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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months ago

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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, multiple orgasms, brief cockwarming, multiple positions, breeding undertones, talking through it, slightly possessive behavior.

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Part Seventeen of Ink & Needle

A/N (2): Thank you to everyone for your patience. With my health issues, I've been trying to write but sometimes it isn't possible. I know this chapter has been a long time coming.

You and Simon finally come together. Simon reveals a few hidden things about himself.

Chapter Sixteen // Chapter Eighteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Wraith.

That is what you’ve always called him. Even now, with Simon towering over you, he is no longer than lurking danger you sensed in Riot Room. He is still a mystery—still a sealed box with no apparent entry.

But you’re receiving pieces. Little by little you’re starting to build the image that is Simon. Ghost, as you once knew Simon, still lingers in the dark recess of your understanding of him. The picture is incomplete, but it is forming. The film is beginning to show its true nature in the dark room.

The wraith you knew—and the one you know now—are fusing.

Before you, Simon is all hunger. You are completely naked. Bare for him. Legs spread wide for his pleasure. And his gaze is locked to that place between your legs, the one that aches for him and longs to be filled. There is a possessiveness to his stare that heats your blood and sends your bones into vibration.

How are you to survive this man? And why did you run in the first place?

Even now, you witness his need, the starvation. Simon has been depriving himself of you, and you are fully aware of this. The other day when you were in his shower, when you gave him permission to fuck you, Simon resisted.

He was waiting, and now you’re here.

A banquet. A feast. Food for him to gorge on.

Simon’s hands rest on the insides of your thighs. It’s not a harsh touch, though the rest of him is all hard lines. There is no mask. You see Simon for who he is. Blonde hair. Dark eyes with pale eyelashes. A few scars on his face and the ones on his body covered in ink.

Simon is not hiding, and the knowledge of that is enough. It’s trust. And something more.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment catches you off-guard. You’re so absorbed in admiring him that you forgot to listen.

“Thank you,” you murmur, heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. It’s such a silly thing to say in the moment, but it’s all you can muster.

The corner of Simon’s mouth quirks in amusement. His large hands stroke up and then down your thighs absently. The movement is soothing, and you feel your muscles relax beneath his touch. Simon gently squeezes, fingers lightly digging into your skin as he begins to descend to one knee. You watch from between your legs, momentarily paralyzed as he makes himself comfortable. You notice a slight wince, but it’s so brief you might not have caught it if you weren’t paying attention.

From this position, all you can see are Simon’s broad shoulders and thick chest, his strong neck with its blackout tattoo. His blonde hair is a bit messy like he’s been constantly running his fingers through it, but really you were the one grabbing him.

Simon blinks, the middle of his brow creasing slightly. “You still want this?”

He might sound steady but it’s all in the eyes. There is pain there—a hesitation bordering on trepidation. You ran before. Twice now. Perhaps he thinks you’ll slip away again.

“I want you,” is the answer you give, because it’s true. You do want Simon. You crave him like an addiction. A caffeine fix you never want to part with.

All the muscles in his shoulders relax. A calmness appears to settle over him, and though his face is mostly pensive, you notice the small smile that seeks the light. It’s such a tiny thing. A flash of happiness.

His chest heaves, and then his arms snake under and over your thighs, locking you in place. One hand splays wide over your lower belly while the other firmly grips your thigh. There is no escape from him, but you wouldn’t try.

Simon is who you want.

“And I want you,” he replies, voice almost a growl.

He adjusts his hold, pulling you closer to his mouth. Simon’s breath is hot against the inside of your thigh. From between your legs, Simon watches, his lips landing against your skin just shy of his fingers. It’s slow but purposeful, each kiss moving lower and lower to what is clenching—needing him to be inside.

Simon’s lip graze against your pussy, and everything tightens, anticipating the moment he makes contact. The other times Simon has eaten you out, he’s done so with stamina and enthusiasm. Right now, he begins tentatively, the tip of his tongue just grazing your sex.

It’s a tease of a touch. A flash of pleasure that quickly vanishes.

Simon repeats the movement, giving a bit more, sending you squirming in his hold.

“Simon,” you gasp as he lazily runs his tongue over you.

“Fucking love the way you taste,” he says, almost absently.

Your fingers find his biceps the second his tongue returns, stroking slowly. Simon is exploring as if he’s never ventured here before. As if he hasn’t eaten your pussy countless times already.

Your hips want to move. They want to seek out Simon’s mouth. To have the constant pleasure before it explodes into fragments. But you are unable to do much with your lower half. Simon has you locked in, and he’s taking his time.

Each stroke is agony, and yet so fucking satisfying. He gives a little more each time until his tongue flicks back and forth over your clit in a steady pace. The hand splayed on your lower abdomen descends, and you don’t really notice until a finger parts your pussy, sliding inside.

It’s a nice stretch, but insignificant. What you really desire is Simon’s cock. You’ve been craving him, but not how the two of you fucked in Riot Room’s basement green room. There was passion there, but that was between two strangers.

This is different. This is more, and that is all you desire. To be more with Simon.

Simon sucks your clit into his mouth, the tip of his tongue toying it in little circles. Your back arches, hips flexing, but there is nowhere to go. It only shoves you further into Simon’s hold. He growls—almost a warning, like he wants you to quit wiggling.

Your breath comes in short pants, breasts heaving with every inhale. But Simon doesn’t notice. He’s too preoccupied with eating your pussy. Every part of you is tightening, the coil building under pressure. Like floodgates preparing to open, you too are close to bursting.

Simon circles your clit with the tip of his tongue is just the way you need him too, and everything tenses. All the limbs and muscles in your body suddenly clamp, shaking. The exhalation is cut off—choked—before blooming into a depraved moan.

Tension releases, and then you’re truly writhing beneath him. Simon does not cease, his tongue and fingers moving in tandem, stroking so perfectly it’s sending you into overstimulation. You claw at his arms, gasping for breath, wanting to beg but unable to find the words. They keep escaping you, floating off into the air where you cannot catch them.

Your moans grow ever louder, the orgasm pounding through you until you feel it behind your eyes.

“Simon,” you cry, tears beginning to form in the corners. “Please—I can’t. No—no more. No—”

With that one word Simon withdraws, his mouth leaving your sex but not his fingers. Those remain inside you, pumping lazily. His lips and chin are glossy with your wetness, and his eyes are heavy-lidded.

Simon kisses the inside of your thigh. “You good, love? Or can I have a bit more?” He punctuates his questions with a slow, deep thrust of his fingers.

You whimper, nails biting into his skin. Simon leans in and kisses the inside of your thigh again. This time, there is teeth. He bites. Sucks. Soothes with a few kisses.

“Want me to fuck you?” The raspiness in his voice has your pussy squeezing his fingers. He smiles against your skin, as if that alone is an answer.

It is what you want. To be his. To know him as you know yourself. Riot Room was a discovery, but this is a binding. You are giving yourself to him, and he to you.

Releasing his bicep that you’ve been clinging to; you rest your hand against Simon’s cheek. He turns into the touch, eyelids closing briefly as he inhales. Your thumb brushes over his cheekbone as Simon’s lips graze your palm.

“Need to be inside you,” he mumbles, almost absently.

“Simon,” you murmur, voice a caress.

He sighs heavily as if your voice is a soft spring rain. Simon glances at you, those dark eyes all fire, and you see the resolve forming there. He is a pillar. An obelisk. A monument to be erected.

Slowly, he withdraws his two fingers from your pussy. Keeping them together, he opens his mouth and slides those sticky digits over his tongue, sucking them clean. Strong arms release their hold, and then Simon is standing tall, an imposing form before you.

He observes you a moment, the silence stretching under his intense stare. It’s like he’s seeing all of you at once and absorbing the information to commit to memory. Just as it feels too much, and your heartrate kicks up, Simon reaches out, grabbing you by the neck.

It is not a cruel touch. It is possessive. Using that leverage, Simon draws you up to a seated position. His lips find yours, and you taste yourself on his tongue.

Simon whispers your name and you reach out, your palm splaying wide over his tatted pectorals.

“First time is for me,” he says, voice breathy. Simon presses his forehead against yours. “Might be a bit rough.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. “You won’t hurt me.”

Simon hums low in his throat. “Not worried about that. I’d never hurt you.” He goes in for another kiss and this one completely steals your breath. “Second time is all for you. Promise.”

“Take what you need, Simon,” you murmur, running your fingernails gently over his skin.

He shivers, and then grabs your wrist, drawing it away from his chest. “On your hands and knees, love. That’s how I want you.”

Simon’s hands fall away as he shifts back. You hesitate for only a moment, the anticipation pooling in your belly. Slowly, you twist, planting yourself firmly on your hands and knees, presenting your backside to Simon.

You expect his hands to be on you immediately, for him to grab and devour. Instead, Simon’s fingers are whispers against the backs of your thighs. They explore upward, traveling over the curve of your ass to settle at your lower back. Lightly pressing, you submit to his silent instruction, arching your back and pushing your ass into the air. Tucking your legs together, Simon grasps your hips, guiding them up a bit higher.

One hand falls away while the other stays. Behind you, you hear the clink of his belt buckle, of leather brushing against denim, the sound of a zipper. You’re propped up only be your knees and forearms. Fingers digging into the bedding, you wait in wanton anticipation.

When Simon’s hands return, there is no gentleness in the touch. No sensitive love. He is hungry, and his hands speak to that. They both grab hold of your ass, squeezing—almost painfully.

You gasp, only to choke when Simon swipes his tongue over your pussy. He pauses at your entrance and then delves inside, curling the tip to run along your inner wall. Simon fucks you with his tongue, stroking repeatedly until your press your face against the bed and groan aloud.

Simon consumes, and you’re so lost in it that when he ceases tasting you, you don’t realize that it’s no longer his tongue but the head of his cock. He keeps a firm hold on your ass, the head beginning to push in.

At first there is resistance. Simon has your legs pressed together, creating a tighter space for him. It’s silly, really. He doesn’t need it, but fuck does it feel good.

“That’s it. Breathe. Good girl.”

Simon pushes in a bit more and the stretch short-circuits your brain. You don’t remember Simon being this large at Riot Room. You needed patience then, but this is beyond simply breathing through it. You’re being cracked open, split in two, cleaved.

“Breathe,” soothes Simon, stroking one hand up and down your spine. “You’ve taken me before.”

Whimpering in answer, you try to steady your breathing. Simon waits until your next stable exhale. He slides in a bit more, and your toes curl.

“Doing so well, love. Breathe for me again. That’s it.”

With another a steady breath, and some help from Simon, he seats himself entirely inside you. This angle is overloaded. You’re stretched to a point you didn’t think you could reach, and Simon hasn’t even started to fuck you yet.

You reach behind you—seeking him. Simon grasps your hand and he squeezes it before bringing to up to his mouth for a quick kiss against your knuckles. He gently releases your hand, and you bring it back to the bed.

Simon smooths both hands up and down your back before they settle. They find a home on the curve of your ass. Again, Simon grabs hold, and using this grip, slowly slides you up the length of his cock until just the head is inside.

The drag is slow. Languid. A beast with sharp teeth wanting to fill its appetite.

“Oh fuck,” you murmur into the bed, your walls fluttering slightly.

“Fuck,” groans Simon, the vowel elongating slightly.

With that same searing hold, Simon slams you down his length until your ass bounces against his pelvis. He repeats the motion, sliding slowly upward before bringing you back down on him again.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your forearm, because it’s all you can utter.

The stretch is unrelenting, and the angle hits deep, penetrating to a place that has your senses tingling with frenzy.

Simon creates the movement again, but this time the retreat isn’t slow. He sets a pace, bouncing you up and down his cock. With the position you’re locked into, all you can do is dig your fingers into the bed and take it.

He said he’d be rough, that this first time is for him, but it’s not painful—and it doesn’t scare you. If anything, it is primal—lustful. A deep root sinking further to make a home in the earth.

Simon is claiming your body in the way he needs to, and you accept this gladly. If he needs to fuck you like this, you’ll take it. Every time he buries himself inside you, he hits deep, treading toward pleasure.

Penetration alone won’t get you there, but these movements are enough to take you somewhere, and right now, you’re spinning. Clinging. Holding on with all your strength as if that will somehow ground you in the moment.

You’re not sliding across the bed. Simon’s hold on you is too firm. But your upper-half is slipping—melting like a late spring snow.

His grunts behind you are low, coming from somewhere deep within his body. With a slight twist, you dare a look back.

Simon’s head is dipped back in ecstasy, lids shut, jaw clenched. All the muscles in his arms, chest, and stomach flex with every thrust. He looks like a god—a fallen angel. Lucifer himself reborn from the ashes, and the ashes are the ink that marks his body.

One of his hands slide up to grasp your waist, and this hold is more intense. You gasp—choke, rest your forehead against your bicep as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly.

Time is fleeting. You are lost to the rhythm of his pace, of the tight stretch and the sweat the blooms on your skin.

It is Simon squeezing your ass briefly and promptly withdrawing that brings you back to awareness. You don’t feel sticky between your legs. He did not come. But your confusion turns to sudden pleasure as Simon’s mouth returns to your pussy.

It’s just a few quick strokes of his tongue, and then Simon is flipping you onto your back, dragging you to the very edge of the bed. With one hand, he pushes your left leg wide, and with the other, Simon brings your right leg flush against his front, ankle at his shoulder. He hooks his arm around the leg against his chest, creating an anchor. His free hand rests against the inside of your thigh.

Once you’re in position, Simon returns to your pussy, keeping the same pace as before.

His shoulders are a bit hunched, body leaning forward slightly as he drives forward and back, skin smacking against skin. Other than that, it’s just your breathing and his, and the slick sound of your pussy taking him.

This time you’re free to writhe against him. The bed is not enough. You need to feel his skin.

Reaching out, you try to grasp for anything. What you receive is tenderness. The hand on your thigh disappears, and Simon snags your seeking hand, trapping it against your pelvis. But it’s not a rebuttal. It is not a refusal.

Simon is holding your hand, fingers intertwining.

“Look at me,” he growls, his hips stuttering slightly. You glance up. Make eye contact. It is brief. Fleeting. You are unable to hold his gaze. “Fuck, love. Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open, and Simon grinds his hips against you.

“I want to look into your eyes when I come inside you.” His chest heaves. “Don’t look away.”

You don’t. Never. You hold his gaze as Simon’s pace becomes a hurried, frenzied thing.

Simon groans, eyelids fluttering, and then he’s holding himself flush against you. You feel it then—his release. Your pussy is overly full, and you don’t care at all.

Simon’s breathing is deep, shoulders heaving slightly with every breath. At first, he seems a bit dazed, but then he smiles, and your heart flutters at the sight. After all of that, and he’s still holding your hand.

Without speaking, he brings that hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips to your fingers before bringing it back down to the bed. Simon finally releases them, placing his hand back on your inner thigh.

He does not withdraw. Simon stays inside you.

“Give me a couple minutes,” says Simon with a shaky breath. His hand on your thigh meanders inward, and then his thumb brushes over your clit.

The touch is a shock, and your pussy reflexively clenches around him, all the muscles in your abdomen tensing slightly.

Simon grunts when you squeeze around him, and then chuckles. “We’ll get back to it.”

“You want a second round?” you ask, breathless.

You hardly did anything and yet your limbs feel like rubber.

“Not up for it?” he replies, a cheeky expression on his face.

You roll your eyes and Simon’s deep laugh makes you grin. “Fuck you, Simon.”

“If you insist,” he croons, rocking his hips slightly.

“Stop,” you groan, even as Simon continues to rub your clit.

You begin to squirm, and Simon eases your leg back to the bed. He shifts again to accommodate it, and that one movement sends a bolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Said I wasn’t done with you.”

“I know,” you mutter as if this displeases you. It doesn’t. You do want more, even if your limbs ache.

Simon ceases playing with your clit and returns to stroking your inner thigh. “You good?”

You nod, and reach for him again. Simon accepts the touch.

The two of you linger there for a few minutes before Simon slips from your pussy with a gentle moan. His gaze falls to the place between your legs, and you feel his cum dripping out. Simon is transfixed, staring intently at your pussy before his gaze sweeps to your face.

“Let’s worry about you now.”

With effortlessness, Simon drags you into a seated position before drawing you into his arms. You instinctually wrap your arms around his neck as Simon turns to sit on the bed. He shifts backward, coming to rest against the old headboard. Adjusting you in his lap, Simon puts you into a seated position, your back to his chest, legs open to the room and draped over his slightly bent legs.

His hands caress over your body.

Abdomen. Breasts. Throat.

Simon leaves nothing untouched. He is so gentle—so careful with you. His face presses against your temple, and he sighs as if this is his happiest moment. You snuggle further against him, matching his sigh, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder.

Hands delve. Ascend.

Simon brings one up to the front of your throat while the other sinks between your legs. He goes right past your clit to press two fingers into the mess.

“Mine,” murmurs Simon, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

Lazily, Simon moves his fingers in and out of your pussy. The palm of his hand rubs against your clit. The swirling, coiling sensation begins to build again. The back of your head presses against Simon’s shoulder. You reach up and snake your arm to the back of his neck.

“Lift you hips for me, love.”

The instruction is delivered with a sultry purr. You do not hesitate. Simon’s fingers slip from your pussy and in their place is his cock. He slides home and you moan aloud.

“Feel so good,” he says softly, rocking his hips, creating a sleepy rhythm. “Made for me.”

Simon’s hand tightens around your throat while the other settles over your clit. Like his hips, Simon rocks slowly, moving the two in tandem with the other. There is no exertion or need to find the finish line.

There is only you and him pressed together.

The fire in the hearth burns low, creating long shadows in the room, and hardly reaching the bed.

Simon’s head tilts slightly, and with his hold on your throat, he guides your face to him. You already know what he wants, and the kisses that follow are just as slow and lazy. Without rushing, you could stay like this forever. Even your orgasm blooms with the gentleness of pressed linens after a wash.

By the second orgasm, Simon’s hips begin a steady thrust, bouncing you lightly in his lap. Like this, he still does not stop kissing you—still doesn’t remove his fingers from your clit. Every touch and stroke are pushing you over the edge until you entirely melt into him.

He understands. He does.

Simon’s thighs tense beneath you, and his kisses pause. You gasp, wanting him back, and Simon dives in, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth as he finishes inside you.

Simon releases your lip, goes in for one more kiss. This one is deep—a claiming.

He eases you off his cock, some of his cum slipping out in the process, and then helps you settle into the bed.

“Come here,” he says softly, sinking down onto his back beneath the sheets, arms open and waiting.

You crawl into him, snuggling close, inhaling his scent. It wraps around you and fills your lungs. Peace sinks into your skin, your veins, and the marrow in your bones. It is all you know. All you aspire to be.

You are safe here in Simon’s arms.

His lips brush against your forehead and you snuggle in a bit closer, gently stroking your hand over his chest. Your eyelids are heavy, and you’re not really looking at him, but your fingers wander, traveling over his skin, tracing lines and circles in a languid fashion.

“That’s nice,” he says, voice gruff.

“I’ll keep doing it then,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his ribs before returning to your task.

Beneath the ink are divots and rises. They are scars—this you already know—but you’ve never really touched them or even asked about them. You don’t believe that it’s your place to do so. With Simon, you don’t want to push. You want him to come to you.

From his chest, you move to the furthest part of his shoulder. His entire are and most of his shoulder is a blackout tattoo, and beneath it is a rippling map of scaring that stops near his elbow. Still, you do not question, but you give this part of him just as much attention as the rest. You don’t want him to think you’re avoiding it.

“They’re burn scars,” he says, voice a bit flat.

You lick your lips, deciding it’s best to say what you’re thinking. “Can hardly tell with the ink.”

It’s true. It mostly blends in. If anything, it adds an interesting texture. Someone glancing at it might think it’s a creative choice before they thought it was burn scars.

Simon sighs and then glances up at the ceiling. He grasps your wandering hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your open palm before returning it to where he took it from.

You do not keep tracing. You keep your hand still.

“Got it while I was in the military.”

This you already figured out. His military career is still a bit of a gray area between you. Simon briefly addressed what he did, that he was essentially special forces, but he didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press him then either.

But you were the one asking. British Intelligence came inquiring about Archie to his family, and you thought Simon might have some insight you could use to figure out if you should worry or not. It does still bother—still wiggles at the back of your mind like a blind worm.

