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ilium-ilia · 2 months ago

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As Your Skin Gives

ghoap x fem!reader | pet!au | masterlist

Chapter Six: a trophy of bone

tw: non-con, unrealistic anal, heavy whump

The only scrap of clothing you have clinging to your body as you lay on Simon and Johnny’s bed is your collar.

Somehow, you feel more naked with it on than you ever did with it off. Nothing but a beacon, drawing attention to the most vulnerable, soft part of you. It’s a degrading reminder that your body no longer belongs to you—a proof of ownership to a man who can hardly seem to stand your mere existence. Something to mark you as what you are; a pet, an animal, swine waiting for the slaughter.

Your fingers ghost over the leather and you feel it bob with your throat as you swallow. Something sparks through you as the urge to rip it off tingles in your palms. It’s strong. You want to tear through it and rid yourself of the incessant reminder that you’re trapped. It would be so easy for you to undo the clasp and toss it into some forgotten corner where you’ll never have to worry or think about it again—but you don’t. No, there is very little you can do besides lay there—rigid, fawning—when you have two hulking figures between your open legs.

The fact that you are not the only one naked ought to give you nominal reprieve, but instead it only makes your stomach sore. It twists in on itself as you look up, Johnny’s bare body on display like Michelagelo’s statues. His clothes were ripped from his body with the same urgency as yours were, and you try not to shiver at the sight of his hardened cock hanging between his legs. His leaky, puffy tip bounces. He throbs. It yearns for something soft to bury itself in. You’ve seen it plenty of times before, but it never gets easier. Not like this, with Simon behind him on his haunches, fully clothed, bored eyes flickering back and forth between the side of Johnny’s face and your exposed body.

Scenarios begin to tear through your mind, and your stomach plummets through the floor. Johnny has had his fun with you plenty of times over the last few weeks, but it’s never been anything as formal as this. A proper fuck. Manacles to bind you. Every time he’s put his hands on you, it’s been a spur of the moment. Something he does when he can no longer hold his hunger a bay. Tearing you apart like a sacrifice.

“She’s so pretty,” Johnny beams, body shuddering.

Simon’s hands trace along the man’s waist where they slide to the front of his chest, then dip down to the thick, dark patch of hair at the base of his cock. For hands as large, brutish, and scarred as his, his touch looks light. Delicate, even. Nails scraping across fresh snow just enough to feel, but not enough to mar. Johnny jumps in excitement as he wraps a fist around him, and begins to lazily tug at his shaft, purposefully ignoring his needy, florid tip.

“That so?” Simon challenges. His lips brush against Johnny’s ear, and you watch as those deep navy eyes roll slightly into the back of his head, eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings. You squirm at the sight as a deep shame eats at your chest—you are a product, a show to be enjoyed—but you know better than to move too much around sight-based hunters. “Like havin’ a soft toy to play with? Somethin’ to sink your pathetic cock into? Bet you wanna fuck ‘er right now, yeah?”

Johnny nods, lips parting. “Aye, I really do.”

“Yeah, needy fuckin’ mutt. Go on. Play with ‘er a bit, but keep this fuckin’ cock dry, yeah? Get yourself nice and worked up f’me,” Simon orders.

Ardent eyes blink down at you as Simon free’s Johnny’s cock from his hand, and the man descends upon you like a ravenous plague. A squeak leaves you without permission when his lips crash against yours with enough force to knock your teeth out, and your whole body jumps as he paws at your chest. Your tits are sore from weeks of abuse, and you can’t help but whimper into his mouth as his fingers contract and relax over and over, rolling the soft flesh between his hands.

This isn’t anything new. You know very well how to play this game—a waiting game. Hunkered down in the basement, waiting for a storm to blow over as thunder claps against your lips and lightning cracks along your skin. You think of your old job bartending. Anything to get away from the present. How to make an old fashioned? How many seconds does it take to fill a pint? You try to recall the acrid taste of the pub, and the way condensation glistens on the bartop. Usually, this works. Usually, it’s enough to keep you distracted.

It isn’t tonight, though. Not with those dark eyes peering from behind Johnny, murky and menacing. As the dog gets to work giving love bites to the underside of your jaw, you make the terrible mistake of glancing at Simon. He’s got one hand on the small of Johnny’s back like it’s the only way he can keep the man leashed, and the other is pawing at his own cock through the thick fabric of his jeans. You can make out the clear, meaty outline of it, and you find yourself silently praying that his eyes don’t wander too far from Johnny.

You’re certain Simon would break you if he ever decided to fuck you himself.

“Ow!”

Your yelp is sudden and piercing as pain blossoms in your left nipple. It ebbs and flows with your pulse, as if the sting is supposed to be a reminder that you’re still alive. Still breathing. Johnny leans back in astonishment, as if he can’t piece together why him pinching and yanking on your nipple would ever rouse such a reaction from you, but then he does it again, this time to the right. You squeal once more, hands wandering, moving to cup your breasts, hoping to deter him from antagonizing you further.

“Johnny! Stop!” you whine.

“Do that again,” he says, pupils blown wide.

You squeeze your chest more as if you can fold your body in on itself and vanish completely. Blinking, you attempt to process his request, but all you can muster is a puzzled look.

“Say my name again,” he clarifies, voice darker and more husky than you’ve ever heard it before.

Humiliation courses through your body. Red hot. Superheated metal. Internal scars that swell beneath your skin, blisters that threaten to pop. Your bottom lip trembles as you writhe under his gaze. This is easier when you don’t have to participate. When you can just lay there and take the abuse and pretend it doesn’t exist. There’s a special kind of hurt to be found in the way he’s trying to torture you now. Simon’s eyes meet yours from over Johnny’s shoulder, and you try your best to keep your composure, lest he get upset at you for keeping his adored pet waiting.

“Johnny…” you mumble, heart hardly into the performance.

For a moment, you fear that your act is too forced. Something so faux that even Johnny’s slow, muddled brain can see through. It’s not satisfying enough. Instead, he groans as he descends on you again, tongue lavashing over your breasts and chest bone as he pushes back against Simon, ass against his clothed cock, lips gliding lower and lower on your abdomen.

“Goddamn angel. Sound so sweet saying my name. You’re perfect. So perfect, Bonnie,” he groans against your skin. “I’ll fuck you good and proper one of these days. As soon as Simon lets me, I promise. For now�� just… let me have this.”

Whatever question you have bubbling up in your throat gets smothered with a gasp as Johnny’s mouth lands on your cunt. A hot, wet tongue laps at you, sliding all the way from your clenching hole to your clit. It doesn’t feel good. It’s messy and disgusting, yet he laments at the taste of you. His lips and tongue work in tandem. Not for your pleasure, but for his. Muted sensations rumble between your legs, but nothing’s connecting. All the wires are cut, but Johnny’s still trying to send signals through anyway.

Everything he does to you—suck on your clit, hold your hips with bruising grip—all feels searing. It’s torching your skin, melting you into mush, because if you cannot feel pleasure, then you can certainly feel pain. It’s one after the other. Lash after lash. Wound stretching over wound until you are nothing more than a rotting gash.

Things only get worse when you realize Simon’s grunts are sounding in terrible cacophony with Johnny’s Once more, you make the mistake of glancing up at him, and you see that he’s now got his own cock in his hand, lazily pumping it. It’s thick like blood and terrifying like cold steel against tender flesh—something that fits the brutish and colossal nature of your captor. You glance away, turning your head as you attempt to down everything out.

Just pretend, just pretend, just pretend…

Suddenly, it all ceases. Simon pulls Johnny back by his collar, forcing his mouth off of your cunt with a wet pop before he’s pushing him face first into your chest. Lips wet from spit and what minimal amount of arousal he was able to rip from you smears against your tits as the poor dog pants.

“Plan on eatin’ her alive, Johnny?” Simon goads.

He chuckles and nuzzles your chest as if he’s trying to get underneath your skin. There’s something about his laughter that almost makes him seem more human than the dog Simon tries to force him to be. Whatever it is, it makes your heart lurch, but it doesn’t tug on it enough for you to forgive him. You bite into your lip as your arms wrap around his neck, searching for a stability you don’t think you’re going to find, yet so desperately crave.

“Oh, I’d like to,” Johnny coos.

All Simon does is hum as he reaches around the man. You jolt when his hand brushes against your inner thigh, and he shoots you a glare in warning before pushing your leg back, spreading you wide. Trepidation hangs so thick in the air you nearly choke on it as you helplessly feel his fingers brush against your sex. Soon, it’s no longer a gentle brush, but a forceful intrusion as he dips them into your cunt.

“Wait, no, no, no-” Pathetic. A sad Attempt. Simon persists anyway.

Johnny’s spit allows him to enter you with little protest, but it does nothing to ease the burn that ails you as Simon’s thick fingers split you open. Your eyes screw shut in discomfort as you do your best to hold back a sob, but you feel it brew. Steam in the back of your throat, pressure in your eyes, nettling until they water.

Instead of pumping in and out of you, his fingers dance as if looking for something inside of you, all but tearing you apart in the process. They churn, scrape, and claw. Razor sharp nails. A beast tearing you apart. He does not care to draw out moans or other sounds from you—he cares only to aid himself. The heat of the burn that ravages your cunt forces your skin to perspire, and your vision begins to tunnel.

Your only saving grace is that Simon finally seems to have found what he was looking for, and he yanks his fingers out of you with little concern for your body. Tense muscles flutter as you try to force yourself to relax, to calm your tendons before they snap free from bone. Even in the dim light of the bedroom, you can make out the wet, gooey sheen on Simon’s fingers as he turns his attention to Johnny.

The man whimpers into your skin as Simon wipes the sloppy mess around the tight ring of his ass, not stopping until there’s proper lubrication. Strong arms snake underneath your back where needy fingers hold onto your shoulders. You are a log. A rock. A comforting toy. The only thing grounding Johnny.

All you can do is close your eyes and pray that it’s quick.

“Been a long while since I last fucked you, yeah?” Simon teases, fingers still taunting Johnny’s needy hole. “Look acth’ya, puckerin’ around nothin’ like a dirty fuckin’ mutt. Gonna be a good boy and beg? C’mon, you used to beg for this cock all the time. Go on. Beg.”

Johnny’s body trembles with want, and it rings throughout your own, numbing your senses and rendering you useless. His nose nuzzles into your breast bone before he turns and rests the side of his head just above your heart. You wonder if he can hear the muscle trying to tear itself apart with how fast it’s beating.

“Please, Simon. I’ve been a good boy,” Johnny whines. Something sordid pulls at your chest. Gnarly fingers push through your ribcage, filling you deep where there is no room to be swallowed. “I need it, need it so bad. Missed you so goddamn much, I just… f-fuck, yes, fucking christ, thank you, thank you.”

As Simon presses into Johnny, the weight on your chest grows heavier to the point of suffocation. Desperate hands grab at your shoulders, and you force yourself to stay quiet and take it. Whimpers sear into your skin as Simon keeps going, and going, and going until he bottoms out, and for once, Johnny finally seems content. Praises and gratitude fall from his lips like broken prayers as his body rocks against yours like a poorly tethered boat. There is little remorse for Johnny as he’s split apart, speared wide and open, but he seems to enjoy the burn more than you ever could.

You don’t dare to peek over him. All you can do is screw your eyes shut tight as you bury your face into the overgrown strands of his mohawk.

“Such a tight fuckin’ arse. You really are a pathetic mutt, aren’cha?” Simon shames. Despite his harsh tone—words that slice through even the thickest bone—Johnny gasps in confirmation. “Gonna be a good boy ‘n take it then, yeah? Go on. Tell your precious Bonnie how good this cock is makin’ you feel.”

And he does, like the obedient animal he is, but you don’t hear any of it. You feel the rocking of your body as Simon’s speed picks up, and the slick sweat that builds between your bodies, but you’re too far away for Johnny’s words to reach your ears.

Right now, you’re back in that old pub. Nicotine permeates every pore of that building, and it seeps into your skin in the tenebrous room—you know you’ll have to shower to rid yourself of the stench eventually. You’re wiping down tables and filling hoppy drinks. The sourness of the alcohol and acidity of the cleaner assaults your nose even in your daydreams, and you feel your stomach twist at the scent. Dull music thrums somewhere on your left, and someone’s waving at you so they can pay their tab.

That pub had been nothing but a prison to you before, but now you can’t help but hate it even more. Would you have ended up here, underneath two brutish men, had you gotten that job you interviewed for? Did you ever even have a chance at roaming among marble halls, or was the outcome always destined to be this way? Teeth ache in your mouth as your jaw clenches at the memory of your attempt at escaping that life. So smart, but not smart enough—always one step behind what everyone else is asking from you; docile. A flighty bird.

You wonder what your mother is thinking about right now.

Sharp nails rake across your skin, and you’re pulled out of your daydream. Cold water against your face, ice on your flesh, Johnny’s weight leaves you as he’s ripped from your arms. Angry streaks and broken skin are left behind in his wake, and you try your best not to cry out. Tears blur your vision as you finally open your eyes to see Simon yanking Johnny back against him by his collar.

Desperate hands claw at the leather as the sounds of pain and pleasure culminate in his throat as Simon tugs at Johnny’s cock with vicious strokes. You can do nothing but lay there and watch in abject horror as Johnny’s cum spurts from the tip of his cock and coats the length of your stomach and chest. It’s a warm, sticky mess that has you grimacing as it mixes with the lingering perspiration on your skin, yet you know better than to voice your discomfort.

“There he is,” Simon grunts. “Makin’ a goddamn mess all over my hand. A mess of your favorite toy too, hmm?”

Johnny is lost. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, body shuddering—Simon doesn’t let up. Cock pumping into him, hips slapping against his rump, thighs clenching; there is no regard for the whining that emanates from his favorite pup. All the dog can do is mindlessly babble.

“What? You thought that just because you are done that I’m done with ya? C’mon, Johnny, you know better than that. Now, be a good boy and fuckin’ take it.”

Electric blue eyes find you in the numbra of the bedroom before they roll back into his head. There’s grunting, hot air wafting through the room—growling. Animalistic howling from the only person not wearing a collar. It’s enough to get you to hold your breath, body freezing, preparing for an attack—a mauling.

When Simon finishes, he does so with another feral grunt and a final thrust into Johnny, cock buried deep inside of him. A cacophony of appreciative remarks fall from Johnny like a strained prayer to a deaf god that’s been long dead, and he’s pumped full of all his would-be-lover’s spend. It’s over, but you aren’t comforted. Tears overflow from your eyes, streaming down your face, burning your flesh as it traverses and collects around your collar. You are sullied—ruined.

“Filthy thing. Spoiled rotten, you are,” Simon growls as Johnny begins to gag. “Completely spent and still wantin’ more.”

Blinking away your tears, you look up to see Simon shoving his cum-coated fingers down Johnny’s throat. He chokes as unloving nails scrape against his tongue, and still he devours it like dessert. His devotion to a beast such as Simon is infuriating in a complicated way. It sends a tingle up your spine. Something bone chilling—it only gets worse when Simon’s gaze lands on you.

He doesn’t speak a word as he yanks his fingers out of Johnny’s mouth and pushes his face towards your body. A flinch echoes throughout the cords of your muscles, preparing to be bitten by the brainwashed mutt, yet no such pain blossoms on your skin.

“We’re done playin’ for now. Clean up your fuckin’ toy,” Simon barks.

Obedient. Eager. Johnny’s tongue lulls out of his mouth without a second thought before he licks a line along your abdomen. It’s just as warm and wet as it was when he was lapping at your cunt, and still it makes you squirm. He laughs at the way you tremble under him, and it sounds more like a pant as he washes away the reminder of his cum, consuming it without complaint.

Licking quickly turns into kissing once he’s finished, and he starts to nibble on your neck as he settles his body weight onto you. A still needy and half hard cock presses against your thigh as he nuzzles you, leg wrapped around your body, keeping you attached to him like a vice. Sticky warmth seeps through the pores of your skin, and you are so painfully trapped in this moment with a spinning head and an aching cunt.

You are the complete opposite of clean. You are ruined—disgusting, indignified, desecrated. That filth only rouses and festers as Simon begins to shove himself back into his pants, umber gaze trained on you with the same morbid curiosity someone would spare a bug. You are not human. You have never been human. You’re an imitation of flesh, a bird with clipped wings, a song with no melody—you have become everything you ever feared of being:

A catalyst. Food for the greedy.

A trophy of bone.

“What are you crying for?”

Johnny’s lips are on you again, smothering away each fat tear that rolls down your cheeks. He fakes his concern for you so well, it can almost be confused for love.

“I know, you’ll get your turn too. I promise, Bonnie. I always keep my promises, you’ll see,” Johnny assures you as he licks the salt off of his lips.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

But there is no room for fear. Not as Johnny settles against your back, tucking you into him like a prized possession. Not as Simon turns off the bedside lamp and plunges the room into darkness. There is only one thought that consumes your mind as both men begin to snore—survive. One day, something will save you; be it yourself, or anyone else—

—be it death.

For now, you’ll just have to get used to being devoured whole.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here (tentative of patreon tos)

#ilium writing #sr ilia #jm ilia #pet!au #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #female reader

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pedrasacorn · 6 months ago

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after that little blurb about jason still caring about reader even after breaking up with her for her own safety i now desperately need an angsty but also a comfort fic where they break up, reader is comfused and sad, jason is even sadder and maybe evn regrets his decision and then something important happens to reader and jason realizes what a mistake it was to push her away and apologises and its all good again! … lol sorry if this is too long i just liked your idea a lot :)

Jason breaks up to protect you

A/n: thank you for requesting :3 it’s so exciting and getting to challenge myself was fun!

Warnings: Blood, injury, brief description of depression, not proof read

5:30pm

Far above the city Jason watches you.

The rain and smog almost conceal his view as you exit your apartment.

But he knows your habits, the way you walk.

It’s only easy to get through your window because he’s the one who goon proofed it.

Your room is clean, as if untouched. Except the bed.

He takes stock of your fridge. Rotting vegetables he tosses, along with the moldy bread and…whatever the hell that was.

His heartache is good. And earned. Deserved even.

All it took was for one rogue to mention your existence, and that was it. Didn’t have a name; just a vague idea of your existence.

He clung to the feeling of panic lacing his veins, keeping it vivid in his mind. He used it to replace the urge to hold you, to wipe your tears, and reassure you. He knew better than to have been in your life.

He uses fresh milk to replace your…chunky one.

“I did not raise you this way…” He mutters; humorously.

As he broke up, he managed to look at your face, he imagined what it would look like dead, and bloody.

It didn’t help. Because you weren’t dead, but you looked something akin to it.

Eggs, and cheese. You don’t like eggs. He knows this.

More bread even if it goes bad again. And snacks. Easy freezer meals.

He shouldn’t, but he stays. He stays hidden in the dark where he belongs, needing to know you make it home okay.

6:31pm

Everything is a fog of grey.

The half eaten sandwich you had at work tasted like nothing.

You couldn’t even cry because—what was the point? You didn’t even really feel anything.

That nothingness multiplies when you get into your apartment. Locking everything up the way Jason taught you.

Although the stab wound, and blood dripping down your side doesn’t feel like nothing.

Sweat beeds down your face, collecting in the neck of your sweater. You just have to get to the kit Jason gave you; the medical bills were not worth it right now.

Your eyes meet his.

Your heart nearly falls out of your chest, releif flooding your veins.

“Jay I’m hurt.” Your voice breaks as tears warp your vision, softening out the world.

6:34

You, are still the most beautiful thing, he has ever beheld.

What was he doing? He had only meant to bring you food. Knowing your tendency to neglect yourself when you were heartsick.

It wasn’t your fault; he’d never blame you. Just wanted to know you weren’t going to fade out of existence the way he faded out of your life.

He runs to you, immediately ripping off your sweater, pressing his hand into your side.

“I’m not going anywhere sweets. M’right here.” He murmurs against your ear, “Who did this?”

“Some stupid—son of a bitch in an alley.” You rasp as he lies you down.

“Yeah? What son’uva bitch? You tell me. Now.”

His accent was so thick when he got upset; like when you forgot to eat, or drink water instead of caffeine.

He’s stunning.

“Hi…” you rasp.

“…hi surga’…” He soothes your cheek.

8:40pm

When you come to you’re alone in your bed.

A sob breaks through the quiet.

So light on his feet, you don’t hear him until he’s halfway into your room.

“Shhh baby it’s okay…hey, hey I’m right here.” He cups your tear streaked face.

You whimper. “You left.”

“I know but I’m not ever going to leave again okay? Yeah?” He tilts your face upward.

“You…you just think you know all the things.” You sniffle.

He can’t help his fond smile; he doesn’t mention how your words make little sense.

“Yeah?” He croons.

You nod.

“You just do things. All the time and it’s…just so you.”

Your glare holds little heat.

Even if it did, any heat from you is warmth to him.

His emotions are bared to you, he’s filled with guilt. Staying wasn’t rational, but he needed you.

He smooths your cheek with his thumb.

“Can you find some forgiveness in that pretty heart of yours?” He murmurs.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but it’s the best he can do to ask without begging.

“…I just missed you…the most.” You say, a bit delirious.

“Yeah I missed you too…” He kisses your forehead.

“Is that how you kiss the love of your life?” You glare.

There’s his sweetheart.

“Well you didn’t give me permission now didya?” He smirks.

You meet each other half way, his lips caressing yours.

#jason todd x reader #I like this one :3 #my writing

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messenger-of-babel · 3 months ago

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Hi! Idk if you’re taking requests (I like to call those suggestions), but I’m OBSESSED with your writing. I absolutely loved the voicemail fic. But it’s got me thinking about the other side! What would happen if Leon got that voicemail from the reader? I’d be so curious to see how you wrote it. Keep up the awesome work!

Attachments

Summary: When you get in over your head, the last thing you can bring yourself to do is say goodbye. (Death Island! Leon x reader)

based as an alternate universe from this fic: here!

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: my dear dear anon, thank you for posting this and I extend that hope that you are around to see this. Sorry for the wait! I actually had this just sitting here despite finishing it earlier today, I just forgot to proof read it. Warning for description of injuries, angst, mentions of death. I was inspired by Mia from resi 7, so that's the scenario I played with for this fic.

But regardless, thank you so much for your words anon I can't even describe how giddy I am that people like my work that much, and I reread everyone's comments when I need motivation.

Thanks for everyone sticking around with my wild posting, I promise I still exist here. <3

RiRi xx

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You and Leon had a pact.

You weren't the same agents that you both once were, running through an infested rural town in Spain. Especially after everything that had happened in China, and the strain that threatened to break you two apart when Ada reappeared. It took counselling and effort, long nights and early morning arguments with one of you hitting their head against the wall.

But you did it.

The dauntless task had been completed, and you had successfully managed to leave that life behind you. Well Leon had at least. There had been nothing more rewarding than seeing the hard lines of your husband soften, the crinkles in his eyes smooth out like the worry lines on his forehead. He'd filled out a little bit too, softening up now that there wasn't a team of trainers hounding him to stay in peak physical performance. Now he used the home gym when he wanted to and dedicated his time heavy lifting in the garden or fixing his bike in the back shed. Two years since being an agent, and domestic life was looking good on him.

You, however, were a liar.

You went for weeklong 'business meetings' in the next town over, claiming that the numbers on your laptop were finance spreadsheets when in reality they were government secrets. You had urged and begged Leon to quit, without leaving the force yourself, and now you were paying the consequences.

You hiss as you drag yourself to the laptop, a hand pressed to your side as you feel the gooey mess there. The ship you're on groans and tilts to the side, the emptiness eerie for a vessel of this size. Sweat beads your forehead and it's hard to breathe, fingers shaky and smearing black ooze across the keycaps as you type in your password. You fat finger in Leon's email address, before pressing the button, record, in the upper left.

"Hey, honey." you grit out, trying to smile at the white light at the top of the computer. "Hope you remembered to take the bins out on Friday."

You're aware that you look a mess, skin ashy and lips cracked. There's a gash on your forehead sticking your hair to your scalp, and you do your best to wipe it away with the back of your hand.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," you breathe out shakily. "And before you say anything, I'm sorry." It seems harder to get the words out, throat closing up. "I'm so, so sorry."

You take a deep breath and lean forward, a wave of dizziness making you rest your head on the edge of the table. Right now, you felt like the biggest idiot in the world, but it was hard to focus on your self-pity and fear of impending death when your blood was on fire. "I shouldn't have lied to you." you grit out, eyes desperately searching the camera as if you would be able to see Leon looking back at you.

You could almost image what he would look like staring back at you, and the image of it is enough to make you grateful this wasn't live. The sad, quiet heartbreak that would ripple across those blue eyes, he downturn of his mouth and the way he took that half breath in when he was surprised. The pain would be held in the way he clenched his fists, the way that his throat bobbed when he was angry, till the person left was the old shell of his rookie self-losing yet another person he cared about.

"I know I should have told you, but this was going to be the last job I swear." you choke out, eyes burning behind your eyelids. the pain in your side grows worse, a sickening squirming sensation growing. "I was going to quit for real. I didn't quit because I wanted some more retirement money for us, buy us a place in the countryside where you can ride your bike on the backroads." your hands shake as you try to wipe your face, smearing black across your cheek. "This was supposed to be easy, just escort the cargo but-" you cut yourself off with a defeated sob. "It went sideways. it went wrong, it's all gone wrong, I just wish-" you sniffle, staring into the tiny computer camera. "I just wish I could take it all back. I just want to come home." you roughly scratch at your eyes, taking a deep breath.

"This is my fault, not yours." you say after a few heaving breaths, tone level. "So don't blame yourself. I made you quit the force; I chose to stay. This would have happened whether you stayed an agent or not. So don't blame yourself, okay?" your voice breaks. the ship groans, tilting heavily to the side and you grip the table to try and stay steady.

"I know you still blame yourself about Marvin." you croak out, tears now making it down your cheeks. "Don’t blame yourself for me too."

God, you missed Leon. Your body shook, wanting nothing for this to be a bad dream. That you weren't giving him a front row seat to what was your inevitable death, the decay and rot that was crawling over your skin like a film. You knew you should turn off the camera, to save him the pain, but you couldn’t.

You were scared, and right now all you wanted was your husband.

"God, baby I'm so sorry." you sob into your hands, unable to keep it together the more you thought it through. The way he looked in his suit at the wedding, the twinkle in his eye at the altar. The grin he wore when you accepted his proposal, the peaceful look on his face as he slept on your honeymoon, stress free. The warmth of his hands when he took the dry dishes from you, the check in texts he'd send you when you went away for work.

"I'm so sorry. I want to come home. I want to come home, I don't want to be here." you cry, the pain wracking your body making it hard to think straight and not devolve into panic. "But don't come here." you choke out. "Do not come here. If you get this, stay away." you plead, voice a wheeze as you grip the sides of the computer screen.

"I love you," you say shakily as the ship groans, throwing you off balance. "I love you forever, just like I promised back in Spain. No matter what. Third drawer in the closet, there's a binder with all my information, it's got my will there. There's a trust there with enough money for you to move, a-and there's receipts for that bike you always wanted. It was going to arrive for your birthday." you smile through your tears, rushing out all the information you can.

"I'm getting so tired Leon," you sigh out, fat tears flicking off your eyelashes as they flutter. "I think I'm going to have to end this here, honey. Stay away, stay home, stay safe." you plead, voice breaking. "Stay the man I love with all my heart. You're so, so strong Leon. You've survived so much, I'm sorry I couldn't come back home." you whisper, black creeping into your vision.

On another thought, that could just be the rot.

"I want lilies for my flowers." you whisper out, legs buckling. "And an open tab. throw a party for me, won't you?" you manage a weak, shaky smile at the camera, pinprick of light flashing at you.

