#TALKING ABOUT WEIGHT AND NUMBERS USED IN TAGS BE WARNED ->

[boatemboys]

little fucked up actually that a few years ago when trying to get my back problems diagnosed. a doctor told me that my back was never going to get better and to fix it i (14 years old, average weight) needed to lose weight

[localkiss]

Screaming for attention!

manipulative brothers best friend re4!leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!! Mentions of past grooming by leon, age gap(~8 yrs), manipulation, guilt, dirty talk, p in v, afab reader, noncon creampie, slight anal/talks of anal, codependency, slapping, daddy kink, pet names, depressed thoughts in the beginning, chubby/thicker reader, manhandling, praise kink, degradation kink, talks of pregnancy (just a bit), oral (f receiving), virginity talk, controlling leon, obsessed leon, slight size kink if u squint!

note: hhh... read the warning lol before you comment. I was going to put more of leon being so fucking weird but erm, decided not to. not proof read btw!! but i do want to say i am a victim of SA and i used to heavily think about him and wished that he went further. lol idc what people say, i still struggle thinking like that, but ik it's wrong. so yes that's what this fic is loosely based on -_-

wc: 3.1k! tags: @rigorwhoring, @argreion, @xoxostarlet, @fairry1 bc I love u all :33!

Maybe it's for the best. No more surprises. This is nothing new. All you can hear is deafening silence, swallowing you up in a warm cocoon, suffocating you like a million years of guilt and thousands of weights on your throat and chest. 

You can't help but wish he had done more. Maybe he would've if he could see your thoughts. Maybe he would've stayed.

But those sleeping pills really did a number on your body. You tried to overdose on everything you could, even your antidepressants. Yeah, it was dumb. But it was all just killing you from the inside anyway. 

All you can do now is just sob violently into your pillows. Claw at the sheets and at your scalp, so pathetically. No wonder he chose you. So fucking easy to manipulate, to knead into someone he can use. No wonder he said he only loved you like a friend after he finally got caught in the act.

Whatever it was that he said, you can't remember exactly. You just tuned him out. White noise oozing into your eardrums like water does when you stand underneath the showerhead. He didn't apologize. Didn't explain. Didn't even try to. All you did was cry and plead for him to stay. 

"Please don't leave me, Leon. Please, I can't live without you! I love you! Please!" You sobbed into the phone because, yeah, he broke up with you over text. It's not like you guys were even in a relationship. The age gap was too big and illegal to even be considered a real relationship. 

You knew he was so much older than you. Liked it. Knew it was wrong, yet went forward with it. He should've stopped it. Should've. But he didn't, though. 

You still love him deep down in your heart. He was your first love. First 'boyfriend'. First person to grope your body. You asked for a kiss, and he pressed his chapped lips against your forehead. He asked you for ass pictures, and you gladly sent them. Giggling happily whenever he complimented you and your body.

He's still your ideal type. A cuddly, tall, muscular brunette. 

You wish you could stop yourself from comparing every guy to him or hoping they won't end up like him. Using you and throwing you away as soon as they got what they wanted. 

But, now that you're legal, he reached out to you. Said some nonsense to try and get back into your heart. You didn't even care what he said. Just wanted to feel alive, to feel loved, and to be loved again. Even if it meant being loved by your abuser, you would let him drag you through hell and back if it meant he would love you like he did in the past. If it meant you could feel happy, free, and weightless again, you would march into hell with him.  

As messed up as you are, you would do anything to make him stay. So that you can feel full again. Happy again.

"Wish you would've taken all of my firsts," you pouted as he pulled away from your lips. Swollen and red, so pretty.  

Leon grinned and raised an eyebrow at your statement. "Really, baby girl? Damn," he bites on his lower lip, and his thumb brushes across the apples of your cheeks. 

Taking in the way you look different but still the same as you were years ago, just a bit fuller in your hips, thighs, and stomach, he remembers when he gripped your thigh with both of his hands. Couldn't even manage to grab ahold of all of the fat. A few inches away from completely grabbing your thigh with both hands. 

Now, he probably couldn't even make it so that there were a few inches between his hands; it would be a bit of a distance. That's how much you've grown width-wise. Length wise, you haven't really grown much. 

"Yeah, daddy," you preen under his attention, shifting your weight from your heels to your toes, and back down flat on the floor. "I mean it." 

He lets out a soft chuckle, and his calloused hands softly grab onto your shoulders, rubbing small circles into the fabric of your shirt. "Wish I could've taken all of your first too, baby. I know I would've made it all special for you. For my special girl." Leon coos, his head dipping down to lick into your mouth.

Hot spit trickles down the back of your throat and onto your chin. Making you squeeze your doughy thighs together, moaning as his hands squeeze down to your ass. Pressing you up against his built body. His hard-on throbbing against the confines of his skinny jeans, onto your soft, pudgy tummy.

He groans as you tug at the hair on the back of his head. Pulling back and squishing your cheeks together, and then tapping your face as you try to press your lips on his. His blue eyes darken as you moan when his hand makes contact with your face. 

"Fuck," he grips onto your chin, forcing your mouth open to let a wad of spit hit the edge of your tongue, letting it slide down into your tummy. "Daddy knew you'd like that. I've got a slutty little princess, huh?" 

It's a rhetorical question, but you answer with a few quick nods.

"Yeah, daddy, I'm your slutty little princess." Always so quick to repeat what he said. What he drilled into your brain years ago obviously holds up. You still want to make him happy, even if he ruined you for anyone else. Ruined you for life.

The corners of his lips quirk upwards, his hands giving your ass a quick squeeze before he pushes you down into the bed. He climbs on top of you like a hungry animal, licking his lips at the sight of his prey.

A whine escapes from your throat at the sight. He's gotten even more attractive and bigger, and it's making your brain all mushy. Shooting directly down to your core, feeling it gush out slick onto the gussets of your panties. 

You lick your lips and wrap your legs around his hips. "Please, Leon." 

He lets out a low growl, his veiny forearms coming up by the sides of your head. Firmly planting them on the mattress as he rocks his hips into yours. His bangs fall into your face as he teasingly grazes his lips against yours. Panting hotly against your lips. 

"Relax, baby," is all he says before he moves his mouth, making a wet trail from the corner of your lips down to your jawline. 

"Let me love you." Leon murmurs into your skin as he sucks a hickey underneath your ear, making you gasp and squirm beneath him. 

You become pliable, easy to bend, and easy to please. Brain too foggy to clearly think straight. Leon's marking up your neck like you'll try to run away from him. It's like you're his property now. God, you've always been his, ever since that fateful day, right?

Just a few words, and he can do whatever he wants with your body. Maybe one day you'll let him take your first time with your other hole. Who knows. 

"So pretty, fuck," his tongue dips between the valley of your breasts, hands grasping at your shirt to push it up, exposing you to his hungry eyes. His knee slots between your thighs, making you squeak and squeeze his leg involuntarily. Pressing your tits together to swipe his tongue across your perky nipples. 

Bathing your tits in his spit, he suckles on them like a madman. Enjoying the way you mewl and gasp, using his teeth to draw out more noises from you. Obsessed with every single part of you, even the not-so-pretty parts. He has you mapped out in his mind, his sweet, supple princess. 

"Has anyone ever eaten you out?" Kissing your areolas, soothing the small bite marks he left. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, brows furrowed in concentration. He's doting on you like it's the last time he'll ever see you again. 

"No," you say, pressing your lips together in a flat line. Feeling your stomach tighten up with butterflies and hints of nausea. 

Leon likes that. So much so that he smiles into your stomach, softly gnawing on the pudge around your belly button, earning some soft squeals and pats to try and push him away. He wants to make you crumble under him, submit to him, and never leave. Never want another man. Always comparing someone to him, wishing they did it like him. He wants to plague your mind and control you from the inside out. 

He wants to tie you up in his bedroom and never let you leave. Live your own life? No. Leon wants to drill it into your brain and body that he owns you, no thoughts about anything else but him and his body. 

He pulls down your shorts and panties in one go, watching the string of your arousal stick to the gussets of your panties. His large hands pry open your legs, pushing them up to your chest and holding them down with his weight. 

"Remember this," he spits onto your pussy, watching it swim down to your holes. Squeezing your legs when you squirm a little too much for his taste, deciding to spit once more to make sure you'll have his DNA in you for the next couple of days. 

Pressing chaste kisses on your clit because he knows it'll make your mind go all fuzzy and only think of Leon, Leon, Leon. And how good he's making you feel. Nobody else but him.

He dips his tongue between your folds and begins to languidly make out with it. Thrusting his tongue and swirling it upwards as his upper lip continues to make contact with your clit. Drawing out all sorts of pathetically cute noises from you. 

Wishing he was recording this so he could show it to his friends and brag about how he has molded you to be his perfect girl. You're not a woman until he fucks a baby into you. 

"You like that?" He suckles on your clit and gently bites down on it. Watching the way your face crinkles up and how you squeeze your eyes shut. Everything you do amuses him. 

"Daddy, mmh... god, yes!" You grasp the sheets as you feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in your lower abdomen. Toes curling as Leon fucks his tongue into your drippy hole. 

He shakes his head, pressing his nose into your sensitive bundle of nerves, trying to get you to cum quickly. 

Your hands desperately try to reach for Leon for comfort as you stumble into an orgasm. "Daddy... Mmphh—fuck!" 

Legs kicking out and vibrating as he coaxes you through your orgasm. Slowly swiping his tongue through your folds to slurp up all of your cum, he presses soft kisses all around your pussy. "Such a good girl," he sighs. 

Leon spreads your legs, kissing his way up to your face. He licks his way into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue and gulp down some of his saliva. "So easy." He puts his hand on your neck, lightly applying pressure as he goes back in for more kisses. Make sure you never leave this cloudy state of mind, so he can do whatever he pleases with you. 

"Maybe I can even eat you out here," he says, letting his hand wander down to your asshole and lightly tracing the rim of it. Feeling you tense up brings a sly smile to his face. "No? Okay. Maybe next time." He chuckles and pulls back to unbuckle his jeans. 

Slowly undoing his belt and putting it next to you on the bed. Unzipping his fly as he makes direct eye contact with you the entire time. He makes you gulp nervously as he finally pushes his jeans down his muscular thighs.

Your eyes immediately jump to his hard-on. How does he even keep that thing in there? It's begging to be freed, and quite frankly, you want to run away out of nerves, not believing his cock can even fit inside of you! What the fuck did Leon even eat for it to even have grown that big and thick?

Leon sees the cogwheels turning in your head as he steps out of his pants. With each step he takes, it bounces against the slightly stained, striped fabric. "Baby, don't be so nervous. It'll be alright." His voice is soothing and convincing, almost hypnotic in the way it makes your body buzz and your mind go blank. 

It is a bit terrifying to think about the effect he honestly has on you, your mind, body, and soul. 

"Are you on the pill?" He asks, although he already knows the answer. 

"No, I'm not." You mumble shyly. Embarrassed to not be on some sort of birth control.

Leon reaches down for his wallet and pulls out a condom. "Good thing I always come prepared, huh?" Chuckles as he pulls down his briefs, stepping out of them as he tears open the condom packaging. He slipped it on his drippy and flushed tip, sliding all the way down to the base. 

Slowly kneeling on the bed to lead his dick to your hole. Sliding through your folds to gather more fluids to make the first push easier on you. 

"Ready?" He grunts as he teases you by tapping himself on your swollen clit. 

"Uhuh, 'm ready," you whine as he slowly eases himself into your pussy. 

Moaning as you helplessly flutter and tighten around his shaft. Watching your face carefully as you scrunch and tense up. Stopping halfway and grabbing ahold of your hand, his other one grips the fat of your hip so tight it'll leave a bruise the next day. 

"Almost there, baby girl, doing so well for me," he presses a soft kiss to your forehead as he drives more of himself deep inside of you.

You look down at your stomach and tighten around him as you notice the bulge from his cock being so big and deep inside of you. His tip is brushing against the opening of your womb.

"Nnh, Leon, too big," you gasp as he rolls his hips against yours. Legs squeezing against his waist as he slowly starts to thrust shallowly.

"Baby, relax. Can barely pull out of you," Leon rasps in your ear, sending chills down your spine as you try to force yourself to relax around him. 

"Mnmph, sorry, Daddy. Please—" you pout, squeezing his hand tightly. Trying to signal for him to start pounding your needy cunt already.

He nibbles on your earlobe, slowly shifting his hips to thrust in and out of you properly. Soft plap, plap, plap, of his body hitting yours, making sure that he hits your g-spot. 

You swallow a whine as he lets go of your hip to lazily rub his thumb on your swollen little button. Hearing the way your breath hitches and seeing the slight curve in your spine makes all his administrations worth it. Slowly speeding up his movements as he squeezes your hand, groaning low in his throat when you clench around him tightly like a vice. 

"Tight cunt all f'me," he thrusts harder and harder, making it difficult to keep quiet. Soft punched-out cries leave your lips alongside Daddy, Daddy, Daddy's. "Fuck, daddy's gonna make you cum so hard around his cock, might even make you scream." 

Leon slowly pushes your legs up, putting you into a mating press as he drives himself deeper into you. Fucking into your womb, which craves his thick cum. Ecstatic with the idea of 'accidentally' slipping the condom off and cumming deep in your womb. Get you pregnant and finally be his woman. 

"God, wanna get you pregnant so bad, baby," he pants, bangs falling into your face with each harsh thrust. "Would take care of you and the baby. Mmhh shit—would suck the milk outta your fat leaky tits." 

Drools into your mouth as he kisses you with fervor, teeth clashing as his dick continues to fill up your sloppy pussy. 

"Leon, please, 'm so close," you hiccup as he vigorously rubs your clit in tight circles. Your legs brush up against his head as you feel that familiar warm coil in your stomach. 

"Cum for me princess." Leon's eyes darken; pupil's swallowing up his iris as he watches you unfold before him. Because of him. 

Your body tenses up and convulses with each swipe of his thumb on your sensitive nerves. Letting out a silent scream, your eyes close tightly as you try to hold onto Leon as best as you can, feeling his hot breath on your kissed, swollen lips. His fat cock is hitting all the right spots, almost painfully good as he fucks you deeply. Constantly pressing up against your womb, making your toes curl. 

Slowly rutting through your orgasm, he feels his own start to creep up on him. "Fuck, hold on, baby. Gonna pull out for a sec," he pants, pulls out of your heat, and discreetly pulls off the condom, letting it fall on his jeans. 

He quickly puts it back in before you can notice, giving you a spine-chilling smile. Giving you a few pecks on your lips and on your forehead as he uses you like a fleshlight now. 

Letting out soft whimpers and moans, he puts his head on your shoulder. The sounds of sex are his favorite sounds. Your crying is his favorite sound in the entire world. Nothing can top you crying out for him while moaning like a total slut. 

"So fucking hot, Jesus Christ," he groans, hips rabbiting into your pussy. Your insides are so warm and so wet, he feels like it's the first time he's going raw ever. Orgasm on the fence with each thrust. That and you're making all these noises, it's hard for him to concentrate on not cumming so fast. 

"G'nna cum, babe, holy fuck—" He lifts his head off of your shoulder and kisses you feverishly, spitting deep into your throat. Putting his forehead on yours, his nose touches yours as he grunts, pumping his cum into your pussy. Sticky white ropes straight into your womb. 

Panting and whimpering as his cock slowly ruts into your messy cunt. "Fuck... So good," he chuckles lightheartedly. 

Your pussy quivers around his shaft as it softens up. It feels so hot and sticky, and your mind is too fuzzy to even process that he came inside. A dumbfounded smile plastered on your flushed pink face makes his heart swell up. 

"Such a good girl. My good girl, right?" Leon nuzzles his nose against yours. Driving the fact that you'll always be his. Even if you move across the country, he'll always follow. Always in your shadow. 

"Uhuh," you respond shyly, giggling at the affection he's giving you. His eyes soften up, and you take in his face. The light stubble, small acne scars, and the way his hair is fading from dirty blonde to brown. "always, daddy." 

[hgfictionwriter]

Getaway

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's in her head about your friendship and if it can be something more. Can a vacation getaway change the trajectory of your connection?

A/N: Get ready for shy, sweet, awkward Jessie doing her best to not get in her own way and win over her girl. Someone requested fluff and while this isn't quite it - it's on its way lol. No warnings for this fic.

"Um, can I get you a refill?" Jessie asked as she spied the near empty glass in your hand. 

"Only if you're getting one," you responded with a nod to the cup Jessie was holding.  

Niamh and Zee had both retired for the night and it was now just Jessie and you around the firepit of the villa the four of you were renting. Jessie wasn't a night owl and she was actively fighting the weight of her heavy eyelids, but she wanted to stay up with you. And frankly, she was a bit of a lightweight when it came to drinking as well. She was already feeling a bit of a buzz and wasn't entirely confident about having another drink. You noted her hesitation and smiled.  

"Doesn't have to be a boozy drink. I could go for a late night tea instead." 

Jessie smiled gratefully. You knew her so well.  

"Sure, let's do that," Jessie said. 

When Jessie returned a while later with two steaming mugs of tea, she also had a bag of crackers tucked under her arm and handed them to you. 

"Oh my gosh," you said as she sat up to receive the items. "How did you know I wanted a snack?" You blew on the hot beverage before taking a tentative sip. "And you remembered how I take my tea. Thank you." 

"Of course," Jessie said, hiding a pleased smile. An easy quiet fell over the two of you as you sipped your drinks. Jessie had to make a concerted effort to focus her gaze on the fire and to not stare at this beautiful woman across from her. She should really just enjoy the silence and your company, but an urge had been nagging her and her resolve was fading. 

"So, how are you liking it here so far?" She asked.  

"It's beautiful. Obviously," you responded with a light chuckle. "I'm loving it. Thank you again - to all of you - for letting me tag along on your unofficial team trip." 

"Oh, no need to thank me or any of us. We're all super glad you're here," Jessie said. She did her best to push down the awkward or self-criticizing feeling that was starting to bubble up inside of her. 

It's just Y/N, she had to remind herself so she wouldn't get caught up in analyzing her own words and actions. 

When Jessie first met you through Niamh over a year ago, you hit it off. At the time, Jessie made a point of not giving it too much headspace. It was just one meeting after all and it could have been a fluke. But when you saw each other again at another event, it became evident to Jessie that there was actually something there. Your chemistry was natural, banter was easy, and your conversation led to some deeper things and you ended up talking late into the night. Jessie was reserved, even shy, so warming up to someone so quickly and feeling comfortable wasn't the norm.  

Just as Jessie was working up the nerve to ask you for your number - an extreme rarity - it came to light that you had a girlfriend. That brought everything to a crashing halt. 

Jessie had been furious with herself for misreading your connection and for almost making a fool out of herself. She was even more upset with herself for how disappointed she felt by this turn of events. It had only been a couple of conversations and she shouldn't be so affected. Regardless, she most definitely didn't want to get caught up in any drama. So when you parted ways that night she dismissed the notion that it could've ever been anything more. She was committed to pushing you from her mind and that was the end of it. 

However, your paths kept crossing and that chemistry didn't go away. In fact, every time you talked, Jessie found that you lingered longer and longer in her mind and that feeling in her chest grew warmer and brighter.  

In time, Jessie convinced herself that being friends wouldn't be so bad. And, truthfully, it was mostly good. There were, regretfully too many, moments where Jessie had to do everything in her power to not reach out to hold your hand or to not let it show when mention of your girlfriend sent a dagger through her insides, but Jessie's life was undeniably better with you in it than even the thought of one without.  

Knowing that you'd never be anything more made things simple enough, not easy, but the lines were undebatable. However, since you and your girlfriend broke up a couple of months ago, things were different and Jessie was having more and more difficulty navigating your dynamic. The chemistry was still clear as day for Jessie, but did you feel the same? And even on the off-chance that you did feel the same, were you ready for a new relationship? And now that you'd been friends for so long, Jessie had to weigh the cost of risking your friendship. The thought of losing you terrified her.

All of the drama she'd been trying to avoid seemed to be closing in on her despite her efforts. She should really just let it all go, but it was proving harder and harder to. 

"Did you and [y/ex] ever talk about visiting here?" Jessie asked clumsily. She had to resist the urge to sigh in annoyance at herself. She watched your reaction carefully; if you were put-off or perplexed by the inquiry, you didn't let on. 

"No," you answered nonchalantly and shrugged. "She wasn't really big on travel. So, it never really came up. I've always wanted to come here though, so this is perfect." 

"Oh yeah, me too," Jessie said quickly - too quickly. She fought off the wince that threatened to cross her face. She cleared her throat inaudibly and redirected. "Um, I haven't really checked in in a while. Uh, so, how are you? You know…since the break-up." 

It seemed that no matter how many times she’d rehearsed these conversations, they just never really came out the way she wanted them to. Maybe it was a good thing she had a bit of a buzz, because otherwise she'd probably be sinking into her chair and praying to disappear at how clunky she was approaching this. 

"You're sweet," you responded with a small smile. Again, if you were thrown off by any of this, you weren't letting it be known. "I'm doing well. Honestly." Jessie didn't fill the silence that formed and you went on, dropping eye-contact and swirling your tea distractedly. "It was the right decision." 

"That's good," Jessie affirmed with a nod. "I mean, if you're not in love, no point in dragging things on."  

"Exactly. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us. And truthfully, it was a long time coming," you said returning a nod. You let out a quick exhale and sat back in your chair, a faint smirk now forming on your face. "And what about you? Anyone on the horizon for you?" 

A deep blush immediately began to burn on Jessie's cheeks. She forced what she hoped was an easy laugh. "Nothing on the horizon." 

You shot her a discerning look. "No one? The entire time I’ve known you you’ve never been remotely interested in anyone. So still no one?” 

"What?" Jessie defended, her voice rising in pitch. Her cheeks were on fire as she frowned at you. "I'm too busy. I'm gone like every other week, and sometimes for weeks at a time. That's not exactly the best foundation for a relationship." 

Great. Just go ahead and tell her all the reasons why you'd make a crappy partner, Jessie thought disparagingly. 

To Jessie's surprise, you smiled. 

"That right there tells me you'd be a good partner. It's very thoughtful. I mean, from what I've seen, there are a lot of others who don't afford partners - if you can call them that sometimes - the same kind of care and consideration," you relayed. "That said, life is short. Even if your schedule is crazy, if she's the right one for you, you'll make it work. And if you're the right one for her, she won't mind that your schedule is crazy. It'll make the moments that you're together that much sweeter." 

If Jessie's blush was about to fade, that last part had the opposite effect on her. All she could do was offer a tight smile. 

"I suppose that's true." 

She cleared her throat, building herself up to shift the focus of the conversation back to you.  

“Uh, you mentioned your break up was a long time coming - what did that mean?” She tried to make it sound casual, but she feared the chances of that were quite low. She added quickly, “You obviously don’t need to tell me anything. You just never really said why you broke up and I just-” 

“It’s okay. Really.” You mercifully interjected. You settled further into your chair with a heavy sigh, your gaze drawn back to the drink in your hands. You took a few moments to formulate your response. “I think it just became apparent to me that my feelings for her weren’t what they should be. She deserved more. And I do, too.”  

“That’s very mature. And takes a lot of self-awareness,” Jessie offered.  

“Thanks,” you said simply with a faint smile and a shrug.  

Jessie waited a beat to see if you would elaborate more, but you didn’t. Jessie contemplated what to say next and although she didn’t fully trust where her instincts were taking her, she went with it nonetheless.  

“Um, I know it’s only been a couple of months, but is there anyone on the horizon for you? Like, are you looking to date again?” Once more, she did her damnedest to make it sound like idle curiosity. She watched you carefully while you considered your response.  

“Mm, I’m taking my time, I suppose,” you eventually replied. “But, with the right person, I’d be all for it.” 

Jessie nodded as she continued to map out how to navigate this discussion. She wanted to push, but fear around jeopardizing your friendship confined her in a lot of ways. She had to be careful.

“And I guess you know better now what you want versus what you don’t want,” she said. You nodded as you peered over your mug at Jessie.  

“Yes, that’s true. I do.” 

Jessie was about to ask what you were looking for when your phone buzzed and the screen lit up, distracting you both.  

Jessie felt an irrational, yet thankfully fleeting, wave of jealousy come over her as she imagined the text was from your ex, as unlikely as that would be. Regardless, she studied your expression as you read the text, noting the discerning frown on your normally gentle features.  

“Everything okay?” Jessie asked.  

“Oh, yeah,” you replied, your frown dissipating as you locked your phone. “My sister’s just making some questionable decisions. Nothing serious,” you assured with a chuckle, “but she felt compelled to tell me.” You drained your drink, setting it down on the table. “It's 1:30.” You announced as you held up your phone to show the time. No wonder Jessie was so tired. "What time did we want to head out tomorrow?" 

"About 9," Jessie replied, now suddenly struggling to stifle a yawn.   

"Okay, shit. Sorry - I kept you up. I know you normally go to bed a lot earlier than this," you apologized. Jessie was quick to dismiss the notion. 

"Not at all. Well, yeah, I go to bed earlier normally, but we're on vacation. I didn't even realize it was so late," she said, hesitating for a moment before going on. "And I always enjoy our conversations." 

"Me too." 

Jessie could've beamed. It wasn’t much, but it made her happy nonetheless. She smiled, but tried to tamper it.

“I guess we should try to get some sleep though, hey?” You proposed. Jessie hoped that she was right in hearing a hint of regret in your tone. Even though Jessie didn’t want the night to end, morning was going to come quickly.

She stood and began gathering up the glasses and other items.  

"Hey, I can take mine. Don't worry." You protested, but Jessie was already walking to the kitchen with all of the dishes in hand. "Gosh," you complained lightly as you followed her in, "you never let me take care of anything. I'm still not over you carrying my luggage in for me. And Niamh's never going to let me live that down. Or maybe even you, for that matter." 

Jessie was glad she was hunched over loading items into the dishwasher otherwise you would've caught a new blush forming across her cheeks.  

"You're an 'acts of service', aren't you?" You proposed as you leaned an elbow on the table to prop up your chin.  

"Huh?" Jessie asked as she closed the dishwasher door and straightened up. 

"Love language," you elaborated. Jessie started to stumble over her words when you interjected. "It can be for anything - not just romance. Friendships too. It's just how you show you care." 

"Oh, yeah I guess, then," Jessie conceded. "Um, what are you?" 

"'Words of affirmation', for the most part. 'Quality time' is pretty high too, though," she answered.  

"Oh, so we're not that compatible.” Jessie risked the joke before she could stop herself, ensuring to tack on a teasing smirk to alleviate as much weight as possible given she broached your compatibility. 

"Excuse me?" You protested with a laugh. "That's not necessarily true. I enjoy receiving acts of service. So there's compatibility there. Do you like receiving words of affirmation or do you like quality time, I guess that's the question." 

Jessie subconsciously started scratching the back of her head and averted her gaze.  

"Um, I don't particularly like compliments, but I guess it depends on context, I don't know," she trailed off. "And I'm an introvert and I need time alone, but, if I like someone I do like spending time with them." 

"Well, it's not just strictly compliments," you corrected, drawing Jessie's eyes back. "It's like," you paused briefly, seeming to contemplate something before going on, "if I say, "Jessie, even though I didn't need you to carry my luggage in, I appreciated you doing so. It made me feel welcome and cared for. You are one of the most thoughtful and sweet people I know - you are important to me and I feel lucky to have you in my life." 

Jessie's cheeks began to burn yet again. Her heart was racing and the eye contact you held quickly became too much. She tried to distract with a roll of her eyes and an amused laugh.  

"Right," she said.

Thoughts clamored in her head and no single one stood out as the right thing to say. She was aware of how too much space was starting to fill your conversation.  

"Well, I should let you get to sleep," you said softly, relieving Jessie of the task of finishing her thoughts. Jessie cursed inwardly.  

"Oh yeah, sure," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Um, well I'll walk you to your room." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She couldn't stand how awkward she was sometimes. 

"Okay." Despite the odd proposal, you accepted with a gentle smile.  

You chatted quietly as you walked upstairs, past Jessie's room and further down the hall. You should've said goodnight right away, but instead Jessie found herself drawing out your goodbye. It didn't seem like you were in a rush, so Jessie cast aside the doubt that was crawling up inside of her. 

When you finally said 'good night', Jessie wrestled with the act of hugging you or not. She debated it heavily and was outrageously close to initiating it, but when the moment came she ended up turning on her heel and giving a small wave instead. She had to resist the urge to slam her bedroom door when she got inside over how frustrated she was with herself. 

When she finally turned off the light and got under the covers to sleep, she was wide awake. The way sleep had been pulling at her prior was now fully replaced with reflections of the night and irritation with herself. She sighed and let her arms fall heavily at her sides as she stared blankly up at the ceiling. More thoughts swirled inside her head and she screwed her eyes shut before forcing herself to breathe and trying to relax.  

Despite her best efforts, she tossed and turned for a while before finally admitting defeat and pulling out her phone to pass the time. Maybe it was the lingering alcohol, maybe it was the lack of sleep, but it was after 2:30 when she pulled up her conversation with you and sent a text with a screenshot of the test she just did.  

"Confirmed. Acts of Service. And I actually do like Words of Affirmation." 

To her surprise, three dots appeared in the bottom left of your conversation. Jessie's breath caught in her throat and she remained motionless watching the dots fade in and out. 

"I knew it. So what I'm hearing is, we are compatible lol." 

Another breath caught in Jessie's throat as she read your reply. Her chest was burning and she was grateful for the fact that this was over text. She actually had the chance to think about what she wanted to say. 

"Definitely. Though I'm not surprised." 

"Tell me more." 

Jessie fidgeted as her mind churned with possibilities. This was a moment where things could change - a moment she told herself for more than a year that she didn't want or need. You were friends. Good friends. What if she misread things again - she had before. What if she ruined everything just because she couldn't control herself. 

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" 

She chickened out. 

"I couldn't sleep." 

"Apparently, neither could you." 

Jessie exhaled shakily.  

"True." 

"Well, it's silly that we're texting. Why don't you just come over." 

Jessie's brow furrowed in deep confusion as she read your text. She reread it just to be sure.  

"We have to be up early. I don’t want to keep you up." 

She was such a coward. A heavy feeling fell over her chest making it harder to breathe. She let the phone fall against her. It buzzed. 

"Okay. Well, if you change your mind, come on over. I'm not tired, so I won't be falling asleep soon anyway." 

Jessie locked her phone and set it down on the bedside table. She rubbed her temples and sighed deeply. 

The tight, heavy feeling in her chest kept growing and nagging at her despite how she was trying to breathe and decompress. Of course she shouldn't go to your room. She should just go to sleep. And of course your offer didn't mean anything. Why would it? You were friends. Always just friends.  

What was she doing?  

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she sat up in her bed. She didn't even really realize she was doing it until she was straight up and staring at the wall ahead of her. She swallowed heavily and her heart began to beat loudly in her chest as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stepped onto the hardwood. She took a steadying breath before she stood and crept over to the door, opening it a crack. She peered down the hall and saw the faintest glow coming from your room. Was your door open? 

Jessie swallowed her trepidation and began to softly pad down the hall, mindful to make as little noise as possible. As she neared your room, she confirmed that your door was ajar. Jessie's heartbeat was loud in her head now as she slowly approached the door. She knocked very faintly before pushing it open a few inches to peek inside. 