“Before or after Riot Room?” you ask hesitantly, unsure if this is this the route to go.

Simon blinks a few times in rapid succession, still staring at the ceiling. “After.”

He does not elaborate and you do not press. You curl up tighter against him, snuggling into the crook of his arm. Simon shifts, his arm draped under and over your back tightening. He pulls you in, and leans in for a quick kiss on your forehead.

“It’s why I tattoo now.”

You frown. “They kicked you out for burns?”

The question comes out quickly, and you inwardly chastise yourself for it. You’re digging around.

Even with the knowledge you do have, that doesn’t sound right. If someone is able-bodied, and they��re psychologically okay, why would they turn him away? It doesn’t make sense.

“No,” he says, and you hear the sadness in his voice.

Whatever the memory, it’s a painful one. Still, you do not seek out more answers. This isn’t a place for you to run around in without his consent. It doesn’t mean you don’t want to know. You do. You want Simon to open up about these things, to reveal these pieces even if they are mere fragments of understanding.

“But you have your shop now,” you reply, deciding to divert the conversation elsewhere. You return to running your fingers over his skin.

Simon’s smile returns—a genuine one. Even the tips of his cheeks gain a pinkish hue. “I do.” He turns his head so he can look at you. “And you.”

You laugh and start to roll onto your back, but Simon draws your right back to him, grabbing the nape of your neck to bring you in for a kiss.

It is sweet and passionate.

A lover’s kiss.

Wraith.

But perhaps not a wraith any longer. That name could be set aside.

There is nothing hellish about him, and the danger you sensed all those years ago is simply a part of him. A history of violence you don’t entirely know yet but would like to understand if it brings you closer to him.

Those burdens shouldn’t just be on his shoulders.

Simon’s kisses become soft again. Lazy. You linger in the moment, seeking a few more before deciding to ask the next question.

“Are you done with me tonight?” you ask, fingers lightly grazing the line of his jaw. You catch your index finger just under his chin, drawing him back for another quick kiss.

“Could be. Up to you,” he answers, a bit of that heat returning in his gaze.

“Up to me?” you respond, one eyebrow arching in question.

Simon goes in for another kiss, and this time he pushes you onto your back. Your legs naturally part of him, and Simon settles between as if the two of you have done this countless times before.

He keeps his hand on your neck, but his kisses do not abate. They become deeper—hungrier. Incessant and insistent. Your lips part and Simon’s tongue delves inside. You suck on it. Release. Pull a guttural groan from him.

“If it were up to me,” he rasps between kisses. “I’d fuck you all night and into the morning.”

His words send a spiral of pleasure to your core. Your thighs quiver and then tighten around his hips.

“I don’t believe you,” you reply when you finally have a chance to catch your breath.

Simon presses his pelvis against your sex and his hardness is all the answer you need.

“You’re insatiable,” you giggle as Simon teasingly nips at your bottom lip.

“Only for you,” he coos, his teeth finally making a bit of contact.

Heat rises to your cheeks and floods your body. This softness is nice and you want to stay like this. Just the two of you in this old cottage.

“What’s the plan, Simon?”

“Plan?” he mumbles, head dipping so that his lips can nip and kiss along your collarbone.

“Are we staying like this the whole time?”

Simon nods. “You’re not leaving this bed,” he says against the curve of your breast.

“What if I have to pee?”

“Allowed.”

You snort. “To eat?”

“Of course.”

The tip of Simon’s tongue brushes over your pebbled nipple.

“What if I want to go outside? Breathe some fresh highland air?”

At this question, Simon gently bites, pulling a little gasp from you. “I’ll open the fucking window so you can look outside.”

“Simon,” you hiss, smacking the side of his chest.

His head lifts, those brown eyes of his piercing you like a spear. “I want you to myself for a bit.”

I want you to myself for a bit.

There is a desperate tone to his voice that worries you, but you dismiss it.

It’s nothing, and you are with the man you care for the most.

Your fingers slide over his cheek and then thread through his hair. Simon shifts forward, finding your lips again, and you open for him.

He can have you alone.

He can have you just to himself.

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h4rring1on · 5 months ago

Note

I have a request, can I have one where Eddie and the reader is Eddie best friend, later on Eddie starts dating Chrissy but he doesn’t know that the reader likes him. The reader being sad and distant towards him though out the time.. Eddie being confused and mad at reader and thinking she is jealous, later on gets into argument with her doesn’t talk to the reader for a few weeks, very angst, for the end you make your own if you want fluff or angst. Thank you, I love your writing ❤️❤️❤️

a/n: i’m so excited for this i hope i did well though. 💔💔 did i lose my touch be honest 🙏🏻

you and eddie have been friends for god knows how long, ever since that day at recess, you’d been playing with this random toy you’d seen and he was quick to confront you, it was his!

after you ran off crying, he came to you and handed you the same toy.

‘jus quit crying! jeez you can have it!!’

ever since then, you’d been inseparable. you were around a year or two younger than him. so when he was held back in school, you were catching up to him which made you even closer than you already were

soon enough, you’d developed a crush on him. at first, it was harmless. maybe a little giggle here and there, a tiny thought in the back of your mind maybe once a week

i’d date him

but it was never anything to act upon, since you weren’t all that interested in him. until it just got worse and worse, and robin had quite the earful about it practically every day!

steve also heard about it a few times here and there since he was usually in the background stacking the shelves or so, but not the full story

you couldn’t help it though. he was so kind to you, he’d get you snacks n everything! you had a tradition, every friday night you buy a ton of snacks and watch a cheesy movie!

it was your thing.

he was so caring and loving to you that people generally thought you were dating until they got the unfortunate news

you were content with being only friends though, at least he still did quite a lot for you. up until that one day

that horrible day. where everything got ruined

you’d been walking with eddie around the school halls, talking, until he bumped into chrissy.

“oh my gosh i’m so sor…” she trails off as she looks at him

he smiles and grabs the things from the floor

“it’s all good pretty” he says and she’d suddenly opened a conversation, it was too awkward for you so you just went on to class, since you were obviously not gonna sit and watch them talk. which took like a year to finish, he didn’t even come to class!

what could’ve been so interesting he missed class to talk about.

it kept going on like this, he stopped sitting with you during break time, he’d walk her home, he’d miss classes for her, and you had held it all in up until he did it.

he did it.

you had been waiting for the past three hours at the supermarket so he could come, it was friday night, which meant it was time for your tradition.

he didn’t come, and you broke when, on your way home, you saw him and chrissy going into the movie theater, smiling as wide as possible.

he’d broken the 5 year long tradition…for her?

you went home sobbing, if anyone knew why, they’d think it would be a stupid reason, but it wasn’t. it truly hurt. he practically chose her over you.

you stopped trying to think positively after that, to just say, it’s fine! it’s just today! or—he didn’t mean to, maybe he forgot!

both steve and robin noticed it after you stopped talking about him so much, or even talking to him for that matter.

everytime he’d approach you, you’d mumble out some short response and leave. and he definitely noticed, even in the times where he does sit with you, you’d get up and leave.

it kept going on like this up until on your walk home, he grips your wrist and turns you, not harshly but firm enough to stop you.

you furrow your eyebrows as you look at him, expecting something

“well?” he says and you look around, confused

“what?”

“wh—what?? you’re asking what?? you’re not gonna explain why the hell you’ve been acting so weird?” he spits out, it was clear he’s had enough

you shrug, “weird how?” you question

“don’t bullshit me. you know exactly what i’m talking about! what the hell is going on with you!”

you laugh, as if he really had the right to ask that after how he’s been acting

“what’s going on with me? how about what’s going on with you, munson!” you spit out, and he furrows his eyebrows, you’d never use his last name..

“you stop sitting with me at lunch, you miss classes just to see her, you barely ever see me! and—on top of all that—you miss our night. our night! the one we do every single week for the past five years and for what? chrissy? little princess of hawkins chrissy?”

he scoffs, “jesus christ—chrissy? that’s what this is about?!” he says and shakes his head

“yes it’s about chrissy! you barely even know her!”

“oh my god, i don’t think that’s any of your business! if youre so jealous because of how amazing she is just say that!”

“jealous? are you kidding me? that’s what you think this is? grow up, eddie!” you spit out

“it’s obviously jealousy! look at you! you see one girl that’s ten times better than you look my way and you go crazy!” he says and you pause, your heart clenched, how could he say that?

“what’s wrong with you? how could you even say that? i’ve been your best friend for—“

“don’t give me that bullshit! don’t play the victim! what is it, huh? because she’s popular? because she’s pretty? just admit you’re fucking obsessed! i don’t know how i ever even became friends with a freak like you”

your vision blurs, you don’t even say anything, you just turn and walk away, silently crying. who was this person?

eddie didn’t even bother to stay, he was quick to leave too. you walked into family video, robin wasn’t there, but steve was. and he was quick to notice your puffy red eyes, he rushed to you

“hey—hey hey peach.” he says softly and hugs you, and you breakdown in his arms, “woah woah—it’s okay…it’s okay” he rubs your back, trying to soothe you, “you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

you didn’t go to school for a couple of days, but when you did, you didn’t even bat an eye at eddie. who, in the meantime, was getting swallowed into a hole of utter guilt and shame.

he wasn’t even fully there when he was with chrissy, and in class, he’d stare at you the whole time. it went on like this for weeks, and eddie couldn’t take any more.

he didn’t even care about chrissy, and he’d realized your words were right and that she wasn’t really all that. how could be so blinded by her popularity and looks?

those weeks were hell, he’d truly realized how much he liked you, and how agonizingly painful it was to not be able to see you or talk to you at all.

so he dumped chrissy, and didn’t really feel anything. he picked up some flowers on the way and knocked on your door, this was it

you opened the door, surprised to see him, eddie noticed how pretty you look…and how he looked dead compared to you, he’s been suffering without you, you were too…right?

he calls your name and sighs, “i just…i wanted to explain myself—that day—i didn’t mean anything i said i swear to you. and—for chrissy—you were right. you were right about everything and it broke me when i stopped talking to y…” he trails off, his heart shattering at the sight of steve, in some boxers and no shirt, showing up from behind the door

you look away, and eddie didn’t speak, he just stays there, the anger building up.

“i’ll see you in a second baby okay?” you say and kiss steve before walking out and closing the door, and the look on eddie’s face got worse when you kissed steve

“wh—you’re dating him? you’re dating the king of hawkins?! that dipshit?!” he yells, how could you do this?!

wasn’t this ironic?

“what! jesus christ, this is about steve? really?” you mimic him, “if you’re so jealous about how amazing he is just say that” she says and smiles, walking away.

eddie mentally curses himself, she’d repeated the same words he said to her.

it was over. he’d lost his chance with the most amazing girl he’s ever met without realizing it.

that’s what he gets though

#stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie angst #eddie my love <3 #eddie and reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #rae writes

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morgana-larkin · 8 months ago

Note

Hey I was wondering if u could do Melissa x reader where reader has scars that she’s embarrassed about and so she always wear a jumpers or long sleeves but one day it’s really warm and reader refuses to take it off coz she’s embarrassed and Melissa helps her realise that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about (as always no pressure I adore your work sm 🫶)

This was really cute, I liked writing this. I must be in a mood cause it’s the second fic today I wrote and it has smut 🤦🏼‍♀️ maybe just excited to see our girl on screen again 🤷🏻‍♀️

On another note: on to the next prompt and I’m wondering where that’s gonna go, possibly heartbreak from my own creation, @esposadejoyhuerta I’m looking at you, your prompt is next.

Map Of Your Scars

Warnings: reader self conscious about her scars, smut

Words: 2.3k

You stand there looking at yourself naked in the mirror and take a deep breath. Looking at all your scars you have, either from the car accident you were in, cuts that didn’t heal all the way or acne scars.

You take another deep breath and then get dressed, getting ready for another day at Abbott Elementary. You’ve been working there for almost 9 months as a fifth grade teacher and you absolutely love it. The staff are great, the kids are great, the principal is questionable, it’s a blast there.

It’s warm out since it’s mid May so you go for a light jumper and sweater. Already you feel warm just walking into the halls of the school but you’ve done this before, just keep the sweater on until you get home.

You walk into the break room and get a coffee and you sit next to Melissa on the couch to watch the news with them. Melissa looks over at your jumper and sweater and quirks an eyebrow. “I hope you’re not going to be wearing that sweater on our recess duty today like you did last week.” She tells you and you blush. You developed a crush on the beautiful redhead, and from what you hear, she’s only dated exclusively men, bummer.

“Recess duty? Oh is that today?” You ask, you totally forgot about that. Melissa nods and you sigh. “Well I am, I think it looks good with the jumper.”

“Hun, it does look good but it’s not practical.” She points out. Melissa ignored you when you first got there but has since taken an interest in you, all the recess duties together probably helped.

“If I get too hot then I’ll take it off and wrap it around my waist, so it’s fine.” You tell her with a shrug and at that, she drops it.

At lunchtime, you still have the sweater on and refuse to take it off. You can see Melissa keeps eyeing you and the sweater.

“Can I help you Melissa?” You ask her when you see her looking at you again.

“Hun it’s like 25 degrees (77 Fahrenheit) out. You’re gonna be hot in that.” She says and you sigh.

“Actually at the moment I’m fine.” You tell her and she goes back to her phone and food.

When you two are walking together to go outside for your recess duty, she glances at you.

You both are outside, 10 minutes in to your recess duty, making sure the students are keeping out of trouble. Melissa walks up to you, “hun, take the sweater off, I can see you sweating.” She says.

“I’m fine.” You say and walk away. You’re not fine though, you are starting to get really hot but you don’t want anyone to see your scars, especially her, the red goddess that visits you in your dreams.

20 minutes later you’re really sweating and lightheaded and starting to see blurry spots in your vision. You and Melissa are rounding the kids up and she can see you’re not doing well, she’s noticed you trying to stabilise yourself more than once. Once the kids are heading inside she comes up to you again.

“Hey are you ok? You don’t look too good.” She says and puts a hand on your arm. You don’t really notice the hand on you, you’re too busy trying not to fall. You just nod at her and she helps to lead you inside.

You take one step in the school and you immediately fall. “Y/N!” Melissa yells as she catches you. Gregory is close by when he hears Melissa yelling and looks at her and sees you in her arms. He runs over to her and sees that your eyes are closed.

“What happened?” He asks her and she looks up at him.

“Heat exhaustion. I told her to take the stupid sweater off. Can you help me carry her to the nurse?” She asks and he nods and picks you up.

Once you're at the nurses office, they lay you down on the bed and Melissa takes off your sweater. The nurse instructs Gregory to leave as they need to unbutton your jumper to release the heat in your body.

You wake up and the first thing you notice is that you’re not hot anymore or sweaty. In fact, you’re perfectly fine. Then you notice there’s a breeze on the top half of you and you look down at yourself and see your sweater is off and your jumper is unbuttoned. You look over to your left and see Melissa talking to the nurse. She then notices you awake and walks over to you.

“Hey, how you feeling?” She asks you.

“Good.” You tell her, as you start to button up your jumper in a panic.

“You gave me a scare back there.” She tells you and you look up at her as you finish buttoning up your jumper.

“Where’s my sweater?” You ask her as you look around for it.

“I have it but I’m not giving it to you.” You look at her.

“Why?”

“Why? Because you fainted from heat exhaustion, that’s why. What were you thinking? Why didn’t you just take it off? Why are you wearing a jumper? It’s May right now. You can’t be dressing in hot clothes anymore.”

“I can wear what I want.” You say to her and cover up your arms as much as possible.

“Why didn’t you just take it off?” She asks you and you look over and see the nurse watching the conversation and you look away embarrassed. Melissa looks back and sees. “Do you mind giving us the room for a moment please?” She asks the nurse and she nods and leaves the room. “So why didn’t you take it off?” She asks you again.

“Because…of my scars.” You say quietly.

“You’re scars?” Melissa asked. She of course noticed them when she was helping to undress you but didn’t think much of them.

“Ya, they’re embarrassing, so I cover them up so no one else sees them.” You tell her.

“Hun, it doesn’t matter if you got scars, no one's gonna care or say anything bad about them. And if they do then I’ll take care of them.” She tells you with a wink and you look at her, still embarrassed. Melissa tries a different approach. “I saw them and I still think you’re beautiful.” She says and you look at her with wide eyes.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You ask her and she nods.

“Uh huh, inside and out.” She tells you and you blush. “How did you get them? Your scars.” She asked and you take a deep breath.

“Car accident, cuts and acne.”

“Your scars are a part of you and they tell a story of who you are, nothing to be ashamed of.” She tells you and you look down, you don’t quite believe what she’s telling you. Melissa notices your disbelief and knows she has to try something drastic, drastic situations call for drastic measures. She places her hand on your chin and forces you to look up at her. “Maybe you’ll believe me now.” She tells you in a low, almost seductive voice, and kisses you.

You’re stunned when she does and you don’t know what to do. She pulls back and sees your expression. “Were you not expecting that?” She jokes and you shake your head.

“I..um…well… you’re straight.” You tell her and she giggles.

“I’m not straight hun. I lean more towards men but a few women have caught my eye over the years.” She tells you and you stare at her in disbelief. “Do you have a crush on me?” She asks you since you’re staring at her and you nod your head. “Well that’s good cause I have a crush on you.” She tells you and you blink at her, looking like a deer in the headlights. She cups your cheek, “can I kiss you again?” She asks you and you immediately nod your head and she giggles, she kisses you again and this time you kiss her back. You put a hand at the back of her head and she places one on your waist. After about a minute, you pull away for air.

“Wow” you say, trying to catch your breath.

“How about you come back to my place tonight? It’s Friday night so no school tomorrow and maybe I can show you another way of how beautiful you are, with or without scars.” She tells you and you practically hear your brain crashing.

“I- you…um..what?” You ask her.

She leans in to your ear and whispers seductively. “If you come over after school then I’ll kiss all your scars and your entire body.” She says and leans back and winks at you. “Think about it.” She says and leaves.

You go back to your students, completely forgetting that you don’t have a sweater on until one of your students asks you where you got the scar on your right arm. You look at it then look at your student that looks full of curiosity. “Car accident.” You tell him and your students all look at you with wide eyes and open mouths.

“That’s so cool! Not the car accident but your scar. It makes you look cool.” He says to you and you smile.

“Thanks kiddo.” You tell him and then get back to your lesson.

After school you dismiss your last student and see Melissa standing in your doorway, your sweater in her hands. “Hey.” Just tells you and you walk towards her.

“Hi.” You tell her and blush.

“You’re cute when you blush.” She says and you blush even more. “So have you decided about tonight?” She asks and you nod. “What is it then?”

“I want to come to your place.” You say and she smiles.

“Good choice, come on then. I’ll drive us there.” She says and turns to leave.

“What about my car?” You ask her and she looks at you.

“I can drive you back here to get it tomorrow.” She tells you and you nod and follow her out.

She drives you to her place, with a hand on your thigh the entire time, that you noticed kept creeping up more and more. You try to keep your composure but it was hard when her hand was so close to where you’ve wanted her for months.

As soon as you walk in her house she spins around and traps you between her and her door. You look at her stunned and you blush. “Do you know how hard it’s been for me, trying not to kiss you for the past 5 months?” She says in a seductive voice and you shake your head. “Well I’m going to show you, come on!” She tells you and grabs your hand and pulls you upstairs to her room.

Once there she pushes you down on the bed and crawls on top of you. The sight makes you lightheaded in the best way. She kisses you passionately and she takes your breath away. While kissing you, she begins to unbutton your jumper slowly. Once done, she pulls back and looks at you as she takes the top half off of you.

“You look so beautiful.” She says and begins kissing the scars that are on your chest and arms. She then proceeds to kiss your neck then nipples and you moan. Once she’s satisfied with her work, she pulls the button part of your jumper off of you. “Omg y/n, how are you so beautiful? I feel so lucky right now.” She says and kisses the scars on your legs. After she makes sure she got all of them, she then kisses your clit, making you buck your hips.

“Oh Melissa, oh my god.” You say grabbing her hair as she sucks on your clit. She pulls away and replaces her lips with a finger.

“What is it baby? What is it you want?” She asks you with a smirk.

“You! Want you, inside me.” You tell her and she smiles.