"I'll say hi to Luis for you when I see him."

with trembling fingers and hazy vision, you type in the subject line, not caring about mistakes. it take a few seconds for the video to upload but as soon as the blue circle is complete you click send, the computer whooshing softly. the effort of keeping yourself upright on the rotting ship is too much now that you had done your job, sending you crashing to the floor, eyes closing before you could see the message pop up:

email sent.

Leon groaned hearing the laptop chime from the other side of the living room. He had been out with Chris the night before, the older man requiring his help and thoughts on a particular situation. He knew that you'd kill him if you knew that he went out not for drinks but to talk bioterrorism with the head of the BSAA. Their discussion had drawn deep into the night as Chris laid it out.

Genetic altering had resulted in a new type of bioweapon, which did little to surprise Leon. 'Where there's a will, there's a way' he thought often, and when it came to bioterrorists and ego inflated scientists it always seemed to ring true. The BSAA was attempting to track it down, after it went dark on the radar during transportation.

"Not interested." he had waved it off, when Chris had dared to offer him a place on the team. "Told my spouse I was done with that." he said, and Chris had reluctantly backed off. It didn't mean he couldn’t help provide his two cents on it, so he spent the next few hours talking it over with Chris. Collapsing on the couch he had fallen asleep, unmoving until the chime just then. He groans, swinging his legs off the couch and rubbing his hands on his sweats, padding over to the computer.

He closes the tabs displaying bills and the calendar for when you were supposed to be getting back from New York. There, sitting in his inbox amongst the clutter of unread spam mail and pizza coupons, was an email from you. He frowns reading the subject line, eyebrows furrowing.

'Urfent plese readgt' - (1) attachment.

You were never one to make a spelling mistake, making his concern grow. There was no message, just a three-minute video attached. It took him a moment to open, but as soon as the media player launched, he felt his blood freeze. He was suddenly startling awake, like he had been thrown in an ice bath and electric shocked right after. The big pause symbol took up part of your face, but he studied you, the face he knew so well.

Your cheeks were sunken, eyes tired and frantic. Your hair was drenched like you'd been thrown in the ocean, sticking to you along the hair line.

Nothing could have prepared him for when he hit play.

Your voice was shaky and hoarse, eyes darting from the camera to behind you, like you were worried. It was too dark to tell where you were, only that the lights were off, and it looked abandoned. He felt like being sick the long the video went on, eyeing how a black webbish structure slowly crept across your skin. If you could feel it or had even taken notice, he couldn't tell.

Tears came to his own eyes as you sobbed your apology, and he wished he could reach through the screen and pulled you home when he saw you shaking. His fists were screwed up tightly on his legs, and the pressure in his chest felt like it was going to burst. With heavy breath he stared into the eyes of your recording, a shattering pain exploding through his chest.

This wasn't happening.

But it was.

When your voice crackled through the speaker, "I'll say hi to Luis when I see him," something inside him screamed. His head rang, and after a moment he realised he had been screaming, head in his hands. He felt like when he lost Marvin, when he lost Luis. It was a burning that sat in his chest and in his throat, and no matter how much he took in a deep breath he couldn't stop himself from making that sound. The pain rippled outwards from his chest, making it hard to breathe and his head dizzy.

Finally, after a few deep breaths he managed to stagger from the chair, stumbling for the stairs. He got his bearings back slowly, his feet feeling disconnected from his brain. Over and over again he played back each painful second of the video, stuck in his mind like a haunted loop. Leon must have been an evil, evil person in his past life if this is how he was being punished.

When he finally reached the banister, he began pulling himself up, legs shaky with adrenaline. Leon cursed himself. He should never have left the force. Never have stopped being your partner, should have made sure that you handed in that badge and gun to the DSO. He scaled the stairs two at a time to get to the bedroom, throwing open the closet drawer and digging into the built in on his side, instead of the drawer you had instructed him to. He hauls thick winter wear onto the floor, hands finding purchase on what he was looking for.

He pulls the box out and flips the lid, hand sliding back onto the pistol grip naturally and pulling it out. His jaw tightens as the image of your face in that video flickers in his mind's eye again, and he cocks the gun he had hidden from you, a little harder than he meant to.

It was a damn good thing he never actually left the force.

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milliesfishes · 1 month ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎUptown Girl౨ৎ꣑ৎ

fem reader x billy the kid thank you my love @phantomamour for proofing!!

The comfort of the drawing room was a fine pleasure, finer when you were perched delicately next to Billy, book in hand. Across from him sat your father, concluding a lengthy near-sermon about the crop rotation for this year. The flickering candles filled the room with shadows, their wavering lights fluttering fingers, hopeful watching. Nearby, the mouth of the fireplace sparked with flames, only slightly covered by a delicate screen.

Shifting in his seat, he bumped your knee with his own, causing you to peek up from behind the cover of your book. Nodding at you, he lowered his voice. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” you said politely, offering a tiny smile before turning back to whichever page you were on. Each time he’d been invited as a guest for the evening by your father, you’d had a different volume in hand, always turning to it intently when the three of you retreated for tea and coffee after the meal.

Turning back to your father, he met his eyes, urging him to continue. Reaching for his cup, Billy took a sip of coffee as your father said, “I’ll be leaving for the city early tomorrow morning on business.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy said, setting his cup down. He stared at the floor for a moment, hoping he’d cleaned his boots thoroughly enough. Although this was far from the first time he’d been inside this house, existing within the bounds of such finery had a tendency to make him rather uncomfortable. It was not an area he’d been exposed to until very recently, when he’d begun to move up in the ranks of the ranch. Your father had taken a liking to him somehow, unswayed by his roughened, bullet ridden past.

“I trust you’ll be fine managing things around here until the end of the week?” Your father peered at Billy over the rim of his cup.

“Yes, sir,” Billy repeated, nodding to punctuate it. He straightened in his seat. “Everything’ll be taken care of.”

You cleared your throat delicately, standing up and closing your book. “Father, I think I’ll return upstairs.”

“Of course.” Your father accepted your kiss on the cheek goodnight, and Billy stood, his eyes meeting yours.

“Goodnight, miss.” He nodded, and you clasped the edge of your skirt, smiling softly at him.

“Goodnight, Mr. Bonney,” you said, and he watched you leave until the hem of your skirt disappeared from around the edge of the doorway. Your shadow seemed to linger next to him, and when he looked toward his side, he was half surprised to find you were not there.

The climb to your window was steep, hardly any support except for the railing on the back porch and the sharp tiles of the roof. He’d lost count of how many times he’d made the climb, but it was enough that he could do it now, exhausted and a little sunburnt from the day’s work. When Billy reached the right frame, he tapped the glass, keeping his balance as the white curtains embroidered with little flowers parted, revealing your pretty smile.

You lifted the window, leaning in quickly to kiss him. Billy let himself get lost in it for a moment before he pulled back, nudging your nose with his. “Hold on, sweet girl. Let me come in first.” Though you pouted playfully, you stepped aside and let him clamber inside. The second his boots met the ground though, his hands touched your face, lips finding yours in an instant. You practically melted into him, clasping his suspenders in both hands.

“Hello.” Standing on your tiptoes, you wound your arms around his neck, kissing his nose. “I missed you yesterday.”

“I know, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Billy rubbed the sides of your waist, leaning back to take a good, long look at you. His fingers fluttered at the sleeves of your nightdress. “Pretty.”

“You like it?” You stepped back and twirled so he could see the whole thing. “It’s new.”

“You’ve got more new dresses than there’re horses in the county,” he teased, reaching for you.

Billy grinned as you leaned forward, snatching his hat off his head and plunking it on your own head. You stepped backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you fell onto it. “And you’ve had the same hat forever.”

He sat on the bed beside you, tugging at your nightdress. “You make it look brand new.” Billy patted his thigh. “C’mere. Gimme a few kisses before I’ve gotta go.”

You crawled over to settle into his lap, kissing his cheek, his nose, and then his lips finally. He flicked his hat off your head before gripping your waist and giving you everything he’d been saving up for days. A man could only go so long without kissing his sweetheart, and he was drinking you in like water.

Hands crawling over his shoulders, you sighed as Billy’s mouth scraped over your neck, his nose bumping the lines there. You were stunning like this, so purely perfect, a hidden glory he didn’t deserve. “Mm,” you mumbled after a lengthy period, pulling back and nestling into him. “I’m sleepy.”

“I know, I know.” Billy smoothed your hair, his lips on your forehead. “I was late tonight, I’m sorry.” He rubbed your spine up and down, rocking back and forth. “Your father…”

“Mmm,” you hummed happily, nuzzling into his neck. “Won’t you stay with me while he’s gone?”

“I don’t like you being left alone here,” he muttered, holding the back of your head.

“So stay, my love,” you said into him, scratching the nape of his neck lightly. “Stay with me tonight. And every other night.”

With you sitting on his lap and his arms around you there was scarcely a reason to say no. Billy pulled back to smooth his lips to your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. Move over so we can lay down.”

Your excited squeal was completely adorable, as you scrambled off him. Standing up, Billy slid his suspenders off his shoulders and made quick work of his shirt buttons, sitting down on the bed once that was through and yanking off his boots. You held back a corner of the covers, awaiting him eagerly and smiling when he finally sat beside you, laying back and opening his arms for you to settle into. Sleeping with you in his arms was a rarity, a treat if there ever was one. And now here he had the abundance of riches of several nights like this.

Fingering your braid, he smiled at the bow securing the bottom. “Is this…?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, rubbing a hand up and down his bare chest. “I wear it often. When I miss you, especially.”

He pressed a kiss to your hairline for that. “I wish I could give you prettier things, angel.”

“Prettier than a ribbon in my favorite color tied around wildflowers?” You smiled sweetly, clasping his hand on his chest. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Your proper speech never failed to warm his heart. Billy trailed his fingers up and down your spine. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Mhm.” You were half asleep in his arms, and he breathed you in. Your room smelled like the perfume you favored, and the wildflowers you kept and dried throughout the room. Billy smiled as you reached up to give him one more sleepy kiss.

Even the simple act of laying with you was a gift of enormous proportions. Being the object of your affections, the one you said you loved, had an honor to it, one that he carried privately but wore proudly.

You remained awake, your hand not ceasing its movement on his chest. Billy hardly wanted to sleep, savoring the sweet scent of your hair, the feeling of your warm body sheltered by his. Even when he was able to make it to your window he usually wasn’t afforded the luxury of silence. Your nights together were filled with chatter about what the other had missed, frantic, hurried kisses and tearing off clothes, or comfort if needed. The last time Billy had come in, you’d been bunching your dress at your waist, frowning at your reflection in the mirror. It had distracted you so much that he’d had to pull you away from the mirror altogether and distract you.

“Billy?” Your voice swept away his wandering memories. He looked down, smoothing your hair as you smiled sleepily up at him. “Why do you love me?”

He pulled the blanket up over your shoulder, tucking it under you. “You’ve got my whole heart, honey. Sweet, kind, beautiful, caring, smart. When I look at you I feel like I’m coming alive. You make me feel like I’m better than what everyone sees me as.” Billy pressed two kisses to your head. “I should be asking why you love me.”

Propping yourself up on his chest and resting your chin on your folded arms, you smiled. “I love you because you’re good. Right here.” You tapped his heart with one finger. “And you’re strong in many ways, and handsome. You always take care of me, and you make me want to live.”

Billy raised your joined hands to kiss your fingers, holding them to his lips. You cuddled further under his arm, ear on his chest. Saying all this seemed to have tired you out, and he ran his fingers up and down your side, murmuring, “I love you, sweet girl. You just rest now.”

It was not long before you were heavy on his chest and breathing evenly, the perfect angelic picture. He was drifting off as well, imagining the days ahead of you and reveling in what hadn’t yet occurred. You’d come sit in the shade of the willow tree with your book while he mended the fences on the property. He’d shuck off his shirt if it became too hot and tuck the back into his pants, suspenders dangling over his thighs as he came over to kiss you, make sure you had enough water. Every day would end with the two of you on the porch, him in the chair and you in his lap, watching the sunset.

A paradise if he could ever picture one. And even if he didn’t deserve it, he was going to hold onto it for as long as he could.

Part Two

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bitterrfruit · 9 months ago

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Houndtooth [5]

[masterlist]

ghost x f! reader. 5.1k words cw: torture. waterboarding. sexual harrassment. 18+ mdni

you don't have answers.

You can see it in his eyes, in the shadowed window of his mask, that disdain.

They always carry it, don’t they? That pure, vitriolic contempt for the power you hold over them, the sway you have on their mind and body just by existing in your cursed vessel. Just by having your cunt, so he calls it, that he both scorns and hungers for.

It must be tiring, you think, having to walk that tightrope. Having to hate and want you in the same breath.

But you take quiet pride in your small victory. His silence, his glower, are proof enough that you have left him with nothing to say. He simply drums the armrest of the steel chair in impatient contemplation, scrutinising you with his glare.

“Sold my body, you reckon?” He probes, coarse and bitter.

Your agitated teeth gnaw at the inside of your lip, you stifle your instinctive urge to bite. Careful. It’s satisfying to get your digs in, to prod and to irritate. But you don’t know how short his fuse is.

So you nod, cautiously, shooting a glance at the Union Jack patched on the shoulder of his jacket. “To the Crown,” you muse softly.

A shift in his skull-painted mask, a tug in its knitted cheek. Is he smiling?

“You think I do this for money?”

Your brows tighten. “What, then, for glory?”

He leans forward in his seat, widening his legs, propped up by his elbows – his predacious stare lingers, impaling you, it forces you to swallow a restless gulp.

“For fun.” He mutters, through his teeth.

An uneasy scoff jumps from your throat. “I don’t believe that.”

“No?”

“You don’t seem like you’re having much fun.” You huff, tone gentle, still careful not to set him alight.

He tilts his head with a flick, conceding. “Not yet.”

With that, too close to a threat, you fall silent. Adjust in your seat out of disquieted reflex.

“That must be where our similarities end, Mia,” he continues, sneering. “I can’t imagine you sell yourself to that hideous cunt for fun, eh?”

Keep your lips sealed. He wants a reaction from you and you refuse to entertain him.

“So that leaves the money, doesn’t it. And you know where his money comes from, don’t you?”

You swallow.

“Don’t you?” He barks – his sudden aggression makes you flinch like a frightened cat. Your eyes glue to him, refusing to blink, they sting with their dryness. Your heart flutters, barely pushing your cold blood through constricting veins.

“I did what I had to.” You spit, though your attempt at animosity fizzles quickly, dampened by the whimpering terror in your throat. He must see the stream of tears that leak from your tired eyes. How could you ever dream of feigning strength?

“Had to, eh? You had to spread your legs for a warlord? To what – buy a nice car? Live in a fuckin’ castle?”

“To survive.”

“Survive?” He scoffs, almost amused, “fuck, you poor thing. It must have been hard to endure the millions in pocket change. Survived by the skin of your teeth in that fuckin’ mansion of yours, eh?”

His fury is hot, scornful, threatens to reduce you to quivering prey despite your desperation to maintain your defiance.

“Do you sleep well knowing your fuckin’ wage is paid for by genocide, Mia? Do you sleep like a baby with that blood on your hands?”

Your lips curl into a scowl, you taste the salt of the tears that dribble into the corner of your mouth. You croak out; “Do you?”

The hunter bites his tongue. He squints at you sharply.

“I do,” he murmurs, after a bitter pause, “because I don’t work for fuckin’ terrorists.”

Your eyes jump once again to his Union Jack, proud and bold on his arm. “Yeah, you do.”

He surprises you, when a huff of laughter escapes him, a quick jolt of his chest as he chortles at you. Leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms nonchalantly over his chest, for a moment he says nothing, only drawing in an ireful sigh.

“You’re a smart-arse, aren’t you,” he remarks stiffly. “That’s not going to do you any favours, here.”

You suck down a slow and trembling breath, deep into your chest, you hold it there like you’re about to plunge into deadly waters. “Then what will?”

He chuckles under his breath. “You want me to help you?”

You know your hunter has no interest in charity. Takes no pity on you. By the incredulousness in his tone, it’s clear he is amused that you even had the gall to ask.

No, your pleas will not work on him. Your attempts to beguile with puppy eyes and wet lips will fail you. Your hunter is observant enough to see through any attempt to obfuscate your intentions. Best you remain translucent.

“I – I want to know what I have to do to get out of this alive,” you admit, nearly a whisper, there’s a nervous squeak in your voice that you do your best to conceal. “You might be willing to die for your employer, but I’m not.”

He laughs, again, and his apparent amusement only serves to enrage you. You swallow it, though, that bile of anger. Keep your cool.

“Greedy and disloyal,” he hisses, taunting you.

You lick your teeth. “I don’t think being loyal to Victor will help me anymore.”

A lie when you uttered it, but as you sit with the statement it begins to ring true. Your husband is in no position to help you. And even if he could, would he? Might he suspect you of betraying him already? Leave you to be eaten alive by the soldiers who stole you from him?

“Maybe not,” he shrugs, and you blink to look at him. “But it does make me question the value of any of your information.”

“Why,” you squeak.

“If you’re willing to do anything, who’s to say you’ll tell the truth, eh?”

Your lips stiffen. “I’m not a liar.”

“No?” He jeers, “You don’t strike me as an honest woman, Mia.”

“You don’t–”

“In fact, Mia, I think you’re a conniving slut.”

Your brow crumples into a pointed scowl, letting his caustic insult fester in the heavy air for a beat.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“No?” He goads, “Enlighten me.”

What an intriguing little thing you are.

Ghost watches you, meticulously – every movement of your legs, every flutter of your eyelids, every twitch of your lips. To read you, he tells himself. To better understand you. To learn how best to play you, how to get in your head.

That’s his objective, now, for the brief time he has you alone. Once he’s in, once he can splay you open like a filthy book – he can take you apart, page by page, letter by letter. That’s when you’ll be useful to him. When you’re spread thin, desperate to please, fearful of his discipline.

Though you seem determined to prevent him from finding any satisfaction in doing so. As if you have opened your book willingly, presenting your schemes to him in plain English.

As you say, you want to survive.

And you have made it clear, now, what you’ll do to ensure that. You’ll spread your legs for him. You’ll backstab your husband. You’ll blow your whistle. Or, you’ll lie.

He’ll find out which soon enough. Not long until that Shadow Company wanker shows up. Perhaps you’ll resort to all four.

For now, he toys with you. And he awaits your answer.

Who do you think you are?

You must know how much of a revolting little monster you are. What could you possibly say to prove him wrong?

You hold your thighs together tightly and coil your white-knuckled fingers between themselves, tensed enough that they might snap. You keep your pretty eyes on him.

Your lips part only slightly, just enough to inhale a minuscule gulp of air before you finally speak.

“Where are you from?” You query, gently, apprehensively, you blink at him as you sniff.

He frowns, bemused, his immediate reaction concealed from you by his balaclava. Leaves him flummoxed for heartbeat – not a witty retort, or some vitriolic insult – what, some attempt at conversation?

No, he determines. You, little rabbit, must be playing your own game.

He’ll play along. Licks his teeth in capitulation.

“Manchester.” He answers, eventually, keeping his tone dull and irate. Doesn’t want you to detect how suddenly you’ve piqued his interest.

He watches you chew your lip, careful gaze flitting about him, you assess him. Finds himself immediately regretting his decision to tell you his hometown, and questioning why he answered you at all. He can’t have you feeling empowered enough to question him, can he?

“Nottingham.” You say.

His breath hitches in his throat.

Shit.

He had undoubtedly noticed a faint accent in your suspiciously natural tongue, but he chose not to acknowledge it. He didn’t want to.

But you’re not his neighbour, he reminds himself. You’re not a girl-next-door.

If you are an Englishwoman, as you say, then you’re even more of a treacherous creature than he had first assumed. Dismissive of the spates of blood spilt from your own countrymen at the hands of your Soviet husband and his ilk.

Surely you’re not attempting to fraternise with him. You cunning little whore. He’s not that stupid. He can so easily detect your attempts to manipulate him. First with your body, then your eyes, now your tongue. You’re not subtle, not even slightly.

Yet as he glares at you, wordless, regardless of how adept he is at identifying your influence – he finds that he is not immune to it.

Not when you look at him like that, fluttering eyelashes over your glittering stare; so frightened of him, and yet so willing to challenge him.

Not when he catches glimpses at the shadows that follow you, at their reflections in your fretful eyes, their silhouettes so perplexingly familiar.

One question from you, one answer, and his long anticipated and carefully planned assault begins to waver. Proven now, especially, by the fact he is riddled with questions he feels compelled to ask you. A pathetic interest in determining who you are. What you are.

But he gleans one thing from you, from your artful balance of fearfulness and bravery, of submission and retaliation.

You’ve played this game before.

Before he has the opportunity to respond, an impatient clatter echoes out from the door behind him. His gaze lingers on you as he listens to it open, the shrieking of old steel hinges resonating in the empty room. You jump at the noise. Your façade of confidence is quick to slough off from you.

“Hey hey,” greets the visitor, intonation so casual he utters it as though they had crossed paths on a walk in the park.

Commander Graves.

Later than he had been expected to join you. He watches your eyes dart from him to the American, who eventually closes the door. Too arrogant to lock it.

“’Bout fuckin’ time.” Ghost grumbles.

Your pupils widen at his arrival, glistening black voids that anxiously track his every movement. You shrink in your seat. He senses the swift acceleration of your delicate heartbeat.

Poor thing.

Ghost knows what Graves is here for. By the look on your face, you do too.

With not one, but two fifteen-litre water jugs in tow, the kind intended for drink coolers, he dumps them onto the vinyl floor beside the table. Seems like he’s being purposefully loud with them, threatening water sloshing around noisily in their plastic chambers as he drops them.

Ghost watches as he saunters in your direction with an affected swagger, thumbs tucked into his beltloops. His lips pucker to sing out a low whistle. A real show pony, the yank.

“Jee-zus,” He jeers, donning a snide grin. “Look at you.”

You flinch like a spooked animal, resorting to your silent nature now that you are outnumbered, the prey you are. Your wide glare follows him, glued to him as he comes to a stop in front of you.

With a gloved hand, he grabs hold of your face by your cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker as he moves your head about to inspect your features.

“No fuckin’ wonder you went solo to grab this one,” he chortles, swivelling on his heel to present your face to Ghost like a prize catch. “I get it, man.”

Ghost bounces his knee. Impatient. Irritated. He rolls his eyes.

He feels the need to busy himself as Graves continues his lecherous inspection of you, irked by the shamelessness of his needlessly grabby attention. So he pushes himself to stand, huffing in frustration.

And you, poor girl, you catch his eye. You say nothing but your stare speaks for you. Have you decided he’s the lesser of two evils, hm?

He keeps your gaze, down his nose, as he lumbers towards the corner of the room. He turns his back to you. You won’t find any help in him.

Takes of his snow jacket. Slips off his gloves. Prepares. Listens.

“Look at me,” Graves growls at you, through an audible sneer. “Not him, me.”

You let out a quiet yelp. He must have hurt you. Ghost doesn’t turn to check.

“Mhm,” he drones. “Open your mouth.”

“Open it.”

“‘Atta girl.”

“Fuck... what a goddamn waste.”

“Alright. Gimme a hand, buddy, before I get ahead of myself.”

Ghost rolls his head on his shoulders, stretching out his neck to the point of hearing his tendons crack with the strain. For something he had been itching for, fervently anticipating for the days leading up to your capture – he is confronted with an eagerness to get it over and done with.

And he’s unsettled by a distaste, an acrid bitterness that swells in his mouth at the brazen piggishness of that American mercenary.

Still, duty calls.

So he returns to you, tossing the keys to your cuffs to Graves when he gestures for them with his open hand. Observes with crossed arms as he kneels beside you, deftly unlocking the cuffs with the tiny keys and prying open the steel looped around your ankle.

Yet you surprise him, again – the second both of your feet are free, you wind back your knee, hurling the heel of your foot down into the side of Graves’s head with as much force as your shaky legs can muster. Lands square in his temple with a dull thud, and a shriek of your chair jolting back on the linoleum floor.

He stumbles back with a furious grunt, cupping the impact. Whimpers like a wounded dog. “Sonofabitch.”

Ghost only observes; he should intervene, but he finds himself crudely entertained. He can see in your wide eyes, that burgeoning fight. Can scent the adrenaline beating though your blooming arteries, as you prepare to land another kick – leaning back in your seat, wrists still bound, you fling your legs recklessly in Graves’s direction for the brief moment he takes to recover from your first blow.

He’s almost envious.

You didn’t put up this much of a fight when he hunted you down. Really, you gave him no fight at all. Handed yourself to him wrapped in a bow. He had no chance to relish in your attempts to combat him, to let you throw your blows, to watch your tenacity fizzle out once he inevitably overpowered you.

So he watches. Knowing the cocky American left the door to the cell unlocked, he steps casually towards it. Pre-emptively blocking your exit, anticipating that you might slip past the mercenary after you land your second kick.

And you do, right in the collarbone. Far too easily. Aren’t you a slippery little thing?

Graves roars as you evade him; “Motherfucker!”

You bolt towards the door, ducking down to evade Graves’s clumsy attempt to apprehend you amidst his frustrated cursing. And as tempted as Ghost is to let you flee, if only for the thrill of hunting you again – he intercepts you with his swinging arm, hooking you by the waist and lifting you off the floor, you nearly break in half over his forearm with your momentum.

A heart wrenching shriek erupts from your chest as he wrestles to restrain you; you writhe around franticly in his grip, bucking and kicking in every desperate effort to break free from his capture. But you fail, of course, sweet thing – and as he had hoped and predicted your resilience is quick to falter.

He reels you into his chest, pinning your back to him with both heaving arms as your wriggling subsides. Keeps your feet off the floor, your legs dangle as you swing your heels backwards to get a few final kicks in, landing futilely in his padded shins.

“That was stupid,” he growls.

He feels you deflate in his arms, falling limp, and the jolt of your ribcage as you let out a pained sob. With his mouth by your ear, knitted mask pressing into your unkempt hair, he snarls, under his breath;

“You want to survive, yeah?”

Your breathing is panicked, erratic, your lungs expand shakily under his control. He knows you have submitted. That you have resigned to your ruin. But in some primal greed, a refusal to release his freshly caught quarry, he cannot yet set you down again.

“Don’t you?”

You nod, sheepishly, he feels the movement of your head against his collarbone.

He huffs, exasperated, angry. “Then fuckin’ behave.”

And you nod, again. Good girl. You wriggle, just slightly, a polite request to be let go. But – you're so soft, so pliant, so warm. There’s something addicting in the aroma of your perfume and sweat, roses and musk, as he constrains you so close to him; a concoction of the sweetly feminine and the raw and animal, it fills him with a hunger that threatens to overpower his better judgement.

But he sets you down – forces himself to, as Graves impatiently marches towards you, after having finally locked the cell door.

And while Ghost still has a grip on your upper arm, ensuring your quiescence – Graves lunges with a closed fist, clubbing you in the cheek with a wholly unwarranted ferocity; a sucker punch, the kind of assault Ghost holds an enormous contempt for. A fucking coward’s move.

You crumble immediately after the strike, knees buckling as you keel over; knocked out so cold not even a squeak escapes you on impact. But he keeps you upright with his grasp of your arm, heaving you upwards until your strength returns to your legs.

Disapproval leaps from Ghost’s throat before he has the opportunity to second guess himself. “Fuck’s sake, Graves.”

“Evil little bitch,” Graves growls, shrugging dismissively, shaking out his fist as if he had hurt his soft knuckles.

Ghost glares at him with pungent scorn, but swallows his urge to lash out any further than his already humiliating impulse. Why would he feel the inclination to safeguard you at all?