The tension that was holding Jessie's shoulders high towards her ears suddenly fell from her and she exhaled silently upon seeing you casually laying in bed under the glow of your phone and waving her in. 

"I told you I wasn't tired," you whispered as you sat up.  

"I couldn't sleep either," Jessie told you as she quietly closed the door behind her.  

A belated self-consciousness swept over Jessie at the realization that she was standing here in her pajamas, a t-shirt and shorts. She subconsciously tugged down the hem of her shorts.  

She sees you in a t-shirt and shorts every game. Calm down, she chided internally.  

Jessie quickly took in her surroundings, now suddenly unsure of what to do. Her eyes settled upon a chair at the desk in the corner of the room. She walked over there and began turning it so she could sit.  

"Jessie, don't be silly. Just sit over here," you said as you scooted over and patted the spot next to you on the bed. 

Jessie hesitated, but didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so she nodded and came over and daintily took a seat on the far edge of the bed. Her ears burned hot as she felt you shooting her a look, coupled with a soft laugh.  

"It's okay, Jessie. Relax. It's just me." Your voice was warm and reassuring and Jessie felt tension leaving her body once again. 

Conversation started up once more and you talked further into the night. Jessie had no idea what time it was anymore, but it didn't matter, she was happy where she was and didn't want it to end. Eventually, you laid down onto your side and propped the pillow up under your head with a yawn. Jessie was about to offer to leave when you gestured to the spot next to you. 

"Lay down. Make yourself at home," you said.  

Jessie didn't want to get too in her head about this. She did this kind of thing with teammates and it didn't mean a thing. Did it mean something now? Or was it just like with her teammates - nothing. She cast the thoughts from her head and laid down on the covers. When you told her she could get under the covers, she dismissed it and even though she was chilled, she insisted she wasn't cold.  

"So, tell me," you said when a small lull formed in your conversation later on.  

"Tell you what?" Jessie asked, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.  

"Tell me why you're not surprised that we're compatible," you responded lightly. 

"Oh," Jessie said, her mind suddenly sharpening at the twist in your conversation. Her previous nervousness returned, but this time a certain calm surrounded it. "Well, I mean, we've always gotten along really well. Friendship-wise.”

Old habits died hard.  

“Hm. That’s true,” you said quietly with a nod of acceptance. A couple of moments passed. “In terms of compatibility - love languages aside. What are you looking for? Not friendship-wise. You never say.” 

It was true. Jessie was very tight lipped about it, even with friends she wasn’t in love with. She endured relentless teasing about it, but she just didn’t like putting herself out there like that. However, right now, in the dark, lying next to you, things felt different.  

“I…,” she trailed off momentarily before finding her resolve and her voice. “I want someone who I can be myself with. Someone who will be my person. Who I can talk to about anything and everything. Who I can be vulnerable with – I have to be at my best all the time and for so many people, so to be able to let my guard down means a lot. But, just as easily, I want to be able to have silly and goofy moments together. Someone where doing something as simple as grocery shopping or cooking together can feel like an adventure. I don't know – just that one person who can be my anchor when I'm constantly on the move and trying to live up to others expectations, and I want to be that for them as well, even if I'm 1,000 miles away. No pressure for me – or her – to be anything other than who we are." 

“That’s beautiful. Truly. And you deserve that and more,” you said. Your gaze lingered for a moment before you went on. “Whoever you choose in the end is going to be a very lucky person.” 

“Thanks.” Jessie had to force herself not to protest. And I want it to be you, she thought. Instead, she said, “I mean, same with you.” 

Even in the dark, Jessie spied the small smile you gave her.  

“You’re too nice to me,” you said with a soft chuckle as you nestled into your pillow further. “Thank you, though.” 

“What do you mean?” Jessie asked. A shy smile formed on her face as she went on. “I mean, words of affirmation here, you deserve it. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. And, yeah, I feel really lucky to have you in my life. And, um, whoever you choose to be with next…you deserve to be spoiled by them. They should take care of you,” she began to stammer, “well, not like take care of, cause you’re totally independent, which is awesome, but you know, Acts of Service.” She winced and did her best to rally and finish strong. “What I mean is they should make you feel, every day, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them. And that there’s no one else in this world for them.” 

“Wow. See? You’re amazing, Jessie. Honestly. Thank you. That means so much to me.” 

“Yeah, no worries,” Jessie quickly dismissed with a light laugh.  

Neither of you spoke for several moments and the tension became too much for Jessie, causing her to quickly change subjects.  

She wasn’t sure how much longer you talked, because the next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes and you were fast asleep next to her. A rush of panic went through her momentarily before she just allowed herself to relax. She debated getting up and leaving, but she indulged herself instead. It was too comfortable laying here with you and, truthfully, she may never get this opportunity again. She took in your sleeping form and before she knew it she was asleep again.  

The next time Jessie woke up, the veil of relaxation and drowsiness quickly dissipated as she looked down to see that you were cuddled into her arm. Jessie lay still as she processed the situation, but couldn’t ignore the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. After a few moments, she steeled herself and began to carefully disentangle herself from you. Though she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to take advantage.

She took one last glance at you. The first breaks of dawn started to filter into the room, casting you in warm light. A lump formed in Jessie’s throat, the feelings inside of her threatening to overflow. Jessie turned and retreated to her own room to try to catch a couple more hours of sleep. She was positive that if she managed to find sleep, she’d dream of nothing but you.

[thedevilrisen]

Prompt Celly - Day Three

Trevor Zegras x Y/N

Description: "Is now a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic?" ... "god, here -hold my hand"

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Would be greatly appreciated if you could reblog. I love talking to people so say 'Hi' if you want to. Feel Free to send in requests as well. I'm happy to write for most hockey players.

Warnings: None, I don't think! It should be all fluff and a bit of friendly banter.

-Sincerely thedevilrisen.

"I wasn't being mean-"

"MEAN! TREVOR, you put slime on Jamie's head to wake him up! What part about that isn't mean."

"I-well." he stuttered, smiling.

"How would you feel if I put slime in your hair huh! How 'bout it?" I said smugly, pushing open the door to the apartment block's lobby, sighing at the warmth and holding open the door for my boyfriend of close to 3 years now. We met shortly after he moved to California to play hockey.

Shucking off my waterproof jacket with a sound similar to two pieces sandpaper grinding against each other I draped it over my arm as Trevor walked through the open door behind me, waiting politely so I could straighten out my t-shirt.

Looking up and smiling at him, I offered him my upturned palm which he playfully grabbed and swung around as he pulled me closer so I stood comfortably under his arm.

"All good?" he asked looking down on my small frame.

"All good!" I repeated stretching the 'l' sound in all enthusiastically.

"Ok then, c'mon let's get upstairs I'm starving." he dragged as we started walking toward the elevators.

"What are you going to about that then?" I smiled, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"I'm hoping my beautiful girlfriend will cook me something delicious." He spoke cheekily looking down at me as we approached the lift panel. Pressing the up button and waiting for the lift to come.

The elevator on the left chimed and the doors rolled open smoothly. We walked in onto carpeted floor, I scanned to tag and pressed the button for the 10th floor listening to the methodical beeps and watching the numbers change.

Until with a jolt, the lift stop suddenly and the all the lights but the ones illuminating the buttons cut.

"Trevor. What happened." I tried to ask without a waver in my voice.

"I think the lift just broke." He mumbled, pulling up the flashlight on his phone and clicking the open door button to no avail. "That doesn't work." He spoke quietly to himself walking to the doors, pocketing his phone and trying to pry open the door with his finger. Grunting softly from exertion he turned back to me and look at my tear filled eyes in the dim light emitted from the panel of numbers.

"Is now a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic." I whispered, voice wavering significantly more than I wanted it to.

"I-maybe." He spoke quickly, seeing the water in my eyes start to trickle down my cheek, "god, here- hold my hand." he offered said hand to me and with both of mine gripped onto it for dear life.

"It's all good sweetheart. I'll call Jamie and he can come get us out." He spoke gently. To terrified to speak I just nodded, still gripping his left hand. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and opened opened his contacts, hitting Jamie's name and putting it up to his ear.

"Hey Mate, uhm." with a jolt, and a squeal from me, the lift fired back up and continued its journey up to our floor. "Oh, uh never mind. Can I call you back.. thanks, alright talk later bud."

When the doors opened I tore out of the lift and down the hallway to out apartment, fishing the keys out of my pocket I jammed them into the lock.

Slamming the door open I threw my coat off, kicked off my shoes and moved quickly to the living room sofa where my weighted animal was. With a vice grip on the stuffy and a few deep breaths I locked eyes with a concerned looking Trevor and deadpanned.

"We are taking the stairs from now on."

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 26

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 7279

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Extras: Author's Vision of the Party Attire ~ Reader ~ The Boys

Summary: Buggy and Shanks have one more talk before the show, and their memories haunt them both as the big finale stuns the crowd.

Author's Note: !!! EXTRA SPOILER WARNING !!! I'm so sorry! I'm not usually a manga reader, and haven't started to tackle One Piece yet, so I didn't realize that I've been working off of a manga spoiler that I got spoiled on last year while doing Buggy research. It's a very brief flashback from chapter 1082 that reveals the end the argument that Buggy and Shanks had after Roger's execution that we see just a glimpse of back when Shanks met with Whitebeard after Enies Lobby. I've written my own version of that flashback in the first scene. That's not the main thing that caused the rift between them in my story, so you are free to skip over it if you like, and there is plenty more Shuggy content for you in this chapter. I feel like this detail can be inferred from the anime event that I already warn for at the end of the Wano arc, but if you'd like to avoid that specific scene, please skip the first section! It's bracketed with these symbols: ~~~⏰🤡🔴⏰~~~

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Flashbacks from Reader's Past | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Grief, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Death of a Minor Character, Flirting, Arguments, Blowjobs, Relationship Drama, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~⏰🔴🤡⏰~~~

Rain. 

What a strange feeling. 

How long has it been raining?

Has his blood been washed away already?

Buggy paced back and forth through the alley, waiting for his friend, his rival, to show up. Roger’s declaration had sent chaos through the city. Loguetown’s guards were circling, trying desperately to catch every witness before the new age could begin.

Nothing can stop Roger’s dream. Not even death.

Buggy choked on his almost optimistic thought. He couldn’t understand this new reality.

He needed to see Shanks.

~~~

Shanks couldn’t think in words, his tears too heavy for even the rain to wash away. 

Roger. 

The weight of grief and pressure would have paralyzed him, if not for his instincts to survive. The red haired boy flew through the town, his body running from the death of a man that meant family, searching for a blue haired boy that meant home.

~~~

“Shanks, you dumbass,” Buggy scolded, eyes scanning over his friend’s pale face. “What took you so long? It’s not safe–”

“I’m here,” he whispered, pulling Buggy in for a hug. Buggy shook him off to grab him by the shoulders, ignoring the rain that still poured over them both.

“Well, let’s hurry up,” the clown tried to sound positive, trying to push through the pain of losing the man that raised him. He needed to cheer Shanks up, to see his friend shining again. “You made Roger a promise, remember? You’re gonna get a ship, and we’ll go find the One Piece on our own. So let’s go!”

I can’t do it.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Shanks grimaced, trying to stay steady. Trying not to fall apart. “I don’t feel like trying to get there now. But I’ll still be a pirate.”

Buggy stared. He couldn’t be hearing this. Not from Shanks.

I thought he was gonna be the next king. That’s what Roger wanted, wasn't it? Shanks wouldn’t say this. 

The boy in the straw hat couldn’t take the look on his friend's face. 

I can’t, Buggy. Please, just… 

“Come with me, Buggy!”

Everything cracked. Every vision of the future that Buggy had decided he wanted. Every shining image of Shanks that made him believe, made him trust. 

You’re not who I thought you were, Shanks. 

“I’m not gonna work under you, idiot!! You– you COWARD!!”

Shanks broke, yet again. He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t lose everything all at once. He couldn’t speak while Buggy used an old accident against him, leaving him with shame and loneliness that he didn’t know what to do with.

I believed in you, Shanks.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that you lost my treasure map? And I can’t swim because of you! It’s your fault I can’t…” Buggy croaked out, covering his true pain with the only thing he could think of that would get him away from this liar. This false idol. This person that he’d poured all of his own dreams into. “Well, I haven’t forgiven you, Shanks! So until the next time we meet…”

The rain fell harder, as though nature were trying to drown out this moment before it could ruin their lives. 

But it was too late.

“We’re enemies!!”

~~~⏰🔴🤡⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

Fuck. Just breathe. 

Buggy paced in his dressing room after he finished the intro, his hands floating around him so his fingers could walk and tap along his whole body. It wasn’t enough to calm him down. 

I can do this. I won’t fuck it up. They won’t take her again.

That worry was still present, although it was shrinking a bit more each day.

Nope. Can’t think about that.

There wasn’t enough time to unpack why his “executives” were less scary now. They could still hurt them. They could still take her from him.

Showtimeshowtimeshowtime.

Buggy blew a few raspberries while he shook his arms out, about to run through some more vocal warmups when someone knocked on the door.

“Bugs, I’m sorry, but I need to tell you something. Now.”

~~~

“What the fuck, Sha—“

The red haired pirate pushed his way in, losing every word he’d struggled to come up with while he snuck back here again. 

“Get out, dumbass,” Buggy ordered, almost grateful to have someone to yell at. Or he would have been grateful if this new, pathetic version of Shanks wasn’t hurting his brain. 

“It’s about Y/N,” Shanks pleaded. He’d never seen Buggy’s face change the way it did at those words, at the urgency in them.

“Tell me,” Buggy growled, not sure what to do with the tension that had just shot through him. He couldn’t think yet. 

“Her uncle crashed the party. I’m— hold on,” Shanks groaned when Buggy tried to shove past him. The red haired pirate pressed his back against the door, struggling to calm his old friend down. “Crocodile is seating him with me, okay? I told you I’ll look out for her out there. I won’t let you down. I just wanted you to know what’s going on.”

“How is she,” Buggy demanded. His breathing was ragged when he finally stopped trying to tear his way through the other man to get to the door. “Is she okay, did he… Is she okay?”

The urge to run out and find her was overwhelming, but he forced himself to listen.

“She’s still with Crocodile and Mihawk. I didn’t before, but… I think she’s safe with them, Buggy. At least for tonight.”

The clown gaped at him, mind still churning from all of those promises to take her away from danger. 

Shanks felt himself losing his hold, losing his hope for the future he wanted, and it fucking stung. 

She’s more important. I can’t use her for my own goals. Not again. 

Y/N’s sick laughter, and her rage filled demands echoed within him.

“I’m gonna sit with him, Bugs. I'll do everything I can to protect her. I promise.”

“… He doesn’t know you’re our friend, right? Just a guest?”

“I’m just an honored guest,” Shanks laughed, that bitter taste still fresh on his tongue. 

“Don’t let him know,” Buggy ordered, grabbing Shanks by the chin as he glared into his eyes from inches away, “just in case. It’d be good to have someone with an in that he doesn’t think we’re connected to, at least not closely.” 

“Got it, so I—“

“Do that fucking thing you do,” Buggy continued as he started to pace, his fingers snapping, then tapping again. 

Shanks started to question, but the clown talked over him until all he could do was listen. 

“Do that smile everyone loves. Not this weird one,” he scoffed as he gestured toward Shanks’ face. “Do the cheesy one that makes everyone wanna lick your fucking sandals.”

“Excuse me,” Shanks laughed, forgetting. Buggy made him forget it all again, for just a moment.

“I said stop being this miserable, idiot person, and go flirt with that asshole until you get something we can use against him! You could charm a fucking sea beast, Shanks, I know you can—“

Shanks had enough restraint to keep from smearing Buggy’s makeup with a kiss, but he bellowed with laughter as he pulled his friend into a hug. 

“I won’t let you down,” he promised, “I won’t let her down. I’m here for you, Bugs.”

Always.

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🔴🤡⏰~~~

“Buggy?”

No.

“Gods, Buggy! What’s it been, four, five years now? You look great!”

Buggy wished he could have looked away, wished he could have pretended he was someone else. 

But no one in the world looked like him. 

Shanks gave him no time to process, no space. He just sat beside him at the bar, wrapping an arm around his shoulders before looking back while he called out. 

“Guys, this is Buggy! My friend that I’ve—“

“We know, captain,” chuckled a man with warm brown skin, and dark blonde dreads. Buggy had turned to find the source of the voice, spotting a small, eclectic group at a large booth with him.  

“Fuck, it’s good to see you,” Shanks beamed, his cheeks already starting to hurt. It had been so long. He couldn’t believe Buggy was right here beside him. He held his breath as he pulled his old friend into a darkened, corner booth.

Buggy could breathe a bit easier once they were out of everyone’s line of sight, shaking his head slightly at how out of character that was for him. 

“Shanks…”

“Buggy!”

The red haired pirate scooted close before wrapping his arms around the quiet clown, letting out soft, gasping laughs. He giggled more when Buggy disconnected his hand so he could grab his mug to take a large swig. 

“I missed you, old friend,” Shanks pulled back, his wide eyes darting too fast while he tried to take in every detail. “I love your hair.”

Buggy shivered when Shanks tugged on his blue hair, grown so much longer since they last saw each other. 

Memories of that painful day hit his mind, and he jolted when Shanks touched his hand.

“Sorry, Bugs, I’m just so happy to see you.”

“You’ve got a crew already,” Buggy noted, embarrassment kicking in at how far behind he was, yet again.

“It’s not a lot, but we’re growing,” the red haired pirate grinned toward his small crew that was becoming his new family. His new world. 

And here was his old world, frowning into his mug. 

“We’re staying here tonight, but I can show you my ship tomorrow if you…”

“Sounds good,” Buggy coughed, downing the rest of his bitter drink. He couldn’t afford the sweeter things he liked, but he wanted to seem more impressive anyway. 

“Have you been in this town long,” Shanks asked, gaining control of his excitement enough to notice Buggy’s mood, so he tried to shift his tone. “I bet you know the best lookout spots already. What about the market? You have a con or two going yet?”

“Of course I do,” Buggy grumbled, stealing Shanks’ mug for a sip. His face went hot when his friend’s hand rested on his wrist instead of taking the drink back. Old, strange feelings started flooding through him, and he didn’t know what to do with it all.

“I’ll follow you, then,” Shanks teased, nudging Buggy out of the booth.

~~~

Sunset in this shitty town wasn’t too bad when you had a good roof, a decent bottle of booze, and an old friend that reminded you of better days. 

The young pirates laughed, drank, and shared stories, finally having their own to share instead of their versions of the same tale.

Stars filled the sky, like a million tiny spotlights reaching out just to shine on them. 

Buggy let out a soft gasp, his body tingling when Shanks moved beside him, pulling him down until they laid on their backs with their shoulders and arms pressed against each other. 

And the backs of their hands. Their fingers every time they moved.

Right. This feels right.

What am I doing? I should leave. 

“You know, I think about you, Buggy,” Shanks confessed, tilting his head to gaze at the real star beside him. “I’ve thought about you so many times.”

Fingers flexed, warm and cool skin, barely connecting. Knuckles touched, rubbing together, so very lightly.

Buggy clenched his eyes shut, trying to remember why he thought he shouldn’t be here with Shanks. What was the point? 

He’d been alone for so long.

His breath went strange. The tingling feeling grew. Dizziness hit.

Why are his fingers touching mine like this? Why are my fingers reaching back? 

Shanks felt compelled, his body aching for Buggy’s touch in a way they’d never shared before. He’d known that he missed his friend, but he didn’t realize how desperately until now. Seeing him again made him high, made him reach out. 

Made him hold Buggy’s hand under the stars. 

“I missed you too, Shanks.”

~~~

“Fuck off, Shanks.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, holding out his hands to block Buggy’s path when he tried to shove past him, and out of the captain’s cabin. “Why not just stay for a little while then? You don’t need to be a crew member to sail with us to the next island, right? It’ll save you some berry.”

Those soft, brown eyes seemed to be poisonous. The longer Buggy spent falling into them, the weaker he became. 

“Fine, but just until the next island,” Buggy grumbled, gasping when Shanks tackled him in a hug. They breathed each other in, the air vibrating around them by the time they separated. Their hands seemed drawn together like magnets. Shanks trailed his fingers down Buggy’s arms, wrists, hands, holding for just a moment.

“I’m not sleeping in one of those crappy bunks. You really need to get a better ship soon, this one–”

“Sleep with me,” Shanks blurted, his face not going nearly as red as his friend’s. “I mean sleep in here with me, my bed’s pretty big. It’ll be just like old times!”

He skirted around the clown, plopping onto the edge of the mediocre bed before patting the mattress beside him. 

Buggy gaped, not sure why every new conversation with Shanks made him feel like he was falling off the edge of the world.

“I don’t…”

“It’s alright,” Shanks breathed, his heart racing faster than he knew it could. “I can sleep in a cot if you want.”

I’ve never wanted anyone like this. He’s right here, so close to my bed. I need to touch him, need to feel him. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Buggy scolded, plopping down beside his red haired friend. “I won’t have your crew coming after me for making their captain…”

Shanks laid his hand on Buggy’s thigh, and a high pitched ringing seemed to take all the sounds from the world. 

“Buggy, I– mmn,” Shanks moaned at the firm press of lips against his. Buggy grabbed his face, and the taste of grease paint was deliciously bitter as their first kiss deepened. His clown crawled over him, straddling his lap while Shanks lost himself. 

What am I doing…

Buggy stopped listening to his doubts, stopped caring. Shanks’ warmth, the hungry sounds he was making, and his strong hands gripping his back, his thighs, pulling him even closer, took over every thought, every sensation. He’d never felt anything like this. Couldn’t believe he was doing this.

He couldn’t believe his beautiful friend was letting him. 

“You’re perfect, Bugs,” Shanks hummed, kissing down his friend's throat. “You feel so good.”

The clown made a frustrated noise, kissing that mouth again before it could say anything else. 

“Shut up,” he whispered against smiling lips.

“No,” Shanks declared as he stood, making Buggy yelp when he flipped them around, tossing them both onto the bed. Buggy’s blue hair shined around him like a halo while his teeth scraped over his messy, lower lip. Shanks had caged him in, but kept that aching part of his body from connecting yet, though he wasn’t sure how long he could stand it. 

“I won’t shut up ‘til you believe it,” Shanks teased, leaning down for a soft kiss. “You’re amazing, Buggy! You’re beautiful, and funny, and soo fucking sexy.”

“Sexy,” he whispered, gasping underneath the red haired pirate. It was too much. Too good. 

“Can I prove it to you,” Shanks rasped, low and dangerous while he lost his strength to hold back.

“Go ahead and try, but I don’t– fuck…”

Shanks had grabbed Buggy’s hand, throwing his head back when he wrapped those gloved fingers around his own throbbing cock. He guided Buggy’s hand as he stroked up and down his length through his pants before finding the clown just as painfully needy as he was. 

“Gods, Buggy... You want me too, don’t you, baby?”

Buggy’s body answered for him, his back arching at those tempting words. He couldn’t stop shaking from that incredible touch, but nothing could pry his hand loose, Shanks’ cock twitching in his palm through that thin fabric.

“Shanks, please.”

“Please, what,” Shanks half teased, half begged. “Tell me what you want, and I just might give it to you.”

Buggy almost sobbed when Shanks moved their hands away, blocking his weak attempts to reach for him again. 

“I know you hate listening to me,” Shanks purred, his body pulsing at Buggy’s little sounds when he whispered those words into his ear. He pulled back enough to meet those crystal eyes, almost forgetting his goal. Almost.

“But I wanna make you feel good, Buggy,” he promised. “I want you to—“

“Just do it already,” Buggy groaned as he pulled Shanks onto him, and they both let out desperate noises when their bodies connected. The red haired pirate rolled away, shaking his head while he scolded him.

“Don’t be impatient, Bugs. I wanna take my time with— hey, you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Buggy choked out. He clenched his eyes shut, wanting to jump through the little, round window into the fucking ocean. “I’m fine, sorry.”

“Bugs,” Shanks whispered, wanting to reach out, but not sure if he should. “I’m sorry, we can take things slow, okay? I’m just excited you’re here with me.”

“Ugh,” the clown groaned while he rolled over, his frustrated noise continuing as he breathed it into a pillow. 

“Can I get you anything,” Shanks offered, sitting cross legged while he stared down at that pretty hair. He held his own fingers in his lap to resist trailing them through all of that lovely blue. His friend made an incomprehensible sound that brought the hint of a smile to his lips. “Sorry, I didn’t catch tha—“

“Just kill me,” Buggy grumbled, tilting to squint at Shanks with one eye, hoping that he’d disappeared. 

There he was. Perfect. Saying such wonderful things. The way he’d touched him...

It was too much. Too good to be true. 

Buggy had tried to find someone. Most of the time people wouldn’t take him seriously, but there were some that didn’t mind him being a clown. 

Until they asked him to take off his nose. 

Even those that were open to kissing, to touching such a freak, couldn’t hold it in. There was always a moment. An awkward giggle. A brief look of disgust when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He should have just gone through with it, just accepted that was how it would always be. 

No one wanted to touch him.

Buggy rolled onto his back to find Shanks waiting, a tiny smile on those lips that were smeared with his paint. The sight tore a bittersweet laugh from the clown’s throat.

“I don’t want your pity,” he confessed and demanded, struggling to keep his voice steady. “You don’t need to touch me. I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“What are you talking about?”

After all these years, those soft brown eyes had looked at him like that. Just the thought of those eyes turning sour hurt more than all of the others that had. He pushed himself up, moving toward the door, needing to escape before that moment could arrive.

“Buggy!”

Their hearts seemed to clash against each other with heavy, frantic beats when Shanks wrapped himself around his friend’s back.

Please, don’t leave again.

“There’s no pity,” he implored, his breath warming the back of Buggy’s neck through all that lovely hair. “I’m glad you kissed me, Bugs. I’d really like it if you did it again, but only if you want to.”

The clown lost all momentum, his painful doubts and fears struggling to stay front of mind with Shanks all around him.

“Just tell me what you need. I’m here for you, Bugs. Always.”

“Shut up, you sap,” Buggy rasped, grabbing onto the hands that gripped his chest. He melted at the hum of relief Shanks let out, and at the breath that moved to the side of his neck, touching his skin.

“Just tell me if you wanna stop.”

“I don’t wanna stop. Just— gods.”

The clown’s gasping moan brought a low growl from Shanks’ throat when he kissed and sucked his neck, pressing his swollen cock against Buggy’s ass. He freed one of his hands to travel down, reaching down, until he dipped his fingers into those teal pants. 

“Can’t believe you were about to walk out that door,” he teased, licking and nibbling at Buggy’s ear. “Not when you’re this fucking hard for me. Mm, you’re shaking, Bugs. Want me to—“

“Shut up,” Buggy laughed this time, pulling away from that wicked hold.

Just right now. It’s okay if it’s only for right now. We can be…

“Oh, fuuck,” Shanks moaned, his own legs shaking as he stared down. Buggy had gone to his knees, turning to face him before tugging at his pants. It didn’t take long before Buggy wrapped gloved fingers around his shaft, frowning at his own accessories while he paused his task.

Shanks held in a laugh at that adorable face, grabbing one of the clown’s hands to kiss those gloved fingers. 

“You don’t need to hide from me, Bugs,” he promised, smiling as he bit down on the fabric. He laughed through his teeth now at Buggy’s new expression while he tore the glove free. 

A soft, little smirk touched Buggy’s lips before he copied his friend, growling when he pulled the other glove off with his teeth.

“You know, I can… I want… Fuck, that feels so good, Buggy. Just like that.”

Part of Buggy was still waiting for the look on Shanks’ face to twist, but all it did was go desperate, a sight he hadn’t known he needed to see. His perfect friend, falling to pieces for him. His taste, his voice, his thick, veiny cock that Buggy was learning how to breathe around. Every word of praise that fell from his friend's lips felt like a standing ovation, and the fingers that twisted into his hair made his eyes roll back in his head. 

Shanks was shocked that he was still on his feet with the way his friend's eyes burned into him like that. 

He’s so beautiful. So fucking good.

The way Buggy had wasted no time in taking him down his throat sent so much pleasure through him, as though his clown was just as desperate for him as he was. 

Buggy’s hands shifted, one stroking along his base, the other massaging his balls until Shanks’ head fell back, almost whimpering.

“You’re so fucking— sooo good, Bugs. Fuck, you’re gonna make me come, baby. I want— wanna make you feel good too…”

Buggy let out a choked laugh, muffled through that throbbing cock, but he couldn’t help it. He had a moment of fear that Shanks would be disgusted, but the needy look on his friend's face pushed him through. 

“Buggy,” Shanks laughed, then moaned at the sight of Buggy’s cock floating up in front of his face, achingly hard, and dripping with precum. 

“Such a good boy for me. Come on, Buggy. Fuck my throat ‘til we both come,” Shanks ordered, fisting that pretty, blue hair, and giving his friend a wicked smirk. “Think you can— mmnf”

Holy shit. This is real. This is Shanks.

Buggy’s here. He’s mine.

Nothing else existed. 

These two long lost friends created their own perfect world made up of their strangled moans, their tingling bodies, and the overwhelming pleasure they drank from each other. 

There was something powerful, almost too real, in the way they looked at each other while they came, until that blissful heat pouring down their throats sent both sets of eyes rolling back. 

The way they looked at each other afterwards stunned them both into silence. Time stood still, until Shanks couldn’t stand anymore. 

He joined Buggy on his knees, awe showing in that crooked smile of his while he brought his hands up to cradle Buggy’s face. 

“I missed you, Bugs,” Shanks breathed against his friend’s lips.

“Of course you did.”

~~~⏰🔴🤡⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

“Get off of me, shithead,” Buggy growled while he pushed Shanks away, frustrated with how much he wanted to let him take over his world again. “Go figure out how to get rid of that asshole. Thinks he can just come in here, and… Why is he here?”

“I don’t know yet.” 

The red haired man’s momentary relief from guilt was withering away, as though his body could feel where the next few words would take them. 

“Well, he’s a fucking moron if he thinks he can just walk in here and take her. Like the fucking Cross Guild is just gonna let someone take our girl? Our— What?”

Y/N’s voice filled Shanks’ mind, her empty eyes branded onto his guilty heart. 

‘I can’t go with you. Please make him happy.’

That’s what she said. She’s gonna leave. Y/N’s gonna leave because I pushed her away. I tore them apart. 

“Why the fuck are you making that face?”

‘Don’t tell anyone.’

Shanks froze. The right thing to do would be to tell, wouldn’t it? He’d hurt her, and he needed to fix it. He had to make sure Buggy didn’t lose his star.

But she’d begged him not to tell. After what he did, the thought of going against his promise made him choke. 

Fuck.

“Shanks?“

“Y/N hasn’t seemed okay since I’ve…” Shanks tried. The near violence in those crystal eyes made him want to beg, to take any punishment, anything to get rid of this fucking guilt. 

“What are you saying?”

“I know you know her better than I do,” he continued softly. Weakly. “But I think she’s hurting. I think what we— what I’ve been doing has made her feel…”

He watched helplessly as Buggy’s face changed, his muscles twitching while flashes of anger, horror, and guilt fought for control. 

“Are you saying she’s gonna leave with him,” the clown whispered, desperate to snatch the words back from the air, as if they alone would make it true. 

Yet the memory of Y/N’s tears dragged the clown too deep, drowning him in fear and shame.

“Are you saying my star's gonna leave because I hurt her,” Buggy breathed, every memory of Shanks touching him in front of her turning to acid now. 

Y/N had kept smiling for him.

Until Mihawk had taken her away. 

I didn’t care. I just kept thinking about Shanks. I used her for him. I ignored her, even when we…

He felt sick.

“I treated her like she was just a joke!”

“Buggy, I—“

Shanks had expected violence, almost craved it, when Buggy grabbed his cloak. Instead, his tortured friend pulled him close, gloved hands trembling against him.

“Help me!"

“Of course,” Shanks promised, hating his greedy urge to kiss that look of pain off of the clown’s face. “I’ll fix this. I’ll make sure she—“

“I can’t lose her,” Buggy murmured, releasing the red haired pirate from his grasp. “Please—“

“I swear. I will do everything in my power to fix what I… I’m so sorry, Buggy.”

The clown stepped back, aching to scream, to rage against the man in front of him, but his own fear and guilt held him back. He needed Shanks. He tried not to think about how much. 

I need Y/N. I need my star.

“It wasn’t just you,” Buggy admitted, opening the dressing room door for his old friend. His old world.

He’s not my only world anymore.

“I’ll fix this,” Shanks breathed, squeezing Buggy’s hand. There were so many more words he wanted to say, but they were running out of time. Selfish words that he had always meant to say, but he knew he didn’t deserve them now. 

Energy flooded his veins as he left Buggy backstage again, this time with his vow holding him steady.

I’ll fix this.

