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ange1heavensent · 2 months

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Walk You Home

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Pairing: college!Abby x fem!reader

Content Warning: vomiting

w/c: ≈ 1800

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The air was stuffy as you walked through the living room, which was now transformed into a dance floor. People were bumping into you, but it did not matter, all you needed was to pee, which was not surprising after the amount of drinks, shots and sips from other peoples beer you’ve consumed. It was your third, maybe fourth?, trip to the bathroom, but this time your friend did not accompany you, because of some conversation with a guy, who was speaking alarmingly close to her face. As you trudged to the sea of people, you found your light at the end of the tunnel, the bathroom door. Luckily or, unluckily, for you there was only one person standing in line in front of the bathroom door.

Abby breathed out a sigh as she stood leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, she had stood there for what felt like an eternity, for what was supposed to be a quick trip to the bathroom before leaving the house party. The fucker that was taking their sweet time on the toilet was going to get an earful, for making her stay in what she would call hell on earth for even a second longer. She wasn’t the biggest fan of house parties, the reason being the people, drunk frat guys and sorority girls slobbering on each other in every corner, people half passed out on the couch, way too early into the night and people not being able to behave in general. She much more preferred sitting with her friends around a table at a bar, rather than screaming in each other's ears over awful music.

As she was leaning her head against the wall behind her, contemplating walking out, lose her last ounce of dignity and just pee behind the nearest bush. She felt someone grab on to her hands. She looked at you, a little bewildered, before you slurred out, “Hi, I'm so sorry, but can I please go to the toilet before you, please” You squeezed her hands to accentuate the urgency. Abby looked into your pleading eyes and released a sigh, she would be an asshole to say no to you, but she did herself also need to pee. You saw the reluctance on her face and added “I really really need to go to the toilet, I am going piss myself any second, please.” You said this with a chuckle, because of the absurdity of the situation, practically begging some stranger to let you cut in line to the toilet. Abby herself let out a chuckle and noticed that you hadn’t let go of her hands, she sighed out an “okay” you gave her hands another squeeze, smiled big and said a “thank you” in return.

Abby didn’t know why she had said yes, however if she were to be honest, it was because you looked so goddamn beautiful, your eyes, your smile and especially how good you looked in that little black dress you were wearing. She was already missing your soft hands in hers, as you released your grip, turned around and walked, more like stumbled, to the bathroom door and knocking your fist on it. You yelled out a “Can you please hurry up!” before retreating to stand in front of the opposite wall facing Abby, with your arms crossed over your chest, mimicking Abby’s stance.

You looked at her smiling and couldn’t help but to blush, Abby noticed and smiled back at you. If the situation wasn’t dire, you would have tried to flirt with her, start to compliment her outfit, then her hair, her eyes and of course her muscles. But now all you could do was focus on not peeing yourself in front of her. The flirting could wait.

Abby saw your demeanour change from giving her flirty glances and smiles to a serious expression, eyebrows knitting together and heavy breathing. “What’s wrong?” she asked, you muttered “I think I’m gonna throw up.” Abby sprung into action, making her way across the small hallway, her fist knocking hard against the wood, from your perspective it looked like she was going to punch a hole through the door. She yelled “Hey, you better come out, someone needs to throw up” and continued her banging on the door. It only took seconds before the door unlocked and a couple clumsily walking out of it. You sprinted to the toilet, got down on your knees, and vomited into the toilet bowl. Abby was immediately behind you, after closing and locking the door, and grabbed your hair and held it. After a couple of minutes, you laid your head on your arm against the toilet seat. Abby stroked your back, which she had done through all of it, and asked softly “Are you okay?” with a weak “yeah” you answered her. Abby helped you to stand up, you walked to the sink to rinse your mouth as she flushed the toilet.

“Is it alright if I pee?” Abby said, making sure that you're okay with her going first. “Yes, of course,” you said while trying to remove the mascara smudges under your eyes and Abby was a little surprised that you didn’t leave the bathroom. When Abby was finished, flushed the toilet and took a stand beside you to wash her hands, you yourself went to relieve your bladder. “Do you want me to get you an Uber or something?” Abby asked you when you were sitting on the toilet, she of course didn’t look in your direction. “No, I don’t want to risk throwing up in someone's car,” you answered. “Do you live far away from here?” Abby asked, “kinda” you answered, “How long of a walk?” “45 minutes maybe” you answered her. You were now by the sink washing your hands, with Abby standing beside you. “Let me walk you home then.” Abby said with a smile. “You don’t have to do that,” you told her, but she retaliated with “How will you get home then?” You just shrugged your shoulders, she continued with “I really don't mind, I promise. I just want to make sure you’re getting home safe.” “You sure you don't mind?” you questioned, “I am sure” Abby said with a smile.

The two of you now stood outside of the house, after retrieving your jackets from a small bedroom where they laid in a pile on the bed, and then having to elbow your way out of the house. You had just sent a text to your friend saying that you were going home and were now typing in your address into Abby’s phone. When you were done Abby looked at her phone and then started walking the route that her phone told her to go. You had your arm wrapped around her bicep for stability, no other reason. The two of you had made it a couple of metres before you looked at her and said “You're walking me home, but I don’t even know your name” Abby chuckled, when she realised that in all of the chaos of the night the two of you hadn’t mentioned your names. Abby put away her phone and reached out with her right hand inviting you to shake her hand, “I’m Abby, nice to meet you” she said with a smile, you giggled at her antics finding her very cute at the moment, before you released your grip on her bicep and shook her hand “It’s very nice to meet you Abby, I’m Y/n.” You mirrored the smile on her face, which you couldn’t get rid of even if you tried to.

For the rest of your 45 minute walk you and Abby talked about anything that came up in your inebriated mind. First the basics, like what the two of you were studying, your respective future careers, hobbies and what not. Abby was just enabling your continued drunken thoughts and questions about her. She found you quite amusing in the way you rambled about different topics. She also found you charming in the way you manage to slip in some flirty remarks about her, while still slurring on your words. As the walk continued however, your words became more clear and you regained your balance and towards the end of it you started to feel fine, having sobered up in the cool air of the night.

At the end of your route, the two of you stood outside the entrance to your dorm building. Either of you wanting the night to end. You went to hug Abby, which she reciprocated opening up her big arms which you then became enveloped in, while in the hug you asked her “How are you getting yourself home, Abby?” “I’ll just get an Uber,” she answered. You nodded at her as you stepped out of the hug, holding onto her hands, the two of you in the same position which you had started the night. “You could come up to my room, while waiting for it,” you suggested, while lightly swinging her hands and gleaming at her. She let out a chuckle, but her facial expression turned sincere, she softly said “I don't think that's a good idea.” You took a small step back. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed you were-” you started, but she cut you off, “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t think we should, given the state you're in,” she said genuinely.

You gave her a smile, and went in for a second hug, which she again reciprocated, you again spoke in the hug “Let me give you my number, so I can make sure you get home safe.” Abby looked at you and plastered on your face was a smirk. “Of course,” she answered, handing over her phone, she wasn’t going to let something like this just pass her by. When you were finished typing your phone number into her phone, you handed it back and said “I’ll see you around then.” Before walking off, you pressed a kiss onto Abby’s cheek and then all she saw was the back of you making your way to the door. She quickly saved your number as a contact, before turning back to look at you. You were now turned towards her at the entrance door and you gave her a little wave, she waved back and you stepped through the door and let it close behind you. Abby smiled to herself when she booked the Uber.

When you woke up the next morning with a dry mouth and a headache, you tapped the screen of your phone and saw a new text message.

