knock on his door softly, holding your arms behind your back.

“Come in!” He shouts.

You open the door, shuffling into his room and closing it behind you. Your jaw drops when you see a tray in the middle of his bed piled high with your favorite snacks, drinks and two wine glasses. Leon pats the spot next to him and you’re happy to oblige, relaxing onto the mattress.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

He shrugs, pouring you a glass of wine. “It already seems like you had a bad day, I just wanted to do something to make it a little better for you.”

“Thank you.” He nods in acknowledgement, turning on his tv and handing you the remote. “You can choose the first movie. Just—maybe no zombies?”

You snort at that. Classic Leon, using his corny jokes to make light of even the worst of situations. You settle on an old favorite movie you love, handing the remote back to the blond and switching it for a wine glass.

Between your favorite movie, the delicious wine and your favorite snacks, your spirits are lifted in no time. One movie turns into two, and two turns into three. Soon enough, you’re dozing off in Leon’s bed.

He moves the tray of snacks and the glasses off of the bed to give you more room to sprawl out. Laying down next to you, he watches you sleep. A part of him wishes he could see this every night—the same sight he fantasizes about on even the hardest of missions.

He flicks off the lamp on his side table and settles in. “Good night, cutie,” he mumbles, knowing you’re far too deep in sleep to hear him.

—

You wake up in the middle of the night, moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating Leon’s bedroom. You’re still numb from sleep, your senses dulled just enough that it takes you a minute to realize that something is grabbing you. No, not grabbing—holding.

You blink a few times. Leon is laying next to you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms around your waist. You can feel the slow beating of his heart and the heat coming off of his skin. He’s so close it overwhelms you, yet it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You think about slipping away but you know what a light sleeper he is, and you don’t think you could handle it if he woke up and saw how close you were. You close your eyes and try to calm the beating in your heart so you can fall back asleep.

When you wake up again, Leon is gone. Your body feels cold where his once was. You sit up—is he showering? He can’t be, the bathroom door is open. You sit up, letting the blankets fall off of you. You swing your legs over the side of his bed, walking out to the kitchen, but he’s not there either.

Did he leave to go get something?

You check your phone, expecting to see a text saying he ran out to go get more milk or something, but there’s nothing. You sigh, typing up a message and sending it to him.

Y/N: where’d you go?

You practically jump when your phone lets out a noise, but your heart sinks when you see what it is.

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

You sigh. That can only mean one thing: he’s on another mission. Typical Leon, disappearing in the middle of the night to go god knows where for god knows how long. The frustration bubbles up in your chest and you feel like hitting something, but you don’t. It’s not worth it.

You try to keep your mind off of his sudden disappearance by throwing yourself into chores. You wash his bedding and make his bed, then wash your own. You sweep and mop the floors and vacuum the carpets. You dust the blinds.

It doesn’t help.

Your mind keeps wandering back to the fact that he left without saying goodbye. That he woke up at some ungodly hour, saw you laying in his arms, got up and left without another word. He didn’t even leave a note. He really cares that little.

You shake your head and even though the pit in your stomach makes you feel like not eating, you make yourself a sandwich regardless. Seeing the untouched groceries in the fridge just adds to the feeling.

Even though you know he’s not going to get it, you pull out your phone and start typing.

Y/N: do you at least know when you’ll be back?

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

The message makes you roll your eyes. Leon fucking Kennedy.

—

A week goes by, and then two, and you still hear nothing from your roommate. You send texts here and there, hoping for an answer, but none of them go through. Eventually, you start venting to him through there, too. Expressing how frustrated you are that he didn’t say goodbye, how annoying your feelings are, how sometimes you wish you didn’t know him so you didn’t have to go through this.

It’s a random Sunday night when you’re sitting on the couch, watching trash reality tv and eating snacks. It’s cold in the apartment, but you can’t be bothered to turn on the heat. Only when your arms puff up with goosebumps do you scour the room for a sweater, settling on a random one hanging on the back of a chair.

It’s Leon’s, an old one from the Police Academy. His smell floods your nose when you pull it over your head, and it's so bittersweet you don’t know if you should laugh or cry. You settle back on the couch, but a rustling at the window makes you freeze in your tracks.

It stops for a moment, and you can almost convince yourself you’ve imagined it or it’s a part of the show—until it happens again. You scramble for the remote, pausing it so you can hear better. The noise starts again, and you waste no time in hightailing it to your bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

You flop onto your bed, trying (and failing) to remind yourself that it’s just the wind. That you’re safe here. But it’s hard when it’s late and you’re tired and you’re alone and the only person you feel safe with just abandoned you.

You curl up into a ball, pulling Leon’s sweater over your mouth and inhaling the familiar scent. It’s enough to calm you down, if only for a few moments. If you close your eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking he’s there, and for now, that’s good enough.

—

Leon knows he fucked up when he gets back to the country and turns on his phone. Almost fifty messages from you, each one more sad than the last. He wants to slap himself—why couldn’t he just grow a pair and say goodbye? Why did he have to be so noncommittal?

He reads every message on the cab ride back to the apartment, and his heart breaks for you. He didn’t think about how you would drive yourself crazy over him or how worried you must have been. All he thought about was getting the call for the mission in the middle of the night and not wanting to wake you up.

But he didn’t abandon you. He thought about you every day and god—he wishes he could have talked to you. Hearing your voice and seeing your face was enough to make everything better. With the horrors he’s seen lately, all he wants is to be back in that bed with you for one more night.

He’s quiet coming into the apartment, hoping he doesn’t wake you up or scare you. And even though he knows you’re sleeping, he’s still disappointed you’re not waiting at the door for him.

He tosses his backpack into his room and strips off all of his holsters and velcro. He’s quiet walking down the hallway to your room and even quieter opening the door. He relaxes at the sight of you curled up in a ball.

You look so cute and so peaceful and—is that his sweater? The sight brings a smile to his face. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, climbing into the bed next to you.

You wake up when the bed dips down and arms wrap around you. You’re so tired you don’t even care who or what it is.

“If you’re gonna kill me, can you at least let me sleep first?” You mumble.

You fully awake as soon as you hear Leon’s laugh.

“You’re back?” You say, and you hate the way your voice cracks.

You turn around to face him, tired ocean eyes meeting yours. He nods sleepily, “‘m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. It was stupid of me.”

“It’s okay,” and it really is okay. All the resentment you felt melted away at the sight of him.

“C’mere,” he mumbles.

You lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him. You can hear his heart rate slow down at the contact.

“I just—I just need you tonight.” Those are big words coming from the agent, and they leave you completely stunned. He must have seen or done something horrible while he was away for him to be this vulnerable, even with you.

“You can have me tonight.” You try to keep your voice even, “you can have me whenever you need me,”

He kisses the top of your head. “But I always need you.”

“Then I’m always yours.”

Neither of you speak after that, Leon falling into a light sleep. You stay up a while longer, watching the blond boy rest beneath you. He looks so fragile like this, you can’t imagine him fighting off monsters and handling weapons. You kiss his collarbone through his shirt and let yourself fall asleep with him.

#resident evil angst #resident evil fluff #resident evil #re4 leon #resident evil 4 #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #x you #x reader

3K notes · View notes

sixosix · 1 year

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PLASTIC FLOWERS | LYNEY

i. summary the great magician lyney wooing nine-to-fiver reader

ii. tags 1.8k words, fluff, reader is a little slow but hey that’s what 9-to-5 does to someone, pining lyney, awkward flirting, and a lot of wilted flowers im sorry…

You’ve heard of Lyney and Lynette in passing before. You might’ve rushed past one of their street performances once or twice, or maybe you stumbled upon flyers promoting their grand shows fluttering past. However, today, they are the center of every discussion, particularly Lyney, from your gushing coworkers. They swoon about how charming the young man was to them, and how exceptionally talented twins are.

You start to feel a little left out. You want to witness what all the excitement is all about, too. Your nine-to-five has you rushing back and forth the streets of Fontaine like there’s no tomorrow—and to your defense, with all the rumors and prophecies floating around, it might as well be that case.

Afternoon. Nearly evening. Your legs feel like water, liquid, and unable to keep themselves upright. You’re like a zombie walking back to your humble abode, drained of human life from too much human interaction.

A round of applause has you slowing your steps, your attention pulled towards a small crowd as if struck by a magnetic force.

A young man stands at the center, grinning devilishly as the crowd once again erupts into gasps of awe. He clutches a deck of cards in his hand, the classic image of what comes to mind when you think of magicians. Yet, you find yourself unable to move. It might be your water-legs; it might be how the man has everyone spellbound.

“Thank you, everyone!” he says, and the spell is broken at once. Was it a spell? It felt like one. “Be sure to come next week to Lynette and I’s performance at the Opera Epiclese, alright?” So he is Lyney.

Witnessing his elegance and heart-stealing smirk, you at least now know that your coworkers were certainly telling the truth.

The crowd filters out one by one. You do the same, wondering how much the tickets would cost. Hopefully no more than your usual dinner; that would mean you’d have to eat frozen bread for an entire evening.

“Wait, wait!”

You turn at the frantic exclamation, startled when Lyney is looking directly at you and rushing toward you. Panicked, you quickly scan your surroundings, only to find that there’s no one else he could possibly be referring to.

Just you.

“Hello,” you murmur begrudgingly once he’s at a close distance.

“Hi,” he says back, a little breathless. “You missed the show earlier.”

“I—I did.” Is he seriously talking to you? “But don’t worry! I saw enough. It was really cool!” Really? It was really cool?

He relaxes, his smile turning pleased. Lyney’s gaze feels heavy when you’re the only one holding onto it. “That’s a shame. I’ve seen you around before, zipping through. I won’t let you slip through my fingers this time around.”