“As you wish.” And she pushes 2 fingers inside of you and you moan. Melissa is just loving the sounds you’re making because of her, she could listen to them all day. But for now, she wants to hear you when you cum. She attaches her mouth back to your clit and continues to fuck you with her fingers. She sees you start to shake and feels you clenching her fingers. “Are you gonna cum baby?” She asks and you nod. “Go on then, cum for me.” She tells you and you cum on her fingers. She gently pulls out of you and licks her fingers that were inside of you, moaning at the taste of you. “God, you’re so beautiful and you taste so good.” She says and you blush.

Monday morning you come to school in a dress that stops mid thigh and a smile on your face. You walk into the break room, get your coffee and sit on the couch next to Melissa. She sees you in a dress and she smiles and places a kiss on your lips.

All your coworkers see this and their jaws drop. Then Ava hands $20 over to Barb and Gregory hands $20 over to Jacob and Janine. You look at them all confused. “Were you betting on something?” You ask them.

“Ya, they were betting on when I’d tell you I like you.” Melissa says with a sigh and you giggle. Melissa wraps an arm around you and pulls you in closer.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

Let me know if you want to be added!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic

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thewickedjazzy · 4 months ago

Text

⌞𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰⌝

Part I : 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙉𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙨

Pairings: Chuuya x mafia boss fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mention of death, mention of other dimensions (could trigger derealization), please let me know if I forgot any Xx.

Author's note: Hey fellas!! Hope you enjoy my story ahead. Note: It consists of 3 parts. I've been toying with the idea of this story for a while now and honestly I am very satisfied with how it turned out!!

P.s: it's written in a 3rd person perspective.

Word count: 5.7k

In the deepest recesses of the human heart, there exists a haunting paradox: the insatiable thirst for power clashes with the equally profound yearning for connection. These two opposing forces, entwined yet in constant conflict, shaped the existence of a mafia boss who ruled Yokohama's shadowed underworld. Her life was a testament to this struggle—a legacy of power forged in the crucible of blood and betrayal, passed down as both a gift and a curse. Power was her birthright, a mantle she wore with unyielding resolve, yet its weight was a burden she bore in solitude, isolated by the very force that defined her.

At her side, Chuuya Nakahara stood as her most loyal confidant, a kindred spirit shaped by his own battles and scars. In the murky depths of their world, where loyalty was a currency as rare as it was valuable, their bond was forged in the fires of mutual understanding. Yet even with Chuuya's unwavering support, she knew that true power came at a steep price—a cost paid in loneliness and the silent suffering that accompanied her every decision. The shadow of her legacy loomed large, casting its darkness over every connection she sought to make until all that remained was the cold, unyielding pursuit of control.

Chuuya understood this truth with a clarity that bordered on despair. His unwavering loyalty was not merely a matter of duty; it was rooted in a deep, unspoken love that lay buried within the shadows of his heart. This love, a secret he guarded fiercely, was both his greatest strength and his inevitable downfall—a double-edged sword that he could never wield openly.

She, the one who controlled the very fabric of the underworld with her formidable ability, the "Malevolent Marionette," held the power to command not just armies, but the delicate balance between life and death itself. With a mere thought, she could pull the strings of fate, bending the wills of others to her own, yet this power, so absolute in its reach, left her isolated in a world where love was both a weakness and a danger. Chuuya, in his silence, bore witness to her lonely reign, knowing that his love for her could never be spoken, for to do so would unravel the delicate threads that bound their lives together.

In the dimly lit office of the mafia headquarters, the mafia boss was going through some paperwork as usual, on the top floor of the headquarters, her gaze fixed on the writings and patterns of the file she was holding, broke the silence first.

"Chuuya..." she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of unvoiced thoughts, "Do you ever wonder if the price we pay for control is worth it?"

Chuuya, leaning against the edge of the desk, met her eyes with a mixture of solemnity and affection. "Every day," he replied, his voice low but steady.

"But even in this world of shadows, it's your strength that keeps us going. Without it, we'd all be lost."

A fleeting smile touched her lips, but it was a rare moment of vulnerability.

"And yet, even with all the power we wield, it feels as though we’re trapped in a cage of our own making," she murmured.

Their conversation, delicate and laden with the gravity of their shared existence, was abruptly interrupted by a piercing alarm that sliced through the air like a knife. The blaring sound was a sharp reminder of the perpetual danger they faced.

“Alert: Intruder detected,” the automated voice declared with relentless efficiency.

"Ugh, give me a break," the mafia boss muttered, rolling her eyes as the alarm blared incessantly through the headquarters.

The shrill sound grated on her nerves, but it was more of an annoyance than a cause for concern.

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as she considered the situation.

Chuuya, already halfway to the door, paused and glanced back at her.

"You really think they’ll get anywhere near us?"

She gave a small, dismissive shake of her head. "They won’t make it past the third floor, let alone reach us up here. But it’s still a nuisance."

Chuuya smirked, his confidence in her words evident.

"I'll handle it quickly, then."

With that, he turned and strode out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. Left alone, the boss exhaled, her eyes drifting to the window where the city sprawled beneath her like a living, breathing entity.

The layers of protection she had built around herself—both physical and emotional—were nearly impenetrable. No one had ever made it to the top floor, where she and Chuuya resided. And no one ever would.

She pushed herself up from the chair, moving to a hidden compartment in the wall.

She pressed a button, and the hidden compartment slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a sleek monitor embedded within.

As she activated the screen, a grid of camera feeds flickered to life, offering her a bird’s-eye view of the entire headquarters. She wasn’t one to micromanage her subordinates—she trusted them, especially Chuuya—but the instinct to keep an eye on things, especially when it involved him, was something she couldn’t quite shake.

Her eyes scanned the feeds, taking in the chaotic scenes unfolding below. The intruders, a small but highly trained group, had made it farther than most. The lower floors were a warzone, with her men locked in fierce combat, but it was clear that they were holding their ground. For now.

She switched to the third-floor feed, her gaze sharpening as she saw Chuuya enter the fray. He moved with lethal precision, a blur of motion as he tore through the intruders with the ease of someone born to fight not using his gravity manipulation ability just yet.

Despite her earlier confidence, a sliver of unease crept into her mind as she watched him. These intruders were no amateurs; they were too coordinated, too familiar with the layout of the headquarters. Her finger hovered over the intercom button, but she hesitated. Chuuya didn’t need her guidance—he was more than capable of handling the situation. Yet, the feeling persisted, gnawing at her as she watched him confront a particularly skilled opponent, their clash sending shockwaves through the walls.

Suddenly, something on one of the other camera feeds caught her attention. A figure, moving with uncanny stealth, had bypassed the bulk of the defenses and was making their way up the emergency stairwell—a route rarely used and known only to a select few. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the intruder was heading straight for the top floor.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, quickly switching the camera view to track the figure’s progress. Whoever this was, they were dangerous—calculated, and possibly someone with inside knowledge.

Without wasting another second, she hit the intercom button, her voice steady but urgent.

"Chuuya, we’ve got a problem. There’s someone headed for the top floor, and they’re taking the emergency stairs."

Chuuya’s voice crackled through the speaker, laced with irritation.

"You sure it’s not just another grunt?"

"No," she replied, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

"This one’s different. They know exactly where they’re going."

There was a brief pause on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath.

"I’m on my way. Don’t do anything reckless."

She smirked at his concern but didn’t argue. "Hurry," was all she said before ending the call.

Her smirk faded as she watched the intruder move with calculated precision through the stairwell, each step deliberate and unhurried. Whoever this was, they were no ordinary assassin. They were heading straight for her, bypassing the usual layers of defense as if they knew exactly where to find her.

Her fingers itched to grab her weapon, but something told her this encounter would require more than brute force.

She had an ability—one she rarely used, because it was as dangerous as it was powerful. But this was different. This intruder was different.

She closed the compartment and stepped away from the monitor, moving to sit on a nearby desk near the door, her senses on high alert.

Every second stretched into an eternity as she waited, listening for the faintest sound of approaching footsteps. Then, just as she had predicted, they stopped right outside her door.

The handle turned slowly, and she felt her heartbeat quicken, her muscles tensing in anticipation. The door opened with an almost deliberate slowness, and the intruder stepped inside—a tall figure cloaked in black, their face hidden beneath a dark hood. They paused, surveying the room as if searching for something, before their gaze finally settled on her and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. But instead of striking, the figure remained still, as if weighing their options.

She didn’t wait for them to speak. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me why you’re here before I kill you,” she said, her voice sharp and commanding, yet calm, with an underlying edge that promised she would follow through.

The intruder lifted their hands slightly, a gesture of surrender, though there was a calculated caution in the movement. “I’m not here to fight,” they said, their voice muffled by the hood. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

She narrowed her eyes, distrust gnawing at her. “A message?” she echoed. “From who?”

The intruder took a cautious step forward, reaching into their coat. She tensed, ready to strike, but they slowly pulled out a small, sealed envelope instead of a weapon. They held it out to her, and she got up from the desk as she eyed it warily before snatching it from their hand, tearing it open with a swift, practised motion.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting elegant but unfamiliar. Her eyes scanned the words quickly, her breath catching as she read the message. It was simple, yet devastating:

" 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦—𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘙𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴—𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘴. 𝘐 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. "

At the bottom of the note was a name—one that sent a cold chill down her spine. Her stepfather. The man who had been a shadowy figure in her life, part of a past she had tried to bury. But he wasn’t buried—he was back, and he had her sister.

The intruder watched her carefully, reading the shift in her expression. “He told me to give you that,” they said, their voice low. “And to tell you that this is just the beginning. If you don’t do as he says… your sister will suffer.”

Her hands tightened around the paper, crumpling it slightly as she fought to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t let the intruder see how deeply this cut, couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

“Why should I believe you?” she asked, her tone cold. “How do I know this isn’t some trick?”

“You don’t,” the intruder replied, their voice devoid of emotion. “But you know who he is. You know what he’s capable of. And you know he’s not bluffing.”

She hated how true those words were. She looked at the intruder, her eyes narrowing in calculation. “What’s your role in this?” she demanded. “Why are you helping him?”

The intruder hesitated, then finally pulled back the hood, revealing a face lined with weariness and resolve. “I’m just a messenger. But I know what he wants. He’s not just after you—he’s after Chuuya.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Chuuya? What does he want with him?”

The intruder shook their head. “That’s all I know. My job was to deliver the message and make sure you understood the stakes. What you do next is up to you.”

She stared at the intruder for a long moment, her mind racing. This was no ordinary threat. It was personal, and it was a game she would have to play carefully. Her sister’s life was on the line, and now, Chuuya’s safety was in jeopardy as well.

Finally, she stepped back, allowing the intruder to leave. “Get out before Chuuya gets here” she ordered, her voice icy. “And tell your boss that if he harms her, I’ll burn his entire world to the ground.”

The intruder hesitated, their eyes flicking towards the door as if they were weighing their options. But the cold determination in her voice left no room for argument. With a slight nod, they pulled the hood back over their head, turning to leave the room as quietly as they had entered. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving her alone once more.

As the silence settled back into the room, she let out a slow breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. Her sister—her only remaining family—was in the hands of a man she had long thought buried in her past. A man whose very existence she had tried to forget, yet he had resurfaced like a ghost from a nightmare, bringing with him a threat that was as personal as it was terrifying.

After a few seconds the door opened once again as Chuuya stepped into the room, his presence like a force of nature that filled the space. His eyes immediately went to her, scanning her for any sign of hurt.

“What the hell just happened?” Chuuya’s tone was sharp, cutting through the tension that still hung in the air.

She turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, though the turmoil inside her was anything but. “It’s handled,” she replied, her voice calm and controlled, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her. “The intruder was just a messenger.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. He knew her too well to be fooled by her calm exterior. “And what was the message?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. He took a step closer, his gaze locked onto hers, searching for the truth she was trying to hide.

For a moment, she hesitated. The urge to tell him everything—to let him in on the danger that now threatened them both—was strong. But she couldn’t. Chuuya was too important, too precious to her, to risk him being dragged into this mess. Her stepfather was a dangerous man, someone who thrived on manipulation and deceit. If Chuuya knew he was a target, he would rush headlong into the fray, putting himself at risk for her sake. She couldn’t allow that.

She forced a small smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s nothing we can’t handle,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “Just someone trying to stir up trouble. But I’ll take care of it.”

Chuuya’s frown deepened. “Don’t give me that crap,” he snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re not telling me something. What’s going on?”

She exhaled slowly, knowing she had to give him something to keep him from pressing further. “It’s about my sister,” she admitted, her voice softening. “She’s been taken, and they want me to come for her. Alone.”

The truth in her words wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole story either. Chuuya’s expression shifted from suspicion to anger, his fists clenching at his sides. “Taken? By who?” His voice was low, dangerous, the fury in his eyes barely contained.

“A man from my past,” she said vaguely, refusing to give him the details that would send him charging into danger. “Someone I thought I’d left behind. But he’s come back, and he’s using her to get to me.”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with determination. “Then we’ll find him,” he growled. “We’ll get her back, and we’ll make him pay for this."

She shook her head, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “No, Chuuya. This is something I have to handle alone. It’s too dangerous, and I can’t let you get involved.”

His eyes flashed with anger. “Like hell I’m staying out of this. You’re not facing this bastard by yourself.”

Her grip on his arm tightened, her voice firm. “You have to trust me, Chuuya. I need you to stay close, but out of sight. Let me deal with him. I promise, I’ll bring her back.”

He stared at her, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. He wanted to argue, to demand that she let him fight by her side, but something in her eyes—something resolute and unyielding—stopped him. With a frustrated sigh, he finally nodded, though his reluctance was clear.

“Fine,” he agreed, his voice begrudging. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight. The moment I think you’re in danger, I’m coming in, whether you like it or not.”

She allowed herself a small, genuine smile this time, grateful for his stubborn loyalty. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she replied, her voice softening.

Chuuya’s anger seemed to dissipate slightly, replaced by a deep, unspoken concern. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I can’t lose you.”

Her heart tightened at his words, and she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.”

For a moment, they stood there, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging between them. She wanted to reach out, to tell him how much his presence meant to her, how much she relied on him, how much she cared about him not because of his ability but rather because of who he is. But there were too many walls between them, too much left unsaid. So instead, she simply held his gaze, letting the silence speak for them both.

The distance between them felt palpable, an invisible barrier made up of all the things they hadn’t yet confessed, of all the emotions they kept locked away for the sake of their precarious world.

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before finally placing a hand on her shoulder. The touch was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid to overstep the boundaries they’d both carefully constructed. “You know,” he began, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it, “you don’t always have to carry everything on your own. I’m here, not just as your right hand, but… for whatever you need.”

His words hung in the air between them, laced with meaning that went beyond the professional bond they shared. She looked up at him, her breath catching slightly at the sincerity in his eyes. It would be so easy to lean into that touch, to allow herself the comfort of his presence, but the walls she had built around her heart held firm. She had spent so long keeping everyone at a distance, even him, that it felt impossible to let go now.

“Chuuya…” she started, her voice wavering, “you don’t understand how much this means to me. But it’s precisely because I care about you that I can’t afford to let you in too close. The world we inhabit is fraught with dangers—dangers that neither of us can escape unscathed.”

His hand moved from her shoulder to take hers gently, the gesture tender yet firm, as though he was determined to bridge the distance between them, however insurmountable it seemed. “Do you think I’m blind to that?” he replied, a trace of frustration colouring his words, though it was softened by a plea—one that echoed the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “We’ve faced every challenge together until now. I’m not asking you to tear down all your defenses—just to let me in, if only a little. We are stronger when we stand together, aren’t we?”

She turned away slightly, her gaze drifting toward the window where the city sprawled beneath them, a living testament to the power and control she wielded. But even as she looked out over the empire she had built, there was an emptiness, a hollow ache that power could not fill. She had sacrificed so much to be where she was—her freedom, her innocence, her very humanity. And yet, here was Chuuya, offering her something she had long forgotten how to grasp: connection.

"Chuuya," she said, her voice barely audible, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. "In our world, everything is a transaction. Loyalty, trust, and even love—they all come at a price. I’ve always believed that the cost was too high. That to let anyone in was to invite ruin."

He didn’t respond immediately, allowing the silence to stretch between them, heavy with the weight of their shared history. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "Maybe that’s true," he admitted, "but maybe the price of keeping everyone out is even higher. We think we’re protecting ourselves by building these walls by staying distant, but all we’re doing is trapping ourselves in a cage of our own making as you always refer to it."

She smiles and nods. He was right... of course, he was right, yet she couldn't help but stay in that cage.

The night draped over Yokohama like a shroud, its darkness suffused with the ominous weight of impending tragedy. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the distant echo of sirens—harbingers of chaos that had become all too familiar. In the heart of this city, where shadows wove their own intricate dance, a final confrontation was brewing.

She had indeed managed to save her sister, wresting her from the clutches of the man who had once been a silent specter in her past. Her stepfather—whose dark presence had loomed over her life like a persistent nightmare—stood before her now, his power radiating like a malignant force that threatened to engulf everything she held dear. His ability to subsume other powers was a fearsome weapon, a black hole of dominion that threatened to consume all in its path.

The battle that ensued was a tempest of ferocity and desperation. She fought with the strength of a woman who had everything to lose, her every move fueled by a fierce, protective love for her sister. But as the confrontation dragged on, it became clear that her stepfather's power was overwhelming—an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.

In a final, desperate bid to secure her sister’s safety, she made the agonizing decision to invoke the full potential of her "Malevolent Marionette" ability. The room was filled with a sombre silence as she whispered the usual incantation, her voice trembling with the weight of her resolve.

The master puppet, an intricate symbol of her ability, materialized in the center of the room—a dark, foreboding figure that seemed to pulse with an ancient, dangerous energy.

Her connection to the puppet was immediate and intense. The energy surging through her was both exhilarating and terrifying. The puppet’s power was immense, a dark purple tide that surged through her veins, promising the ability to reshape the world itself if she so wished. But the cost was steep—five minutes of devastation, followed by her own inevitable demise if the puppet was not destroyed.

The minutes ticked by like a slow, relentless drumbeat, each second a harbinger of doom. She fought valiantly, her power a raging inferno that lashed out at her stepfather, but he remained an insurmountable force, his power too great to be overcome. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each exhalation a reminder of the ticking clock that governed her fate.

Chuuya stood at the edge of the shadows, his heart pounding with a frantic rhythm that mirrored the chaotic storm raging within him. He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, his every muscle tense with a blend of fear and frustration. The stakes had been too high, and he knew that his absence, though well-intentioned, was a gamble with dire consequences. The reality of their world was unforgiving, and he could sense the weight of his decisions settling heavily upon him.

As he watched the building, a sudden flicker of purple neon light cut through the darkness, casting an eerie glow over the structure. The light pulsed rhythmically, a harbinger of something both powerful and dangerous. His blood ran cold as he realized the significance of the display. It was a sign—a signal that she had invoked the full potential of her "Malevolent Marionette" ability —the very ability they had always relied on him to control, to destroy.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and his heart raced with a desperate urgency.

The purple lights, casting long, twisted shadows, illuminated the building’s facade like a harbinger of doom. Chuuya could see from afar her silhouette, framed against the intense glow. Her movements were determined, each gesture a testament to the raw, untamed power she wielded.

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted toward the building, his every step fueled by a mixture of fear and determination. The forest trees blurred past him as he raced towards the source of the light, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Each heartbeat seemed to echo with the dread of what he might find.

The building loomed ahead, its once-sturdy facade now a chaotic wreckage. Debris littered the ground, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and destruction. Chuuya burst through the entrance, his senses assaulted by the aftermath of the battle. The interior was a scene of devastation, the walls scorched and twisted from the unleashed power.He pushed forward, navigating through the wreckage with a sense of grim determination. His eyes scanned the ruinous landscape, searching for any sign of her. The purple neon light was now fading, its power waning as the last vestiges of the ritual played out. His heart sank as he approached the center of the chaos, where the battle had reached its climax.

There, amidst the debris and ruin, he found her. She stood amidst the wreckage, her form silhouetted against the dying glow of the purple light. Her stepfather lay defeated at her feet, the battle won but at an unimaginable cost. Her eyes, once filled with the fierce resolve of a warrior, now bore the hollow emptiness of someone who had sacrificed everything.