+1 (564) 000-0000

Made it home safe :) Let’s grab a coffee sometime - Abby

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Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

#abby anderson #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #tlou #the last of us #abby #ange1heavensent #tlou2 #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader

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pedrospatch · 2 years

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jealous

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You aren't together, but Joel doesn't want to see you with anyone else.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. asshole Joel, jealous Joel, he softens up a bit though. established dynamic, Joel and reader have known each other for a decade.

word count: 2k

a/n: highkey i recycled this idea from myself b/c jealous Joel is like...so hot to me. i love this trope, my favorite variant is when he gets aggressively possessive however i don't think i can top some of the amazing fics out there that have gone that direction so i took a softer, fluffier approach to it. also, happy tlou finale day everyone, we'll get through it all together 💗

Jackson, Wyoming

Winter 2024

“Before you head out for patrol, I just wanted to say that I had a great time with you last night.”

Joel’s blood boiled hot in each and every single vein in his entire body as he watched the scene that was unfolding before him just outside of the horse stables. It was late in the evening, and Tommy’s group was gearing up to head out for tonight’s patrol.

You had just finished saddling up your borrowed horse, Daisy, when Owen had sauntered up to you. Joel didn’t know the man, aside from his name. He had been placed in Owen’s patrol group once or twice in the past several months since returning to Jackson, but for the most part, he’d never spoken more than two words to him, and even when he had, it was only when he really didn’t have a choice. Though he didn’t know Owen, one thing was for damn fucking sure—he didn’t like the way that he was looking at you.

And he definitely didn’t like the way that you were looking at him, either.

In the decade that he’d known you, Joel had never seen you lay your eyes on another man before, not until this very moment.

And it was bothering the fucking shit out of him.

“Yeah, I had a really nice time too,” You replied, flashing him a warm and friendly smile. It was in your nature to be sweet and kind to just about anyone you felt you could trust, that was nothing out of the ordinary, but seeing you interact so effortlessly with him only made Joel’s anger bubble even hotter.

Owen reached out to take your hand in his and Joel angrily clenched his fists the moment he touched you. “We should do it again sometime. Maybe on a night when you’re not stuck with patrol duty?” he suggested.

You nodded, smiling once again. “Sure, I’d really like that.”

Joel couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

He was mere seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. Though he had every desire to go up to Owen, snatched his hand away from yours and give him a piece of his mind, Joel had to remind himself that the last thing he needed to do was cause any kind of trouble in the settlement—Maria wouldn’t have any of that in her community, even if he was her husband’s brother.

After taking a minute to somewhat calm himself enough to a point where he knew he wouldn’t throw a punch, he stiffly walked towards the two of you, calling your name. “Hate to interrupt,” he practically sneered, “But we’re startin’ to lose our time. Tommy’s waitin’ for us at the gate.”

Owen grinned sheepishly, squeezing your hand. “Sorry about that, Miller. I didn’t mean to keep your patrol partner, here.”

Ignoring him, Joel narrowed his dark brown eyes at you. “Get on the horse and let’s fuckin’ go. Now.”

Your smile faded, your mouth falling open slightly in shock at his tone.

Though you knew Joel had always been rough around the edges with other people, he’d never spoken to you like that before. For a brief moment, it almost felt like he’d just slapped you across the face.

Without waiting for your response, he whirled around on the heel of his leather boot in the snow and stalked off towards his waiting stallion, his rifle hanging over his shoulder.

Owen frowned, letting go of your hand. “Jeez. What’s his deal?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice wavered slightly. “But I’m certainly going to find out.”

After bidding a quick goodbye to Owen, you quickly walked over to Joel just before he could climb up into the saddle of his horse.

“Excuse me, but what the fucking hell was that?” You asked fiercely as you approached him.

With his back still to you, he rigidly replied, “What was what?”

“Get on the horse and let’s fucking go. Now,” You mimicked him, crossing your arms over your chest. “How dare you fucking talk to me like that! What’s your fucking problem?”

He remained silent.

“Joel?” You waited for a moment, but still, he said nothing. “Hello? Joel, I’m talking to you! Answer me!”

Slowly, he turned around to face you. His eyes had gone stone cold.

You’d seen him give those eyes to others before, but he had never given them to you.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we have a lot of work to do around here. Tommy and Maria expect both of us to pull our fuckin’ weight if we want to stay here. You understand that?”

“But Joel—”

“We don’t have time for you to stand around flirtin’ with your little boyfriend over there and wastin’ time.”

Despite being angry, you could have laughed—you almost did.

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, you managed to hold it back.

“First of all, we’re not fucking teenagers, Joel, so cut that shit out,” You said, letting your arms drop back down to your sides. “I hardly know Owen. We met at the Tipsy Bison last night, we had a few drinks and we were just telling each other that we had a good time, that’s all.”

Joel snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, ain’t that fuckin’ sweet.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, taken aback by his behavior.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, Joel Miller, I would say that you were jealous or something,” You accused him. You felt a shiver go up and down the length of your spine. It was hard to tell if it was because of the frigid, negative degree temperatures outside—or was it due to the fact that there was actually a possibility that the man you had been helplessly in love with for almost ten years now was bothered by the idea of you being with someone else?

He scoffed in response. “Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself, sweetheart. I ain’t jealous.”

“Then why the hell are you so upset?”

“I ain’t upset, either.”

“Okay, then why else would you be acting like such a damn asshole towards me?” You challenged him, causing his jaw to clench tightly. “If you’re not jealous, then why do you look like you’re fucking ready to murder Owen with your bare hands?”

Joel groaned out of frustration. “Jesus, can you just fuckin’ drop it? We have to leave before Tommy—”

You reached out and grabbed his arm. “We’re not going anywhere until we talk this out, Joel. I need to know what’s going on with you. Please. Just fucking talk to me.”

He snatched his arm out of your grasp and took a step back. “What the fuck do you want me to say? That you’re absolutely right? That I’m fuckin’ jealous? That the second I saw that prick take your hand, it took every single ounce of strength I had inside me not to walk over and knock his fuckin’ head off his shoulders?”

You exhaled the shaky breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding back. “Joel, you have no fucking right to be jealous. You know how I feel about you, you have always known how I fucking feel about you. But you were the one who told me that we couldn’t be together, that we could never be together.” Your voice began to tremble, and you paused for a brief moment, trying to collect yourself. “You’re the one who said that we’d never be anything more than smuggling partners. Even after everything that’s happened with us, what we’ve been through with Ellie—you still keep me at arm’s length, now more than ever before.”

“So you finally found somebody else,” he stated, bitterly. “That it? You tryin’ to move on from me?”

“Yes. No.” You let out a small groan, knowing that if there was one thing you could not do, it was lie to Joel. “Yes, okay? I’ve been trying to fucking move on from you.”

Joel’s stomach sank at your admission. “And he’s the guy, huh?”

“Owen is a nice guy. And I really liked spending time with him—” You looked up at him, seeing the hurt flash in his eyes. “I’ve been so fucking lonely, alright?” You continued quickly before he could say anything. “You’ve been avoiding me for months now, Joel. Ever since we came back to Jackson, things have changed. Do you think I haven’t noticed that we only ever talk when we’re sent out on patrol together? That we don’t eat our meals together anymore like we used to? That whenever I even try and approach you, you make up some excuse to leave, even when we’re in our own fucking house?” Hot, frustrated tears blurred your vision. Not wanting to cry, you furiously blinked them back. “Ellie asked me the other day if something was wrong with us. Even she notices the way you’ve been treating me these last few months, Joel. How you avoid me like I’m the fucking plague.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut, not knowing what to say.