His voice is smooth. You find yourself liking the lilac of his eyes.

At your stunned silence, Lyney continues, “Here, watch my hand closely, alright?”

You nod obediently, mostly to conceal how flustered his presence is making you feel. It feels as if his voice is right beside your ears, or it might just be how it seems like the world quiets down for this moment.

He closes his palm. You hear him huff a sweet laugh. You get distracted and glance up, though it seems it was a mistake. He grins at you knowingly, eyes twinkling—his stupid, dark eyes. You look back down, and a flower has magically appeared square on his palm.

It’s a flower you’re unfamiliar with, but it’s beautiful and smells sweet so you find yourself uncaring of whatever it could mean.

He stares patiently.

You blink, dumb-struck. “For me?”

“Of course,” he says with a dazzling grin.

“Oh, thank you, but I— I really don’t know how to take care of these things, and I’m so busy, I don’t know if I should—”

You reject it. Which, in hindsight, was most rude.

Lyney tilts his head, smiling like you’re some cute cat he found passing by—and that gaze has your words dying on your tongue. “I’m not giving it to you for you to feel burdened with the responsibility of taking care of it. Trust me, I just want you to have it.”

You look at him, uncertainty flashing in your expression. “You don’t want to give it to someone else…?”

“Why would I? I saved this one especially for you,” the sweet talker says.

You highly doubt his words, but it’s nice to hear nevertheless. With a bashful smile, you take the flower and vow to yourself to take care of it as much as you can. It’s the only flower you’ve received your entire life.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He lights up impossibly, standing out so easily against the crowd. Just like that, you’re captivated.

The next day, Lyney reappears in your life. You're beginning to suspect that his hat conceals an infinite stockpile of these roses, and maybe that's the true magic: the enigma of Lyney's never-ending supply.

This time around, he’s loitering the streets without plans for any performances, however small. Though, he still entertains you in different ways.

“My work’s not too nice,” you tell him when he asks why you look tired, all too aware of your sore feet and cheeks from straining smiles all day. “I don’t know how you performers do it non-stop. I feel like I could just sleep on this sidewalk.”

“It might be helping that I love doing what I do,” Lyney supplies after a thoughtful hum. It’s still a little surreal having the man printed in posters and pictures all over The Steambird is now casually walking alongside you, but it’s nice. You feel your world has just brightened up a little—the new change of pace painting over the dull back and forth you’ve been living through for a while.

“Hey,” Lyney starts, as your eyes flick up from the ground to him. He’s holding another flower.

You smile as you gingerly take it from his fingers, skin brushing against his glove-free hands. “You’re helping the flower shops thrive, that’s for sure.”

“What can I say? I’m wonderful like that.”

You laugh, but it quickly dies down when you catch a glimpse of how Lyney is staring at you so openly with a bit of awe.

You clear your throat, looking away.

Lyney does the same as you find your face heating up. “Sorry.”

“Um,” scrambling for a change of topic, you say, “Are you trying to get me to watch the show you and your sister are holding next week?”

“What?” Lyney blinks, caught off guard. He smiles lopsidedly as you await for an answer. “No, I’m talking to you because I like you. And here I thought I was making myself obvious.”

“Sorry, I’m a bit slow,” you say, in a daze at his blunt confession.

That was nothing (that has to be). That was probably just your imagination, honestly—fantasizing about a handsome face, a small braid, and a mischievous grin. And you definitely don’t find yourself lying awake at night thinking about it.

As always, Lyney comes with a flower in hand. And you find out that he wasn’t lying when he said he saves a special flower for you.

You’re not sure how it seamlessly became a routine with him. At times, you wonder if he’s actually keeping track of the roses if you haven’t been throwing them to the trash. You wouldn't be able to deny it; you eventually would have to discard a once again graying rose, no matter how heartbreaking the parting is.

This time, you’re prepared. You've been studying up, like a lovesick high school student devouring dating magazines during your spare moments at work. The rose will still most likely wilt unfairly fast with how you’re barely a presence in your own home; sleeping soundly as soon as you arrive.

Lyney is smiling softly as he gives this one to you, silent. Though that’s probably because you’re raving on about how you swear that the next ones he’ll give will live longer if you figure out how to do it right.

He likes doing that—staring at you like watching a film play even though he’s the one on stage more often than not.

“Do you know what all those flowers I gave you mean?” he asks as you’re twirling it around and counting the petals. They’re still bright pink, fading to yellow at its tips. You shake your head. It could mean anything, really. You haven’t gotten to that part of the book yet. “My feelings for you,” he says. “I give them to you every day so you’re reminded of it.”

Your finger catches on one of the petals, your skin burning. “…Is that what you think? I feel horrible; the flowers you’ve given me all die in a day or two.”

Lyney laughs. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“How else can I show you I’m not just casting your feelings aside?”

You turn to Lyney, wondering why he suddenly went silent. Only then, you see how he has his face buried in his palm, a dazed smile peeking out from what’s visible. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“...Sorry.”

He recovers fast. “Don’t be sorry.” Lyney holds your jaw in a precise grip, keeping your gaze focused on him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It’s only the next morning do you realize that the petals haven’t changed at all. You’re not sure why you haven’t noticed earlier.

Then again, you should’ve realized when he brought up what they mean so suddenly, that slick bastard.

Lyney sees you around the afternoon, and immediately he sees something new around your collar, probably because he keeps staring at it.

Lyney pulls you closer with a hand on the small of your back, and the other inspecting your brand-new necklace. “Is this…?”

It was a bit difficult to craft your own accessory, but you tried nevertheless. If Lyney goes out of his way to purchase different kinds of flowers, the least you can do is show him that each one makes you as happy as the first one did.

“You said they’re kind of like your feelings, right?” you say, unsure as to why you’re whispering. Lyney’s expression looks a little fragile. “So I made them into something to remind me of you every day.”

He presses his face onto your neck, and you nearly lose balance, holding onto the back of his head to keep yourself upright. “You’re too cute, amour. My heart can’t handle all of this,” he weeps dramatically.

( “Close your mouth, Lyney. You’re drooling,” Lynette says as she follows his gaze, watching you flutter past.

Lyney’s mouth snaps shut, wiping at his lips. He frowns. “I wasn’t even drooling.” He shakes his head. “Nevermind that—do you know who that was?”

“No,” Lynette says simply. “But I’m sure you’ll find a way to figure out eventually.” )

lyney went back to giving you real flowers after that btw

this was inspired by me daydreaming about lyney’s character quest and remembering that he literally gave us that flower accessory

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #genshin x you #x reader #lyney fanfiction

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er-osion · 2 months

Text

That’s that me espresso

pairing: Dick Grayson x gn!Reader

summary: You and a handsome stranger frequent the same coffee shop every morning before work. At some point, maybe you two won’t be needing so much caffeine to perk you up.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: none, fluff

author’s note: yes, i did make a lego batman movie reference. bite me.

⋄∘∗⋅⋆≁≁⋆⋅∗∘⋄

The bell rings as you open the door to your favorite coffee shop. The cute little place is on a corner just two blocks from your apartment. It’s fairly busy with the morning rush, but you don’t mind the small wait, you take it as a chance to people-watch. You’ve been coming to this place pretty much everyday before work for about a year now. The whole staff knows you and your top three orders by heart, they give you little discounts and treats every once in a while, and they write sweet little messages on your cups sometimes too.

But, admittedly, your favorite part about getting your morning drink at this corner cafe is seeing another regular. The man is gorgeous. Clearly well built with dazzling blue eyes and fluffy hair that you just want to run your fingers through. He’s always displaying a charming smile even though it’s super early in the morning, and he’s always polite to the staff even on the rare occasion they mess up his order. The two of you have only ever exchanged pleasantries, but you always end up standing close to each other while waiting for your respective drinks. You’ve learned, over time, that his name is Dick Grayson. At first, you thought that it was a joke that one of the baristas was playing on him. But after the third drink he picked up belonging to Dick, you came to the conclusion it must be a nickname he goes by. You learned his last name one morning when he came in with another guy to pick up coffee and the man called him Grayson. You’re not a creep, you’ve just noticed things over time and used the information to piece things together.

Even though you know his name, you’ve never used it when saying “hi” in the morning, because you don’t want to come off as a stalker. You’re guessing he’s picked up your name by now too, but you don’t want to assume anything. You don’t want to convince yourself you’re a larger figure in his life than you really are.

However, Dick Grayson occupied more than just the first hour of your day. For some godforsaken reason, your mind always drifts to the handsome stranger during the slow hours of your work day or during the waning hours of the evening. You desperately wished to have an actual conversation with the beautiful man. You were tired of the routine “good morning”s and “have a nice day”s. You wanted to hear more of his sing-song voice. Apparently, you’d get your wish the following week. It was a random Wednesday morning and both you and Dick were waiting for your drinks when he suddenly piped up.

“Did I overhear correctly earlier; they gave you a free croissant today?” The marble-statue-of-a-man turned to you and asked you abruptly.

Caught by surprise, you blinked up at him but recovered quickly and replied, “Oh, yeah they do that for me sometimes. The girl working the register right now is one of my favorites, she’s always so sweet.”

“Yeah, she gave me a free bagel a few weeks ago and, let’s just say; if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, she’s getting saved first.” You chuckled at his joke which earned you a big grin from the black haired man. “So, how’d you end up finding this little shop?”

“It’s a couple blocks from my apartment. I passed it on my way to work one morning and decided to check it out. Now I’m here everyday.” You explained with a shrug and then returned the question.

“The station isn’t far from here so this is where I go everyday.”