~~~

Please don’t go, star. I’ll do anything. 

Buggy panicked, every moment of pain on her face replaying in his mind like his own perfect torture. 

“I’m a fucking IDIOT! Such a piece of shit! I knew it! I knew I was hurting her, and now she’s gonna…”

Buggy didn’t wait for his feet to catch up while he flew toward the vanity. He dumped out the drawers, tossing everything behind him. All of the colorful contents were scattered across the plush carpet, glitter and greasepaint like fresh wounds left to fester and scar. 

“I can’t let you leave. You’re everything, star. Just talk to me, baby. I’ll listen. You’re not a joke to me, never a joke.”

Buggy tore his dressing room apart, vowing to keep tears from touching her beautiful eyes ever again. 

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🤡🤡🤡⏰~~~

Buggy was whistling and skipping back to the docks, carrying a smug smile, and very full pockets. The citizens of this island were friendly to street performers, and he’d spent the day being showered with berry and praise instead of scouting for good pickpocketing spots.

Although he had snagged a rather nice watch during one of his sleight of hand tricks. 

He’d even heard stories about another performer that had just left town to head up the coast, and he was hoping they could stay here long enough for him to go see for himself. 

Buggy had always wanted to see a lion tamer’s act up close.

The tavern was fancier than their usual spots, and Buggy had to stop himself from floating when he spotted it down the road. He didn’t want to spook the friendly locals. 

I’ve got enough berry for some good drinks tonight.

The memory of Shanks grimacing at the taste of all the sweet cocktails he’d forced him to try had Buggy chewing on the inside of his lip, fighting a cheesy smile when he stepped into the pleasantly dim tavern. The booths had high, decorated partitions between them, each lit with their own small lanterns. Most of the crew had been taking up the tables in the middle during their stay, but the place was nearly empty besides a couple of residents. 

Buggy caught a glimpse of a sandled foot poking out from one of the booths, and couldn’t resist the urge to sneak up on his red haired friend. 

Not friend. Boyfriend.

Still not used to that word, Buggy moved closer, silent as he could be. 

“Captain, we need to talk about the clown.”

“Buggy’s good, Benn! There’s nothing to talk about.”

The clown froze for a moment before ducking into the booth behind the captain and his first mate. 

It felt wrong. He knew it was wrong, but his heart was stuck in his throat, anxiety rippling under his skin. He clenched his fists, listening.

“You’re not kids anymore. It’s been two years.”

“I know how aging works, old man,” Shanks teased, taking a large swig of his drink, the mug sounding too light when he set it down. 

“You’re a captain, Shanks,” Benn sighed, the pressure in his voice turning Buggy’s stomach. “You need to command respect. Buggy isn’t a member of the crew. He argues with you in front of everyone, even enemies—“

“We’re just playing arou—“ 

“You’re not children,” Benn scolded, his voice going soft quickly after that harsh tone. “A captain needs to be taken seriously. He has to show you respect, Shanks. You need to stop pretending that he’s not a member of the crew just to protect your boyfriend’s feelings.”

Nausea tore through Buggy, humiliation flooding in along with every memory he had with Shanks’ crew. 

They all think I’m pathetic. Just a joke. Just Shanks’— 

“Okay, Benn. I hear you, alright,” Shanks conceded, releasing a heavy breath. Buggy felt a gentle thud against the thin wall between them, as though Shanks had tilted his head back to rest against the wood. 

“I’ll talk to him about it. I just don’t wanna force him,” Shanks paused, and Buggy’s heart paused along with him. “I know it seems silly to pretend for so long, but I want him to be happy.”

“It’s alright, Captain,” Benn soothed, huffing a laugh. “I guess it’s hard not to act silly around a silly clown.”

Buggy was going to be sick. 

“Hey now, Buggy’s not just a silly clown,” Shanks chuckled, his voice piercing right through Buggy’s unpierceable heart. “He’s my silly clown.”

~~~⏰🤡🤡🤡⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🔴🤡⏰~~~

Just a joke. I’m always just a fucking joke.

Buggy didn’t know what he was packing. He didn’t seem to be packing at all, since everything in their cabin carried stupid memories.

Not our cabin. It’s the captain’s cabin. Just the Captain, and his silly clown. 

“Fuck!”

The clown berated himself silently, hating the thought of the crew hearing his pathetic cries, and judging him even more. He swallowed the lump in his throat while he tried to focus on packing, but he got too focused, letting out a yelp when the door opened, and his least favorite red head stepped in with worry on his face.

“Hey, Bugs,” Shanks started, icy fear pouring through his veins at the sight of that half full bag of clothes on the bed. “What’s going on, baby?”

“Baby,” Buggy seethed, unable to hold it in. “Don’t you mean, ‘your silly clown?’ That’s what everyone thinks I am, right?”

Shanks felt his stomach drop, like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. Buggy hadn’t looked this angry since…

“Buggy, please,” he reached out, his boyfriend’s body floating away too fast for him to touch. “It was just a joke.”

Fuck. Why did I say that?

“Just a joke, just like me, huh,” Buggy laughed, sharp and wrong. “Buggy’s just a clown, so silly, so useless! All I’m good for is being YOURS, and I can’t even do that right!”

“No, Bugs,” Shanks begged, his body glued to the spot while he tried to wake up. “It’s nothing, okay? You know Benn, he can be so serious. Don’t let it—“

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the clown spat, stuffing more random items into his bag. “I’m not a member of your crew. I wasn’t pretending about that. What else were you pretending, baby? Was everything a fucking joke to you?”

“Fuck, no! Buggy, please stop,” Shanks pleaded with stinging eyes as he tried to pull the bag away, floating hands dragging it to the corner of the ceiling. “It’s not a big deal, okay? I promise, it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks!”

Buggy felt too many things at once. His body ached to collapse to the floor, to weep, to apologize for being such a stupid piece of shit. He wanted to beg Shanks to forgive him, to let him stay forever.

He wanted to scream, and rage, and tear this whole fucking ship down. To make everyone that thought he was a joke burn, to show them how fucking silly he could be.

Anything to kill the suffocating humiliation that crushed him more with every memory, every moment he stayed on this ugly boat. 

Since he couldn’t do any of those things, Buggy kept packing, trying to close the bag while he ignored the worthless tears ruining his makeup. 

Soft brown eyes trapped him then. Shanks finally caught him by the shoulders, his face blotchy with panic while he begged.

“Bugs, please! Baby, just listen.”

“I will,” Buggy threatened, pulling the rest of his body back together while he shook off Shanks’ hold. “Seems like captains only listen to their first mates, so I’m gonna go find mine.”

“Please, don’t leave me again.”

The clown shouldered past the red haired pirate, but his gloved hand hesitated on the doorknob. He almost stopped. He almost stayed. 

Until it all slammed into him again. 

“You think I’m a fucking joke—“

“Buggy, I never—“

“Don’t underestimate me, Red Hair. Next time we meet, we’re enemies.”

Buggy didn’t turn back, didn’t wait, didn’t think. He just left that boat, setting off to find his first mate. 

He fought every memory, every thought, every burning ache in his chest while he floated along, his feet running behind him in the sand. 

All he could think about was his future. 

Fuck all of them! It’s my time to shine.

Shanks watched his clown leave again. He wanted to scream his name, to run after him, but he couldn’t move.

Couldn’t feel anything but the weight of unsaid words.

None of those other words matter, Buggy. Why didn’t you listen to me?

Why did you leave over a few stupid words? You have to know…

As that blue hair finally floated out of sight, fear won out over everything else at the thought of Buggy all alone out there, yet it planted a disgusting hope inside his heart. 

Shanks let himself look at that twisted hope for just a moment before shoving it down, along with as much of this pain as he could manage.

You’ll come back. I’m here for you, Bugs. Always. You’ll be back. 

I’ll protect you from this cruel world.

~~~⏰🔴🤡⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

Buggy was glowing on that stage, and Shanks had to bring himself back. Remember his mission. 

It’ll be my fault if she leaves, and has to suffer out there all alone. I should have been careful. I should have listened. 

If I’d listened back then, Buggy would have stayed with me. He wouldn’t have gone off all alone, and ended up with these monsters. It’s my fault he’s…

Buggy couldn’t let Y/N leave. Little pieces of her were shining behind her eyes again tonight, spurring him on. He needed to listen to her, to make sure she knew he loved her. 

Guilt and worry tried to take over, but the spotlight always healed all wounds. Even the fears he had about his “executives” seemed like nothing now, and their strange, small smiles felt almost soothing whenever they caught eyes. 

“Care to lend me a hand with the party favors, Mr. President?”

Buggy didn’t look at Shanks when he dropped the papers on his table, grinning at Cedrick Sylvad instead. The red haired emperor snatched up one of the mock posters to have something to think about besides his own guilt, only to be reminded of the ugliness that was happening here. 

Distaste and disgust were followed quickly by shame. He’d known what his lovers were up to. 

I’m being a hypocrite again, aren’t I?

Buggy felt on fire on stage with Crocodile, the feeling of playing the crowd like this had him high, even with everything else going on. Yet he still had to fight to keep his eyes away from that red haired pirate, pretending his old friend was just a guest, even though he was dying to see the look on Shanks' face while he performed. It had always been one of his favorite sights. 

For a split second after Crocodile called for the real party favor, Buggy worried about what Y/N would think, but he shook it off with ease.

My girl’s so smart. She knows who I am, and she loves me anyway. I’ll show her I love her too.

The bound and gagged marine was dripping blood onto the stage. Shanks couldn’t stop himself from glancing back toward his golden eyed lover, still seated at the head table. “The Marine Hunter” scowled down at the stage over his glass of wine, and Shanks looked away quickly before Cedrick could catch him looking toward his niece.

They're gonna execute an unarmed man. This is wrong. I can’t let Buggy…

He hated every piece of himself that felt like he was right. 

Red Haired Shanks’ beliefs had crashed down around him, and his mind was scrambling to build things back up, to figure out what he truly valued, and what had only fed his ego. 

How many marines have I killed? Can I really judge them? Am I just trying to feel superior? 

Even if it’s wrong, I’m the one that hurt Buggy. He wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t pushed him away. 

Or maybe this cursed island has turned me into a monster too...

Questions, justifications, and doubts stormed within him, leaving nothing but acceptance, since he didn’t have enough time for this existential crisis.

Nothing else matters. I can’t let Buggy lose her.

“Guess it's time for the finale,” Crocodile smirked, holding his hook to the marine’s throat.

Shanks looked away from the unarmed man, selfishly choosing to enjoy the sight of his beautiful clown for as long as he could. 

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

~~~~~~

Pride warmed your chest when you saw the way your little smile affected the villain on the stage. Crocodile was about to kill someone in front of you, and it should have felt horrible, terrifying. You weren’t reveling in it, so that was something, but your lack of reaction proved that you were either a monster, or you were crazy.

Probably both.

You managed to turn your sick laugh into a polite cough, although Mihawk still turned to you with something almost like fear in those deadly eyes. Shaking your head, you held your breath at the sound of vultures hissing for their next meal.

“Let’s hear what he has to say for himself!”

“Think he’ll apologize for being such a nuisance?”

“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to hear someone’s last words!”

“Why not,” Crocodile shrugged, using his hook to tear the gag from the marine’s mouth.

Buggy stepped closer to the wheel to squeeze the man’s cheeks, blood and drool dripping down from snarling lips. 

“Time for your fifteen minutes of fame,” Buggy announced, leaving his hands to hold the struggling man’s face toward the crowd while he stepped away to show him off. He smirked at the leeches, winking while he gave a mock whisper. “If he lasts that long, anyway.”

The disgust you felt for the guests' bloodlust didn’t carry over to you or your lovers. You loved watching Buggy play them so well. 

Even if the unlucky man had to die.

“Captain Tront, Mr. Extra Special Party Favor! Got any last words for us,” Buggy called out, nodding toward the band for a drum roll to start while the marine spit more blood onto the floor. 

“You think you’ll get away with this,” he choked out, eyeing the esteemed guests. “You’re risking all your wealth, your reputations, on these freaks?”

Buggy and Crocodile chuckled, and the laughter spread through the hall as the vultures watched the desperate man fall apart. 

“You’ll regret this! You’ll all regret throwing yourselves in with these pirate scum! The Cross Guild, and their overpriced whore–”

Little gasps and screams filled the air, just like when the performers had shown off their dangerous acts. Some nervous laughter bubbled up, until applause built, quiet at first, but soon there were leeches on their feet, cheering for your deadly lovers. 

Captain Tront’s lifeless body slumped in his restraints, bright red blood spilling like a fresh coat of paint for the wheel. Buggy had gotten the man first, his floating hands snapping the marine’s neck just before Crocodile’s hook tore out his throat. 

You’d known that they were going to kill this man, but this was different. 

They had killed this man for you. 

Crocodile nodded toward you, and you realized that you weren’t at all surprised by his swift violence.  

Yet, your sweet, lovely clown had snapped that man’s neck in an instant, just for insulting you. That sweet, lovely clown should have been lost in the applause, the spotlight, the praise, but he didn’t seem to notice any of it.

Buggy beamed at you as though you were his standing ovation, his spotlight, his thunderous applause. This wicked, dangerous clown that just murdered a man was smiling at you while the blood was still warm and spreading across the stage.

You smiled back.

~~~~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: Writing this one was extra special to me. I hope that I did Shuggy justice, and that you enjoyed this chapter! I'm including a little Shuggy flashback age timeline below:

Shuggy Flashback Timeline: (Shanks and Buggy are adorably the same age) - Roger's Execution ~ (age 15) - First time meeting after the execution, and Buggy starts sailing with the Red Hair Pirates ~ (age 19) - Flashback smut from Chapter 23 ~ (between 19-21) - Breakup, and Buggy leaving the Red Hair Pirates to start his own crew ~ (age 21) - Present Day ~ (age 39)

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97

Part 27

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[peachsukii]

Hollow Heart { chapter 3 - choke }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: you have zero clue where you are after your abduction. white walls, medical instruments, the smell of rust, and hazy memories are all that keep you company during your time in the mystery lab. the horrors that lurk between these steel walls are going to give you nightmares for an eternity. all you can think about is getting home to your best friends and family, back to the life you sorely missed. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: To all of you who have stopped to read this fic, thank you so much! This was my jump back into writing after almost a decade. I appreciate every single one of you!! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 13,885k as of ch.3 ꒱ Main Post Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 3 | Choke [3,995k] Chapter 4 | The Grey Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER THREE: CHOKE

Day One (?)

Metallic rust.

That's all you could taste when you awoke from your drugged slumber, the world stuck in a haze as you hummed in discontent. 

Where the hell am I?

The thought muddled in your head as you attempted to gauge your surroundings. The numbness in your limbs from earlier had been replaced with a new sensation - your body feeling too heavy for your bones to carry. 

Did someone strap a weight to your shoulders and ankles? 

You rotate your head sluggishly to see an all white and gray room, one singular door directly ahead of where you sat. There's a metal table in the corner with a few machines - you can't seem to determine what their purposes are. On your left, a surgical instruments table sits ominously, a few bloody bandages and an empty syringe splayed across it.

There's a sudden pulse in your head that rattles your brain, the train of thought you had derailing instantly. Glimpses of memories begin to spark in your mind - Bakugo's anguished expression as you drifted out of consciousness, an unknown number of hands removing your hero suit and belongings, cold steel of an operating table touching your bare skin, the ungodly amount of poking and prodding of your delicate skin with needles of all shapes and sizes, and a glass enclosure.

How are you remembering all of this if you weren't even conscious for the majority of it?

As if to answer your silent question, a doctor enters the room - what you presume is a doctor, anyways, by the looks of his white surgeon coat and stethoscope around his neck. 

"Good morning. Would you prefer the use of your hero name or first name?" He asks, paging through the file on his clipboard.

What the fuck?

"Uhh...hero name?" you slur as you answer, voice cracking with exhaustion. You're not able to think straight in the moment and have zero adrenaline to be combative. 

"Noted. How are you feeling?" His tone is dry, like every other doctor you've met in your life.

"Shitty."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Can you elaborate?"

God, this is so annoying. Why the hell are you being interrogated?

"M'everything feels...funny. Heavy but also...fuzzy?"

He scribbles down notes on a few different pages, flipping back and forth through the stack on his clipboard. 

"Is it my turn t'ask a question?" you quip, snickering at your own request. 

He approaches you hastily and slaps the ever-loving shit out of you. You let out a sharp yelp, the sting of his palm radiating on your cheek. 

"Subjects only speak when spoken to."

A chill runs down your spine when he uses the term "subjects." Just how many of you are there?

"Return her to containment," he orders, signaling to someone behind you before turning to exit the room. Another man enters as the doctor leaves, dressed in white scrubs with mint green latex gloves. He approaches you, latching a pair of handcuffs around your wrists while turning off a device nearby.

"C'mon, move it," he scolds as he yanks on the chain of the handcuffs. You stumble forward to your feet, wobbling on jelly legs as he's dragging you behind him. Looking down, your wrists were littered with bruises in varying shades of yellow, purple and green. Had they cuffed you earlier and roughhoused you? A few raw spots on your arm lead you to believe they had taken blood from you at some point, too. You have zero inclination to how long you've even been wherever the hell you are - anything is possible.

The mystery worker drags you down multiple corridors of dimly lit metal hallways and various steel lacing the walls. There were no windows in sight as you maneuvered your way around the labyrinth of never-ending laboratories, holding cells and various medical exam rooms. He stops in front of a frosted glass cell, swiping a keycard in front of the mechanism on the door. It opens with a high pitched beep and he pushes you inside, whipping you around by the shoulders to face him. He undoes your restraints before slamming the glass door shut, locking it with another beep of the keycard. 

With the silence comes the realization of your current predicament, crashing down around you like a tidal wave. It's intense, the surge of emotion that cascades through your entire body as if someone flipped a switch inside you. 

One lingering thought pulls at your heartstrings - Bakugo's face as you slipped away from him, his panic and desperation as he failed to save you.

And to top it all off, you told him you loved him. 

In the heat of the moment, it felt right. But now? It feels selfish. You admitted your feelings just in time for them to be ripped away from him. You don't even know if you're going to see him ever again. What if you die down here?

Oh. 

What if you die down here?

Alone and scared.

Away from your family, friends...Katsuki, your best friend - the secret love of your life. 

You never got to kiss him, properly express your affection for him - the experience was stolen away from you.

You're left to your own devices inside an unknown cell, blubbering on the tiny cot in the corner, frustration burning in your chest as you're heaving sob after sob. It triggers something in you never felt before - an unfamiliar violent rage. Launching up from the cot, you snivel as you face the wall and punch it with all the energy you can gather. 

"Fuck!" You wail, failing to recollect the memory that your still under the effect of the quirk suppressant. The sound of your knuckles smashing against the steel wall reverbs as it sends lightning bolts of pain up your arm, dissolving as the adrenaline makes its way through your entire being.

And then something terrifying stirs in your guts as the blood drips from your knuckles onto the floor.

The pain was satisfying.

Day Nine

Days have passed, that much you knew, but how many? That answer remained unclear, no matter how many times you begged various workers around the compound. No one ever answered you with words, just violence. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve been slapped, kicked, and pushed around for engaging in minimal conversation. There’s other prisoners here, too, but no one is allowed to communicate. You see each other sometimes in the hallways but never long enough to speak, even if you wanted to. It was like everyone was a ghost, all haunting the same burial ground.

Shockingly enough, they keep you fed and allowed one shower per day. It's a confusing system, considering how inhumane things have proven to be, but you're convinced it's to keep their subjects "healthy" for their fucked up experiments. 

Your schedule consisted of a hellish rotation of broken sleep and taking whatever drugs they forced upon you. The amount of times you were pulled from your cell varied for their trials that they had planned for the day. Whether it be once, or four times, you never knew how many hours you'd be stuck under surveillance in a catatonic state. 

You desperately tried to turn your emotions off to protect your psyche at any chance you could. As much as you hated to admit defeat, the endless stress and over dosage of unknown substances was more than enough to keep you underwater, sinking further toward rock bottom with each passing moment.

A guard stalks up to your cell and bangs on the glass to grab your attention.

“Y/H/N, your cooperation is needed for test 15. Up and at ‘em.” 

Your body is burdened with all the medical trauma you've endured over the last few days, slowing your pace to a sluggish limp as you make your way toward the cell door. 

"Hurry it up, subject. We ain't got all day!" he shouts, startling you with his sudden command.

Fuck this place.

Day Fourteen

"Test 23, Y/H/N - Forced kinetic energy release. Begin testing."

You don't have time to react before the IVs hooked to you begin to force various fluids into your veins. The competing sensations flood through you in rough currents - hot, cold, burning, stinging in cycles. A well-known tunnel vision begins to cloud your sight as you squirm in the steel throne you've been restrained to. You're body is on the verge of passing out when an intrusive illusion appears before you.

"Hello? Sweetie?" 

Your mother appears in front of you, outstretching a phantom hand to touch your shoulder. 

What the fuck...mom? How is she here right now?

"Are you coming home?" she asks, her face settled in a deadpan expression. Her voice resembles a computerized AI, as if someone is programming her dialog.

"Mom?" you speak aloud, frightened by how real this looks and feels.

"Honey? Are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need you."

"Mom, I'm right here. What do you mean?" You're becoming more and more disturbed as she continues to drone on the same question.

"When are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need help."

She's not real.

She's not really here - this shadow knows nothing. 

Snap the fuck out of it, they must have drugged you with a hallucinogenic. 

But why? What the hell does this have to do with quirk suppressants? 

"You're not here," you growl, screwing your eyes shut, refusing to entertain anymore of this apparition of your mother. 

"Oh, but honey, I am!"

What?

A force squeezes at your throat, cutting off an anxious breath as it leaves your lips. You scramble to grasp at the hallucination, forgetting you're trapped in the testing chamber and can't move. Your hands are flexing repeatedly under the shackles as energy is collecting in your palms, unable to control the emotional response racing through every nerve in your body.

They must have not given you the suppressant...or mixed it with something more deadly. 

"No!" You croak, your scream choked out by the pressure on your neck. 

Your vision turns white, a sudden surge of energy expelling from your palms, pulsing intensely over and over again. You can feel the impact against the chair beneath you, the sound of shredding metal filling your ears as kinetic energy is forcibly pouring out of you in succession.

"Cease testing, inject sedation."

The pain in your hands dissipates immediately upon hearing the doctor's orders, followed by the prick of a thick needle penetrating the crook of your neck. The white cast in your vision fades, reality returning to you as your eyes glass over. One of the scientist walks around the chair and stands before you with another goddamn clipboard. 

"Y/H/N, please describe how you feel and what you saw."

That familiar fire returns in your chest from your first night here - the aggressive urge to lash out. Was this a side-effect of whatever serum they've been loading you up with?

"Fuck you," you snarl, lip quivering as you're attempting to bury the ferocity thrashing inside you, begging to be set free.

He approaches you and snatches your cheeks in a rough hold. His grip tightens around your jaw as he repeats his question. 

"One more time - Y/H/N, describe how you feel and what you saw."

The flame burns hotter as your fists are trembling, the emotion becoming overbearing.

Before you can stop yourself, your palms shoot up into an offensive position, sparking with the remaining collective of kinetic energy as it bursts forward, striking the scientist and sending him tumbling backward. The bonds on the arms of the chair must have broken and freed your hands during the test - you didn't even notice until you attacked the guard. 

Shit.

"Quirk handcuffs and solitary - stat," orders the doctor over the surround system. 

The door to the room slams open and three more scientists scramble inside as they're rushing to surround you. One shoves you down harshly into the metal chair, bouncing your head off the back of it. 

Black…everything goes black.

When you come to, you’re in a new room that you don’t recognize. It’s different from the one you’ve called “home” since your arrival. There’s a mirror in the cell they’ve thrown you in and you catch a glimpse of yourself for the first time in...you don't know how long. The reflection shows you someone you don’t recognize - the girl staring back at you isn’t you. It looks like you, but her vicious predatory grin is bone chilling. This doppelgänger glares daggers at you, tilting her head menacingly as she mouths, “get out of me.”

You throw a punch at the mirror and shatter it as a blood curdling scream erupts from deep in your gut. Stumbling to the floor, you lay on the cold concrete and stare into the blank space of the solitary prison cell. You can’t even will yourself to cry.

I wanna go home…I wanna go home… 

The thought recycled on loop, taunting the strength of your mental state.

I want to go home to mom, to Izuku, to Katsuki…anywhere but here. 

You need to survive...

No. You will survive. 

This will not kill you. 

Day Twenty Five

"Y/H/N, we are going to proceed with a psychological evaluation."

Like you had a choice in the matter.

“Can you describe your experience from test 23?”

“Horrible,” you groan, the vision of your mother flowing to the forefront of your memory. “I saw a hallucination of someone that could physically touch me.”

You’ve learned in your time here not to ask further questions - answer as plainly as possible and move on. 

The scientist clacked the keys on her laptop obnoxiously. “And it felt real?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Yes.” You turn your eyes to the floor as she proceeds to type whatever nonsense into the database. She retrieves a clipboard from the bag slung on the back of her chair, sliding it across the table to you. 

"Can you confirm this report is accurate from your initial intake?"

You begin to scan over the form when the words "if you want to get out of here" catch your attention.

Y/N

Y/H/N

Subject 57 - Kinetic Energy

Do not speak or react this note, until specified, if you want to get out of here.

...What?

I'm an undercover hero from the United States. I've been here for six months, waiting for an officially ranked hero to come through the facility. I haven't been able to leave since my arrival and communication has been cut off from my agency. You're the first non-civilian they've captured. 

Blink four times if you had a cellphone on you when you were taken. 

You look up at her and blink four times - she shoots her eyes back down to the form, signaling you to continue reading. 

Can you contact outside help? Could be the agency you belong to or co-workers.

Tap the table twice for yes and three times for no.

You tap the table twice, pretending to point to specific information on the page your reading. If you could get access to your cellphone, you might just be able to send your location to initiate a rescue mission.

"Thank you, Y/H/N," she says, grabbing the clipboard and returning it to her bag. "I'll take you back to your cell, follow me."

Following the standard protocol that you're used to, she slaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists before exiting the room. Once you reach your cell, she steps inside with you, removing the cuffs and motioning for you to come closer.

"I can look in the evidence chamber for your phone, more than likely it's in there with the other belongings after your decontamination process. Workers aren't allowed any communication devices, but they keep all of the captor's personal items guarded in one place." 

You don't have time to ask her all the questions you're dying to know the answers to - how'd she get here, how did the USA know of the lab, what her undercover work consisted of, why no  one came to find her...a plethora of unknowns. 

But right now? She's willing to help you, that's all that matters.

"If you can conjure up enough energy with your quirk, can you charge it?" she asks faintly. 

You nod in response, confirming the answer silently. Similarly to your classmate from UA, Kaminari, you were able to charge devices by converting kinetic energy into an electronic wavelength - a trick Eraserhead taught you back in Junior year. 

"Here's the plan - In five days, I'll be the guard on night shift. I'll give you an empty shot of the suppressant to make it look like a realistic dosage. Once the others have dissipated to their quarters, I can lead you to the evidence stash and let you rummage through the bins while I keep watch. You grab the phone, I'll hide it in my uniform, bring you back to your cell and toss it to the floor. I'll patrol the hall while you get things set up and make contact with another hero or your agency."

She peers out of the glass cell and sees another guard making his way down the hall. 

"Don't say a word. I'll be back in 5 days, and I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," she apologizes as she cracks you on the jaw with a hearty slap.

You know she had to fake it in front of the other guard to keep her cover - it still hurt like hell.

She shuts the door with a noisy clang of the door's mechanism, a high pitched beep locking it in place. 

And thus, the countdown to freedom begins.

Five days until you finally make contact with the outside world - with someone.

Someone? No, you already knew who you were sending the information to - like it wasn't obvious who you'd choose to signal for help.

Day Twenty Nine

You've come this far, you can't back down now. 

All you had to do was make your way back to the evidence room with the undercover hero lady, find your phone, and sneak back to your holding cell. 

And force your quirk to activate. 

...and not get caught.

The suspense of the plan succeeding was enough to keep you on edge as the nightly sedations were distributed. She appeared, just like she promised, and administered a fake injection to your arm. You put on a front for the other guards, fooling them into thinking you were properly medicated. 

The plan's been set in motion - she'll be back in a few hours.

Day Thirty

You could feel the liberation in your grasp - the victory of sneaking your phone back to your cell filling you with exhilaration. All you had to do was wait for lights out to attempt your escape plan. You have no idea how deep the lab sits under Sector 42 and if you'll even be able to obtain a signal in your cell.

Focusing all of your willpower into the tip of your pointer finger, you hold it closely as sparks of energy softly crackle into the charging port of the phone. 

Just a minute to charge, that's all I need. Enough battery to turn it on, send a call and a text and turn it back off.

You're beginning to feel lightheaded as your phone successfully powers on with a soft vibration and the logo appearing on screen. 

Holy shit, it worked!

Hurriedly, you flip the silent switch before notifications begin to pour into the device, catching up on all the missed communications over the last month. Multiple calls, text messages, e-mails, the standard amount that you expected. The battery hovered at 7% and the time read 3:05AM. You glance at the date underneath the time - it's been an entire month since you disappeared. 

A whole goddamn month.

There's no time to spiral over that right now!

Hunched over behind your cot, you proceed to open your messages to keep your plan on track. You're not shocked by the amount of missed texts from everyone; Midoriya, Jiro, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina...and Bakugo.

You had 127 unread texts from him, the last coming in less than ten minutes ago.

One hundred and twenty seven.

You freeze, a mixture of guilt, excitement, and panic surging through you. Shoving all that down - you've gotten too good at doing that - you clicked on the thread, catching the last dozen or so of his messages.