“You can’t be upset with me for trying to move on, not when you’re the one who’s been pushing me away—and I don’t just mean here in Jackson. For ten fucking years you’ve been pushing me away, Joel.” Your voice cracked, and a tear finally gave way and slipped down the side of your face.

His expression suddenly softened. “I had to push you away, darlin’.”

You subconsciously stepped closer to him. “But why?”

“Because, what I felt—what I’ve been feelin’ for you, it’s somethin’ that I didn’t think I could feel for someone ever again. It’s so strong and runs so fuckin’ deep that it scares the shit out of me,” Joel confessed, a trembling edge to his tone. “Before Wyoming, it was so fuckin’ easy not to think about it. We were too busy fightin’ to survive, to protect Ellie—now that we’re here and every goddamn day isn’t a fight for survival, things changed, alright? What I feel for you runs through my mind all fuckin’ day. There ain’t no avoidin’ it.”

“Joel—”

He cut you off. “I never meant to hurt you. When we got here, I thought it’d be best to put some distance between us. I thought that maybe if I spent less time with you, what I feel would just go away somehow. But I was wrong. Wrong and stupid to think that what I’ve been feelin’ for ten fuckin’ years would just disappear.”

“What do you feel for me, Joel?” You whispered, looking up at him.

Your eyes widened in a slight surprise as Joel reached up and gently cupped your cheek in the palm of his gloved hand. He put his other hand on your hip and pulled you as close as he possibly could to him. He looked deeply into your eyes as your arms wrapped themselves tightly around his neck. Joel leaned down into you, and the both of you stood absolutely still, each waiting for the other to make the final move.

Finally, it was Joel who closed the remaining distance between you and him.

He softly pressed his lips to yours. Any and all hesitation that he might have had before vanished completely as you parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“That,” he said breathlessly once he’d pulled away, “Is what I feel for you.”

“Never thought I’d see the fucking day,” You murmured against his lips, a tiny, joking smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Joel leaned his forehead against yours and sighed, his warm breath tickling your nose. “Look darlin’, m’real sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. It’s just that seein’ you with that prick, the thought of you with him, or with any other man that ain’t me, I just couldn’t fuckin’ handle it.” He paused briefly, taking a look around. Part of him hoped Owen was still around and watching his every move. “I’m gonna have to find a way to make sure every man in Jackson knows you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” You assured him, gently. “Believe me. You are the only man that I could ever want. I’m all yours, Joel.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller pedro pascal #the last of us imagine #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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livwritesstuff · 2 months

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inspired by an absolutely insufferable boy-mom skit on tiktok

“I was wrong,” Steve announces as he enters the kitchen, “It would have been better to just go by myself.”

Eddie looks up, eyebrows furrowed, because – A) it's not exactly what he’d expected his husband to say first thing after arriving home from a day spent in the Berkshires at his coworker’s wedding, and B) Steve can be stubborn as a mule when he wants to be, and almost never admits defeat – not for dumb, petty shit, anyways, like how Steve almost didn’t go to the wedding at all because Eddie couldn't go with him until their oldest daughter Moe gallantly volunteered to attend in his wake.

(Which Steve had been goddamn thrilled about too, mostly because he’s hoping if Moe sees enough wedding propaganda, she’ll start thinking about popping the big question to her partner, Gray).

“Not a fun party, I take it?” Eddie asks.

“I had a great time,” Moe shrugs.

“Oh, I know,” Steve replies, “I know you had a damn fantastic afternoon.”

Steve has a tone, and it's the same tone he used when he found out Moe helped her friends password-protect all the Fox News Channels on their WASP-y mom's TVs, the same tone he used when Moe got kicked off the basketball team the same day she received an academic award from the school for having a 5.0 GPA (which, for the record, Eddie didn't even think was possible), the same tone he always uses when Moe stirs up her very specific flavor of trouble. Thing is though – Moe is twenty-three, and while she’s been a menace since day-one, she’s got a more than decent head on her shoulders and a fine-tuned sense of place and time. It’s not exactly like her to cause problems at something as important as a wedding – not without cause anyway.

“I think I’m, like, best friends with the bride now or something,” Moe is saying, and again, Eddie’s brow furrows as he looks back at Steve.

“Wasn’t your coworker the groom?” he asks.

“Yep,” Steve sighs, “Moe got into it with his mother.”

“Oh, god.”

“It had to be done,” Moe nods, “She wore a veil. She was openly complaining about how he danced with his wife – the bride – before he danced with her. She kept getting all worked up because her baby boy was leaving her. She needed to be stopped.”

Eddie had to keep a look of understanding off his face (in solidarity with Steve, obviously), because he’s been a certified girl-dad for over two decades now and he’s had his fair share of encounters with the dreaded boy-mom (a girl-dad’s natural enemy, he’s pretty sure).

“Hon, it was not your job to get involved,” Steve tiredly insists.

“I totally disagree,” Moe replies with another casual shrug, “The maid of honor was trying her best but she clearly needed help. And – I maintain that I pulled my punches. I could’ve spilled wine on her dress, but I didn’t. There’s only one rule at weddings and it’s don’t piss off the bride. The bride thanked me afterwards, so…it was fine.”

"You've got an interesting definition of fine," Steve tells her, "I really think there's an unspoken preserve the peace rule or something that wedding guests shouldn't start shit in the middle of the reception – especially not with anyone in the wedding party."

“Oh, what would you know?” Moe fires back, “You didn’t even have a wedding!”

“And even if we had,” Eddie comments idly, “there wouldn’t have been a mother-of-the-groom present to screw shit up. Hey – people get all up in arms over the bride’s mom and the groom’s mom. What about the dads?”

Moe shrugs.

“I think the bride’s dad was just happy they didn’t do the stupid garter thing,” she says, and she misses the way Eddie’s face falls, his eyes meeting Steve’s over Moe’s head to see he’s got a matching grimace on his face.

#steve is still traumatized from robin and nancy's wedding lol #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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ninibeingdelulu · 2 months

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I’m sorry

synopsis: he forgot your birthday, so he apologizes in his own way

a/n: i wish re2 leon was real :((

The apartment you share with Leon is utterly unrecognizable when you finally drag yourself through the doorway well past sundown.

What typically greets you is a spartan, almost militaristic level of bare minimalism thanks to your boyfriend's by-the-book personality and rigorous hours with the RPD.

But this evening? The entire open-concept living space has been transformed into what can only be described as a veritable birthday wonderland - complete with vibrant streamers zig-zagging across every available surface and those ridiculously oversized metallic balloons bobbing precariously from every corner.

You halt mid-stride, mouth literally agape as you drink in the burst of kaleidoscope colors and thoughtful homespun decor adorning the length of the kitchen countertops as well.

A deliciously decadent layered cake topped with your favorite indulgent frosting blend...an assortment of neatly wrapped packages in that signature sky-blue wrapping paper you always tease Leon for using at every gift-giving occasion...even a chilled bottle of your go-to celebratory bubbly chilling beside a fresh bouquet of your most beloved flora.

The sheer tenderness of this entire scene hits you like a sucker-punch straight to the solar plexus - eyes stinging with unshed tears even before finally trailing towards the center of the room.

There slouched on the sofa with elbows braced on splayed knees and face cradled in his upturned palms sits Leon himself in a pose of utter guilt-ridden dejection.