“I swear I’ve seen a coffee shop right across the street from the police station though. Why don’t you just go there?”

“It’s super crowded in the morning because that’s where everyone goes before work, so I come here —because I’ve never bean a very patient man.”

You snorted at his horrible dad joke and tried to keep a smile from growing on your face, Dick felt his chest bubble with pride at your reaction to his joke.

“I’m Richard, but everyone just calls me Dick, by the way.” The man offered with his hand extended to make a formal greeting.

You shook his hand —which was surprisingly warm and calloused— but decided to not mention the fact you already knew this, and instead made a little joke for yourself, “Well, people can be mean. But you don’t seem that bad to me.”

Dick’s eyes widened with confusion and then realization. “Oh, ha ha, I see we’ve got a class act comedian over here.”

“Well I did just come from a set at Rockefeller, so ya know…”

“That explains the constant consumption of caffeine, you gotta stay vigilant to keep the crowds chuckling.”

“Very good, detective, you’ve put all the pieces together.”

“Well I’m not the number one Blue’s Clues solver for nothing.” Dick rolled his eyes with faux annoyance and you gave a short laugh at his childish reference made even better by the police uniform he was currently wearing.

The conversation dipped, but you were desperate to keep it going since you’d finally gotten your wish, so you threw another question at him. “Does it ever get super tiring working as a cop in Blüdhaven?”

“I’m definitely thankful for coffee, let’s just say that. I will admit, fighting crime all day can wear a brother out.” Dick responded thoughtfully. He decided to leave out the “and all night” part, since you didn’t need to know he never really clocked out of crime fighting.

“Is it fun, turning on the sirens?”

“Hands down the best part of the job.”

“If I were a cop, I’d be playing those things all the time, just for fun.”

“Oh believe me, you wouldn’t be the first.” You were about to respond to Dick when one of the baristas called his name to give him his drink. Dick waltzed over to the bar and grabbed his coffee. On his way out, Dick walked past you and with a smile sweeter than sugar said, “Nice talking to you, and good luck with your next stand up routine. See ya tomorrow morning, darling.” And with that, he left you standing there feeling all fluttery.

You waited for them to finish your drink in an almost tipsy daze. You could not stop smiling and thinking about Dick. Had he seriously called you ‘darling’??! You might have just swooned. And the fact he said ‘see ya tomorrow morning’ must mean he intends to initiate another conversation, right?? Your head was spinning with hopes for a growing friendship.

Dick had walked out of the coffee shop feeling extra chipper after his little friendly banter with you, but then he remembered the fact he’d called you ‘darling’ right as he left. His cheeks instantly grew pink upon remembering and he had to stop himself from outwardly groaning. Was that too much?? Would you think he’s a creep for using a typically affectionate nickname so soon?? Dear god, had he actually just fucked up a five minute conversation?? His mind is running rampant. Of course, the first time he’s actually able to start a conversation with the cute stranger he always sees at his coffee shop he somehow finds a way to possibly fuck it up. He’s really hoping you don’t think he’s a weirdo, he just called you ‘darling’ on instinct, he hadn’t even realized what he was saying until it was half way out of his mouth it just felt so natural.

The next morning, the walk to get your tasty drink was filled with anticipation. Your feet moved with extra pep and you struggled to keep a smile off of your face. The little bell rings merrily as you walk in, and your eyes immediately find Dick standing in line a couple of people ahead of you. He turns around at the sound and you see recognition brighten his eyes before he waves joyfully at you. You wave back and take your place in line.

“How are you, this fine morning?” Dick asked suavely when the two of you had moved against a wall to wait for your drinks.

“Good good. And you?” You returned.

“Very good, now that I have such wonderful company.” You rolled your eyes to cover up butterflies his words gave you.

“Hey, yesterday evening I was watching the news’ rerun of that jewelry store robbery from the afternoon, and I could’ve sworn I saw you in the background.

Dick gave an embarrassed chuckle, “Yeah, that was probably me.”

“Can’t believe someone would rob a store like that in broad daylight, and with no masks too. What a bunch of idiots.”

“You sure seem to be knowledgeable in the fine art of robbery. I might have to take you down to the station for questioning.” Dick leaned down closer to you, as if for better observation, his voice smooth as silk.

“I swear officer, I’m a good law-abiding citizen.” You pulled your hands up as if in surrender, playing into his joke with a smirk.

“I guess we’ll see, just how good you are.” His voice had dropped an octave, and so had your stomach. He took one last look-over before returning to his natural posture. Your clever comeback died in your throat and you felt heat creep up on your face. “How was work yesterday?” He suddenly changed the subject with a much lighter, more bubbly tone of voice.

“Oh, it was fine, nothing interesting. Not like yours.” You answered honestly. You appreciated the fact he even cared enough to ask.

“Boring is good sometimes, I definitely don’t complain when I have a chill day.” He nodded his head in agreement as he spoke, his gentle blue eyes moving about the room. You missed being the recipient of their gaze.

“Yeah it was pretty chill,” Your voice dropped into a grumble, “except for the part when that bitch decided to bug me.” You crossed your arms over your chest in annoyance at just the memory of your coworker who pisses you off with a passion.

“Oh? Who’s this ‘bitch’ that gets so much of your venom?” Dick asked curiously, with a raised eyebrow. He must have super hearing.

“Just this uh coworker of mine who really pisses me off. Always finds a way to ruin a pleasant day.”

“Oh believe me, I know that one. If you need me to knock some sense into this bitch I can always take them for a drive in my car.” He assured you playfully with a light nudge.

“Oh my hero. How would I ever repay you?” You blinked up at him with doe eyes, sarcasm dripping from your words. Dick’s eyes widen for a second before his lips quirk up into a proud smirk.

You just barely hear him when he mumbles, “I could think of a few ways.” You feel your insides erupt in butterflies. You were going to say something else but a barista called Dick’s name to give him his order. You felt your heart drop at the idea that your time with him was over already. He wandered over to the counter and picked up his drink and pastry, and then to your surprise, sauntered back over to your side —closer than before, you noted. He smiled at you before extending his hand which was holding the pastry bag. You looked from the bag to him and then back to the bag, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

Dick smiled fondly and motioned for you to take the bag, “For you.” He asserted.

You blinked at him, “Seriously?” You asked incredulously. He nodded and shook the bag in front of you enticingly. You snatched the bag from his grasp and opened it up to find a cake pop. “You didn’t have to get me this.”

“I wanted to. If you really don’t want it, I’ll take it.” He responded casually, trying to cover up the fact that his heart was racing and he was desperately hoping you liked it.

“No no, I’m definitely taking it. I just don’t see the reason you’d bother getting this for me.”

“Well, I figured you deserved something as sweet as you.” Dick replied smoothly, leaning in closer to get more on eye level with you. Your breath caught in your throat. Damn him and his sexiness, it’s not fair to my poor heart. You thought quickly as you searched your mind for a comeback.

“Okay, flatterer.” You grumbled while taking the cake pop out of the bag. Dick’s grin shined brilliantly at the realization that he’d pleased you with his gift.

The barista called out your name and you rushed over to grab your drink before rushing back to Dick. The two of you then made your way to the door to head to your respective workplaces. When the two of you got out of the building, Dick suddenly stopped and started sifting through his pockets for something. You watched curiously as he pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen and began writing something on it.

When he finished, he turned to you (almost bashfully) and handed you the slip of paper. You took it and examined it, finding a number scrawled onto it in messy writing. “Here, in case you run into trouble on your way to work and need back up in blue.” He clarified, not able to meet your eyes.

You smirked at his sudden awkwardness, a big change from his previous practiced charm. You made a bit of a show of entering his number into your phone. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to bother you whenever my annoying ass coworker decides to steal my time.”

Dick smiled and laughed at your joke. “Good, I’m always happy to help such beautiful law-abiding citizens like yourself.” You chuckled at his call back. The two of you then (sadly) said your goodbyes and headed in opposite directions towards your jobs. Your heart was flying around in your chest and you felt so happy you were fighting the urge to skip the rest of your way to work. Dick couldn’t get himself to stop smiling, so much so, that his partner commented on the giant grin that was plastered on Dick’s face when he waltzed into the station. It felt like he’d just finished a workout, the way his heart was speeding rapidly in his chest. The entire walk to your work, you spent brainstorming what you should say in your first message to Dick to get a good conversation started. And the first thing you did when you got to your job was pull out your phone and shoot the beautiful blue-eyed man a text.

#dick grayson x reader #x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x you #x you #dc nightwing #dc universe #dc comics #dc x reader #dcu #nightwing #dc dick grayson

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grimesgirll · 3 months

Note

heyy could you write Negan smut, with them both fighting for dominance while they fuck, taunting each other; Maybe because they known each other before the apocalypse so she isn’t as intimidated by Negan like the rest.

you have to be the hottest thing he’s seen in quite sometime.

negan, simon, and dwight had heard the gunshots from your shotgun and stumbled upon you; all alone, fending off a few dozen walkers.

simon had insisted that they leave and not risk their safety for “some broad”, and negan was on board until he realized that wasn’t just any broad - it was you.

the three cut through the horde of walkers at negan's insistence. braving bloated corpses and trudging over the trampled isn't a simple feat - even with guns. minutes pass until you're finally face to face. half dazed, you did a double take once your eyes suddenly met the disgraced gym teacher's.

then you hit the ground.

when you woke up, mr. smith was there. you were shocked to see him and even more surprised to learn that he was the leader of an up and coming survival group.