Chuuya's breath caught in his throat as he approached her, his mind struggling to process the sight before him. She had succeeded in her mission, but the power of the "Malevolent Marionette" had taken its toll. The puppet, a manifestation of her ability, had exacted a price that was painfully clear. She had unleashed a force of destruction that could only be contained by her own life force, and now, as the ritual’s effects began to consume her, it was clear that the cost was far greater than he had ever imagined.

Her gaze met his, a mixture of relief and sorrow in her eyes. "Chuuya..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling remnants of the power that had once surged through the building. There was a finality to her tone, an acceptance of the fate that had been sealed by her own choices.

His heart ached as he moved to her side, reaching out in a futile attempt to bridge the gap that had grown between them. He had wanted to protect her, to shield her from the worst of their world, but in doing so, he had failed her in the most crucial moment. The realization hit him with a crushing weight—his absence had led to a loss he could never fully comprehend.

As she fell to the ground, her strength waning, he held her in his arms, the enormity of the situation crashing down around him. The world they had fought to protect was now a stark reminder of the cost of their choices, the price of power and love interwoven in a tapestry of tragedy. The light of the neon glow faded, leaving only the echoes of their struggle and the heavy silence of a world forever changed.

In that moment, Chuuya held her close, his tears mingling with the dust and debris that surrounded them.

“Y/N, hold on… You can do this. You’ve got to hang on... I will destroy the puppet. Where is it?” His voice was ragged, strained by the relentless tide of his grief, an anguished plea that seemed to reach out into the void.

She looked at him with eyes growing dim, her strength ebbing away like a fading tide. She reaches out, placing her hand softly on his right cheek. "It’s too late now, Chuuya," she said, her voice a fragile whisper. "Please, take care of my sister and the mafia... I leave everything to you." Her words, though soft, carried the finality of a conclusion drawn long before, as the life drained from her. Her hand hit the ground lifelessly.

" I didn't even have the chance to kiss you. To tell you how much I loved you. Don't leave me alone in this cruel world! " He buries his face into the crook of her lifeless neck sobbing and holding her close.

Chuuya's heart shattered as he clung to her, his voice breaking with anguished regret. "I didn’t even get the chance to hold you in my arms, to wake up to you by my side, to tell you how deeply I loved you. Don’t leave me... please..." His sobs wracking his body, a poignant lament for a love left unspoken and a future now lost.

"You lied to me... you promised me that you'd take care of yourself... please...Y/N..." His plea hung in the air, a raw cry against the encroaching silence of her fading life.

The love they had fought to maintain, the connection they had both yearned for—it had all came to an end. As the life drained from her, he could only hold onto the bittersweet memory of what they had shared, knowing that their story had ended in a way he could never have anticipated.

Days passed, each one marked by the hollow ache of Chuuya’s grief. The world continued its indifferent march, but for him, time seemed to stand still in the wake of her loss. He took on the mantle of the mafia boss, a role he had never imagined he would assume, and every decision he made was imbued with the weight of her absence. Her sister was safe, and the organization continued to function, but the emptiness within him remained a chasm that no amount of power or responsibility could fill.

Each night, the office became a sanctuary of despair. Subordinates whispered among themselves, noting the sound of Chuuya’s sobs echoing through the walls. The man who had once been a pillar of strength and resolve was now a figure haunted by his own sorrow, his once-unshakable confidence replaced by a profound and unrelenting grief. The weight of leadership was no solace, only a reminder of the price he had paid.

Every evening, after the office was empty and the city below was cloaked in darkness, Chuuya would make his way to her grave. It was a ritual born of both reverence and desperation—a desperate need to keep her memory alive, to bridge the gap between the living and the dead. There, in the quiet of the cemetery, he would sit beside her grave, speaking to her as if she could hear him.

He would recount the events of his day, the decisions he had made, the struggles he faced as the new head of the mafia. His words were a mixture of mundane details and heartfelt confessions, a dialogue with the shadows of the past.

"Today, we had another power struggle," he would say softly, his voice trembling as he knelt by her grave. "I managed to keep things under control, but it’s never the same without you. I find myself longing for your guidance, for your presence... I’m lost without you."

With each visit, his words became a testament to the depth of his love and the void she had left. The cemetery, once a place of finality, became a space where he could grapple with his grief, where the echoes of their shared past offered a semblance of comfort in the midst of his pain.

And so, Chuuya continued his vigil, bound by the promise he had made and the love that remained unspoken but ever-present. His heart, though heavy and broken, remained steadfast in its devotion to the woman who had been his greatest challenge and his deepest love.

Then came a day like no other. The world trembled as a force beyond comprehension began to assert its presence. A powerful opponent, whose ability was as arcane as it was formidable, had managed to tear through the fabric of reality itself. This adversary wielded a piece of the reality book, a relic of unimaginable power capable of opening gateways between dimensions. As the fabric of their universe rippled and shifted, a rift emerged, a slit in the world that shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Chuuya stood on the precipice of disbelief in a scattered forest, his heart pounding as the dimensions collided. The air crackled with energy, and he could feel the weight of something monumental happening. His gaze was drawn to the rift, which grew wider, revealing glimpses of another universe beyond—a place of stark contrasts and unfamiliar landscapes.

And then, through the growing breach, he saw her.

There she was, a vision that defied all logic and reason. She stood amidst the chaotic light, her form illuminated by the strange, shimmering energy of the other universe. She looked different, her appearance altered by the peculiarities of the alternate realm, yet it was unmistakably her. Her presence was a beacon in the tumultuous void, a sight that sent a shudder through Chuuya’s very soul.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to cease its relentless march. Time itself appeared to hold its breath as he gazed at her, his emotions a tempest of disbelief, hope, and an unspoken yearning. He reached out, his fingers trembling as if he could touch the fabric of reality and pull her through.

Her eyes met his, and in that fleeting, impossible moment, there was recognition—a silent communication that transcended the barriers of space and dimension. Her expression was one of both sorrow and solace, a reflection of the love and loss that had bound them together in life and now, impossibly, in death.

The sudden, disorienting realization that had hit them both was almost too much to comprehend. Standing at the edge of the rift, they locked eyes, their shared astonishment mirroring each other’s disbelief.

"Boss...?" they both said in unison, their voices echoing in the charged air of the fractured reality. The word was spoken with a mixture of reverence and confusion, as if the title held a gravity that transcended their own worlds.

A/N : Hope you enjoyed it, fellas! Let me know if I shall continue? I'm very excited to finish writing part 2!!!

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

#chuuya x reader #chuuya angst #chuuya fluff #bsd #chuuya nakahara bungoustraydogs #bungou stray dogs #chuuya nakahara #bsd x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya x fem!reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd angst

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rallentando1011 · 10 months ago

Note

hey so can I get a scenario with rottmnt Donnie where he keeps stealing his lovers purple stuff, he notices them not having purple stuff around anymore and one day they are like “yea so I don’t buy purple anymore. Too much stuff is disappearing. Hmmm I wonder where it keeps vanishing too? “ and they give him a knowing smirk?

Purple Habits Die Hard (rise Donnie x gn Reader)

(Hello! Thank you very much for the requests-I am really enjoying them and promise I’m working through them-

I am open to more requests, guidelines are HERE, and I’m not saying that I specifically would like writing some Donatello angst but yes I absolutely would-

Either way, I hope y’all enjoy!)

Word Count: 1082

You didn’t love him anymore.

That was the only logical conclusion Donnie could reach.

Was he grasping at straws with that hypothesis? Likely. But the fact that there were even straws to grasp in the first place was enough to raise his suspicion.

Data point 1: You hadn’t worn purple in weeks. Not really a commitment, definitely not a symbol of possession, wearing his color was just a symbol that he was in your thoughts. The lack of that implied that he wasn’t plaguing your mind like you did his. At least, that’s what he picked up from it.

Data point 2: You barely invited him to hang out anymore. The last few times you two had seen each other had all been initiated by him, three to be exact, and all of those instances had occurred at the lair. Not your residence, not some fun locale, the lair.

Data point 3: …

Well, to be completely honest, he only had the two. However, how unscientific or illogical his hypothesis was mattered not.

Something was awry.

And he was going to get to the bottom of it.

A text message drew Donnie out of his downward spiral line of reasoning.It was from you, alleging that you were almost to the lair.

Right. He had been so busy plotting and scheming that he nearly forgot the subject of such endeavors, and that he had invited you over for investigation and/or confrontation.

He needed to get ready.

He tugged off the lavender sweatshirt he’d taken from your place a couple of months ago, the chain of your stolen lilac bracelet jangling as he did so.

Oh yeah. He should probably take that off, too.

He didn’t want to seem like a kleptomaniac.

He barely had time to chuck the articles into the deep recesses of his lab and act like he was busy working on some project before you knocked and entered the room.

“Heya, D.” You plopped down on the desk chair adjacent to his seat and spun around once.

His answer was a disinterested hum.

You summed it up as him being busy and started scrolling on your phone before he spoke up.

“My, what an opulent blue shirt you have on.”

That was an odd comment, and were those hints of disdain in his voice? You continued on anyway. “Uhhh, thanks? It’s just a graphic tee, though..?”

“Oh, don’t undersell it. It’s rather nice.”

“...Okay then.”

You weren’t following. He grew frustrated.

“Yes, it is grand, but would it not look in another, similarly shaded cool color?” He prompted.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

His eye twitched. You grinned.

You tilted your chair in his direction, tone lightly teasing. You two indulged in some lighthearted banter here and there, and that’s what you thought that was. “What, are you saying it’d look better in purple? Your color?”

“I’m not saying that I interpret the colors of your clothing symbolically, but yes, I do. You haven’t been wearing any of your purple articles recently, you barely invite me over anymore. You can just admit you don’t enjoy my company.” When his gaze fled to the ground, you realized that he was serious about this.

“Donatello…” you started, dipping your neck down so you could make eye contact. “That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. The reason I haven’t been wearing purple is because I don’t have any purple to wear. Something or someone keeps taking all of it. And, coincidentally, more goes missing every time you come over. That’s why I’ve been hanging out here instead.”

Donnie’s mouth was agape. The thought that he was the one causing his own problems hadn’t crossed his mind. Genuinely, thinking about it, it made a lot of sense. The worst enemy you can meet will always be yourself was really ringing true. But he couldn’t let his scientific validity and his dignity die in the same endeavor, so he took the next logical step. Lie.

The softshell swallowed before uncertainly droning, “I haven’t the slightest clue as to what you are implying.”

“I think you’re definitely smart enough to ascertain my implications. And you’re way past smart enough to know that I still love spending time with you even though I’m not wearing a specific color anymore.”

Donnie blinked. Oh. So, you two were cool, and he was actually just being melodramatic. He was still trying to figure out if that was worse than you being sick of him. It probably was. Probably…

However, he couldn’t dwell on that long. Something you said piqued his interest. The thing about the color of your clothing not holding any symbolic weight.

Expression growing subtly smug with the quirk of an eyebrow, he called your bluff. “If you are taking into account my intelligence, then should you not also observe that I am smart enough to discern the correlation between the formation of our partnership and you coming into possession of more purple attire?”

You blinked before countering with a smirk. “How would you know that I bought more purple clothes if I haven’t been able to wear them?”

Oh, Schrödinger. The only way that he would know, and the reason he did know, was because he had taken them

Regrettably, he mumbled. “... I plead the fifth.”

“Oh no you don’t. Public interest takes precedence over your individual rights, sir. Get subpoenaed, sucker!” You perked up in your seat and pointed an accusatory index finger at the man. “Where are my things?”

He crossed his arms.“You have no definitive proof that it was me. Your argument is circumstantial, at best. Good luck defending that in a court of law.”

Your excitement deflated. “Fine, fine. I suppose I must continue on without wearing purple, our color, forever.”

You batted your eyelashes sadly. It was a cheap tactic, but you weren’t afraid to stoop if it meant you could get your regular Donnie- you meant, wardrobe back. Yeah, you missed your clothes, but you missed having him over more. Probably.

It only took a couple more seconds for him to crack. “Sigh… Hey, completely unrelated segue, but could I come over tomorrow?”

“Suspicious timing, but I’ll allow it.”

“Great.”

“This meeting is adjourned.”

Somehow, by some otherworldly force/the magic of guilt tripping, your violet sweatshirts, t-shirts, accessories, gradually began showing up as the weeks went on.

By the same mysterious impetus, their return coincidentally synchronized with Donnie coming over.

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dystopianam · 1 year ago

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THE SIMS 2 TRACKER TEMPLATE V.1.4 (NOTION)

- UPDATE (07/31/2024)

V.1.4 UPDATE (07/31/2024) - I updated the properties: PERSONALITY, HOBBY STATS, INTERESTS & SKILLS AND ADDED THE RECESSIVE DNA IN THE SIMS TRACKER & UPDATED THE DEFAULT REPLACEMENT TRACKER. NOW THE BARRETT CLIP HAIRS ARE SPLIT.

V.1.2 UPDATE (09/06/2023): FIXES, SMALL CHANGES, NEW VIEWS FOR THE PERSONAL DEFAULTS TRACKER AND MORE! SEE BELOW!

GET THE TEMPLATE HERE

V.1.2 UPDATE (09/06/2023):

#Fixed some pages where I forgot to remove my stuff to test things.

#I changed the property "Do I have a default?" from checkbox to "Status". Now it looks like this:

Why did I do it? Because I noticed that sometimes I wasn't sure about the defaults I downloaded, so I wanted to have… more options to mark things. One check wasn't enough for me.

#I've added four new views, taking advantage of the new property, to help you to better group the defaults you have and don't have. See the screens here.

#I have added other list compilation for cc and mods which may come in handy.

#I added the "Camera Mod" section in the "Graphics" section.

V.1.1 UPDATE (09/04/2023): PERSONAL DEFAULTS REPLACEMENT TRACKER ADDED!

Small clarifications:

# I also added some optional proprierties to fill in in case you use some mods. I made sure they are hidden because not everybody use those mods. So to see them click on “more proprierties”.

These options will only remain visible if you fill their box.

These are:

1. Height (If you use Lazy Duchess’s Height Mod here)

2. TS3 Traits (If you use the Trait System here)

3. The favorite color and the disliked color (if you use the color mod here)

Also, In ”Life States” I took the liberty of also adding midgethetree’s custom occults, but if you don't use them you can delete them.

# Some properties are hidden because not all sims have info for those properties. So to see them click on “more proprierties”. These options will only remain visible if you fill their box.

These are:

1. Death Cause (Don’t all sims are dead)

2. Business (OFB Business, it can be a shop a bakery etch)

3. Role in Business

4. All school/university-related properties, if your sim doesn't attend it.

# Some properties are hidden and cannot be made visible even if you fill their boxes. These are for the template filters, so please don't touch them. This property is literally called "Filters”.

My tracker has many more proprieties than a classic tracker and I filled it with ready options so you don't have to write everything by hand yourself (that's why it took me a long time)

ALL the properties have ready options, you just have to choose without the trouble of writing anything (unless you want to insert custom options yourself)

The tracker has also a lot of different views and I'll let you discover them yourself!

I didn't want to add extra options for gender identities and sexual orientations because I don't want to forget anyone, so you can add whatever you want!

And as a last thing to say I can say that for the "currently played family" view, I copied the idea from this template from @skittlessims-deactivated2023082 / @skittlesplays

#the sims 2 #notion template #the sims 2 tracker #notion

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brandytusk · 5 days ago

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The following thoughts, or maybe confession, contain Arcane spoilers. Please keep that in mind should you continue. It's a long story, I apologize in advance.

Now I will say, I am no LoL player, thus unfamiliar with its lore with the exception of what I search for, or what education I get from others. I had a passing interest in Arcane due to my best friend's insistence, rambling on about its beautiful art style, symbolism, and compelling writing. It was one of those things I did in fact, try and make a habit of to sit and watch at dinner, see what all the rising hubbub was about. I'll admit, I don't know where I stopped in season one, but I didn't finish it. As I recall, the plot felt too grim. To me, it felt like it was a show getting praise for being artistically depressing. When season one's ending was spoiled for me, I was glad I hadn't got as invested as other people I knew. To have developed characters so sincerely in a season's time, just to end it the way it was done…I disapproved, and I shook my head. Forgot it all at the time.

I'm a millennial who has lived through recession, through pandemic, and I am not middle class. I'm anxious, and there are days that feel hopeless and painfully long. I want to escape into the media I consume, let characters take me on a journey with them, far away from the oppressive, hanging air of everyday life in late stage capitalism. I don't want a tragic story, no matter how much it is praised for its art direction. Moving forward every morning can be bleak enough. Maybe others like these kinds of harsh stories for its relatability, and that's fine! I am happy for those that can appreciate it in that way, but I cannot. I'm tired, and perhaps not just as a struggling individual, but as an LGBT+ person with a husband.

Mainstream, popular shows (that get shown to American audiences, at least) don't often get obvious queer representation, or when it does, the show is often cut short. I felt baited in what I did see of season one, and rolled my eyes that fanfiction writers were fed enough to work their magic and fill the holes, as per usual.

Then, the next season of Arcane releases, and my social media feeds became flooded with screenshots and spoilers. I didn't block said spoilers and told myself I was no longer invested in Arcane -- only to see the most alarming screen captures I'd ever seen.

I especially liked what I'd seen of Viktor and Jayce in the past. I enjoyed seeing two intelligent, determined male creatives share screentime and share their story of a growing, deepening friendship. As far as I was aware, Jayce and Viktor were well bonded colleagues, if not each other's 'ride or die', once mutually and deeply invested in a greater outcome to benefit the whole. Compared to the rest of what I'd seen of Arcane's first season, it still hadn't gripped me enough to stick around as I wanted to save myself from heartache. Long story short, season two's spoilers revealed to me Jayce making a frantic, truly desperate effort to revive his fallen, disabled partner Viktor after the explosion. While he's successful, this fuses Viktor with tech Jayce once swore to destroy. Jayce draws close and is just relieved Viktor, in his birthday suit at this moment mind you, is alive, while Viktor is disappointed Jayce didn't keep his promise. They go separate ways, and the scene felt like an intimate argument, a break up. Well, at this point with that much revealed to me, I was relieved to see the two of them alive after the first season's ending. I was curious again, so I continued to look at screen captures and gifsets.

Viktor develops magic skills to heal others, and in his new body things, seem to fall into place for him. He is appreciated, and maybe it's suggested he gets a following. While its unclear how 'good' the arcane is, what he's doing with it seems right for the character. It looks like a victory…until Jayce comes along and puts a hole in Viktor's chest, keeping his promise. Viktor only meant to talk to him. Jayce, who had fought so hard to revive this man, kills him, as far as I'd seen it. It felt like petty shock value. Not knowing there was more episodes to come, I thought that was it. More tragedy, more pain.

My husband knows me well. I very rarely get affected by the shows I watch, and when I do, I am reserved about it. Instead, I sobbed, the kind where you can't see passed the tears and the snot. I felt so betrayed by my curiosity, by my hopeful feelings. I spent days ranting to my friends and my husband, offended and angry. How dare these writers throw around this disabled character and give him no relief, and what was more, develop two men in such a way as to suggest one simply cannot exist without the other only to shoot down one of them, by the hand of their partner? I had let myself be baited again, and I was feeling it. It burned, it hurt, I raged. I gave up.

A day or two ago, my best friend chimed in again: I should check in on Arcane. There had been more episodes, the season had finished. Trusting they knew how sensitive I was about all of it, I did. Again, I was moved to tears, but for different, much better reasons.

What was this?

Fortiche and its writing team had bothered to weave together and tell a story of two men ultimately destined for each other through every timeline, the kind of trope reserved for romantic movies and literature? They held hands, kept each other close, were honest with each other in the starry nothing. Hand to nape, forehead to forehead, and colorfully blinked out of that current existence, together? Such intimacy didn't need a kiss or a sex scene to feel real, there was love there. Their fated, interwoven existence, their deep and complex relationship, saved the world. In the end, there was hope.

You can tell yourself that it wasn't romantic if it makes you feel better, but in all its passionate details it very much was. To this stressed, exhausted LGBT+ person in these real uncertain times, I needed to see it. I felt deep relief, satisfaction, and most of all a need to pursue the Arcane fandom, a desire to enter. To at the very least, gush about my impression of it all, and what it means to me to see two men tenderly portrayed in ways they typically aren't. Fortiche, well done. You did give the Caitvi shippers something to blatantly feast upon, you also gave lesbian characters depth and variation, but this isn't about that.