"Leon..." You haven't even stepped fully inside yet before his name slips past your lips - instantly shattering whatever uncomfortable reverie he'd been absorbed in brooding towards the floor.

Those endlessly soulful icicle-blue irises you've always adored finally lift to meet yours with the weight of a thousand apologies shining within their stormy depths.

"Hey, doll..."

God, he does sound like a lost puppy while using that feather-soft endearment you normally melt over.

"Look, I...I know I massively forgot your birthday yesterday and I—"

"Leon, you really didn't have to—"

"No, no. Please...just...lemme get this out while I'm on a roll here?"

He interjects quickly, palms lifting in a placating gesture before the briefest quirk of boyish insecurity tugs at the corner of his sensuous mouth.

"I'm not always the best at expressing myself the way I should, but that never means the important stuff gets overlooked or taken for granted...not with you."

The sincerity reverberating through every syllable sends your pulse into an erratic staccato against the hollow of your throat as Leon rises languidly to his full towering height and begins stalking towards where you linger.

There's an undeniably intent yet hopelessly tender hunger now darkening his eyes into bottomless pools of stormy silver. Paradoxically pinning you in place while simultaneously setting your insides ablaze...

"You're the most important person in my entire world, y/n...the reason I wake up fighting each morning and the thought I cling to whenever everything feels hopeless."

Leon murmurs - now near enough you can taste the subtle citrus zing of his aftershave mingling with the adrenaline roaring in your ears.

"Nothing and no one will ever make me lose sight of how goddamn priceless you are to me again...not when you're the sole force keeping this old cop's battered heart from completely shattering apart."

And with his final confession, those rough palms you've spent countless blissful hours mapping finally settle upon your waist while he leans in and just barely brushes the plush seal of his lips over yours in a tantalizing preview of what's to come once you've both recovered from this initial swell of unbridled emotion.

"So how's about we celebrate your birthday properly this time around, sweetheart?"

You can actually feel the rumbling timbre vibrating from Leon's chest straight to your molten core as he seals his vow with a bruising, breathtaking kiss destined to leave you utterly drunk and delirious for hours to come...

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multifandombookstore · 9 months

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ok so like ik u can write duncan but can u write alejandro or noah? im simping for them hard :sob:

er, have u ever wrote them b4 is what im asking basically there isnt enough x readers of them on here </3

HI IM SORRY I DIED GHEOHAEF

I mainly write for Duncan but I definitely could write for other chars if requested!! Alejandro is definitely one of the ones I'd write for cause that man is so MMMMM yanno? Noah on the other hand I could not do sorry 😭✋

to make up for taking so damn long to respond, here are a couple lil hcs for f!reader & Alejandro!

similar to Heather, you see right through all his charisma and lies

you smelt bullshit from a mile away and you let him know as much at any given possible opportunity

you were nice and maybe a little standoffish to other contestants, but to him? You were outright cruel

then again, that's what drew him to you in the first place <3

puts his charms on HEAVY when talking to you (or just in general) just bc he knows it annoys the shit outta you and he loves getting you worked up. He'll even say that to your face

anytime he flirts with anyone, you visibly gag (to which he'll just tease you and say that you're jealous which makes you gag further)

you swear up and down that you two are sworn ENEMIES, but he likes to go around and tell everyone that you're secretly dating and to not tell anyone

(this ofc gets out cause no one can keep a goddamn secret to save their lives and oh ho ho lemme tell ya. When you found out he was telling people you two were secretly dating, you gave him a black eye that lasted at least a week)

"My mother has always told me to date strong, independent women." Was his response to you punching him

you really can't win 😭

he can tease and charm you all he wants, but the second anyone else does it? Yeah, nice Ale goes away

this ofc pisses you off cause "I can handle myself just fine, Alejandro."

"I know you can, princessa. You shouldn't have to, is the point." God damn him-

he's always unfazed by anything you do (or at least pretends to be), but nothing gets him angrier than seeing you flirt with other contestants

he, ofc, can't show this though, so he'll just have a private "chat" with whoever it is later

Chris, being the scheming demon he is, will sometimes make it to where you two are on the same team

at first, you are bitching up a storm and he won't stop smiling, but when the challenge actually starts, you two are a monster of a team. Everyone is definitely scared of you two (Owen makes a comment that you two make an awesome power couple and you glare at him)

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MASTERLIST

More with TDI

Tag List: if you would like to be added, comment or send an ask. Also, remember to tell me if you ever change your username so I can continue to tag you :)

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afyrian · 23 days

Note

congrats for almost 600 lovely! 🥰🫶

woah wait a sec… OH MY GOD!! there’s just been a ROBBERY! we need help! wait, do you hear that NOISE? could that be BLACK WIDOW? (… 🤭)

punch them and they bleed iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader (hurt/comfort) m.list | wc: 1.2k | prompts: forced proximity + band au slightest sexual warning, like barely

"you're so goddamn stupid," you follow iwaizumi into the dressing room, drumsticks sticking out of your back pocket, hands resting on the back of your neck.

"i'm the stupid one? you chose this venue, you called the guy out for being an ass, and you somehow always convince me to fight your battles for you. you and your stupid ass drumsticks," he retorts, hand pushing up against his nose, blood covering his fingers.

grabbing the first aid kit from his locker, you set it down on a bench, forcing it open with an intensity that isn't quite needed. pursing your lips, you grab out an antiseptic wipe, noticing the cut on his cheek. it’s thin, almost like the edge of a ring caught it. his hand lingers under his nose, his knuckles split, blood rolling down his forearm.

grabbing a nearby tissue with your other hand, you run it up his arm, splits of blood still stuck by his wrist, "right, yeah, blame the whole thing on me asshole. he was saying you play like shit and i was defending you, or does that not matter?"

"it doesn't matter when he climbs on stage and tries to bash your head in," iwaizumi takes his free hand and swats yours away, quickly grabbing a box of tissues from behind him, using one to block his nose and the other to clean up his fingers.

he sits down on the bench, looking up at you. raising an eyebrow, you stare back at him. sitting down beside him, you take the wipe and bring it up to his cheek. your hands tingle as they press against his face, the short hairs on his face rubbing against your hand. it feels natural there, like a settling home. holding an antiseptic wipe, you brush it against his skin, the cut running from his cheekbone to his temple.

you watch as his noses scrunches up from the feeling. "what? you can take a few punches but a wipe gets you?" your expression becomes deadpan besides a small smile twitching at your lips.

"i can do this myself if you’re going to be a prick,” iwaizumi attempts to grab the wipe from your hand, only failing to do so when you hold it away from him, dangling it by your side.

pursing your lips, you wait for him to bring the tissue back to his nose, his other hand falling to his hip. silently, you bring it back up to his face. you finally clean off the wound and grab at a needle and thread from the kit. bringing it up to his cheek, you glance at his eyes, “just focus on me.. you know this’ll hurt.”

giving you a ‘mmh’, he closes his eyes as the needle goes in the first time. his hands clench into fists around his jeans. you get through the first few switches before his eyes open to look at you. through deep breaths, iwaizumi waits as you push the needle in again, clenching his jaw. his gaze stays on you as your pinkie grazes his eyebrow.

“do you need pain meds?” you put the needle through one last time, tying it like you have many moons ago.

“god, yeah of course i need pain medication,” he brings his hand up to his nose, pulling the tissue out of his nostril and holding another one up to it, pain migrating across his face.

rolling your eyes, you toss the rest of the thread into the box, heading for the door. you help him, clean him up, and the thanks you get is sitting empty in a first aid kit. instead of dwelling on the residual feeling, you grab ahold of the door handle and twist. as you pull at the door, it doesn’t budge.

furrowing your eyebrows, you take in a deep breath, trying again. “the door’s stuck, like actually fucking stuck,” you quickly shake the handle of the door, knocking on it as your heart rate quickens.