“what about your wife?” you’d asked. “mrs. smith is really cool.”

made slightly dramatic by age, the pained twist of the former faculty's face has you regretting your question.

mrs. smith was really cool.

mr. smith had once been too. kind as well. negan is looks cool, and you can't deny that there's a cult of personality that can't be beat with him. not kind though.

no, you'd learned your first week that the gym teacher who had once teased you about college partying on the playground was now a certified psychopath. as a teaching assistant and faculty shadow at the school, you'd befriended negan easily. the two of you pulled off witty banter as you dropped the kids off for gym, even accepting invitations to join the day's activity.

mr. smith was no more and negan's now burning faces off. you'd seen that. just like you'd seen the floggings, the beatings, the spankings, and even the wall. waking up one day to see the nurse you'd grown fond of outside wandering as a walker was enough for you to tweak.

“what did she do?”

negan looks up from a map of northern virginia to grin at you. “hey, doll! what’s goin’ on?” he kicks his feet up on the desk. “don’t see much of you around here.”

“yeah, because i can barely get by your goons.”

he shrugs. “seems like you got up here just fine.”

you’d sideskirted fat joey when he left his post to top off his dr. pepper. it was easy enough to walk your way to negan’s office to confront him.

“why is the woman who trained me walking around the front yard as a zombie?” you question, not breaking eye contact with the smirking leader. “what could she have done to deserve that?” you let out an exasperated breath, reigning it in with another deep umhals before asking, “don’t you think that’s fucking extreme?”

if negan softens, you really can’t tell. all that comes from the man is a laugh. “you mean the nurse who was planning on robbin’ us all blind and hightailing it with nearly all of our narcotics?”

you don’t even have the care to gawk at him. “could she not have been rehabilitated?”

he scoffs at you. “once an addict, always an addict.”

a sudden wave of dread comes over you, and for a moment you think it may be your lunch coming back up but one look at your former fellow faculty member and you know it’s purely disgust.

“she was my friend!”

“you’ll make more!”

“she was my only friend here,” the words croak out of your mouth.

negan just chews on his lip and shrugs. “sorry, honey, you’ll just have to start bein’ friendlier then.” a smirk spreads across his leather-like, aged face. “might have to drop the whole resting bitch face.”

you’re fuming. the column of rage growing from your belly pangs with no place to go. “for you freaks?”

your outburst has fat joey huffing and puffing his way through the threshold of the door.

“everything, okay, boss?” the grunt looks from your red face to his relaxed leader. “sorry bout’ her. she shouldn’t be up here.”

negan waves a hand. “don’t worry about it, joey. i can handle her.”

joey nods when a “handle me?” is flying from your mouth and negan just shoots him a cheeky grin.

“let me walk you back down there, doll.” negan insists.

when he rises from his desk, you realize how he towers over you, something you’d never clocked despite how often you two had been in close quarters back at school. you’re glaring up to meet his dark eyes - the ones that glint in the light like he hadn’t subjected a young woman to the most gruesome death - not including her life after death.

“this way, you,” negan is shepherding you with a hand on your back and all you can do is grumble as you pass his lazy goon.

once the two of you are in the hallway, you slap his hand off of him. “don’t touch me,” you sneer.

he chuckles. “whatever you wish, princess, just stop interrupting me from my important shit with your emotional shit, ‘kay?”

you shake your head. “what would mrs. smith think of all this? surely you don’t think you’re in the right. your wife would’ve hated this.”

negan gestures to the empty, desolate stairwell the two of you are descending. “she look like she’s here?”

“doesn’t matter. what happened to your morals?” you spit, stopping in your tracks to turn and face the taller man, standing on a higher step so that you’re both at eye level. “you were a school teacher.”

“yeah, and you would’ve been dead if we hadn’t brought you in.”

“so i should be happy with the freak show you’re putting on here?”

the expressive leader throws his arms out to motion to the compound. “look around, it’s bread and circuses!” he says simply. “you work, you get a bed, and a safe place to live.” a devious expression overtakes his countenance. “and a show!”

“i hate it here.” you declare nastily.

he snorts. “you hate not being in control, and all the safe little assurances we had before. things are different now.”

“no,” you counter, face coming closer to his. “you’re different now.”

“gotta be to survive nowadays, darlin’, now hurry it up. you need to get back to stitchin’ up my men so they can go out and bring you back ravioli, morphine, soap, toilet paper, all that shit you’re bitchin’ about having.”

“you’re a psycho,” you huff at him as he ushers you down the stairs, another level, and the familiar way towards the infirmary.

“you’re just not adjusted yet. just stick to changing bedpans and we won’t have a problem,” negan instructs with a hand on your back again.

you brush him off once you two have entered the sterile, white infirmary where doctor carson is talking quietly with one of negan’s goons.

“what’s goin’ on here, doc?” negan questions, startling the two.

negan’s man is pale - and sweating buckets. the doctor stands from his bedside to face negan.

“hello, negan, we were just finishing up.”

“finishing up what?”

the pit in your stomach grows when you notice the sickly man on the bed scurrying to fold the fabric of his shirt back over his stomach. the doctor has a pokerface but you didn’t need them to answer to know what was going on.

“what’s goin’ on, dan? feelin’ alright?” negan doesn’t give the doctor a chance to answer before he’s next to his commissioned scavenger, towering over him now.

dan nods. “feelin’ fine. just scraped up and tired as hell after gettin’ back from carolina.”

“i bet!” that loud voice booms throughout the room. “mighty long trip that was. thanks again, man.” the clap to dan’s back from his leader almost has him buckling. “but you don’t look so good, bud. got something to tell me?”

“negan-,” the doctor starts but he’s quickly silenced by a simple raise of the leader’s hand.

“nope, doc. i wanna hear it from dan here.”

the man’s nervous eyes flicker from doctor carson and to you. you want to crumple where you stand. though his eyes are pleading, there’s nothing you can do. only manage your growing disgust as you watch negan reach for his sidearm.

then negan does something that surprises you, he leans down to embrace the man in a hug.

“thank you, it was just a long trip.” dan’s bumbling, but negan shushes him.

“don’t worry bout’ it, dan.”

that’s when the bullet departs the chamber and implants itself in dan’s brain.

the man who’d just been alive slumps down and falls onto the newly bloodied bedsheets. the white wall behind him is sprayed with brains and chrome. the salt and pepper haired leader stands from the bed and yawns, stretching as if he wasn’t leaving a mess of blood and trauma for you and the doctor to clean up and process.

“back to work. keep an eye on her, doc.”

“negan, you sick fuck.”

this time, negan’s holding his council and heatedly harping on gregory.

the man lets out an exasperated breath. “who the fuck wasn’t watching the door?”

his legion of doom is bewildered to see the sullen nurse standing in the doorway. dwight’s apathetic as always, but is the first to offer to escort you out while simon’s telling gregory to “shut the fuck up” and laura’s looking at you as if no one could be more annoying as to drag this meeting on.

“joey!”

one shout and you hear heavy footsteps thudding down the hall. breathing raggedly, the guard wraps himself around the doorway and drops his sandwich at the sight of you.

“so sorry, boss. she really sneaks in!”

the older man just shakes his head. “don’t let it happen again or gregory gets it.”

laughter erupts from the room. everyone at the table is dropping their dauntless demeanor as if on cue. the only one not laughing is gregory of course.

“negan, listen-,”

“ah!” negan interrupts him, straining against his leather jacket when he turns his body towards him. “you shut it! i hate having my shit interrupted, and i hate having supply drops interrupted far more than meetings.” he directs his attention from the man from hilltop back to you. “why don’t you just take a seat, honey? we’ll be done soon.”

you shake your head. “i’m not trying to stay here any longer than i have to. i need this sorted out now.”

“if you wanna talk, doll, you’ll have to wait your turn. i’m talking to gregory right now.”

“i don’t even want to talk to you.”

he exhales flippantly. “then why are you here? interrupting my important meeting.”

“i came for my shotgun.”

negan chuckles, crossing his arms. “you think you’re gettin’ that thing back? after the mood you’ve been stirring up here?”

you do your best to ignore the way he’s laughing and dismissing you or how he’s manspreading all over the chair he’s parked in.

“i need my stuff now. i’m leaving tonight.”

it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room. you can see negan’s jaw tighten in real time, and the room stiffens. waiting for a reaction is half the angst but you don’t have time for it. don’t even want to defend your decision, especially in front of everyone here.

“out!”

chair legs scrape against the ground as some of negan’s senior partners in psychopathy begin to egress.

gregory is just looking flabbergasted. “but we had a meeting?”

“everyone, out. now!”

all it takes is a “negan doesn’t like to repeat himself” and dwight is shuffling gregory out of the room, simon taking up the rear.

“see you soon, hun’,” he taunts to you.

you don’t have enough time to process his words because he’s shutting the door behind you and probably mentally rescheduling this meeting. you could care less.

“enough, negan smith.” he blinks at the full name callout. “i want my stuff and i’ll be out of your hair. you won’t have to worry about me.”

negan’s off his feet again and sitting on top of the table now. he points to the chair next to the head. “sit.”

“i don’t want to sit.” you insist. “i already told you, i don’t want to talk, i want to go.”

“yeah, well we’re gonna talk first, so sit your ass down.”

you don’t want to spend anymore time in this nutjob factory than you have to but you want your shotgun back. so you walk across the room and you stand at the chair.

“what do you have to say to me?” you inquire.

“god, look at you!”

you roll your eyes.

“a few weeks after getting your life saved, getting your needs taken care of and you’re ready to go back to that?”

“i don’t want to be at your constant mercy.” you say plainly. “not that you can really call it mercy.”

with every retort from him being a laugh, your patience is growing thin. he snickers upon seeing your frown. “so, you want to take your chances out there instead of taking a little time to let me help figure out your problem?”

you throw up your hands. “figure out my problem? i came to you to help figure out my problem and you said to just deal with it. to ‘adjust’. well, i can’t. i can’t live like this. it’s not humane.”