[2:45AM] i don’t want to say this in a fucking text of all things [2:45AM] especially under these circumstances  [2:46AM] but i’m scared i’ll never get to say it to you [2:46AM] i’m a fucking idiot for not telling you sooner [2:47AM] god dammit [2:48AM] i love you [2:48AM] like a stupid fucking amount [2:49AM] i convinced myself i didn’t and that you wouldn’t feel the same [2:50AM] and when you come home [2:50AM] i’ll tell you every damn day to make up for all the times i didn’t [2:51AM] that’s a promise [2:52AM] i love you lite-brite

Tears are silently falling from your eyes, wide with astonishment at the words you're reading from him. There's no way this is real - you've got to be strung out from the quirk-drugs they've forced upon you. A delayed side effect of some sort? They've given you delusions in the past, it's not that farfetched. 

He convinced himself not to love you? He's always loved you?! 

He said 'I love you,' twice.

Twice!

You don't have time to read the rest as much as you're dying to catch up on all the potential sweet nothings he's sent to you over the last few weeks, but you do have time for one thing.

Before you chicken out, you click the "Call" button next to his name. The phone suddenly feels like a cinderblock in your hand as you shakily hold it to your ear. You think he's not going to answer until you hear faint rustling sounds on the other end of the line.

"H-hello?! Y/N!?" You can't say anything - your body straightens, goosebumps covering you from head to toe. All of the misery you were holding on to, the trauma and terror, evaporated at the sound of those two words. Those two measly words wrapped around you and offered a warmth you haven't known in weeks.

You click the "End Call" button, hating that you probably gave him a heart attack, but you selfishly needed to hear his voice. 

Before you forget your initial plan, you send a pinned location to Bakugo. You know he'll come running - blasting, rather - as soon as he can pinpoint exactly how to break into the lab. You have zero doubts that he can't figure it out.

[3:11AM] *location sent*

One last thing for good measure? You send an orange heart emoji. 

Right as you're about to scroll up and read his past messages, your phone powers down with the empty battery symbol displaying on screen.

Your heart is racing, threatening to beat out of your chest as his words reverberate in your mind. 

I love you like a stupid fucking amount.

You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment - that's so Bakugo of him to say. 

At least your plan was a success and you were able to accomplish the small goal. Now all you have to do is play the waiting game - knowing Bakugo, and presumably Midoriya? That won't be long at all.

You lay back in your cot, smiling for the first time in ages, relishing in your triumph. 

And for the first night since you've arrived, a peaceful rest welcomes you with open arms. You dream of home, running in the park under the glow of the sun and finding Bakugo under the shade of a nearby tree, waiting patiently for you in the summer breeze. 

next up, we wrap back to the boys as they plan their rescue mission! and they're not going alone as they recruit their closest friends in their crazy plan to get you back. and don't worry, it won't be easy. tags: @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr ✩ if you’d like to be tagged when updates are posted, message/comment to be added! ✩

[faith369]

I'll never leave you love

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader (use of love)

Warning: angst, comfort, mentions of death and violence, panic attack (reader), nightmares

Summary: Ghost comes home finding you inpanic and comforts you

Your eyes were trained on the TV, trying not to look at the time and distract yourself from the anxiety that creeped up your spine, but the pounding of your heart inside your chest made it hard to concentrate on the voices coming from the TV. He wasn't home yet. He should be though, you gave in and looked at the clock he should be home for since 6 hours. He's never been late, and he'd write you if he were to be. The anxiety that has been trying to creep up on your body has made its way to your head. Dark, unlogical thoughts start pestering your mind like a house infested by bugs. What if he's lying somewhere in the field, the coldness of death replacing the warmth of his body? What if he's hurt with no one in sight to care for his wound? What if he's being tortured, his screams of pain not reaching ears that care to help? Your heart beat spiked you couldn't imagine losing him, but your head did just that, turning the pestering thoughts into the one clouding thought that he wouldn't come home to you.

Simon watched the numbers of the elevator go up before finally reaching his desired floor. He was supposed to be home a few hours ago, but his flight got delayed, and his phone died on the way back. He thinks about the time when he wasn't keen on going home, but now he often catches himself looking at the time on missions, counting down the hours until he gets to go home and see you again. Trying not to wake you, he carefully turns the keys. The flat is quiet, and all lights are turned off. The adrenaline of the mission is finally washing away, being replaced by tiredness instead. As he slips off his boots and lets the weight of his duffle bag hit the floor, he perks up to hear quiet sobs coming from the living room.

"Love," you turn your head, a wave of relive washing through you when you see Simon, but your mind didn't fully adapt, not even as you get up and grab his shirt, having to feel that he's there. "Hey, what's wrong?" Simon hears your rapid breath and pulls you against him. "It's fine, love". He was worried, and not knowing what happened made it even worse. Violent sobs shake your whole body as you cling to Simon, scared that if you let him go, he will disappear. His hands go to wipe your tears, only now noticing the dark circles under your eyes. "I thought something happened, t..thought you wouldn't come home." Simon knew you were worried sick every time he left for work, even though he often downplayed the dangers of his job. He didn't know just how badly your head makes up scenarios when he's gone or how often you wake up in the middle of the night sweat clamming onto your shirt, waking up from a dream that feels like a glance into the future where he's gone, and you're left with dog tags and a skull mask splattered with blood that for ones isn't from his enemies but rather himself. Simon's' brows furrow. He hates it. He hates the way that he is at fault for worrying you, especially when you almost faint in his arms. "Love, let's go lay you down, and then we'll talk okay".

He doesn't wait for your answer before scooping you up in his arms, carrying you to your shared bedroom, and carefully laying you down on the soft mattress, which bends under his weight as he lays down next to you, immediately pulling you onto his chest. "You don't have to worry about me, love; I'll always come back home to you. You're the only reason I want to go home and stay alive on that field. I think about you when I try to find sleep in safe houses at night, and what pains me more than to be away from you is to think that you suffer under it, so I swear I come home even if that would mean digging myself out a grave.

"Promise" your voice was almost a whisper, the exhaustion of crying and the lack of sleep catching up to you

"promise"

Simon wrote Price that night, after you slept in, taking some time off.

A/N: Follow, like and repost. Requests are open

-Love Faith <3

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TEN — THE NEW FACE OF FAILURE

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: a surprise visitor shows up at nancy wheeler's house during your sleepover. eddie has a run-in with steve harrington and gets some hard-to-choke down news from a teacher. things with your newly released convict father seem to be going... eerily well. content warnings: does excessive yappin count. cussin! shitty dads! allusion to past physical abuse! drugs and smoking! heavy pettin! lovesick and scared about it edlacy! word count: 11.6k

Dear reader, 

For the first time in forever, I have nothing smart to say. I mean, really. For the first time in forever, when things have reached a previously unprecedented crescendo of shit-hitting-fannery, when my life has truly shown every possible sign of being headed toward complete ruin, when it’s not just opposite day but bizarro world incarnate, I feel…

Good. 

Because I’m looking at him. 

And he’s looking back at me.

And Nancy Wheeler is yelling for him to get in the goddamned window. 

Eddie Munson has no business standing outside the Wheeler’s garage with a fistful of pebbles, cautiously flicking them at a second story window, yet he is. The soft pelting noise had made your neck jerk up from where it craned over Nancy’s nails, painting them a springy green and go, “Do you hear that or is it my paranoia talking?”

See, when you woke up that morning, you knew you had two phone calls to make. Instead of using the traceable line of your house phone, you’d snatched a handful of quarters and booked it to the payphone at the edge of the lot. You’d almost stopped at the Munson trailer, tossing your own rocks at Eddie’s window, but thought better of it– there was always a chance that the newly exonerated (sort of) Ray Doevski would be peering through the blinds, taking a Rear Window affect to his newly instated house arrest. 

Yeah. House arrest, and you were sure that the same crack had run concurrently through the minds of you and both your parents– we’d hardly call this a house. But Ray was ordered to stay put, and even had this nutty gadget tagged to his ankle, this new fangled monitor that they were just rolling out. 

“Always on the cutting edge, aren’t you, Daddy?” 

With shaking fingers, you thunked in Eddie’s number, which he’d scrawled inside the cover of a Flannery O’Connor short story collection you’d been carting around a couple of months ago. It was one of those days that came up every now and again, where you couldn’t quite keep the lid on feeling blue. The weight of everything came down on you in an avalanche, leaving you unable to throw your pithy remarks into conversation with him or with Ronnie like you usually would’ve. Pretty much silent, pretty much staring a hole through the middle distance. He grabbed the book from you in the library during free period, your free period which he wasn’t even in, and whispered, “Just in case that curse gets lifted and you get your voice back. I’m sure you’ve got, like, a laundry list of barbs you’ve been dying to unload on me all day.” 

You remembered the way his eyes softened as he slid the book back to you, pressing his ringed hand against the cover for a couple seconds longer than he needed to. 

“Or just… for anything, y’know. We can just talk. About nothing. If it helps.”

At the time, you fought the instinct to put your hand over his.

“Won’t Wayne care that I’m calling?” you’d crackled, voice weary from underuse. 

Eddie shrugged. “Not if you pretend you’re Gareth.”

And that was exactly what you were hoping you wouldn’t have to do, shivering in your thin sweater as the dial tone to the Munson’s droned out. What if Wayne answered? What if you couldn’t rightfully approximate the voice of a balls-half-dropped freshman? What if he knew it was you, what would he do? 

Well, you needn’t have worried, because you apparently had a future in impressions. You squeaked out something about being the aforementioned Emerson looking for Eddie (at this ungodly hour of the morning?), something about Hellfire. 

“Gareth the Great! What’s the problem, the Arcane Brotherhood finally scoop your ass? Need me to come bust you from their tower? I told you, goin’ all Fear and Loathing in Luskan is gonna cost y–”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, it’s me,” you chattered, but even through the worry, a tiny smile pulled at your lips. 

 “Uh. Disregard everything I just said.” His voice had an early-morning static to it that you wanted to stay tuned into. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

“Hi… are you… shivering right now? Need me to come warm you up, because I’d be more than happy to cr–”

“Eddie, I’m at the payphone–”

“--what the hell are you doin’ out there?”

“--will you shut up so I can tell you? I don’t have a lot of time, so I need to cut right to the chase.”

“Sorry,” and this breathy little laugh runs through his voice that nearly knocks you clean out. God. What you wouldn’t give to hear that breathed into your ear instead of through some handset flaking rust. “Please, cut away.”

But, uh, yeah. That other thing. 

“My father got out of prison some-fucking-how–”

“Wait, what? Like he esc–,” you listen as Eddie drops his voice to a hiss, “Like he escaped?!”

“Oh my god, let me finish! –but, psh, no. Ray Doevski is a man of manicured hand, alright, he’s not tunneling out of anywhere. It’s all apparently legally above board, but… he’s– he’s at home. He’s in the trailer… He’s there right now.”

The fear in your chest was beginning to make your breathing feel white hot, hard to get out. Walls closing in. Your dad is at home. He is in your trailer. He is there right now. Five minutes alone in your room, a flick of his eyes over your belongings, he’ll know everything– everything that you’ve done–

You didn’t even notice that your breaths were turning into low, panicked gasps until Eddie’s voice broke through the receiver again. 

“Lace, stay put. I’m comin’ out there.”

“Eddie, no!” you barked down the phone, and a couple of birds scattered from the powerline overhead. Despite the fact that you were pretty sure collapsing into Eddie’s arms would have put a temporary stopper on the panic, you weren’t awarded such luxuries in this life. Figures. “I’ve got to get back to have some phony-ass breakfast with them in, like, now and you cannot be seen near me. Not here, okay?”

What Eddie crackled back with was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart chamber. It wasn’t a plea, or a demand. He simply said, brimming with a bright resolve, “Say the word and I’m there. Right next to you. Hear me?”

You had never heard anyone sound so sure about you before. 

Well, Eddie’s valiance was rivaled only by Nancy Wheeler, who you phoned up next. Karen Wheeler answered in a chirpy voice that even sounded blonde, her voice pitching higher when you announced who was calling. 

“Oh, Lacy! Of course. I’ll grab her for you, sweetie.” A little too goddamn knowing-sounding for your liking. 

But Nancy was all firm edges, picking up on the tremble in your voice just like Eddie had. “Well, you’re coming over. Obviously. Pack a bag– we need to put in serious work for that Streak article you’re finishing, right? Might even be an all-nighter. I’ll order pizza.”

With your dad shackled to the trailer and your mom reluctant to leave his side, there wasn’t a whole lot they could do to prevent you from swanning off to the Wheeler residence. Had to stay true to your commitments, after all, something your dad constantly impressed upon you. But when you reminded him of this as you hitched your overnight bag over your shoulder, heading out to Nancy’s waiting car, he met you with a serene smile. 

“Of course, honey. Do what you need to do.” No argument. No pushback. Not even a snide remark. That chilled you to the bone. 

You attempted to distract yourself from… well, the whole meal of it, by allowing the Precious Moments-themed decor of the Wheeler household to wash over you. The house is warm and chintzy inside, with shoes piled up by the door and laundry overflowing in baskets. Nancy’s bedroom is just as achingly normal in tones of pink and cream, a sanctuary and a strangle between girlhood and growing up. She’d shyly batted a couple of stuffed animals away from the bed that had seen the throes of her and Steve Harrington. Her Tom Cruise poster hangs opposite a pinboard of college brochures. Barbara Holland’s memorial card on her mirror. 

Guilt and innocence and upward mobility. 

As you looked around, you thought about the photo strips from the mall of you and Tina and Cass and Carol, how they were stuffed away in a box somewhere. You made a mental note to tug Nancy into the next photobooth you both came across. And Ronnie, for that matter. 

Nancy was kind about everything, of course, like she always is; she didn’t push for information about your dad’s surprise return, but you gave it pretty willingly as you cracked into her Cosmo and nail polish collection. Everything but the you and Eddie of it all… that juicy morsel you were saving until the witching hour struck, the customary time for girls to tell secrets at sleepovers. 

But somebody always has to try and get the jump on you. 

Which is how you and Nancy end up hanging out of her window, a beaming Eddie staring up at you from the pavement. 

“What the hell is he doing down there?” Nancy hisses, her eyes panicked and flaring. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” but even through the initial flash of panic, your voice has taken on this dreamy quality that makes Nancy roll her eyes–and rightfully so! “Munson, what say you? What the hell are you doing down there?”

“I–”

Nancy doesn’t even let him finish, just lets out an exasperated sigh and tells him, “Just– come up here, alright? I do not want to answer for what’s gonna happen if my dad catches you in the driveway!” 

Without a second thought, Eddie makes to hoist himself into Nancy’s dinky bedroom window. He falls over the little seat in a jangle of silver and leather and hair and gleaming teeth– “Ow! Jesus!” “Eddie, shut. Up!” Nancy winces, you wince, but as Eddie rolls onto his back and clears the hair out of his eyes, you realize that fluttering in your stomach is not a fight or flight response. 

He smiles up at you, all teeth and mischief. “Hi. Whatcha doin’?”

Oh, no.

You nudge him in the ribs with your foot, way too light for him to yelp like that. Nancy looks like she’s going to kick the shit out of him for real–and you too, maybe.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know about this?” she demands, turning on you. You notice that she’s still holding her fingers aloft, which you appreciate! No one seems to care about manicures as much as you do. It’s nice to finally be seen, for Chrissake. 

“Like I’d bring the heat around your place, Nancy! Come on, currently in a precarious situation much?” 

Hilarious to describe Eddie Munson as heat when he is, at best, a bull in Wheeler’s overstuffed china shop. Adorably so, you have to concede, watching him pick up a little porcelain figurine from her dresser. 

Nancy’s not buying it.

“I plead the eternal fifth!” you exclaim, eyes wide and willing the laugh to stay out of your voice as Eddie peers around Nancy’s stuff. “He operates on his own logic.”

Nancy eyes you warily before her gaze darts to Eddie. “Can you not touch anything? ”

“You have a cat just like this!” Eddie barks.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” the both of you chorus.

Delicately, Eddie replaces the little ceramic cat with a severely offended look. “Sheesh, ladies, I thought we were friends.” He drops the pretense pretty fast, jerking his chin in your direction with a smile that has I ain’t goin’ nowhere written all over it. “I need a word with the duchess here.”  

“So leave a message!” 

“He can’t–” “--you think we got answering machines in Forest Hills?” “--my dad–” “--life might be different for all you up here on Maple–” “--will have him taken out by sniper rifle.” “--you know this woman used a payphone for the first time in her life today?” 

A squinting Nancy lets this settle in the air for a second, like a stink bomb that’s just been deployed. I mean, you don’t know if she can see it exactly, but the charge between you and Eddie isn’t exactly subtle. Changed, maybe, from will-they-won’t-they to they-did-and-it’s-hazardous. Realization soon dawns on her. 

“Oh, you–ohhh,” Nancy nods, and chirps another, “Oh!” 

Then, a thunderous hammering that just about brings down Nancy’s bedroom door. The three of you lurch and freeze. Your hand instinctively goes to grab Eddie’s arm, fingers finding the soft leather. Your lashes flutter.

“Nan-cyyyyy!” 

That high-pitched, middle-schooled, reedy little tone? “Oh, shit. It’s just Mike.” 

“Mom said you were getting pizza so you have to get a pie for me and the guys! Wait,” some juvenile sounding muttering, “Two pies!” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Nancy snarls, in the way only an older sister can, “I… am going to go out there and run interference and you– five minutes, okay?! I’m–” She goes so far as to set a timer on her watch. “I mean it.”

Both you and Eddie make noises in the affirmative, him sidling closer and closer to you as Nancy moves out of the room. But she pivots, nailing you both with pointed index fingers. “And don’t– don’t you even think about it. You two are not subtle, I will know!” 

“Wheeler, I resent that perverted implication!” Eddie hisses, but his fingers are already walking themselves over the curve of your ass. You’d say something if you weren’t desperately trying to keep yourself under control. 

“Mike, quit yelling the house down like an asshole!” “Who is that? Have you and Lacy got a guy in there? Gross, are you sharing a boyfriend or something?” “Shut up, don’t be disgusting, I’ll kill you, get downstairs!” 

Soon as Nancy’s door clicks behind her, you wrestle an easily malleable Eddie down to sit on the bed and climb right into his lap, thighs planting either side of him. Your body is completely abuzz now that you’re alone with him again, physical form melding instantly to the heat of his body. Eddie’s gaze darkens just a touch, like he’s dimmed the switch inside his head from mischievous to slightly dastardly. “Oh, shut up!” you say, and catch your mouth on his.

“I didn’t say shit!” Eddie breathes in return, falling right into your rhythm. 

“You heard the chief,” you struggle through desperate lip smacking; that lived in taste of him, cigarettes and sweet soda, makes your head feel all baubly on the stem of your neck, “Five minutes,” Eddie’s hands web into your hair, your knees sag into the comforter, “Explain yourself.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Eddie’s mouth clicks sweetly against yours, words a bullshit mumble against your tongue. A heady mix of relief and desire flood you as you brace your hands around his shoulders. 

“Don’t lie,” you say, tinge of a whimper creeping in as Eddie’s grip starts to harden, indenting the flesh of your thigh. “I’ll kill you.” 

Looking at his grin is one thing, but feeling it against your neck as his mouth embarks on its own journey is something completely different. “Prom–”

“Eddie, how did you even know I was here?” A light, mindless slap comes down on his shoulder. Your breathing is becoming troublingly labored, head becoming troublingly spinny as Eddie’s teeth graze your collarbone.

“Rudimentary guesswork!” he gasps, coming up for air that’s soon stolen by the ready plushness of your mouth. “Okay. Okay. Fine, I saw Wheeler pick you up in her goddamn station wagon and–” Eddie’s voice cracks a touch as your hips press harder into him, “--put two and two together?”

“And you came here because…? Expound, already!” Your furious, air-starved hiss is a stark contrast to the way your lips keep chasing his.

“I wanted to c– I needed to come–” he swallows your stupid blooming smirk with another kiss, “Shut up. I wanted to make sure you were okay. And I couldn’t sleep. Could you sleep? I couldn’t sleep, just kept thinkin’... Kept… hnm, thinkin’ about you… About you like this… ‘n last night…”

As he babbles, your heart jackrabbits. Christ, you want him so bad. You’d listen to him like this for hours–talking like this alone, open and wanting, is enough to get you off. Eddie’s easing your skirt up your ass, rucking that fabric up slow like he did last night–but you want more than last night, if that’s possible, you want all of him, and for longer and for good–

You want him so badly that you forget where you are. Eyes snap open to catch direct iris-on-iris contact with Nancy’s Tom Cruise poster, hung strategically in view from her bed. 

Nancy’s bed. Nancy’s room. Nancy’s fucking Tom Cruise poster.

“Shit,” you say in a strangle, right against his cheek. “Shit, what are we doing?” You rear right back, getting a good look at Eddie’s ruffled demeanor, his blush-high complexion. That intoxicated look he’s wearing just from feeling you up.

Someone looking at you the way Eddie is right now feels completely, totally brand new. Ardent and urgent, untouched by influence. 

You’re almost positive that your gulp is audible.

With a couple of rapid blinks, Eddie seems to come back down to earth. 

“No. No, you’re right, um– listen, at the risk of completely humiliating myself–”

“More than you did crawling in that window? This is crazed.”

Eddie pauses a beat, a genuine look of offense constricting his features. His hands have moved from your ass to your waist, and don’t shift. 

“Hold on–Doevski, are you marking my dismount?”

You assholes just can’t help yourselves, can you? Mouth twitching at the corners, you harden up your gaze.

“I’m just saying, if you weren’t wearing ten tonnes of regalia, you might be able to make a more subtle entrance–”

“--who died and made you a hellenodikas?”

“Oh! Pulling out the Ancient Greek mythology on me now, huh?”

“I would never… pull out on you,” Eddie says and manages to hold his stone faced expression for a grand total of half a second before both your faces split in two. See, you hate him for this; that he can keep perfectly in time with you, and has since the jump. 

You’re the first to move. You edge yourself off Eddie’s lap, his hands mournfully side along your legs as you move.

“C’mon. Montague moment’s over. Kick rocks.”

He gives you one good, solid nod and mockingly straightens himself out before attempting to worm his way back out the window. Crouching half in-half out, he pauses. Some remnant of a smile he smiled at you about a million years ago flickers across his face.

“You know, Lace,” Eddie says, “you keep throwin’ me out of windows like this, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t like me.”

The door of the record store. The hot blast of stoned realization. Your fingers around his wrist. 

Knees working faster than your brain, you bend to Eddie and meet his mouth again. The kiss is soft and gentle, devolving into several little pecks around his smiling cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. To tide you over. To be continued.

“Eh, I don’t like you,” you mumble, tips of your noses brushing. “That much.”

“Yeah? Well, you got a funny way of showing it.”

You watch Eddie’s dismount (an easy six) and nervous jog all the way ‘til he’s disappeared through the shrubbery of the Wheeler’s. Soon as he’s out of sight, you’re almost positive that you catch a flash of burgundy paintwork zipping past the driveway, but it’s too fast to tell. Weird. 

Nancy near slices your fingers clean off as she noiselessly returns to the room, slamming the window shut. For as enraged as she’s trying to look, this girl with her half-painted nails also bears the familiar expression of someone baying for gossip. 

“Spill everything. Right now.” 

—

Eddie is a living, breathing, stink bomb of a cliche. He’s walking on air, he’s signed a lease on cloud nine, he’s all Gene Kelly’d out and still tap dancing down the locker lined steel trap of Hawkins High. Push back his curling bangs and he’s sure that PROPERTY OF LACY DOEVSKI is etched on his forehead, by the delicate hand that wields your fountain pen. 

Dude’s a goner. Lights out, KO’d, hit the bricks gone. And he only has himself to blame. 

If it were anyone else, he’s pretty sure it’d be different. Easier to stamp out the flame of hotheaded lust beneath his sneakers like a bag of dogshit on fire if it was some other right-side-of-town type girl. If it was just about being his diametric opposite. But it’s not. It’s you, sharp and silly and sexy, a total turn on even when you’re doing your best O’Donnell impression to sic him into studying. The you that he’s been slyly slipping into the NPCs of Hellfire, in ways that make Ronnie’s eyes roll (but she still tries to flirt with them, and that weirdly makes him a little… jealous? That dwarf is slick when she wants to be). The you that sometimes make a cameo appearance at his lunch table when you’re not holed up in the newspaper room, sat with poise and pith that the rest of the gaggle of nerds just don’t know what to do with. 

Eddie can’t count the amount of times he’s wanted to crawl across that table and kiss you. And he’s been close to doing it. Couple times. Remnants of sloppy joes on his hands and knees.

But now he can kiss you, at least in private anyway, because there’s still a roadblock or two you have to navigate. And so what! What’s a little challenge when you’re this blissfully, head fuckerly, heartburningly in l—

“Watch where you’re going, asshole.” 

This particular dagger comes straight out of the maw of Hawkins High’s crown jackass, Steve Harrington, whose shoulder Eddie’s just accidentally checked. Now, Eddie’s never cared much for Harrington, but never thought much about him either—the feeling, outside of scoring a baggie or two, is apparently mutual. But the glower Steve is sporting says anything but nonchalance. 

“Jeez, Harrington,” the grin Eddie’s sporting makes a full meal out of a plate of shit, “If you like me so much, you can just say so. No need for the whole pullin’ pigtails routine.”

Steve stares at him for a good, hard second or two— so rigidly, in fact, that it nearly makes Eddie’s face falter. Who pissed in this guy’s Cheerios? Because, even if he double counts on his fingers, Eddie’s sure it wasn’t him. 

“I,” Steve starts, pretty dumbly, “I’m havin’ a party on Friday. You should come.”

Eddie knows an order when he hears one, but it’s usually couched in something like, You got any good stuff, man? Y’know, phrased in the strained way popular kids do when they pretend not to hate his guts for half a second. 

He knocks a mocking two fingered salute off his forehead and Steve’s grimace deepens. “Be there with bells on, sire.”

Up the hallway, one of the classroom doors creaks open. 

“I don’t have all afternoon, Mr Munson.” 

Steve looks past him to the imposing, near-six foot figure of Ms O’Donnell, impatiently tapping her shoes against the linoleum. Eddie’s smirk flattens into a tight line.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m in high demand! As you can see.”

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response and takes off toward the exit. 

“Quit gazing after the quarterback and get in here,” O’Donnell demands. And who is Eddie to deny her, Amazonian Baba Yaga that she is? 

“Ms O’Deeeee, you call yourself a Hawkins Tiger?” he says, turning on heel, “You oughta know that Harrington is one of our finest ball players. Loves to play with balls, that one.”

“You can attest to that first hand, can you?” O’Donnell snarks, settling down behind her desk and gesturing Eddie to get comfortable at the top of the class. 

Oh, Iris. She’s right on his level, when she’s not tearing him a new asshole, scholastically speaking. 

Her name may not be Iris either, but tomato potato. Eddie slumps down into the desk like a graceless, clinking cat.

“I know you didn’t bring me here to talk about my extracurriculars. That would be a breach of propriety on your part.”

“Sure as hell I did not.” O’Donnell removes her eyeglasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, as she often does not even thirty seconds into an interaction with Eddie. “I’m missing my granddaughter’s recital for this, I want you to know that.” 

He’s pulled out the there’s no way you’re old enough to be a grandmother line half a dozen too many times for it to fly again. Not that it ever did— look at this woman, with her tented fingers! She has a clear sight line right through his bullshit. 

“I appreciate that you value my education more than some pipsqueak with a cello.” 

“The problem is that you don’t,” O’Donnell sighs. There’s a note of defeat in her voice. “Eddie, we need to talk.” 

In all the years O’Donnell has been on his case (four consecutive), she’s never addressed him by his first name. Eddie shifts in his seat a little, good mood not quite punctured yet. But askew, slightly. 

“They finally found out about our clandestine little tryst, huh? Well, you can tell Higgins and the school board that I’m—“

“Shut up.”

He does. Right up.

“You understand why I push you so hard, don’t you?” O’Donnell asks him, and instead of some smartass response, Eddie clams. Ask him honestly and he’d say she’s a past-prime faculty lifer in desperate need of a power trip. That’s the narrative he’d always gone with anyway, the reason she’d always single him out and make an example of him and insist on the repeat exams he’d rarely end up passing anyways. Like, just flunk him, okay? Get the humiliation over with. 

“It’s because I know your situation,” she tells him, “And I know you’re better than it. By a goddamn country mile.” 

That knocks him. He blinks. Huh?

“You’re bright, you know. If you only allowed yourself to be,” O’Donnell nods, leafing through a manila folder in front of her, “If you could only find some way to focus, you’d be a halfway to decent student. Might even make it to college.”

“Don’t be too generous,” Eddie scoffs, arms folding over his chest. He can feel the defense rising. 

O’Donnell stares at him over the rim of her glasses. “Oh, I’m not. Because the reality is, you’re too far gone. I’ve done all I can to try and drag you out of the sandpit of shit you’ve managed to fall into, but our time is coming to a swift and brutal end.” 

A beat.

“Christ, who died and made you my guidance counselor—“

“You’re not graduating, Eddie.”

A cold sear runs down Eddie’s spine. “Um.”

Alright. Alright, look. It’s not like he hadn’t expected this, in some way or another, but again, if he is really honest… Eddie had expected some eleventh hour miracle that ended up with him with that diploma in his hand. Walking the stage in that godawful green gown, scooting down the line to take his place beside Ronnie and… and you. 

First Munson to ever do it, at least in the proud township Hawkins. Something solid to his name, finally. A GED that wasn’t necessarily a ticket to college, but proof that he could break the family curse of not following through. He didn’t need to be valedictorian or anything, he just needed… 

“But—but,” begins the scramble, “I’ve been doing… better, right? Like, I’ve gotten my grades up… not massively but a little!”

And he had. Fact is, these last handful of months, he hadnt just been dicking around with you and Ronnie after school— you’d actually gone out of your way to slice off some of those legendary brain smarts and slide them his way, bumping him up a letter grade in at least three subjects. 

You’d said something similar to O’Donnell.

You’ve got something, y’know, beyond all the hair and regalia. This system is rigged to fail anyone who surrenders to being, like, a bad test taker— so you just have to game the system and make it work for Eddie Munson. Right?

Then you’d poked him in the cheek with your number two pencil and he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned, brain lingering on that little touch for days. 

That was before. Before your bedroom. Before Wheeler’s bedroom. Shit, before Granny Ecker’s closet. 

“Now, Eddie. Jesus. You’d need a miracle to get you anywhere close where you need to be to get out of here. Look, I am telling you this because I—“

“Why? Why do you even care? You’re the one that’s been failing me half the time.”

“Yes, because you’ve been failing, smartass! Think I’ve got a choice in the matter?” O’Donnell and her high Midwestern fury shuts him up again. “I’m telling you this because… well, it’s time to weigh up your options.” 

“Which are none.”

“Which could be none. The question on almost the entire faculty’s mind is, why haven’t you dropped out by now? And I’ve got a pretty good stab, I think.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Because, contrary to popular belief, you’re not your father.” 

Eddie has to look away. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I knew Al Munson. My first year here, I taught him. And I was green then, sure, in the goddamn dark ages but even then I knew he was just looking for any easy way out.” 