You let two male characters show dedication, affection, and softness. Thank you. Jayvik folks, I am with you. Arcane, let's start over at the first episode, I can't wait to watch all of you now.

#arcane spoilers #arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #jayvik spoilers #jayvik #sorry I just had to get that all out

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mc-i-r · 1 year ago

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Disposable Heroes

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four Ao3

A/N: Guys, I’m so sorry for the late update! Life has been crazy for me the past couple weeks but I hope that I can get back to writing more regularly. This chapter is the well-awaited Eddie pov, as well as a ton of backstory for him that I didn’t really plan on but it just kinda came out. This chapter is kinda rushed, I’m gonna be honest, but I wanted to get it out to you guys as soon as possible since its been awhile. There are gonna be some major warnings here so I’ll post them below. Take care of yourselves and stay safe, now enjoy!

Tw: homophobia, homophobic language, child abuse, domestic violence, referenced drug use, Eddie being incredibly gay

———

It’s a muggy Sunday morning, the summer sun burning through the last vestiges of chilled night air and frosted dewdrops as it rises from its slumber. Like the sun, Eddie rises as well. However, it’s with much less fanfare and grace due to the obnoxious pounding at his front door.

He groans dramatically, shoving his face in his pillow and willing whoever the fuck decided to bother him at—he glances at his alarm clock on the other side of the room, squinting to read the numbers—nine in the morning to go away. His wish must have pissed off some universal god because the knocking only gets louder, making the window above his desk rattle with every shake of the door.

With a sigh big enough to rival the windy intro of “Holy Diver”, he pulls himself to the door in a zombie-like state. Movements sluggish from his interrupted sleep, he misses the doorknob twice before finally turning it, throwing it open with newfound strength to find one Robin Buckley in all her glory. Her fist is raised and ready to knock again, her face the epitome of righteous fury as she glares at him.

“Uh, hey Buck. Whatcha doi—“ he begins, only to be interrupted by Robin shoving past him and barging into the trailer. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and pulling on his hair slightly before shutting the door.

Kids and their manners nowadays.

“Yeah, sure, come on in. Totally fine. I wasn’t sleeping or anything, noooo,” he says to himself before turning to face his intruder. Whatever Buckley is upset about seems serious, and from the icy look she’s giving him it also seems like it’s his fault. Her hands are on her hips like she’s in a Steve Harrington impersonation contest and plans on taking home a first place prize. Something in him squirms at the thought.

But, he is nothing if not a performer. So, of course, he puts on a show.

“Lady Buckley,” he declares in a posh British accent, bowing deeply with a flourish on his arm. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine morning?”

He’s expecting a fond eye roll, or a laugh, or huff, or something. He gets silence.

“Cut the bullshit, Eddie. We need to talk about Steve,” she demands.

Steve… Now isn’t that an interesting subject?

Now, Eddie has always been different. He was loud, and jumpy, and fidgety, and the other kids never wanted to be friends with him because they were scared. He was always covered in dirt, always barefoot because he either forgot to put on shoes or the ones he had were too small for his ever-changing feet. He would talk to himself, mutter little reminders under his breath or work through the questions plaguing his mind aloud because he just functioned better that way.

Then, at eleven, he found out just how different he really was. He was outside during recess when he fell off the monkey bars and scraped his hands and knees. He huddled on the ground, tears falling down his small cheeks because it hurt and his wounds felt like they were throbbing. Then a boy, James, ran up to him and asked him if he was okay. James had stark blond hair, a face full of freckles, and bright green eyes. He looked so concerned for Eddie, and was gentle when he picked up one of his hands to inspect the cuts littered there. It was that gentle touch that elicited a flutter of butterflies in his stomach, and ever since then Eddie knew.

When he had gotten home to the trailer that day, he felt confused. Other people in his class were constantly talking about who they “liked”; boys liking girls and girls liking boys. About how they would get all nervous around their crushes, and Eddie realized he had never felt that before. All of the girls in his class were just… girls to him. They never gave him that fluttery feeling James had. But… no one ever talked about boys liking boys. No one ever said if it was okay, so Eddie thought it must not be. That boys liking boys wasn’t okay. That he wasn’t okay.

It took awhile, but he finally confessed to Wayne that he liked boys, that he got all the little butterflies that boys were supposed to get about girls. Wayne shook his head and told him that he could feel butterflies for anyone he pleased, as long as they made him happy. They both cried that night, and ended up in a hug so tight they nearly fused together.

Since then, Eddie’s come to accept the fact that he’s gay. Has added it to his whole anti-conformist persona, even. So when high school hit he let himself finally be free. He joined Hellfire club, made friends with the upperclassmen who ran it, and learned all the intricacies of D&D that he never imagined he would. After two years, he met Gareth and Jeff who joined Hellfire much in the way he did. Then, Grant joined halfway through Eddie’s junior year and he quickly recruited him as well. He found his friends, his people, and he finally let himself be himself around them.

He told them he was gay after a long session of lazily practicing in Gareth’s garage and smoking, the weed having loosened both his limbs and his lips. They were all extremely chill with it, even after the weed had worn off. That, however, didn’t exempt them from making fun of him though.

Eddie was loitering in the hallway after school, waiting on Gareth to finish up a quiz he missed the week prior, when none other than Steve Harrington walked out of the pool room in nothing but those little speedos that leave zero to the imagination. Seriously, all those girls were right, holy shit. After he picked his jaw up off the floor, he noticed Steve was looking at him with that adorable little confused puppy look before a god damned smirk fell across his face. Eddie’s face, he knew, had to rival that of a Victorian nobleman fawning over a sliver of pale skin shown by a lady across the room with her face hidden by an elaborate fan because he was literally drooling for the man in front of him.

It got considerably worse when Steve leaned down to drink from a nearby water fountain, making Eddie’s mouth go completely dry with this blatant offering of ass right in his face. In hindsight, it might not have been an offering, per say, but it was definitely there and Eddie was definitely staring. So it really wasn’t a surprise that he jumped when Gareth tapped his shoulder, Eddie having not heard him come up behind him, and he turned on his heel so fast he’s surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“Dude, you good?” Gareth asked. Eddie opened his mouth, squeaked out, “I’m fine” and immediately felt his face go up in flames. Gareth glanced over Eddie’s shoulder and he could see in slow motion the series of thoughts that crossed his mind. Gareth went from concerned to confused to understanding to smug so fast it was almost comical. When their eyes met, Eddie’s went wide.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he hissed, and the smug look only intensified.

Once they got to his van, Gareth immediately rounded on him.

“Seriously? Steve Harrington?” Gareth teased. “Of all people, it had to be that douche?”

Eddie groaned and clenched his eyes shut. “I know, Garebear, now shut up before I push you out of the van.”

Of course, news about his little crush spread around his friend group like wildfire, and soon enough he was being teased by them relentlessly. Eddie knew his crush wouldn’t get very far, Steve was very clearly straight and in a happy relationship with Nancy Wheeler of all people. Still, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about that smirk.

Just as his crush began to fade away, Steve showed up to school with a busted face and eye bags deep enough to rival shitty vampire Halloween make-up from a toddlers costume contest. Feelings came rushing back, the intense need to protect, to find out what happened and get justice for that pretty face.

Then it kept happening, and Steve showed up to school with a beat up face yet again. However, judging by his stumbling and droopy eyes, it came with a concussion this time. Just when Eddie was trying to figure out who did it, Billy Hargrove came stalking through the empty halls and all attention was focused on his scabbed knuckles. On the hungry glare he sent Steve’s way. On the way Steve shrank back a little on instinct.

And Eddie… Eddie just couldn’t leave well enough alone, now could he?

He walked up to Steve, brows furrowed. “Harrington?”

Harrington didn’t turn, eyes still focused on the spot where Billy had been before. Eddie tapped his shoulder. “Steve?”

He jumped that time, like Eddie had actually hit him, and spun to face him. Up close, his face looked a hell of a lot worse and Eddie had to suppress a wince just looking at him. Steve looked at him confused, though it was hard to tell between the swelling and assortment of bandages on his face.

“…Munson?” Steve began. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up.”

He said it flippantly, with a wave of his hand towards his left ear like that explained everything. It didn’t, but Eddie felt like it wasn’t his place to push.

“You good, man? You look like you got in a fight with a dump truck and lost,” Eddie said. “Badly.”

He expected Steve to scoff and roll his eyes, push past him and hit his shoulder too hard to be an accident. He expected him to spit some barb and walk away, to leave Eddie there in the hallway alone. None of that happened, though.

Instead, Steve smiled. A little self-deprecating, but a smile nonetheless. He huffed a laugh.

“Make it a supercharged dump truck and you’ve got it right,” Steve joked at his own expense. It resulted in a shocked laugh bursting from Eddie’s lips, which he immediately stopped by smacking a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand away. “That’s not funny. I mean… your joke was, just not,”—he gestured to Steve’s… everything—“this.”

“It’s okay man, I know what you meant,” Steve said sincerely and Eddie doubted why he was ever called King Steve. The person who stood in front of him was the furthest thing from what those jocks supposedly worshiped that Eddie had to hide another bubble of laughter.

“Seriously, dude, did you even go to a doctor?” Eddie asked, and at Steve’s wince he knew the answer. He rolled his eyes and slung an arm around his shoulders, careful not to land too hard in case he was bruised there too, and led him down the hallway towards the nurse’s station.

“Uh,” Steve began. “Where are we going?”

“The nurse,” he explained. “Figured a look wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed a little under his arm, and Eddie decided to focus on him during their walk down the empty hallway. He noticed the way his hair bounced a little with every step, how a couple strands were threatening to fall from their perfectly coiffed positions. He noticed his moles and freckles, how he had a smattering of faint ones all over his face from time in the sun. He noticed how his nose was a little crooked now, with a bump on the bridge that wasn’t there before the weekend. He noticed how pretty his eyes were, with at least three different shades of brown all swirled together like melted chocolate with flecks of forest green nestled in the folds.

He noticed that Steve was looking at him.

They had come to a stop in front of the nurse, yet Eddie’s arm was still over his shoulders. He quickly retracted it, but Steve didn’t move away and neither did he.

“Well, this is your stop,” Eddie nearly whispered out. Steve smiled, just a small quirk of his lips, and his eyes flitted across Eddie’s face.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he started. Steve took a step backwards toward the station and did a little wave with his fingers that had no right being as endearing as it was. “See you around.”

With that, he disappeared behind the thick mahogany door and Eddie was left there alone, face full of flames and smiling like he was in fucking love with the guy.

Fuck, maybe he was a little bit in love with the guy.

That feeling didn’t waver, not even after seeing him in a skimpy sailor uniform as he scooped overpriced ice cream for toddlers in the Mall. Or, when he was pinning him to the rickety wall of the boathouse he was hiding in after seeing Chrissy murdered in front of him by some freaky wizard from an alternate dimension with a broken bottle to his beautifully freckled throat.

That feeling greatly intensified when he saw Steve take an honest to god bite out of a demonic bat and spit the flesh and blood out on the dried lakebed in the previously mentioned alternate dimension.

And, really, you can’t blame him for falling all the way when he found out exactly who dragged his half-dead body out of hell and saved his life.

So yeah, Steve was a very interesting subject indeed.

“Is… Is he okay?” Eddie questions as he straightens from his hunched position, head tilting to the side and making his bangs fall in his eyes. Robin throws her hands up with a mighty huff and a frustrated groan.

“Obviously not!” She exclaims. She starts pacing around his living room, back and forth in front of the coffee table. “He’s obviously not okay because you’ve been avoiding him and making him feel like shit for months and I’m actually really worried about him ‘cause he’s been doing stupid shit that can get him killed and I don’t know how much longer he can go on like this before it completely ruins him.”

As Robin rambles, her face turns a bright shade of pink. She finishes her speech, sucking in a deep breath as if she ran out of air. Eddie’s brows furrow.

“I haven’t been avoiding Steve,” he defends weakly. He hasn’t, not really. He just… he doesn’t want to get hurt.

Okay yes, Eddie is practically in love with the guy, but that doesn’t mean Steve feels the same about him. They’re friends, that’s it. Steve is going to find some beautiful girl and get married and have the houseful of kids he’s always wanted and Eddie will be here, still pining from afar. He knows it would be easier to just forget about him, and forget about the feelings clutching his heart like a starved hawk with its first fulfilling catch in months. That’s why he’s been slowly letting go over the past few weeks, trying—and failing—to get that stupid pretty boy out of his head. Of course, it’s not working, and every day he spends not talking to Steve feels like hell.

So no, he’s not avoiding Steve. He just doesn’t think he could survive it if he confesses and Steve rejects him completely. Staying away means he won’t accidentally reveal his feelings for the man, and judging by how much he’s feeling, it wouldn’t be very hard for that scraggly cat to come clawing and screeching out of the proverbial bag.

Robin, however, thinks the opposite because according to the look she’s giving him, she says he absolutely fucking has.

Eddie sighs. “Okay, maybe I have just a little bit but it’s not—“

Eddie freezes, stomach plummeting as Robin's rambling words take purchase in his mind. She said Steve was doing something stupid, something that could kill him. Flashes of a night now a distant memory play in his mind, one filled with panicked breaths, stilted tears, and a bloody bat with nails.

“Robin… What do you mean by ‘stupid shit’?” Eddie asks tentatively. Part of him wants to know the answer, while part of him fears the idea of ever finding out. Robin only gives him a confused look and crosses her arms.

“Eddie, that’s totally not the point of this conversation and you know it—“ Eddie cuts her off by waving his hands.

“Robin! Just…” he trails off. Should he tell her about Steve? He promised he wouldn’t but…

“Okay, I have to tell you something about Steve but please please don’t tell him I told you because I promised him I wouldn’t but if you also know something about him then I think you should know about this too,” he rushes out, words tumbling fast out of his mouth as his lungs scream for air. Robin’s icy glare has melted a bit, turning into one of anxiety and caution.

He sighs and flops down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks down at his hands. He feels more than sees Robin sit next to him and he knows he has her attention.

“What happened, Eddie?” She prompts, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I had a visit from Steve awhile back, around four or five days ago,” he begins. “It was early in the morning and I couldn’t sleep so I was writing notes for a new campaign idea in the living room. I could feel that something was… off, so I looked out the window and there he was.”

He ran a hand over his face, pushing his bangs back and pulling on the ends. He glances over at Robin to find her looking at him. He squeezes his eyes closed for a moment before looking back at her.

“He wasn’t all there, Robin. Like… like he was trapped in his mind or something. I thought,” he huffs a deprecating laugh, “for a moment there, I thought he was cursed.”

He doesn’t mention that the image found its way in his head and can’t seem to find its way out, like a stubborn housefly who keeps banging against the glass hoping to be freed. The thought of Steve floating—eyes rolled back in his head while his lids flutter and his limbs shudder and break one by one—has kept him awake on more nights than he can count. The thought of him being subjected to his worst nightmares given life, all the lies that he tells himself turned to truth. The thought of Eddie being completely helpless, watching him die in agony in front of him.

He doesn’t mention that every night since then, he’s called Steve. He needed to hear his voice, to know he was okay. To know he was alive. He never got a call back.

“I got him to come inside but he didn’t stay long. Something spooked him, I think, I just… I don’t know, it was really weird. Like…” he trails off, unable to find the words.

“Like he was in fight or flight mode?” Robin suggests, and he nods.

“Pure instinct.”

Robin groans. “Shit, this is worse than I thought.”

“Wait, did he tell you?” He asks. Steve was so insistent on Eddie not telling her—made him promise, in fact—so why…?

“Well… after a very long, very emotional, and very vulnerable conversation, yes. He told me on his own terms though, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she supplies. “He… He didn’t tell me a ton of details, though. Not… Not like that.”

There’s a pause as Robin clenches her eyes closed and looks away from him.

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” her voice comes out just barely above a whisper, something he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t right next to her. Eddie stays silent, unwilling to break the solemn mood. Robin, however, misses that message entirely as she smacks his arm.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, doofus?!” She accuses, giving him a half-hearted glare that is no less threatening. Eddie holds his hands up in surrender, unable to hide the exasperated look on his face.

“He made me promise!!” Eddie defends. “Plus he gave me those damn puppy dog eyes and I couldn’t say no.”

“He is really good at that, especially when he wants something. He says he has no clue but I bet you he does,” Robin whispers, almost conspiratory as if they’re sharing a terrible secret. Eddie can’t help but smile and shake his head. Screw Harrington and his stupid pretty eyes.

“Did he say anything else while he was here?” Robin asks after a moment of silence.

“No, that was the only thing he said really, other than an absent ‘I’m fine’ before he bolted out the door. It was a very uh… one-sided conversation,” Eddie explains. “He mostly gave only one or two word answers before he panicked and ran.”

“I’m gonna assume he didn’t tell you why he left?” She asks, and at the shake of his head she curses. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

Robin shifts beside him, raising her hand to mindlessly chew on her thumbnail. He thinks the conversation is over. Or, rather, wishes it were over.

That universal god must really hate Eddie today because Robin roughly shakes her head and waves her hands around, letting out a huff.

“Okay, one problem at a time. That was totally not the point of this little talk and you know it, Munson,” she admonishes. “Why. Are. You. Avoiding. Steve?”

She punctuates each word with a, quite literal, punch to the arm. Eddie reels back, dramatically clutching his bruised arm and gives her a fake glare.

“Ow!!” He rubs his arm. For her incredibly bony arms, she really can pack a punch. He’s only half joking that it hurts.

“Answer the question!”

“Fine fine…” he takes a deep breath, knee bouncing with building anxiety before he stands up, unable to quell the urge to move. He paces twice in front of the coffee table before he has the nerve to look at her waiting gaze.

“So, as you know, I am a raging homosexual,” he states, and at his pause, she nods. “And I miiiiiight have a teeny weeny, itsy bitsy, enormous crush on him.”

The end of his sentence is rushed out, words jumbled together as he screws his eyes closed and waits for… whatever Robin’s response is going to be. He waits for five seconds. Then ten. Then twenty-five because yes he’s counting. If he knows one thing about Robin Buckley it’s that she doesn’t know when to stop talking so silence is a very rare occurrence for her and now its been a whole minute and something must be wrong so he opens his eyes to find her—

The only word that even remotely comes close to encompassing the expression on her face is seething.

He instinctively takes a step back.

“Edward Lee Munson you better explain yourself right fucking now or I swear to every god out there that I will rip out your spleen and feed it to the neighborhood dogs before you take a step out that door,” Robin all but growls out, eyes icy and cold as they stare through him. He’s quick to explain because he really quite values his spleen, thank you very much.

“Okay, okay, geez I get it! Fine,” he huffs. “I’ve been avoiding Steve because it’s hard to be around him.”

Robin only raises an eyebrow. Eddie groans. He really wishes he didn’t have to explain his big, fat, gay love this early in the morning.

“It’s hard because he’s so…. So Steve all the time. He’s so kind and caring and hot— god, Birdie, he’s so fucking hot—“

“Okay, yeah, I didn’t need to know that,” Robin interrupts.

“Sorry,” he says, a bit sheepish. “Every little smile he gives me feels like a swarm of butterflies are fighting horde-style to get out of my stomach. I just…

“I think I’m in love with him,” Eddie confesses. The way her eyes blow wide is comical, and he’s half expecting them to pop and burst like they do in cartoons.

“But I know better,” he gives her a sad smile. “I know that I’m not special, he doesn’t mean it like that. Like I want it to. And…. And I know he never will.

“I thought that distancing myself would make the feelings go away, make it… I don’t know, hurt less? But not seeing Steve at all… fuck, it hurts worse than dying and I know what that feels like. Now I don’t even have him as a friend,” he scoffs at himself, shakes his head a little and focuses on a framed picture of him, Steve, Robin, and Dustin from graduation on the wall. Focuses on how Steve’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders, hand gripping his upper arm as he smiles shyly at the camera. How Eddie himself is leaning into his side, tucked under his arm as if he belongs there. As if he’ll ever belong there. He looks back at Robin.

“But this is what’s best. I can’t have my stupid heart feeling things my brain knows it shouldn’t,” Eddie ends his little speech by flopping back down on the couch. Part of him regrets telling her, but another small, itty bitty part is almost grateful.

Eddie’s always had a way of caring too much, even from a young age. Wayne could tell you better than anyone that Eddie has always had a soft side. He could tell you that Eddie refused to let him kill any of the bugs that got into the trailer when the weather turned cold and insisted that they be put outside under the trailer where it was at least a little warmer. He could tell you that every time Eddie would see another person cry, he would too.