“yeah, and it’s humane out there?”

“better than bitching in here.”

“well, i think i can help with that. won’t be getting your shotgun back.”

“oh, so you can’t help at all?” you snap.

he whistles. “never said that.” his eyes drop from your gaze down your torso to your thighs. he pats the table next to him. “come sit on the table.”

“no. i want to go. now.”

“alright then.”

“negan!”

you exclaim when he scootches off the table to scoop you up by your legs and middle and plop you down.

“let doctor negan see if he can help.”

“what are you-,”

“ah! look at that.”

“ah!”

the sudden sensation of a finger against your denim covered cunt has your face flushing and red. “been touched there in a while, honey?”

“just give me my shotgun,” you breathe, desperately trying with your eye contact to communicate that things aren’t going the way you expected.

“let me give you some reprieve, clear your head, and then we can see if you still want your shotgun.”

you shake your head as he starts pulling down your pants. “you think your wife would be okay with this?”

“she here?”

you curse yourself for giving him such an easy answer. you curse yourself for not doing anything other than pouting and wiggling once he’s at your waistband. you curse the little wet spot soaked though your underwear even more.

“god, i knew confrontation would get you wet.”

“so you planned this?”

the older man shakes his head, taking another moment to fully lock eyes with you, even as he towers over you on the table. “no, i’m thinking that we both walked into this.”

maybe you shouldn’t have walked in, you ponder as negan walks your undies down your thighs with his fingers and walks them right back to your dripping center. the hair you have down there is already slick, a damp curtain pried open by negan’s thick fingers.

“shit,” you rasp when a finger braves the pool of anticipation that’s only growing and delves further against your inner walls.

“want me stop there?” the fucker’s finger stills inside of you and the other dancing just above your clit comes to a halt.

you don’t respond, just lock eyes with negan and try to catch your breath. “that’s not fair,” you point out in a voice just above a whisper. “can’t stop now.”

“or can i?”

you shake your head. “don’t.”

maybe clearing the tension that’s been building like a twentieth century skyscraper inside of you will sort you out. or you could just say fuck it. the world’s ended anyways.

negan surely fucks a finger stationed inside of you back and forth. twisting and testing the waters before adding another. the extra finger curls inside you deliciously while he utilizes another to play around your clit.

the attention he’s paying to your once undisturbed nether regions is enough to have you creaking and moaning like an old door hinge and hinging forward into negan. he’s quick to let you fall forward into his arms. the sudden acceptance is all he needs to speed up.

“i know that feels good, honey.”

“mhmm,” you murmur into his shoulder.

there’s a spot inside of you that he’s massaging just right and another on your exterior; an x doesn’t need to mark the spot for him to rile up your clit. slow, lazy circles have you grinding against him on the table. how can you bemoan him when he’s about to pull the perfect release from you?

you know that because your breath is picking up again and you’re blubbering into his sturdy shoulder. those motions are telltale. mrs. smith’s memory hasn’t kept this man celibate.

the widower has his hand on your back again and the hand beneath you has its own task. the task at hand is executed with more skill than any boy you’d ever fooled around with in college or anyone who came after - not that there were many given how things had gone. you’d like to think that if shit hadn’t hit the fan, you would’ve settled down with someone like mr. smith but younger. this would have to do.

“clenchin’ so tight just around my fingers, baby. you always had the hots for me?”

you shake your head no truthfully. “this is the hots?”

“you feel hot down there baby, and my are you hot.” he lands the compliment with a kiss. you lean in, letting his tongue slip into your mouth because you’re too occupied with the build up brewing inside of you.

one glance down between you two and you see his fingers pumping. your heart rate jumps when you see the addition of another and now you’re being stretched out on his fingers on this table.

“god, you’re gorgeous. what a sweet little thing to have fallen into my lap.”

you curl further into his lap, legs now around him and his fingers knuckle deep inside of you. all he has to do is curl his fingers and you’re yowling. “mhm, they’re deep.” you say, brain just observing.

“too deep?”

“no.”

thus, they plunge further. until the extra finger on the outside is stirring up more than your slick and heat courses through you. you shudder against negan but that doesn’t stop his routine. the shape of his fingers change inside of you and you’re bucking against him to feel each one.

“fuck, i’m gonna come,” you don’t want to say it out loud but you do anyways.

“on my fingers?” negan sniggers. “you poor thing. c’mon now, i know it must’ve been a while.” he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit. “just let go, honey, it’ll help.”

and it does.

letting your lizard brain take the lead is all you need for your mind to go blank. if even for a second, it releases the anxiety and the anger that’d consumed you. you pulse and clamp down around his digits until suddenly he’s not moving at all but you’re rotating your hips against him.

riding out such a feeling, you blink the tears out of your eyes and do a double take once you notice negan removing his fingers and starting on his belt.

“what’re you doing?” you question, pussy still pulsing with a mind of its own.

“if you thought that helped you relax, this will put you to sleep. no more sleeping pills for you, darlin’.”

“how did you know about that?”

“doctor carson doesn’t keep secrets from me. he didn’t need to tell me you weren’t adjusting well either.” negan states matter-of-factly, then dropping his blue plaid boxers.

you’re not sure how you’re going to adjust to the sight you’re met with. the cock in front of you is larger than any you’ve ever seen before. if negan’s fingers had you losing it, this thing will ruin you.

“i don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you admit when his hands land on your hips.

the distance between your needy bare entrance and his thick dick is only inches now. you shudder at the longing that’s whipping you and your thoughts around. you moan when he slides his hard, veiny cock against your entrance, slapping it against you once for good measure.

“nope, you’re tougher than you think.”

you meet his eyes again as if to question him. sure, he feels good against you but this is next level. better than fiction but what would happen after you both got your orgasms out of the way?

there’s no time for you to speculate because his lips are on yours again and you feel him lining himself up against you. “you want me to fuck all those fears out of your head, honey? you wanna feel good?”

how can you say no to that?

one nod of your head and his tip is teasing you. it takes you telling him, “please, put it in. i want it,” and then he’s plunging inside.

your face scrunches as a little burn becomes prominent from his size, but he kisses the lines away from your face. your temple, your nose, your lips, your cheek, he’s kissing you, saying, “good girl. you’re doing fantastic.”

you just eat up the praise and look down to see your pussy devouring him whole. the first two or three inches were a struggle just from lack of use but your lack of pleasure - the near sexual deprivation you’d experienced since shit hit the fan - overcomes it, and is pleasantly fulfilled.

in and out of you, negan works his hips and you can’t be happier. could a man you’d branded a psycho just minutes before be so adept at addressing your pleasure?

seems like it.

“god, you fuck well for a gym teacher.”

negan won’t let the snide comment slide so he wraps up his tour of purple rain against your collarbone to simper at you. “yeah, and for a frigid bitch, this pussy is hot and ready.”

“maybe i’m one of those dumb girls who’s attracted to psychos and serial killers?” you ponder playfully and wrap your arms negan’s neck to pull him in closer.

“oh, i’m gonna fuck you dumb, honey, don’t worry.” and with a roll of his hips, you have no reason to worry he won’t live up to his words.

you whine when he suddenly rams into you. his girth juts along your tight, inner walls. you meet his gaze again and just looking at his smug face has you tightening around him.

“god, baby, did you just fuckin’ squeeze me?”

“can you adjust?”

he grunts. “can you?”

you don’t have time to ask what you could possibly have to adapt to next because negan’s turning you into your stomach onto the table, tossing his leather jacket down for you to bury your face into. his absence from between your thighs brings on another whine but one moment of motion and now you feel him flush against your back, filling you to the brink with his cock.

“yeah, bet that brain can’t even think about an escape plan with that dumb little pussy stuffed so full. you gonna’ be able to walk tomorrow, honey?” he asks you tenderly as if he’s not on the verge of taking out your cervix.

“ne-negan! sto-,”

“-stop what?” he gyrates his hips nice and slow into you, dragging on the sensitive insides of your poor, overstimulated little cunt. “stop fucking you? because the way your pussy is clampin’ down, i don’t even know how i’m backing out of here baby.”

“don’t!” you beg.

“what?” he leans down to take your chin in his hands and see the angsty, pleasure induced tear starting to roll down your cheek. “god, you even look pretty when you cry. fuckin’ face like that.”

hips are stammering and negan’s words burn straight through to your core. he moans like a motherfucker when he feels the squeeze of your clingy little core on him. haywire all of this had gone, and now your climax is taking you over the edge.

“negan, don’t stop. don’t stop. don’t be an asshole,” you’re pleading.

he’s back to spearing you on his cock, leveraging your hips and throwing his head back. “don’t think i could, baby. not with a pussy this fucking fantastic.”

the praise is what does you in for the second time. any thought of undead nurses or public floggings leaves your brain and all you’re left with is the molten hot pleasure exploding inside of you. negan’s hand drifts down to your clit to have you absolutely crushing his cock.

“god, doll, you’re fuckin’ tight. so fuckin’ hot when you come like that. gonna have me doing a fuckin’ one and done for now.”

the huskiness of his voice and the twitch of him against your walls only eggs you on. your eyes are shut tight but you he’s all you can imagine. head on top of his jacket, you breathe in his scent, musky with a hint of the same cologne he wore back at school, and you’re creaming around him.

“fuck, doll!”

and he’s shooting his cream inside of you. the warmth fills you up and you no longer have the energy to move. any gyration of your hips has halted. a few more thrusts and he’s in the same boat. he collapses atop you for just a moment before pulling out and padding towards the table against the wall laden with napkins and refreshments that were supposed to be for the meeting.

you don’t turn your head but you can hear him grabbing some paper towels off the roll and clutching some other things.