“And I’m not, huh?”

“No. Because you would’ve dropped out by now.” O’Donnell closes the folder like she’s seen enough. “Eddie, you have something to prove. And it’s worth proving.” 

Far be it from Eddie to believe that any teacher in this school actually gives a shit about him, but the glance he steals to O’Donnell makes a damn strong argument otherwise. 

“So w… what do I do?”

“God knows half the staff doesn’t want you around for another year. Sorry, but it’s true,” O’Donnell rolls her eyes and Eddie feels the sting of his last name, the skid mark of his father’s legacy following him wherever he goes, “I’ll work on it. Starting with Higgins, which should earn me canonization of some kind.”

“Castle in the sky and all that shit.”

Eddie doesn’t exactly nod; defiance is as strong as his white blood cells. He kind of wants O’Donnell to prove that she’s serious about helping him. About caring at all. 

She goes on, tone strict and pushing. 

“But you– keep your nose to the grindstone. Just because you’re not gonna pull through this year completely doesn’t mean that the improvement in the last couple of months meant nothing. I have noticed, by the way. And, uh, keep up the peer tutoring.” 

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Peer tutoring,” there’s amusement dancing in O’Donnell’s words that makes them a little uneven, “Lacy Doevski’s been so kind as to take you under her wing, hasn’t she?”

A shock of heat takes seat on his cheeks. Right. He’d forgotten about that scam you ran like a ride on lawnmower through Kaminsky’s class. 

“Y—yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“Well, keep that something going. It’s good. For the both of you,” O’Donnell clips with a knowing look. “I knew her father too.” 

She dismisses him with a wave and Eddie, feeling like she’d just made him tie up a pair of leaden boots, follows the tug of his deflated heart like a compass. A tread through the eerily empty after-hours halls brings back a memory here and there. Getting caught smoking under the stairwell on the first day of freshman year; a girl named Phoebe lending him a pencil in Biology, which he ended up using to pretend-stab Tommy Hagan who made fun of her stammer (Tommy cried like a bitch, as if Eddie would ever actually do that); fighting against his better judgment and jimmying the lock of a classroom open so he could help Gareth make a new character sheet for Hellfire and getting detention when they were found out, while the freshman hid under the desk so he wouldn’t be caught too. Plenty of little battles lost. But this is the big one–the one that tells him he’s doomed to repeat this adolescent torture for at least another year. 

However, as soon as he shoulders the swinging door open and sees you, bathed in a pool of lamplight with reams of typewriter paper surrounding you, and you pull your fountain pen from your mouth with a tired smile, stitched together just for him… 

KO. The big gold belt. Eddie Munson, heavyweight champion of the world.  

“Hey, Hildy,” he says, sliding down the short handrail into the typing pool, just because he knows it’ll make you roll your eyes and laugh. And it totally does, a croaky little giggle rasping out of your lips. “What’s the scoop?”

“Don’t you dare come any closer.” Your voice, your outstretched hand, makes Eddie freeze in a rigged marionette’s pose. It’s like your words have actual alchemic pull, how powerless he is to obey you and shit. “Let me just…”

“Seriously?” Eddie lets his arms drop, playing with a ball of elastic bands from the desk he sits on as you painstakingly reorganize your papers. “Y’know, I really should have an early preview of this, given I’m the star of the goddamn article and all. What if I object? What if you paint me in, like, an unflattering light? I could sue. Character defamation.”

“You’re taking care of that defamation all on your own, darling,” you yawn, the punch of your words not quite hitting like they usually would as you stagger across the newsroom to him. You’re exhausted–Eddie can see it. The deep shadows under your pretty eyes, new ink stains appearing on your fingers every day. You’re jerky and shaky, overcaffeinated to the point that the drug ain’t even working anymore. You’re working yourself to the bone. It’s been like this for ages; every spare moment that Eddie doesn’t see you, you’re playing catch up for college applications. “But no. Not ‘til it’s cooked and printed. My portfolio needs this article for a lead-in and it has to be bulletproof. Watertight. Unassailable. Other words for–”

“--perfect?” Eddie steps in, tossing the elastics over his shoulder and tugging you closer so that you’re just about sitting in his lap. “In that case, you chose a real winner of a subject.”

“Eddie.”

“No, seriously! Trailer park nobody with a fantasy game club. Wah-wah. I don’t envy the amount of fluffing you probably have to do to make it remotely appealing to… whoever’s in charge of reading that shit.” 

“Admissions board,” you supply. You’re close enough that Eddie can taste your perfume and honestly, he’s doing a great job of not just licking it clean off your neck. “And I know this is one of your self-pity rally cries, and I won’t entertain it. Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about Hellfire. The whole… well, I’m not saying any more. You’re just gonna have to read it and find out.” 

“But I want my ego massaged,” Eddie pitifully whines, right out his nose. He clutches onto you harder, the pressure of your body against his alleviating the pressure of his total failure. His breath snags as you, so tired that you’re nearly trembling, kiss him softly. 

“Mm, let’s compromise. I can massage something else,” you hum against his chasing lips, but something saintly touches him before you get the chance to move your inky hand. He uh-uhs you. 

“Much as I appreciate the offer and will immediately curse myself for turning you down the second I get back to the trailer… you’re worn out, Lace. Seriously.” Eddie flicks a lock of your hair out of your face. Were you always like this, even when you were queen bitch? Did anyone ever think to check in on you before? “You been sleepin’? At all?”

“I have a countdown to my future and a convict father taking up residence on my couch. Of course I’m not sleeping. I’m optimizing,” you snit in the sleepiest voice he’s ever heard, your head is lolling against his shoulder. The pout you’re wearing makes Eddie want to bundle you right back to Forest Hills, tuck you up in his grody sheets and not let the rest of the world in ‘til you’ve got your strength back. Just you, him, some records. He’d read to you from The Silmarillion, because that was a surefire way to send you unconscious in seconds. 

“I just need to get this article done and then I’m… I’m good. It’s out of my hands,” you croak.

“Then it’s… NYU’s problem, right?” says Eddie.

“Columbia,” you murmur, “with Emerson as a safety.” 

“Lofty safety.”

“I’m a lofty girl. But you know what? I’m gonna get in.”

A pang in the key of dread hits Eddie in the throat. “I believe that.”

“But you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because of a silly little story I wrote about you.” You curl Eddie’s hair around your finger and he wonders if you can feel the physical sensation of him melting. Dripping all over you like a pathetic soft serve. “It’s so beyond comprehension but… You’re gonna make my dreams come true, Eddie Munson. I can feel it.”

About time I returned the favor, huh? is what he wants to say, but it’s not the time and it’s not the place and he thinks you might be drifting off in his arms. So he just breathes you in, and takes the win.

—

One thing Ray Doevski was always known to do was move. Not so much in a without exercise, the body devours itself kind of fashion, but in a without constantly one-upping oneself, the self devours itself kind of fashion. With Ray, moving was always some new business venture, some new property acquisition. Some other new reason for a cocktail party, so your mom would have an excuse to pretty herself up and you’d make your on-cue cameo, sweeping through the room and waving at all the important people your father had charmed and collected like stamps. And like stamps, the people he tended to collect all got more valuable with age. Ray liked old money, even if your family was on the newer end of the see-saw.

You saw all that for what it was now. Running the big scamola, charming these people out of pocket with that ugly Hawkins High class ring on his finger. Gold, garish, glaring, a glimmering green stone set right in the center. You hated that thing. 

So, to see someone so diligently dedicated to movement and momentum sit docile on the sofa is pretty fucking disturbing. With that ankle monitor permanently welded to his leg, Ray can’t do so much as stand outside for a smoke without the heat coming down on him. Such are the conditions of his parole. It’s a humiliating fate, watching someone so previously well-kempt rot before you. 

And more disturbing still, your father seems… not unhappy about his situation. As far as a man on house arrest goes, he’s not angry. He’s not irritable, he doesn’t even seem that frustrated. It’s strange. He’d even asked you to borrow a couple of your books to keep him occupied. That threw you. He’d never taken an interest in your voracious love for literature before… but boredom does absolute downright Invasion of the Body Snatchers type shit to a man.

He smiles at you from the corner of the sofa as you come in from an evening shift at the bookstore, your worn copy of Answered Prayers by Truman Capote in hand. It sends a cold dart through your tummy. 

“You!” comes a snarl and your elbow is being snatched before you can even regain your bearings. 

“What the f–”

Your mother slams her bedroom door so hard it seems to shake the trailer. It occurs to you that you haven’t stood inside her bedroom in weeks–months, maybe–or even seen inside of it save for the odd glance. Even then, it was always the sad staging of dresses and hose strewn across the bed, glasses with scarlet staining sitting on the nightstand and the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume growing old and flat and stale. But she’d straightened the place up– now the bedsheets sat tight around the corners of the mattress, and Gloriana’s jewelry was tidied away somewhere. No used wine glasses to behold. Like housekeeping had breezed through. 

She told you she worked as a maid once, ‘For about a minute. Before your father rescued me.’

“What’s your problem?” you snipe, rubbing your pinched elbow through your sweater sleeve. 

Your mother exhales a furious stream of smoke through her grit teeth, Dunhill poised, lit and ready. “You have to do something with him!” 

“Me?!” you hiss back. Alarm sets off a roil in your stomach. You’d made incredibly delicate work of avoiding your father since he landed on the other side of the trailer’s formica table, notching it all down to I’m eighteen, I’m about to graduate, I’ve got work to do! All of which is definitely true, but you’d padded it out a little. 

Padded it out with the time you spent with your lips on Eddie Munson’s lips, sure, but…

“Yes, you!” Gloriana spits, “Don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve been skirting around him since he came back. Shouldn’t you be over the moon with yourself?”

“I am. I am over the moon.” Greatest lie you’d ever told. “He’s back! Hurray! We’re all happy families again. Do we get the house back? Do I get my car?”

Your mother’s lip lifts into a little smirk. “Oh, Lacy. Has someone gone and turned your head about Daddy? Knocked him off his pedestal?”

See, your mother’s always had this thing– this seething jealousy about the way you looked up to your father. Not necessarily because you never looked up to her the same way (you’d written plenty in your journal about the vapidity of being a ‘society wife’, as she definitely was– a kind of cornfed Midwestern Slim Keith, an ex-pageant girl from the unremarkable middle point of Hawkins who benefitted entirely from her once-poor husband’s grafting), but because you were there at all. Yearning for his approval and robbing his attention. 

Not like you ever got much of either. 

“You want I should call the cops and tell them he’s been running phone scams from the trailer?” 

Your mom lets out a little huff that could be mistaken for a laugh. “He just sits there, all day long. And when he’s not sitting, he’s curtain twitching.”

Just like you’d thought. Rear Window. Danger zone. 

“This place could use a neighborhood watch,” comes the pith through your nerves, “Has he seen anything good, at least?”

Gloriana rolls her eyes at you, hooded with the pretense of as if I’d tell you. “That’s the other thing. He doesn’t talk. But he does ask questions.” 

“Like?” you ask, after a rough swallow that alerts you to how dry your throat has suddenly gotten.

Finely penciled eyebrows quirk. It reminds you of how much your mother can resemble Ava Gardner, when she puts some chutzpah into it. “Better get out there if you want to keep him from his suspicions, is all I’m saying.” 

As if she knows more than she’s letting slip. 

“Shouldn’t you be over the moon? Aren’t you happy that he’s out?” You turn the mirror on her. Gloriana’s eyelids flicker, as if she’s exhausted by the mere question. 

“Of course I am. Don’t be ridiculous,” she sighs. “But some things… were easier. Before. You and I didn’t need to pretend–”

That we liked each other. 

“Yeah.” You snip right into her sentence because although you’re well aware of the scope of your mother’s feelings toward you, it still stings to hear it said out. She’s still your mom, after all. Or, she should be. 

Standing in this room is making you nauseous. 

“I’ll keep him occupied for a while.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Moments later, you’re tossing a pack of cards on the little formica breakfast table. It used to be a universal language in your household, when your father was still feigning interest in you. He taught you to play cards, and taught you how to cheat at them. You only retained one of those things. Little miracles.

“Want to deal?”

Ray slowly closes the cover on Answered Prayers and rises to the table. 

“Why don’t you give it a try?” he says, a smile playing around his mouth. You resist the pull to roll your eyes, as if he’s bestowing such an honor on you—and wonder when exactly you did stop worshiping him.

Sometime between the last time you’d seen the back of his hand and the guilty verdict, you’re guessing. 

You lay out his hand, and yours. He archly remarks, “Gin?”

“I’ve gotten better.”

“You’ve gotten a lot of things, haven’t you?” Ray says, focusing on his cards. “Lot of things have changed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look, I admit, I came on a little… strong that first night I came home.” Strong was one word for it; you’d call it more of a three-hour cross examination delivered while you were trapped inside an iron maiden. You’d shed as little light on the whole Munson situation as you could. He gave me a ride once or twice. We go to school together, what do you expect? “But can you blame me? With you and your mother living in… this place? I had to know. To be sure that you were safe.”

You want to think, he doesn’t give a shit about safety. He gives a shit about treason. About me fraternizing with his enemy’s offspring, or whatever. But the way he says it gives you pause. 

“It’s not so bad,” you shrug, swapping out a card. “It’s cozy.”

We’re not cozy people.

Ray takes a dig into the stock pile himself, regarding you with a curious look. “See what I mean? You seem… more willing to accept your circumstances. It’s interesting.”

The line between Ray Doevski praising and insulting you is like fishing line; depends on what he’s baiting you with. Accepting one’s circumstances was usually Doevskian for accepting failure.

“What, did you expect me to be kicking up tantrums about not having a clawfoot bathtub anymore? Because I’m not,” you smirk, “I’ve even adjusted to the notion of not always having hot water.”

Your mind flashes back to the small, square shower in the Munson trailer and you make a mental note to ask Eddie how his water heated to boiling within seconds. 

“That, I could personally never get used to.”

“Plumbing wasn’t so great in IDOC, I take it?”

“No. But that didn’t register so high on my scale of problems inside.”

“Was it scary?”

“Yes.”

“And were you… in danger?”

A long beat settles between you. Ray shifts in the vinyl-backed seat, a tiny squeak the only sound between him and his apparent discomfort. Chills, again. You get a chill. 

“... yes,” he says, and meets your eyes. They’ve sunk a fraction more than the last time you’d looked into them. Some of the gray shocks in his hair have turned white. Scary, to witness real evidence of your parents growing old. And frightened. “Lacy, I’d done badly by a lot of people. Some of them were even inside with me, and they wanted retribution, and that was fair. I could live with that,” depending on what end of a shiv he was on, you guessed, “But I also did badly by you. Very badly.”

Ah, acknowledgement that their father has lied about their criminal enterprises for the better part of her life–just what every little girl wants. It wasn’t as if you had still staunchly believed the not guilty campaign that your parents had spearheaded throughout Ray’s trial, even in the face of stony evidence. He was guilty; you had to figure out if you cared about the crimes, or the fact that he’d led you to believe he was so much better than he was. 

But this is the first time he’s really copped to it. 

You’re not quite sure what his admission is supposed to do, so you stare at your spades.  

“It makes sense that you don’t trust me anymore,” Ray goes on, “But I love you, and I always will. All I’ve ever wanted is to provide the best for you, the very best I could. Better than that, even– because that’s what you deserve. The whole world, Lacy.” 

Stomach churning, you wish he’d stop calling you that. Your nickname sounds wrong in his mouth. A world apart from the girl he thinks you are. 

“I just feel like you could’ve done that without skimming money off children’s charities,” you hear yourself saying before you register that your mouth is drawling off the words, “And laundering money through those rentals. And… what was it, drug trafficking? I lost count.”

Knowingly, you brace for explosion. Ray flipping the table, scattering his hand and laying an open palm across your face, the dull thunk of his Hawkins High class ring making contact with your cheekbone. That’d be something. Something solid. Something you could point to, that said I know who he is, I tried to stand up to him, I’m not him, please don’t think that I am.

But he doesn’t, so the line of your shoulders tense for no reason. He digs a cigarette out of the soft pack laying on the table and flicks it towards you with a fingertip. His right hand, ring finger bare. He’s not wearing it. 

He is wearing a sad grin of humility, shrugging like, well, kid, you got me there. Dead to rights.

He looks like somebody else. 

“So, how’s your life been, Lacy Doevski?” A charm dances around his tone, the way a flame dances around the edge of a photograph that doesn’t want to burn. 

And despite your best fucking instincts, despite the way that nickname falls out of his mouth like upchuck, despite the fact that you should hate him, there’s a change in the lighting around him that you just cannot help but want to engage with. 

“You really wanna know?”

“I really wanna know. Tell me everything. The road to Columbia, how’s that going? The newspaper. This job at the bookstore in town. Your friend, uh, Nancy, right? She seems like a nice kid. I know Ted Wheeler, a little bit. Went to school with him and her mom, Karen. And everybody knew Karen, but, uh, don’t mention that to Nancy!” He steals another card from the stock pile, but doesn’t discard one from his hand. You decide not to mention it. “I want to know everything, Lacy. I’ve been way too distracted with things that don’t matter as much as you. Call this… makin’ up for lost time.” 

Your shoulders shrug into themselves, like when you were a little kid and he’d let you sit on the big leather chair in his office after you’d sat outside the door for a solid hour, begging to come in. The corners of your lips pick up.

“Just about to finish my applications. I’m submitting this writing portfolio–”

“--I thought we talked about business school?”

You seize. You had. An effort in setting you up for a future of undebatable prestige started to sound more like sending you off to the meet market, the more your father talked about it. Business school is where you’ll meet young men of excellent character, Lorelei. Excellent family stock. It won’t hurt if they see that you’re smart, too. 

… why the everloving fu-huuuck would you go to business school when you spend every spare second of the day giving yourself carpal tunnel and preaching about that Woolfe chick, Lace? Nope, you need someplace with climbing ivy and people whose dissenting opinions on cliterature you can cat fight with. Eddie Munson, leaning over the counter at the Bookstore and shedding light on your secret desire to bury yourself in novels and pretention with his ever-burning flare of perception. 

Cliterature? you’d asked, brow an arch. 

Classic literature. As written by the fairer sex. Bronte and broads.

Well, Jesus Christ. Who died and let you lead the third wave of feminism, Munson?

“Um…” You hadn’t prepared a good defense for this. You felt a stab of nausea.

“It’s okay!” your dad chuckles, tapping you on the wrist in reassurance, “You changed your mind. That’s fine. But it’s still Columbia, right?”

“God, of course. Couldn’t imagine anywhere else.” 

“Good.” The smile reaches his eyes. “Sorry, your portfolio.”

“Right, uh– I’m just about polishing it off and I’ve got a great lead in, my last article for the Streak…” you trail off. A warning signal travels down your brain stem. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him about Hellfire. You’ve got to keep him as far away as–

“About what?” Ray asks brightly. Picks up a card. Discards another. You see a twitch in his mouth. 

“An after school club,” you blurt. “My, um. My friend Ronnie’s in it. We were… lab partners. Junior year. Dissected frogs together.”

“Yeah, that really bonds people for life, huh?” Ray says. Not a trace of irony. “Well, I look forward to reading it. If you want me to. I know writers can be very precious about their work.” 

And their subjects.

“Uh, well. We’ll see. I might not want to jinx it after I send off my applications.” 

“Superstitious,” he smiles, “Just like your old man.”

“And I have a boyfriend.” The blurting just doesn’t let up from you, eh? Like you have to cover all your bases while Ray is swept up in this gregarious mood. “And he goes to… Ithaca. I think.”

Your father makes a face that stands up to some interpretation of, la-di-da, lookit you! and Christ, you’re nearly sure he’s bought it. College guy… he’d kind of fallen by the wayside since you took that trip to Saturday morning detention. He’d better fucking pick up if you call now, if he hadn’t gone back to Vermont or wherever. 

“Well, look, I’m glad you’ve kept that momentum even given… everything. And I’m glad you seem to be surrounding yourself with good, level-headed people.” People he would have called nobodies eight months ago. People you would have called nobodies eight months ago. “Like Nancy. And this Ronnie. And that you’ve stayed out of trouble, as much as you can.”

You swear you see his eyes flick to the window beside you. In the direction of the trailer across the way, where a warm yellow light glows from the bedroom. There’s a shake in your breath, but Ray isn’t quite done. 

“I’m incredibly proud of the woman you’re becoming, Lacy. And look at that–” His hand slaps down on the table, revealing his melds. “--gin! I thought you said you got better at this, kid!”

“You took me by surprise, Daddy. What can I say.”

—

“Quit that. That’s explosive cargo you’re flickin’.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Tap, tap, tap. One of the hinges of this rusty, crusty, dusty old domed metal lunchbox is loose, and you can’t stop toying with it. “This is what you’ve been carrying your motherlode around in?” 

“What about your mother’s load?” Eddie says, scraping the lunchbox a couple of inches away from you on the bench. Still, you reach for it, and he smacks your hand away. “Respect the receptacle, please. It’s a thing of legend.”

“Seems like a dangerously obvious hiding place for a bunch of illegal substances,” you say, brow creased. Had Eddie put any thought into his operation thus far? Because this seems extremely haphazard. He’s always swinging that goddamn thing around school, and one look inside the false bottom could put him away for a long time, if the Reagan administration had anything to do with it. 

“Exactly! Making it the last place anyone would think to look!” Eddie beams, flicking the lid open. “Class A drugs? Why, no, officer, these are my party pretzels. From home.” A deeply tragic baggie of crushed pretzel pieces lands between the two of you. Your frown deepens a degree or two. Eddie shrugs, shaking his curls out a little and starts picking through the detritus in the lunch box. Other than a couple of dime bags, a box of Camels, a lighter and some loose Twizzlers, his load’s light.

“How exactly does one get into the business of selling hydroponics et cetera out of a lunchbox, Eddie?” 

“Why, you lookin’ to diversify your criminal skillset?” That sly poke. You roll your eyes, jiggling your mary jane’d foot and pick up a bag of Mary Jane herself.

“I’m just curious about the trajectory! The more I learn about you, the more it occurs to me that you’re possibly the uncoolest drug dealer in history. You know, stereotypically speaking.” 

“The answer I think you’re looking for is that I’m a big, big boy,” Eddie rasps, taking an exaggerated chomp out of one of the liquorice ropes, “and I contain multitudes. Shit happens. Sometimes it leads to you selling pot. Et cetera.”

“What kind of shit?”

He considers you for a second, but you’re bright-eyed and curious about him. He jumps back from you when you’re like this sometimes, like he just touched a hot stove. You’d give him shit for it, but you did the same thing. The Twizzler waves in your face. “If I didn’t have such a brain-damage inducing crush on you, I’d think you were a narc.”

 “Eddie.” Though your heart does jump like a needle on a scratched record when he says crush. Particularly when he says crush like that. But he could elaborate on that for you later. 

“Fine, fine, fine– I’m not gonna get into the finer points of it now, but… basically, some shit went down with my dad that meant I had to move in with Wayne and working at the plant isn’t actually the cash cow that you’d think it is, and neither is me picking up barback shifts at the Hideout so… I hit up my dad’s friend Rick who said he’d help me out if I ever needed it and here we are. Lunchbox and all. Half ounces for halfwits at horrible parties.” Eddie toughens into this tense line as he speaks, like he’s halfway embarrassed about having to do this. “Means to an end, y’know?” 

You nod, though you want to prod further so bad. “Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.”

Exactly, Eddie mouths with narrowed eyes, another bite into the Twizzler. “You know what tune I’m singin’.”

Better than the both of you realize, it seems.

“This whole,” you gesture around the circular clearing, the place everyone knows you come to meet Munson to score product, “place does kind of look like the kind of hotspot where one might catch Goody Proctor dancing with the Devil.” 

It’s your first time out here–you’d elegantly skirted the responsibility of ever having to pick up for your group of friends but it’s… delightfully creepy. Whispers cragging through the tree branches. Eddie’s presence knocking you off guard at every turn–well, not you. Not anymore. 

“Rumors are kind of starting to add up. Satanic worship, human sacrifice… girls panties going missing. That’s all I’m saying.” 

A maddened grin peeling over his features, Eddie scooches closer to where you sit, perched on top of the rotting picnic table. “Why do you think I lured you out here, Lace?” His fingertips race up your calf and you spill a giggle, squirming away. “The Dark Lord requires another infernal bride!” He leaps up, ticklish touch attacking your sides ‘til you’re shrieking, not working quite as hard as you could to beat him away. 

“Ed–Eddie, st-aaahap!”

“It’s all cool! It’s no big deal! Just take your clothes off and sign my yearbook! Then, hey presto, the big guy’ll give you whatever you want.”

Eddie’s hands slow to a still on your hips, your uncrossed legs caging his sides. His lids fall, mouth prepping a pout for yours, but you press your thumb into his lips. 

“Whatever I want?” you whisper, eyes narrowing. 

A smirk flickers across Eddie’s mouth, a puff of breath pressing his mouth into your thumb until the tip is wedged between the edge of his teeth. Your breathing stills for a second and you resist pushing it further into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, moving your hand across his cheek so he can kiss you full on the mouth. His tongue is needy and searching, making you curve into him just a touch. You can feel the prickle of his stubble coming up. Eddie with a five o’clock shadow… “I’d give you whatever you want, Lace. John Hancock in the Book of the Beast or no.” 

The wettened peaks of his lips go straight for your jugular. You two have shared enough mouth-to-mouth episodes for him to know that feeling his tongue against your pulse is liable to make you do nutty things. 

“Tell me what you want, dahling one,” Eddie’s mouth crawls up your jaw in an approximation of Bela Lugosi, up to your ear, where he knows you’re ticklish too. You feel him smile at your breathy laugh. “Anything you desire, anything beneath the blazing sun and under the heaving mud, anything under the banner of… the Hawkins township, because I don’t have a lot of gas money right now…”

“I want you,” you struggle through a sigh–his stupid mouthy beautiful mouth, “to get rid of that goddamn lunchbox. At least, for illegal purposes. Keep it for pretzels.”

Eddie honks out a nasally groan far too close to your ear and you jerk back. “No! You’re supposed to be all, ‘I absolutely indubitably want you, Eddie,’ and then we’re supposed to, ee-ee,” he thrusts his clothed hips into yours animatedly, “on this very table top. Until you realize it’s covered in woodlice.”

“Well, I can’t fuck you if you’re in prison. I’m telling you, that old tin thing falls apart in the hallway and you’re being tried as a full adult!” Wait, did he say woodlice? 

“You worry too much. S’gonna make you warty. Plus,” he says, unlatching himself from you and tossing his effects back in the tin box, “this is a family heirloom. Al Munson made good on his last straight job at the plant for a grand total of six hours, and all he got was this lousy lunchbox.”

Speaking of Al… 

“Y’know, I was thinking… If it wasn’t for your dad…” Your hands knit in your lap as you pretend to look around for woodlice.  

“‘If it wasn’t for Al’ what?” Eddie’s tone is flat, “Grand theft auto would decrease tenfold from here to Bloomington? Less diner waitresses would have complexes about men who abuse the free refill system? Starcourt Mall wouldn’t have burned down?”

Your eyebrows knit. Okay, pause. “What has he got to do with Starcourt Mall?”

“I’m not a hundred percent, but I have a theory,” Eddie says, arms bound across his chest. “It involves horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia.”

“And you told me my Larry Kline theory was crazy!”

“Well, funny you mention because my idea actually runs kind of concurrent to that–” 

“No, let’s put a pin in that for a second,” you cut him off, “It’s… my dad. I think he might actually be somewhat rehabilitated. Knocked down a peg, maybe? He actually displayed a hint of diffidence, Eddie. I think I … kind of have Al to thank for that.”

Sure, there was an air of initial disconcert to you and your dad’s little game of gin rummy, but the more you ruminated on it, the more it felt… threatless. Your mom had even joined you for a grim dinner of mac and cheese, where the three of you had nearly fondly reminisced on the pasta alla vodka from a restaurant they always went to on New Years Eve in Indianapolis. Maybe that’s what it took; a stint in prison to crack his ego like the Liberty Bell, and now Ray Doevski had to bear the humility like everyone else. Maybe he’d make good on his promise, making up for lost time.

But the disbelief, and, in fact, concern that Eddie is eyeballing your way says something different. 

“Don’t thank Al for anything.”

“I’m just saying. Dad and I actually talked last night, for the first time in… ever, really, and it didn’t feel like he was sizing me up. It was.. He was… nice.”

“Lacy.” Eddie’s shoulder’s sag. He hops up on the table next to you, bringing you knee to knee. The tear in his jeans rubs against the webbed nylon of your tights. When he looks at you, it’s with rounded eyes that could very well have been checking you for brain damage. “I don’t mean to blow out your candle or anything, but coming from someone as well versed in the tales of a crooked father who never really changes as I… I don’t buy this Ray of sunshine bit.”

Your hackles start to raise. Hey. Just because Al Munson was a famed and patterned piece of shit didn’t necessarily mean–

Eddie clocks you immediately, your crunched brow and pursed mouth. His hands go up, requesting pause. “Look. This is your first time at the convict parent rodeo, so I know how it is. Whirlwind. They always roar in in some Cadillac full of promises, right, swearing to make everything they fucked up right by you. But it never sticks, Lace. They’re hardwired to not follow through, okay? At least not on anything that doesn’t serve their own vain little agenda. With Al, it’s always some big dick scheme, something that’s gonna set us, and by us I mean him, up for life. No matter how good it feels to have them back, it– it always feels better when they’re gone.”

His searching eyes dart to his hands, as if he’d said a touch too much. On the one hand, a couple of painful pop rocks explode in your chest. You always feel this way whenever he mentions Al– Eddie’s let you in on glimpses here and there, revealing that he hasn’t quite shucked off the essence of being a hurt kid. It presents you with the super challenging desire to soothe the memory, but you dance around it at a distance. The dad stuff, it’s still sticky for the both of you. But now that Ray is back, and Al is back, you kind of have to talk about it. It figures pretty keenly into… whatever the fuck you two think you’re doing.

Then, on the other hand, a quick flash of resentment burns in you. Yeah, your dad is hardwired–why can’t mine be different? 

“Better?” you ask. 

“Maybe–not better,” Eddie rectifies, his rings knocking against his palm. “But easier. It’s always easier when he’s gone, even if I want him to be there. At least I know what to expect when he doesn’t call or write or whatever, which is nothing.”

“So I should do the same? Expect nothing?” You can’t hide the bite in your voice, and you can’t meet his eyes when he looks at you. 

“Lacy,” he says, searching hard for you in there, “You know what kind of guy your dad is. All the pomp and circumstance in the world won’t change what you’ve already seen. What you’ve already been through. This nice guy shit is a tactic– you…”

A heavy-ringed hand pulls your face to his, forcing you to look him in his earnest, gleaming eyes. 

“You deserve more than that.” 

Confusion with a sadness chaser churns in you. The metallic chill of Eddie’s rings against your cheek. A cooling comfort. Not a harsh sting. Not an open palm. A cradle. 

“I know you don’t believe me, for whatever reason, but you do deserve more than that.”

I still want you to be wrong, a voice hisses in the back of your head. Fucking Medusa rising.

“Yeah,” you nod in his hands, surrendering because it’s the right thing to say. “Yeah, of course I do. I’ll be careful. It’s fine.”