“you’re joking,” iwaizumi sighs, standing up from the bench, stopping when the blood quickly rushes to his head, his vision going dark.

looking back at him, you watch as his hand reaches out to the bench. pursing your lips, you walk towards him, hand reaching for his elbow. “don’t be stupid, sit back down,” you help him back onto the bench, “honestly, you get your shit rocked and suddenly you think you’re superman.”

“i was just standing up! didn’t know standing up and superman were synonymous now,” he shakes his head, opening his mouth until his jaw pops, pain finally subsiding in his jawbone.

“it is when you’re still bleeding and your knuckles look raw,” you grab another wipe before running it along his the back of his hand, feeling his fingertips on your palm as you do so, “don’t do that shit again”

his hand is rough from the bass strings, his touch sending shivers up your arm. looking back up at him, you meet his eyes, the air thick with tension. iwaizumi’s breathing heavily, a stinging sensation shooting up his hand. his nostrils flare, tongue running along the bottom of his teeth as he tries to hold back saying something he’ll great. that you’ll both regret.

“you’re so goddamn annoying, you never just shut up for once,” he finally says, scooting a few inches closer to you, unable to move his eyes away from you.

“yeah? well who’s gonna stop me?”

before you can taunt him any further, your hand still gripping his, he closes the gap between you. his lips press against yours, the taste of blood still lingering. its metallic as it makes contact with your tongue, filling your mouth with a taste that is anything but desired. however, you can’t break away from him, hand moving to the back of his neck.

you can feel the tissue slightly sticking out of his nose, the stubble on his chin that scratches against yours. pulling your hand from his, you run your fingers through his hair. his hands grab at your waist and pull you onto him, letting out a groan as his shoulder bears the weight. legs wrapping around his waist, you lean into him, letting your fingers grip onto the short hairs by the nape of his neck.

“hajime…” you whisper into his lips, feeling the slight bump forming from the altercation.

just as his hands start pulling at your shirt, a knock on the door winds you out of the moment, your head whipping back from his, “uh… hello?”

“we heard you pounding, the manager says the door gets stuck like that sometimes, we’re getting it open now!” oikawa shouts from the other side of the door, “know how much you dislike each other, wouldn’t want you killing each other behind the door!”

you look back at iwaizumi, looking at the beet red color coming to his cheeks. he closes his eyes, rearing his head back in frustration. biting your lip, you hold back your laughter, hands still holding onto the back of his neck. “so i’m so goddamn annoying that you fell in love, huh?”

“and i’m so goddamn stupid that you kissed me right back? the devil’s in the details, isn’t it, y/n?”

a/n: thank you so much!! i hope you like it <33 gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfic #hq #hq x reader #hq fanfic #☆ fics #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi hurt/comfort #☆ writing event

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mrsriddles-blog · 9 months

Text

Nightmare | M.R

Pairing: Slytherin Fem Reader X Mattheo Riddle

WC: 3.5K

Warnings/Notes: Mild Language, Violence, Implied Smut, Angst, etc.

Summary: Mattheo has developed an infatuation with you, the schools notorious badass.

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I shall die before I ‘wake

I pray the Lord my soul to take

No one truly understood how Mattheo Riddle—the playboy of the school who suddenly wasn’t playing around anymore—was infatuated with Y/n Y/l/n. She was a girl that not many people wanted to mess around with. She had no problem calling people out on their bullshit, nor did she have a problem being honest—brutally honest.

She had the mouth of a sailor and she was as crude as the guys at the school. She hardly put up with any girls just because she didn’t want anything to do with drama. However, her best girl friend is Pansy Parkinson. When the two were together, everyone knew to steer clear. The two were batshit crazy and was ready to cause havoc.

“Hey babes.” Pansy said, playing with Enzo’s hair.

Everyone sat around the tree as usual as you arrived with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. You had a new display of bruises on your face, your knuckles bruised and battered. Mattheo eyed you with eyes that Tom teased him about being dreamy looking.

“Hey babe.” You say, taking a seat and leaning back.

“Nasty bruise there.” She teases.

“Granger doesn’t know when enough is enough.” You chuckle, pushing your hair out of your eyes.

I, I keep a record of the wreckage of my life

I gotta recognize the weapon in my mind

They talk shit, but I love it every time

And I realize

I’ve tasted blood and it is sweet

I’ve had the rug pulled beneath my feet

I’ve trusted lies and trusted men

Broke down and put myself back together again

Stared in the mirror and punched it to shatters

Collected the pieces and picked out a dagger

I’ve pinched my skin in between my two fingers

And wished I could cut some parts off with some scissors

“Oi! Y/l/n!” Harry exclaims, striding towards you.

You take another puff out of your cigarette, looking up at him unamused as you blow out the puff of smoke in his general direction. He steps back, looking disgusted before focusing back on you. You smile lazily at him.

“What ever do you want, Potter?” You ask sarcastically.

“I want to know why you beat up Hermione.” He demands.

“Well she started it. I ended it.” You say.

“I want a real answer.” He snaps.

You had just walked into the bathroom, opening one of the windows to try and sneak in a quick smoke real quick. Hermione walks in and scoffs when she sees you. You look at her blankly.

“C’mon, give me a smile, Y/l/n.” She mocks, giving you a nasty onceover.

“I don’t owe you a goodman thing. Turn around and leave me alone.” You snap, taking another puff from your cigarette.

“I didn’t think you were a coward. Last I heard, you got into fights and won them. Scared to lose?” She asks.

“How about you shut your mouth before you see where running it gets you.” You suggest, putting out the cigarette and throwing it out the window.

“I told you, Potter. She started it. Maybe you should tell your little bitch to watch who she runs her mouth to next time. I gave her a warning. But, she kept pushing. She was quite determined she’d win the fight. Called me a coward. You should've seen the way she cowardly hid in the corner of the bathroom to get away.” You say, scoffing out a laugh at the memory.

“Come on, little lady, give us a smile.”

No, I ain’t got nothin’ to smile about

I got no one to smile for, I waited a while for

A moment to say I don’t owe you a goddamn thing

“God, you are pathetic. What? You can’t find happiness in your screwed up homelife and among your friends, that you have to hurt other people?” He asks.

“I don’t hurt people without reason. And you know nothing about me.” You spat.

He stared at you a moment, before turning and striding away. He didn’t want to push anymore than he had as he didn’t want to be your next victim.

You watch him with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. You resisted the urge to hex him or worse, curse him. You looked like a daydream to everyone, but really you were a nightmare.

No one truly knew where the change came. You were sweet and innocent once. They wished they could blame your friend group, but you were friends with them before. You came back from summer holidays your third year with a whole different personality. Little did they know, your parents were murdered by a rich wizard who got away with it.

Everything changed for the worst, or maybe the best for some.

Voldemort sought you out after hearing the news from his twin sons. He took you in and began to teach you his ways. You became a Deatheater just like your parents and all your friends. You have became the reason everyone was far more confident that they were going to win the war too. You were calculated, yet when needed you were merciless.

I, I keep the record of the wreckage of my life

I gotta recognize the weapon in my mind

They talk shit, but I love it every time

And I realize

I’m no sweet dream, but I’m a hell of a night

That I’m no sweet dream, but I am a hell of a night

“Y/n/n, I’m delighted you are here for the holidays.” Voldemort says, standing to greet you with a hug.