“just gonna wipe between your legs,” he instructs and you let him.

your forehead against the table and those pretty eyes squeezed shut has negan rethinking a thing or two. suddenly he’s regretting not fucking you like the sweet thing you are. you deserved better than a table - at least his soft, king sized mattress if not a cloud.

once he finishes, he pats your back and nudges you up where he’s waiting with a water bottle - already open with the cap off. you accept with no issue and gulp the mini-sized bottle down easily.

“listen, why don’t you have dinner with the girls and i tonight? i’m not gonna give you your shotgun back just yet, but might change your mind about some things.”

#the walking dead #negan smith #negan smith smut #jeffrey dean morgan #twd smut #twd #twd imagine #twd negan #negan smith x reader #negan smith imagine #not beta read #i hope you liked this anon! kinda veered off but this had to get out of my drafts #let me know if we want a pt 2! kinda set the ending up for one #writing was lazy af but I haven’t been writing for the past two months so practice def helped #grimesgirll

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 10 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 43

Part 1 Part 42

Will’s loitering around the school, Dustin, Will, and Lucas plastered to his sides like burrs as he waits for Jonathan to get out of school and pick him up. The hallways are almost empty – everyone else allowed to take buses, and ride bike, and walk home; Will left the odd one out.

Even his friends who are dawdling by his side as they walk the empty parking lot have bikes chained up at the front of the school. They’re only still here because Will’s not allowed to be left alone. By anyone.

The air is crisp, biting into his cheeks, but it’s too crisp to be the other side. Snow is on the horizon, not ash. He can smell it.

Mike’s talking about El in a hushed voice, moaning about Hopper blocking all access like the protective Father he isn’t. Will wishes his problems felt as small as Mike’s are,, and promptly feels bad about the thought.

It’s just, winter is in the air, and the sky is getting darker earlier each day. In a few more weeks, Will’s not sure he’ll even be able to get home after school without the specter of the Demogorgon hunting him from the shadows between each tree.

He wishes he didn’t live so close to the woods.

He wishes he could live in Steve and Eddie’s pockets like they live in each other’s. He only feels covered when he’s looking at Steve Harrington’s broad back.

Jonathan’s car pulls into the empty parking lot, and Dustin, Lucas, and Mike run off with shouts of goodbye. Only Dustin looks back, waits for Will to shuffle into the passenger seat before waving and peddling quickly to catch up.

Jonathan’s heat is up high enough to hurt. Will sinks into it, puts his frozen hands up to the vents to dethaw.

“How was school?” Jonathan asks, The Doors playing near silently from his crackly radio.

“It was okay,” Will says, thinking of Zombie Boy shouted out at him like a slur in the hallways. Thinking about how sometimes he’ll walk up to his friend’s and be greeted by abrupt, strained silences, like a few days in the Upside-Down has made him a freaks among the freaks.

Jonathan hums, but doesn’t press. WIll loves him for it. As they drive toward home, the long-familiar fishhook feelings hooks and yanks his stomach. In a moving car, it’s almost a queasy thing, like he always imagined being on a sailboat would feel. He’s being pulled in two directions and his organs are sloshing around with it.

“Can we go see Steve and Eddie?” Will asks quietly.

Jonathan’s hands clench hard, shitty steering wheel vinyl creaking. He sighs, like a dog when you won’t share a piece of your dinner no matter how hard it begs. He takes a u-turn without a word, heading toward Forest Hills, knowing just like Will does that if they’re not already there, that’s where Steve and Eddie will end up soon.

Will knows they’re not there yet before Jonathan parks in the vacant spot where Eddie’s van usually presides. He puts it in park, doesn’t take the key out of the ignition, turns the heater down just a hair.

“I just don’t get it,” Jonathan says, looking at the Munson’s closed front door, not looking Will’s way at all.

“Get what?” Will asks, even though he knows.

Jonathan sighs that same sigh. “Just–” he runs a hand through his discheveled hair until it partially covers his eyes, “you spend a few days with them and now it’s like they’re all you think about.”

Will looks down at his lap, can’t meet Jonathan’s eyes even when he feels his brother turn to look at him. Left unsaid in the space between them is that Jonathan doesn’t get them, doesn’t get him anymore, when they’re all each other has had for years.

“You weren’t there,” Will says. He knows it’ll hurt even before Jonathan breaths in like he’s been shot.

The heater and radio static break up the silence. Will can still feel it.

“Can you–” Jonathan srarts. Will sees, out of the corner of his eyes as Jonathan reaches out toward him before dropping it. “Can you try to explain?” Will looks down at his dirty sneakers, thinking. He doesn’t have the words. But hten Jonathan says, “please?” all quiet and desperate and Will turns.

He pulls his feet up onto the seat, arms wrapped around his knees, turning his body to face Jonathan as Jonathan does the same. Jonathan’s knee bangs on the bottom of the steering wheel, but he gets it all the way up to mirror Will’s posture, both their shoulders hunched, both of their arms around their knees.

“I was really scared,” WIll says, for the first time admitting something that was obvious. “And then they saved me.”

Jonathan nods, meeting his eyes. “And that’s it?”

Will shakes his head, looks down at the stick shift separating them. “No,” he says, fidgeting his fingers anxiously. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Jonathan reaches across the car, covering Will’s knee with his big palm and squeezing. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He doesn’t understand, Will can tell.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, eyes prickling. The fishline is slackening now. He can feel it. They’re on their way. “This isn’t like that.”

“Like?”

“Like, a stupid teenager thing,” Will says. How does he say this isn’t about puberty, or growing up, or a fight with his friends, or even the isolation of the school halls where everyone treats him like he’s oil and everyone else is water.

“Okay,” Jonathan says in that calm, quiet way that always calms WIll down. “What is it then?”

Will looks back down at the stick shift, Jonathan’s foot now propped up against it after he’d stretched it out. His sneakers are too small – Will can see his pinky toe pushing up against the side.

“Like, there’s something in me,” Will says. “And it’s in them too.” Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but Will can feel his eyes on him. “I can feel them, right now.” He whispers it out, a secret in this car confessional of two.

“Feel them, how?”

“It’s, itchy? When they’re too far.” WIll says, struggling to find words he’s not sure exist. “And I can tell they’re turning into the trailer park right now.” He touches the hollow just below his ribs, looks up into Jonathan’s eyes. “Right here.”

Jonathan’s brows are furrowed, eyes intense, just as Eddie’s van comes peeling into view, parking haphazardly in front of Eddie’s trailer. Jonathan’s eyes go wide. He hadn’t gotten it until this moment. Will can see it hit him in the dilation of his pupils. “Like El?” he asks, quiet as Eddie tumbles out of the driver’s seat and rushes over to open the passenger side door for Steve like a goofy knight.

“I don’t know.”

Jonathan glances over just in time to watch a wan-faced Steve take Eddie’s hand to hoist himself out of the van. “Do they?”

Part 44

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b

#steddie upsidedown au #my fic #steddie fic

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ohbo-ohno · 1 year

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Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers.

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves.

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable.

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement.

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance.

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you.

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety.

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

#this is not very edited but i am BEHIND #this was originally gonna have like two more scenes but then it started to annoy me #i am coming to you again to confess: i did not read through this #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #kinktober #kinktober day 15 #bo writes #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kinktober 2023

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jessybarnes · 1 year

Text

Bunker Nights

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Tags: Angst, mentions of past physical and emotional abuse, nightmares, panic attacks, eventual fluffy smut, and protective!Dean

Betas: @winecatsandpizza

Word Count: 4,667

Fic Aesthetic: Yours Truly

A/N: This is a repost from my old Tumblr account. I am in the process of transferring all of my fics over to this one. I hope you enjoy :)

One year.

It had been exactly one year since you ended it with Tyler and you still suffered from the aftershocks of the abuse. Even though your body and mind weren't subject to his fists or harsh words, you still felt worthless. Every day the memories of the torture you went through filled your mind.

The moment you met Sam and Dean in the shitty hole-in-the-wall bar, your personalities clicked. You needed a distraction and somewhere to live, and they needed help in their line of work. So when they offered to let you stay and help them hunt you agreed without hesitation.

Finally, things seemed to be looking up for you, or so you thought. Two weeks after moving into the Bunker, the nightmares started.

These weren't just any run-of-the-mill bad dreams either. No, in these dreams, Tyler was torturing and trying to kill you. The vividness left you screaming and crying in your sleep almost nightly. The nightmares plagued your mind every time you went to sleep.

Neither of the brothers said anything to you about it, so you tried to pretend everything was fine. It was one of the hardest things you've had to do if you were being honest with yourself. The physical training alone sometimes brought on a panic attack. Even though you knew Sam and Dean weren't trying to harm you, your mind was starting to become your biggest enemy.

You could tell they wanted to ask you about it, but they also knew that you weren’t one to talk about your past. The only thing you told them was that you and Tyler had a rough breakup. The thought made you laugh. Calling it a rough breakup was putting it very mildly.

The day before your first hunt went surprisingly well. You went the entire day without any panic attacks or a questioning glance from either of the Winchesters. Even though you couldn’t remember the last time you slept, it didn’t stop you from humming in the kitchen while you cooked everyone dinner. Not to mention, the copious amounts of makeup you used to make yourself look less like a zombie. You made a mental note to get some more of the coverup you hid your dark circles with.

Sam rounded the corner as you filled everyone’s plates, one of his eyebrows rising quizzically.

“You’re extra happy tonight, Y/N.”