“And speaking of careful,” Eddie’s timbre hits a more suggestive spot, his hand falling from your jaw to your shoulder, “Harrington’s having a party on Friday, s’why I need fresh supplies.”

“Oh, really?” you mumble, mood not immediately perking up.

“Yes, really,” Eddie mocks, grip slipping to your waist. “I was thinking… y’know. Harrington’s house is big. Lotta rooms. Lotta beds…”

“Lot of intimacy at big parties,” you paraphrase Gatsby. “But the last time I was at Harrington’s… Is that such a good idea? Risking a repeat of teenage gladiator?”

“You were hardly gladiating, you were performing The Crab Monologues. Now, Carol, she wa–”

A scowl starts growing on your face. “Not helping your case.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry,” Eddie grins that bitten, private grin he deploys when he’s just about to lay one on you. “Will you show if I promise to protect you from wild redheaded assailants?”

“I’ll consider it. But that better include that little neighbor girl of yours, too,” you warn, suddenly reminded of the viscous stink-eye that Billy Hargrove’s stepsister had been throwing your way the last couple of times that you passed her in the trailer park. “Orphan Annie has it out for me for some reason.”

“You’re so cute when you’re paranoid.” 

“You have a woodlouse in your bangs.”“Wuagh! Where! Kill it!”

author's notes: christ it is GOOD TO BE BACK!!! if this feels like a part one to something, that is because it very much is, my friends. this was on its way to becoming a 20k+ chapter, which would freak me out actually so i decided to have some boundaries for once and split it in two. get you warmed up for what's to come. it's drama. btw. anyway on with the show - ohhh, you guys i have been listening to so much early-mid 00s emo in order to write this story. i realized that that's my secret weapon, because it's just as melodramatic as these two fucking dumbshits are. points to anyone who knows what the title of the chapter is a reference to (bonus points if they can find it a second time in a past chapter of this story) - flannery o'connor is of course a standard doevski pick for an author, but also a nod to maya hawke playing her in the biopic, which looks exquisite btw - back at it with the extremely rudimentary dnd references! i thought fear and loathing in luskan was fun - eddie WOULD know a ton about ancient greek mythology, specifically the goings on at the olympics, but not because he has any real vested interest in it but moreso because when he researches for a campaign he goes absolutely hard, like me with my 26 tabs open googling 'nail polish shades popular 80s teen girl bonne bell' - kick rocks! montague moment's over! but real quick-- what's munson? it is not hand, nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part... belonging to a man :) - yet another hellfire & ice fancast moment, i must present my personal pick for o'donnell-- it's gotta be allison janney, baby. less in the 10 things i hate about you guidance counselor vein, rather in the stepmom from juno vein. - 'hey hildy, what's the scoop?' had to get a his girl friday reference in somewhere, didn't i - answered prayers by truman capote is not only the cuntiest book ever written (capote essentially sold the secrets of his wealthy socialite friends in order to write it) but is also the latest ryan murphy adaptation - we stan jordan baker from the great gatsby in this house alright! that's all for this one! hope you enjoyed it, i know it's heavy on set up but next chapter will see us right back at casa de harrington for another blowout party, so... brace yourselves. please comment and reblog to support the work, thank you hellcats i love you forever

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Exhibit

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Kink Prompt: Exhibit [Exhibitionism]

Word Count: 2,000

Summary: You attend a party in your roommate’s stead. 

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, Public Sex, Masquerade, Exhibitionism, Nonconsensual Drug use, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number three, and the end of week one of my kinktober celebration! i sincerely hope you all enjoyed the first three installments! thank you all so much for reading. mind the tags and warnings, as always, and enjoy! divider by @firefly-graphics​

Your palms are sweating underneath your evening gloves as you make your way down the marble staircase. Everyone is looking at you. You can’t see their eyes through the masks, of course, but the sea of porcelain faces turned in your direction lets you feel the weight of their gazes anyway. Your own is tied securely beneath the carefully coiffed mess of curls at the nape of your neck, and you resist the urge to check Emily’s tie-job as you descend the staircase.

 “What if they notice that I’m, you know, not you?” You’d asked as she’d tied the black satin straps behind your head. “This isn’t a frat party, it’s like. An event.” Your roommate rolled her eyes in the mirror as she continued fussing over you, dusting lint from the front of your gown. 

 “No one’s going to care,” she’d nodded appreciatively at her handiwork. “Besides, everyone’s wearing masks anyway.”

 You feel ungainly in the heels Emily picked out, but you manage to make it to the landing without falling on your face or tripping over the train of your dress. Now that you’re at the bottom, part of the roiling mass of bodies instead of above it, you don’t feel quite as watched, and you let your shoulders sag with relief. 

 How long did Emily say this thing was? Three hours? You’re a stranger to the rituals of the wealthy, so you stand there awkwardly, clinging to the bannister. You don’t know anyone, either. The most Emily had told you about this weird little shindig was that it was once every few years, and that the absolute most important people in the city showed up. 

 “And why am I going?” You’d asked, fiddling with your ornate swan mask. 

 “You’re my proxy, silly!” She’d smiled warmly at you. “So like, if you can’t go, you can, like, have someone go represent the family. Like a stand in.” 

 “And it’s important that you be there because…?”

 “The Swan’s like. Really important. There’s this whole boring story they tell about it, but I don’t really remember.” She waved her hand at you dismissively. “Anyway, you look great.”

 “Is it heavy?” A man in a crow mask stands in front of you, his head inclined in question. 

 “W-what?”

 “The bannister. Or are you not holding it up?” He asks, grinning at you. You straighten up self-consciously.

 “I, um.” You clear your throat. “N-no.” 

 “That was a joke, sweetheart.” He extends his hand. “Emily, right? I’m Lloyd.” He points at his mask. “Crow.” 

 You shake your head. “No, I’m. I’m her fr—roommate. Stand-in. God.” You glance up at the ceiling in embarrassment. 

 “Ah.” He licks his lips and nods. “New blood, then.”

 “I guess so.” 

 He circles around to your right, looping his smoothly beneath yours. “You should dance with me.” He’s staring at you hard underneath the black porcelain of his mask, you just know it, and your skin prickles. You’ve always had a hard time telling people no—that’s how you’d ended up here in the first place. “Come on, it’s a party. You should dance.” It’s less of a request and more of a demand.

 “O-okay.” You allow him to tug you out into the crowd after casting a look back at the bannister. You can’t stay there for three hours, and you suppose having someone to talk to is better than staying in silence. Lloyd snags two flutes of champagne off of a passing server, and hands it to you. 

 “I didn’t get your name, sweetheart.” He says, tipping the glass up to your lips. You take a clumsy sip, and the bubbles tickle your nose. You tell him, and he repeats it. You don’t like the way your name sounds on his lips, drippy and smooth like honey. “Mm. I like it.” 

 “T-thanks.” You drain the rest of the flute, and the alcohol settles warmly in your empty stomach. You turn to set the glass on one of the tall tables with the other abandoned cups, and when you turn back, Lloyd has another two full glasses of champagne. You take it from him, knocking that one back too. 

 “How much did Emily tell you about our…get-together, duckling?” He asks, taking a sip of his own drink. You grimace at the nickname, but Lloyd doesn’t apologize. He reminds you uncomfortably of Emily—the same bored sort of entitlement that took you months to work around in your roommate radiates from Lloyd. 

 “Not much. She just said it was a party her parents wanted her to go to.” 

 “Mmm.” He hums, stepping closer. Lloyd slides his hand around your waist. You want to tell him no, to push his arm away, but you also don’t want to make a scene. You compromise by leaning as far away from him as you can manage. If Lloyd notices your distaste, he doesn’t say anything about it. “That’s certainly part of it.” He inclines his head towards the dance floor, and continues talking. There’s no space for you to edge in a word, tell him you’re all left feet and elbows before he’s positioning your stiff arms properly. 

 “Like this, duckling.” 

 “Don’t call—”

 “You’re right. You’re a swan.” His voice is mocking. “The swan’s important, you know.” He spins you, and you land against him dizzily with one hand on his chest. “Very important.”

 “W-what?” You feel… strange. Your mouth is dry and your thoughts feel like car wheels spinning in mud. 

 “Oh yes,” Lloyd’s full lips curl into a handsome—but cruel—smile. “Beauty, youth, rebirth, blah, blah, blah. A bunch of bullshit to justify a wild party, which, if you ask me, doesn’t really need any justification.” 

 “Wild?” You don’t know what Lloyd means by wild, it looks fairly tame to you. You glance around the room, but your vision swims a little, and you stumble. Lloyd chuckles. 

 “Those drinks’ll creep up on you, Sweetheart.” He spins you again, and you let out a huff, trying not to fall over. This time, when you fall against his chest, he holds you there. “You really ought to be a little more skeptical about your friends, duckling.” He grasps your chin, turning your head a little. You grit your teeth at his familiarity, but it’s hard to fight his iron grip. After a brief struggle, you look in the direction Lloyd wants you to, and your eyes bulge in their sockets. 

 There are people dancing, milling about, but up against the wall, there’s a woman. Her gown is rucked up around her hips, held there by her masked companion. Another woman, who���s gloved hand is moving steadily beneath the fabric. You gasp, and Lloyd lets go. 

 “They’re starting early,” he hums, and you swallow dryly as you whip your head around. Suddenly, you’re seeing people all over the crowd… indulging, and no one was… saying anything. Even as you watched, a man reached down the front of his slacks, pulling out his half hard cock, while his dance partner dropped to her knees and greedily licked at the tip. 

 Panic swirls in your veins. “I-I need to go,” you mumble, your tongue feeling like thick cotton in your mouth. “Home, I n-need to go…” The words are clumsy in your mouth. Lloyd strokes your chin with one finger, and then taps it against the porcelain nose of your mask. 

 “No, duckling. I think you’ll stay here, with me tonight.” Your head spins. He fingers delicate, feathered wing motif on the spaghetti straps of your dress. “You know, when they described Emily to me, I wasn’t too keen on playing the Crow to her Swan.” He pushes the strap from your elbow, and you reel backwards—or, at least, you try to, your body moving clumsily. Lloyd’s hands are so big, and he wraps one easily around your forearm, pulling you back. 

 “But seeing you, you know you’ve got me rethinking.” 

 “S-stop, I—” He pushes down the other strap, and you try to hold up the gathered fabric at the front of your dress with one hand. “Lloyd, stop!” Your shrill voice turns a few heads, but no one moves to help you. He doesn’t stop, his fingers dancing up your bare arm to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

 “I was promised a Swan tonight, duckling,” he breathes the words out against your trembling lips. “Normally I’m not one for keeping a promise, but you know what they say. A deal’s a deal.” He cups your breast—you couldn’t wear a bra with the plunging neckline of Emily’s borrowed dress—and you whine. Lloyd hums low in his throat with approval, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You hate the hum that sings through your blood at his touch, the unwanted thrill of being seen, even as the party around you devolves into depravity. His mouth works against yours hungrily, sucking and pulling on your lips until they’re swollen. 

 Your flesh dimples at the cool air, legs wobbling dangerously when Lloyd pulls away to remove his jacket. You feel feverishly sensitive, your nipples suddenly aching from rubbing against the fabric of your dress. It’s like that all over, wherever your hot, prickling skin touches the shimmering silk. It’s hateful, the way you whimper with relief when Lloyd’s fingers make quick work of the dainty pearl buttons, and the whisper of the fabric is deafening in your ears as it slides to the polished floor. Dimly, you’re aware of Lloyd’s low hum of appreciation. 

 People are looking, you can feel the uncomfortable heat of their gazes resting on your bare skin as you try to cover yourself with stiff, clumsy hands. One of them, a man in a rat mask, reaches forward to touch you, but Lloyd yanks you back against his chest, snarling. 

 “Hands off, asshole,” he snaps, grinding his cock against the soft curve of your ass. “No touching.” Even as he reprimands the other man, Lloyd kicks your legs further apart to slide his fingers through your slick folds. God help you, it feels good when he rolls your clit between his thumb and index finger. The pleasure rockets through you like electricity and you pant. Lloyd’s teeth pull at the soft lobe of your ear, and you arch your back, pressing against him desperately. He chuckles. 

 “Look, duckling,” he murmurs, reaching down between your bodies to slide his cock between your asscheeks. “They all want to watch me split this tight little pussy open, isn’t that nice?” The tip of his cock presses wetly against the puckered ring of your ass and you whine. He laughs again, the sound low and almost hypnotic in your ears. “Don’t worry duckie. Next time I’ll try your pretty asshole.” If there were more than fleeting thoughts in your head, if you were capable of doing anything more than whining like a needy animal at his touch; you would say that there would be no next time, that if you ever saw Lloyd again, it would be from the other side of a jail cell—

 But your head is empty, save for the burning in your veins that only the push of his thick, leaking head against your slick cunt can assuage. Your mouth falls open as he begins to push inside, words becoming an unintelligible gurgle in the back of your throat as you stare sightlessly at the distant domed ceiling. Lloyd curses, his fingers digging into your bare hips as he seats himself inside. 

 Perhaps it’s the delicious way he stretches you open, or the press of his thumb against your clit, but you cum with a pathetic mewl, squeezing and sucking at his cock as you tremble. The feathers of his crow mask tickle against the side of your throat as he laves at your pulse.

 “Look at you, duckling,” he grunts as he pulls out a little, only to slam back inside, making stars dance in your blurry vision. “Star of the show.” 

fin

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[elvisabutler]

What about reader who's the on the costuming team for Elvis, and is put in charge of making and tailoring Austin's costumes. As time goes on Austin low-key starts sexting her in the outfits, starting with something like "am I wearing this right?" and needing to be shown how to tie a crop top in the baby blue outfit to "it's feeling a little tight in certain areas and I think i desperately need a tailor ;)" in one of the Vegas Jumpsuits.

clothes make the man

summary: austin butler is an asshole. austin butler is attractive. you wish both of these things were not true together. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: asshole! austin butler x female reader word count: 4193 i don't know what came over me i thought this was 2k before the oral but apparently not! warnings: austin is an asshole. austin being a bit of a manslut. austin calling the reader a slut. generally speaking there's a bit of derogatory language. talk about p in v sex ( unprotected ). talk about creampies. inappropriate use of costumes. brief austin x olivia mention. brief mention of vanessa. slightly unwanted in the beginning sexual advances before there's a 180 about them. oral ( m receiving ). talk about cum eating. fade to black p in v sex ( unprotected ). swallowing. i think that's everything. author’s note: so first off anon, thank you for this prompt! i had actually considered telling you that i couldn't do it because it's a tricky one to do without erring a little too much in sort of an unwanted sexual advances way ( at least for me ) but i think i managed to strike a healthy enough balance. shout out to @blurredcolour, my lovely graceland queens and @eliseinmemphis for being cheerleaders. but especially elise for screaming HOW IN THE FUCK ARE YOU SO GOOD AT ASSHOLE AUSTIN. to which i say, i do not even remotely know because i'll remind everyone i pretty much write him as a damn puppy of a man. hell that's one of my tags for him. though this was toned down from attempt number one. that one had boot licking in the notes. apologies if this isn't your cup of tea but i do hope you enjoy it anon!

There is something uniquely attractive about Austin Butler, something that makes you forget that you really shouldn't get involved with him. You've noticed this from the girls he flirts with, the extras he flirts with and takes to his dressing room like he actually was Elvis Presley in his prime hoe days. You've noticed this in the way he managed to charm the actress playing Priscilla- Olivia- into sleeping with him at least once or twice. You've noticed this in the way that despite knowing you need to keep thing professional and that you've seen him be a complete and utter ass to the girls who don't suit his needs any more- that he's finished with- you still flirt with him. It's easy enough, you have to be up close and personal with the man, making sure Catherine's designs fit him correctly and that he hasn't put on weight or lost too much. You know the exact level of tightness that needs to exist to make these costumes feel as if they're on Elvis Presley, not on Austin playing Elvis Presley.

"If you wanted to be this close to me you didn't have pretend my arm's gotten longer." Austin says midway through you sliding his arm through a leather jacket. "It fit yesterday, you just wanna feel up my muscles."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You feel your lips purse even as you feel your body getting warmer at the insinuation. "I'm just doing my job."

"Your job is feeling me up and staring at me. Yeah, you do a great job at that." He nods, looking down at you where you're pulling down the front of the jacket, testing to see if it needs to be let out a little for a different drape of the fabric. "Careful, get much lower and-"

You roll your eyes and move to stand up. "I don't feel you up or stare at you any more than I did with Kelvin or Alton or Kodi or Oliv-"

"Little Livvy! Oh- I didn't even realize you swung that way, I'm sure she'd love to have a-" You pull yourself back up to a standing position and place your finger on his lip as if to shush him.

"Don't even say the next words, Mr. Butler. I'm not trying to hit on you." Not- technically- or at least not in these circumstances. It's not as if you wouldn't do it if given the opportunity. But that's not necessarily something you feel like he deserves to know when he's being this much of a pain in your ass.

His eyes focus in on your finger on his lips looking cross eyed as he does before he raises an eyebrow and nips at your finger with the biggest smirk you've ever seen. Your first instinct is to pull away and hold your hand because for a nip his teeth are surprisingly painful. You stop yourself though, and instead just roll your eyes.

"I know that probably works on every other girl, but unlike some people, I'm a little more professional. Try again." Your eyes run from his shoulders to the bottom of his pants, taking note that the hem is a little too high in the leg and making a note in it in the back of your mind to fix it once he's out of the clothes. "Strip, Mr. Butler."

In a second you realize that was the wrong word to say when you hear Austin chuckling and you just sigh as he pulls off his pants and jacket and tosses them at you. "You want me completely-"

"I want you to get your street clothes on and leave, Mr. Butler." Cutting off whatever words he planned on saying and shooting a glare at him. "I don't have time for this."

"I'm the star of the movie, playing the Elvis Presley, I think everyone would forgive you for taking a little extra time with me." He watches as you stand up, grabbing some needles to mark where you need to adjust things. It's easy enough to pull on his clothes and walk up behind you as you're too focused on your work to notice him until you feel his warm breath against your ear. "You need my measurements to be exact. What better way than feeling them firsthand? Feeling how they rest in your hand. In your mouth, in your-"

You can't help the way your body shudders involuntarily at the warmth of his breath and the way his lean body is pressed against your and you swear you can feel Austin's delight at your reaction despite not hearing a bit of laughter. He probably has that stupid little smirk he perpetually wears around the set, acting as if he's God's gift to acting. It always makes you wonder if he's always been like that or if exposure to Ms. Mad About Covid Ruining Coachella is what made him this way. Or maybe it was just him taking on the role of a man who might have been a good man but was also supposedly the cockiest womanizing bastard on the planet.

"Mr. Austin Robert Butler. I'm finished with you today. Go run your lines or do movement stuff with Polly. I'm-" A shaky breath leaves your mouth. "I don't need any extra time with you today."

Sure enough when you look up from the pants and into the mirror you see a smirk on Austin's face and see him tilting his head just sow almost like he's studying you before he pulls out a sheet of paper from his jean pocket and moves to set it down on the pants, making sure his arm brushes against yours. "Here's my number if you need it later tonight, then. Because I'd hate for you to get in trouble with Catherine over something going wrong with the costumes."

"I'm throwing this away." Your voice is smaller than you mean it to be but trusting yourself to say the statement loudly feels like something impossible in this moment. It feels like if you do try and get any louder he'll call you on your bluff, tell you that you won't be throwing it away because you want to talk to him, want to hear him tell you all about how he figures you want to have him bend you over this vanity and fuck you. That won't do though, so you try and stay quiet as can be. "As soon as you leave."

He tries to meet your eyes again in the mirror before shrugging. "Your job, not mine." Your job at stake is what you swear he means and it has your eyebrows furrowing before he breathes one final sentence in your ear. "Relax. Wouldn't dream of getting you fired."

He leaves as if he didn't drop a bomb on you that you hadn't been thinking about, that he didn't tease the idea that maybe he'd try and get you fired. He- he might be an asshole but that was coercion in a way that even the biggest of assholes wouldn't do, let alone someone you could swear had to have something going for him. Still, you can't help the way you lean over the pants and stare at the number he left, frowning just slightly as you do. You should throw it away- you should and yet you don't.

You don't and instead you text him that night and the night after and the night after until you develop what has got to be the strangest professional and personal rapport you think you've ever had with someone. You have the night off, it's before a shoot that you know is going to run him, Catherine and yourself ragged but Baz understands that despite the deadlines you all have to meet that a rest day is in order. Usually when Austin has one of these days off he's silent, too busy- you figure- fucking some other woman and you try and not let the jealousy twist in your gut at the idea. However, tonight is different and for reasons you don't pretend to understand you are interrupted from your binge watching session of a show to a notification from Austin asking you what you're wearing. There's a heat that swirls in your lower half, drifting from your stomach down to between your legs and it takes you a minute to answer. A part of you wants to say something cute and sexy but you know he's just asking this to mess with you- to mess with you and mock you for dressing up when you're not with anyone. So you tell him the simple truth of a ratty t-shirt, you don't clarify on the state of your underwear, figuring he'll fill in whatever blank he wants. After about a minute there's a simple text of pic?

Austin Butler is not trying to sext you, you are hallucinating this, a consequence of too much wine and not getting laid since that one lighting guy like a month ago. You don't respond for five minutes only to get another text from him, "wanna see." Wanna see what? You? The ugly t-shirt you have on? You take another minute before you take your best selfie showing off how threadbare the shirt is and making sure your lower half is covered by a blanket. His next response that follows is a voice memo that you shouldn't listen to but you do.

"That's practically see through. I can see your nipples poking through it. You cold, Y/N? Or wanting to tease me?" His breath is shaky in a way you only identify with someone playing with themselves and you can't help the way your hand starts to move down your torso and in between your legs. "You don't have any panties on. Fuckin' slut, know I'm gonna text you and knew you had to take a pic and you don't put fuckin' panties on. You hear me, babe? Fuck, should get you to come over here, tell Catherine I need to fix a costume for tomorrow, bend you over my bathroom counter and fuck you. Make you go back to your apartment with my come dripping down your legs. Bet ya got your hands in between your legs. Wish it was me helping you. Fucking you through this."

The words he says start to be drowned out by the rush of your heartbeat before you realize the recording has stopped and that you've got five more messages from him, each talking about how his hand isn't a match for how tight your pussy is even if you fucked the lighting guy, it's been long enough. How his spit isn't anything like how your saliva would be around his cock and how he's made a mess of his pants and torso and how you should be in bed with him to lick it off to clean him up like you make sure those boots of his are clean for the costumes.

You come harder than you have in years and don't respond. He doesn't say anything that next day and yet you can't help the way your eyes avert themselves from his when he catches your gaze. It goes back to normal, you think, with your rapport edging toward fond on your end maybe fond on his or at least as fond as he gets with anyone. True mystery of the ages, do assholes actually treat anyone fondly or is everyone just a means to an ends with them? You've yet to solve that specific mystery when it comes to Austin even if you think you may be inching closer.

That is until he texts you while you are sick. It's not COVID but as a precaution you stay home only to get a picture of him in Elvis's robe circa 72 or 73, half open revealing his underwear and his cock just there- it's not erect but you see the length of it soft and the girth of it soft and hold back a whine even with your runny nose. His text with it is a simple "am I wearing this right" like he doesn't know all he has to do is shut the damn thing for the scene or that he doesn't know how much seeing him like this feels like a cruel tease.

It takes you a good five minutes- or maybe ten, the runny nose is making your brain fog something fierce, before you manage a response.

"Tie it up. Loosely. You have it too loose, AB." AB because Mr. Butler feels too formal but Austin feels too intimate and you're trying to not think about how you wish you were there, how you wish you could see his cock stand to attention in that outfit. You take a sip of your water as you hear the ding of your phone telling you that you have another message, this time with Austin having it tied up correctly but somehow his underwear has shifted down just enough for you to see the hair on his pubic area and you have to shut your eyes for a moment. He doesn't say anything else but you at least give him a thumbs up in response followed by a plea for him to pull up his underwear. You don't hear any complaints the next day when you come in though the second Austin sees you he's decided that despite you still being a bit under the weather he needs to crowd behind you reminiscent of that time with the pants.

"Didn't realize you were looking so low, babe. Sure you don't want to have fun? See what it feels like against that skin of yours?" His arm slithers around your waist for a moment before lifting up your shirt and playing with your the skin of your stomach. "Might even clean up whatever mess I make on you while you clean up the mess on me. If you're good." If your knees buckle a little you don't notice as he grips your waist a little tighter. "Oh, there she is, all I gotta do is tell you're a good girl to make you admit you want me? But you gotta earn me saying that. Have to stop being so frigid, baby."

"I'm not-" You shake your head. "Let go, Austin. I have work I need to do and you've- I'm still sick. So get out of this room."

He opens his mouth to say something before pursing his lips and giving your waist another squeeze before pulling away and sneering as he waves. "Just so you don't get me sick with whatever one of the guys you fucked gave you. Bye, Y/N."

Later on your mind wonders how he knows you fucked someone else on the crew and you choose not to dwell on it just this once. In fact, you choose not to dwell on how Austin seems to be keeping his distance physically even if he keeps practically sexting you images of him in costumes as you recover until the day he's in the blue suit and Baz has put you in charge of taking pictures. Except Austin can't seem to tie his blue suit correctly and you find yourself on your knees batting his hands away so that you can get the proper angle you can't manage standing up. Your eyes stay focused on the knot your forming with the suit even as you swear you feel Austin's breath quickening as your hands touch his torso. "Calm down, Austin. It's not-"

"You know you can do more than tie the shirt and the suit. While you're down there." His voice is no more than a whisper as you see him take slow deliberate breaths. It almost sounds like a command and you feel your mouth water as your eyes flick down to see his cock starting to press against the pants. This is professional, your relationship with him is supposed to be professional and you're not- you're not going to be like half the crew who have fallen into his arms. His stupid asshole arms where he fucks a girl and leaves her and acts like he didn't lead them on with maybe promises of more. "Know you want to taste it. Been thinking of your mouth on it-"

You quickly stand up and shut your eyes shaking your head as you back away, your tying job complete. Getting out of this room should be your first priority but Austin won't force you into anything if you tell him no, you don't think. And you have a job to finish, you have to take the pictures of him in the outfit so Baz can see. It's easy enough, you don't even need to be near Austin to shoot the photos. "Don't- Just. I'm going to do my job, Mr. Butler." Mr. Butler, not Austin because that's why he's trying to pull this, he thinks he can, he thinks he's wormed his way into your head.

He has but that's not the point. He has but you are not going to fall into his stupid arms because you might actually like him and he's a movie star and you don't have time for this. You meet Austin's eyes and he rolls his before striking a pose in front of the mirror. If you didn't know any better you'd think he was showing off, trying to impress you with how he looked, but he wouldn't be doing that, not for you, not just to get into your pants. The whole ordeal is over faster than you think it is and if you run off as soon as Austin hands you the outfit on the hanger, well, that's between you, God, and Catherine and Baz.

He ignores you when you text him for the next week. He ignores you as you do his fittings. He ignores you when you try and talk to him in between scenes and you find yourself feeling anxious over it. You may think he's an asshole and he may be one but you were also getting very used to having him around and in your life. It's probably why while annoyed after a long day on set you leave him a voicemail message cursing him out and asking why he's so angry about you not sucking his cock among other choice words before you get a simple text back.

He's wearing the black butterfly/black pyramid jumpsuit. You know this because you specifically double checked the measurements to make sure they fit him. The pic he sends reminds you that you didn't anticipate his cock being hard in them.

"Was just with Catherine before you sent that. Wasn't tight before but now it's feeling a little too tight. I'm in desperate need of a tailor or I think I might split the pants. :)"

The speed that you use to get yourself back on set is one you doubt you will ever manage again. By now you unfortunately know where Austin's trailer is and pray to god it's unlocked as you march yourself to it and swing the door open only to find Austin with the jumpsuit half unzipped waiting for you.

"My favorite little tailor. Come to fix my problem?" He asks a smirk so firmly on his face that you want to slap it off of him but you'll settle for just having it be replaced by his mouth opened in pleasure. You snarl some word at him before finishing unzipping the jumpsuit and having his cock smack you in the face, smearing precum on your cheek. "Didn't bother with underwear, oops."

If looks could kill the one you give him through your eyelashes as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock would have murdered him. As it is though, all it does is earn a laugh out of him as he moves to grab the back of your head, guiding your mouth to his cock. "That's it. Fix the problem you made. Getting so angry with me like the frigid little bitch you've been. Could have been doing this for months. Could have-" His words are cut off as you take the tip of him in your mouth and he groans low, his hips struggling to not immediately buck. He doesn't trust that you can handle him that quickly and he's not about to have you do something gross on his cock. "Were you practicing on the lighting boys? Practicing on everyone else? Wanted to give me the best blow job? Give me what I earned for putting up with you doing this back and forth?"

All you want Austin to do is shut up and somehow he's not. Somehow he's maintaining enough brain power to spew insults at you that are landing far more harshly than you're willing to admit. Your hand moves to play with his balls as your tongue works the tip of his cock and that vein on the underside that has him cursing your name as he finally lets his hips buck into your mouth. You sputter a little, not necessarily prepared for the sudden force of his cock hitting your palette or the back of your throat, you don't know which if you're being entirely honest. All you know is there's a few tears forming in your eyes and your nose is running but you have a job to do that you refuse to fail at. It takes a moment for your throat to relax as you inch your way up his cock until your nose is nuzzling at that patch of hair you saw in the robe and you allow yourself a moment to just inhale his unique scent of sweat and soap. You feel his hand tighten against your head and do it once more as he tries to pull you off his cock, trying to gain an upper hand again only for you to grip his thigh and allow your teeth to graze his cock.

Austin does what can only be described as a growl and a groan mixed together as he realizes he can't pull you off the way you have your teeth. Right now it's pleasurable but if he tries to pull you any more it won't be. Goddamn he underestimated you. Instead he just leans back, trying to focus on the way your tongue feels playing with the tip of his cock, how it feels having you hollow out your cheeks, how it feels to have your mouth enveloping him so tight and warm and god, he feels himself about to come the more he feels your hand play with his balls. If you were someone else, if you were someone else he might warn you but you won't let him pull you off and so maybe you deserve to have his cum slide down your throat, maybe he wants to see it drip out the side of your mouth because you can't swallow it all. He can paint your face later. He can paint your body with his cum later.

You feel the warmth of his cum unexpectedly even though you had felt him twitching in your mouth. A part of you wants to be offended, wants to yell at him for not warning you but you take this as a challenge, trying not to choke as you swallow because his hand isn't moving from the back of your head. You know what he wants, he wants to see you be a good little slut, a good little girl and swallow his cum. That's easy enough except it isn't as you choke a little and feel some leak out the sides of your mouth before he's finally spent and he finally lets go of the back of your head. In a moment you pull off of him and are about to lick the sides of your lips before he rubs it off onto his thumb and puts it on your lower lip, the implication of suck vividly clear. Your tongue darts out and licks his thumb clean before sucking just once and letting it go with a light pop.

Austin is still trying to catch his breath as you shift on your knees, trying to gain some friction to ease the ache you feel between them. You try to be subtle but when he looks up at you he notices and smiles like he's a villian in some new movie.