While you’re still dazed, the soles of your feet struggling to find any grip on the floor, Graves reaches for the dropped cuffs. They chime shrilly as they shake in his grip, he moves to grab your ankles while you have no capacity to deter him. He cuffs them together, needlessly tight, your skin turns white under the wrenching pressure of the steel incising into your flesh.

With another petulant growl of fury, Graves dabs the growing welt on his temple; the one you gave him, you wild little thing. “Got one hell of a kick, I’ll give ‘er that,” he grumbles. “Just gonna make this part more fun, though, eh?”

Your dwindling fire beaten out of you, you put up no fight as Graves heaves you up by your legs, and the two men haul you to the steel table. You’re conscious, at least, a winded yelp shooting out from your lungs as they drop you onto the cold surface.

“Alright, missy,” Graves barks, cadence once again returning to its characteristic, painfully cloying nonchalance. “Time to start talkin’.”

You attempt to curl up on the table, blinking slowly and groaning in either pain or confusion – likely both, poor creature. Graves moves to one of the other nondescript surfaces in the hollow room, returning with a towel, ragged and cut raw on the edges – a tired scrap, that had been used for this purpose, many times over. Probably had the screams of its last victims still trapped in its frayed fibres.

“Here ya go,” he chimes, leaning over the head of the table, clutching you by the bare shoulder and pushing you to lie flat. He lays the towel over your face, covered entirely, pulled into the contours of your nose and mouth as you breathe deeply underneath it. “Covers up that bruise nicely, huh?”

Ghost merely stands at your feet, fixated while Graves busies himself in preparation for your suffering. Listens to your quiet, delirious whimpering as you come to more lucid consciousness.

“You can ask the questions, Riley,” the mercenary continues, as he heaves one of the gargantuan water bottles from the floor by the table. “You know what I’m better at.”

Right. The questions.

In truth, the veneer of this endeavour acting as an interrogation is thin and unadorned. They don’t anticipate you will have answers to many, if any, of the questions they might have for you. No, your husband is the source of truth. You, a witness, at most.

What you’re here for, is just this. To be hurt. To be frightened. To emerge shaken and scarred, for the sole purpose of leverage. A cat’s-paw to wring further information from your husband, should he remain stiff-lipped.

A war crime, of course. But not his first. Nor his last. A quotidian necessity in his line of work – operating in the realm of shadows, his transgressions are welcomed by the dark. We get dirty, as the Captain reminds him, and the world stays clean.

Dirty, he will get, if he needs to. Now, more than ever. With the lives of millions on the line, at the many filthy hands of both your husband and his confederates. You are merely a tool. And he’ll use you as one.

Besides, he tells himself, you’re a prudent little thing. It would not surprise him if you were indeed more aware of your husband’s sins than you have so far let on. And, as you say, you want to survive.

So, for your own sake, you’d better talk.

“We need to know where the gas is manufactured,” Ghost finally says, voice low, throaty, a near growl. “Factories, labs, all of it.”

A muffled cry emerges from you, he watches your ribcage shudder as you struggle to suck down a breath amidst your sobs.

“Cryin’s not gonna get you anywhere, doll,” Graves chides, as he impatiently twists off the cap to the cooler jug.

You whimper. “I don’t know. I don’t – I don’t know what gas you’re talking about. Or about any factories, I don’t know. Please, I don’t–”

You sound honest. Desperate.

“I dunno! I dunno!” Graves mocks, sing-song tone rich with amused derision, “why do they always start with that? It never works, y’know?”

Another sob, animal, raw, it’s almost abrasive to hear. “I don’t! I really – please! I–”

Too eager, Graves cuts you off as he tips the jug above your covered face. The stream of water is unsteady, glugging and sputtering as it spills from its blue mouth, splashing into the towel and spilling over either side.

With his free hand keeping your head still, a controlling palm on the side of your face, there’s very little you can do to escape the drowning stream of cold water. And it’s not long before you begin to writhe, bucking and squirming, flailing your body in any way you can to escape the suffocation.

Ghost is compelled to pin you down, a wide hand pushing your bound wrists into your soft stomach, the other at the top of your thigh, close enough to your hips to limit most of your movement. You kick with your free leg, still fighting. Sucking in what short, squealing breaths you can amidst the inconsistency of the waterfall.

It’s never been a difficult watch for Ghost. Far from his first waterboarding. If anything, he’s hardened to it. Bored by it. And of all people, the very object of his most visceral and blistering hatred, he expected to thoroughly enjoy spectating your torture. Anticipated he’d be the one drowning you, not the one holding you down.

But there’s something especially sick about it. How the icy water saturates your lingerie, rendering the thin pink fabric even more sheer than it already had been. How the gooseflesh spikes across your bare skin, your nipples stiffening with the sudden cold, plainly visible in their silk cups. How the veil of your negligee is pulled up by the hands pressed into your stomach, exposing your belly, displaying the lacy little knickers you wear underneath, so close to his controlling hand. How Graves lets his overly indulgent glare linger on the bouncing of your breasts as you writhe while you suffocate, that sneer curling in his maw.

It repulses him.

Graves finally deems the first pour to have persisted long enough, lifting the bottle upright and balancing it on the edge of the table. He plucks the saturated fabric from your mouth, folding it over your nose – and you immediately vacuum in a heaving breath through your open lips, relentless dry coughs interrupting your attempts to inhale.

“There’s a lot more water here, honey,” He gloats, “and if I run out, I can get more.”

Another wail, cuts like a knife. “No, no, please, I–”

“It’d be my pleasure,” he persists, chuckling to himself. “Sure don’t mind watching those tits of yours jiggling ‘round.”

You sob, audible disgust wet in your throat. Ghost merely glowers at him. Finds himself similarly revolted by the mercenary’s crude cruelty.

“You’ve got to give us something.” Ghost murmurs coarsely, returning to the objective.

As though momentarily pacified by his voice in particular, your breathing steadies enough to form a coherent sentence. “I-I don’t know about any factories. Or labs. But V-Victor travelled a lot. There – there were a few places he went to all the time.”

“Where.” He demands. “All of them. Where.”

You sniff, swallowing the sob that almost interrupts you. “I – uh – I think, Moscow, Verdansk – um, I can’t remember, the third one – uh – somewhere in Kastovia–”

The mercenary, the prick, mutes you mid-sentence, unfolding the towel to cover your mouth once again, tilting the jug to pour more icy water overtop of you. You shriek in dispute before the stream hits you, silenced by its gushing, you quickly begin your convulsing as you drown under the cascade.

“Fuck’s sake, just let her talk.” Ghost roars, a fuming command.

“She was stalling,” Graves groans in dispute, but is quick to relent, halting the pour.

He eventually frees your mouth from the choking towel. At first you simply cry, hardly able to suck in a breath between your eager sobs. Ghost can feel you trembling under his restraint. You must be cold.

“Where in Kastovia?” Ghost insists.

Perhaps you’re delirious. Your first response is merely a whimper.

“Mia,” he prods.

You swallow a quivering breath, shallow and unstable. “It – it’s only a small town, I think, he – he only mentioned it once. I can’t – I can’t remember. I swear, I can’t.”

Ghost lets out an exasperated sigh. Frustrated that he believes you.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly concedes. “Where did he go most often? Where did he spend the most time?”

“Verdansk,” you answer quickly, obediently. “He – he’s there f-for weeks at a time. But I don’t know if he, if he stays in the city.”

“No?”

“He brings – he packs gear, I don’t know. Boots and s-shit – not suits. He usually w-wears suits.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care about your husband’s wardrobe, Mia.”

You groan, in panic or frustration, he cannot tell. “I mean – I just mean, when he travels to b-big cities, for business, he only packs suits. But only Verdansk – only when he says he’s going to V-Verdansk, he brings h-his utility stuff.”

“For business,” Graves scoffs, finding humour in your euphemism. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

“What does he do there? What business, eh?” Ghost questions.

Only a whine. “I – I don’t know.”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“He doesn’t tell me! I can only guess, I can only t-tell you what I can guess. You’ve d-done your research, I can’t tell you anything y-you don’t already know.”

Graves lets out an irate grunt. “Yada, yada,” he mutters, covering your mouth, returning to the routine.

“No, nonono, please–” you plead, muted by the damp cloth, and silenced by another waterfall. The stream is steady now that the jug is half-empty, pouring cleanly over your mouth and nose, right on target, giving you no gaps in which to inhale nor exhale.

Your soft body contorts on the hard table, its steel legs rattle with the vigorousness of your resistance – kicking, twisting, arching, flailing – all in vain, as Graves does not ease up.

“Okay–” Ghost barks, urgently, feeling your struggle begin to wane, your muscles weaken and stiffen as the cascade persists its unrelenting suffocation.

Graves ignores him, seemingly determined to empty the bottle, he tips it steeper to continue the steady pour.

You start to go limp, purposeful wriggling turning into frail convulsions.

“Jesus – Graves!” Ghost finally roars, releasing his restraint of you to barrel towards the mercenary, viciously tearing the jug from his grip and hurling it carelessly to the far side of the room. It leaves a torrent of water in its path and sends a splash up the wall when it lands with a loud bounce. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill her, you fucking idiot.”

“Far out, Ghost, who fuckin’ cares?” Graves retorts vexedly, but raises his palms to prevent further altercation.

Agitated, furious, Ghost savagely shoves him in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards. “We need her alive.”

“She’s fine, Jesus Christ,” Graves insists, still upright, to Ghost’s ire, he points to you on the table.

Briefly glancing over his shoulder, he sees you reach slowly for the towel over your head, with your bound hands, pulling it aside to allow yourself to breathe.

“Fucking mercenaries,” Ghost mutters, a growl under his breath.

Graves rolls his eyes. “What, we’re too efficient? Practical? Did you want me to fuckin’ wine and dine her beforehand?”

“Reckless,” Ghost spits, correcting him. “And fucking shameless.”

“Oh, please, don’t you high-road me, Riley. I’ve heard the stories.”

Ghost lumbers towards him, then, chest puffed, tall enough to intimidate without needing to utter a single threat.

“Fuck off back to your Shepherd,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. “Tell ‘em she’s good to go.”

#call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost cod #bella-writes

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lohotine · 3 months ago

Text

``Philophobia``

Shadow Milk x Truthless Recluse

(Author's notes at the end, not heavily proof read)

"The moon is quite beautiful tonight. Is it not?"

When had he appeared on the balcony?

Perhaps he had been there even before the blonde had, though only choosing to show himself now.

After all, he can do whatever he pleases in his domain.

"There isn't a moon cycle here. It looks the same every night."

But it was quite nice..

"Ah, of course! Silly me, how could I forget?"

The most simple explanation was that he hadn't. Shadow Milk Cookie was never the type to simply "forget."

He obviously came here for some reason, but Pure Vanilla currently lacked the patience to deal with him.

Pure Vanilla sighed and looked down, strands of golden hair falling onto his face. "If there isn't a reason for this talk, I'll be heading to bed."

He began to leave without a response; and for some reason, Shadow Milk seemed to be allowing it.

How odd.

Pure Vanilla stood in front of the balcony door, fixated on the silver handle.

Stunning engravements were carved on it. They were, though he only reluctantly admitted it, quite intricate. The moonlight found its way to accompany the little design in a way that elevated it greatly.

He found it hard to believe that Shadow Milk had paid such close attention to something so... pointless.

As Pure Vanilla turned the handle (or attempted to) and saw that the door had not budged, it became evident that Shadow Milk was not keen on having him leave so easily.

That explains the unusually passive behavior...

Pure Vanilla said nothing.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Come back here. I just want to talk to you."

His tone sounded like he was speaking to a dog. It was absolutely degrading, and Pure Vanilla hated every moment of it. Yet...

Pure Vanilla walked back to the railing of the balcony.

What else would he do?

Another silence engulfed them.

"What do you want?"

Shadow Milk clicks his tongue. "Oh my, such hostility! I've barely done anything yet..."

The blonde wishes to rip that blue jester to shreds... or at the very least send him a repulsive glare.

Though, he resists these urges and instead keeps his gaze fixated on the moon.

He thinks looking at his tormentor will only make him more angry.

"I was just bored. Didn't feel like torturing your friends. Black Sapphire's busy, and I... can't be bothered to deal with Candy Apple."

Ah, he recognized that name. She certainly was loud.

Pure Vanilla overheard from one of her fan-girling rambling sessions that Shadow Milk's original home was the dark side of the moon.

Well, he technically had already been aware of that fact... but it only reocurred to him now.

Pure Vanilla continued staring at the full moon.

Behind this beautiful face was a dark and cold plane of existence.

It was undoubtedly lonely...

Was that place really what Shadow Milk called home?

"Do you miss it?"

Shadow Milk looks at him, confused.

"...What?"

Pure Vanilla's gaze never falls from that ethereal celestial body. "Your home."

And though the response is thoroughly lacking, Shadow Milk seems to understand.

And he laughs at the thought.

"Why would I ever miss a place like that? It's boring, and..."

Pure Vanilla's gaze meets his own.

How could I miss that place when my other half resides here?

"And it's empty."

Not technically a lie. Everything does feel abnormally dull and utterly lacking when he is not with Pure Vanilla.

Surely it's just because he owns part of his soul jam..?

"I can imagine," Pure Vanilla would say.

You can't. Isolation is devastating.

But he took the comfort anyway. "Being here is much better. Especially since I get to be here with my other half~" Shadow Milk grinned with an impudent look.

"I am not your other half-"

Shadow Milk places a finger in front of his lips. "Shh. You've been talking too much today." Shadow Milk continued to bask in the silence, gazing absent mindedly at the multicolor eyes.

Shadow Milk feels himself staring a bit too much, but... it's just to annoy Pure Vanilla, right?

And when he moves his hand up to cup his face, that too is surely just to annoy the other..

"You've been staring for quite some time now," Pure Vanilla says. He's met only with a small hum. Shadow Milk remains as shameless as ever with his staring.

Then, he looks at the key design that adorns his robes. "So, Pure Vanilla- oh, I guess you go by Truthless Recluse now, huh?"

Shadow Milk struggles momentarily to come up with a fun nickname for that.

"I think I'll just continue saying Nilly. You're fine with that, right?"

"No. I never said-"

Shadow Milk gently tucks a strand of the other's hair behind their ear, interrupting them.

It's only after the sudden silence that he realizes how intimate the action was.

Ah, how shameful! A beast should never have been caught dead doing something like that...

"Um-" Shadow Milk shakily removes his hand from the others cheek. "The point is.."

He diverts his gaze so quickly it's almost embarrassing. Just mere moments ago, he had been so keen on messing with the other!

Why was he the one getting blushy instead?

Pure Vanilla just remained silent; watching the spectacle with, albeit only slight, amusment.

"Oh? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong- I just..."

Got flustered? Became overwhelmed? He couldn't admit to such humiliating emotions!

Pure Vanilla slowly placed his palm against the other's, and though it's cold to the touch, he remains there all the same.

"I must say, I never thought you were the type to get embarrassed over things like this."

When had he become so bold!?! And since when was he the one in control of the situation?

"Just what do you think you're doing..."

Pure Vanilla's gaze softens. It must have been extremely lonely being trapped all of those years if such a simple action was enough to get him like this.

And an action that he himself initiated, nonetheless.

"Nothing that you haven't already done to me."

Pure Vanilla gently interlaces his fingers with the others.

How strange... Why was he entertaining something like this?

Then he brings his other hand up to the others cheek; just as Shadow Milk had done to him moments ago.

Pure Vanilla's touch was light; as if it were a ghost...

And yet- Shadow Milk's entire body felt like it was burning.

He absolutely despised it...

But oh... how he wished to remain like this for just a little while longer.

And perhaps move a little bit closer?

Oh, what was he thinking? He couldn't possibly think that this... feeling... was anything good.

And so, suddenly, Shadow Milk feels himself move away.

He can't allow himself to become vulnerable infront of someone like him.

Or anyone, really.

But especially him...

"Ahaha! I've decided to spare you of my... annoyances today. You can go do whatever it is that you wish to do now-"

He knows the other must notice how flushed his face is; and he prays with all of his soul --(or perhaps lack thereof?) that he'd just ignore it.

It was strange, though. Wasn't Shadow Milk lonely? Shouldn't he want this?

I mean, he does...

He really

really

does.

And yet, he still moves away.

Pure Vanilla says nothing as he watches the other disappear, becoming one with the shadows and escaping to who knows where.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't the tiniest bit disappointed about him leaving.

Shadow Milk; ever the lonely soul.

Won't you let him help you?

And as Pure Vanilla gazes from the balcony; hand still in the air. (Why is it still in the air? Is he waiting for something?)

He thinks;

You may be the greatest liar that this world has ever seen,

but you will always remain the biggest coward.

AN:

Originally, this was just supposed to be an X reader fic, but these two have been rotting my brain... (I said I wouldn't do a character x character, but I just love them so much!)

I really tried to capture them well, but looking back on it now, I think SMC would have been more desperate for PV'S understanding.

(But oh well, this depiction of him isn't the worst, right? Still desperate enough, I hope?)

I know chapter 8 didn't confirm that the two of them were romantic, and I understand that they are by no means a healthy ship!

(Any ship with SMC isn't healthy, let's be real)

But I just really wanted to experiment with their interactions and I hope I did the complicated emotions surrounding them some justice.

This is probably a one time thing, but if you REALLY want more, you can send me a request and I can probably make something... I have some ideas floating around-

But yeah, I understand if this isn't your thing- anyway BYE.

[Lohotine OUT]

#crk #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #shadownilla #milkshake crk #shadownilla crk #pure vanilla x shadow milk #pure vanilla x shadow milk cookie #pv x smc crk #truthless recluse x shadow milk #shadow milk x truthless recluse #shadow milk x pure vanilla #shadow milk x pure vanilla crk #cookie run fanfic #shadow milk cookie x pure vanilla #pure vanilla cookie x shadow milk #pure vanilla x shadow milk crk #pure vanilla x shadow milk cookie crk

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coolestzed · 1 year ago

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Alright, I’ve been holding this inside for years but I’m finally gonna say it.

Misako haters are actually fucking annoying at this point.

They always were to me, but now, they’re just OBJECTIVELY an annoyance. And they need to STOP.

They take literally ANY chance to slander her, even when it’s completely unwarranted. Like, I’d just look at a picture of her on Pinterest, and there’d be multiple comments going "the world’s worst mother". Or I’d see content about Koko and there’d always be comments comparing her and Misako and going like "Koko way better fuck Misako".

I’d even see a fucking meme and people would slander Misako. Like they couldn’t resist.

And that’s not even mentioning his people constantly make her seem way worse than she actually is. Im not gonna quote everything, but basically they act like she never does good things for Lloyd. That she doesn’t care about him at all! And it’s just- so WILDY out of character!! And it’s the same vice versa! I saw a funny Ninjago video the other day with a "your mom" joke and someone in the comments was like "jokes on you, Lloyd would never call Misako mom". I’m just?????? Yes he DOES????? ALL THE TIME???

People just act like their relationship is nonexistent! Like they don’t care about each other, or that Misako doesn’t care about Lloyd! Which is OBVIOUSLY not true!

People claim that she disappears every other season but the only seasons she was absent in are 12 and 13. Also, she has a job. She goes on expeditions. Obviously she’s not there 100% of the time. And she and Lloyd clearly spend time together off screen.

People don’t even acknowledge the reason why she left in the first place. They act like she dropped him off at a boarding school and dipped to take a vaycay. She was literally trying to stop her husband and son from having to fight to the death. You ever think about that? You ever think about how SHE felt in the situation? With her husband being consumed by evil and later being banished, and learning that he and their son would have to fight each other? She was HORRIFIED and GRIEVING! Ultimately she did it to save her family. It doesn’t make leaving Lloyd right but it’s understandable.

But apparently not to almost all of the fandom.

Most of y’all, completely ignore that, and everything else that came after season 2.

Misako constantly being worried about Lloyd in Tournament of Elements and Possession.

Both of them spending Day of the Departed together.

Her getting/building the Destiny’s Shadow as a birthday gift for Lloyd.

How she supported, fought beside, and risked her life for Lloyd in Hunted.

How she wanted to stay and fight with him during MoTO but only went inside because Lloyd urged her to protect the civilians.

Not to mention just their general interactions. THEY’RE ALWAYS HAPPY TO SEE EACH OTHER!!! Do you know how many times they hug?!

And this dialogue here:

"Aren’t you going to kiss your mother goodbye?"

"Mooom, we've-we've talked about this-"

WHAT MORE PROOF DO YOU NEED?!

Lloyd and Misako have a good, healthy and loving relationship. Misako has long since made up for her mistake and they’ve moved on.

Yet THE FANDOM REFUSES TO!!!

EVERYONE, TO THIS DAY, STILL TREATS HER LIKE THE FUCKING DEVIL!!!

I CAN’T EVEN COUNT THE NUMBER OF TIMES PEOPLE HAVE HAD OVERDRAMATIC TANTRUMS FROM HER JUST EXISTING.

IT MAKES ME SO UNREASONABLY ANGRY.

AND THE FACT THAT I’VE SOMEHOW BEEN SEEING EVEN MORE MISAKO HATE DURING AND AFTER MOTHERS DAY IS ACTUALLY APPALLING.

NOT EVEN FUCKING ENDEAVOR FROM MHA GETS THIS MUCH HATE AND HE’S DONE MUCH WORSE TO HIS FAMILY.

IT. HAS. BEEN. OVER. 16. SEASONS. AND. A. MOVIE.

GET. OVER. IT.

*deep breath*

Look, she’s not perfect. Obviously. She fucked up. But who in this series hasn’t? She came back, and she’s made sure to be a better mother to Lloyd. He forgave her, and they have a good relationship now. They’re close.

She wouldn’t be as hated if the writers didn’t do her dirty. Her introduction wasn’t handled the best, and having her and Lloyd have a more in depth discussion would’ve made the reunion and forgiveness feel less rushed and forced. That love triangle with Wu and Garmadon certainly didn’t do her any favors either. 😑

Regardless, her character’s gotten better over the seasons. Again, she and Lloyd and close and have a good relationship.

But hardly anyone acknowledges that, almost everyone in the fandom hyper fixates on that one mistake from years ago. They don’t pay attention to anything else. Like how she’s a better mother, or how she’s just a generally good person.

You aren’t supposed to judge characters or irl people solely on their past mistakes. Especially when they’ve already made up for them. Thats why the "Misako’s a horrible mother" statement is always bullshit to me.

Seriously, Misako’s been a part of Lloyd’s life longer than she’s been absent from it at this point.

The amount of passionate, unforgiving hate she gets is so undeserved and over the top. Too many people are projecting their own issues onto her. Or just being plain hateful. It’s not fair to define her entire character on a single mistake that she’s long made up for.

And it’s definitely not fair to people that actually like Misako. Often times on the few positive posts about her, there’d be Misako haters in the notes or reblogs complaining about her or insulting her, or just stating they hate her but love the content. And that is completely uncool and rude. It’s so unnecessary. You don’t do that, that’s so shitty. The again Misako haters have a habit of spouting unnecessary hate. Like it’s a terminal condition they have.

So, please, for the love of god, COOL IT. Stop and think, try to ACTUALLY look at her character without the veil of blind hatred.

If you still dislike or hate her, fine! But if you’re gonna detest her, at least hate her as she is and don’t make her worse than she actually is to justify hating her more.

And PLEASE stop bashing her at every turn, it’s annoying, upsetting, unwarranted, unnecessary, and just not good.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#ninjago #ninjago misako #misako garmadon #rant post #I may revive backlash for this #I don’t care #I’m so fucking done with this fandom #the hate is actually so ridiculous #y’all can live without constantly putting down a misunderstood character #Misako Defender For Life

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cannebady · 5 months ago

Text

feel the thought of love again

Read on AO3.

Unfortunately, the fallout from that shitshow of a trial isn't limited to Stolas and Blitzø.

Fizz had woken up that morning in love and confident that day; feeling as he usually did existing in the most supportive relationship of his life. Little did he know that Ozzie's actions, or lack thereof, just a scant few hours later would shake some of that confidence to it's core. He's still in love, and Fizz has to believe in the kind of love that can jump hurdles, but he can't ignore that his partner did shit-all when called upon to save Blitzø's life. They're working on it, and he's cautiously optimistic they they'll be fine in the long run, but he knows now that the differences between them run deep.

He remembers being stuck in that cage with Blitzø, listening to him lament about Stolas's ignorance and fuck if he doesn't get it now. While Ozzie has worked through a number of his inherent classist beliefs, there are latent ones that run deep and he showed that on the biggest stage with the highest stakes. The same stage where another royal, Stolas, had shown the exact opposite. Oh how the tables have turned.

He and Blitzø have texted since then, of course they have. As soon as the broadcast ended and Fizz had come back to himself enough to remember he had fingers and a phone, he'd texted Blitzø into the wee hours of the morning, hanging on every response, as few and far between as they'd been, so that he could fall into a fitful sleep. He'd needed proof of life and maybe some facsimile of comfort after nearly having to watch him fucking die. But, it's been weeks since then and he hasn't been able to convince himself to go and actually see Blitzø.

He'd planned to. Fuck the entire night of the trial he'd been fighting the urge to leave and run to Blitzø's side immediately and had only stopped when Blitzø had confirmed that Stolas was alive and with him. Fizz had wanted to give them time to settle in and by the time he woke the next morning he'd had to set aside time to have a screaming fight with Ozzie that left him feeling hollowed out and nearly as lonely as he had when his lungs stilled burned with smoke and he was four limbs down.

Back then, he'd always felt like Blitzø had abandoned him after the fire. He'd mentally railed against him for setting the blaze and leaving Fizz to deal with the consequences himself like a coward, and while there is some truth there, Blitzø had admittedly given up trying after being turned away (thank you Cash Buckzo and your A+ parenting), after this experience, Fizz is starting to understand Blitzø a little better. It's far harder than Fizz would've thought to make yourself face a reality you're not ready for, even if that reality is that your former and also sort-of current best friend is alive and well. Maybe if that were all, it wouldn't be so hard, but Fizz had to come to terms with multiple unfortunate truths that night. The first being that his partner wasn't the fool-proof, knight in shining armor he thought he was. The second is a bit more complicated to align with his reality.

A reality, where, for example, your decades-lapsed crush on your best friend is falling less into the category of lapsed and further into the category of rekindled and primed to fuck up your life.

Who would've thunk that they could make this even more complicated than it was after the fire?

There's Ozzie to consider, who Fizz may be furious with but he still loves so deeply, and fuck, now there's Stolas too. Stolas who gave up fucking everything to save Blitzø in front of every denizen of Hell, the Goetia, and the Sins in a stunt so tragically romantic that it's on par with Ozzie's public declaration of his love and their relationship less than a year ago. That's not even to mention the fact that Blitzø is clearly in love with Stolas too and certainly not hung up on any former jesters he may or may not have blown up in the past.

His head thunks on his pillow and he groans to the air of the room because whoowee does he know how to fuck up a wet dream.

Not having a grueling rehearsal schedule since giving Mammon his middle finger has left him with entirely too much time to think and not nearly enough bullshit to distract himself with on a random Wednesday afternoon. That's when the thought first coalesces.

Maybe today is the day.

Maybe today he'll go and see IMP for the first time and confirm that Blitzø is alive and well.

Maybe Blitzø will be his usual boisterous and borderline insufferable self and it'll be the final nail in the coffin this crush needs.

Yeah, that's it. That's the plan. He's been churning around an idealized Blitzø from when they were kids in his head and letting it take up residence in his heart. As soon as he sees the reality, his crush will recede back to its rightful tomb and he'll be able to move on and he'll have the satisfaction of seeing that his best friend is just fine with his own two eyes. They'll be friends and nothing more. No complicated feelings as far as the eye can see.