He’s just always been like that, so carrying this around with him everyday? It was becoming too much to bear, having to put on a face around everyone so no one could tell. So no one could see how it was breaking him inside. Wearing him down to the bone. Slowly, slowly killing him.

Robin sighs beside him and he had almost forgotten she was there. Her voice is quiet and strangely gentle as she speaks.

“Why do you think that, Eddie?”

What?

“What?” He asks incredulously and knows his face is in a similar state to his voice.

“Why do you think Steve wouldn’t like you like that? Has he said anything to make you think he wouldn’t?” She clarifies, which really doesn’t clarify anything at all for him because what?

“Um… are we talking about the same Steve? You know, Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ resident ladies man? Why the fuck would you think I’d have a shot?” He explains. “He’s so painfully straight and I am so painfully not, Robin.”

Robin just looks at him like she’s trying to read his mind. Or, rather, push a thought into his mind. Waiting for something to click. It doesn’t. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Besides, Steve never tried to talk to me about the whole distance thing, so I just—“

“You know what happens when people assume things, Eddie,” Robin interrupts.

“—figured that he didn’t mind,” Eddie finishes with a glare. Robin closes her eyes and takes a breath as if calming herself. She pinches her nose, right between her eyes like Steve always does when he’s frustrated or tired, and turns to him. She takes his hands in hers, and her face is only a mere mask of calm, the tumbling waves of anger rolling just under the surface.

“Eddie,” she begins. “Have you ever thought of the possibility that Steve doesn’t talk about his feelings? That he would keep it all bottled up inside like he does with literally everything else?”

Well, when she puts it like that…

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees. “I only found out about this whole… thing two days ago and that was only because I just so happened to catch him falling asleep at work. He wouldn’t have told me if I didn’t ask him, I know that for sure. He… Eddie, he honestly believes that this is all his fault. That he’s the one that fucked everything up between you and he kids.”

Eddie’s brain screeches to a halt. “Wait, what do the kids have to do with this?”

“You haven’t told them anything?” Robin asks, eyes going a little wide.

“Have I told a bunch of teenagers—whose opinions I regretfully respect—that I have a crush on their babysitter? No, I have not.”

“Okay, yeah that was a stupid question, sorry,” she amends. “Just… the kids are avoiding Steve and I can’t think of a reason why.”

“They’re what!? Wait, why haven’t I heard of this until now?” Eddie exclaims. Robin gives him a look that makes him deflate a little. “Let me guess, you only found out two days ago?”

“Bingo, we have a winner!” Robin fake cheers, raising her arms in a mock-celebratory fashion. She drops them with a huff. “They haven’t talked to him in weeks, Eddie, and I think it’s because you have been avoiding him.”

Her tone isn’t accusatory, but it still makes him feel like shit.

“They must have picked up the sense that something was going on between you two and assumed they should be avoiding him too,” she suggests. Eddie leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t get how they could think that, though. I mean, Steve has been nothing but good to them for years now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees. “But they’re kids. Stupid, dumb, ungrateful kids, but they’re still kids.”

Eddie drops his head in his hands, pressing hard on his eyes until spots form behind his eyelids.

“I really fucked this up, didn’t I?” He asks it rhetorically, but Robin gives a noise of agreement anyway. “How do I fix this, Birdie?”

“You could start by talking to him,” Robin suggests.

Now isn’t that a terrifying thought?

Because knowing you have feelings for someone is one thing, but telling them? That’s something so far out of the realm of possibility for him that he’s never even thought about considering it.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, Buckley?” Eddie exclaims, looking over at her with wide eyes. “I’d like to keep all my teeth if you don’t mind. I mean, I know I’m not your type and everything but some poor schmuck would probably like to look at this face one more time before it's beat all black and blue.”

Robin only rolls her eyes at his rambling—which is rather hypocritical of her if you ask him, since she seems to treat rambling as an Olympic sport she plans on winning every time she opens her mouth. She grabs his face between her hands and honest to god shakes him.

“I can’t tell you everything, but I’m telling you to trust me and talk to him,” she practically demands, giving him a pointed look much like the one from before. Except he still doesn’t know what it means, as that final piece has yet to click into place.

He nods in her hold, partially afraid of her now, and she releases him.

“We need to fix this. Now,” Eddie insists. He looks over at her. “We need to talk to the kids.”

Eddie stands up, running to his room and groaning at the mess he left. Tossing his sheets and blankets back on the bed, he reaches under his bed for the walkie he knows he last saw under there three days ago. Except, it’s not there. He stands up, scrunches his eyebrows, and thinks.

Let’s see… it was next to the keychain that was on top of the VHS sitting on the books on the corner of the desk, then he moved it when he had to answer one of Lucas’ questions which he did while he walked around the trailer and he laid it down when he finished to get some cheese from the fridge, meaning—

Eddie runs back to the kitchen, finding the walkie on top of the fridge, right where he thought it would be.

“Got ya!” He grabs it and runs back to the living room where Robin is waiting very impatiently.

“Where even was that?” She asks but he ignores her, electing to set the frequency so he can talk to the kids all at once instead of answering her. He presses the button.

“This is Eddie the Banished calling an emergency Hellfire meeting pronto,” he orders into the speaker. “I repeat, emergency Hellfire meeting.”

He waits for a response. One minute. Two minutes. Three—

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the button again. “Over.”

Immediately, Dustin responds. “Hear you loud and clear, Eddie. Is this a code red situation? Over.”

“Nope, not a code red. More of a uh…” he glances over at Robin who shrugs. “Code yellow? I think. Over.”

“What the hell is ‘code yellow’? We don’t even have one of those,” comes Erica’s, as always, sarcastic remark. Eddie can faintly hear Lucas yelling in the background.

“Munson, you better not be shitting with us.”

“I promise you, Red, I wouldn’t. Not about this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, people! You’re supposed to say ‘over’ when you’re done talking! Over.”

“Shove it, Dustybuns, the adults are talking.”

Eddie has to hold the walkie away from him at Dustin’s responding shriek. He presses a hand over his eyes. These kids are going to kill him one day.

“Guys, this is serious. Just get your asses over to my trailer as soon as possible. Robin’s already here, does someone have Little Byers and Supergirl?”

“I’ve got them. Over and out,” Mike responds.

“Erica and I are on our way. Over and out,” Lucas says.

“Be there in fifteen. Over and out,” Dustin declares. Eddie glances at Robin, sharing equally nervous and worried looks. This is not going to be fun.

Thirty minutes later, all of the kids are cramped in Eddie’s living room. Lucas, Max, El, and Mike are scrunched together on the couch, while Will and Dustin sit on the floor in front of them. Erica claimed Wayne’s recliner as soon as her and Lucas got there, refusing to move for the older teens.

Robin is standing next to him, hands on her hips again—really driving home the whole “Steve is my platonic soulmate” bit—as he stands there with his arms crossed. The two of them remind Eddie of disappointed parents about to tell off their kids, which, in reality, isn't too far off.

“Okay, what the hell?” Dustin asks, still breathless from the trek there. “I literally just got home an hour ago. Why did you call us and make us bike all the way here in the heat?”

“Because you deserve it for being shitheads,” Eddie defends and rolls his eyes. He’s met with a cacophony of dweeby teen voices as they retaliate.

“What did we do this time?”

“What?! We didn’t do anything!”

“What did Dustin do, now?”

“Me? Why am I the one being blamed? I wasn’t even here!”

“Because you’re too damn nosey, dude.”

“Ouch, Lucas. Ouch.”

“Hey!” Eddie yells, clapping his hands to get their attention. It startles them all enough to quit talking over each other and look back up at him. “Okay, I’m just going to get to the point. Why are you all avoiding Steve?”

Mike gives him a confused look and crosses his arms, his expression the epitome of teenage angst.

“We thought you hated Steve, dude. You would always leave the room whenever he was around with some shitty excuse so we just decided to do the same,” Mike answers. Dustin nods from his spot on the floor.

“Yeah, we all thought he did something or said something to you since every time we brought him up, you’d shut the conversation down somehow. It just… naturally progressed from not talking about him to not talking to him either,” Dustin explains.

“Steve stopped showing up to things, too. He used to help me practice but he’s not shown up in weeks,” Lucas adds.

“Mom’s gotten really worried about him. He’s not shown up to dinner in a while, either,” Dustin chimes in. He shrugs. “We just thought the feeling was mutual.”

Eddie clenches his eyes closed and throws his head back. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. He hears Robin shift beside him, and knows firsthand the look she’s giving them right now.

“Have any of you even considered asking Steve about this?” Robin asks accusatively. “Or even talking to him about anything other than rides or movie nights?”

Silence falls over the room, so thick and suffocating that Eddie briefly prefers the air of the Upside Down to this. He pulls his hair, scrunching down on the floor and balancing on the pads of his feet.

“This is all my fault,” he groans, twisting strands of hair frustratedly.

“It is,” Robin agrees and ignores the glare Eddie sends her way for that. “But we can still fix this.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Mike asks.

“Why does Eddie look three seconds away from strangling himself with his hair?” Max hesitates, sounding the most cautious he’s ever heard her. Eddie groans and avoids eye contact with the group.

“The reason I’m avoiding Steve isn’t because I hate him. It’s uh… quite the opposite, actually,” he explains, nervously fidgeting with his rings and pulling a thick strand of hair to hide his face. He glances at Robin, who gives him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up, and he rolls his eyes.

Max and Erica give him equally smug smirks while Will looks at him with wide, understanding eyes. The rest of the group, however, look confused.

“Wait, then why are you avoiding him?” Dustin asks.

“Dude, that makes zero sense,” Mike counteracts. El just looks lost, almost like she’s trying to read his mind. Which… he really wouldn’t be surprised if she could at this point. Eddie sighs.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie redirects. “The point is that an issue with me and Steve shouldn’t affect you guys’ relationship with him.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, and he deftly ignores the pointed look she sends his way. “Steve has been there for all of you for years.

“Dustin, wasn’t it Steve who helped you catch D’art when he escaped from your cellar? He bought pounds of meat for you to lure a demodog away with, then fought a pack of them by himself to keep you safe. Steve put himself in the line of fire again against said demodogs in the tunnels after he was beaten unconscious by Billy, then sacrificed himself to Russians just so you and Erica could make it out alive a year later.”

Dustin clamps his mouth shut from its gaping position—likely from him wanting to defend himself from the truth—and has the decency to look sheepish. Eddie turns his gaze to Lucas.

“Lucas, wasn’t it Steve who helped you train for basketball when you started to show an interest in it? He practiced with you every week, even after a long shift at work or when he felt like shit, just because you asked. Steve protected you against Billy because it was the right thing to do, and took a beating so you wouldn’t. Not many people can say they’d do that for someone else, especially not against anyone as vicious as Hargrove,” Eddie adds. Lucas drops his head in his hands, knee bouncing from his place on the couch.

“Max,” Robin begins. “Steve checked up on you every day after Billy died. He would bring you food or ice cream or a distraction, but he was always there. He would drive you to the arcade just to cheer you up, let you beat him at Dig Doug and Pinball just to see you smile. Steve was terrified to let you be the bait for Vecna, he… he kept telling me that he wished it was him instead. That he should be the sacrifice, not you.”

Robin wipes her eyes where they begin to tear up, and Eddie uses the pause to look at Mike. He still has his arms crossed, but the smartass look on his face has dwindled a little.

“Mike, I know you don’t like Steve because of him and Nancy, but you can’t hold onto that grudge forever. What happened between them had nothing to do with you, so there's no need to be mad at him for it,” Eddie states. Mike isn’t looking at him now, and something tells Eddie that the kid just needs a reality check. Hopefully, this will work. “Steve has been protecting you from the beginning, even when you were more than hostile to him. You’ve at least got to give him credit for that.”

Eddie looks around, sees the morose expressions on the kids’ faces.

“Steve has picked you all up countless times from Hellfire, waiting the entire session out in the parking lot while wasting away in his car. He was there rain or shine, snow or sleet, and he never missed a day. Not once,” he states.

Eddie first found Steve’s presence after Hellfire to be confusing, an anomaly. He didn’t know that the Steve the kids talked about was the same Steve he had a debilitating crush on in high school, not until he saw him waiting outside after the first session the kids attended, leaning against his maroon BMW like a Calvin Klein model. A ball of anxiety formed in his stomach at the sight, because one thing about Steve Harrington was that he’s unpredictable. Eddie just didn’t know if it was good or bad yet.

“You know, usually when people graduate they tend to stay away from high school, not willingly come back,” Eddie teased.

His words seemed to spark some life into Steve, as he jolted from his relaxed position against the hood to stand firmly beside his car. Steve ran a hand through his hair, and looked Eddie up and down.

“You’d probably know more about that if you managed to actually graduate, Munson,” Steve quipped, but it wasn’t mean. He had a smile on his face, and the air around him was friendly. Some of the anxiety churning in Eddie’s gut eased at the sight.

“Besides, who says I’m here willingly?” Steve asked rhetorically, as Dustin made his appearance by running up to him and immediately began talking his ears off about the new campaign. Steve turned his full attention on the boy, nodding along to certain comments even when Eddie knew for sure Steve didn’t know what the hell Henderson was talking about. The other kids soon crowded around the former jock, all talking so incredibly fast that Eddie was surprised the sound barrier survived their cracking voices.

Eddie watched as Steve glanced at him over the kids’ heads, giving him a loose smile and a shrug as if saying, ‘what can ya do?’

Soon, all the gremlins piled into Steve’s fancy car, still talking and gesturing wildly with their hands. Eddie had a passing thought that he should get Steve some earplugs or something to at least help drown out the noise. He immediately shook his head at the thought and jumped in his old, beat up van, driving home to an empty trailer and trying desperately to forget Steve Harrington existed.

“He always waits until the excitement starts to wear off before he takes you all home, letting you talk to each other for nearly an hour after each session despite the fact he never has a clue what you’re talking about. He always listens to you guys, no matter what,” Eddie supplies. “Did you guys know he has mixtapes for each of you?”

At the question, they all look at him with varying degrees of confusion and an all-too-late realization. Eddie huffs, while Robin mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, ‘of course they didn’t.’

“There’s one for each of you, filled with songs you like or mentioned liking at some point despite some of them not being his own taste. He listens to you, all of you, and it fucking hurts to know you don’t see that,” he exposes, and part of him regrets letting a bit of his anger out. Though, the kids need to know this is serious, that you can’t go through life assuming the worst in people, so if being angry is what it takes then so be it.

The kids have various emotions on their faces, ashamed and regretful being the two most prominent. Dustin clears his throat and looks up at Eddie, flicks his eyes to Robin, and returns them to his lap.

“I… I didn’t realize he did so much for us,” Dustin quietly admits, and a small part of Eddie cheers at finally teaching the kid a thing or two about humility.

“We’ve been taking advantage of him for… for so long,” Lucas breathes out. Max nods morosely beside him, and Will raises a shaky hand to cover his mouth.

Mike rolls his eyes, still petulantly crossing his arms. “Why should we even care about him? All he’s probably doing is wallowing in his fancy house or something.”

He says it with a layer of snark so thick, all the kids turn to him with varying levels of bitchy glares. Eddie, however, can tell his attitude is a mask, a way for him to hide how he’s truly feeling to prevent from being too vulnerable. From being too open. Eddie knows a lot about that.

It started when Eddie was four and he scraped his knee on the harsh gravel outside his parents’ run-down home in Kentucky. Tears rolled down his chubby cheeks as he ran inside to tell his mom, who he knew would take care of him. She told him to play outside, and not come in until she told him so, but his knee really hurt and he was scared they would have to cut it off if it bled too much. At least, that’s what Charlie—a kid who lived two streets over—said they would do.

When he stepped over the threshold, something felt off. The house was quiet, more so than normal, and it set him on edge. The TV was filled with static that grated on his little ears, and he covered them with his hands as he made his way over to turn it off. He picked up the antenna off the floor, wondering how it got knocked off the top of the TV in the first place. He looked around the living room, finding it in a similar state of disarray. He followed the trail of broken things before him; the overturned coffee table, a spilled ashtray, a stray pillow, and the chair his dad always sat on, pushed far out of its normal place. He questioned who could have messed up his house like this, leaving a big mess behind.

He found his answer when he ventured into the kitchen, just a few short steps from the living room, and found his mother laying on the floor. She was on her stomach, arms splayed out as if she tried to catch her fall and head turned to look at the doorway where little Eddie stood. Her eyes were closed but she was still breathing, the floral pattern of her dress moving with each breath. Shards of ceramic were spread out around her, littered with droplets of dark blood that spilled from a cut on her forehead. It dripped down the side of her face, along the curve of her cheek and onto the floor where it formed a small puddle. Her skin was pale in the artificial light of the house, the soft yellows doing nothing to soften the tones of her ashen face.

“Mama!” He ran up to her, falling to his knees beside her still body. He shook her, trying to get her eyes to open, but all it rewarded him was a pained grunt. His eyes welled with tears again, this time for his Mama, but nothing he was doing was working.

A shadow fell over the floor and he looked up to find his father blocking the light from the gold-colored light fixture above the kitchen table. His face was stern and dirty looking, his stubble well past the point of a five o’clock shadow and leaning more towards a sleazy strip club owner. There was a smear of blood on his face from his hand, which he noticed was bruised around the knuckles. However, the sight of what was in his other hand made him freeze, entire body going stock still.

In his father’s left hand were the remnants of the broken plate on the floor, the jagged edges cutting into his skin where he gripped it tightly. Matching blood littered the edge, and a splatter of the dark liquid traveled up his hairy arm and disappeared into his rolled up flannel sleeve.

He looked up at the figure before him, and the tears spilled over against his will.

“What happened to Mama?” He asked. “Why won’t she wake up?”

“‘Cause she’s sorry, son,” his dad answered, throwing down the ceramic and causing it to shatter against the floor. Eddie flinched, and his father caught the motion. He hadn’t been able to quell it, hadn’t learned how to hide his fear yet. The man scowled at him, lip curling as he grabbed Eddie’s arm and hauled him off the floor in one solid motion.

“She’s weak, Edward,” he began. This close, Eddie could see the redness of his eyes, and the deep purple bags that hang underneath. “Just like all women. Do you wanna be weak, boy?”

Eddie shook his head, and his father gripped his arm tighter. “Answer me!”

“N-No sir,” Eddie muttered, voice small and weak in the face of his father.

“Then stop that fucking crying, don’t be a sissy. I ain’t raising a fucking faggot, Edward.”

With that, his dad dropped his arm and stumbled into his bedroom down the hall. As soon as his figure was gone, Eddie turned back to his mom, crouching next to her. Sometime when his dad was talking, her eyes had opened and her breathing grew stronger. Eddie felt like it was nothing short of a small miracle.

“Mama, are you okay?”

“‘M okay, baby,” she replied, pushing herself off the floor with a grunt. She sat up with Eddie’s help, and frowned when she saw the reddened mark on his arm. “I shouldn’t have let him do that to you.”

“You were hurt, Mama. ‘S not your fault,” Eddie reasoned, pulling his arm out of her grasp to wipe at some of the blood on her face. “You’re bleeding, too.”

“Oh,” she began, reaching up to touch the wound as if she hadn’t realized it was there. “It’s nothing, Eddie, just a little scratch. Mama will be okay, promise.”

She didn’t look okay, this close, with her sunken-in face and slowly forming black eye Eddie hadn’t been able to see before. But his Mama was always right. Always.

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asked, holding out his little pinky. His Mama smiled, and raised a shaky hand to lace her pinky with his.

“Pinky promise.”

A year later, he was riding in the car with his Mama, backpack at his feet. She was dressed nicer than he ever remembered her being; a baby blue, short-sleeved dress hugged her slender frame, paired with white heels, white bug-eyed sunglasses, and a sheer white scarf she had tied around her hair. Her suitcase was in the trunk, but his father was nowhere to be found.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Where’s Dad?” He asked. His Mama cleared her throat before she answered, voice shaky.

“He’s not coming with us, Eddie,” she said. “We’re going somewhere far away from him. Somewhere new.”

“Where?”

“Have a look for yourself, honey,” she said, pointing to the window. Eddie crawled up on his knees to look out, seeing a sign welcoming them to a place called Hawkins. He sat back down in his seat, looking back at his mother.