"You want help with that?" A simple question but a loaded one that has you staring at his mouth and staring at his cock that's starting to stir again before you answer with a shrug.

"If you think you still need help making sure the costume fits, Butler." Not Austin, not AB, not Mr. Butler, just Butler, something that feels uniquely correct for this situation and from the way he smirks, you think he agrees.

"I'd hate to ruin all of Catherine's work because someone's tailoring job sucked." He pats his lap. "Ride me, Y/N. We've got all night."

taglist: @eliseinmemphis, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @purejasmine, @lindszeppelin, i don't know it's asshole austin who even knows which of y'all wanna read this.

[gurokiitty]

VOULD I ASK ABOUT A COP READER AND STRADE???

Like the readers older sibling was missing and they were looking for them, who also got kidnapped (and possibly killed by strade) he meets them at the bar, reader is like REALLYY drunk, she whines about not being able to find their older sibling, and Strade knows. He knows what he did.

a/n: what a fun idea!! strade would definitely be extra horrible if he knew his victim was a cop. hope you enjoy, anon!

PIGGY

{ strade x gn! reader }

word count: 1.3k

warnings/tags: alcohol use, violence, kidnapping, psychological torture, forced voyeurism, implied sibling death.

The room spins and the edges of the world soften as you gulp down another shot, the sting of alcohol burning a path down your throat. The dim lights of the bar flicker, casting elongated shadows that dance mockingly around you. This place is a sanctuary of sorts— a shabby dive where lost souls come to drown memories and silence their demons with liquid oblivion.

Strade finds you there, at the edge of dissolution. His entrance is unremarkable, yet somehow you feel the atmosphere shift, a predatory chill seeping through the smoky haze.

His eyes catch yours across the crowded room, glinting with a dark curiosity as he takes the stool beside you. "Rough night, buddy?" he asks, his voice smooth, dangerously inviting.

You nod, swirling the ice in your nearly empty glass. "You could say that." The words spill out of you, heavy with bitterness.

His smile holds a semblance of warmth, perhaps a touch too studied, but under the weight of your despair, you don't notice. He leans in, the movement calculated, as if setting the stage for a confession. "Wanna talk about it? Sometimes airing it out is the only way to breathe again," he suggests, his voice a careful blend of intrigue and concern.

You hesitate, the words hanging precariously on the tip of your tongue. The presence of a stranger, oddly enough, feels like an opportunity to unload, to confide. "It's my older brother," you finally say, the words escaping in a rush. "He's missing, and I feel like I'm chasing shadows. It's like he just vanished into thin air."

Strade’s interest sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours, unblinking. "Disappeared? That’s heavy. How long has he been gone?"

"Three weeks," you reply, the number feeling more substantial with each passing day. "Three weeks of not knowing. It’s eating me up inside."

"And the police?" Strade probes, his voice a soft nudge pushing you deeper into your own turmoil.

"They're doing what they can, I guess. But I'm a cop too, and it feels like I should be able to do more. It's different when it's personal, you know?" You take another sip, the alcohol a poor salve for the ache of helplessness.

Strade nods, feigning empathy. "I can only imagine. Being so close to it, being expected to just wait and see. Must be tearing you apart."

"It is," you admit, your guard crumbling under the weight of your grief and the false security of his attentive gaze. "I keep thinking I'll miss something, or that I’ll get a call saying they've found him, but not... not in the way I hope."

He leans back slightly, giving you space to breathe, yet his presence envelops you, thick as the smoke in the bar. "Sounds like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders. Someone like you shouldn’t be alone with this."

You laugh, a hollow sound. "Feels like I don’t have much choice in the matter. Everyone else is just... moving on."

"But you can't," Strade concludes, his voice soft. "Not until you know."

"Yeah," you whisper, feeling the truth of his words like a punch to the gut. "Not until I know."

He watches you for a moment, a predator disguised as a confidante. "Let me do something for you tonight. Let's make sure you get home safe. It’s the least I can do."

Gratitude, misguided and dangerous, washes over you. "Thanks, I... I appreciate that, really."

"Don’t mention it," he replies, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he signals the bartender to settle your tab.

You lean heavily on him as he guides you outside, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the bar. The alley beside the establishment is dimly lit, deserted, and as you stagger against the cold brick for support, Strade’s demeanour shifts imperceptibly.

"You really think I'd help a cop?" His voice is suddenly sharp, a serrated edge that cuts through your alcohol-fueled haze.

"What?" Confusion clouds your mind, struggling to keep up with the sudden change.

"I’m not calling you a cab," he sneers, his face inches from yours and his grip tightening painfully on your arm.

Before you can react, your head slams against the wall, a burst of pain radiating through your skull as stars explode in your vision. Strade’s mocking laugh is the last thing you hear before darkness claims you.

When your consciousness creeps back, it’s a cruel awakening. Your body aches, bound tightly to a cold, metal pole in a room that reeks of blood and decay. Panic claws at your chest as your eyes adjust to the dimness, the figure of Strade emerging from the shadows.

He's watching you intently, holding an expensive-looking laptop under his arm. "Awake already?" He asks, his voice mockingly gentle.

"Where the fuck am I?" Your voice is raw, fear sharpening each word.

"My little workshop," he replies nonchalantly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. "You want to see your brother, don't you?" Strade smiles, sensing your fear. You quickly nod, hope and desperation surging through you.

"Then relax. You won't want to miss this."

He casually opens the laptop, types something on the keyboard, and turns it towards you. The flicker of the screen casts eerie shadows across his face as the video begins to play.

You squint, trying to make sense of the images flickering across the laptop as he holds it just out of reach. Your heart sinks as you recognize the figure in the video— it's your brother, bound and terrified. A cold dread washes over you as Strade walks into frame, your mouth dry, words failing.

"What is this you sick fuck?!" You manage to spit out, your voice laced with horror and revulsion.

The screen flashes with horrific scenes, your brother's pleas echoing in the cramped, dark space as Strade approaches with a knife.

He watches you, a perverse glee lighting up his eyes. "See, your brother... he's become quite the celebrity."

Despite the overwhelming urge to look away, to shut out this nightmarish reality, you can't. Your eyes remain glued to the screen, each image searing itself into your memory— your brother's fear, his pain, his futile attempts to plead for a life already doomed as Strade's knife slices through his skin.

Guilt surges through you—irrational and overwhelming—guilt for not being able to stop this, for not finding him sooner, for every moment you spent doubting the worst had happened.

Strade's face twists into a smirk as the video unfolds before you. "Touching, isn’t it? The bond between siblings..." His words hang in the air, a new kind of torment. "Y'know, he talked about you, even towards the end. Kept saying, 'My sister is a cop. She’ll find you. She'll stop you.'" He laughs, mocking your brother's voice with an exaggerated shrill.

Your response is visceral. A scream rips from your throat, raw and hoarse, as the full weight of the horror crashes down upon you. Hot tears stream down your face, mingling with the bile on your tongue. The bonds around your wrists chafe painfully as you struggle against them, the metal pole unforgiving and cold.

He stands over you, a dark silhouette against the dim light, watching your every reaction with an analyst's eye. As the final scenes play out, your brother's wet, gurgling screams fade into a haze of pain and terror. Strade closes the laptop with a slow, deliberate motion and leans in close, his breath foul against your ear. His voice, a venomous whisper, sends shivers down your spine. "Your cop friends are probably wondering how torn up you are about your brother... It wouldn't be too surprising if you just... disappeared too."

"Now, why don't we film a sequel, little piggy?" His words slither around you, tightening like a noose. "And find out if you squeal just like your brother."

[love-islike-abomb]

Demons are a girl's best friend

Roman reigns x Zoey (OC)

Credit to @mzv11 for inspiring this with her story fallen!

"Demons come at night and they bring the end! Woah! demons are a girl's best friend! Demons come alive and they take command! Woah! demons are a girl's best friend"

Warnings: smut, lucid dreaming, erotic dreams, Roman is an incubus, errors I may have missed, sorry if it sucks. I've been in writers block for a bit..

Tag list: @reignsangel444 @acknowledge-reigns @foreverlyjay @jstarr86 @marchm-langdon @mandeelemons @pittieprincess22 @queengreenarrowmia89 @romanreignshairdresser @undisputedjf

_____

Everyone told me to stay away from him, that he was dangerous but the allure he had always brought me back to him. His eyes were always intense and when the light hit them just right there was a red hue to them. Logically I should've known that brown shouldn't have hints of red but I was so mesmorized by him I didn't even pay it a second thought.

"Zoey get your mind off him! He's no good!" My best friend Charlotte said.

"you say that but I've never seen him bother anyone" I said "what's so bad about him?"

"he's just... Different" Charlotte said.

"what's so bad about being different? If we were all the same the world would be boring!" I said with a small laugh "live a little Charlotte! I'm gonna go talk to him!" I got up from my chair and walked over to him while Charlotte was demanding I stop and come back but I didn't care. When I reached him he turned to me and his face lit up "hello Zoey!" He smiled.

"you know my name?" I asked.

"your friend Charlotte told me all about you!" He smiled.

"oh she did did she?" I said turning back to look at Charlotte with a raised eyebrow and seeing her face fall 'im sorry' she mouthed.

"she has and I was wondering if maybe You'd like to go out for dinner sometime?" He asked. His confidence was sexy!! he didn't even flinch when he asked. That was a huge turn on "I'd love to" I smiled.

"here's my number! Call me when you can" he smiled as I went back to Charlotte, giggling like a school girl.

"oh my gods!" I said with a smile so wide my cheeks hurt "now what about him was bad?"

Charlotte sighed heavily "nothing I guess"

We left and went home for the night. I fell fast asleep but my dreams were far from peaceful. They were incredibly vivid and erotic.

"you're mine Zoey!" I heard a deep voice say, flashes of my body in ecstasy soon flashed in my head and then I saw him. The red in his eyes brightly shines through what was once a dark brown. I suddenly felt pleasure all over my body, as if someone had a spell over me his kisses lit my skin on fire, as if my body had been waiting for hia touch "that's my good girl! Let go! Let you your body explode with pleasure" he said "uhn that pussy feels so good around my cock!" He groaned I couldn't see him but I could feel him! His weight was on top of me and I felt myself being filled by him "don't open your eyes baby girl! Just enjoy what you feel!"

My body began to give in to the pleasure he was giving me "that's a good girl! Uhn yes milk my cock! Fuck! I'm gonna fill that pussy and mark you as my whore to use whenever I choose!" He growled. I grabbed the sheets as the most intense orgasm I ever had ripped through my body! A deep chuckle escaped his lips "you're mine now! And I'll be here to make your body sing for me every night!" I felt his lips brush against mine "and all it took was me smiling at you!"

I opened my eyes and it was still dark. All I could do was breathe heavily as my body was flooded with dopamine and relaxation took over and I fell back to sleep. Whatever that was I wanted it to happen again!

[queenimmadolla]

𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

(dad!eddie x mom/pregnant!reader)

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 • more of the pennyverse here.

Summary: . . . After almost losing you in a scare related to your preterm labor, Eddie is reluctant to meet his newborn son, whose life still remains on the line, until some convincing from you. warnings: angst, a whole lot of angst, near death experience, difficult pregnancy, early labor, preterm birth, talk of loss of infants, birth defects, happy ending.

a/n: no, you're not seeing things, again. my anti went ahead and took it upon themselves to flag something that is SFW as m*ture so tumblr has forcibly labeled and hidden it. i've already put in the appeal, but tumblr has yet to remove the community labels from the appeals i've won; therefore, i have no faith in them. reposting so hopefully it find the people who loved it. the original can be found on my masterlist, not likely to pop up in the tag. reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated. let me know what you think? ◡̈

Hours passed by, Penny had fallen asleep in his lap again and so had most of his friends with the exceptions of Jonathan who looked like he could really use the sleep, Eden and Wayne. Steve would snap awake every once and a while, careful not to jostle his sleeping girlfriend. Nancy was asleep on Jonathan’s shoulder while Argyle used Eden’s lap for a pillow. Barb and Robin were hanging off chairs in the most uncomfortable looking positions, Robin’s snores almost painful sounding. The ‘kids’ (teenagers) had been picked up by their parents, only agreeing to go home if they could come back to wait with him first thing in the morning. 

  Eddie didn’t rest for a single second, mind torturing him with horrible, horrible thoughts. One played in his mind on loop; he was holding Penny as he walked out of the hospital. They were on their own.

  It held him captive, he hadn’t even noticed your doctor approaching him until she gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Munson?”

  Wayne and Eddie traded quick glances and he handed Penny over, trying not to disturb her too much in his rush but she just curled up to Wayne.

  Eddie stood up, already feeling lightheaded. That voice in his head that had been torturing him whispered something cruel to him, enough to make him want to cease existing: maybe you, somewhere in this hospital, already gone and he didn’t know it. Was she about to confirm his worst fears?

  “I apologize for the fright we gave you. Your wife started hemorrhaging and she lost a lot of blood.”

  Yeah. Eddie’s world was ending. It was over.

  “But we were able to stop the bleeding and get her a transfusion. She’s stable and she’s going to be just fine.”

  The relief was almost crippling, the heaviest weight he’d ever felt on him was lifted. Eddie wanted to cry, he squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to compose himself before he broke down in front of another doctor.

  “We have her in a room, probably hold her for a couple of nights, depending on her recovery. Would you like to go see her?”

  “Yeah, yes, please.” He nodded rapidly, wiping furiously at his eyes. 

  Dr. Eisenberg nodded and began walking down the hall, “If you’ll follow me.”

  Eddie turned, ready to ask Wayne to look after Penny when Wayne cut him off, “Go. I'll let ‘em all know she’s okay and send ‘em home. They probably won’t be able to see her tonight or in the mornin’, but I’ll stick around. Let me know when I can come on up.”

  Eddie wanted to hug him, but he really needed to see you. 

  “Thank you, Wayne. For everything.” Then he was scrambling after Dr. Eisenberg, who had stopped to wait for him.

  The walk to your hospital room had Eddie ready to tear his hair out, he’d wanted to just ask your doctor for your room number so he could sprint the rest of the way because her pace was much too slow. He was desperate to get to you, to make sure you were really still alive.

  “Here we are,” she stated, pushing your room door open. “Hello, again, Mrs. Munson. I brought someone who’s been waiting for you.”

  Eddie’s breath hitched as Dr. Eisenberg stepped to the side and he finally saw you, eyelids heavy from whatever sedation you were still trying to pull yourself from, and a smile on your face that only widened when you locked eyes. 

  “Hi, baby,” you slurred, sleepy little smile not going anywhere. And neither were you. 

  The rush of emotions he was experiencing was too much, he burst into tears where he stood as Dr. Eisenberg closed the door behind her on her way out. 

  “Eddie…” you mumbled out, reaching the hand lacking an IV out to him. 

  Of course you were trying to comfort him, you were the one confined to a hospital bed, having just barely survived a traumatic birth and you were still trying to comfort him because you were perfect. 

  He slowly approached your bed, hot tears—he was surprised his body could even still produce more tears given how much he’d cried in the last few hours alone—streaming down his cheek. Eddie really did collapse when he reached you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

  You wrapped your arms around him, holding him to your chest as best as you could, though you had no idea why he was crying, brain too hazy.

  Eddie didn’t sob, just silently shook as he wet your neck, inhaled your scent, felt your warm skin and pulse beating beneath his lips. He hadn’t lost you, you were still here.

  Ideally, he’d be holding you and squeezing you hard enough to ensure you’d never leave his arms again, but even in his emotional hysteria, he was mindful of your condition.

  Eddie pulled away, large hands framing your face as he pressed desperate kisses all over your face, making sure every inch was caressed with his love before he focused on your lips, mouth meshing messily against yours.

  You could taste the salt of his tears, feel a couple of stray ones catching where your lips met. While he may have been feeling a mixture of emotions, all you could feel right then was content and still a bit sleepy from the anesthesia.

  When Eddie felt he’d conveyed his love for you sufficiently, he pulled away, a wet and hoarse chuckle escaping him when he realized you could barely keep your eyes open.

  “You sleepy, baby?”

  “Mhmm.”

  “Get some rest, sweetheart,” Eddie’s thumb stroked over your bottom lip before resting over the center of it, “just, please wake up.”

  “Okay,” you mumbled, eyes already shut. Still, you managed to press a kiss to his thumb before you slipped into a blissful slumber.

  While you slept, Eddie had one of the nurses phone up the waiting room and sent Wayne. The poor man looked exhausted, but the relief on his face was evident when he saw you sleeping peacefully. 

   He looked like he wanted to cry, too. Instead, he just cleared his throat, blinked to keep the tears away and spoke low so as to not disturb you or the sleeping toddler in his arms.

  “Everythin’ alright?”

  “With her?” Eddie’s red rimmed gaze drifted back to you, focused on the rise and fall of your chest. Still breathing, “Yeah.”

  Wayne nodded once and they both stood there in silence for a few minutes as the world began to turn again. Something still wasn’t right, felt wrong. He could tell by the tension his boy still had, arms crossed as he crouched in the seat next to your bed. 

  “And the baby?”

  Eddie flinched as if Wayne had shot a gun off in the air rather than mention his son.

  “I don’t know.”

  Wayne watched him with a careful eye, Eddie looked almost like he was vibrating from the force at which his leg was shaking, even your hospital bed appeared to be affected by it, though not nearly enough to disturb you.

  As much as he wanted to comfort him, for once, Wayne didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say and he had an inkling that anything that came out of his mouth wouldn’t be heard by Eddie. He was lost in the dark crevices of his own mind. 

  The most he could do was offer to give him some alone time, he was sure his boy wasn’t keen on others sticking around right now, even him. 

  “I’ll take Penny home, me and Maude’ll watch her.” 

  Eddie shook his head, a look of panic flashing over his face, “No, that’s alright. She can stay with me.”

  Wayne was reluctant, mouth set in a frown. Penny was a good girl, usually, but he didn’t know if Eddie could really handle her along with processing everything going on around him.

  “Really, we wouldn’t mind─”

  “I need her.” 

  That shut Wayne right up, he and Eddie shuffled to exchange Penny from his arms to her dad’s without waking her. She stirred momentarily then shoved her face into Eddie’s neck, her little body falling slack once more.

  Wayne gave his shoulder a good squeeze, ran his hand gently over Penny’s back before he leaned down—and in a rare show of affection—pressed a brief kiss to your forehead.

  As he was walking out of the room, Eddie felt the panic crawling down his throat again. He croaked out a broken, “Wayne─”

  Wayne paused in the doorway, turning to acknowledge Eddie but his nephew didn’t continue, just looked scared. For a moment, Wayne was caught off guard, sucking in a breath as his boy looked young for the first time in a couple of years. 

  Now, he knew you and Eddie were young. He’d been aware of it when you got together, aware of it when you told him you were pregnant with Penny but sometime after that, he stopped seeing your age, stopped seeing Eddie’s as the two of you grew up for her. Now, right then, he remembered with startling clarity that Eddie wasn’t even twenty-five. He looked so young because he was.

  Eddie didn’t have to say anything else because Wayne knew exactly what he wanted him to say.

  Wayne nodded slowly, mouth pressing into a firm line of determination, “Everything’s gonna be alright, kid.”

  Eddie choked up, held Penny a little tighter and Wayne went on his way.

  He found himself settling back into the seat he’d dragged near your bed, cradling Penny as she remained blissfully unaware and drooling on his scrub top.

  Wayne wasn’t wrong, she’d probably be a little too much for him but she was his kid, it wasn't like he could just hand her off to people when life came at him like this and he really did need her right now. Again.

  You were here and whole, but somewhere else in this hospital, a member of his little family was still slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t let the other one out of his sight, couldn’t lose her, too.

  Once more, Eddie remained restless as the hours passed. He sat in mostly silence. He’d turned on the tv near your bed, the volume high enough to drown out the sounds of the hospital outside of the room but much too low to wake you. Rain trilled against the windows, much more gentle than it had been earlier. The storm had also passed, and if there was even an ounce of humor in him, he would have been amused with how this storm seemed to fester like a black cloud looming over him. 

  It’d been a normal day up until he’d gone to Lucas’ birthday party, but he’d been skeptical about leaving you, worried something would happen. The metaphorical little black cloud formed over him, as a result, and so did the actual black clouds, quickly calling for wind and rain at high speeds. 

  And when Eddie had found out you were okay, you were alive, his black cloud disappeared, though it left behind damage and a cold atmosphere. The real storm had also run its course, leaving behind weather that reflected exactly how Eddie felt.

  Penny squirmed in his grasp, and he realized he’d tensed up so he quickly relaxed, shifting her into a more comfortable position in his hold. 

  “Why don’t you give her to me?”

  Eddie’s head snapped over to you, surprised to find you awake, somewhat lucid and watching him with a small smile on your face.

  “Because you just had your insides removed and put back in,” He smirked, another wave of relief washing over him. You’d woken up, you really were okay. You weren’t going to leave him.

  You rolled your eyes, making a vague hand gesture to brush the subject off, clearly the surgeons hadn’t removed your sass.

  “She’s tiny and there’s more than enough room on here for both of us.” You hissed as you slowly shimmied your way to the side of the bed and Eddie frowned.

  “Okay, how about you don’t move so we can limit the amount of heart attacks you give me today, yeah?” You knew Eddie must have been worried so you didn’t take the lack of humor behind his words and the tension on his face personally. 

  A quick glance at the clock confirmed your suspicions, “It’s three in the morning, Eddie. New day, but I’ll keep my antics to a minimum.”

  Insistently, you patted the spot next to you, perfectly Penny sized and high enough to guarantee she wouldn’t accidentally move against your incision.

  With a sigh, Eddie complied, gathering his daughter up. Tensing up disturbed her but full on moving her didn’t, most likely used to being carried into your home after she’d fallen asleep in her car seat or on the couch.

  She didn’t stir when he laid her down, either. You both had to rearrange her limbs into a more comfortable position, one that didn’t make it look like she was possessed. Once Eddie tucked her in, he let out another sigh and cast you an apologetic look, big brown eyes wide, glassy and full of sorrow.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” It was the last thing you deserved after what you’d gone through.

  The sincerity in his voice almost hurt you, it was heavy, as though it carried more weight than just a simple apology for his tone. 

  You held out your hand and Eddie immediately slipped his over it, locking his fingers with yours, squeezing as his breath hitched. 

  Your hand was so warm and soft. At one point in the last twenty-four hours, he’d thought he’d never get to feel it again, never get to hold your hand or see your pretty face. Never get to say…

  “I love you,” he blurted out, the panic he’d felt earlier when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those three words to you climbed right out of his belly, trying to claw its way out of his chest. Eddie took in a shuddering breath, head shaking as a hot tear escaped its confinement, trailing down his cheek. He moved to the other side of the hospital bed, so he wouldn’t crush Penny, and took your face in his hands, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips, hoping he was able to convey just how much he loved you.

  He needed you to know.

  “Eddie,” you mumbled as he pulled away, only to hide himself in the crook of your neck again. You could feel his tears against your skin and it alarmed you. “I love you, too, baby. What’s wrong?”

  “I thought I was going to lose you,” he confessed and you felt your heart seize up, “I thought I was gonna lose you twice in the same damn day. I was so fucking scared, sweetheart.” 

  When he’d been driving to the hospital, there had been a moment when he wondered if you’d still be breathing when he got there. It made him want to throw up so he quickly squashed it and forced it to the back of his head. It hadn’t been ideal when he’d entered the operation room, he didn’t like seeing you get cut open but it was comforting to see he’d overreacted. You were getting a c-section, you weren’t on your deathbed.

  Until you had been. 

  And for the second time that day, he thought you were going to die, thought he’d somehow cruelly manifested this for you and himself.

  “I’m alright, Eddie.” You freed your hand, grabbing his to cradle your cheek with. 

  “See? I’m okay. You didn’t lose me, you’re not going to.” Eddie pulls away from his hiding spot to stare down at you, the wounded puppy look still firmly in place so you add a little humor, hoping to get a smile out of him, “There’s no way I’m checking out this early, I can’t risk you moving on when you look this good.”

  Eddie’s hand was so big his fingers were tucked into your hair, his palm alone took up most of your cheek. His fingertips lightly massaged the area of your scalp available to him as the hurt on his face morphed into an earnest look, somehow more vulnerable.

  “There’s no moving on from you, you’re taking my soul, my heart, all of it with you when you go. You’re the love of my life, my everything. And that—fuck, it terrifies me because I’d still have Penny to take care of and I wouldn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t know how to pull myself out of it, if it’d even be possible and quite frankly, I don’t ever want to fucking find out.”

  Eddie was more than happy to have those types of questions remain unanswered for the rest of his life.

  “You’d be able to do it, I know you would. You would be able to take care of Penny and the baby.” You knew he would, your husband would pull himself out of his depression to make sure your children were okay because of how much he loved them, despite his grief.

  Eddie flinched, something you were quick to clock. You didn’t need to ask, he could see the question reflecting in those beautiful eyes of yours. 

  He had to break the news. You were already in a frail condition and he had to tell you the baby you’d almost died to have, your son, might still die.

  “Honey, the baby—he—fuck, he’s uh…there’s something wrong with his heart.”

  The way your face plummeted shattered something inside of him. 

  “What?”

  “He’s got a hole in his heart, the doctor said it was pretty common amongst heart defects but since he was born so early, it’d be difficult to medicate him or perform an operation. All they can do is keep him under observation, he still might not make it because of how young he is.”

  You squeezed your eyes shut, head dropping back to meet your pillow as you tried, and failed, not to cry. Why was this happening? You blamed yourself, why hadn’t you been able to keep him in your belly? Why had your own body betrayed you? Why had you failed your baby?

  “This is all my fault,” you declared, eyes and cheeks growing wet with your tears.

  “No, no, sweetheart.” Eddie was not about to let you take the blame for something out of your control or even allow you to believe any of this was your fault. “You can’t possibly believe this is on you. These things happen, it obviously isn’t ideal, but it’s just circumstance. It’s not your fault and it’s not the baby’s fault. You did everything you could and more. Okay?”

  He leaned in, finger stroking gently across your cheekbone as he caught a tear. You sniffled, nodding once as he pulled you back together.

  “What does he look like?” You asked, snuggling back into the pillow as Eddie coddled you.

  He hesitated for a moment before he answered, “I—I don’t know.”

  That elicited a small frown from you, “You haven’t seen him yet?”

  Eddie swallowed hard, gaze moving away from you, “No.”

  You waited, watching a series of emotions pass over his features. Eddie often tried to keep his internal struggles to himself, a habit you noticed once you became friends with him (ironically, through some trauma bonding) and even into your relationship. You hadn’t expected him to confide everything in you right away, though you had let him know should he ever need someone to talk to, you’d be there.

  Now, it wasn’t a matter of if he would, it was when. It didn’t take him long. 

  “I don’t know—I guess,” he pursed his lips, eyes squeezing shut as he felt the all too familiar burn of fresh tears. How many times had he cried in the last twenty-four hours? He felt ridiculous to be so emotional, then again, he’d never thought he’d find himself in this tragic situation, so he was due for a couple of breakdowns, “I know if I go down there and I—I look at him, I’m gonna fall in love with him and then what? He dies. I can’t do that, not if I’m gonna lose him forever. I can’t.”

  Eddie was leaking tears, not yet sobbing but well on his way as he made his confession. He couldn’t stomach seeing his baby boy if he was going to be taken away from him, if the two of you would have to put a tiny little coffin—a size that should never have to exist—six feet into the ground. He’d been put through the fucking ringer but Eddie couldn’t do that. It would break him.

  Eddie’s confession had you crying as well, you shared his pain. You didn’t want to lose your baby, either. You couldn’t remember what he looked like through the haze of your fatigue when you’d given birth to him, but if you tried to think hard enough, you could remember how it felt to have him in your arms in the passenger seat of Wayne’s truck. The first time you’d held him and you hoped it wouldn’t be the last. 

  Even if it was, you were grateful you’d had the chance to and you knew Eddie would never forgive himself if he didn’t get to see him, didn’t get to meet him.

  “I know you’re terrified, Eds. It scares me, too.” You grabbed his hand just as it slipped away from your face, encouraging him to look at you. “I don’t want to lose him, either. I want to take him home. I want to cuddle with him, nurse him, take tons of pictures of him with Penny and with you, but most of all, I want to make sure he knows I love him.”

  It killed you to imagine your baby in an incubator, small, helpless and with no one but the nurses, who could make the time to check on him in between all their other patients, offering him comfort. Human contact. And if he did end up passing, he could do so alone in there, not knowing how loved he was. 

  “I know you love him, Eddie, and you don’t want to lose him. But you can’t lose him if you don’t have him, baby. I hate that this is even a possibility for us, but I’d rather have held him and lost him than to never have picked him up at all. I’ll be okay with whatever you decide, but do you really want him to die without having gotten to meet his dad?”

  Eddie let out a choked sob as he shook his head. He didn’t want his baby to die at all but you were right, if he did lose his kid, he’d spend the rest of his life agonizing over the same thing Eddie had been upset with himself for when he thought he’d lose you. He’d been unable to recall the last time he told you he loved you. Only, he’d know he never told his son. 

  “I’ll be right back,” he swore and you nodded just as he leaned down to give you a kiss. He wiped away his tears, inhaled a particularly violent sniffle and you watched as he left your room to finally meet his baby.

  Eddie felt almost disorientated as he navigated his way to the NICU. He’d been there once, briefly, to check on Penny when she’d been there for a few hours, but that was a couple of years ago and he’d needed the assistance of several nurses and staff to direct him, but he finally made it.

  The entrance room, where the viewing window was located, was nearly empty. There was a woman further down, gazing through the large window.

  Eddie approached it with caution and his heart racing a mile a minute. It wasn’t too difficult to find his baby. His son was in an incubator, close to the window and labeled ‘MUNSON’. For the first time, Eddie got to take his son in. He had been right, he fell in love with him at first sight.

  He was smaller than some of the other babies, bigger than others as well and surprisingly well developed. Kind of calmed Eddie’s nerves, just a little. He had a couple of monitor pads attached to his tummy with an additional one wrapped around his tiny foot. Other than the nasal cannula, baby Munson didn’t have a whole lot of tubes attached to him like Eddie had imagined and he could see a smattering of hair on his head, somewhat light in shade but he had a feeling it would darken soon to resemble his own. 

  It was hard to tell if Wayne and Penny were right in their description of him, Eddie couldn’t tell if he was still pale since the baby was cloaked in blue light, but he assumed his son had gained some color by then. Eddie also couldn’t make out his eyes, those were covered by some sort of eye cloth, most likely for protection. He looked a little odd, obviously resembled a baby and while his features were almost indistinguishable, appearing a little generic, as his face still needed to develop a little more, Eddie could see hints of familiar features. 

  He looked like newborn Penny, well, so far. Her features had obviously changed since then, and still were, but he was promising to look almost exactly like she had when she was born. And Eddie thought Penny looked a lot like you, so it got a smile out of him, regardless of the fact his son was bound to resemble his family.

  Eddie watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest with concern. Was he supposed to be breathing that fast? Was he okay? 

  “Which one is yours?”

  Eddie turned to peer over at the woman who’d asked him the question, “Munson.”

  Eddie watched as her gaze moved over all the incubators until they found the correct one.

  “Oh, he’s a cute one. And his breathing looks incredible.”