It's perfect.

Fizz spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to pick an outfit before ultimately choosing something comfy (because who's he trying to impress, right? He's giving himself side-eye at this point.) and calling one of Ozzie's cars to bring him to Pride. In just under an hour he's sitting in a coffee shop a block down from IMP waiting for his order (a heinously sweet concoction for himself and an iced coffee for Blitzø) and reevaluating all of his life choices.

They call his name for the order, both his and Blitzø's coffee getting a smiley face on the cup (and he understands his, but Blitzø's?), and head's out and face the challenge. The car is waiting outside, and will be nearby until he wants to head back to Lust, but he decides to walk. Take the opportunity to figure out what the fuck he's actually going to say.

For the millionth time in the last hour he thinks that he should've texted Blitzø to make sure it was a good time, but he knew that he'd chicken out the minute he opened the text chat, so he's winging it. They've known each other since they were kids, they've reconnected after the deepest traumas tore them apart, surely dropping in unannounced can be forgiven, right? (And it isn't at all that he'd be heartbroken if he wasn't welcome right now. Not at all.)

The outside of the building, when he arrives, is a bit worse for the wear. It looks like it's been freshly plastered in some places, but overall it looks like it took a beating fairly recently, but he's not entirely sure if that's related to the trial or just one of the many charms of Imp City. It's impossible not to notice, however, that the building (and most around it) are absolutely covered in graffiti of Blitzø's name and it occurs to Fizz, for the first time, that all of Hell saw the trial. There were articles about the employees of IMP, and their fearless leader, being the only imps to ever survive a run-in with the Sins, but it isn't until now that Fizz realizes that Blitzø went from being down on his luck to a veritable people's hero overnight.

Fizz is still famous, but Blitzø has some notoriety in his own right now. Something warm settles in him at that. Blitzø has made mistakes (but they're in Hell, who hasn't?), but he's worked hard for what he has and Fizz is happy for him. Happy that he's getting some positive recognition for once. Happy that perhaps there will be something to fight the self-hatred that's taken root and simmered in his friend since they were children.

He decides he's dilly-dallied enough and pushes through the door into the building. He walks down the hallway and finds the sign for IMP. He immediately recognizes the art as Blitzø's style and, not for the first time since they reconnected, he's impressed by his friend's skill. Maybe clowning wasn't his forte, but he's always been creative in his own way, always been resourceful and powerful. This small bit of art shows that and he feels that same warm feeling settle again. Fizz thinks about knocking, but before he does, he takes a second to peep through the window and what he sees nearly resets his brain chemistry.

The inside of the office looks typical at first glance; just a small office with the typical office accoutrements (nothing like the penthouse he shares with Ozzie, dripping in erotic opulence), but on second look he realizes that the inside seems warm. It radiates a home-y feel, from the mismatched furniture to the fact that it's still decorated for Sinsmas, despite the holiday having passed. It's chaotic in a way that screams Blitzø, but that's not what stops Fizz in his tracks.

Front and center is what he assumes is the reception desk, manned by none other than Stolas, formerly of the Ars Goetia. Gone are his fancy clothes and fuckass hat. He's in a soft looking (admittedly cute as fuck) sweater and a basic set of trousers - regular clothes. Something not amiss on anyone in Imp City.

That, too, is not what sends him reeling.

It's what Blitzø is doing. The former prince looks close to tears as he stares at his phone; the look on his face is sad and nearly despondent. It's the look of someone who has lost everything and is hanging by a thread. But then there's Blitzø; brash, loud, chaotic Blitzø, who was nowhere when Fizz had that look on his face, who is gently rubbing Stolas's back with one hand, pushing a mug that reads "I'm a Hoot" in Blitzø's illegible handwriting towards the owl with the other, all while leaning his head nearly on the bird's shoulder and whispering so low Fizz can't hear. He may not be able to decipher the words, but his friend looking up at the bird like he alone set Blitzø's world spinning. And he just might have.

Fizz hasn't seen that look on Blitzø's face since they were teenagers, and now has the feeling that he understands something he likely missed when he was young. Blitzø used to look at him like that. And now he knows what it means.

Suddenly, peeping through the window seems like an invasion of privacy, like he's seeing something he shouldn't be. He breaks the tension by opening the door before he can talk himself out of it.

Stolas looks up first, four claret eyes meeting Fizz's across the lobby, and the way he immediately smooths his face into an indifferent mask sets Fizz's teeth on edge. It's partially deserved, considering they've only been in the same room once before and Fizz was publicly roasting Blitzø as Ozzie dragged Stolas through the mud, but he hates it all the same.

Sensing the change in the bird's demeanor, or more likely feeling him tense, Blitzø turns toward him and his jaw drops a little before splitting into a grin that gives Fizz stomach flutters like he's walking a high wire. The fact that Blitzø noticed him because of Stolas's reaction instead of his own entrance only burns him a little.

"Fizz!", Blitzø nearly yells, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

While he seems happy, Fizz also notices that Blitzø's eyes start anxiously darting around the office, and it looks like he's trying to decide if he should be embarrassed or not. That burns Fizz's a little too, that he's so far out of Blitzø's orbit that he feels like he needs to clean his life up to meet Fizz's standards. As if they didn't grow up in the same shitty tent in the same shitty circus under the same shitty circumstances.

Just wanted to see your dumb face, he should say. Just wanted to see how the lower half lives, is what he would've said a year ago.

What he does is so much worse. The whole situation closes in on him, the thought that he was moments from losing any chance at this moment, the fact that he went without Blitzø in his life for over a decade, the fact that he's possibly been in love with this jackass since he was ten and was more than likely loved in return for some part of that, that even after all the animosity Blitzø saved his life and then supported him without the promise of anything at all (and offering Fizz the knowledge that Blitzø blames himself, hates himself even), and it all weighs down on him at once. He feels the begrudging sting of tears and fuck this couldn't happen at a worse time.

He goes to take a breath in but he chokes and ends up wheezing, "I missed you," before looking down at the splotchy carpet and drowning in a maelstrom of emotions only Blitzø could evoke in him. Before he knows it, he feels himself ensconced in familiar, strong, warm arms.

The smell hits him next. There's so much about it that's familiar, cheap detergent and cheaper cologne, but there are newer layers like gunpowder and something that smells an awful lot like lavender preening oil (and doesn't that stir something awful and sweet in Fizz's chest?). In any version, it's like a blanket and Fizz is squeezing the life out of Blitzø before he knows it and gross crying into his shoulder. There's a thunk with a subsequent splash that Fizz registers in his periphery but couldn't be fucked to care about because Blitzø is alive and here and holding him and fuck.

"Fuck Fizz, you okay? You need me to call your big chicken?", and that just makes Fizz cry harder. Because sure, there's a part of him that'd love to bury his face in Ozzie's feathers and let his soothing touch lull him to sleep, but that feels like so much right now and this feels like everything too. Blitzø's voice is soft like he hasn't heard it in years, not since the Before when they were young and unfinished and the soft tone of Blitzø's voice came with the cracks of puberty.

All at once Fizz is relieved and furious. "You almost died you absolute asshole," Fizz's voices gives out into a whine and Blitzø snorts but holds him tighter, stroking his back like he's made of glass. He hates it and loves it and hates that he loves it.

"I didn't though! I'm right here. It's all good," Blitzø reassures, allowing a fucking purr to run beneath the words and the open vulnerability and intimacy makes Fizz want to scream and cry and maybe propose marriage. He hasn't heard that sound since before the fire.

He purrs back best he can, gravelly and uneven, and hears Blitzø breath in sharp, like he didn't expect it.

Everything is a bit hazy and they're lost in their own world. Vaguely, Fizz hears someone say, "I'll just grab these," before the he feels someone move near them to start to pick up what he dropped. The fucking coffees, he remembers. He'd intended to give Blitzø a coffee before he came here, which seems like a decision he made a thousand years ago for how slowly time is moving. Fizz moves to disengage and help clean up his mess, but he's promptly pulled back into the embrace (not that he minds at all) and realizes that Stolas is taking care of it.

This whole situation is weird and he feels like the bird is giving him major side-eye but he can't even be fucked to care because Blitzø is holding him so tight, holding him together, and he thinks he might've been craving this for fifteen years. It feels like maybe Blitzø was too.

Stolas looms over them for a second, whispers something to Blitzø, to which the imp nods, and then they're both shepherded over to the couch, still embracing, where Fizz promptly entangles himself with as much of Blitzø as possible. Cybernetic limbs wind around flesh and blood and it seems like they can't stop pulling the other closer, reveling in it.

The purring and back stroking is hypnotic, as is the feeling of their tails twisting together (Fizz tries hard not to think about other implications there because it is not the time and this moment is perfect, but the thought lingers), and Blitzø's reassuring whispers that he's here and they're fine start to calm Fizz's racing heartbeat. Time passes like syrup and Fizz has no idea how his eyes have been closed when he finally opens them.

He's wedged in the corner of the couch with Blitzø's back to the room and Fizz has a clear eyeline over Blitzø's shoulder to desk where Stolas is watching them passively. He can read in that gaze the exhaustion, the weariness, and the concern that lives under the surface. It's a familiar look. Fizz should know.

They make eye contact and he gets a terse smile from the owl. He gives one back, trying to convey "I'm sorry I was a dick to you in public" and "thank you for saving this asshole, he means the world to me" and "I'm sorry I might be in love with both your sort-of boyfriend and a deadly sin that would've let him die" with nothing but his eyes and teeth and thinks he might've gotten about 30% of it across before Stolas looks away pointedly.

Blitzø must be exhausted too, because Fizz feels him get heavier in his arms, feels his whispering taper off into tiny snores and sleepy purrs and Fizz realizes in that moment that he'll stay here all night holding him if he needs to. Hell, he's not sure he could leave if he was asked to. At the moment this is right where he wants to be.

There's a metric shit load of nonsense for them to work through, each layer more complicated than the next, but he's realizing that he's ready to do it.

His therapist is going to have a fucking field day when they meet the following week, but for now he'll hold his best friend (and guy he kind of maybe definitely loves) in the office of the business he built himself, in eye and earshot of the former prince who saved his life and sit in the complexity.

It feels good. It feels right.

Blitzø snuffles into Fizz's neck and something in that screams home in a way he's been searching for. Perhaps there's love enough in Hell for all of them. Perhaps there's a touch of redemption, too.

#helluva blitzo #blitzø #fizzarolli #fizzaroli helluva boss #Blitzfizz #Blitzarolli #fizzarozzie #Stolitz #Helluva boss

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eamour · 2 years ago

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daydreaming and imagining

when it comes to manifesting, people like to either daydream or imagine their desires which does sound like pretty much the same. nevertheless — it's not. daydreaming does not equal imagining, vice versa.

daydreaming

meaning · thinking of your desire

to daydream replaces the term "thinking of your desire". when you are daydreaming, you occupy a state of mind where you view yourself as well as your desire separated from each other. you could also say that you only pass through your desired state without truly embodying it and end up going back to your old dwelling state (wavering). you don't claim to have your desire, nor do you declare yourself to be in possession of it. you feel distant to it, almost as if it's impossible, unrealistic or illogical to achieve. you are desiring, aware of wanting your desire, craving and longing for the feeling, making you experience the lack of it. you feel uneasy about how your current reality looks like as you are waiting for some sort of movement or shift. you are dissatisfied about the present moment and view your manifestation as a target you need to aim for, perceiving it as a goal to attain. internally, you know that your desire hasn't been realised yet and wonder how it could possibly materialise. you analyse and examine your outer world a lot, judging it by its looks. you often ask yourself if your desires are ever gonna unfold. thus, you rely on the evidence of your senses, using the 3D as a tool to validate you. by waiting for its confirmation that you ask for so desperately, you automatically assign meaning and also power to the outer world. you let the physical world determine and dictate your mental world. by doing so, you give away control, but still continue to feel responsible and guilty. you repeatedly spiral, wondering what you could be doing wrong, not having full faith or trust in yourself. you don't quite believe in yourself and tend to give in. you endure the 3D as best as you can but often times, you consider your desire to be out of reach. you dream of the mere possibility and depend on the next moment you feel a motivational boost. frequently, you start to doubt, feeling uncertain and unsure about your ability to manifest. you find yourself feeling incapable and scare away from seemingly "big" wishes and wants. you feel needy, irritated and confused. you fight feeling resistant or pressured towards how you want your life to be like. you are afraid that you might never manifest your desired life.

imagining

meaning · thinking from your desire

to imagine can be used as a synonym for "thinking from your desire". as the term says, when you imagine your desires, you think from the point of view where you have them already. you experience them and live life from having whatever it is that you desire. you occupy the state of your wish being fulfilled, knowing and accepting that what you want already exists within you. you understand that nothing can exist outside of you and that life happens from you, so you trust yourself, believe in your capabilities and have faith in the law. you feel calm, confident and content as you are fulfilling your inner self, leaving the outer world as it is. you don't feel the need or the urge to change or control the 3D. there is simply no need for you to stress, worry or struggle. you understand that everything is yours, creation is finished and it all exists already. all you do is step into the state of having and being, living in the end where you got it all. you are one with your desire, you are connected to it as well as all the other contents of your reality. your desire has now become a part of you and you are free to chill, relax and to surrender. you have full trust that your desire will and has to unfold exactly how you want it and don't disturb your inner peace by overanalysing or unnecessary questioning. you don't need to rely on external proof, making your state of being depend on the outer world. you are the owner of your desire, the owner of your reality and stay unbothered by any physical circumstance. you are unaffected by anything that isn't favourable for you and refuse to be led on or negatively influenced. you remain living in your imagination, declaring it to be your one and only reality. whenever you desire something, you know that you don't go outside of yourself, searching for what is already within you. anything you could possibly seek, exists in your mind.

with love, ella.

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i-am-beckyu · 5 months ago

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Patience is a Virtue and Trust is Earned

A continuation of my Christmas fic One Small Gift

AYOOOOO! 3RD YEAR IN A ROW I'VE WRITTEN A CHRISTMAS FIC! LETS GO! I've been writing this fic on and off for almost a year ever since posting the first fic and got a few people wanting a sequel so congratulations!! You got your wish!!!

I recommend reading the first fic if you haven't already as this fic references plot that may not make sense without context so please consider reading it first before reading on. I'm gonna ramble on at the end of this fic but without further ado, MERRY CHRISTMAS AND ENJOY!!!

cw: fear, lying, panic and anxiety, hidden identity, magic and a TONNE of fluff and whimsey!

word count: 9180

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

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Borrowers.

Tiny scavengers that take human things for survival.

Well, that’s what all the articles say.

Wilbur leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. His back popped from the unhealthy way he’d been hunched over his computer for the last few hours, but he hardly noticed as he scrolled the internet.

“Yet another useless article that tells me nothing about how to actually coax one out.” He sighed dejectedly.

Now you are absolutely right, he should be studying right now while at University and not googling Borrowers again for the millionth time, but it’s not like he wanted to risk doing it at home. No way was he going to jeopardise having Tommy leave.

It had been a few weeks since Wilbur had met the young boy that fateful Christmas Eve and he was positive they hadn’t left. Not when he was now able to recognise the tell tale signs of a scavenger living in his walls. But the man was getting a tad testy about not being able to speak to them in person.

Over and over Wilbur had to tell himself that Tommy trusted Santa Claus, not him. If they ever got a tiny hint that he knew of their existence, then that would be it and the boy would be gone. If a Borrower was seen, the rule they set for themselves was they had to leave no matter the circumstances. Staying after being seen was an absolute no no and never worth the risk. The articles had been very extensive on that point.

His other option to try and unknowingly lure the boy out wasn’t going very well either. Every idea seemed either too obvious, or too dangerous to attempt. (No he definitely did not consider using a mouse trap…)

Tommy was smart enough to avoid those anyway.

But he couldn’t ignore the growing urge to speak to them despite how foolish it would be to do so. It’s not like he could just walk straight up to Tommy’s wall and be like: “Hi I’m Wilbur but you already know that and I know you’re living in my walls. Sorry for ruining your house and kidnapping you haha.”

…

Yeah that would definitely send Tommy packing.

So like anyone does when they’ve run out of ideas, Wilbur rushed to the internet and started doing his research.

Borrowers- who are they, and how to befriend one.

Surprisingly, it seemed there were definitely people who knew about them. The few articles proof enough; but no one seemed to know anything further or wanted to speak up about how they knew what they did. The few authors or bloggers he’d emailed ended up ghosting him when asked to elaborate or rudely shut him down (looking at you PandasCanPVP) and though it did make sense they didn’t answer his questions; protect the borrowers and their code etc, it was still damn frustrating that no one was open to helping him.

He’d at least done a few things to aid Tommy a bit more. He left more food out for longer than required and on the lower shelves so the blonde didn’t have to go to such lengths for a meal, and he’d creatively turned an unused draw into a junk draw and filled it with a bunch of mismatched items with multiples of each so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about him getting suspicious. (He definitely did not smile when he counted 6 paper clips instead of 7)

But there wasn’t really anything more he could do in terms of coaxing Tommy out. Wilbur just had to hope that either his message as Santa got through to him, or that he’d catch sight of Tommy one day and have an opportunity to acknowledge his existence. He hoped for the first of the two, but he’d take either to just make progress with the boy at all.

At least he had peace of mind they were doing better now then they had been before Christmas Eve. Niki was an absolute legend for helping him make all those tiny gifts. So yes he owed Nicki a massive favour when he absolutely bamboozled her for showing up outside her front door in the middle of the night and begged her for help to make tiny clothes for Tommy without explaining what for and why he needed them done that night. And yes he’d had to suck it up Christmas Day when he was tired as hell from working through the night to do it, but not for a second did Wilbur regret it when he knew how happy those gifts would have made the Borrower child.

It took everything in him not to tell his family about the encounter too, not wanting to risk the blonde hearing him, but it was for the best. One day it was going to pay off and then he could properly apologise for what he had done and get Tommy home.

Even if it meant he’d never really get to know the little guy, he would do it!

And that was a promise.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

This Wilbur guy was weird.

Did he have any reasons to back that statement up?

NOPE!

Wilbur was just decidedly a wrong-un and that was a good enough reason for him to accept.

Tommy had been finding his time in Wilbur’s walls a lot more pleasant now that he had some proper supplies. Santa really did spoil him rotten with all the extra gifts and was making getting by so much more achievable than what he had been previously. Even before his kidnapping, living in the forest certainly did not come with quite the same number of luxuries that living in a Human Beans house did.

For one: Constant food source.

Wilbur was one sloppy guy.

Bean did not seem very keen on putting things away properly before he left the house for hours at a time for this ‘You-knee-verse-it-tea’ thingy he went to for school. Anyone normal would probably think he was a slob, but for Tommy it was the golden ticket to trying foods he’d never even dreamed of! Did you know bread could actually taste good when it wasn’t mouldy?

Wilbur’s house was just a treasure trove of things to borrow from and Tommy had pretty much anything and everything he could ever want here. He still had plans to get back to his nook home, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stay for awhile longer while he figured out where home actually was.

There wasn’t really a rush to leave with all the snow still about anyways. He couldn’t be the bestest Borrower ever if he was frozen solid before he got home, but he couldn’t help but think about what Santa had said.

‘He’s not as scary as you think’

After the whole meeting with the REAL Santa, Tommy hadn’t felt the same. After being so used to the isolation of the forest, physically talking to someone that wasn’t an animal or a tree had left the Borrower a tad empty. He’d spoken to someone, and they had spoken and listened back. The candy cane card sat in front of his bed and every day Tommy would wake up and reread the message and reminisce about that fateful night.

It seemed bonkers to the boy, the idea of actually speaking to another Human Bean, but Santa’s kindness and words seemed to ring loud in his head. He’d been longing to talk to someone again for so long, and after observing Wilbur all this time; the Bean hadn’t done anything to suggest that they were a bad person. Believing that Santa was telling the truth wasn’t hard, but the thought of willingly revealing himself? Well it was easier said than done.

Because what if Santa was wrong?

What if Wilbur was kind to other Beans but looked at him and decided he was more of a ‘Tommy shaped pet’ instead of an actual person? Just what would he do when he held all power over him? He would be powerless to stop them and could quite easily end off worse than where he started.

Tommy tried to shake the thoughts away before he thought too hard about it.

Wilbur would never catch him.

That wasn’t going to happen if he could help it.

Speak of the devil and they shall appear, as the sound of faint keys being slid into a lock as it clicked, signalled the return of said Bean. The man gently opened and shut the door as they sighed before walking into the kitchen, as Tommy listened intently to their routine.

Put their bag down on the table. Open and close the fridge Shuffle through the cupboards for something to eat. Take out a box of half eaten crackers. Eat one and toss the rest on the bench for later.

Move into the bedroom to relax and close the door with a soft-

‘Click’

Tommy grinned mischievously to himself.

Now was his time to shine.

It might be foolish to any other Borrower to take food while a Bean was actively awake and home, but Tommy had seen Wilbur do this enough times to know now that that man was not going anywhere for at least another 20 to 40 minutes while they de-stressed their day away watching Tikky Toks on their phone, and there was no way he was wasting the opportunity to get food while it was easy access on the bench right now.

Silently, Tommy grabbed his hook and borrowing bag as he made his way through the maze of walls to the kitchen outlet. Just a quick trip and Dinner would be acquired.

Easy.

With little effort, Tommy slipped the electrical cover off the outlet to the kitchen, double checking the coast was clear before making a move straight for the crackers.

“Ugh, Seaweed again?” Tommy scrunched his nose up at the obnoxious packaging.

He really shouldn’t be complaining about the easy borrow, but the blonde knew there were BBQ flavoured ones up on the high shelf he couldn’t reach. Stupid Wilbur gatekeeping his favourite snacks. Okay, unknowingly sure, but come on; Seaweed? The same stuff fish eat? Yuck.

Secretly the boy actually didn’t mind them too much but it does get a bit much eating the same thing 5 nights in a row. Better plan a supply trip to the high shelves next time Wilbur’s out to get stocked up with a bit more variety Tommy decided, as he opened his bag and stored a broken up cracker.

As he gathered up his borrowings, the unusual pangs of an instrument in pain sounded down the hall. Tommy gasped as he sped up his movements before grabbing his hook and hastily making his way down to the ground. Another few pangs of an off note sounded through the walls as Wilbur messed with his guitar strings.

Looked like it was dinner and a show tonight!

Lady Life’s music of the Forest was good and all, but Tommy never knew music like Wilbur’s even existed till he got to experience it one night. It was just like tonight, Wilbur in the other room with Tommy borrowing before the man started doing what was called ‘tuning the guitar’ to get the instrument in the right key.

Tommy thought he’d been destroying the poor instrument until they started playing a song he didn’t know. The brunette had talent and listening to them play felt like a private concert just for him. It wasn’t long before Tommy had crossed the kitchen and was back in the walls to Wilbur’s bedroom, nestled atop the Bean’s shelf out of sight in a discarded Beanie.

The soft strum of the guitar filled the room and Tommy found himself relaxing to the constant rhythm. It was easy to just let himself drift and sway with the melody. The way it put him at ease was almost hypnotic, but the boy found he didn’t care if it meant he could indulge in it forever.

Wilbur had been working on this song for awhile and it had quickly become one of his favourites. There were many times he had wanted nothing more than to cheer and clap whenever the Human Bean had finished playing, but the lingering fear of being caught was ever present in the boy's mind. This however didn’t seem to defer his ever growing loneliness.

‘Would it be so bad if he were to talk to Wilbur?’

‘What if he was one of the so-called good Beans?’

‘What if he had a chance to make a friend?’

Tommy peaked over the edge of the shelf down to where Wilbur was busy absorbed in his playing. How would he even approach them? It’s not like he could just walk out into the open and be like: ‘Hi I’m Tommy and I’ve been living in your walls ever since you kidnapped me and using all your stuff. Want to be friends?’

…

Yeah that’s definitely going to result in him winding up in a jar or something.

If only Santa Claus was still here. It was his suggestion to befriend them in the first place so he’d probably know exactly what to say and do.

Wait, THAT WAS IT!!!

Why didn’t he think of this sooner? Why not just ask Santa what to do! It made perfect sense! He’s a Bean and talks to them all the time so obviously he would know exactly how he could approach them!

Tommy crept back into the walls and quickly ran off in the direction of the house's study.

He had a letter to write.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“Okay, Dear Santa…” Tommy said out loud as he began to write in his best handwriting.

As soon as he’d found an unused marker in the study, Tommy had been quick to fashion it into one his size from the red tip. His hands had been stained red, but red was the poggest colour ever so he didn’t mind. He had gone to start writing a letter with some borrowed paper back in his home that night, but quickly realised Santa probably wouldn’t be able to read his letter if the letter was written in his regular handwriting- AKA too small to read with Santa’s bad eyesight from being old. This would require a bigger piece of paper and writing with his Big Man writing skills!

That also meant needing a bigger piece of paper and room to write it which meant waiting for Wilbur to leave and that took far too long with it being a Sunday. Tommy had had to wait HOURS for Wilbur to leave to do the grocery shopping, but at least it meant he’d be out for awhile and the Bean had left the kitchen window open, so it was a good day to enjoy some fresh air, albeit if it was a bit cold still and windy.

So with his new marker in hand and a few sheets of Wilbur's scrap pieces of paper from the Kitchen, Tommy now had everything he could possibly need to write his letter.

“Dear Santa.”

…

“---Dear Santa?”

… … …

“Dear Santaaaaaaaa UGHHH WHY IS THIS SO HARD!?”

Well, everything but the right words…

“It shouldn’t be this difficult!” The boy complained, as he crossed out another attempt at writing.

“Dear Santa, so you know how you said to talk to Wilbitch? How exactly do I do that?”

Tommy groaned as he furiously scribbled over the dear santa line before flopping himself on top of the stack of papers. He had been trying to write this letter for 15 minutes and he was getting frustrated. He just didn’t know how to start the letter.

Get straight to the point or ease into?

Is there even a way to write a letter correctly?

6 year old Beans do this for goodness sake!

He just wanted to ask for the best way to approach Wilbur without the worst occurring. He knew the Beans schedule so he could probably work out a good time to talk to them based on their mood but he also still had to get over the idea of willingly exposing himself and that he definitely needed Santa’s help with. Not to forget to mention he still had to thank Santa for all his gifts too! He honestly couldn’t thank him enough for what he had done and the Borrower wanted the old man to know that.

Perhaps just being honest would be the best way to write this? Get it all down in one go and out in the open so he and Santa were completely on the same page. It was at least worth a shot. Wilbur would be back soon and he needed to get something written before that. With a little more internal deliberation, Tommy took a deep breath, and began to write.

Line after line the Borrower wrote his letter- as well as stopping to rest his aching hand as the letter grew longer letting the words flow as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but then again he added pictures and doodles to make it better so he’s pretty sure that evens it out.

The last thing he needed to do was address the letter to Santa and get it to the letterbox. With his best precision skills, Tommy folded the letter in half and wrote on the front in his best writing.

TO: SANTA

NORTH POLE

Once he was done, Tommy stepped back to admire his handy work.

It was a bit wonky and anything but fancy, but for the first letter he’s ever written, it wasn’t too bad for a giant letter written by a Borrower.

Now all that was left was to deliver it. The boy quickly put his marker away into his borrowing bag and cleaned up the stack of papers back into a neat pile like how he found it, discarding any of his first bad attempts in the bottom of the bin where Wilbur wouldn’t find it, before moving to the window with the letter in tow.

Now the best way to get the letter to Santa would be to post it and Tommy had seen some Human Beans put letters in their letter box before on the big black box, and then they were taken to be delivered like magic, so that made the most logical sense to him. He’d have to go outside to send it, but if he went now and waited till the sun went down, he would be able to scale the letterbox under the cover of darkness and do it with less risk.