You shrugged and continued to hum as Dean joined you both at the table.

“Yeah, what’s gotten into you? You win the lotto or somethin’?”

You gave them both your signature eyeroll and took a pull of your beer.

“What? I can’t be in a good mood now?”

Sam cleared his throat and looked over at his brother before staring back at you, concern evident in his eyes.

“Of course you can, Y/N. Dean and I … well, we’ve noticed that you’ve been having nightmares.”

Your eyes narrowed to thin slits. If this was their attempt to keep you from going on tomorrow’s hunt, then they had better think again.

“I’m. Fine."

You enunciated your words, making sure to look at both of them sternly. Sam scoffed and set his drink down.

“I don’t call it fine when you wake up almost every night screaming, Y/N”

All you wanted was one day, one day where you could just forget about the grim night that awaited you.

“They’re just dreams, and I’m going tomorrow no matter what. I’ve been training for this day for months, and a stupid nightmare isn’t going to bench me.”

The hostility in your voice caught them off guard, and you suddenly weren’t hungry anymore. You pushed the contents of your plate around with your fork, the awkward silence becoming more deafening by the second. Dean was the first to break it, his soothing tone of voice practically making you sick to your stomach. You knew they wanted you to stay home, and it pissed you off even more that your brain somewhat agreed with them.

“Look, Y/N, we just wa-”

You slammed your fists on the table cutting him off mid-sentence.

“ENOUGH! I’m not here to be your charity case! I came here to hunt, not for you to feel sorry for me!”

Before either of them could say anything you had stormed down the hallway to your room. Slamming the door for good measure, you finally let yourself unleash the angry tears you’d held back. You knew they were only trying to help, but being pitied didn’t sit with you well. You’d grown accustomed to it after being with Tyler for so many years, and it made you feel like everyone was hypersensitive to your feelings.

Once the tears stopped, you were left exhausted and feeling numb. Falling asleep right after an outburst would definitely bring on a nightmare, so you opted for a long hot shower instead. The moment the water cascaded over your skin you felt the stiffness in your muscles leave your body. You spent extra time massaging your scalp and even used your lavender soothing body wash to help calm your nerves.

Finally, in your pajamas, you slid beneath your covers and sighed deeply. Couldn’t you just have one day where you didn’t have someone worrying about you? Deciding not to dwell on it any longer, you turned the bedside light off and let yourself fall asleep.

Fear, raw fear coursed through your body as you ran. You’d just told Tyler you wanted to see other people and he’d tried to force himself on you so you’d stay. He pinned you against the wall, his breath reeked of stale beer as he kissed down your neck. The feeling of his lips made you shiver with disgust. When he reached for the hem of your shirt, you raised your knee hard and fast hitting him right where it counted.

Tyler yelled in pain as you broke free, running as fast as you could to the door.

“Ow, FUCK! God Dammit, Y/N! Come back here you fucking bitch!”

Cold air hit your face as you ran barefoot into the woods behind your home. Branches hit your exposed skin leaving little cuts in their wake. You could hear Tyler shouting after you as you found refuge behind a big tree trunk. Your chest heaved and you shivered as you tried to stay still and quiet.

Tyler’s footfalls and yelling became louder by the second, and you were sure he could hear the thundering of your heart. Just as you thought you were in the clear, strong arms boxed you in, the bark of the tree cut into your back as Tyler stared menacingly down at you.

“There you are… you pathetic little slut. You shouldn’t have done this, Y/N. You should have just come home like the good little bitch you are and kept that pretty, little mouth shut.”

His fingers grazed your cheek briefly before his mouth was on your own, the taste of his tongue made you almost vomit.

“Now, we could have done it back at the house, but seeing as how you made a scene, I think I’ll just take you right here.”

You tried to push, shove, kick, anything to get him off you, but it was of no use. He began to forcefully rid you of your clothes, and all you could do was scream. Scream for anyone to help you.

“Stop! Please, Tyler!”

Sobs racked your body as he pawed roughly at your skin. You could feel him now, shaking you, calling your name.

“No! Just leave me alone!”

You bolted upright in your bed, a cool sheen of sweat covered your skin and the sheets. Dean knelt in front of you, concern etched in his features.

“Y/N! It’s okay! It’s me… it’s Dean.”

You blinked a few times before covering your face with your hands, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks.

“D-Dean… I’m… I’m s-sorry for waking you up. I… It was just another d-dream.”

You tried to sound confident between your sobs, but you knew he wouldn’t buy it. Hell, even you knew how pathetic you sounded. Ever so slowly Dean sat on the foot of your bed, his hand coming to rest gently on your knee. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at you with worry in his eyes.

“C’mon now, Y/N. Don’t bullshit me. You and I both know that this is past the point of being 'just dreams'. I want to help you, but you’re going to have to work with me here.”

Using the back of your hands to wipe the loose tears away, you finally got the courage to look at him. His eyes were soft, kind even. The lopsided smile he gave you was the moment you finally let your walls down. Dean was here to help you, not judge you.

“O-Okay… so umm… what do we do now? How do I stop dreaming of these… these horrible things?”

Dean started to move his thumb across your kneecap. In any other situation you’d be in a fit of laughter, but at a time like this, it was soothing.

“Do you trust me?”

Those four words made you swallow thickly. Trust wasn’t something you took lightly, and Dean knew that. Sam understood this too, but Dean was different. He could count on one hand the people he had full trust in.

“Yes, of course, I trust you, Dean. Believe me, I want these nightmares to stop just as much as you do if not more.”

He stood and held his hand out to you. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, but you took it anyway and let him lead you to his room. The Bunker was eerily quiet at night, but you knew you were safe. You stood at the threshold, watching him as he padded across the floor to his bed. Your cheeks flushed as he rid himself of his t-shirt, leaving him only in his low-hanging grey sweats. You never let yourself think about Sam or Dean this way before, but you weren’t a prude. Every woman who came in contact with them knew how attractive they were.

Dean cleared his throat bringing you back to reality.

“You comin’ sweetheart? I don’t bite...much.”

He winked, and you knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but who were you kidding? You couldn’t share a bed with Dean. That would make things weird, and that’s the last thing you wanted to do. Nightmares or not, you weren’t going to jeopardize your friendship.

“Dean...I-I don’t think I can do this… I’m pretty worn out from crying so let’s just say we forget about this night and I’ll go back to my own bed… I’m sorry for being a burden. I’ll just.. I’m gonna go…”

You turned to leave, but not before Dean caught your arm.

“Whoa whoa slow down, Y/N. What’s wrong? Is it because I took my shirt off? ‘Cause I can put it back on. I’m just used to sleeping without it on is all.”

You sighed and shook your head.

“No, it-It’s not that. I just… I don’t want this to ruin our friendship ya know? I don’t want things to get weird or anything.”

Dean shook his head and chuckled.

“So, don’t let it get weird.”

His look went back to firm before he continued.

“Y/N, be honest with me. How long has it been since you slept, and I mean really slept?”

Your eyes went to your feet, your toe rubbing across a rough spot on the old floor.

“I umm… I haven’t slept in four days…”

A flash of concern laced his features as he pulled you back into his room.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

He pulled back his covers and got under them before patting the other side of the mattress invitingly.

“Come here, Y/N. You need sleep just as much as I do. I promise I won’t try anything with you. I mean, I’m a cuddler so, I might do that, but nothing else, I swear.”

You lowered your head in defeat and crossed the room before climbing into bed next to him. He carefully wrapped his arm around your waist, feeling you tense a little, before relaxing. Neither of you talked, but there really wasn’t any need to. You already felt more at ease in Dean’s arms. The smell of his shampoo and pheromones calmed you. Mere minutes later, his breathing evened out, and his light snoring filled your ears. Moments later, you were asleep.

It became a routine that none of you spoke about. Every night, you would get ready for bed in your room and slip into Dean’s, silently climbing into bed beside him. True to his word, he was a cuddler but instead of the apprehension you’d expected at his touch, you only felt warmth and safety.

He was never inappropriate either. His hands stayed firmly in the safe zones, holding you around your middle if you decided that spooning was the position for you; his lower half was always carefully angled away when you woke up. If you slept curled into his side, he kept his hand on your shoulder or waist, never anywhere else.

The nightmares weren’t dispelled so easily. But being with Dean, they were normally stopped before they were over - he was a naturally light sleeper and the slightest twitch in your slumber had him waking you with gentle reassuring murmurs.

It was three weeks before your first night with no memories assaulting you. You woke with your face against Dean’s bare chest - you’d fallen asleep there the night before. His skin was warm under your cheek and you sighed, closing your eyes and allowing the haze of sleep to keep you still for a little longer.

“You slept well,” he muttered without opening his eyes and you smiled.

“No nightmares,” you whispered.

“Good.” Dean yawned, stretching his arms up. “I think I slept pretty well too.”

The covers slipped down with his movement and you couldn’t help it; your eyes went south to the straining erection that was fighting against the elastic of his pajama pants.

His hand wasn’t fast enough to snatch the covers back up and when you raised your head to look at him, his face was beet red.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “s’morning and everything… y’know.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, patting his chest.

“It’s not,” Dean grunted, clutching the covers over his lap, “you didn’t want this to get weird.”

“You having a…” you swallowed, unsure how to phrase it, “an erection, isn’t weird. It’s perfectly natural.” With a shrug, you slid your eyes away from his, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’d say it’s a compliment.”

He blinked, processing what you’d said before his mouth set in a thin smile. “Can’t help what happens when I sleep next to a beautiful woman.”

You were sure your face was about to burst into flames and you giggled. “Now you’re making it weird.”