  “Really? It’s not too fast?” He asked, the worry in his voice obvious.

  “Considering it’s his first time pumping those lungs, I don’t think so, no. Looks like he’s breathing real good to me. Mine needs a little help.” She pointed through the glass to an incubator that housed a baby with a tube in its mouth as well as individual ones in each nostril unlike his son’s nasal cannula. Eddie felt horrible.

  “I’m sorry,” he tried to apologize but she waved him off, a smile still on her face. 

  “Don’t be, that’s all mine is here for. As soon as she figures out how to keep doing it on her own, she’ll be back with me and my wife.”

  Right on, Eddie thought. Before he could continue their conversation, a nurse knocked on the window.

  She gestured down to the baby, “Is he yours?”

  Wow, this glass must have been thin, he could hear her pretty good.

  For some reason, Eddie still assumed she couldn’t hear him and only nodded. She disappeared for a minute and emerged into the room through a large pair of doors. 

  “Would you like to hold him?”

  Eddie glanced at the other occupant and she gave him a nod of encouragement. 

  “Yeah,” he rasped out, turning to look at his son through the window once more, “Yeah, I would.”

  Eddie was nervous the entire time as she prepped him with instructions. While they were concerned about the hole in his son’s heart, he was well developed, had strong vitals, good reactions, even for thirty weeks. He was so good that had it not been for his heart, he probably would have been sent home at the same time as you, given your longer than average stay due to your c-section and preeclampsia.

  And when she placed him in his arms, the love he had for his son almost overwhelmed him. He couldn’t believe he almost denied himself this. 

  “Can I touch him?” He asked, after he’d stopped marveling at the small face—eyes still hidden—in his arms. 

  “Mhm, we’d encourage it. Babies, even born preterm, are still very much so human. He craves the contact, it might even encourage him.” 

  Eddie didn’t hesitate, fingers gently stroking over the soft fluff of hair on his son’s head. This close, he could see it all pushed towards the middle of his head, like a mohawk. His baby was already metal straight out of your womb, it made him chuckle. 

  The nurse stepped away to tend to another baby, giving him a little privacy. Eddie maneuvered his son so he was resting on his chest, little head pressed against the spot just over his heart.

  “Hi,” he whispered down to the baby in his arms, “I’m your dad.”

  Much to Eddie’s awe, the baby nuzzled his head against his chest, making him still. He didn’t know why, but he’d believed his son wouldn’t be able to move for some reason. It was nice to know he was wrong.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” he laughed, the sound soft, “I’ve been looking forward to it, you must have, too. You sure know how to make an entrance, huh? Couldn’t wait in your mom any longer?”

  Eddie ducked down to kiss his little head, lips remaining there as he moved to sit in one of the few chairs of the NICU. 

  “It’s okay, though. I’ve got you, daddy’s got you.” Even if the outcome wasn’t okay, right at that moment with his son in his arms, everything felt like it would be. And if his son needed encouragement, Eddie would give it to him. 

  “I’m sorry it took me so long to come find you, your mom had to talk some sense into me. She loves you a lot, you know? Probably jealous I’m down here and she isn’t, but only because she physically can’t just yet.”

  Eddie’s hand went to support the back of his head as he moved the baby down to hold in his hands, staring down at his little face. 

  “I’ll bring her down to see you again as soon as I can, though. So you gotta keep fighting, okay? I know things are hard for you right now, not as easy as the other babies in the hospital, but I know you can do it. I love you so much, your mom and I just want to take you home, so you gotta beat this, okay?”

  Eddie rocked his baby, gentle swaying motions as he pressed kiss after kiss to his head. 

  “I see you’ve made it down for a visit,”

  Eddie glanced up at the face of Dr. Houseman, she didn’t look as intimidating as she had when she’d first approached him in the waiting room.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I’m very glad I caught you. I heard your wife is doing well.”

  “She is,” he confirmed, with a relieved grin. 

  “Good, I’m glad. Have you been given an update on your little guy?”

  Eddie recounted what the nurse had told him and Dr. Houseman looked pleased.

  “Well, I have more news for you. He’s proving to be much stronger than we’d initially anticipated, and while his vitals were already good on intake, they’ve improved tremendously in the last few hours and so have his responses. I think he’s figuring out what he’s capable of doing; how to breathe, how to move, how to eat—we introduced him to a rubber nipple to check his latch response and it’s good, not quite there yet, we’ll have to get creative with his feedings but I think he’ll be able to latch onto his mom soon.”

  She must have caught the way Eddie perked up at her use of the word soon. That meant his baby had a fighting chance.

  “These first few hours after a birth such as his and with his condition are crucial. While he’s still significantly weaker than an average full term newborn, your baby seems to be a fighter.  Should he survive this next night, I believe he’ll make it. He’d just need some time in here while the hole closes up, but it just might not be too much for him.”

  She left him with that news and a parting smile.

  Eddie held his son for a few more minutes before a nurse returned to put him back in his incubator. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, but he’d promised him he’d be back.

  When Eddie got back to the room, his heart was a little lighter and he was able to smile when he saw you giving Penny, who was now wide awake, kisses. He pressed his back up against the door and watched for a few moments as you leaned in and gave her a loud kiss. She’d go into a fit of giggles before demanding another with an again!

  “Daddy!” Penny beamed the moment she saw him and Eddie grinned as he made his way over, lifting her into his arms when she held hers up to him.

  “Hi, pretty one. You sleep good?” 

  “Uh-huh,” it was clear she was distracted and didn’t care about his questions, no, she had some of her own. “You see my baby?”

  Eddie raised an eyebrow, trading an amused look with you.

  “Oh, he’s your baby now?”

  “Ya, he’s—he’s my baby.” She nodded with a grin as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he leaned down to press his forehead to hers.

  “Well, then yes. I saw your baby,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her nose.

  “Wha’helooklike?” Penny blurted out, eyes wide as she waited for his reply. 

  “He looked a lot like you.” 

  “Nooooooo,” Penny laughed, shaking her head against her dad’s, “He is my potatoes, not anoda Penny.”

  “It’s true!” Eddie laughed with her as he put her back down by your side and leaned in to give you yet another—he’d never stop giving them to you—kiss.

  “He looks like her?” You asked, after you’d returned his kiss.

  “Mhm,” Eddie fell back into the seat he’d occupied hours earlier. “Looks like she did when she was a newborn. He’s not pale—like a potato,” he directed that part to Penny who just laughed into her little hands, “anymore, at least. I don’t know whose eyes he has, they were covered.”

  Eddie was right about you being jealous, you were practically green with it. 

  “I wish I could see him,” you stated sadly, frown on your lips. You knew, realistically, if he started to decline, they’d most likely let you out of bed to see him or bring him up to you, but still. You’d rather it not come to that.

  “Ran into his doctor while I was there, she said he’s got a better chance.”

  Your eyes lit up, “Really?”

  “I was just about ready to kiss her.” He nodded and you made a face, nose doing that adorable scrunch he loved so much.

  “Okay, well, don’t do that.”

  Eddie snickered, “It was a figure of speech, baby.”

  “I know, I’m just saying it on her behalf,”

  “On her behalf?” Eddie pouted, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

  “Yeah, I want to kiss her, too, but—uhm, Eds, you might need some sleep ‘cause—you’re hot, you really are, but you also look insane right now.”

  Eddie got up to make his way to the bathroom so he could see himself in the mirror, nearly jumping once he’d turned on the lights.

  His eyes were beyond bloodshot, his eye bags were dark and very apparent, his skin had an interesting almost gray like tinge to it and his hair was a wreck. Eddie looked like he belonged in a psych ward.

  “Jesus,” he shouted loud enough to be heard by you.

  “It’s okay, Eds. You’re still beautiful to me!”

  Eddie did end up sleeping. Turns out the chair he’d been sitting on was also a pull out bed. You insisted that he get some rest, and while he did, you changed Penny’s diaper and got some hospital room service for the two of you, you’d even picked something out on the menu for Eddie to eat once he woke up. 

[specialinterestshows]

Quite possibly the most fanservice I have written in any section of this Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic yet! As an aside, I’ve also made a WattPad account and will slowly be posting my fics there as well.

Warnings for this section: Mention of stoner themes, anxiety, PDA

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Absolute Smokeshow (Part 6/?): EXpectations

“Where are we going again?” Rhea asks, hand out the window and boots on the dash.

“Only the best food truck in the city,” you’re salivating just thinking about it, “I go every chance I get. We should get extra, too; they’re still amazing as leftovers.”

“That good?” Rhea’s eyes peek at you over sunglasses - even though they’re yours, you swear they’ve never looked as good on you as they do on her.

“You’ll see for yourself,” you assure her, “especially when we take the new bong for a real spin later and you start getting the munchies. That’s another reason we’re getting extra.”

“Oh, was that last hit not real enough?” Rhea teased, “You want less lip contact and more-?”

“No!” you blurt out, feeling your face get warm at your own lack of restraint, “I mean, that’s, um, not- not what I-“ The food truck becomes visible not a moment too late.

“There it is!” you interrupt yourself, pointing.

After parking and making your way over to the truck, you’re greeting the vendors as Rhea scans the menu.

“Here for the usual?” the woman closest to the cash register asks, recognizing you.

“That and whatever she wants,” you gesture to Rhea.

“Ahhh, I gotcha,” the woman says looking at the two of you and winking. Before you can even react to the implication, Rhea is placing her order. You pay after the woman rings up the total and take the receipt, walking over to a nearby bench to sit and wait for your number to be called.

“Oh no,” your anxiety begins to skyrocket the second you lay eyes on your ex-girlfriend walking out of a car nearby. The two of you had a bad break-up, and while you knew it was best that the relationship had ended, it would be wrong to say you were completely over it. Even worse was that another woman was getting out of the car with her. She was gorgeous, they were laughing and walking toward the food truck, and you had become extremely insecure.

“Hey,” Rhea’s voice floats to you through the cloud of anxiety, “what’s wrong?”

“My ex is coming this way, with her girlfriend, I think,” you tried to take steady breaths, “I didn’t expect to see her, I only took her here like once-“

The calming weight of Rhea’s arm around your shoulders stopped your train of thought. “Don’t worry; I’m good arm-candy,” she whispered into your ear, giving you goosebumps.

While the girl your ex is with starts to order, your ex seems to finally notice you. The moment she does, Rhea starts talking to you almost too loudly, “Oh my god, BABE, last night was SOOO good!” - she plants several small kisses on your neck, making you giggle - “And this MORNING was even better” - she gives your neck a playful bite, making you squeal - “I’m so lucky.” Turning to glance at your ex, you nearly burst out laughing at just how uncomfortable she looks. Hearing your number called, you turn to Rhea, “That’s us!”

Once you grab the to-go bags, Rhea takes one from you and holds your free hand all the way to the where you parked. The minute you’re both in the car, you turn to her excitedly, “Did you see her face?”

“Bet she’s feeling awful,” Rhea smirks, “That girl she’s with is definitely a down-grade.” You blush as she takes the other to-go bag from you, rummaging through for napkins and her order. It wasn’t until your eyes met when she looked up, about to take a bite of food, that you realized you were staring, remembering how it felt to have her lips on you.

“Let’s go get baked before you eat all the munchies,” you joke, smiling even as you flinch away from Rhea’s gentle elbowing.

[end part 6/?]

Part 7: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/723788903309590528/absolute-smokeshow-part-7-getting-two-birds

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Tag list (thank you!)

@cherryberryshine

@littlemiss-fanficlover

[lilsocksiswriting]

He’s A Killer

Fandom: Haikyuu

Paring: Serial Killer!Bokuto X Fem!reader

Summary: It’s only when the killer has his blade to your throat and he's thrusting into you, moaning like this is the best fuck of his life that something dawns on you. This all feels so familiar This all feels like Bokuto . It is as if your boyfriend's been here the whole time.

Warnings: dark content, no beta, Minors DNI

Tags:  Serial Kiler Au, college Au, non-con/dub-con, knife play, degradation, dirty talk, noncon/duncom

Word Count: 1.9

Your boyfriend is just too damn adorable and too much of a himbo that no one suspects him to be the ghost-faced killer stalking the campus. Bokuto’s got everyone fooled, even you. You, who lets him walk you home from your night class because he makes you feel safe. You who occasionally invites him inside when your parents aren't home and leads him up to your bedroom.

You don’t even see the red flags like the way he can be a little rough when the two of you have sex. He is sadistic really. But you don’t complain because you like it when Bokuto wraps his hand around your throat and gives you that devilish smirk he doesn’t give anyone else but you. It makes you feel special when he degrades you but calls you his. His cute little bitch, his tight hole, his love that he gets to use to heart's content. It's a complete 360 from the way he treats you any other time. Cupping your cheeks and smothering your face in kisses, getting that goofy smile when he sees you bundled up in one of his scarves or jackets. Holding your hand in his while you wait in line to get coffee or walk across campus in the early autumn morning to class. Or like now hugged close to his arm talking about how your day was as he walks you home. He could keep this act up for ages with you because a part of it wasn't acting.

Then you let it slip your parents weren’t going to be home this weekend. Your reassure him you’ll be fine though! The new security system daddy bought is top of the line. Bokuto knows exactly which one it is and how to disarm it. Making the fantasy he's had since the day he met you all the more tempting to make a reality.

The text you send him on date night, Friday night, is what tips him over the edge. Makes him decide to say fuck it to all the pretending. It was just ‘you don’t get to worry about condoms tonight 😉 this bitch has birth control! god, I've been wanting to tell you that all week, but I wanted to be a surprise!', but do you know how long he’s wanted to take you raw? Have you been trapped under his weight with nowhere to go? See the fat tears rolls down your cheeks as your eyes roll back from him being balls deep in you. To feel your walls, clench around his throbbing cock as he presses his blade just a little further into your soft skin. To hear you beg and babble for your life.

As you wait for the popcorn to be done you get a text from an unknown number. ‘You look so cute in those pjays tonight y/n’ that’s followed by a picture of you taken form just outside the kitchen window.

‘sooo defenses.’

Your mind kicks into panic mode. You swipe out of your massages with shaky fingers and to the alarm system app.

‘You think an alarm system is going to keep you safe?’ the text says at the top of your screen.

The light suddenly goes out and with it the alarm system.

‘let’s play a game of hide and seek. Rules are simple. If you win you live, but if I win you die and I’m taking that silk pajama set as a prize.’, The light flickered back in single that rather you like it or not this game has begun.

Bokuto just loves how fucking stupid you can be when you get panicked like this. The fear making you his dumb little bitch as you run though the house to hide. By the soft thuds of your feet, it sounds like you went to your parent's room. Then instead of, ya know, calling the police you text him.

'Bokuto please hurry.'

'what's a wrong babe?' he texts you as he stalks through the house.

'The killer, he's in the house.'

'What oh god, what happened to the security system?'  he knows exactly what happened to it.

'I think the power was cut or something. It's back on but the killer's in the house. please hurry.'

'Call the police. I'll be there as soon as I can.'

'What if he hears me?'

Bokuto already does hear you. You've cornered yourself in your parents' walk in the closet trying so hard to contain your sniffling. What? Did you think that this wouldn't be one of the first places he would check?

"You must've really sucked at hiding and seek as a kid," The killer says, his voice muffled by the ghost face mask, as he flips on the closet light.

Everything seems to slow down as you watch as a pair of boots stops in front of your mother's fashionable trench coats. Gloved hands rip the coat apart and you scream.

Bokuto feels his cock stir at the sight. This is what he's been dreaming about. Tensed up in ball tying o push yourself further into the closet wall. Your eyes are wide and glossy. You bottom lip trebling like your abbot to cry. This, this, is what has him up late at night fucking his fist. The images of fear seizing your body and making your helpless makes him cum so hard into his hand that his back arches off the bed.

The killer takes you right there in the closet, just one of the places in your fancy house he plans on fucking you. Your survival instincts aren’t fully kicking on. A Firm and familiar grip pulls you by the ancle out of your hiding spot and cut off all that pretty silk in your boyfriend’s favorite color, he uses the same blade to tease your skin.

The masked man takes his time tracing patterns in your skin leaving little red scratches that will disappear in a matter of a few hours. That is if you make it that long. You will though. You will. Bokuto will come to save you any moment. He would. He will…

“Fuck, your pussy’s drooling for me. I never pegged to be into this kind fucked up stuff baby.”

And it’s what makes you feel so distraught because the feeling of his sharp knife and his gloved hands grouping your body made arousal swell between your legs. Only Bokuto was supposed to make you feel this. Where was he? Surely, he should be here by now? How long has it been since the killer found you? Had time ceased to exist in this closet?

It’s only when the killer has his blade to your throat and he's thrusting into you, moaning like this is the best fuck of his life that something dawns on you. This all feels so familiar This all feels like  Bokuto It is as if your boyfriend's been here the whole time. No, nonono.

"B-Bokuto?" your voice cracks.

the makes man still his hips, halfway inside you. He tosses his knife aside. You watch it thump dully against the carpet. Was he done? Was it possible he wasn't going to hurt you? Mabey even leaves. Yes, he would leave and Bokuto would come and you would be proven wrong-

"What gave it away baby?"

Your head snaps back to see Bokuto peel off his mask and then toss it next to his knife. His hair is messy. A few starches sticking to his forehead with sweat. He stares down at you with something wicked and mean in his eyes. Fuck, he looks so unhinged. so good- oh god what was wrong with you? You're so fucked up to think that.

"Oh-shit!" Bokuto hisses feel your walls squeeze around him. "You- HA! you like this don't you?"

Bokuto thrusts back in making your whole-body bounce. While one hand grabs at your hip the other wraps around your throat just how you like.

"My little suck fuck likes it when I fuck her like this? fuuuuck, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this? How many times I've gotten myself to that look on your face. And now I get to fuck my little cum dump all night long like this!"

A sob of emotions bubbles past your lips. Shame, disgust, fear, euphoric pleasure, they're all flooding your senses. Bokuto continues humping into you. His face is so close that you can't look away. You can't stop the building heat either. You were really going to cum, weren’t you? How could you not cum when your boyfriend was making you feel so good.

"Oh, fuck baby, fuck. So good. So, fucking tight for me. Sucking and squeezing me like such a slut. Mmm~ my little slut."

Yes, yes, his little slut. You roll your hips, tiring to match his feral pace but failing, it doesn't matter though. It still feels so good. insanely good. You're losing your mind right now. That's the only way to explain why you're locking your ankles around his waist. Why are reaching up and digging use nails into his shoulders as your back arches off the floor. Babbling his name like he is your savior when he's anything but.

Bokuto moans are completely feral now, mixed in with bubbles of mad laughter. With that hand around your throat, you are forced to look him in the eye as he cums. With a snap his hips  Bokuto burries himself deep inside you, enough so that you can’t the blunt head of his cock pierce your cervix, you can feel it twitch as he fills you with his seed.

"Kotaro," his name escapes your lips slurred and heavy with lust.

Your body reacts on its own and your mind is too muddled and distracted by your orgasm to tell it to stop trying to get close to the heat radiating from Bokuto's flushed body or strop bucking your hips milking his cock as you try to draw out your orgasm for as long as you can. Just like the desperate little slut he loves so much.

When your body flops back onto the carpet Bokuto removes his hand from your throat, letting you catch your breath. He stays on top of you, still inside you even as you can feel his dick going soft. He leans his head down to rest it against your shoulder. You can feel strong puffs of breath and small kisses against your collar bone.

Was this it? Was he going to kill you now? The knife was still so close by, either of you could grab it. Could you kill Bokuto though? Could he kill you? He was a killer after all, but he also genuinely loved you.

"Let's do it on your parent's bed next. Bet mommy and daddy wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye after they find the mess we leave behind." his voice cuts your thoughts short. He has that bright smile everyone loves as he pulls you to your feet and the two of you stumble over to the parent's king-size bed.

"wanna do I the roof." You mumble staring up at him again.

"What was that baby?

"I wanna do on the roof, under the stars,” If he wanted to fuck you on ever surface of the house you might as well include the roof, right?

Bokuto kisses your forehead. " Of course, baby. We go do it wherever you want," already pushing your knees into your chest.

[blueberry-ovaries]

CHAPTER FOUR : BOLD FACED LIES AND CIGARETTES

A/N: Hello?! what’s this? a new chapter? that’s right chapter four of hiraeth!!

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warnings: mentions of war, injuries, bullying (?), strong language, horrible accent writing and probable OOC and historical inaccuracies

< previous chapter > - < next chapter >

The sun had started to set by the time a new person arrived at Winnie’s hiding spot. Ron had left a few minutes prior claiming he was needed for food service preparations. Winnie thought it was just because the man didn’t know how to talk to people

“Winnie?” The voice of Dick Winters called out “are you alright?”

Winnie huffs an unamused laugh

“I just bit and drew blood from one of the men” she mumbles

“I suppose you did” he counters “but, I was more worried about what caused that reaction”

Glancing up at the red headed Lieutenant, Winnie pursed her lips, before turning away from him

“I’m fine. Won’t happen again” she mutters

Dick let’s put a low sigh, folding his hands behind his back, nodding

“While that is appreciated, i am more concerned about why you were in such a panic” he sighs “what you did, while not best case scenario, was not against the rules”

Winnie picks at the grass, drawing shapes in the dirt.

“i talked to Lieutenant Sobel, convinced him that having you on latrine duty would serve as better punishment than removing you from the airbourne” He continues

Nodding silently Winnie stands, dusting off her shorts she bites her cheek

“Thank you Dick- Lieutenant Winters” she stumbles “that was not necessary, i would have taken my punishment for my wrong doing”

Dick sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“As i mentioned, there was no technical wrong doing” he glances back towards the Easy company barrack “Shifty is pretty worried about you, kid, at-least tell him you didn’t die a tragic death”

Winnie nods.

——

The crickets chirp all night long, Winnie discovered. After a quick shower to remove the lasting feeling of dried blood off her chin, and a short conversation with Shifty that yes, i am okay. no i don’t want to talk about it right now. thank you for caring. Winnie once again found herself sitting on the steps of the barrack.

Her dog tags jingle slightly as she twists them along the chain, rubbing her thumb over her name and number. That was all she was. a number. Not a person with a family, a person with dreams. A number to be used and moved like a marionette.

The crickets used to remind her of home, when she would stay awake on the farm until the early hours. Just her and the moon, talking. Now it just reminded her of what she lost. Her home, her family, friends and comrades. The crickets taunted her.

Next to her tags, a small necklace. A present from her parents before she left. Winnie was not religious. She did not believe in God or divine intervention. Many of the men wore crosses or stars, or some form of religious jewellery. Winnie wore a small handmade cow charm on a silver chain. Home.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting outside for, her face going numb in the cold. She didn’t even notice the creaking of the door or the groaning of the planks under someone else’s weight.

A warm hand on her shoulder causes her to jump, pulling her fist back instinctively.

“Fuck!” she hisses “you scared the shit outta me!”

“I’m real sorry, didn’t mean ta frighten you” Eugene apologised “called out to ya, didn’t respond, like you were caught in some trance”

“Oh. sorry” Winnie mumbles, rubbing her thumb over her dog tags as she looks out at the grass “must have been lost in thought”

The two soldier sit in silence, only disrupted by the occasional shouts of protest from inside the barracks, from the various games of poker they played. Winnie often wondered what her life would have been like had she of not joined the ANZAC’s. Had her dad gone and died in the mud jungles of new guinea when his knee wouldn’t allow him to climb the treacherous slopes. Had her mother saw her as she was leaving that morning and stopped her. Would she have finished school? worked the farm like her brothers?

She often fell into pits of self guilt. Blaming herself for events out of her control because of an event she could control. She wouldn’t be scarred and broken had she of not deluded herself into thinking her position in the military would make a change. That the efforts of one small, scrawny girl from a town no one had heard of playing dress up, would affect the war. Just like the boys back home who wanted to be soldiers for pride and glory, Winnie played soldier.

“You want to ask about it.” Winnie muttered “That’s why you’re here right?”

Eugene shrugs, lighting up a cigarette before offering the pack to Winnie, who takes one with a tip of her head in gratitude.

“Everyone wants to ask ‘bout it” he counters

Smoke fills the air as the two sit in silence. Winnie wanted Eugene to let it go. To not wonder about her story, her time in the army. Contradictory, she wanted someone to care. To care enough that they would listen to every detail, tell her how brave she was, hold her hand and make her feel like a person again. Not some rabid dog with tags around her neck.

“What is it that everyone wants to know?” she sighs in defeat, a need to belong over taking her need to be distant.

“The scar” he scratches his cheek, the same place of Winnie’s scar.

With a huff, she flicks her cigarette to the ground, stamping it out. Maybe she didn’t want to belong that badly.

“Service wound.” she responds bluntly “I was on the front lines before coming here”

Eugene hums out in understanding, the only noise apart from the men inside, still playing cards.

“Where’d ya serve?” he drawls, taking a final drag of his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot

“Africa mainly, spent some time in New Guinea” Winnie picks at the skin around her nails.

Eugene nods along softly with the explanation, letting Winnie talk at her own pace.

“That don’t sound too fun, from what we get told about those places anyways” he settles on saying

Winnie let’s out a short scoff

“It definitely had its moments” she looks down at her hands, half expecting to see them coated a deep shade of red

“And the scar?” he asks feigning nonchalance

The memories of that night flood to her all at once. The german soldiers, the hot sand, the moon in the sky overhead. She can still feel the burning in her lungs some nights when it’s all to hard to breathe and her throat feels heavy under an imaginary weight of a forearm

“Africa” she mumbles

Nervously she fiddles with her fingers, the look Eugene gives her goes unnoticed

“Look. I just don’t want people to think of me differently” she mumbles “So if i tell you this, can you keep a secret?”

Eugene nods.

——

“That’s why I bit him.” Winnie concludes “I didn’t want to hurt him… I just… It’s been a long war and I got lost”

“That sounds awful… i’m sorry that happened to you Winnie” the cajun man drawls

“Not your fault” Winnie shrugs “you gotta keep that a secret. Or i will bite you on purpose.”

“Won’t tell a soul” Eugene smirks slightly at her threat

The door to the barracks slams open.

“Winnie! you gotta come play poker with me. I’m loosin’ real bad” Shifty complains “I’ll teach you how to play and everything”

Winnie raises an eyebrow, sending a skeptical look to Gene.

“You want me to play… even if you have to teach me?” she asks “How bad are you losin’?”

“Well I ain’t doing too good, that’s for sure” he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, a grimace on his face

“I don’t know Shifty I don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable” Winnie hesitates

“She’d love to play” Gene answers

“That’s great! I’ll see you in there!” Shifty grins, walking back into the barracks

Winnie hits Gene in the chest with an open hand

“Why the fuck would you say that” she grumbles “I don’t wanna play poker.”

“You gotta make friends with ‘em at some stage” He retorts

“You know. I’m starting to really hate you yanks” Winnie complains, still she stands and dusts off her pants

She stops infront of the door, turning to look back at Gene

“Thanks for not telling anyone” she mumbles, quickly entering the barracks

——

The hooting and hollering of the easy men come to a deafening silence. Judgemental eyes mixed with looks of skepticism sweep her up and down. Winnie stands in the doorway, fiddling with her fingers behind her back

“Well come on Winnie!” Shifty beams “You can’t be any worse than me at cards”

Shifty sits down on one of the crates, card game abandoned in the middle of the make shift table

“I’m not playing cards with the crazy broad who tried to bite Joe’s finger off” the man in the bed beside her argues… Bob? Maybe it was Bill. Bill sounded right

“He shouldn’t have put his fingers near her mouth then” one of the men countered, someone she hadn’t met yet

“The crazy broad has a name” Winnie raises an eyebrow

“yeah yeah” Bill waves his hand in the air “just hurry up will ya, got me some money to win”

Winnie shuffles over towards the makeshift poker table, pulling up a crate to sit next to shifty. Dealing out the cards, Bill gives Winnie and Shifty the one set of cards.

“What are the rules?” Winnie asks, staring at the cards in her hand

“It’s poker, you don’t know how to play poker?” one of the men ask, He was tall and had a scowl.

“i’m just wondering what the rules are” she mumbles

——

It was with a withering glare that Bill laid his cards down as he folded. Winnie bluffing that her cards were a straight flush instead of two sevens. Most of the men stopped playing after the third round were Winnie cleaned them out of smokes and cash. Bill persisted, claiming that he needed to win his money back.

—

Sitting on the front porch with her dad as he beats her round after round at poker. Chocolate chip cookies and various sweets used as bets, her father had a pile that seemed to be a mile high.

“how do you keep winning daddy?” a six year old Winnie asks. Her front two teeth had fallen out and she waited desperately for the tooth fairy.

“practice, and knowing how to play the game and the players” he responded, ruffling her hair

“play the players? you can’t play the players daddy that’s silly!” she giggled

“my sweet girl, poker is just as much playing the game as it is playing the players” he pulls her to sit on his lap “if you know how to lie and bluff than you can get away with lots of things, like having bad cards in poker”

—

“Did I win again?” Winnie tilts her head in confusion

“Yeah you fucking win again” Bill grumbles

The men jeer and punch him in the arm as he glares at the girl collecting her winnings. She wouldn’t need to worry about cigarettes for months!

“You lost to a broad Bill” Joe Toye slaps him on the chest

“I know I lost to a fucking broad” he hissed

Winnie piled her cigarettes into her crate and collected the money she won into her wallet with the help of Shifty, who was beaming

“Keep the pack” Winnie smiled and threw him two packs of cigarettes

“Boy you really showed them!” Shifty smiled “I didn’t know you could play!”

“Beginners luck?” Winnie smiled

“I ain’t ever seen a beginner play as good as you” he stated

“Guess i was real lucky” She shrugged

“Crazy beginners luck” Someone called out

“Maybe next time you’ll get some too” she smirked

The man made his way over to Shifty and Winnie with a troublesome grin

“George Luz, i believe you stole four of my cigarette packs” he introduced himself

“Well George Luz, I would apologise, but i wouldn’t mean it” Winnie shook his outstretched hand

“Say what happened to your face” George asked

Winnie defensively rolled her shoulders back and set a glare on her face

“It’s rude to ask people about their scars.” she muttered

“I meant your eyes, they’re… purple, d’ya get punched?”

“Oh… broke my nose last night, when Sobel made me run currahee” She blinked in shock, not expecting her broken nose to be a point of interest

“Fuckin’ Sobel” He muttered “Doc fix you up?”

“Hm? oh yeah, Gene set it back into place” she confirms

An awkward silence falls over the conversation before George is called over by a group of the other guys, one of which was Joe. He turned around with a goofy smile

“And, hey, don’t worry too much about the whole biting Joe thing, some of us won some real money off ya” he winked and walked over towards the loud bunch.

Dumbfounded Winnie stood at the end of her bunk, a pack of cigarettes in her hand, looking up at Shifty

“People bet money on me to win?” she spluttered

“Well sure, odds were stacked against ya, but some of us made some money” he replied in his usual soft spoken tone

She thought about his response, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe she would fit in after all.

——

TAGS: @malarkgirlypop @mads-weasley @footprintsinthesxnd @bucky32557038ww2 @grumpy-liebgott @executethyself35

A/N: I really hope you guys are liking this fic! i’m really sorry it’s slow to start, i just want you guys to see Winnie’s struggles as a person before really getting into it, but please feel free to let me know what you think!