Tommy set the letter down beside him as he prepared to descend from the window sill to the outside world. The wind had picked up a little bit, but the Borrower was confident in his abilities to scale down the wall without any issues. Just like climbing up and down the trees back in the forest. Hook in, and descend down. Piece of cake.

Once he was sure his hook was secure, Tommy gathered up the letter in one arm before raising his other to shield his eyes from the setting sun, basking in the serenity of the afternoon as a chilly breeze blew through his golden curls.

Tommy exhaled a content sigh. He missed watching the sunset through the trees of the forest, the soft music of trees swaying and birds chirping as they did their birdie things. Hopefully he’d be reunited with his old nook and could enjoy them like he once did again soon. His letter was sure to fix everything.

Santa would fix everything.

Tommy gently closed his eyes to savour the feeling one last time, but the boy lingered for just a moment too long as a strong gust of wind was all it took to throw the Borrower off balance and snatch his letter from his grasp, sending it flying off with the wind.

“NO!” The blonde shouted, watching as his letter drifted left and right off into the distance.

It was almost magical in a sense, as he watched how it danced through the air and Tommy had to wonder, what if that was intentional. Santa had managed to do things he didn’t think possible with his magic, so perhaps he knew when letters were addressed to him and sent a magic wind to collect it for him?

Yeah that made sense! Good old Santa Claus looking out for his favourite Borrower! Prime he should have thanked Santa more in his letter.

Satisfied with coming to this conclusion, Tommy packed up his gear before heading back to the walls for a well deserved rest; blissfully unaware of the true whereabouts of his letter as it drifted through the wind over buildings and roads, before finally flying straight into a certain brunettes face on his way back from the shops.

“What on Earth?!” Wilbur grabbed at the piece of paper from his face prepared to throw it away before abruptly coming to a stop to read the bright, red scrawl across the front.

“Okay, interesting spelling.” Wilbur examined the poorly addressed letter.

It was obviously a lost Christmas letter written on what looked like sheet music from some kid judging by the spelling and array of doodles. Little faces in the O’s to make it look like Santa, but obnoxiously written in capital letters to make it stand out. It made him think of Tommy and how he went into all the finer details of his life that he couldn’t help but opt to read the childish letter and pique his growing curiosity.

Dear Santa

Hi, it's Tommy! TommyInnit the Borrower you spoke to on Christinimass Eve. I’m sure I don’t need to explain which Tommy to you being the most amazing Tommy to exist ever but anyways I’m writing this letter to ask for your help.

Firstly, thank you for all the pogger gifts. They’re all so AWESOME so thank you! (Like seriously, you are the Greatest Man alive- After me of course >:3 )

Anyways, the reason I sent you this letter. You know Wilbitch Wilbur? The Human Bean that kidnapped me? Well I’ve decided to be the bigger man and befriend him despite him kidnapping me and destroying my home (You know it’s still in his living room slowly dying? Weirdo).

Thing is, I don’t really know how to do that. I know you said I can trust him, but I’m still scared of what he might do to me if he finds out I’ve been using and taking his stuff. I know his schedule by heart at this point and wait till he leaves to get anything done outside the walls, but ever since talking to you I’ve felt so lonely. I loved talking to you but I know I can’t do that with you all the time so I’m willing to give the Bean a chance.

Do you have any ideas for how I can talk to him?

Thank you for your help and if you do this I won’t even ask for a Christmas present this year!!! Seriously I won’t!!! I would just like a friend.

From the coolest Borrower ever,

-Tommy

P.S. You’re the best.

Wilbur couldn’t believe his eyes.

It- It was a letter to Santa, from Tommy.

His Tommy.

This was it! This was his in, his chance!!!

Wilbur carefully folded the letter back in half and slipped it into his trench coat pocket before hurrying home, formulating a plan of action the whole way. Finally he had a shot to befriend Tommy and there was no way he was going to waste it.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Waiting.

Waiting..

More waiting…

Great. Just great.

Wilbur couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the clock on the class room wall. His leg bounced in anticipation as the minutes ticked by to the end of the day. He should really be listening to his lecturer, but it was almost impossible to do so when all the uni student could think of was getting home as quickly as possible.

The only way to catch Tommy would be by surprise, and to do that would be to break his schedule.

Wilbur couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love a well structured schedule. It was the only way he found he really ever got anything done and if sticking to his timed out plan was the way to do that, then so be it. Sometimes that meant postponing other things like hangouts and was a pain, but right now it was his ticket to meeting one Borrower.

His Plan- Get home an hour earlier than normal by skipping study and hope to catch Tommy in the open.

Okay, so yes the whole plan was just one big gamble. It’s not like he got home at exactly the same time every day so he doubted Tommy was going to be out borrowing still even if he was home early, but it’s the best idea he’s got. The letter said Tommy knew his schedule so being early was rarity for him. It’s not going to hurt to give it a try.

He’ll either see Tommy, or he won’t.

Wilbur idly traced the words of Tommy's letter as he sat and waited for his lecturer to signal the end of class. So much energy and bright smiles were hidden beneath the red writing and he wanted to know it all.

After what felt like an eternity, his lecture finally ended and the brunette wasted no time in gathering up his things and racing out the door. He didn’t really need to sprint home, especially given that the roads were still a bit icy, but there was no time to waste.

It only took a matter of minutes for him to reach the end of his street, huffing and panting. He took his time walking down to his house allowing himself to catch his breath and recompose himself for the task at hand.

This was a stealth operation. No loud noises allowed.

Wilbur treaded lightly up to his front door, taking out his keys holding the key chains tight to prevent any jingling sounds before slipping the key in the lock. He turned the key as slowly as he dared, opening the door in a similar manner, before poking his head inside the door frame, eyes immediately looking to spots he thought the small borrower child might be hiding.

No signs of Tommy.

Wilbur crept into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a loud click. “Shoot.” he muttered before slapping a hand over his mouth sharply, before realising his mistake as he cringed at the slight stinging pain now blooming across his jaw.

‘Don’t talk, you idiot!’ Wilbur internally chastised himself.

Ignoring his first blunder, Wilbur quietly shuffled across the carpet to peek into the living room. Nothing appeared out of place, and Tommy’s spot on the book shelf remained as empty as ever.

‘Not here,’ Wilbur thought as he turned and tiptoed across the hallway. ‘Try the kitchen. Just slow and steady, keep quiet, move slow and steady and- ‘CREAKKKKKKK’ An old floorboard groaned loudly as it took the man’s weight.

‘So much for stealth.’

Holding onto a sliver of hope he hadn’t messed up, Wilbur peered into the kitchen. Just like the living room, everything remained untouched and just the same as ever. Wilbur sighed heavily, dropping his bag loudly in defeat. If Tommy had been here, there was no way he hadn’t heard that floorboard move.

Resigning himself to his failed efforts, Wilbur didn’t bother to stay quiet as he trudged into the kitchen defeated. He flung the kitchen cupboard open, grabbing the BBQ crackers from the top shelf cracking the package open. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and his bag from the floor before moving off to his room.

So his one and only plan didn’t work, now what was he going to do? Guess he’d have to try and think of another time to break his schedule that wouldn’t compromise his study life a different way.

The brunette sighed as he grabbed his phone, chucking on one of his favourite playlists and booting up his Bluetooth speaker. Might as well do some study since he skipped his study block back at the campus. It was as he sat down his stomach suddenly grumbled.

Oh, right- the crackers.

Wilbur rose from his chair and moved through the halls before abruptly coming to a stop and hiding behind the kitchen door. There was movement from the BBQ Crackers packet. The man’s breath got stuck in his throat as he watched a tiny blonde boy emerge from the packaging with a cracker looking extremely pleased with themself, as they set it down next to a little blue bag.

Tommy.

Wilbur couldn’t help but stare as he watched the boy work. He should have known that Tommy would come out for food. It never occurred to him that he would try and get the discarded crackers when they were left out on the bench. It was dangerous for the Borrower considering he was home and could be seen, but it was easy access for the boy so of course the risk would be worth it.

With careful precision to avoid the creaky floorboards, Wilbur crept forward. Said blonde had crawled back into the Crackers packet and was distracted. He didn’t want to scare Tommy away, but the boy was far too close to the electrical socket and he’d determined it was a wall entry/exit a while ago. The last thing he wanted was for Tommy to bolt.

It wasn’t till he was about a step or two away that the Borrower popped back out of the bag with another cracker in tow.

It was now or never.

“Ahem,” Wilbur cleared his throat and tried not to feel guilty, as he watched the Borrower on the bench flinch, stumbling back in surprise. “Hi there.”

Wilbur remained completely still as he watched in anticipation for what the blonde would do next. Tommy’s face seemed to morph 100 different ways all at once before stopping at terrified as they processed the situation. The pure terror on the Borrowers face showed he knew there was no escaping this, as their eyes darted around trying to formulate the next best course of action despite their seemingly ‘dire’ situation, but Wilbur continued to remain calm.

He needed Tommy to understand he wasn’t in danger.

The silence stretched on for a few more moments, only broken by the sound of the cracker Tommy had been clutching to his chest, snapping into several pieces. The borrower was so frightened for being caught, he’d subconsciously been clutching the cracker tighter and tighter till it snapped.

“Can I help with that?” Wilbur asked, pointing to the broken cracker in the boy's lap as he stepped closer.

Tommy was fast to react. The blonde sprung to his feet, cracker and equipment forgotten as they bolted for the electrical socket.

“No wait, STOP!” Wilbur cried as lunged forward to stop the boy. Before he even realised what he’d done, he’d swept the Borrower up in his hand, the boy now kicking and screaming in his grasp.

“LET ME GO!!!” he shrieked as they dug and scratched their nails into Wilbur's skin.

Tommy felt the way the hand flexed as he did so, but his attempts weren’t enough to get the man to budge. This was only the second time he’d ever been picked up by a human, and it was nothing like the way Santa had treated him. It felt far too tight and confining and Tommy wanted nothing more than to be free of it. Tommy always knew that Human Beans could be fast, but he never realised just how fast they actually might be.

His futile attempt to make it back to the walls had been wishful thinking at best. Now the very real threat of his head being popped off for being caught stealing the Bean's food had his heart hammering out of his chest. He was going to continue his plans of bloody murder, but as his stomach lurched and he was lifted up and away from the counter, all attempts died off as he was brought closer to his impending doom's face. He couldn’t suppress the small whimper that slipped as his body shook as the Bean seemingly studied every inch of him, before their eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, hey it’s alright.” Wilbur reassured. “I’m not going to hurt you Tommy.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold.

How did he know his name?

No, no he couldn’t have. He’d been careful. Never seen, not once. There was no way Wilbur could have known he was here let alone his name right? Right???

“How the heck do you know my name?” he spat.

Did this mean they knew he was here? Had the Bean been trying to lure him out this entire time just so they could trap him and punish him for taking their stuff?

“Ahhh so about that..” Wilbur began before quickly adjusting his grip and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, thin piece of paper with red scribbled all over it. “I got your letter. It didn’t quite make it to the North Pole I’m afraid.”

Tommy couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was his letter to Santa.

All his worst fears were confirmed in the Beans grasp. If Wilbur had his letter then that meant he DEFINITELY had read it and would know everything!! As if magic wind was a real thing! Prime, why did he think writing to Santa when it was no longer Christmas would be a good idea?

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you Tommy, I just want to talk honestly.” Wilbur tried to reassure as he placed the letter down. The boy only shook his head in response, trembling as they squeezed their eyes shut expecting the worst.

“Okay, I know you’re scared Tommy, but I’ve read your letter, and I just want to help you. You can trust me I-”

“WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?!” The boy shrieked. “YOU SNATCHED ME OFF THE TABLE AND ARE HOLDING ME AGAINST MY WILL!”

“Well yes I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you, I just didn’t want you to run away!”

“If you’re really sorry then you’ll let me go!” Tommy pleaded, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “Please just let me go.”

Wilbur sighed, realising his terrific plan to speak to Tommy wouldn’t get very far with their current circumstances. If the roles were reversed, he’d be rightly terrified out of his mind too. You’d think after all his research on Borrowers, this is something he’d be aware of. Looking around the kitchen, he knew he couldn’t just put them down on the bench and risk the boy making another run for it, and instead turned and headed for the dining room table, despite the boy's sniffling cries.

“Tommy, I’m going to put you down now.” Wilbur explained, trying to be gentle as he sat down on one of the wooden chairs. “I promise I won’t hurt you and you can leave straight after, I just want to talk.”

The boy didn’t speak as he brought his hands down to the wooden surface and slowly released his grip. The blonde immediately wriggled out from his fingers and dropped to the table with a slight thud, but was just as quickly scooting away from his hands now he was free. Wilbur brought his hands away and slipped them under the table into his lap to be less intimidating, but could see Tommy was still highly on edge as they tried to gain distance. He was breathing heavily, eyes fixated on him with a terrified expression, seemingly knowing that he had no hope of getting away in the Beans presence.

He felt bad for putting them in such a vulnerable position, but if he wanted any hope to get him home, then they needed to talk properly- face to face.

“There,” Wilbur said, retracting his hands placatingly. “See, you’re fine.”

Tommy didn’t look particularly convinced, his eyes red from crying and snot running down his nose. Like seriously, who did this guy think he was? After the way he just behaved, why should he trust him?

“Define fine.” The boy snapped hugging himself as he turned away so he didn’t have to face the brunette's constant staring.

Wilbur sighed. Why did he have to be so stubborn? He’s the one that wanted to make friends in the first place.

Wilbur glanced at the letter he’d placed on the edge of the table. Tommy was the one that wanted to talk to him but was just unsure of how to approach him. But instead here he’d come waltzing in and frantically grabbed him without any consideration for how this would make him look. The boy believed Santa when he told him he was a good guy, but any truth in that was gone and rightfully so. In Tommy’s eyes, Wilbur didn’t deserve to be trusted.

How could you trust someone that held your life in their hands?

Wilbur sighed as he knew how to fix this, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, but if he wanted Tommy to trust him then his actions had to match his words.

“Okay so I know I didn’t make the best first impression so how about we start over?” Wilbur tried even slinking down to be a bit lower so he wasn’t looming over him so much. “My names Wilbur and if you need anything you can just ask okay?”

Tommy didn’t reply, even going as far to give him the finger which had the man having to suppress a laugh despite it being fair. He waited for the blonde to speak up a little longer but it didn’t seem the Borrower would be talking any time soon.

Sighing realising this wasn’t going to work, Wilbur stood from the table and walked back to the kitchen. Tommy remained still only glancing a little bit to the side when he heard crackling of plastic, before the heavy foot falls of Wilbur's return signaled he was back before something was put down behind him, and a chair was dragged out and around from the table facing backwards.

“So I don’t blame you for not trusting me. I should have realised how my actions would have affected you so I won’t keep you any longer.” Wilbur stepped back from the table and around to the other side where Tommy could see him and towards the hallway back to his room.

“I’ve uh- left the chair next to the table so you can get down with your hook and things, and I promise I won’t go looking for you, but if you ever need anything- please don’t hesitate to ask.” Wilbur took a deep breath and exhaled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I hope in time, maybe we could be friends.”

After waiting for a reply and receiving none, Wilbur turned and walked into his room, closing the door with a soft click before walking over and flopping onto his bed. He couldn’t force Tommy to trust him. He just had to hope giving them space might change the kids' mind.

The second the Bean was gone, Tommy didn’t hesitate to grab his things and descend down the chair with his hook. He then booked it for the nearest wall entrance he could find and didn’t stop running until he was back in his little room in the walls.

His heart pounded realising how close that had all been and now there was no time to waste.

Hastily he began to load his clothes into his bag and supplies for the journey he had ahead. He couldn’t stay now Wilbur actively knew of his existence. He’d been at the complete mercy of the Bean and that was never going to happen ever again. He kept doing this until he had completely stuffed his pack. As he prepared to leave he made his way to the door and had one final look around at his home for anything he missed.

He couldn't pick up on anything specific, not until his eyes landed on the card from Santa. All those happy days he had gotten from just waking up to a pretty card. His encounter with Santa the best day of his life and the reason he was so comfortable here now at all. The memory felt bitter sweet now though, as he trudged over to the card, picking it up harshly flipping it over for one last read.

Dear Tommy,

It was lovely meeting you and getting

to know your story. I figured you might

like some extra gifts as well to help you

be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls.

I think you should try talking to him.

You might be surprised.

Sincerely,

Santa Claus

P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.

“Not as scary as you think my ass.” Tommy spat bitterly as he set it back in place.

So what if he’d apologised a bunch of times? That didn’t change the fact he almost hadn’t been freed at all. Sure he’d escaped now, but Wilbur might have just made it look like he was free to go as an act to trick him into feeling guilty enough to stay to catch him later.

But then again, he did apologise a lot and gave him a quick way back down the table. If he really thought about it, he hadn’t looked like he was going to hurt him or anything, just guilty he’d grabbed him in the first place. In fact he hadn’t really done anything besides scare the living daylights out of him by snatching him up.

It was perfectly logical for him to be scared of being grabbed, but apart from that, had the Bean actually done anything wrong? He was just reacting to the situation, and if he had read his letter, then maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

But no that can’t be right? He can’t seriously be considering Wilbur not a threat after all that?

“Ughhhh my head hurts!” He groaned frustratedly before dropping his pack to the floor and flopping head first into his bed. Why do Human Beans never make sense? Tommy curled himself into the fabric squeezing the sock blanket tightly in his grasp. This was all far too much for him to think about right now.

The events of the day finally seemed to catch up to him as he laid there, adrenaline wearing off, replaced with a heavy fatigue. Perhaps sleeping would be better than trying to leave right this second? Who knew when he’d have another chance once he started the move.

Rather than fight it, Tommy soon fell asleep, snuggled in his bed, his thoughts dreaming of what ifs and Wilbur.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The next day, Tommy had yet to leave.

He’d spent most of the morning mulling over his options and what the best course of action was and was having a hard time making up his mind.

On the one hand, leaving meant he was 100% safe from Wilbur and whatever his plans might be, whether they be good intentions or not. But on the other hand, that meant giving up the space he’d spent so long getting right and traversing the winter terrain without a guarantee of finding a place that was safe to stay in. While the Bean knew of his presence, at least he had a warm bed and didn’t have to worry about frostbite. But of course that still left one problem:

Wilbur.

The more he replayed yesterday's events over in his mind the more he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe Wilbur was one of the good Beans. It’s not like he’d ever met or interacted with one before he came here. Everything he knew of them came from stories and warnings from his parents about Borrowers getting trapped in Jars and what not, but there was always some truth in stories one way or another.

Still though, he had one thing going for him that no other Bean did. Santa trusted him. And while Tommy may not trust him, (not completely anyways) perhaps there was a way he could test them.

Tommy had his borrowing bag strapped to his back and his hook and rope at his side as he sat perched atop the bookshelf in the living room, watching and waiting for Wilbur to enter. He’d test the Bean. See if he stayed true to his word and be in plain sight of the man and see if he was worthy of his presence. If he tried to catch him or hurt him in any way, all he had to do was get back through the crack in the wall and grab the rest of his things and book it out of there.

The blonde's knee bounced in anticipation. It was one thing trying not to be seen by a being 100x your size, but another to willingly just be waiting in the open for your maybe/maybe not demise to show up. Strange how the last time he stood out here, he did so waiting for Santa happily, but now it felt like he half wanted to throw up as he waited for the brunette to show.

His thoughts must have summoned him, because entered an exhausted Wilbur with a cup of coffee in hand before they plonked themself down on the couch. He took a long sip and sighed before putting the cup down and threw their head back against the couch.

He looked sad. Big dark bags under his eyes and he was frowning as he stared up at the ceiling. Tommy couldn’t help but think that was probably his fault. Seems yesterday's events had affected Wilbur just as much as it had him and he did feel a bit guilty for that. Did he really care that much he’d lose sleep over him?

Only one way to find out.

“Ahem.” Tommy cleared his throat and the Bean jolted up almost immediately, head looking around wildly for the source.

“Hey, up here big man.” The boy called with a wave to down below and clenched his hook tightly with the other hand as the brunette's sweeping gaze snapped up onto him. “Sorry if I- uh startled you.”

“No, no it’s fine, I just- I thought you left.” Wilbur said as he turned himself to be better facing the Borrower without leaving the couch.

“Why would I do that?” Tommy asked even though he knew the answer.

“Well, I don’t know I just thought- I’d scared you away.” Wilbur looked away, staring at his coffee as if it was far more interesting than the boy on his shelf. “I figured you’d have left because of how I- how I um..”

“Grabbed me?” Tommy asked, raising a brow as he did so.

“Yeah… I truly am sorry about that. I never should have reacted like that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I promise I never planned to do anything to you when I did, I just- my hand moved without thinking and yeah. I’m sorry Tommy.”

“It wasn’t particularly nice of you.” Tommy tried to ignore the tingly sensation of phantom hands wrapping around him as he stood up. “I just felt so helpless when you did.”

Wilbur nodded sadly in agreement. “Yeah I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you. Based on what I read in your letter, it must be really hard living at your size when everything is so big.”

“Well I was born this way. I learned to live cautiously to protect myself. You Beans are just too busy thinking of yourselves than about who else might be living out of sight.” Tommy glanced down to Wilbur and noticed how the Bean twiddled their thumbs in their lap, gaze now resting on the table and a familiar piece of paper. His Letter.

“Hey I’ve got to ask,” Tommy started as Wilbur brought his head back up to the shelf. “How did you get your hands on my letter? Last I saw it, it was flying out in the wind randomly to who knows where.”

Wilbur chuckled as he leaned over and picked up the letter carefully to admire the craftsmanship of it once more. “Well, I was walking home from grocery shopping the other day and it kind of just flew into my face. It was by chance that I decided to open it and read it that I noticed the paper was one of my discarded music sheets I use for scrap paper. Kind of connected the dots from there since it was my work and here we are.”

Tommy nodded as he listened. He supposed that made more sense than magic wind, even if the chances of it flying into Wilbur's face were bizarrely low.

“Still a shame it didn’t make it to Santa. I wanted to thank him properly for what he did for me.”

“You could always write him another letter if you want.” Wilbur suggested. “I don’t mind helping you if you like.”

Tommy nodded considering the idea before speaking up. “I think you might have to write to Santa for yourself though. You’ll probably be on his naughty list for a while when I tell him about everything that’s happened.”

Wilbur smiled as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah I deserve that. I’ll have to really work hard to get back on the nice list then won’t I?”

“You sure will. Gonna take a lot to get back in his good books though.”

Wilbur smiled as he set the letter back down and leaned back into the couch. “Do you have any ideas on how I could do that?”

Tommy scratched his head for a moment in thought.

“Well for starters you’d have to be extra nice and always use proper manners like asking before you do something.”

Wilbur nodded as the boy continued. “And you’d have to always announce your presence coming in and out of rooms cause if you don’t that’s just rude.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but chuckle as Tommy kept listing nice specific things off. “Anything else?”

“Annnnd always leave extra food out on the counters- specifically the BBQ crackers and chocolate because that’s how you show you're being extra nice.”

“Right, well it sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me then.” Wilbur replied as he looked back up to where Tommy stood upon the shelf. The boy seemed rather pleased with himself before he realised he was in sight and timidly stepped back from view.

“I’ve got to ask though, why are you still here? I assumed the last place you’d want to be is anywhere near me and well, yeah.” It was a question that was starting to eat at him as why the Borrower would go against the code and all the other things he had read about not making sense.

“Well initially, I was going to leave straight away, yes. But with all the snow on the ground and not knowing the area, it made the decision of leaving more complicated so I’m giving talking one last shot and then deciding.”

Wilbur smiled as he felt warm that the blonde was at least giving him a chance, even if they had their hesitations. He didn’t blame Tommy for being wary after everything that had transpired but maybe there was still hope to salvage things.

“Hey Tommy, do you think maybe we could start over?” the brunette asked. “I think we got off on the wrong foot and I’d really like to show I mean you know harm.”

Tommy stood back from the shelf edge where he couldn’t see the Bean. This was exactly what he wanted. A chance for the Bean to prove himself and he hadn’t even had to ask.

Wilbur watched the bookshelf nervously waiting for a response. What if he’d over stepped? He didn’t have to wait long for an answer as the blonde came back into view with his arms behind his back, before breaking into a smile.

“Yeah, that would be nice. But don’t even think about putting me in a jar cause I know Santa and Santa will absolutely beat your ass if you do.”

“And why would he do that?” Wilbur smirked teasingly.

“Because,” Tommy stated. “I’m his favourite.”

Wilbur’s heart melted as the boy blew a raspberry at him before pulling a bunch of different faces. In a way, he guessed it was true.

Tommy was his favourite.

And he wasn’t going to mess this opportunity up a second time.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

In the days to come, Wilbur and Tommy began to slowly get to know each other.

Albeit at a distance with Tommy still hiding on shelves and behind items that he was sort of a discombobulated voice, but it was a start and made the Borrower feel safer.

Wilbur didn’t mind in the slightest as they were actually talking and making progress! If Wilbur thought Tommy had talked a lot on their Santa encounter, well the kid had certainly been holding back as they chatted away about anything and everything they could speak on.

In fact, soon the two were bantering back and forth like they’d been life long friends and it didn’t take long for Tommy to start showing himself on the shelves.

Wilbur was always super cautious around the boy and made sure to give him space, and even gave him extra warning about what he was doing to ease the boy more around his presence. While Tommy initially had his reservations, he was quickly beginning to see what Santa had meant in his card.

Wilbur truly was doing everything he possibly could to show he wanted to help him and be friends and that gave Tommy the confidence to take the next step and actually be in close proximity with the man rather than the safety of shelves.

Eventually, Tommy would tell Wilbur of how he came to be in his apartment and Wilbur would offer to take Tommy back to his home. It didn’t take long for the boy to realise how close he’d actually grown to the Bean and when the time came to actually go, the Borrower would decide that maybe the Forest wasn’t necessarily his home any more.

From there, the two continued to grow closer and eventually table talks turned to movie nights on the couch, to hand cuddles on chilly days. And whenever things got too much, Wilbur gave Tommy the space he needed and one day Tommy realised that Santa was right.

Wilbur wasn’t as scary as he once believed.

In fact, he finally had a friend he could depend on.

Just like he had always wanted.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Epilogue

Annnnnnnnnnnnd that's a wrap!!!

Thank you so much if you read the whole thing through. It was a lot of fun to write as it's not the kind of topic I see written about very often and especially not in a gt sense so I loved exploring what Santa is to a Borrower that lived outside most of their life never knowing about these things.

HUGE Thank you to @quotemenevervore for beta reading and helping me get unstuck to write the ending!!! Always very thankful for your input and so glad I got this done before Christmas like I planned <3

Thanks again to everyone who's stuck around and continues to enjoy my writing despite all the circumstances of previous creators constantly changing. As times gone on, while I still really enjoy writing these characters, new ideas to use them in the future have certainly been becoming less, so I still fully intend to finish JORNOS but after that's done, I have one more chapter fic I want to post and then I think I might explore some new characters. Dunno yet tbh. Work is being a pain and will probably continue to delay new stuff, but I'm certainly not done yet :3

Anyways that's my last fic for this year so Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and I'll see you all on the next fic <3

tag list: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @box-beanz @gracideaviolet @a-xyz-s

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diyasgarden · 10 months ago

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Part 1

London 2007

"Why are you staring at my shoes?" you ask as you take a drag from the cigarette between your index and middle finger. You fight the urge to blow the smoke right in Patrick's face, as you hand him the cigarette. He stands in front of you as you lean back slightly against the alley wall outside of the club. The street lights shine a warm colored light down on the both of you. And if you focus enough, you can still hear the techno music from inside.