Dean smirked - not one of those sarcastic expressions, more playful, devilish. The way you expected he’d look at a woman he wanted to -

“Besides,” you added hurriedly, shifting a little way away from him, “I’m not your type.”

“Who says?” he challenged and you pulled back, frowning.

Dean moved, pushing himself up with his arm. “You say you don’t wanna ruin our friendship but I can’t keep spending the night with you warm next to me and pretending I’m not craving you in every way possible.”

His declaration left you speechless - what were you supposed to even say to that?

Thank you?

Dean chuckled, leaning in a little closer. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered and you were struck by the thought that no man should ever look that pretty when asking that question. With scruffy bed hair and sleep lines on his face, Dean managed to look like he’d fallen out of a GQ photoshoot.

Your reply, when you finally forced it out, was barely a squeak.

His lips were soft when they pressed against yours but you couldn’t relax. Your entire body was stiff with trepidation; you felt hot and cold all at once and it took only seconds for Dean to notice your tense posture.

Breaking away, he cupped your cheek, dragging his thumb down to rest on your chin, making your eyes meet his.

“Talk to me,” he urged softly.

The temptation to shut off, to not tell him anything, warred with the need to spill your illogical shame for what had happened. You knew Dean would never blame you but seeing the pity in his eyes would be unbearable.

But he deserved to know what he’d been protecting you from. At least, in part.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve,” you took a shuddering breath, dropping your chin away from his hand, “since I’ve been with anyone. And the last time wasn’t…” Your eyes closed and you tried to forget the rough touch on your skin.

Dean’s hand moved, resting on your hip and the warmth of his touch seeped into you, forcing you to look at him again, letting his gentle touch replace the horror from before.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you,” he coaxed, smiling softly. “I could never hurt you.”

What you feared most was nowhere to be found in his face. His sincere green gaze focused on you, filled with nothing but lust and affection.

You moved closer, startling him with a chaste kiss, your little moan swept away by his hum of appreciation and when he tugged you closer, you moved with him easily, losing yourself in the warmth of his skin.

Dean didn’t push, letting you set the pace and you were content with kissing, feeling his hands roam your body. You licked into his mouth, breaking only for air; you weren’t paying much attention to the way you pinned him back onto the bed, straddling his lap so you could kiss him and run your hands over his solid chest and stomach.

He laughed, arching when your fingers caught a ticklish spot, which only prompted you to do it again.

“Quit it,” he chuckled, grabbing at your hands but keeping his touch light.

Dragging your right hand to his lips, you sucked in a breath as he kissed each fingertip, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

He continued down over the palm of your hand, tracing the throb of your heartbeat to your wrist. By the time his soft lips reached the inside of your elbow, you were practically mush - before he could continue, you used your free hand to cup his face.

“Later,” you promised.

Dean’s eyes sparkled as you rolled your hips, reminding him of the erection straining at his pants. “Fuck,” he groaned, letting his head fall back, “don’t do that.”

“Why?”

The tone of your voice had him narrowing his eyes at you. “Because if you do, I might not be able to help myself.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

Dean pushed himself up onto one hand, abruptly enough that you squeaked and giggled, smiling when he used the other hand to cup the back of your neck and draw you in for a deep kiss.

“Do you want me as much as I want you, princess?”

You nodded, feeling the heat in your cheeks rise, his nose squished against yours.

“You know you can tell me to stop at any time, right?”

“I know,” you whispered, initiating another kiss, dragging your tongue over his.

Shifting his weight so his back was straight, Dean’s hands landed on your hips, grinding you down harder against his cock. His fingers trailed up underneath the thin tank top you’d worn to bed; he groaned when his thumbs brushed the underside of your bare breasts.

You lifted your arms, letting him pull the top up over your head, giving him full access to your breasts and Dean leaned in, brushing his nose across the top of one.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you are,” he murmured and you smiled, folding your hands around the back of his head as he started to worship your tits with his tongue.

His cock was twitching against your core and Dean grunted, pushing one hand underneath the covers to shove his pants down.

“Sorry, it’s getting a little uncomfortable down there,” he joked, resuming his attention to your nipples and you gasped when his teeth grazed one solid peak teasingly.

The sudden desire to feel his skin on yours was a full-body craving; you shifted and pushed at your shorts, managing to drag them down without dislodging him.

The sound Dean made when you were finally perched nude in his lap was only amplified when you pushed him back, using your feet to shove the covers down. His cock was warm and throbbing against your bare slit and you whimpered, grinding against him and he broke away from your breast, groaning loudly.

“Fuck, Y/N -”

“Sssh,” you ordered, sliding down his body until you were straddling his thighs, wrapping one hand around his shaft before you could stop and think about it.

Dean’s chin tilted up and the veins on his neck popped with the strained angle of his neck, a low moan accompanying the bob of his Adam’s apple when you licked the tip of his cock.

He kept his hands at his sides, clenching them in the sheets, giving you all the room you needed. It wasn’t something you had an entirety of experience in but Dean seemed happy enough to let you explore, finding the sensitive spots at the base of his length. When you cupped his balls with your other hand and fondled them gently, Dean emitted a noise of pure lust and warmth swelled in your core in response.

Stroking him slowly, you watched a bead of precum seeping from his slit; the urge to taste it was more than you could ignore. The salty tang was worth the way Dean’s entire body twitched and he looked down at you, tucking his chin into his chest.

“You know there are limits to torture, right?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow and you giggled, continuing to stroke him as he moaned under his breath. “Jeez, Y/N, you’re gonna… fuck…”

“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” you chided, your gaze fixed on the way his cock fit in your hand. Your fingers didn’t quite touch either side, not until you reached the slightly flared head and you suddenly wanted to know what it felt like to have him buried inside you.

The thought was enough to provoke a sudden rush of wetness between your thighs and Dean groaned as you rutted against him, barely acknowledging your own movement.

A tiny voice in the back of your head stilled your movements, doubt settling in the pit of your belly. Shouldn’t you be frightened of this? After… after him, there hadn’t been anyone and this felt like something that should be shaking you to the core.

But all you could feel was pure adrenaline and desire pumping through your veins; everything was focused on the way Dean felt underneath you, the warm weight of his cock as you stroked him, and the sounds of pleasure he was making.

“Dean,” you whispered, meeting his eyes, “I wanna fuck you.”

He muttered a curse, biting his bottom lip when you released his cock and crawled further up his body. There was no objection - Dean continued to let you set the pace. You lifted yourself, slipping two fingers between your thighs, sinking them into your body.

“Y/N…” Dean muttered, covering your hand with his own, “let me.”

You nodded, letting him take over, whining when he pushed a single digit into you. Just one of his fingers felt bigger than your two, more calloused and filling. He pumped them a few times, smirking when you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, enjoying his slow touch.

All too soon, you grew impatient for more but before Dean could add a second finger, you tugged on his wrist. “Want you,” you pouted, leaning over to kiss away any protest he could make. Lifting your hips, you pinned his hands beside his head, smiling against his lips. “Stay.”

Dean obeyed, groaning when you slipped one hand down to grasp him again, lining his tip up with your soaked entrance. Lowering down onto him, you whined, lifting again when your body struggled to accept the intrusion. With a few more thrusts, you had him halfway inside and his body was shaking with the effort of holding back.

Lifting up once more, you pushed down, taking him to the hilt. The shock of being so full made you yelp and Dean’s hands were on your hips, holding you steady so you could adjust.

“Gah,” you moaned, resting against his chest, “you’re… fuck.”

“Now who has a dirty mouth?” Dean teased and you pulled back, smiling. “Want me to put my hands back?”

You nodded, waiting for him to return his hands to the pillow before sliding your fingers up to lace them with his.

When you started to move, rocking gently on him, Dean closed his eyes, a low rumble in his chest letting you know that it felt good. The way he reacted made you a little bolder and you lifted yourself, letting him withdraw a few inches before taking him to the hilt again.

“Y/N…”

“What?” you asked, worried you’d done something wrong with the way he moaned your name.

His cheeks were a little red when he answered. “I’m close and you haven’t -”

“Oh,” you blinked, ceasing your movements, unsure what to do, “do you want me to stop?”

“God, no,” Dean chuckled. “I just wanna make sure you cum too.” The way he said it, his low throaty voice almost catching on the words, made you shudder and clench around him. “Sit up straight,” he instructed - you obeyed, a little puzzled until you felt how much deeper it let him be.

You moaned, circling your hips as Dean’s jaw clenched. Your lips parted in a little “o” when he responded with a slight thrust, one hand untangling from yours to hover over your mound, his thumb settling just above where his cock was inside you.

“That okay?” he asked and you nodded, squirming needily. Intense pleasure was on the edge of your senses, teasing you with the promise of climax but you craved more. Dean’s thumb traced your clit and a spark made your hips jerk. “That’s it,” he coaxed, “keep moving for me, baby.”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you started to rock, much like how you had started. The throbbing inside you increased with each glide of his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Electricity ran through your veins prompting your head to fall back as you whimpered into orgasm.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Dean murmured his other hand on your hip now, guiding your rocking motion when you fell over the edge.

It was calmer than any orgasm you’d ever experience but possibly one of the best. Dean’s climax followed yours within seconds and he stopped touching you, letting you fall forward onto his chest, panting heavily.

Although you’d barely moved, you were sweating, exhausted and more sated than you’d ever felt. An overwhelming sense of calm swept through you; even though your legs were shaking with the effort of simply existing, you felt peaceful.

Eventually, Dean had to move, helping you clean up before he slipped back into bed with you. Neither of you spoke as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew you back against his chest, letting you curl into his side.

“Get some more sleep,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You nodded, closing your eyes without a reply and letting the last ebbing waves of bliss carry you off.

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