“Thank you for having me, my lord.” You murmur.

“Of course. Why don’t you go get settled in? Dinner will be done around six.” He says.

“Of course.” You murmur.

Mattheo and Tom waited in the doorway for you. You walked towards them, before pausing as the hairs on your neck stood up. You felt your stomach flip uncomfortably.

“Y/n/n?” Mattheo questions.

“Someone is here. Someone who shouldn’t be here.” You murmur, striding past them as you pull your wand free.

You followed your gut and headed to the basement. You heard Tom and Mattheo behind you as Bellatrix’s cackling from upstairs could be heard. You hear Hermione scream, but you keep going when you see a familiar brunette boy and ginger-head boy.

“Potter! Weasley! What the hell are you doing here?” You snap, pointing your wand at them.

Mattheo and Tom follow in suit, Mattheo distracted as he watched you with awe. Tom rolled his eyes at his brother who was obsessed with you.

“Y/l/n? You are a part of this too?” Harry asks in disbelief.

“Of course she is. She hangs with those snakes too. Not to mention she is a snake herself.” Ron spats.

“What is happening to Hermione?” Harry asks.

“What she deserves for breaking in. What you two will soon face as well. You get a first-hand experience of a snake bite. You get to see how venomous we truly are.” You say, smiling sweetly at the two.

No, I won’t smile, but I’ll show you my teeth

And I’ma let you speak if you just let me breathe

I’ve been polite, but won’t be caught dead

Lettin’ a man tell me what I should do in my bed

Keep my exes in check in my basement

‘Cause kindness is weakness, or worse, you’re complacent

I could play nice or I could be a bully

I’m tired and angry, but somebody should be

Harry eyes you warily, looking between you three. He knew the odds, but he also wasn’t one to go down without a fight. He reached for his wand , but it was to late as you hit him with Cruciatus Curse.

“What are you doing!?” Ron cries, dropping to his knees as he tried to get Harry’s attention.

“Protecting my family.” You spat.

“They are just using you.” Ron says, shaking his head.

“Imperio.” You say, watching him curiously.

“Mattheo, lets grab Potter.” Tom says.

“Ron, keep quiet. Give me your wand and Harry’s wand and follow me.” You say.

Ron hands both wands over as he follows you upstairs. Hermione was tied to a chair now, your eyes falling on the word carved into her arm. Tom and Mattheo struggle to lay an unconscious Harry on the ground.

“Is he dead?” Voldmort questions.

“No, my lord. He is unconscious. I used the Cruciatus Curse on him. I used the Imperius Curse on Ron. They were both in the basement.” You explain.

“Well done, child. The rest are on their way. They should be here any minute.” He says.

You nod, turning to help Tom and Mattheo with tying up Harry in a chair as you hear quiet chatter heading towards the dining room. You tell Ron to sit and you easily tie him up as your friends and their parents enter.

“We had our lovely trio break in, and what for…I don’t know just yet.” Voldemort announces, motioning everyone to take a seat.

You take a seat next to Mattheo, your hands shaky with nerves. He grabs your hand under the table, squeezing it out of comfort. You squeeze back, especially as scarlet red eyes focus on you.

“Question the boy.” He orders.

“Ron, why did you guys break in?” You ask, trying not to show your nerves.

“H-Horcruxes.” He stutters out, trying to fight your hold on him.

“Ron! Fight it! You're stronger than this!” Hermione cries.

“Zip it! Or we might have to repeat what happened a few minutes ago, mudblood.” Bellatrix spats, glaring at Hermione.

“Are you delusional? You three are always up to something, but walking into the snakes den? You truly are arrogant fools.” Tom spats, shaking his head.

“Mattheo, Tom, Y/n/n, you are dismissed. You’ve all proved your worthiness today. Why don’t you two assist Y/n/n with what she might need for the spell she has been working on?” Voldemort suggests.

The three of you stand, leaving the room before Hermione says your name. You stop in the doorway before turning to look back at her.

“Why? Why do this? Why are you on their side? What happened to you? We use to be friends. What changed? Why did you come back somebody else our third year?” She asks, tears in her eyes.

“That Y/n is dead, Granger. She isn’t coming back. She died the day my parents were murdered by a rich wizard. Yet, the Ministry of Magic defended him and let him walk free—a mudblood. He should be rotting in Azkaban.” You spat, your eyes narrowing on her.

This was the first time most of your friends knew of what happened to your parents. They assumed they died, but they didn’t ever pry.

“Come on, little lady, give us a smile”

No, I ain’t got nothin’ to smile about

I got no one to smile for, I waited a while for

A moment to say I don’t owe you a goddamn thing

I, I keep a record of the wreckage of my life

I gotta recognize the weapon in my mind

They talk shit, but I love it every time

And I realize

I, I keep a record of the wreckage of my life

I gotta recognize the weapon in my mind

They talk shit, but I love it every time

And I realize

“Matty, can I steal one of your jumpers?” You ask, walking into his room.

“Yeah, here.” He says, handing you the one he had been wearing earlier today.

“Thank you.” You say, smiling at him before pulling it on.

He has definitely imagined you in his clothes. He was beyond obsessed. He practically watched your every move when he was in your presence. He imagined a lot of things. He imagined what it would be like to hold you…to kiss you…to see you in his clothes…to see you without clothes. To say the least, he had a very imaginative imagination.

“Are you busy right now?” He asks.

“No. I just wrapped up the loose ends to that spell for your father. So, I should have a lot of free time on my hands now.” You say, sitting at the end of his bed.

“Let’s watch a film then.” He suggests.

“Not some horror flick though.” You plead.

“No, no, not a horror flick. Why don’t you pick?” He suggests.

You smile, shrugging as you nod. He pats the spot behind him and you crawl up the bed before plopping beside him. He scoots closer to you nonchalantly as he hands you the remote to his TV. You pick a romance movie, hoping he doesn’t make fun of you.

Half an hour passes, and Mattheo had gotten pretty invested in the movie. However, that was until you had moved so you were laying down beside him. Now, he found himself watching you when you got drawn in by the movie. He didn’t think it was this fair to look so good in his bed, but you looked like a Goddess in his eyes.

“Y/n/n.” He murmurs, leaning over you a bit, looking down at you.

Your eyes flicker to his, seeing how close he really was to you. Your lips part in surprise, his eyes flickering to them. You look at his lips, watching them move closer and closer. You close your eyes, his lips dancing with yours.

You move a hand to his, pushing his head closer to yours as he straddles you, deepening the kiss. You both never thought a kiss could be so perfect and magical.

“Y/n.” He whispers against your lips, his eyes still closed.

“Matty, I need you.” You whisper, looking up at him with flushed cheeks.

“Shit…are you sure about this baby?” He asks.

“More than sure.” You whisper.

“Draco, come.” Voldemort says.

You hold Mattheo’s hand tighter, praying Draco comes to you all. It was a relief as he walked over to the Deatheaters side. You’ve noticed he was a little torn between what side he wanted to be on.

“Y/n, now.” Voldemort says, turning to you.

Harry Potter was officially dead. You confirmed it. Now, it was time for the big unveiling of Voldemort’s human form, and not his form that represents where things had gone wrong. It was time for him to be the form of utmost perfection. You found yourself wondering if he’ll look like Tom. Tom does happen to resemble his father a lot from some pictures you’ve seen.

You take in a breath, squeezing Mattheo’s hand before letting it go. You step forward, closing your eyes as you let your arms go out. You hear startled and surprised gasps from everyone around as you begin to float up off the ground.