In a weird way, running into Patrick became the most consistent part of your life these days. With all your friends in college and you just constantly traveling, consistency is non-existent. It only exists in the moments where you happen to run into Patrick in a new club in a new city and then end up in bed with him. That is the only consistent thread in your life right now.

He smirks as he takes the cigarette, "You have nice feet."

"Fuck off," you say even though you don't mind. His lips close around the mark your lipstick left on the cigarette and the sight sends a jolt of electricity through you. You watch him take a drag and how his head tilts to the side to blow the smoke out. Your eyes trace the slope of his nose and you look to the side to stay composed.

"Your shoes are expensive," he comments. Oh so that is why he was looking.

You knew they were. A pair of Manolo Blahniks, gifted to you by your mother for your sixteenth birthday two years ago. You imagine her crying somewhere that you've been using it to — in her own words — parade yourself like a whore throughout your travels.

You nod in response. You reach to take the cigarette from him and ask, "What do you have like a secret sex and city obsession or something?"

Patrick rolls his eyes with a scoff. As he hands back the cigarette he goes "No. I think my mom had something like it."

You look at him, as you take a drag. At first the little runs in you both had little to no talking. Now you spend a good amount of time actually conversing before anything happens. You would never admit it to him, but you liked this just as much as the sex. You chose to travel and you loved it, but it didn't mean that it couldn't get lonely. Constantly meeting people and then leaving before you really got to know them. At least with Patrick there was a sense of continuity. You guessed he felt the same way, otherwise why would he even be here with you in the first place.

You had reached the point where you were both pretty well aware about different facts about each other lives, but in a way that it always felt like there was more to learn. Like a puzzle you don't have all the pieces for.

His comment about your mother served as more proof that he came from a wealthy family too. You guessed it some weeks ago, when you saw the expensive watch he had on. In a weird way, this just made you like him more (although you would never admit it). Another similarity you found between the both of you.

You thought college was stupid. He thought college was stupid.

You've been traveling. He was traveling.

You liked getting wasted. He liked getting wasted.

You like sex. He like sex.

And now: Your family is rich. His family is rich.

You can see the same thought process go off in his head as he watches you take a drag. Now you don't bother fighting the urge to look up and blow the smoke in his face. You do exactly that and he smirks amused by what you just did.

He snatches the cigarette from your hand and drops it to the ground, promptly stepping on it and turning it into ash. He steps closer and you can get a whiff of his cologne.

He smiles, as he pushes your back fully against the wall and whispers, "We both know something better you can do with that mouth."

You don't have a chance to make a comment back before his lips coming crashing down against yours. Not like you're complaining either way.

Note: I have so many ideas for this AU just floating around in my head...

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #challengers #art donaldson #tashi duncan #patrick zweig x you #josh o’connor #josh o'connor #come back to

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definitelynotstable · 2 years ago

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Feverish [Ghost x fem!Reader]

AN: Hey sexies! I haven’t used Tumblr since I was like 13 (which was a while ago) and I haven’t written fanfic in a while either. I find it hard to like things without them consuming me and the current addiction is CoD. It started with CoD mobile - me and the flatties play each night and then I rediscovered Modern Warfare and realised MW2 existed. Instantly obsessed. Why are they all so fine???????? Anyway. I haven’t written creatively since like high-school so I’m rusty and there is lots I don’t know. Go easy on me babes x

Synopsis: "Holy shit, you're burning up!" – reader is sick, Ghost is worried. Word count: 1.7k Ghost x reader (callsign “Rags” don’t ask why) not proof-read i have adhd babes x

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

5am just wasn’t the ideal wake-up time. Something you should’ve thought about before joining the military. Something you definitely should’ve taken into account when accepting a position in such an esteemed taskforce. The 141 rarely took breaks. When you weren’t on active duty you were at base training. Price was a stern but fair Captain. His drills were consistent and hard, pushing you all to your limits but still allowing you to grow as a team.

But Price wasn’t in charge of training today. Nor had he been for the last week. Away on some need-to-know mission he had left his lieutenant in charge. Simon “Ghost” Riley. Less consistent, far more stern but just as fair as the Captain - Ghost’s drills were significantly more difficult.

You stretched carefully, rotating your neck from side to side and sighing as it clicked. You could hear voices down the hall and the distant rumble of the kettle. Soap and Gaz no doubt. Now fully dressed you pulled on your boots and shuffled down the hall.

“Morning boys.” You yawned, pulling out a chair and slumping to lean against your crossed arms on the table.

“Morning, Rags,” Gaz echoed back to you, Soap grunting in acknowledgment as he poured his coffee.

“Any clue what the LT has in store for us today?” You ask, watching as Soap fiddled with the french-press.

He huffed as he settled into the chair across from you, nursing a mug between his scarred hands. “Somethin’ horrid, nae doubt, he’s been in a bad mood since Price took his leave.”

“I’ll say,” Gaz scoffed tipping the dregs from Soap’s press into his mug and heaping in sugar, “can barely feel my arms after yesterdays drill.”

You groaned rubbing your eyes, “yeah, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“I don’t recall there being any trucks involved in the drill yesterday - but that can be arranged.”

The bored voice drawled from the doorway, Lieutenant Ghost himself stood, legs shoulder width apart, arms folded across his broad chest. The man took up the entire goddamned doorframe.

Resisting the urge to stand at attention you cracked a sheepish smile. The 141 weren’t one for formalities.

‘Morning LT,” Gaz took the words out of your mouth from where he leaned against the sink, “got more pain in store for us today?”

“If you though yesterday was painful, sergeant, you’ve got a big storm coming.” Ghost turned go head out. “Gym in 10.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

He wasn’t kidding. Today was worse. The lieutenant had designed a circuit so difficult even Gaz was complaining - something usually only Soap had the gall to do. God you were tired. You hadn’t struggled this hard to complete a drill since basic training as an unfit and unmotivated 18 year old. “Pick it up Sergeant!” Ghost barked from across the room as the battle ropes slipped form your sweaty hands. You grit your teeth and did as asked, only two minutes to go.

“Fuck!” You swore under your breath as the rope thunked against the floor, leaving your grasp again. You quickly squatted to pick it up, hoping the Lieutenant hadn’t noticed. You flinched as his stern voice echoed through the gym but it was Soap on the receiving end, the man smirking as Ghost yelled at him to keep form.

You turned your focus back to the ropes, planting your more firmly as you noticed your form starting to waver. God you felt like you were about the keel over.

“Pick up the pace Sergeant!” The voice came from your left, flinching to hear the Lieutenant so close. Feeling worse by the second you did as you were told, pushing every last inch of energy into the ropes in front of you.

He’ll be gone soon, you told yourself, He’ll move on to yell at Gaz and I can slow my pace.

But the hulking figure in your periphery remained and you found your resolve wavering. Without warning the world tilted dramatically and your cheek was bouncing off the sweat covered foam on the floor. The distant clanking of weights came to a stop and impeccably polished and shined boots filled your vision. Ghost.

“Rags!” Gaz thumped to his knees beside you, yanking you into a sitting position. His worried face swimming in your vision.

“Settle down, Gaz,” Soap spoke as he pulled him back and someone else came to kneel in front of you. A water bottle was pushed into your hands and a cool but rough hand landed gently on your forehead.

“Christ you’re burning up!” The lieutenant rarely swore outside of the field, you must be on fire.

“Yeah no shit,” Water dribbled down your chin as you took a swig of water, “that was a tough drill LT.”

Soap coughed out a laugh from where he stood behind Ghost, "Aye, I reckon he's sayin' ye've got a fever, lass.”

You scoffed, batting back the lieutenants hand, “I think I would know if I had a fever, I just need a rest.”

“Your dripping in sweat,” Ghost retorted cooly.

“We were just working out.“

“You fell over -“

-“It happens-“

‘Not to you.” The lieutenants voice was firm. “Not to us. We are special forces military - we don’t just ‘fall over’.”

There was no room for argument in his tone, you knew he was right. Leaning forward, Ghost looped his arms under yours and pulled you firmly to your feet. You wavered slightly, his grip on you the only thing keeping you standing.

“You need rest.”

Gaz popped into view, eager, “I can take her back too her room, LT!”

Ghost swung his gaze over the young sergeant who shrank back immediately, “if you thought this was the end of training for today, you’re wrong. You and Soap still have a minute left. I want you halfway through the next set once I’m back.”

Laughing Soap clapped Gaz on the back, “Come on lad. Let the LT look after Rags, we don’t give up so easily.”

You scoff, “Rude.”

“Get well soon, Lass,” Soap winked, pulling Gaz back to his station as Ghost led you out of the gym.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“You really don’t need to lead me to back to my room, I know the way.”

“We aren’t going to your room,” Ghost grunted, his hand hovering behind your shoulder blades as you wavered.

You looked up, frowning as you locked eyes with him. “I don’t need to go to the infirmary, LT. I just need a nap.”

The man shrugged, gently pushing you forward. “We have free healthcare, may as well use it.”

“God you’re relentless,” you muttered, missing how his eyes crinkled through the mask.

“To a fault, sergeant.”

The nurse in the infirmary whistled as she read your temp.

“Good thing you brought her here, Lieutenant,” she turned to you with her hands on her hips, ‘you’re dehydrated, hun. I’m keeping you here overnight or until your fever breaks.”

“Really? I can never sleep in here, it’s too bright.” You felt like a child under the stern stares of the nurse and Ghost who stood beside her, arms crossed.

“We can dim the lights if you’d like, sergeant,” the nurse offered, bustling around while she prepped an IV, “but you’re staying here until I say.”

You sank lower in the bed, letting your chin fall against your chest.

“I usually sleep with an eye-mask.” You mumble, embarrassed.

“What was that, hun?”

Ghost steps closer with a single nod, “speak up sergeant.”

You cleared your throat, feeling silly. “I usually wear an eye-mask.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” the nurse smiled, pulling your arm to the side, “small pinch.”

You sucked in a breath as the needle slid home.

“Where is it?”

You looked up, surprised the lieutenant was still there. “Where’s what?”

“Your eye mask.” Ghost responded, arms still crossed.

“Oh,” you wince slightly as the nurse hooked up the fluids to the port on your arm, “uh don’t worry about it LT, one of the boys can grab it later I’m sure.”

“I’m here now. Where is it?”

You met his eyes, surprised. “My room, either on my bedside table or in the top drawer.”

Ghost leaves with a curt nod, the curtain swishing behind him. You sigh, leaning back into the pillow behind you, praying it’s lying on top and not in the drawer that holds a variety of items you definitely don’t want your Lieutenant seeing.

By the time he returns you’re half asleep in your fever-induced delirium. The lights are dimmed but your eyes still burn. He gently lays the mask on the bed next to your arm and makes to leave.

“Thanks LT.” You say with a rasp, cracking your eyes open further.

He looks up, blue eyes meeting yours. “Though you were asleep.”

You laugh softly, “Wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t sleep without it.”

“Mm.” He grunts in acknowledgement. “Lieutenant?”

“Yeah?” He stops, hand on the door handle.

“Thanks for today.”

He nods sharply, not sure how to respond. “Thank me when your back in fighting shape, sergeant."

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Masterlist

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #fluff #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #141 x reader #cod mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you

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alornights · 2 years ago

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⟢ push pop

➜ in which ! scott can't get enough of the naive new girl.

🌷 ﹫scott tenorman.

✩ 🦩 warnings﹗suggestive, death threats & smoking.

🍧 ⟡ notes — ahah i’m back? ima bfr i was binge watching shows sooo yeah anyways here’s my fav of this series ever 🫨

masterlist [ check mlist for details ! ] — previous | next

🏷️ taglist | @corpseinpink , @stephs-inluv , @cyberrmishh , @itszzmoon , @elizabethnightingale4 , @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction , @venom-ology , @weird0o0 , @loopycorn1123 , @twwkk , @h-harleybaby , @hejjgillarbajs !

"Look at her- she's like god- but better."

"You're so overreacting," Scott murmured watching you and your friends walk over to one of the lunch tables outside.

One of his friends sniggered nudging him, "Scotty my girlfriend became friends with the new bitch in town.”

“You’re not setting me up with her if that’s what you’re trying to do,” Scott grumbled smacking his friend's neck loudly.

"Nah, I'm sure you're going to absolutely love her!"

he really didn't intend to go that far with you.

the only time he thought he would ever be talking to you is when the entirety of the friend group was around.

but somehow you always found a way to weasel into his life.

even when you weren’t there you just seemed to pop up into every conversation of his.

not to mention that whenever you saw him you’d latch on to him making yourself way too comfortable around him.

he was definitely pissed off in the beginning because who fucking cares that you were hanging around some freshmen dork.

slowly but surely though- he found himself listening to anything relating to you just to get the slightest information.

and sue him because anytime you’d walk into a room he’d be on you- talking and laughing like never before.

and lord, he’s trying his damn hardest not to just pick you up and take you away every time you even make the slightest suggestive motion.

even though you don’t notice the change in personality, his friends sure do.

"Don't even," Scott grumbled as his friends continued rolling around the floor laughing like never before.

One of his friends gasped for air, "You- Scott Tenorman FALLING for Y/N? Oh, this is fucking gold."

"Oooh she's so dumb, she's too girly, she's just a dumb bitch right Scott?" Another one teased before they all burst out laughing again.

"This has to be some sort of discrimination."

"Yeah okay, ginger." Another snorted holding out his fist to Scott.

"I hope you all kill yourselves." Scott smiled fist-bumping the guy back.

"WOAHHHH-"

he surprisingly isn't that whipped for you. on the outside at least.

on the inside this guy can not stop feeling so fucking flustered, there’s not a second where he doesn’t feel butterflies.

his mind starts racing whenever you're around and it’s like no one but you exists.

he and his friends are playing baseball and you come over? bro is packing up his shit and leaving to take you out on a date

he sees you hanging out with your friends while skipping school? say bye-bye the two of you are going out to the mall or whateva.

you just make him do things that are just so uncharacteristic for him and he isn't sure how to feel about it. though- he isn't mad.

like the way he can’t stop staring at you as you're running around in gym, his eyes never leaving you just savoring your body like it was something only for him, something god created with his bare hands.

it's not that he’s obsessive or anything weird like that it’s just the urge to be around you whenever he can because he likes you that much!

maybe to the point where he might slip that he “wanted to crawl around your room like a spider and live in your walls”

but according to him, he never said such a thing.

"I didn't."

You smirked wrapping your arms around his as you clung closely to him. "Oh but Scotty, you did!"

"Proof?" He questioned looking at you with an innocent smile.

Your smile dropped as you began to pout, "I was going to say I'd so let you, just so you can see everything about me. Y'know, to be informed."

You let go of his arms before walking away as he laughed catching up to you, laying his arm around your shoulder, and bringing you in to kiss the top of your head.

"Aww, c'mon sweetie you know I was only teasin' you."

his dad was/is part of the denver broncos so you know that means hella lot of money.

and because you had made such a good influence somehow on his family, they already began treating you as their daughter in law.

his family is nice enough to let you go on vacations with them which is a beauty.

so you got to go to the bahamas or whatever just because your dating scott. for free!!

if he's feeling nice enough he might even take you somewhere you really wanted to go by just asking his parents.

he’s not very into pda in public he’d obviously hold hands and like little kisses but he likes to keep it private.

all for himself! :)

in the comfort of his own bedroom, he is very physical, often initiating cuddles or whatever. like a cat, but bitchier.

he enjoys these days!!! most of the time.

"Move bitch, I gotta pee oh my god-"

You shook your head wrapping your arms more tightly around him with a smirk, “Aaaah I would but ‘m too comfortable. I think ‘m gonna fall asleep.”

Scott groaned trying to push you off him, "Y/N, baby, please move. I’ll stay with you as long as you want afterward just gimme a second."

You shook your head sinking your head into the crook of his neck, “Nah, that’s not my problem.”

“I will just piss myself right now.”

"WAIT NO-"

scott likes to notice the little details about you instead of the bigger ones.

since he's not that big of a romantic he does try his best to make you feel loved.

if he sees you staring at a ring in passing when you’re walking around the mall, you’ll find it in your locker with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers.

you guys are walking at the park and he remembers you said you liked skipping stones? he'll make sure to have the best stones and the best view for you.

a bunch of guys flirting with you and making you uncomfortable? they’re going through a week of hell never to recover.

you're sick as fuck? for the next week, you get presents and gifts galore of health care and things you simply love.

also, i just feel like scott smokes which he thinks makes him 10x more attractive.

he’s obviously stopped whenever you didn’t like it or just plain out quit if you really disliked it because anything for you.

ahahaha make out session while smoking?

“Scotty…” You murmur laying your head on his lap as he looked down at you

“C’mere pretty girl…” He whispered as you moved up to sit on his lap facing him. “Need me to stop?”

You shook your head, “S’fine… just want you.”

He laughed lightly taking a hit of his cigarette before bringing you closely to kiss you- the smoke filling your lungs. You giggled a bit as he brought you closer by the waist.

“Y’know…” He whispered as you blew a puff of smoke out, grinding down on his lap, “I really think you’re gonna be the death of me with that whinin.”

#south park x reader #scott tenorman x reader #ILLECEBROUS SERIES — ✿

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spideyanakin · 2 years ago

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10 Things I Hate About you - Chapter 5

Eddie Munson x Harrington!reader

synopsis - A new rule strikes the Harrington household: if Steve wishes to date ever again, his sister needs to find a boyfriend first. As Steve becomes desperate and thinks of everything in his power to set her up, only one guy comes to mind that will take up a challenge such as that: Eddie Munson.

warnings - way too much fluff, ties in with season 1 (rip Barb), talks about Eddie's past (so trigger warning?), lotr references, one lil suggestive moment, angst if you squint

word count - 14.5k

Proof read by the amazing @inknopewetrust

series masterlist 🌻

the playlist

There was not a time in your life where you once believed you would feel like a main character in one of those cheesy romantic comedies your mom liked to watch on Friday nights.

Never did you think you would close the door to your house with a dumb smile plastered across your lips and a lovesick sigh would proceed to tumble from your body as your bag slid from your shoulder to find its spot beside the umbrella rack. You bit your lip, leaning against the white wood of your entry door in a daze.

Never did you think that the warm fuzzy feeling the young female lead always described would be coursing through your veins, astonished in the best of ways when the images of today flashed through your mind. Was this how Juliet felt when she first met Romeo at that masked ball? You felt dizzy; light and floating at the same time. Your fingers traveled by themselves to your lips as the ghost of his own haunted your thoughts.

What had just happened?

Eddie fucking Munson.

That's not what, but who.

The crazy metalhead who turned out to be the most amazing person you had ever set your eyes on. The one who would play torturous games of tags with teachers and spend half of his life getting detentions he never stepped foot in.

That boy had come into your life like a hurricane. Ravaging every single one of your well thought out plans and everything you had seemed to set your mind on only to leave everything in the dust to be swept away with the wind. It only left you to become helplessly and hopelessly submerged by his existence.

"Y/n?" Your mom's wavering voice came from the kitchen, "Darling, is that you?" You could hear her footsteps on the colored carpet coming toward the entryway.

"Yeah, mom, it's me."

"Oh my God! Where were you?" She sighed out, voice cracking in relief.

"Out?" You said, nonchalantly as if you did it often and it wasn’t unusual. Slipping your shoes beside the door, you wiggled your socked feet out and kicked your shoes perfectly against the wall before walking the few steps towards the kitchen archway.

She was already halfway to you. Half of her hair stuck in bright pink and yellow hot rollers, her pink cotton shirt falling off one shoulder and worry creases marked between her eyebrows. Her makeup done up and her eyes in a personified version of panic.

Behind her, Steve sat on the counter with an unbothered gaze and a glass of orange juice between his fingers. He was fixing a strand of hair falling on his forehead before he took a sip of his juice. You noticed your father next to him, facing you with a stern look in his eyes. He was well dressed in his best polo and white dress pants.

It was obvious your parents were getting ready to go somewhere and you were a stickler in their evening plans.

"Never do this to us again," your mother took a bated breath before continuing on. Her shaking hands reach for you to wrap her arms around your shoulders.

"O-ok?"

"Where were you?"

"I told you she was out with her boyfriend!" Steve smirked in between two sips. You glared at him from behind your mother’s shoulder before pulling away.

"I was out with a friend," you corrected. A friend which you had just kissed. But none of that mattered by the way your mother kept her hands on your shoulders and that crease between her brows only deepened, fighting the urge to fall into the panic that had been brewing for hours.

"What happened?" You scanned your mother's face, attempting to clarify the situation.

"You didn't come home after class and with that Byers boy disappearing–"

"Mom,” you interjected. “I'm fine."

"But you could have not been! We don't know what happened to Joyce’s boy and if someone’s out there snatching up–"

"Mom,” you stressed again. “I was with someone. Nothing could have happened to me."

And she frowned as your words sunk in, sighing and gripping your shoulder tighter and tighter until all of her weight was on you and the pressure was enough to make a bone ache. It was the worry of a mother.

"I was worried sick."

"I'm fine. Trust me,” you nodded, slipping out of her arms to go grab a glass of orange juice for yourself.

“Why is your hair wet?” Steve narrowed his eyes on you. He was poking around for insights on his plan and hoping that your parents would see you were up to something.

“We went paintballing and I took a shower.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’” Your father raised an eyebrow.

“Her and her boyfriend,” Steve sang.

“Boyfriend?”

“Well…it’s not like we’ve labeled anything–”

“I KNEW IT!” Steve pointed his finger at you.

“Steve-”

“Well, I’m glad you're home safe,” your father continued, too tired to go further into this conversation. “Both of our kids are home safe… Now, shall we finish getting ready? We also have our suitcases to prepare for tomorrow,” he turned his attention to your mother.

“Where are you guys going tonight?”

“Enzo’s.”

“Ah ok,” you nodded before opening the cupboard and grabbing the first glass that fell between your fingers; an old mustard glass from when you were a kid. The white cat from Disney’s Aristocats was painted on it. You took a short glance at it only to notice the tail was starting to fade off from the amount of times you’d used and washed it. “I might be going to the search.”

“Search?”

“The search for Will Byers. Half of the town is going,” you placed the glass on the counter before reaching for the orange juice carton next to Steve.

"Is that ‘boyfriend’ of yours coming with you?" Your father further questioned.

"Nope," you shook your head, hoping your smile would be enough to shove the subject away.

"I don’t like you going alone."

"As I said, there's a whole party going. Chief Hopper included."

Your father thought for a second, pursing his lips before nodding. “Don’t come home too late.”

“Sure, yeah, of course.”

"Well,” Steve slipped off the counter and winked at you as he turned to put his glass in the sink. “I’m going to Nancy’s to study.”

"You're going to who's?" The surprise in your father’s voice was evident.

"Steve’s new love interest," you took a sip, excited to see the arguments your brother would throw at your dad.

“Potential new love interest!” He corrected you.

"Steve-"

"You said I could date when she does!" He raised his hands in innocence before slithering his way out of the room like a cheeky cat who had just captured the mouse. "Rules are rules, Dad."

“I don’t have time for this,” your father pinched the bridge of his nose and gave you one last look as if to tell you 'be safe' before turning around on his heels and exiting the kitchen, your mother following behind with not another word spoken.

“Rumor is,” Tommy beamed as he approached Carol and Steve, wrapping an arm around her shoulder–a large smirk plastered on his face, “the Freak and your sister are dating.”

“I KNEW IT!” Steve threw his fist in the air in victory. “She came back home late yesterday after a totally not date with him.” Steve chewed on his bubble gum as he spoke, excitement rising in his chest at the idea. Everything was finally going according to plan, he grinned, looking around the bright hallway for any signs of you. He unfortunately didn’t spot you in the multitude of heads bopping around the corridor and turned his attention back to his friends.

“How’d you know?”

“People spotted them together in the hallway this morning before class. They kissed apparently.”

“This is actually going well,” Carol chuckled. “Who would have thought?”

“Not me,” Tommy laughed.

“Damn,” Steve scoffed in surprise. He hadn’t expected for the plan to go that well, but He sure as shit could finally go out with Nancy now and that was all that mattered.

On the other end of the hallway, hidden by the sea of students, Eddie had been waiting for you. Leaning on the wall by the door to Mrs. Click’s class, ee was toying with the chain attached to his jeans as he blankly stared at the little window opening. He could spot Mrs. Click bright red curls poking atop her head as she moved around the board. Eddie could almost hear the loud thud of her giant ruler colliding with whatever she had written on the board, continuing to go on about whatever country she had been rambling about. He thought this would forever be a trauma sound; anchored into his mind, doomed to haunt him every time he saw a world map.

Finally, after what felt like a hellish eternity, the door opened and there you were: angelic as ever as you fixed your grip on your bag and pulled your walkman out of your back pocket.

Eddie pushed himself off of the wall. He met your gaze as he got closer and wished he could permanently tattoo in his brain the smile that lit your features when you spotted him. His whole being buzzed with happiness as you strutted over and gave his cheek a peck. Eddie hummed in appreciation before you wrapped arm around his waist and his fell over your shoulder.

It quickly became obvious that the onslaught of students would make walking like a pair more difficult. So as fast as your limbs had found purchase on the other, they left and returned to their homes at the sides of your bodies.

“What tape did you bring today?” He asked, bumping his shoulder into yours instead.

“Rebel Yell.”

“Of course you listen to Billy Idol,” he chuckled.

“And of course you wouldn’t,” you gave him your best smile. “Let me guess, it isn't metal enough for you?”

“Bullseye” Eddie pretended to throw a dart, a popping sound emitting from his lips as he let the imaginary dart go and it hit the red center.

“Well, I like Billy Idol very much,” you placed the walkman back in your pocket with the headphones now resting safely on your shoulders.

"How was the search?" Eddie changed the subject but instantly felt the shift in the conversation. You frowned before answering. He shouldn’t have asked. He should have listened to the gossip of the table beside him at lunch but he couldn’t help it. He was just as invested as everyone else.

"Led absolutely nowhere," you sighed. You allowed yourself to melt closer to him as you held your notebooks tighter against your chest. "I just hope nothing bad has happened to him. He’s a good, quiet kid.”

Eddie came to a halt in the hallway and made you stop with him. He turned you around so you’d face him, taking your free hand in his.

"Hey, look, I'm sure he's going to be alright," he took a breath and rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. "Plus they're continuing the search today, they have to find him. This is a small town, and nothing bad ever happens in Hawkins."

"Yeah," you nodded, “I guess you’re right,” you did your best to try and sound hopeful, but the pit at the bottom of your stomach wouldn't budge. You looked up from your red history notebook to find Eddie’s bright eyes staring right back–making you feel just a little bit better.

"C'mon," Eddie nudged you, keeping his hand locked in yours. “Let’s get to class.”

You sighed as you continued your walk through the hall. You were so caught up in the multitude of possibilities as to where Will Byers could be that you didn't think twice about the way Eddie was holding your hand.

In the meantime, Eddie couldn't believe that his fingers were intertwined with yours in the middle of the fucking Hawkins High hallway. He couldn't believe that he was walking with the girl of his dreams by his side and that she was not giving a care in the world about the lingering eyes and odd stares. Eddie had tried to convince himself that this morning had all been a dream. That you hadn’t jumped to hug him the second you met his eyes that morning or that you hadn’t pecked his lips before rushing off into Mr. Davis’ classroom. But the fact that your hand was indeed securely locked in his own made him know this was very much real.

He could hear the patter of his heart climbing up to his ears just thinking about it all.

But the dreamy reality quickly crushed when he spotted Steve's fluffy head of hair. He suddenly remembered that two weeks ago he wasn't even sure of your name. That not even two weeks ago he hadn’t had a clue that you were this amazing girl of his dreams that would make him feel this way. Two weeks ago he would have laughed at the face of anyone that would tell him he was on the road to falling in love. That he was practically sure he had met his soulmate and was utterly captivated in a two-week time frame which seemed so ridiculous.