“What’s here?” He asked. His mother smiled.

“Your Uncle Wayne. He’s my brother,” she supplied. “We’re just going to pay him a little visit, okay?”

A few short minutes later, they were parked in front of a small trailer, a gruff looking man waiting for them on the newly-built porch. They got out of the car and Eddie grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders before his Mama led him up the steps.

“Eddie, this is Uncle Wayne,” his Mama informed. He looked up at her and she nudged his arm, urging him to say something.

“H-Hello, sir,” Eddie greeted, sticking out his small hand for the man to shake. Wayne huffed a laugh and crouched down, causing Eddie to take a step back on instinct, before he took his hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet ya, Eddie,” Wayne began. He let go of his hand but stayed crouched. “You can call me Wayne, or Uncle Wayne, or Uncle, or—hell, Todd for all I care. Just none of that ‘sir’ business, you got me?”

Eddie smiled and nodded. “Sorry, si—uh, Uncle Wayne.”

“That’s better, boy,” Wayne said, smiling as he clapped his shoulder softly. Wayne had kind eyes, blue and soft around the edges. They weren’t mean like his fathers. Instead, they looked exactly like his Mama’s—save for a few extra wrinkles around the edges. “Why don’t you go on inside while your Mama and I talk?”

Eddie did as he was told, walking in the trailer and taking in his surroundings. It was small, smaller than his house, but cozy. A couple mugs were hung up on the wall, paired with three trucker hats and a framed picture he was too far away to see. An old, floral patterned couch sat on the long wall of the living room, a coffee table in front littered with an opened can of Coke and a half-eaten bag of chips. The windows were open to let light in, making the space feel much bigger than it actually was.

He stepped into the kitchen, just a pace away from the living room, and took in the red-toned wooden cabinets and cream countertops stained with coffee rings yet to be wiped away. There was a hallway to his left where he found a single bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom was small, just big enough for a stand-up shower, toilet, and sink. A single toothbrush sat in the cup on the side of the sink along with a bar of soap and an almost empty tube of toothpaste. On the other side of the sink though, Eddie noticed an unopened toothbrush. It was blue and had sparkles throughout its plastic. At the bottom, there was a small dog sticker and it made him smile a little.

His attention soon wandered to the bedroom, where he found a little twin-sized bed and tons of boxes. The bed was bare, save for a folded up quilt near the bottom with a pillow on top. The boxes were filled with various things; clothes, books, a cassette player, shoes, and tons of other small trinkets. He sat on the ground, pulling a box closer to look through it. There were thin books near the top labeled ‘Hawkins High’, and he flipped through it to find pictures upon pictures of people. He read the names, sounding them out to see if he could get them right. Some of them were weird, though, and he quickly put the book down to look at something else.

There was a box of cassette tapes to his left and Eddie scooted over to look through it. There were tons of names he didn’t recognize as he rifled through the plastic cases, though one stood out to him.

He picked up the Fleetwood Mac tape along with the cassette player from a box near the closet, plugging it into the wall and putting the tape in. He eyed the front door, seeing it still firmly closed. Just then, the tape clicked, causing him to jump, and he pressed play.

The familiar voice filled his ears, and he smiled. He and his Mama used to listen to Fleetwood Mac back home in the kitchen while they made supper, singing along with the tape or the radio to fill the house with music. The sound of it brought a smile to his face, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the words.

Engrossed in the music, he barely registered that the front door had both opened and closed until a soft hand was laid on his shoulder.

“Eddie, baby, I have to go,” his Mama said, and he jumped to his feet. He kinda felt bad about going through Uncle Wayne’s things without him being there, but if they were leaving then he didn’t think he would get too mad.

“Where are we going now, Mama?” Eddie wondered. His mother’s face turned pinched, and she lifted her glasses to look at him directly. She wore make-up, much more than she usually did, and as she crouched down Eddie could see it was barely disguising a bruise along the top of her right cheekbone.

“Eddie, only I’m leaving,” his Mama corrected. “You’re staying here with Wayne.”

At that, his whole world fell apart.

His mother, his Mama, was leaving him. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t go with her, that he couldn’t stay with his Mama like he wanted to. Wayne seemed nice from their brief interaction, but he didn’t know him. Not like he knew his Mama.

His stomach sank to his feet, and it felt as if someone poured ice-cold water over him. His eyes grew wide as tears welled, spilling over his cheeks.

“Why, Mama?” Eddie sobbed, wiping at his face because he wasn’t supposed to cry. “Why can’t I go with you?”

“You just can’t, Eddie, I’m sorry,” she stated. It felt hollow, her explanation. Like she was hiding something.

“But why?”

“Because you just can’t, Eddie!” She snapped, and Eddie’s breath caught. She sounded mad, but Eddie had never heard her get mad, not at him at least. He didn’t know what he did, only that she wouldn’t let him go with her.

She took a breath and cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“But- But you can’t leave me!” Eddie wailed. “Mama, please!”

She opened her arms and he fell into them, clinging hard enough to deem separating impossible. She hugged him back just as tight, and Eddie saw evidence of tear tracks streaking through her caked-on foundation.

“I know, baby, I don’t want to leave you either,” his Mama soothed. “But Wayne is going to take care of you, okay?”

Eddie looked over her shoulder to see Wayne leaning against one of the kitchen countertops, smiling sadly at him. Eddie screwed his eyes shut and buried his face in his mothers neck.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” Eddie mumbled before he moved to look at her. “Pinky promise you’re gonna come back for me.”

His Mama cried and wiped at her cheeks, smearing the make-up and making the bruises appear fresh on her pale skin. She held out a pinky, and Eddie laced his with hers.

“I promise, Eddie,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead before getting to her feet. Her and Wayne shared a hug on her way out, and Eddie caught Wayne wiping his eyes too. He and his uncle stood on the porch as his mom drove away, waving until her taillights disappeared around the curve of the road.

That was the last time he saw his mother.

Unfortunately, it was not the last he saw his father.

He stayed with Wayne for two months until his father found him. They had grown accustomed to each other in that time, Eddie having warmed up to another parental figure and Wayne having gotten the basics down for caring for another being. Wayne insisted he start school in the fall, and he was two weeks in when all hell broke loose.

His father rolled up to the trailer in a fancy-looking sports car Eddie knew his dad didn’t have the money for. He stumbled out on the gravel, banging on the door until Wayne pulled it open.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Wayne asked, standing firm in the doorway.

“I’m here to get my son,” his father demanded. He pushed past him and stormed the place until he found Eddie in the only bedroom—Wayne having set up a cot in the living room.

Eddie hadn’t expected to see his father again, mostly because he didn’t think the man really cared for him. That was prominent when he snatched Eddie off the bed and hauled him out of his room.

“Dad?” Eddie questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking you away from here,” his father responded, glaring at Wayne who stood blocking the doorway.

“You’re not takin’ him anywhere, Al,” Wayne countered. He crossed his arms, looking far more intimidating than Eddie ever imagined. “He’s happy here.”

“He’ll be even more happy with me,” his dad insisted. “With his real family.”

“Son of a bitch, Al, I am his real family!” Wayne yelled. “You ain’t got the means for takin’ care of that boy, and you know it.”

His father stood toe to toe with his uncle, glaring at him. He whispered something Eddie was too far away to hear, but it made Wayne deflate completely.

Eddie didn’t want to leave. He found that these past two months with Wayne were filled with more happy memories than he ever remembered having back home. Wayne was nice, a little rough around the edges but he was a big softy inside. He cared about people, that much was evident in the way he was constantly helping people out around the park. He was a good person, so leaving him felt like his Mama all over again.

“Come on, son,” his father demanded, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the trailer. Eddie looked back at Wayne, eyes stinging. He waved, and Wayne waved back. He watched the trailer from the backseat until he couldn’t tell which one was theirs, only facing the front when his dad snapped at him.

They rode for hours, far past the Indiana state line, until they ended up in a strange city filled with tall buildings and blinding lights that made Eddie’s eyes sting. They went through the city, stopping on the outskirts in a run-down neighborhood even more decrepit than his old house in Kentucky.

He spent two years with his dad in a city he came to know at St. Louis, but it never felt like home. Not like the trailer with Wayne, or anywhere his mother was. He learned how to hotwire cars and how to drive like a bat out of hell whenever his dad told him to. He learned that he was too much to take care of; his father constantly complained about feeding him, keeping him clothed, taking care of him like a father should. He learned that showing emotions would only get you hurt, that he had to hide them to survive. He learned what all the different white powders did to someone, how they would affect your mind and your body. How they made his father violent, or remorseful, or depressed, but never happy.

His father was on a bad trip when a rush of red and blue lights invaded their windows, sirens blaring and making Eddie’s ears ring. Their front door was kicked open, the old wood splintering easily under the force of a steel-toed boot. Police flooded the house, and Eddie was grabbed and dragged out before he had time to comprehend everything that was happening.

He was sitting in the back of a cop car with the door open, body completely still as police went in and out of their house. He couldn’t let them know he was scared out of his mind, that he was afraid of what they would do to him. He knew the best way to get through it was to show nothing at all. To be indifferent. Emotionless. It was the only thing his father taught him that he deemed useful.

His father was dragged out of the house by two policemen, kicking and screaming at them but Eddie couldn’t hear what he was saying, ears having gone deaf to anything other than the ringing in his head. Next thing he knew, his father had broken free and punched one of the officers, causing several to tackle him to the ground and handcuff him before practically throwing him into a car and hauling him away. All Eddie could do was watch, knowing there was nothing he could do to help him.

“You got somewhere to go, kid?” One of the cops that took him out of the house asked, leaning against the open door and blocking the flashing lights. Eddie nodded, and the cop took him back to the station where he called Wayne.

“Eddie, son, where are you? Are you okay? If that bastard hurt you, I swear to god—“

“Wayne,” Eddie began, his voice rough from not using it. “Can you come get me?”

A pause. “Sure, kid, where are you?”

“St. Louis,” Eddie supplied. There was cursing on the other end, muffled so Eddie couldn’t tell what was said but he knew Wayne well enough. Even after only two months, the man had become more like a father to him than his own dad ever was.

“I’m coming right now to get ya, just hold on tight, okay? I’ll be there ‘fore the morning.”

True to his word, Wayne showed up right before dawn in his beat up truck. He stormed the station like a madman, looking for him. He was rumpled, like he threw on just enough clothes to be decent before booking it all the way here. If he knew Wayne, that’s probably exactly what he did.

“Eddie? Eds, where are ya?”

“Sir,” the lady at the front desk interrupted. “I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice—“

“Wayne!” Eddie perked up from the desk chair he was sitting at in the station, running around desks before jumping straight in his uncle's arms. Wayne held onto him just as tight, and he could’ve sworn he heard a sniffle or two come from the man.

“I was so worried, Eds,” Wayne whispered. “I tried lookin’ for ya, I swear I did, just—If I’d known he’d taken ya to another state I wouldn’t’ve stopped ‘til I searched the whole damn country.”

“I know, Wayne,” Eddie muttered. “I missed you too.”

As much as Eddie tried, he couldn’t put up that mask of indifference around his uncle. He could try, sure, but it never worked longer than five seconds before he saw right through it and it crumbled at Eddie’s feet.

“Let’s get you home, son,” Wayne insisted and before he knew it, Eddie was asleep in the passenger seat of the truck as they took the highway home.

Since then, Eddie and Wayne had become inseparable. There were no secrets between them, no masks. They weren’t needed, not when Wayne was more than good to him. They weren’t wanted, either, since Wayne made sure to remind him that showing emotions wasn’t a bad thing. That it was good, healthy.

It wasn’t until much later in middle school when he learned that having a mask was necessary sometimes. Especially when people started calling him a freak and a weirdo because he wasn’t identical to everyone else. Because he lived in a trailer with someone that wasn’t his biological parent and wore hand-me-down clothes that were baggy on him since his growth spurt hadn’t hit yet. He donned the air of indifference he had left behind long ago, letting the names and rumors bounce off his skin like water off an umbrella.

That need intensified when high school hit and the rumor mill grew exponentially. Suddenly, he was bombarded with accusations of Satanism, prison time, drug dealing—though that one was true—pet raccoons, and, at one point, an army of undead babies he sucked the life out of that he could command at will. Really, the shit people came up with was astounding, and Eddie learned to shove it all away. None of it was true—save for a couple things he would never, in a million years, tell another soul at Hawkins High—so he made sure to act like it was true. Let people believe what they want to believe. In the meantime, Eddie used it to his advantage to prevent anyone from getting too close. From looking past the barrier he put up between himself and everyone else.

So yeah, Eddie knows a little bit about where Mike’s coming from.

“Actually…” Robin starts. “Steve’s not doing so great—“

“What?!” Dustin squawks out, cutting Robin off and all but jumping up from his seated position. “Why the hell did you not start this whole damn thing with that?!”

“We were getting there, Henderson!” Eddie clarifies. “Now sit your ass down.”

Dustin—for once—does as he’s told. Eddie looks to Robin and gives her a nod, letting her have the floor.

“Steve’s got it in his head that he’s the only one allowed to sacrifice himself for us, that he’s only needed or wanted when he can put himself in the line of fire. So, like the caring dumbass he is, he’s been wandering around Hawkins at night because he’s worried that something will happen.”

“But I closed all of the gates,” El starts, head cocked and eyebrows scrunched like a confused puppy. “We are in no more danger.”

“I think part of him knows that, Supergirl,” Eddie explains. “But he needs to know for certain, to make sure you guys are absolutely safe.”

She nods, and sadness finds its way to her eyes. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy for her, knowing that learning how to live all over again is never easy.

“He’s not been sleeping much,” Robin continues. “It’s like he’s barely there anymore. Like he’s just… a shell.

“He thinks you all hate him. He thinks he deserves this for all the shit he did in the past, even though we all know he’s more than made up for it by becoming a decent fucking human being,” she spits out. There’s anger in her eyes now as she glares at a stain on the carpet, unwilling to look at the kids but needing to get her point across. “He broke down in my arms because this is the fifth fucking time the people he’s loved has left him and I think… I think this time broke him.”

She raises her head and looks over the kids, tears balanced on her lower eyelashes and threatening to spill over.

“You’re his family, the family he got to choose, and you still… you left. Just like everyone else has.”

The room fills with silence as the words sink in.

“How… How do we fix it?” Will asks, his quiet voice now loud. Eddie sighs and rakes a hand through his hair—a motion that keeps reminding him of Steve—before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I know part of it is my fault, I admit that. I shouldn’t have just stopped talking to him all of the sudden, I should’ve… well, there’s a lot of things I should have done but I didn’t, so I plan on fixing that,” Eddie admits. He looks around the room, makes as much eye contact as he can to drive his point home. “You should too. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to cut it, not this time. Not for this.”

The kids all nod, and Eddie gestures to the door to dismiss them. They all look like kicked puppies with slouching posture and ducked heads, walking out of the trailer with their tails between their legs. Dustin and Mike are the first to hop on their bikes, ready to either apologize and get it over with or get as far away from his and Robin’s disappointed glares as possible. Before they can push off, Eddie calls out to them.

“Hey! Give it a couple days,” Eddie orders. “Steve… He’s going to need some time. Go to him when he’s ready, okay?”

He’s met with various nods and ‘will do’s as some of them take off, their knobbly knees hitting the handlebars of their too-small bikes. Then, he notices a particular brunette has yet to leave, her bike with little white training wheels still standing in the grass. Her big brown eyes lock with his and, even though there's a porch between them, he can feel the seriousness in her gaze.

“I miss him. He was always very nice to me,” El confesses. “He always gave me piggyback rides.”

Her face falls a little. “I did not know we were being mean to him.”

Eddie finds himself softening a little at her words.

“I know, Supergirl,” he winks at her. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

She giggles in response and hops on her bike, meeting up with Max who stopped to wait for her a few yards away.

Eddie closes the door, falling against it with a thud. He groans, the sound bouncing off the thin door and out in the empty trailer. He turns to go to his room, preferably to wallow, before nearly jumping clean out of his skin.

Well, he thought the trailer was empty, except there now stands one Robin Buckley who has resumed her unimpressed, hands-on-her-hips, "you're a fucking dumbass" position from earlier.

"Jesus H. Christ!" He exclaims. A hand comes up to grab at his heart which is actively trying to beat out of his chest as his lungs grapple for air. "Birdie, I forgot you were there."

"Yeah," she deadpans. "Clearly."

Eddie straightens up, and quirks an eyebrow at her rather over dramatically. Robin rolls her eyes.

"Well?"

"It's a deep subject," Eddie sarcastically responds. Robin, unfortunately, doesn't find that funny. "'Well' what?"

"Go apologize!" She yells.

“Okay, okay, geez!”

Eddie pats himself down, looking for the keys to his van before Robin clears her throat. He looks over at her to see an unamused quirk of her eyebrow before she points to the hook by the door where his keys hang.

“Thanks, Buck!” he exclaims, pressing his hands together in prayer to the saint she is. Grabbing them, he throws the door open and clears the steps in one jump, stumbling a bit on the landing but really, he’s quite proud of this rare athletic appearance.

Jumping in his van, he slams a random tape in the deck, grinning a little at the song that plays first. Despite his obvious avoidance of the second track, the Master of Puppets album still holds a very special place in his heart. So it's really not a surprise that the song that just so happens to play first reminds him of the very man he’s going to see, sacrificial tendencies and all.

He slams on the gas, tires squealing as he peels out of Forest Hills trailer park faster than he ever has before.

He’s not running away this time; not running from a small cheerleader’s body trapped on his ceiling, not running from angry town hicks with their fiery pitchforks, and not running from a creepy interdimensional demon who enjoys sucking the life out of depressed teenagers.

No, this time, he’s running to something. Running to Steve.

He just hopes Steve will let him.

———

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#stranger things #steddie #pre steddie #disposable heroes #disposable heroes mcir #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things drabble #stranger things fic #robin buckley #robin gets to punch eddie like she wanted to #eddie munson backstory #i gave him a life oops #domestic violence #child abuse #homophobia #stay safe yall

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anonomouswriter-blr · 9 months ago

Text

Ushijima x Reader: What Do You Say? [a haikyuu one-shot]

Ok y'all, so my friends and I had an all-nighter where we write one-shots. The twist is, we each wrote down on different sticky notes a character, a plotline, and I think the third is a trope. We did this a year ago and I forgot all about this, but I recently found it so I'm posting it here lol

Trope: Childhood friends to lovers

1899 words

Story under cut.

Finally. Fifth grade. It was Y/n’s last year of elementary school and she was determined for it to be different. She wasn’t the most extroverted; she liked people but was too scared to approach them, and they never approached her. But this year, she was going to make a friend.

Kimi seemed to be sweet, everyone adored her, but when Y/n tried to befriend her, she was nothing but rude. In fact, after Y/n had the “audacity” to try to “be on her level”, Kimi tried to make her year awful. But Y/n wasn’t going to give up so easily. She would have a good year and she would make a friend. No mean girl was going to stop her.

After a while, Kimi and her “posse” started to get physical with Y/n and pushed her to the ground during recess. That’s when she met Ushijima Wakatoshi. He was in more advanced classes, so she hadn’t ever seen him before, not really, but they had recess together. When he saw her get pushed to the ground, he felt compelled to intervene. He stood over Y/n on the ground, his shadow covering her. Though in most cases it may be a sign of intimidation, his shadow symbolized a blanket of comfort. He looked at Kimi and the two other girls and spoke to them directly.

“To treat your fellow classmate in such a way is despicable. She should be your friend, not your adversary. Don’t choose violence as a mode of communication, but talk out your differences. If this is something you cannot do, I’m afraid I’ll be obligated to notify your teacher,” the girls snarled in repulse and walked away. When they were far enough away, Ushijima knelt down to Y/n’s height on the ground, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes! I’m okay! Thank you for helping me,”

“My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. I am in advanced studies. What is your name?’

“My name, my name is L/n F/n. I’m in general studies,”

“Your knee. It’s scraped and bleeding slightly. Here, use this band-aid,” he told her and handed her a latex patch from his pocket. She finally realized: this could be her new friend!

“Ah! Thank you! Um… do you like advanced studies?” He was a little thrown by the question but answered nonetheless.