Mattheo watched just as everyone else was surprised as a green light emitted from you before becoming so bright and engulfing you. He looks back at you after the light explodes and he sees that you're dressed in a black cloak, but he sees the dark green bodice underneath it. Your eyes open and he stumbles back when he sees your eyes are green.

Someone like me can be a real nightmare, completely aware

But I’d rather be a real nightmare than die unaware, yeah

Someone like me can be a real nightmare, completely aware

But I’m glad to be a real nightmare, so save me your prayers

You lift a hand, muttering incoherently before a green tendril reaches out towards Voldemort. It wraps around him, covering him before it slowly washes away as you lower yourself to the ground. You watch, hoping to the gods above that you didn’t just embarrass him. He’d kill you and you knew that.

Your lips part in surprise as you see the man who stood there now. He stood about 6”3 tall, he was lanky yet muscular. His face was sculpted, electric blue eyes instead of scarlet red ones. He had dark brunette hair that was neatly styled and he wore a white button up shirt with black dress pants.

“Your dad is hot.” You mumble and Mattheo pinches you, pouting at you.

“Hey, your mine.” He grumbles.

“I was just noting the obvious.” You mumble.

Voldemort smirks, slowly looking around the crowd. He looks at you and winks before turning to address the other side. You look at Mattheo with wide eyes and parted lips.

“He’s so hot. I really expected he would look like how he had. Like our Tom, now. Not that you're not hot Tom, because you are, like, really hot. But, it seems like even though he hasn’t been his natural self in a long while…he still matured.” You mumble.

“Uhh…thanks I guess.” Tom mumbles.

“You are my bloody girlfriend. Please stop saying my dad is hot.” Mattheo grumbles.

“I’m trying! I’m sorry! I love you.” You say.

“Right.” He grumbles.

You hug him tightly and pout when he doesn’t hug you back. You stand on your tippy toes, your lips brushing against his ear.

“How about I show you how much I love you tonight? I’ve got this new pair of lingerie that I bought because I was thinking of you.” You whisper.

“Deal.” He rasps, kissing your neck before letting you go.

You turn to face Voldemort again. The other side has kneeled and are vowing their loyalty to him. He has them one by one approach him as he gives them the Deatheater mark. Your eyes find Althea, a first year who was looking at you with tears in her eyes. She runs to you, Voldemort watching with curiosity. Your own eyes well, not expecting her to be here.

“When did you get here? I thought I lost you.” You ask, kneeling in front of you as you grab her face in your hands.

“The Ministry of Magic had me at some secure location. They were going to use me as leverage against you when the time come. They had a prophecy that showed who you become. But, you all destroyed the Ministry of Magic. I escaped, “transferred” to Hogwarts in hopes that you’d be here. And you are.” She says, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Oh babes, I am so, so happy you're safe and here. I’ve looked for you, but I honestly thought…I thought they killed you. I couldn’t feel you.” You say, tears falling down your own cheeks.

“They used a spell so you couldn’t feel me. They wanted you to think I was dead…but I’m here. I’m here now.” She whispers, hugging you tightly.

You hug her back tightly, burying your face in her neck as you try to get a grip on your emotions. You lean back, gently wiping her tears away before wiping your own and you smile at her softly.

“Who is this?” Voldemort asks, stopping behind Althea.

You stand, putting an arm around your sister’s shoulder. You look at him and smile slightly.

“This is my sister, Althea. I thought she died…but I guess the Ministry of Magic has had her hidden all along. They had some prophecy about me so they were going to use her as leverage against me. But, because of what you’ve done for us and you’ve taken down the Ministry of Magic…she escaped. Thank you, my lord.” You say.

“Y/n/n…it’s time you called me father or dad. I’ve considered you a daughter for awhile…especially after all you’ve done for our family…and now you and Mattheo are in love…I simply think it’s time for you to stop calling me ‘my lord’ or ‘Voldemort’ and called me dad or something. Althea…I am Tom Marvolo Riddle.” He says, putting a hand out for her to shake.

She takes his hand, shaking it as Tom mumbles something about his name being the same as his fathers. Voldemort takes a knee in front of Althea and smiles at her.

“What should I call you?” She asks.

“Dad…call me dad.” He mumbles.

You smile slightly, realizing that he had a connection to your little sister. You knew he looked at her like a daughter as well. But, this was different. You knew these two were going to have a special bond. You look over at Tom and Mattheo to see them watching with small smiles.

I, I keep a record of the wreckage of my life

I gotta recognize the weapon in my mind

They talk shit, but I love it ever time

And I realize

I, I keep a record of the wreckage of my life

I gotta recognize the weapon in my mind

They talk shit, but I love it every time

And I realize

I’m no sweet dream, but I’m a hell of a night

That I’m no sweet dream, but I’m a hell of a night.

#harry potter universe #hp fandom #masterlist #slytherin #slytherin x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfic #fluff #angst #oneshot #song fic #fanfic #Spotify

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powderblueblood · 10 months

Text

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

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do.

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat.

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one.

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me.

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi.

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her.

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become.

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this.

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time.

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto.

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out.

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him.

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated.

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action.

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!”

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway.

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that.

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him.

So you do it again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him.

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!”

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.”

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance.

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.”

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest.

“Stay out of my way, then.”

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.”

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had.

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft.

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound.

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask–

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first.

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.”

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs.

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something.

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips.

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.”

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day.

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win.

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this.

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking.

But he’s done it.

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second.

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell.

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.”

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick.

“How was it?” you press.

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass.

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to.

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping.

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again.

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face.

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights.

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?”

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you.

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh.

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.”

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t.

You’re drunk.

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off.

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk.

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan.

And it would mean nothing.

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat.

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home.

“Oh, shit!”

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus.

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–”

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other.

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this.

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there.

“Uh– Lacy?”

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door.

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you?

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful.

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–?

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.”

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon.

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position.

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands.

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed.

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.”

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face.

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed.

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.”

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive.

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver.

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness.

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it.

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy.

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that.

So somebody must have.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile.

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet.

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada.

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax.

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.”

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts.

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.”

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare.

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing.

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.”

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night.

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover.

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s.

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life.

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess.

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day.

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that.

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi.

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?”

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.”

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van.

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you.

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High.

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.”

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.”

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.”

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?”

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.”

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would.

Until now.

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him.

Until now.

“So?” he says, all expectant.

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure.

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded.

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson?

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust.

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot.

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk.

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum.

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand.

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body.

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park.

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.”

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now.

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight.

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little.

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be.

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine.

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap.

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die.

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor.

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night.

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker.

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her.

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape.

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says.

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at.

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table.

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart.

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you.

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

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hard-core-super-star · 7 months

Text

caught myself [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x reader

summary: kate's competitiveness gets in the way of her seeing you for who you truly are.

warnings: technically none?; idiots in love; kate technically does knock R on their ass but no one gets hurt; yelena being an awful wingman; kate's sad puppy dog eyes; me feeling rusty af after writing so many serious essays

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: me writing something else instead of focusing on the large pile of requests i still haven't gotten to? yeah, it's more likely than you think. i'll try to get into a somewhat normal posting schedule at some point if uni ever stops kicking my butt BUT FOR NOW, enjoy what was supposed to be a valentine's day special. also, don't worry, kissing in the crossfire part two WILL be happening!