The closer the both of you became to Steve, the more he wanted to throw up.

"Oh my God," your voice brought him back.

"What?"

"I cannot believe Steve got his grip on Nancy so quickly," you squeezed his hand tighter and Eddie did too. Perhaps the fear of losing you had iced his veins because the words that left your lips felt too real. Of course Steve would be seen with Nancy. It was the entire point as to why he had paid Eddie in the first place. Now that he had the girl, it felt too likely that Steve would drop the deal and Eddie could try and see how he would go from there.

"What do you mean?" He played dumb.

"Well, now that I've been hanging out with you more, Steve is using this as a ‘get out of jail free’ card."

"Ah,"

"A party?" you heard Nancy squeak. "But it's Wednesday."

"C'mon it will be just a small gathering," Steve gave her a dazzling smile.

"Well, look who it is!" Tommy Hagen cheered with a bright smirk and you closed your eyes in despair. Of course they had to call you. Carol leaned into Tommy’s shoulder as she eyed you and Eddie up and down, a sly smirk on her lips at the sight.

The hair on Eddie's arm spiked as Tommy's voice traveled up to his ears. He straightened himself up, bracing for the snarky remarks or comments that always came out of his mouth.

Steve turned around at the distraction. And rather than jeer like Carol and Tommy, he was rather happy to be met with yours and Eddie's faces. He was beaming an even brighter smile when he saw your intertwined hands but you quickly slipped yours out of Eddie's before he or his dumb friends could even think of commenting.

Eddie felt his heart plummet back to his shoes at the security that left him.

"Y/n, you should invite Eddie," Steve pointed to Eddie as if to say ‘this is Eddie, this is who I am referring to’.

"Invite him to what?"

"Our party! Tonight!"

"Party?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Steve, you can’t just throw a party just because Mom and Dad are gone. What about-"

"-It’s just a small gathering. Just us seven."

"Steve-"

"Eddie, you coming?" Steve cut you off before you could say anything.

Eddie’s eyes widened. He looked confused, scared, in the slightest. He was never invited to the small gatherings of popular kids. He had no idea what it would even be. And in the small gatherings he would do with his friends, they played D and D and smoked and listened to records or tested new music. They had a reason to meet up, something to discuss.

"Um, yeah… sure?" He side eyed you, and you stared daggers back. He could tell this was annoying you more than you were leading on.

"Good," Steve clapped his hands.

"Oh and bring some stuff," Tommy smirked before patting Eddie's shoulder, Eddie tensing up at the touch.

"Alright," he awkwardly chuckled back, finding your gaze to seek any kind of help you could get from you.

"This is going to be amazing," Tommy rubbed his hands together, grinning from ear to ear, as if he could boss Eddie around and use him just to get some free drugs.

"No, it’s not,” your tone may have been a bit too dry because every head turned towards you. You gave an uneasy look to Eddie before swallowing and continuing with the rest of your sentence. “because he is not going to bring anything, and we're not coming to this stupid party," you pinched the bridge of your nose, "Steve–can you please just leave us alone for five seconds."

"Never," he almost looked offended upon the request, putting a dramatic hand across his chest. “Y/n, you're my sister. It’s my job to annoy you.”

A beat fell upon the group. Steve rolled his eyes and crossed his arms around his chest while you huffed. Sibling banter hanging thickly through the air and no one really knowing how to make it go away. Everyone knew both of the Harrington siblings were headstrong, each more stubborn than the other.

It was an entrancing silence only either of you could break. Your eyes drifting towards Barb, she was looking at Nancy uneasily as she fixed her grip on her pink spiral notebook.

"You two are coming?" You questioned, your soft words slithering through the tension and making it evaporate into a mere memory.

"Yes!" Nancy beamed shyly. Barb looked as though she wanted to melt from the spotlight behind her and become one with the squeaky white hallway floors.

Nancy was about to continue, speak to something else but Tommy abruptly cut her off. "My god that's depressing," Everyone’s curiosity took the better of them and followed Tommy’s gaze towards whatever he was looking at behind Nancy.

Johnathan Byers.

The Byers boy was awkwardly standing, a grim look on his face as he pinned a missing persons poster of his little brother on the board amongst the collection of theater posters and recruiting sheets of random clubs and sports teams.

You and Nancy looked at each other. Her sympathy bled from her hands. She was a good person and somewhere, you’d like to believe you were too even in your stubbornness.

"We should go and say something," she said hesitantly but steadfastly to do so.

"I don't think he speaks," Carol raised an eyebrow.

"I bet he killed him," Tommy snickered.

It made you sick. Jonathan’s pain was evident. You saw it in Dustin, you saw it in the boys he had grown so close with… Surely Mike had been upset in the Wheeler house which made Nancy more attune as well. But the fact that Tommy could assume such a thing about a boy, barely a man and no older than the lot of you, made you sick.

And you wished you hadn’t dropped Eddie’s hand for the sake of comfort.

Will Byers.

If there was a level of sweetness to rank the young boys of Hawkins, Indiana, Dustin would reign supreme but Will Byers would always be fighting for that spo. You figured that if he had disappeared into thin air and most of the town didn’t even think to care. Surely enough that assumption came true. Instead, you had people like Steve who only cared about making out with a pretty girl and throwing a dumb party on a school night and girls like Tammy Thompson who were too busy handing out neon pink flyers for the Spring Fling.

All the while people like Joyce and Johnathan Byers were being ridiculed for caring about their smallest joy disappearing.

It all seemed ridiculous.

Ridiculous that not only Steve and his dumb friends, but most of Hawkins, were only thinking about themselves and what mattered in their lives. If it was a kid from the right side of the tracks, some neighborhood like Nancy lived in, everyone would be looking. There would be vigils and strange prayer groups in hopes that the kid would return.

It made the grip you had on your bag tighter, knuckles going white as your nails dug into your palm.

You truly hoped he was ok.

Because if he wasn’t, you didn't know how you could handle seeing Dustin grieve for his closest friend or how you would be able to compose yourself from the pain.

Those thoughts of Jonathan and where Will may be plagued you for the rest of the day. At your locker, you had been lost in a train of thought. The idea of Dustin being sad and the town forgetting a kind kid made your mind swirl.

"Boo!" Two hands were draped over your shoulder, making you jolt out of your thoughts and your heart beat out of your chest. You only relaxed when a familiar laughter echoed behind you, turning around to be met with Eddie's mischevious grin.

"You have to stop doing that!" You playfully slapped his shoulder in return.

"Doing what?"

"Scaring me like this!"

"Come on,” he careened, “you love it and you know it’s fun.”

"Not for me," you bumped your shoulder into his as he had done that morning. This time, Eddie slung his arm around your shoulder and walked with you towards the parking lot.

A rainbow of cars were parked as always; jocks at the wheels of their brand new convertibles while girls sat at the back, swooning over their million dollar smiles. It was the same every day and would always be the same every year. For god knows how long, the same archetypes would run the halls of Hawkins High and the same things would happen over and over again for generations to come. The same crown prince would date the crowned princess while bullying the misfits.

You wondered if the embroiled, eternal circle of Hell would ever come to an end.

"What are you going to do before the... small gathering?" Eddie’s voice felt relaxing amongst the crowd.

"I need to drop off Dustin at his friend's place and then homework, probably. If Steve allows me some peace. How about you?"

"Walk home… then attempt to read Romeo and Juliet."

"Oh my god! Is Eddie Munson finally going to do this homework!? Oh my god, even better, am I rubbing off on you?”

"Maybe," he smirked.

"Also, why walk?"

"Van's at the garage, problem with the gear shift. I brought it in last night."

"Oh,"

"Yeah, but I mean it's not that far, anyways."

"I could drop you off."

"You don't have to."

"C'mon! Like this, I can hang out with you and we can work together! I don't think I can stand being in the house alone with Steve right now," you pouted, hooking onto the hopes of being as far from Steve for as long as you possibly could.

"Alright," he smirked. "I'll let you bring me home."

"Good. As long as you don't mind that we bring Dustin home first," you slipped the key into your car door and opened it in a swift move, slipping your bag into the back seat.

"I don't mind at all. He seems cool."

"He is. It's not usually one of my babysitting days but his mom wants to make sure he gets home safe with the disappearance of his friend."

As if on cue, you heard Dustin's voice calling, screaming, your name in his usual enthusiastic tone and closing you into his traditional bear hug.

"How's my favorite troublemaker going?" you huffed, wrapping your arms around him.

"Doin' good," he mumbled against you. He wasn’t doing good, you knew that.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright," you nodded and pulled away from his embrace. "I'm dropping you off at Mike's, right?” Dustin nodded his head.

“Also, is it alright if my friend tags along?” You lifted your gaze to stare at Eddie who was awkwardly leaning on your car behind Dustin.

Dustin’s brow scrunched in confusion before following your gaze; his eyes lighting up when he came face to face with the metal head he couldn’t stop babbling about to his friends. He had heard a rumor of a D & D club at the high school he just couldn’t wait to join.

"You're coming with us!?"

"Yeah," Eddie smiled back, a certain ego boost rising in his chest caused by the stars of admiration apparent in the young boy’s eyes.

"Awesome," Dustin breathed out, as if this was the best news since he read about the announcement of the new Zelda game. You blinked as you registered Dustin's enthusiasm. Somehow, Dustin's best friend was missing but all he could think about was how he was going to be in the same car as his new idol; Eddie Munson.

Dustin waited until everyone was settled; seatbelts fastened and car doors secured shut before popping the question that had been dancing on his lips the second he placed his butt onto your back seat. "So… are you two dating now?"

There was an awkward pause. Eddie looked at you like a deer in headlights, blush creeping on both your cheeks.

You didn't know how to reply. Eddie had made it clear he wanted to go out with you.

You had been acting strangely like a couple for the past few hours. Holding hands in the hallway, stolen kisses in between classes. Your heart beated faster than your thoughts and words escaped you without thinking twice.

"Yeah, kind of," a short smile creeping on your lips as you looked at Eddie for confirmation.

Eddie knew he shouldn’t have felt this relieved when the words left your lips. He had wanted that answer from you with every fiber in his bodyvbut he knew very well this wasn't supposed to be real. This was supposed to never go further than a few planned dates so that Steve could go on dates of his own.

But dammit did he want this to be real. He felt angry and nauseous at the same time, almost close to agony at the mere thought that this had all started around a stupid deal.

He was beating himself up for not finding you sooner himself.

He knew he had to find a way.

"OH MY GOD! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!!" Eddie’s sulking was quickly shattered by Dustin’s piercing shriek and excited bounces. For a second he was scared the kid was going to hit his head on your car’s beige ceiling yet he seemed to have his bouncing up and down perfectly under control.

"Dustin-"

"I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS," Eddie smiled a bit at the boy's adoration. He knew this kid was a keeper. A heart of gold to be paired with an amazing mind. He just hoped that once he reached high school, he wouldn’t let people like Steve or Tommy Hagan crush all his hopes and dreams in a single sentence.

Eddie wouldn’t be there to protect this kid. He wouldn’t be there to protect his friends and guide them in the adventure that was high school… he’d go on to bigger and better things and maybe, if life didn’t work out like he’d plan and he still stuck in this hellhole of a town, he’d cross paths with Dustin if he ever needed repairs to his potential future car.

"You two are like perfect for each other!" Dustin continued his happy rambles.

"Really?" Eddie raised an eyebrow, a grin painted over his features as he turned to meet the kid’s eyes.

"Yeah!" He furiously nodded. "Y/n, I'm so glad you listened to me!"

"Dustin! Please–” you tried to stop the fountain of words that Dustin could spew be when he got overly excited.

"What's that now?" Eddie changed his gaze to you like a curious cat pulling on a string until he unraveled all the yarn laid out in front of him.

"Dustin said we should date–"

"I said you two should date!" The two sentences came out like music, mixing together to echo in the car and scramble together.

Eddie grinned from ear to ear, clicking his tongue as he leaned back against the leather seat, "talking about me behind my back I see."

"Only good things, I promise."

"Well, I'm so glad you finally have a boyfriend. Steve will finally stop bugging you." Dustin huffed, making you giggle.

“Hopefully,” you glanced at Eddie who tried to swallow the lump in his throat at the mention of your brother.

You quickly brought your stare back to the road, blushing when you remembered the use of the word boyfriend. It's not like you had labeled anything yet and Dustin was coming in like a hurricane, ready to pull out every potential seed that he found if that meant you got to be happy and prove a point to Steve. Trying so hard to be your mini wingman, even if it meant he had to annoy or embarrass you in the process. You loved him to bits and knew this was all coming from a place of love, however you were desperate to change the subject.

Whatever was happening with Eddie was too fresh and not something to discuss with a twelve year old. You rummaged your brain for anything to ask Dustin, but everything that came to mind was going to potentially remind him of Will.

"Do you listen to metal?" Eddie’s voice made you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Once again, your savior.

"I tried to get him to but he says he never has the time to listen to the tapes I give him," you answered for Dustin.

"That's not true!"

"It is true Dustin! When I give you a tape, I miss my tape, so I ask for it back, and it turns out you didn't even listen to it!"

"Ok, fair enough. But I like what you put in the car when you pick me up. Especially the one band that's like… sabertooth something."

Sabertooth something. He absolutely has not, never in his life, listened to a tape you have given him.

"Black Sabbath?" Eddie questioned. You didn’t know how Eddie even made that connection when you didn’t.

"Yeah! That one!"

"Oh my god, the kid has taste."

Before Dustin could answer, the car came to a stop. You thought you almost heard a whine leave Dustin’s lips when he spotted Mike's house from the passenger window.

“I don’t want to go,” Dustin melted in his seat. “Can I stay with you and Eddie?”

“Dustin, as much as I love you, Mike is waiting for you,” Dustin groaned, making slow moves to unbuckle his seat belt. “Don’t you have a campaign to do?”

“Yeah, yeah…” he mumbled, not giving you a full answer. He was elusive. At this time on any normal day, he’d catch you up on the progress of the campaign and complain about how Lucas or Mike were playing. Dustin said nothing. He just looked at the house in slight concern. Maybe for Will, maybe for something else.

A part of him just wanted to stay with Eddie and yourself. He wanted to know everything about Eddie Munson and find out if the rumors the 8th graders spoke of the Witch King were true. Eddie didn’t even seem like a villain. He didn’t seem like the freak everyone at the malt shop said or the scary metal head the people at the pool gossiped about.

"Can we hang out with Eddie more often?" He asked hopefully.

"Yeah, we can," you let out a breathy laugh at his expression. "Now go! Mike is waiting for you and don't forget to call your mom! She's going to be worried sick."

"Yeah, yeah," he whined again as he put his bag on and opened the door. "I'll leave you and your boyfriend alone," he rolled his eyes and swung the door to a close.

"Bye, Dustin!" You waved your hand and he did the same before taking fast steps toward Mike's house.

Silence fell in the car as you watched Dustin waddle his way over to the white door of Mike’s home. His curly hair bounced as he did. He rang the bell and waited, turning around to meet your gaze and giving you his best toothless smile. You waved a last time before the door swung open behind him to reveal Mrs. Wheeler–well dressed as always. She rushed Dustin in, not noticing your car before closing the door which made her and Dustin disappear behind the perfect suburban house.

Neither of you wanted to be the one to break the silence.

Dustin's happiness still hanging in the air, both your cheeks hurting from his contagious smile. It was far from uncomfortable, sitting in a car with a giddy smile on your lips and Eddie Munson by your side.

"Boyfriend, hm?" Eddie smiled to himself.

"What?" You turned your head to face him, only to see that he was already staring at you.

"He called me your boyfriend."

"Oh yeah..." you felt the heat rise as the word sunk in.

"I like how that sounds, to be honest." Eddie hated himself for speaking. Digging himself a bigger hole than the one he was already trapped in. Yet everything felt so right.

"I kind of do too," you played with the sleeve of your sweater.

Eddie stayed frozen for a moment, contemplating his next move. His gaze was burning on you as he watched your shy demeanor. He was sure you were going to undo the seams of your sleeve by tugging so hard on the loose string, he could see the turmoil of thoughts reflecting on your features and hard focus on anything that wasn’t him. Trying to find an escape.

Eddie stopped you, grabbing your hand in his, the movement making you look up.

He gave you his sweetest smile, making your heart leap in your chest, feeling him lean in. Left hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb grazing over the soft skin of your cheek that was burning from his touch. Not a doubt clouded Eddie's mind as he leaned in to kiss you. Not a single ounce of regret flooded him as his lips moved in sync with yours, his hand holding yours tighter.

He would find a way out of this mess he put himself in.

He had too.

If not for his own sanity, than for yours.

"Is that a Millennium Falcon keychain?" You noticed as Eddie's keys clinked together when he held them up to the door, sliding it into the keyhole.

"Yeah," Eddie chuckled. "You didn't notice it last time?"

"Sadly not," you smiled as he opened the door, waiting for you to get in before he did. He closed it behind you, dropping the keys in the fish shaped key bowl on the counter by the door and sloppily removing his shoes, messily tucking them under said counter.

You removed your own shoes, dropping your bag next to them before following him further towards the kitchen area.

"Do you want anything to drink? Soda, water?" Eddie opened a wooden cupboard, grabbing two tinted blue glasses and placing them on the counter behind him.

"Water, please," you spoke, admiring as Eddie grabbed one of the two glasses, filling it with water from the tap before handing it to you first.

"Here's your water, my lady."

"Thank you very much," you winked, taking a sip before looking over to your backpack. "So, we've got some Shakespeare to read and I have history questions to do."

"I'm afraid so..." He looked at you, defeat evident in his eyes.

"It will be alright!” You cheered, “where do you want to work?"

"In my room?"

"Is this a pretext of getting me in your bed, Munson?" you raised an eyebrow and Eddie froze on the spot. The wheels in his brain coming to a stop as you stared back at him with a cheeky smile. "I'm kidding," you chuckled at the look on his face. "Working in your room is perfect."

"Alright," he gave you a nervous chuckle before opening another cupboard and finding a pack of already opened cookies, placing them on the counter between the two of you.

"Can I ask you a question?" Eddie wondered as he grabbed a cookie from the bottom of the plastic package and handed it to you.

You took the cookie, raising an eyebrow before answering, "go ahead."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Handle a brother like Steve," you chuckled at the question.

“I just don’t,” you took a bite of the cookie Eddie had handed you. “You saw what happened Friday. I survive with a brother like Steve, because I genuinely know I cannot do anything to change him.”

"Fair enough," he grabbed another cookie from the pack, taking a bite out of it before dropping it on the counter and turning to the fridge.

"My turn to ask a question,"

"Go ahead," he answered as he grabbed a carton of milk. Closing the fridge before turning back towards you.

"Where were you for a month last fall? Not jail, I hope?"

Christ. He couldn’t believe you knew he was gone for so long. He didn’t imagine anyone except his five friends knowing he wasn’t there.

"Why, you’re scared your new boyfriend has a criminal record?" He raised a challenging eyebrow, the word boyfriend still making butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"No," you rolled your eyes, watching as Eddie poured himself the milk in his still empty glass. He pointed the carton towards you in a silent question, you nodded, chugging the last of your water down before sliding him the glass. "Couldn't care less, honestly. Just curious, people say so many different things…” You trailed on with a cheeky smile, “jail, short-lived porn star career, cult leader, the list goes on. Forgive me for being curious."

"Definitely none of those," he snorted at your list, dipping his half eaten cookie in the milk and taking a large bite. He waited until he finished chewing and swallowed before answering.

"I was with um, I was visiting my dad while he was on his deathbed."

"Oh," you looked down at your own glass of milk, you seriously didn't mean to open this can of worms. You had never heard a mention of Eddie’s parents and you seriously didn’t mean to intrude in on something that seemed so private to him.

"Hated every minute, to be honest."

"That bad?" You looked back up.

"Well, you know I didn't always live in the trailer park with my uncle," he wiped the cookie crumbs from his fingers on the side of his jeans before leaning closer to you agasin't the counter, "I use to be in an alright apartment, with both my parents," he reached for your free hand, still splayed on the countertop, "of course, I didn't know we were squatters back then, but then my mom died when I was 8 and my dad left, leaving me here with Wayne."

"That must have sucked," you let him play with your fingers, a pause settling in before you lifted your gaze and made eye contact with him. It was not an uncomfortable one, almost peaceful as his words hung in the air.

"Yeah," he made a funny face, "he left and ended up meeting this bimbo who I guess managed to put him on the right track. Made him a new family and shit," that took all the words out of you.

"So yeah, I wasn't in jail, or attempting a porn star career; although I might have preferred to be doing that,” he chuckled. “I was visiting him and his new perfect cookie-cutter family. It was a fiasco," he chuckled to himself. "His new wife didn't want to introduce me to her kids as their brother so I was always baptized as Wayne's kid, their freaky cousin from bum-fuck-nowhere, Indiana. She was throwing daggers at me half the time and I spent most of my days at the neighboring mini golf getting high with the manager."

"You did what?" You smiled at the absurdity.

He matched your smile, "he kept playing Metallica and Ozzy, I had to befriend him. Freaks with freaks, am I right?"

"Yeah," you squeezed his hand, "freaks with freaks."

You didn't know how the air felt so light after what Eddie had dropped on you. Maybe it was the matching look in each of your gazes, or how normal this all felt. A pause lingered in the air. You could tell Eddie had processed this whole crazy situation he had been in. You thought it was a shame he'd probably have to redo a year because of that. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it meant you'd do your Senior year with him by your side.

This brought you back to your purpose of being here with Eddie.

"Maybe we should get to work," you patted his hand.

"Yeah,"

"I cannot do this," Eddie huffed, dropping his book on his lap. You watched as the book opened itself like an accordion and fell open on his bed. Eddie roughly leaned his head against his wall, groaning when his head collided against the hard material.

"What's wrong?" you peaked from your history book.

"This is barely English," he lifted Romeo and Juliet up from his lap and held it by two fingers like it was a dead animal.

"You can read all of Tolkein's work but not Romeo and Juliet?"

"That's different. Tolkein's English is way smoother to read."

"Hm," you smiled, bringing your attention back to the paragraph on the Russian Revolution you were previously reading. Something about the murder of the Romanovs and the supposed victories that followed for the Bolsehviks. "You’ve already read it haven’t you?"

"Yes, but a long time ago. I’m taking my time rereading it," you flipped to the next page, hoping the chapter on the first world war would end there but your eyes fell upon yet another two page section about the consequences of the war on the world. Your eyes quickly danced across a paragraph detailing the problems soldiers faced. You sighed, lazily taping Eddie’s beige carpet with the pink eraser on the back of your pencil.

"Ugh, I don’t know how you do it." Eddie spoke again after a long beat of silence, a new minute of him trying to focus as much of his strength as he could to make sense of the scrambled letters in his hands. He dropped the book again, and flopped to the side like a dead fish. Letting his head and one of his arms drop by the side of his bed. Staring at you now upside down.

"Dramatic much?"

He groaned in response.

You looked up to him from your place on the floor, giving him a silent laugh as you took in his state. His eyes were closed as another dramatic groan escaped his lips, hands flying on his face in desperation. You bit the eraser at the end of your pencil, contemplating your next move.

"Alright, I’ll help you," you closed your textbook and shuffled to stand up, shaking the soreness out of your legs. Eddie mumbled something barely audible when he heard you move.

You picked the book from the spot it had been thrown and flipped through the pages until ACT 2 was written in bold across the white paper.

"Move aside,” you nudged him, making him roll over so he was correctly placed against his pillow, leaving room for you. You climbed on the bed and moved until you were resting against his side, head cosied up on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Eddie mumbled as he wrapped his hand around your waist, mindlessly starting to draw circles on your exposed skin.

"Reading it to you,"

"You don't have to,"

"I know, but I want to. Like this, I'm rereading it and learning too," Eddie blinked as he stared at the top of your head, intently watching as you cleared your throat.

“Act 2, Scene 2. In Capulet's garden, Romeo enters.”

“Romeo: But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief,” Eddie felt his breath catch in his throat. When you spoke the words, Eddie could comprehend every meaning behind it, and his mind, against his own will, twisted the meanings to relate them to you. Was he doomed to feel like Romeo?

“Juliet appears at the window,” you continued, and Eddie felt himself squeeze the side of your arm in realization. “Romeo: It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she was! She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?” You sighed, expecting any comments from your usually talkative boyfriend, but nothing. You looked up to be met with eyes full of thoughts.

“All ok up there?”

“Y- yeah,” he breathed, “you make it easy to understand.”

“Hm,” you giggled, cheeks warming up at the feeling of Eddie’s hand on your arm and his lips close to your ear. “Really?”

He kissed your temple as a reply.

He meant every word.

Not only does hearing you reading make the words clear in his mind, organizing themselves like the perfect melody Shakespeare meant it to be. But the words resonated with something stronger in him. As if the feelings Romeo was crying out were ripped straight out of his chest and burned into the pages you were holding.

You were holding in your hands what his heart was yearning to scream.

“I hate this,” you looked at Tommy’s car from the windshield. You could hear the music playing from the garden and Tommy Hagan’s laughter and to top it off, Steve’s faint voice as he rambled on about whatever had annoyed him that day.

“It will be alright, I promise,” Eddie offered, grazing your arm with his finger tips in an attempt to bring you some comfort, however, perhaps he was the one who needed it that evening.

He could hear the splash of your pool from the other side of the house, and it made him feel as though he was walking straight through a shark tank. Swimming straight for the enemy that could sense the smallest drop of blood; the smallest crack in his armor.

But you made that armor ten times stronger and there was no way Eddie Munson was going to let Steve Harrington and Tommy Hagan see him bleed.

“Hm,” your grumble brought him back to the present, watching as you aggressively grabbed your bag and slipped out of your car, Eddie trailing not far behind.

You opened the door to your house, your R2D2 keychain making music as it clinked agains’t the rest of your keys. You grabbed the right key, the biggest silver one out of the 3 that hung around the ring. You reluctantly turned the silver object in the lock, ready to meet your doom.

From the look on your face he thought you were getting ready to fight the battle of Helm’s deep. Ready to fight an endless battle against the most vile creatures of Mordor, no hopes of winning and the odds far from being in your favor.

But the Fellowship did win the Battle of Helm’s deep.

The door opened to reveal a big but homely house. A variety of shoes stood against the entry hall wall, from Steve’s basketball sneakers to the Reeboks Eddie had seen you wear multiple times. Hagan’s Nikes were next to Carol’s Vans; and you fought the urge to throw in the trash Tommy’s bright green hoodie that hung next to your blue and yellow windbreaker.

“You can take off your shoes and hang your jacket here if you want,” you smiled, pointing to the corner filled with all the clothes of the teenagers currently in the house. You slipped your own shoes off and dropped your bag on a yellow chair by the door to the kitchen.

You sighed as you watched Eddie remove his own shoes and shrug off his jacket.

“Ready to infiltrate the enemy?”

“As long as you’re by my side.”

It was everything you knew it would be. A soaked from head to toe Tommy chasing Carol across your parents garden in an attempt to throw her into the pool. On one of the old white sun chairs sat an uncomfortable Barb with a glass of water dancing between her fingers. Steve shared a sunchair with Nancy who was blushing at whatever stupid joke he had whispered in her ear, and in between all of that two packs of unopened beer sat piled on the small black and green garden table.

“This looks… fun?” Eddie raised an eyebrow, watching you roll your eyes and step forward.

You huffed, barely muttering a hello to your brother and your friends as you ripped the cardboard of one of the six packs open and grabbed two beers. You threw one to Eddie and opened yours, taking a long well needed sip, bracing for their greetings.