* * * * * * *

You’re not sure what’s worse, being the newest member of the Young Avengers or being the member with the most obvious crush possible. It’s like the universe didn’t think you had enough difficulties getting used to life with your new team, it also thought you needed to juggle having the biggest crush on one of your teammates simultaneously.

Because fighting criminals daily isn’t hard enough, right?

You had tried your hardest to keep your massive crush on a certain purple-loving archer a secret but your plan had gone out the window the second Yelena figured out the hidden feelings behind your lingering stares. To say she didn’t understand your fascination with Kate Bishop would be an understatement but at least she tried to help…in her own, weirdly aggressive, way.

Her help mainly included making ridiculous comments at your expense. Comments that went completely over Kate’s head every single time and only led to awkward silences and unanswerable questions.

You thought the Russian was on her way to giving up and letting you handle your love life problems on your own but of course, when has Yelena given up an opportunity to embarrass someone she cares about?

It’s exactly Yelena’s love of embarrassing you that’s forced you into a situation you wouldn’t be able to get out of if you tried: sparring with the purple archer herself.

Training in the same room as Kate is already bad enough, especially considering her habit of wearing gray sweatpants and a tight purple cropped shirt, but having to spar with her? While she looks that good? And she has that stupid smirk on her face because she knows she’s going to win?

Nothing you could do could stop you from looking like a goddamn fool.

And that’s exactly what you look like right now.

It’s not bad enough that you can’t concentrate enough to anticipate her punches, you also don’t even know where to look because all of her is so damn attractive. It’s impressive and annoying all at the same time and it’s unfortunately taking up too much of your brain space right now.

You’re acutely aware of Yelena’s disapproving looks but you’re even more aware of the constant glares Kate throws in between rapid punches. Your brain may not be working well enough for you to spar correctly but if there’s one thing you can do, it’s dodge…which only infuriates the archer.

“Will you quit moving?” She huffs, only barely stopping her lips from forming a frustrated pout.

“What else am I supposed to do? Let you punch me?” You reply.

“That’d be a good start, yeah.”

“Ladies, quit chattering!”

You know Yelena is being annoying on purpose to get on your nerves but that doesn’t stop you from turning to glare at her. Your mouth barely begins to form around the complaints you want to hurl at her when Kate takes her opportunity.

It’s technically cheating, and it’s incredibly advantageous, but she’s not thinking about any of that. All she wants is to win and she doesn’t think twice. She swipes her leg under both of yours, catching you by surprise and instantly sending you crashing down onto the hard ground.

You don’t get a second to react before the back of your head makes contact with the floor. Large black spots fill your vision as Yelena starts throwing out curses at the startled archer. You barely make out the outline of Kate’s worried face before your eyes slip shut and darkness overcomes you.

You don’t know how much time goes by, or how many times Kate gets scolded in increasingly more aggressive Russian, all you know is that when you wake up…you’re not alone.

Your first instinct when your eyes open again is to sit up but a gentle hand pushes you back down before you get too far. “Don’t try to move, you’re gonna get a killer headache. Trust me.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to trust you after you knocked me on my ass?” You huff. It makes you sound more like a kid throwing a tantrum than an angry Avenger but you don’t really care.

“We were sparring, what else was I supposed to do?”

You don't notice the small grin that accompanies her recycled words, too upset and embarrassed about getting your ass handed to you by someone who's too lost in her own world to notice how much you like her.

“What else was I supposed to do?” You mock her. “Did you try not being a jerk?”

“That’s not fair. You’re the one who ignores me all the time but I’m the jerk here?”

Her words don’t catch you as off guard as the look on her face. You’re expecting to see flashes of the arrogant archer most of your teammates claim exists behind the usual warmth Kate so easily radiates. Instead of anger or arrogance, though, you come face to face with the most overdramatic pout you’ve ever seen.

And you suddenly understand why people say there’s a fine line between love and hate. Because it would be easy to think Kate Bishop is the most annoying person in the world if you didn’t also think she’s the most adorable person you’ve ever met…despite the constant ease with which she turns everything into an argument.

“What are you even talking about?”

“You don’t like me! And you don’t even try to hide it!”

All you can do is stare at her and wonder how the world’s greatest archer also happens to be the world’s most oblivious person. “You’re an idiot, Katherine.”

Her eyebrows crinkle in disgust but you’re pretty sure it has more to do with your use of her legal first name than the insult you push her way. “You sound like my mom.”

“You’re not helping your case.”

She opens her mouth to reply in an instant, a half-formed stupid sentence already forming on the tip of her tongue. You’re expecting yet another unnecessary argument to break out. Yet another reason for you to give up on all your attempts to build a bridge of thoughtful actions and sweet words that will lead you to who Kate truly is under the mask she so effortlessly wears around everyone else.

You’ve learned to expect anything from Kate Bishop. Especially the unexpected.

“I know. I’m sorry.” She adds the tiniest smile and most awkward shrug you’ve ever seen to her soft-spoken apology.

“What did you just say?” You ask, wondering if you hit your head hard enough to be imagining this whole interaction.

“You heard me,” she replies but her tone carries more traces of embarrassment than the cockiness you’re used to. “You’re right, I’m an idiot.”

You’re left dumbstruck, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s no way the archer can say those words without some sort of snarky comment coming after it. So you wait. Watching her with curious eyes that only fuel the nervousness bubbling underneath her carefree posture.

It’s strange to realize how little you genuinely know about her. Having a crush on her has ironically been the easiest part of everything. Sure, it’s awkward and annoying and ridiculous but believing you understand her is easier than accepting the fact that Kate’s never let you in.

So why would she start now?

“Are you going to say something?” The subtle crack in her voice reveals the truth she’s trying to hide behind her usual smirk.

There are so many things you want to say but you’re still a little lightheaded and the sudden change in her attitude toward you isn’t helping you keep yourself in check. “I like your smile.”

“Oh.”

You could easily dismiss her reaction as indifferent if it weren’t for the pink hue emerging across her cheeks. It’s subtle and warm and…real. Like her. And it suddenly dawns on you that you’ve never seen Kate Bishop flustered before.

Especially not from one of your compliments. It’s different…and you really like it.

“Can I ask you something, Kate?”

She looks away from you for a second, almost as if she’s scared of what you might say. Of the possibilities that lie in your unspoken feelings. “Sure, yeah, go ahead.”

Your mouth begins to form one of the many questions you’ve wanted to ask the archer since you met her but then her eyes find yours again and you get a glimpse into the fear-filled storm inside their depths.

It’s subtle but the armor made from cocky grins and imperfectly timed jokes begins to crack.

Which means there’s no way you’re going to spring such a loaded question on her just yet. As much as you’d love an answer to the one thing that’s been haunting you since you realized your true feelings for her, there’s no way you’d force her when it’s clear it’s been far too long since she’s let herself be vulnerable around someone.

So, you settle for the only thing you need right now: her.

“Can you stay with me?” You do your best to ignore the warmth that spreads along your face as the words slip out of your mouth. “Yelena doesn’t have the best bedside manner.”

A beat of silence goes by before her lips form a genuine smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Her eyes nervously flick around the room in search of somewhere to sit. You watch her for a few seconds before putting her out of her anxious misery.

“Kate…” You trail off, doing your best to hold in your laughter as you pat the empty space beside you. “You can sit here, I won’t bite.”

Your words are all it takes for her nervousness to turn back into her usual goofiness. “Really? That’s not what I’ve heard…”

“So you do talk shit about me!”

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop fic #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop #kate bishop fluff #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #hailee steinfeld #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction #wlw #wlw fic #writing

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