“Munson!” Steve cheered, standing up from his spot next to Nancy.

“Harrington,” he nodded a bit stiff as Steve roughly patted his back. “Welcome to the crib!” He chuckled and you wondered how many beers he already had from how loud he was talking.

Tommy stopped running after his girlfriend once he spotted Eddie, a large grin plastered on his punchable face and hovered towards you.

“Eddie, my man!” Tommy cheered as though he was his new best friend, giving him a handshake before taking a step back and asking, “you got the stuff?”

“Yeah,” Eddie fished for the packet of weed in the back pocket of his jeans before throwing it in Tommy’s hand.

“Thanks man,” he winked before waltzing over to the other corner of the pool where had already prepared some rolling paper and other random tools you couldn’t see from that far. All neatly laid out on a mossy wooden block that your parents had meant to throw away weeks ago.

You laid up on one of the empty sun chairs, eyeing Eddie. You watched him fumble with his hands, awkwardly playing with the can of beer in his hands and looking for something to fiddle with. You’d learn it was a habit of his when he felt nervous. He met your gaze and you silently nudged him to come over. You folded your legs together so he had room to sit in front of you.

You placed a reassuring hand on his thigh, and Eddie placed a ring cladded hand on top of yours. You blew him a kiss before looking to your left to where Barbara and Nancy were still sitting, he intently watched as you gave Barb a short smile and took a new sip of your beer.

“Hey! want some?” Tommy placed the freshly lit blunt in front of Nancy’s face, she politely declined and Tommy shrugged, not caring to make any comments before taking a new drag for himself. He silently asked Barbara but he got the same answer, an answer he expected anyways, and turned around towards you and Eddie.

“I know you won’t say no,” he joked and Eddie tried to hand him a smile as he took the joint out of his hand and took a drag for himself. “It’s good stuff by the way,” Tommy commented as Eddie blew smoke to the side, making sure it didn’t get in your face.

“I know,” he spoke, “but you’re half ruining it by rolling it like that,” he scanned the joint in his hand, inspecting it and indeed seeing the crooked way Tommy had folded it, he almost winced as if Tommy had made damage to something greater than him. “My grandmother rolls better than this, Hagan.”

You watched in amusement as Tommy’s eyes widened in an amused shock, not expecting that comment from the drug dealer in front of him. He was sure he knew how to roll well, he’d been doing it occasionally and most of his friends never complained.

Tommy stayed dumbfounded and couldn’t answer until the words registered. He shrugged it off, pretending Eddie made false accusations before walking over to the other side of the pool to greedily make a new one to prove to Eddie that he wasn’t as bad as he was saying.

Once Hagan was out of the way and Eddie had already taken one to many drags, you moved your hand towards him, making grabby hands at the stress relieving gold between his fingers.

He laughed at your eagerness, letting your fingers linger as they brushed against yours to grab your last hope to stay sane tonight.

Your eyes scanned the sky, trying to enjoy the beautiful sunset that tumbled upon the tall Hawkins tree. You wished you could have been elsewhere, maybe at lovers lake, playing truth or dare with Eddie as you sipped on homemade cocktails you threw into to-go cups.

But as the weeds seeped in and you watched the sky turn from its pink and orange colors, you thought that maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad. Especially if the weed kept tumbling and Eddie stuck by your side.

Steve stole the blunt from you after your third drag, nagging something about how you should keep some for the others. He blew smoke to the side before looking at his watch, sighing before flicking his wrist, making his watch place itself better on his wrist and looked at you, “Y/n/n, do you have any cash on you?”

“No, why?” You threw your head back on the chair to catch his face.

“Because I ordered Pizza.”

“And? You expect me to pay?”

“No, no, totally not,” his lie made you groan in annoyance, wiggling your feet out of their criss-cross position to lay them out across Eddie’s lap. “I was just wondering,” he rolled his eyes, and as if on cue, the doorbell rang.

“I have some cash, if you want?” Eddie chimed in, rubbing circles on your ankles as he eyed your brother, and could see Tommy smirking like a madman from the corner of his eye. They all knew where the cash in question was coming from and Eddie felt even more guilty from the knowing looks they were giving him.

“Nah, S’okay, keep your well earned money Munson,” he waved his hand and smirked, Eddie’s chest stinging at the comment.

His gaze went back to you. You said something he didn’t catch to Nancy, happy you had stopped paying any attention to their conversation.

He just experienced the first shark attack; subtle but all the same painful.

Eddie knew he was playing a dangerous game by being here tonight.

“Eddie, could you help me?” Steve took a last drag of the joint and handed it back to Tommy who was probably going to finish it and light up a new one by the time they got back with the pizza’s.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie grabbed your ankles, lifting them up from him and back down on the hard panels of the sun chair making you instantly divert your attention back to him.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Helping your brother with the pizza’s, baby,” he smiled, kissing your forehead before following your brother into the house.

You watched attentively as Eddie disappeared behind the glass door, unapologetically checking him out.

“Y/n/n, can I talk to you for a minute,” Barbara broke you out of your staring, making you blink out of whatever trance Eddie had you in.

“Yeah of course, Barb,”

“In private?”

“Oh, sure,” you dropped your can of beer on the floor, sliding it under your chair to minimize the chances of it getting spilled by a clumsy Tommy Hagan or Steve.

You fixed your jeans as you stood up, following Barbara down the stone path that led further down towards the forest parts of your garden.

“What’s up?” You questioned, folding your arms together, as if to shield yourself from any of her comments, and maybe from the slight wind that started blowing.

“You’ve got to be careful with Eddie.”

“Why?” You frowned, biting at your nails. “You’ve seen how he is, Eddie’s a sweetheart, Barb.”

She frowned even more than you, “yeah, but don’t you think it’s weird he’s only shown interest in you right around the time your brother got this new rule from your parents? And not only that but Steve has been acting really weirdly these past few days–”

“Barb, it’s Steve,” you cut her off, “he’s always acting weird,” you rolled her eyes and chuckled. A sharp laugh that made Barb look down to her feet. “Eddie makes me happy, okay? That’s all you need to know and that’s all that matters right now, okay?”

“Right,” the white toe of her shoe collided with a small rock on the ground, she rolled it around for what felt like a second too long before speaking again, “just think about it, please?”

“Barb, let’s get back to the party, okay?”

“I can’t believe you got my mutant sister to date you, man. Good job, honestly,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his wallet from a wooden console in the hallway and continued his way towards the door.

Eddie frowned at Steve’s obliviousness. He seemed to be blind to the fact that you were truly infatuated with Eddie, forgetting the part where this was all a twisted deal. This made a new kind of ache rise inside his stomach.

Did your brother really care so little about you?

Eddie’s eyes trailed from the bowl that previously sheltered Steve’s wallet, not half full with keys and other trinkets Eddie didn’t know the use of. He looked up from it and noticed the frames hanging above the furniture. A green wooden frame caught his eye, a picture of you and Steve hugging. You must have been about five and six and Eddie wondered when it all started going down between the two of you. At which point did a flip switch in Steve to become the coldhearted douchebag he was today.

“Parallel universe where we got along,” Steve joked before nudging Eddie to join him by the door. Eddie expected for Steve to open the front door but instead he opened his wallet in half and slipped out two green bills.

“Here, as promised. That’s for tonight,” he handed Eddie a fifty, the brightest smirk plastered on his traits. He was happy, his investment was paying off. Eddie noticed the other bill was also a fifty, and he hoped he had ordered fifty dollars worth of pizza, because he thought he was going to throw up if it was another payment for another ‘task’ he’d have him do, another place he needed to take you.

“And that’s to take her to the Spring Fling,” Eddie didn’t make a move to grab the money, Steve didn’t seem to care and almost stuffed it into his hand. As if he was a vampire touching silver, Eddie felt the money burn his fingers, “and please, please convince her to go, my parents would never let me if she doesn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah I know the drill, Harrington,” the words felt bitter in his mouth. He stumbled a bit on his words, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to prepare his next words, he was ready to cut the deal off, give him the money back and pretend this deal never happened.

But Steve opened the door before he could get a word out, and Eddie instantly recognised the delivery boy as a client of his.

A young redhead who had graduated Hawkins High a year ago, he remembered learning that he was saving for college with his job at the one Surfer Boy Pizza location Hawkins had, but Eddie also knew that he was using a crazy amount of his savings on weed, and other shit, because half of the profit he’d made in the last few months came from him alone.

“Oh! Hey, Munson!” The boy’s face lit up when he recognised his dealer, “didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Makes two of us,” Eddie offered a smile, grabbing half of the pizza boxes while Steve handed him the money and grabbed the rest of the boxes himself, “I’ll see you later.”

“Yep,” the redhead grinned and Steve bidded him goodbye before closing the door with his foot.

“Thanks for the help,” he muttered, trotting to the back of the house. Eddie watched as Steve skillfully opened the door with his elbow, and the cool spring air hit his face again.

“Pizza's here!” Everyone cheered, and the two boys dropped the boxes on the now empty sunchair that used to host you and Eddie minutes prior.

You walked up to Eddie, melting at his side as he draped an arm around your waist.

“Did my brother annoy you?”

“No,” Eddie chuckled, a little awkwardly, his eyes darting to Steve who was circling the garden to turn on the lights.

The sky was darker now, night starting to shine in all its glory, taking it the reassurance of sunlight with it. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood though, weed had started to take over and the first beer pack had already disappeared into a pile of empty cans.

This was going to be a long night.

“So, you and Eddie hmm?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but it so is my business.” Steve had the biggest smile on, the smile only faltering as he took another sip of his beer, chugging the end in one go.

"Oh, but it so isn't,” you caught Eddie’s eye from the other side of the pool, he was teaching Tommy how to roll a proper joint.

You watched as Eddie smiled, a freshly rolled joint in between his fingers while Tommy was grumbling something you couldn’t understand. Eddie, shrugging before standing up, tucking the cigarette on his ear as he made his way to you.

Tommy’s ego seemed to have calmed down and his thoughts soon caught the attention of something else. A devilish glint in his eyes as he ran across the pool and grabbed Carol by the waist, threatening to throw her in the pool.

She screamed, a piercing scream that made almost everyone giggle–even you.

“Stop it Tommy! Don’t!” She screamed until she was back on her two feet and you kind of wished he had thrown her in.

Steve left your side to grab a beer, piercing a hole through the bottom before opening the can and chugging it in one go. He made eye contact with you, throwing you one and you grabbed the knife closest to you to do the same. You watched as Steve slung himself across one of the lounge chairs by Nancy, trying to be as cool as possible but his poor attempts weren’t invisible.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Nancy raised an eyebrow and you rolled your eyes at your brother’s nonchalance.

Eddie grabbed a beer, not paying any mind to Nancy and your brother as he made his way to you. You stood up from your sunchair and Eddie almost told you to stay put. That he’d just sit on the floor next to you but your actions were faster.

You made him sit down and you didn’t hesitate one second to sit on his lap, making yourself comfortable against him, legs tangling with each other on the extension of the chair.

“This is way more comfortable than the floor,” he whispered in your ear as his arm found its way across your waist.

“I know right?” You brought him into the most tender kiss, the way he made you feel all soft and mushy on the inside seeping through.

He smiled once you leaded away, smiling as you grabbed the swiss knife back from the garden table next to you and imitated your brother’s earlier actions–piercing a hole at the bottom of your can, and opening it, chugging the whole thing in one go.

“Oh, is this some kind of Harrington super power?” Eddie raised an eyebrow, making you laugh.

“Maybe, maybe,” you laughed and Eddie did too. The sounds of laughter are contagious to each other. You bumped your forehead into the side of his head lovingly and Eddie could feel your smile against his cheek.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” you whispered. “Without you, I don’t know what I’d be doing right now. Probably planning my next murder attempt on Steve,”

“Oh, because there’s been a first one?”

“A few.”

“Very metal of you, baby.”

“Hey, Barb, are you ok?” Nancy’s voice caught your attention, snapping you out of your bubble.

You watched as Barb clutched her hand, blood dripping out of it.

“I’m fine,”

“Barb, you’re bleeding.”

“I said I’m fine,” she shrugged Nancy’s help off and turned to Steve. “I’ll just go, clean up,” she nodded and you stood up from your spot in Eddie’s arms, grabbing her shoulder before she could take a step further.

“Hey Barb, I’ll go help you wrap that up. It doesn’t look good.”

“I’ll be fine Y/n/n, I don’t need your help,” she muttered, almost bumping into your shoulder before disappearing behind your back door.

“Awkward,” Tommy snicked, trying to relieve the tension. It made Carol and Steve laugh while you and Nancy shared a worried glance. This wasn’t like Barb at all.

But the tension quickly dissipated. Tommy knew very well what to do to save the night and pushed Carol into the pool only to jump after her. Steve did the same with Nancy and you took it as your cue to grab Eddie’s hand, making him leave his spot on your uncomfortable chair and jump with you in the pool.

The water felt colder than you expected. You hadn’t been in the pool since September, even if you had reopened and cleaned the pool only about a week ago, and the air still held on to the bits of winter, persuading you to stay in the comfort of your bedroom instead of taking a swim.

Barb seeped out of everyone’s minds as water splashed across the space. Steve splashing Nancy but the hit also falling onto you and Eddie who tread behind her.

The six of you fell into a loud water fight, making the concrete slabs beside of your pool sopping wet and the water even reaching the empty pizza boxes that were all cramped up in a corner by your small garden table.

You were so enthralled in watching Nancy trying to swim away from the menace that your brother could be, that you didn’t realize Eddie was behind you, making an easy strike as he grabbed you, enveloping you in his arms and pulling you closer by the waist. You squealed before you realized it was him, your back hitting his chest. You quickly melted in his embrace as his lips hovered the shell of your ear.

He whispered something you unfortunately didn’t catch over everyone's screaming, so you turned around in his arms to ask him what it was but by the time you were face to face with him, he pulled you into a kiss and dragged you down under the water with him, taking you by surprise. You pulled away, letting out a surprised breath under water, bubbles seeping out to climb the surface, but you quickly registered the gesture, and pulled him back into the kiss.

You were both laughing messes once you reached the surface, panting from being deprived of oxygen. Eddie pushed some wet locks out of your face, staring at you with star filled eyes.

A certain melancholy seeped through him as he watched you in awe–mesmerized by you. Your eyelashes filled with droplets of water, and your hair going crazy. He got closer, whispering something you this time heard loud and clear.

“Where were you all my life?”

You felt yourself grabbing his shoulder; a way to anchor yourself because if you didn't, you didn’t know how you could keep your knees from buckling and keep yourself from drowning. The water might have been freezing cold, but your entire body felt like fire under his touch.

“Right here,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his cheek before resting your forehead against his.

“Why so far?” Butterflies rose to your stomach and even though the others were screeching and screaming behind you, you felt like it was only you and Eddie, holding each other in the corner of your pool.

“Hey lovebirds!” Of course, Tommy had to break the moment, sending a giant wave of water towards the two of you, making you snap out of your love spell and back to harsh reality.

“Here,” you grabbed one of your blue striped towels from the pool shed and handed it to Eddie.

“Thank you,” he placed it around his shoulders. He watched intently as you grabbed your own towel and started wrapping yourself around it, closing the pool shed right after.

You gazed up, watching as Steve and Nancy went inside the house, towels of their own wrapped around their shoulders, Carol and Tommy quickly following.

You shivered. The briskness of night setting in, reminding you this was only a random Wednesday night of April. It wasn’t a time to swim or take a dip in the pool just for kicks–It was spring as it barely emerged from a winter that you wished had morphed into the endless summer nights where the sun stayed high longer and you wouldn’t freeze the second you exited the pool.

“C’mon, let’s get you some dry clothes.”

Eddie nodded, and followed you in, noticing the way your damp hair swooshed with the wind as you walked, and the way you smiled as the warmth of the house engulfed you whole the second you stepped inside.

Eddie walked in after you, and you made sure the door was closed before wrapping your hand around his and walked further into the dim lighted room, right until you reached the brightly lit corridor.

“Hey Barb,” you frowned as you saw her, standing by your front door. “Everything ok?”

She watched with big eyes as your hand wrapped around the white railing of the staircase, other hand wrapped around Eddie’s as he trailed behind you.

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed it, watching as Eddie pressed the towel he held in his free hand against his wet curls, frowning at the redhead before him.

Even he knew she was lying.

“Where’s Nance?” You asked, perched up on the third step while Eddie played with the wet belt loops of your jeans, intently watching as you tried to know more of the reason behind your friend’s frown.

“Upstairs with your brother.”

“Ah,” you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek in thought.

“I’m going to go home,” she looked down at her shoes averting yours and Eddie’s gaze as best she could.

“You sure?” You frowned again, and Eddie squeezed the side of your waist in an attempt to sooth your thoughts. “Eds and I are just going to get dry clothes and then we’ll come back downstairs. We could play Uno?” You offered, remembering when you’d pull out your Uno deck at any given chance during boring school field trips, Nancy always complaining because she was so bad at it while Barb often took the win.

You could see the hesitancy in her eyes, memories flashing before her. “Thanks, but it’s late,” she cleared her throat and fixed her glasses.

You knew there was something else behind her voice, a sort of strain that told you ‘I don’t want to be more of a bother than I already am’.

“Alright, well, be careful ok?” You smiled and started making your way back up the stairs, Eddie nodding to Barb before following you up.

“Oh, and Y/n/n,” she caught your attention before you could reach the last step, waiting until you met her eyes before continuing; “please think on what I’ve told you,” your gaze softened and you had to prevent yourself from looking at Eddie, not to raise any suspicion that he was the lead subject of her words.

You had no intent on doing so, but just to give her a piece of mind you spoke, like a dance in the wind, “I will Barb, promise. Get home safely.”

You saw her shoulders slump from the corner of your eye as you climbed the last step, before taking a left towards your room.

“Well, since Steve is occupied, I can’t ask him for anything,” you looked behind you as you opened the door to your bedroom, Eddie’s big eyes intently staring back, “but I do own oversized band tees and stole a pair of sweats from Steve two weeks ago so you could use that?” You offered and Eddie couldn’t help the laughter that tumbled out of him at the proposition.

“That would be more than perfect.”

The door of your bedroom closed behind you with a soft thud, and Eddie found himself mesmerized by how similar your bedrooms were. Posters against posters, and a huge shelf with more fantasy books than Eddie could count. His mind went back to the first time Steve sat at the Hellfire table, while Eddie read through the list of books he’d found in your room. Indeed Steve hadn’t been lying, and the list he’d read on the crumpled white paper with Harrington’s sloppy handwriting found itself manifesting on your wooden shelves.

His eyes scanned every shelf and he found himself ogling at your Tolkein collection–all hardbacks with different colors and the recurring T symbol. Eddie had never seen such a beautiful collection of Tolkein’s work.

“My uncle gave them to me before he died, they’re pretty cool, don’t you think?”

“I think I’m falling in love with them,” you chuckled at his antics.

“Some of them are signed.”

“No way, can I?” He pointed towards the collections.

“Of course, Eddie. The Hobbit is signed if you want to see.”

Eddie pulled out the blue book in awe, fingers delicately dancing across the pages.

“You should see mine,” he smirked, “ripped out front covers and dead spines. I accidently burnt the first page of the two towers because I was smoking while reading, and Oliver, so not accidentally dropped his chewed gum in the middle of my Hobbit book.”

“Why?” You raised an eyebrow at the absurdity.

“He was mad because I accidentally scratched his guitar.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be mad if he stretched your Warlock?”

“Yeah, but that’s different. His was an old guitar that didn’t ring well, he was about to get a new one, anyways,” Eddie rolled his eyes before he continued to scan your shelves. “Oh my god, is that a mini replica of the millennium falcon?” He placed the copy of your hobbit back on the shelf, and grabbed the Star Wars miniature, eyes wide like a child who discovered his new favorite toy.

“Yeah,” you smiled as you opened your cupboard, scanning the shelves for the sweat pants and shirt you had promised Eddie. You threw two oversized Metallica shirts on your bed, and found sweatpants for you before finally getting your hands on Steve’s gray sweatpants. “I got it last summer when we went to California,” you spoke, grabbing the biggest shirt out of the two and the gray pants, handing them to Eddie as he placed the small figurine back on your shelf.

“I love it,” he kissed your cheek, thanking you for the clothes.

“Bathroom is in the corridor, first door on your left,” you pecked his lips, watching him as he scurried out of your room.

You sighed, a giddy smile on your lips as you changed into dry clothes of your own. When Eddie came back, he couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming the room. There was so much stuff he wasn’t sure where to look first.

He saw a stuffed Chewbacca on your bed, right by where your head laid, and snatched it from the spot. He sat at the edge of your mattress, turning it to you and making Chewbacca noises.

“You know what, Chewie? I agree,” you played along and Eddie continued his Chewie noises as if the doll was speaking.

You giggled, grabbing the plushie from Eddie and scooting yourself closer, kissing him silly.

Eddie’s hand found its place on your waist, pulling you closer but the kiss was broken by your ever growing smiles.

“You’re so silly, you know that?” You muttered, smiling like an idiot.

“And that’s why you like me so much.”

“You’re right,” you kissed him again, lips melting with him and moving in perfect sync. It was everything your previous kisses weren’t. Passionate and burning with envy as your hand found its place in his hair, gently tugging on his curls. Eddie groaned in your mouth as you continued gently pulling onto his locks, making a moan leave your own lips.

Eddie thought he was going to go crazy. His hand traveled up your thigh, pushing you up so you sat on his lap, hungrily kissing the corner of your lips before continuing his way down your jaw.

"Come to the dance with me," Eddie mumbled against your skin, kisses trailing lower until he found the spot that made you shiver.

"What?" You half moaned from the attention he was giving you and half chuckled at the absurdity of the question.

"Come to the dance with me," his voice was more serious now, a slight pant in his breath. He stopped what he was doing and straightened up, eyes leveling with yours.

"No, no, I heard you. Why?" You pushed a strand of hair away from his eyes. “I thought you hated that kind of stuff, because I definitely do.”

"Gareth is going with a girl he really likes and he doesn't want to be the only Hellfire guy there," he half lied. Oliver was going too but you didn't need to know that, yet.

You sighed, fingers dancing across the Metallica writing on the chest of his shirt.

“Eds-”

“Think about it, please?”

You bit your lip, looking up to meet his big chocolate eyes, peering at you almost like a lost puppy; how could you refuse him anything when he looked like that. “I’ll let you know, Eds,” you bit your lip. “No promises.”

“Alright,” he breathed out, one ringed hand reaching up to cup your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek and you felt yourself melt into his touch again.

You leaned in, breaths mixing together until your lips brushed each others, melting back into a kiss–this time it was more desperate, he kissed you with a gentle urgency and you were already breathless in his mouth as you felt his fingers brush your bare skin under the soft material of your shirt. His hand itched to travel upwards, but the deal was still tugging at the back of his mind, like a faint melody, haunting him.

But that melody was just a faint whisper as you repositioned yourself on his lap, now straddling him as the kisses only grew hungrier, more desperate. Desperate to get closer, to feel him against you as much as you could.

Your mind was all Eddie, and you didn’t mind one bit.

In fact you were welcoming his ever hypnotising presence, letting you melt and engulf in everything that he was–you fitted together like pieces of a puzzle, and the words he’d spoken to you while you were enveloped in the cold water of your swimming pool resonated again through you; ‘where were you all my life?’

Where had he been all this time? Your knight in shinning black armor. You wondered if life would have been easier if he had been by your side earlier. If the nagging from Steve and the bullying from his friends would have effected you less if you had each other–if you had been there to protect one another from the jungle that was Hawkins High.

The cold metal of his rings agains’t your waist brought you back to the present–and suddenly you knew you weren’t going to be alone in the treacherous sea of Hawkins, that you didn’t need to be scared of the sharks anymore. That you would have no more use for the walls you had spend all these years building. That you could take a break from your Heinous Bitch alter ego.

But as the moment went on, Eddie already knew where this had taken a turn–the nagging melody only grew louder, and he felt himself come back to his sense–as if waking up from the intoxicating hold you had on him.

Suddenly, he felt guilty for the way he was touching you and pulled his hand from the soft skin of your waist as though it was burning him. His heart knew this was right, but his mind knew it was wrong–and Eddie felt himself get torn apart the more your lips danced together in perfect rhythm.

He hummed against your lips, in an attempt to wake you from the same daze that he had abruptly been ripped away from.

"We- we should stop,” the words left his lips before he could over think more than he was already constrained too. “I- I should go." He looked at your face, his own fake smile flailing at the hurt your eyes held.

“What?” You panted, pushing yourself back so you could take a better look at him, trying to understand what made him stop his actions “Eddie-” you grabbed his shoulder, hoping it would keep him here, anchor him back to you.

But instead he offered you the poorest of excuses; “It’s getting late,” you only registered that he had moved you away from his lap and back onto the bed when you watched him stand up, and pace around to gather his things, “we have school tomorrow, remember?”

“Since when do you care about school?” You half joked, hoping this would help Eddie give a clearer explanation to his sudden need for his departure. You watched as Eddie snorted from your truthful comment, but patiently waited for more words to fall out his mouth.

“Since I’ve got a pretty girl helping me with my homework,” he approached, hoping to ease the tension. He came over to you with a genuine smile and bopped your nose, fingers lingering on the soft skin of your cheek.

"Eddie,” you muttered, barely audible, and Eddie felt a new pang of guilt eat him up as he watched you–head falling down as you grabbed his other hand and played with his rings. “Why do every time I take a step forward you take two steps back?"

He froze–all thoughts fleeting out of his brain, threatening to shut his system down. He knew why, but he could never tell you, he didn’t know what he should even tell you. What words he could use to not dig himself a bigger hole and discern the trust it took so long gaining.

"You chase me around and when I finally cave in, you push me away?" Your mind flashed back to the first time you had tried to kiss him–when he had dropped you off after that damned party.

"I just-" He whispered, hoping he would find a quick way to defrost from the prison of his thought, trying to scrape at the sanity he was holding on to, trying the situation. "I want to take things slow with you," your frown only deepened.

"Sweetheart, I really really like you, and everything is happening so fast," the second part of this sentence couldn’t be so far from the truth; hell he could marry you tomorrow and he’d be the happiest man on earth.

He heard your sigh and was too cowardly to look at you. Fear lay heavy on his stomach the more this went on; traveling to his heart and seeping into his chest to spread all over him. Killing him softly with every passing minute.

He wished he had called the deal off hours ago when he had the chance. Give Steve his money back before he even opened the door for the delivery man; and maybe, just maybe tonight would have been different and guilt wouldn’t be eating him up like it was now.

“Ok,” you nodded, trying to hide the small ache that had started in your own chest.

You were going to try and say something else; bid him good night and tell him you’d see him tomorrow, hoping that sleeping on this whole situation would make it better for the both of you, give you answers to his behaviorvbut a loud, unrecognizable noise screeched from the garden.

"Did you hear that?" Eddie’s head snapped towards your window.

"Yeah,” you stood up, pushing the curtains open without a second thought. You both peered down, but saw nothing. The water of the pool was still, the lights creating shadows at the bottom and stray leaves dancing ontop the water.

Eddie turned his head towards you, “what do you think it was?”

“I don’t know,” you frowned, fingers dropping their grip on the soft material of your curtains once you had finished scanning the whole area visible from your small window.

You looked up to meet Eddie; not really knowing what to do with the silence dancing across the two of you.

“You should go,” you offered a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.”

“Y/n,” Eddie grabbed your wrist before you could move. “I really, really, like you, you know?” He breathed out, a hint of desperation in his voice that made you smile.

You leaned into his touch, taking a step forward, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

“I really like you too, Eddie.”

“Good.”

“Good,” you repeated. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”