“It’s fine. The work is manageable and if it will help me get ahead I have no problem with extra work,” he said while gently pressing the band-aid to her wound. He was quiet as he worked. Then, something told him to engage in conversation with her. “Do you like general studies?”

“Yes! It’s nice and easy, though I still struggle with maths. Do you struggle with maths?”

“No. I find it to be quite easy,” he stated.

“Maybe you could give me some tips on how to do better?”

“It’s pretty simplistic. The more practice, the easier it gets,”

Even after the band-aid was properly secured, the two children continued to talk. Y/n tried her hardest to keep the conversation alive. Even if the question was simple or off-topic she would ask it, and he would reply. Then recess ended, and they had to depart.

“I really enjoy talking to you Ushiwaka! Will you be at recess tomorrow?”

“I always attend recess. It’s important to spend time outside,”

“Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow then!” Y/n said and ran off to her teacher.

“Y/n dear, what happened to your knee?” the teacher asked her.

“It got scrapped. But It’s okay because my new friend Ushiwaka helped me! I can’t wait to see him again tomorrow!” Y/n told her and ran inside. What a wonderful friendship they had that year.

***

Y/n closed her notebook at the sound of the bell ringing. Another draining class.

I should have stuck to general studies. She thought to herself. Her friend Taeko put her hands on the front of her desk.

“That was so boring. How long are we going to be on tectonic plates?” she wined.

“I don’t know, but if it will help me get ahead I have no problem with extra work,” Y/n reasoned.

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“I got a date today,”

“Really? With who?”

“That hot stud from the volleyball team. Reon Ōhira,”

“Do I get to meet him?”

“Uh, doy! I’m going to watch his practice after school. You don’t have horseback riding today, do you? You should come watch with me. Then you can meet him,”

“I’m finished riding horses for the week. I’m happy to meet him today.”

“Awesome! Then you can ogle his teammates. Oh my gosh. I’m a volleyball girlfriend!”

School had finally ended and Taeko and Y/n were headed to the gym Reon was practicing in. Taeko slid open the door and as soon as they saw each other they smiled. Reon jogged over to her and nodded his head at Y/n.

“Hey, Reon. This is my bestie, Y/n,”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Reon,”

“So I’ve heard. Nice to meet you, too,” “Reon,” Y/n heard a direct, commanding voice call out, somehow familiar. “we’re having a team discussion before we start practice,”

Y/n looked to the student who spoke, the captain, the one she remembered from fifth grade.

“Ushiwaka?” When Reon jogged over to a spot in the circle, for a moment, Ushijima and Y/n made eye contact. Ushijima peered at her, trying to piece together how he knew her face. Then his eyes widened.

“Do you know him?” Taeko asked Y/n. She broke eye contact and looked at her friend.

“Yeah. We went to elementary together. Ushiwaka, right?”

“Psh, don’t ask me. I can’t remember anyone's name. Let's sit here. I don’t want to be hit by a volleyball,”

Practice ended. It didn’t seem as long as Y/n would have thought it would be. She busied herself with homework, but she kept looking up and making eye contact with Ushijima. Did he recognize her? He must have. Based on his expression alone she knew he at least remembered her face. Taeko stood up, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. “We’re gonna head out. Are you okay walking home?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Have fun on your date,” Y/n winked at them playfully. Taeko smiled before turning on her heel and walking off with her soon-to-be boyfriend. Y/n turned to pack away her things when…

“Excuse me,” the same commanding voice came suddenly from directly behind Y/n, causing her shoulders to jump. She turned around to face Ushijima. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you. I have something to ask you. By any chance, might your name be L/n F/n?”

“Yeah, it is,” she replied.

“My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. We went to the same elementary school. I met you when you got pushed over by some girls and you scraped your knee. I bandaged your wound and we became friends. You called me Ushiwaka. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, I remember you. You were my first friend in elementary,” It was silent for a while. Awkward. Neither of them knew what to say.

“What classes are you taking? Are you still in general studies?”

“No, not anymore. I started taking advanced classes. What about you?”

“I’m still taking advanced classes. I still excel in math. Have your math skills improved?”

“Yes, but of course, as I improve the material gets harder,”

“You are correct. I say if it will help us get ahead there is no problem with extra work,” Y/n nodded. That sounded like him. “Your friend has left with my teammate. Are you walking with someone?”

“No. I usually walk with her but they have a date today so I’m loning it,”

“Then may I accompany you?” Y/n thought for a moment but in the end, accepted.

“I would love your company,”

After Ushijima had walked Y/n home that day, he asked her for her contact information so they could talk outside of school. Y/n learned he was a very formal texter, but he had a charm to it. It was kind of like their friendship was picking up where it left off. It ended up being really, really nice. Y/n started going to his practices with Taeko more, and they studied together outside of school ever so often. One day Y/n caught herself smiling while texting him. Truth be told, she had a bit of a crush on him in their elementary days, but she would never admit that to him.

“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh, Y/N! Prom is like, right now, what are we wearing?” Taeko asked Y/n as she grabbed her shoulders.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking about that. Should we go shopping today?”

“Uh, yeah! We have to get on this pronto! I’m texting Reon. I have to make sure our ‘fits don’t clash. Should I get his opinion or surprise him?”

“Get his opinion. Leave the surprise dress for the wedding,”

“Good idea. Oh my gosh! Do you have a date in mind? If so we need to bring him too. We’re obvs gonna do a group picture and I can’t have his suit wash any of us out,”

“No, Taeko, I don’t have anyone in mind,”

“Well, the time is still early. You never know, Reon’s team captain might ask you. You guys are close now, right?” Y/n didn’t even think of that. What if he did? Would she say yes? Would she want to? No. He wouldn’t ask her.

“He doesn’t seem like the type to ‘prompose’. Let’s look for dresses. What do you think about blue?”

“For you? Absolutely! A royal blue in satin fabric – long. Oh my gosh this is gonna be so fun!” Taeko practically skipped out the school doors, bringing Y/n with her. Even if Ushijima didn’t ask her to prom, she was so ready for prom.

Taeko found a beautiful green princess gown and the most flattering suit for Reon, but Y/n hadn’t found the right fit. After a long time of looking, the three ended the day and walked Y/n home. It was about 2 hours later Y/n heard her doorbell ring. She went downstairs, opened the door, and there she saw Ushijima with a long banner, asking her to be his prom date.

“L/n F/n. Will you go to prom with me?” he asked. Her face was still for a moment, trying to comprehend. Ushijima, upon seeing her face, started to worry he made a mistake. “I asked Reon what I should do to ask you since he was seeing your best friend. He told me to keep it simple. I also got you flowers. I couldn't hold both them and the sign so I put it on your step,”

Y/n looked down to see the large bouquet. It was magnificent. “So, L/n, what do you day? Will you be my date to the prom?”

She lifted up the massive vase and held it to her face. Who knew he’d ask the same day Taeko suggested he might? Probably Taeko. Y/n couldn’t contain the smile on her face. “Yes, Ushiwaka. I would love nothing more than to be your date!”

______________________________________________________

Posted. 17.Sunday.March.2024 at 19.37 (7:37pm)

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq x reader #hq fluff #volleyball #anime #fanfiction #anime x reader #female reader #x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #hq ushijima #haikyuu ushijima

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klausysworld · 2 years ago

Note

Hi 👋🏻

Could you write something for Klaus and pregnant reader like cute little moment.

Thank you so much ☺️

You care about me

I was way too pregnant for this shit. I had two fully grown men, not even men, two thousand year olds having a screaming match in front of me while i ate my triple chocolate cookies and sipped my hot chocolate

“do you have any idea what you’re doing!? we have a plan” Elijah was pointing directly in his face and i was waiting for someones arm to be snapped in half still munching away obnoxiously

“they were going to harm my child, they would have murdered y/n! the plan doesn’t mean shit if she’s gone” i glanced down to my bump and patted myself lightly as i smiled slightly at his words, he was a little crazy but he was also really sweet sometimes

“you’re really going to play that card? you think you want this child now? no, you think this will fit into your power ploy!”

“i love my child”

“you love that baby no more than Mikael loved you”

fuck. shit.

I physically chocked on my biscuit and stood up quickly, my eyes wide as i quickly moved towards the brothers

“right time for recess” i yelled and grabbed onto Klaus’s arm, if looks could kill Klaus would have murdered Elijah a million times over.

“Klaus, honey- can you get me some um orange juice…please?” i asked, a pleading look in my eyes as he reluctantly left. As soon as he was out of my sight i spun round and delivered a harsh slap to Elijah’s cheek, shock was evident on his face.

“you ever say something like that again and i swear to whatever higher power that you will definitely be dead in a coffin” i whispered harshly my pointer finger jabbing his chest as he blinked at me. I stormed out the room and into the kitchen where Klaus stood looking surprised with a glass of orange juice in one hand and apple in another

“i forgot which one you asked for” he said holding them both out with a smile on his face. I took the orange juice with a ‘thank you’ and had a sip. I could feel his eyes on me so i turned back to see a curious expression as he was now much closer to me seemingly studying as much of me as possible

“can i help you?” i laughed and his eyes snapped to mine. They narrowed as a sly grin sneaking upon his lips

“you care about me” he whispered with a bright flicker in his eyes

“do not” i mumbled turning away

“you threatened an original vampire for me” he hummed as he put a hand on my arm pulling me so my back was against his chest

“that was a private conversation”

“it was an interesting conversation”

“he said something cruel and unfair, untrue and i didn’t like it” i explained, he wrapped his arms around my torso, both hands resting on my bump as he swayed us side to side

“thank you” he whispered ever so quietly

“you don’t need to thank me”

“i thank you for caring about me” he muttered

“klaus…i think it would be impossible to not care about you” i mumbled, he tensed a little behind me

“because of the baby” he stated almost monotone

“because i like you, you’re very lovely when you want to be” i laughed and he held me a litter tighter. Apparently the little one didn’t appreciate the pressure as it began to kick at where Klaus’s hand was, i gasped and Klaus quickly retracted his hand

“what the bloody hell was that?” he murmured as he moved round to be in-front of me

“the baby’s kicking” i whispered guiding his hand back to my belly. As soon as his hand made contact i was kicked from the inside once again. The look on Klaus’s face was worth it though, the pure wonder on his face as his smile stretched. He gently rubbed my bump and leant down to kiss it

“rest little one, your mother will grow tired of you” he muttered, the baby kicked a little harder and i sighed in discomfort

“be a good baby for mommy and daddy” he whispered giving it one last kiss before standing up and kissing my cheek

“i don’t like how much i liked hearing you say that” i mumbled

“the mommy part or the daddy part?” he asked moving his hand to hold my jaw

“you’ll have to find out” i whispered with a slight laugh

“it will be my pleasure”

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dennylachancerights · 4 months ago

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Just rewatched the pilot episode of The Outsiders tv series for the first time since middle school and here’s my thoughts (featuring conversations with my boyfriend while we watched as someone who is a new fan) Spoilers for this 34 year old show

- They start this shit with the clip of Dally getting shot down from the movie then play an opening with all different actors 😭

- I forgot I memorized Ponyboy’s monologue at the beginning and used to write it down in a notebook at recess bc I had no friends

- I fondly recall having a welfare check eerily similar to the one in the ep and it filled me with both nostalgia and dread

- Soda’s living his best life in this ep he made out with a girl in the back of the car then just ate cake outta a bowl on the front porch

- KID LEONARDO DICAPRIO?!

- Is Scout a trans allegory???? Or did I just have a 🏳️‍⚧️ awakening with them as a kid

- David Arquette Two-Bit is weird

- They put the scene of Pony getting jumped from the beginning in the show bc the theatrical release was the only version out then

- THE FOSTER MOM FROM CHILD’S PLAY 2?!

- It was about a third through when we were talking about why Pony’s hair isn’t blonde in the show even though it’s only been like a week since Johnny and Dallas died and it sparked this gem from the boyf:

“Do you think Ponyboy would’ve kept his hair blonde theoretically forever in memory of Johnny”

to which I responded with “I don’t think that’s what Johnny meant by Stay Gold”

- HEATHER CHANDLER?!

- Soda’s so hyped to join the war when he turns 18 even when Darry tells him no like bro 😭

- Scout is only here because they wanted Johnny Cade back argue with a wall

- Soda makes BLUE MASHED POTATOES? (they are gross btw)

- Darry is so stressed and it is kinda good acting?

- PIG

- Pony is so quick to show Scout the sunset and recite Robert Frost to them

- Tim’s stick up after the rumble is actually pretty good and I enjoyed that lil monologue

- Darry, Soda, and Pony’s lil roughhousing/race at the end was nice but I wish they committed to the reconciliation

- My boyfriend’s end thoughts: “0/10 Tim didn’t shoot the cop”

#outsiders #the outsiders #the outsiders tv show #the outsiders movie #the outsiders musical

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soulgazingwithbucky · 2 years ago

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Details (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Maybe you and Bucky just weren't meant to be. Alpine (dis)respectfully disagrees.

Based on a prompt from this generator: "Y/N and Bucky break up, but they have a pet and neither of them want to give it up. Then they spend a few days each with the pet separately. But it kinda helps them get together again."

Warnings: mentions of food & alcohol

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: Writing this fic taught me that the Venn diagram of romantic flowers and things toxic to cats is a circle. I wrote this listening to Trust by Brent Faiyaz radio on Spotify, so I have no choice but to share it for any other hip hop/R&B fans <3 If you find yourself enjoying this, feel free to check out my other works here <3

You were the sun up above, he was fallen snow.

You were the beauty of flower petals, he was the strength of tree roots.

You were a song belted out loud, he was comfortable silence.

It took you a while to fall in love with Bucky Barnes. But,

as they say,

good things come to those who wait.

You were big picture, he was details. You were looking too broadly; he slipped between the cracks. You crept into every corner of his brain until it was an overfilled balloon. Oh, how he had pined until you finally saw him as he saw you. It was torture, those few months before you took his hands in yours, leaning in for that first kiss that ignited every nerve in his body.

The more time you spent with him, the more certain you felt about his psychic abilities. He knew you so well, like he was reading your thoughts. Or seeing the future. Was it an effect of the serum? But he indulged you in his secret: he just paid a painful amount of attention.

When you scratched your throat, he would get you a glass of water. Always three ice cubes.

When you shifted in your seat, he would take your leg and message it, pressing firm circles into the back of your calves.

When your eyebrows scrunched and made that little crease in between, he would kiss it. When he pulled away, it was gone.

He was details.

You mused that he should reserve that expertise for saving the world. He left a flutter of kisses on your knuckles, telling each finger that he would have no better use of his skills than to keep you happy.

You were grander than life. He was sure that if you had been the one alive for a century, you would have lived each year to its fullest. He looked up to you, his idol, his inspiration.

The sound of tape unraveling broke you out of your stupor.

Loud, screeching, sudden.

A fitting call back to reality.

Bending at the knee, Bucky gingerly placed the box in front of you. You knew he could’ve lifted and dropped it with just his pinky finger; it would’ve been the equivalent of you dropping a sheet of paper.

But he was always so considerate of you. Your feelings.

Your reactions.

You.

“I think that’s the last one,” he told you. A lie. He knew it was the last one.

“Thank you,” you said, staring at the box, rotating it to find the cutout handles.

CLOTHES, he had scribbled on every side in thick sharpie, the writing comically large. He was thinking of you, in your new home, surrounded by replicas of the same brown cardboard box. He wanted to make it as easy as possible for you.

It, the situation he had put you both in.

You were larger than life. But he had made you feel smaller than an atom. Like a child's once overused coat that now collected dust in the back of a dark closet.

Your name, so tender on his gruff tongue, drew you out of your thoughts.

You kept your face stony. You didn’t dare think what it had betrayed when you dove into the recesses of your mind.

“Sorry,” you spoke.

“Don’t be,” he murmured. Stay, he thought.

You stood, rummaging in your pocket. Well, his pocket. His sweatpants. You acted like you forgot they were his; he acted like he forgot, too. At least some part of him would still be with you.

A silver key emerged in your outstretched hand. His finger twitched. You noticed that.

He taught you to.

Then he reached out, closing the space between the two of you. His fingers curled over yours, ridding the key from sight.

“Keep it,” he said.

“What?” you said.

“Shared custody,” was his attempt to lighten the mood. As if on cue, Alpine rounded the corner.

you summoned, dad? she seemed to say, grazing the doorway as she made her way over.

Be strong, you had demanded earlier, pointing at yourself accusingly in the rearview mirror. Do not give in. Don’t let him see you falter.

But this beautiful, aggravating, wonderful cat was your whole world (surpassing Bucky, you made sure to tell him regularly), and you felt the tears well up. You thought you had finally run out. What an awful time to find you were wrong.

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure,” he said firmly. “I-”

The syllable lingered in the air. He had to be strong, for you. It was the least he could do. He brought this on himself, and he had to see it through. He had no idea how to balance the whole hero thing and being in love thing. He had never done it before. What an awful way to find out he did everything wrong.

He would never forget the day the straw broke the camel’s back. He had told you he needed to reschedule your Saturday date, not knowing the day you had planned out. But Wakanda had requested his and Sam’s presence at a UN meeting; you both knew they seldom called in favors from him. Your lip quivered in failed restraint until you abruptly stood up, nearly toppling over the takeout containers on your lap. Everything poured out of you in that moment, loud and endless and angry. Bucky had shut down, staring straight ahead with hardened eyes until you grabbed your things and left.

He was details. He was a quick pick-me-up after a hard day at work. He was a quiet back rub during a feel-good movie. He was a gentle reminder about that one errand you could never seem to remember.

He wasn't big picture. He wasn't a step back to see the writing on the wall. He wasn't the pieces coming together. He wasn't the painful realization of you weren't happy. Not until it was too late, anyway.

“I'll walk you to your car,” he offered. He hesitated before picking up a few boxes. Don’t be stupid, James. Don’t hope for her to change her mind. “Get the door, doll? Sorry. Could you...get the door, please?”

You managed to nod, though you felt as if every bone in your body had merged into one. You opened the door and watched him walk away with your life in a few measly boxes.

“Get the door, doll?” he had said, dragging in several bags of groceries. You harped on him for having a total of three items in his refrigerator, and stopped your movie night to go to the grocery store at 10pm. The clerks were not happy with you.

“Get the door, doll?” he had said, gingerly holding Alpine in her carrier. He did let you hold one thing that time- Alpine’s medication. You both loved her too much to let Bucky carry anything else but her, especially after the scare she had put you both through.

“Get the door, doll?” he had said, muffled over the armfuls of flowers, chocolates, and balloons. Your last Valentine’s together, though neither of you knew it would carry that title. You had laughed at the ridiculous sight of wine bottles tucked into his back pockets.

“I'm sorry,” he said after loading the last of the boxes into your car. He left enough space in the middle seat for you to still use your rearview mirror.

“Don’t,” you whispered. You had had enough of empty apologies. So do something about it. So end it if you wanted to focus on work. So ask Sam to enlist the help of literally any other superhero. Dr. Banner could get it done in, like, five seconds, you once huffed.

“But I am.”

You knew he was. And that made everything worse. The deadly Avenger with the unstoppable arm, capable of defeating Outriders and Flag Smashers. But to you, just your sweet and gentle Bucky. Your sweet, gentle Bucky, who revealed a side to you that no one else got to see. The hero of incredible strength, who held you like you were the lightest of feathers.

You knew that this was as new a world to him as it was to you. You had many a mirror pep talk reminding yourself of this. But you couldn’t help that empty feeling. You became a longing glance at other couples, kissing and hugging and laughing, while you sat in the empty booth. Another last-minute mission for your mighty hero meant another drink for you, liquid in your cup deterring the glistening in your eyes. You became a forced smile, an ongoing habit at work parties and social gatherings, dismissing everyone’s questions about why the hero wasn’t by your side. You became nostalgia, looking at old videos of Bucky on your phone, because you could count on the memories of the man more than the man himself.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you said, speaking to your car door handle. You hadn’t met each other’s eyes once this entire time. You were kind of glad. You just knew one look would leave you gasping for air, lungs suddenly rid of breath and replaced with a whirlpool of ocean blue, the gray and cobalt turning your intestines into a loop.

You didn’t stay to hear his response. You got in your car, turned on the engine, and reversed out of the parking lot.

Don’t look back

Don’t- Oh, for god’s sake. Of course you looked back.

There he was, still and staring. You knew he wouldn’t leave that spot until your car was completely out of sight. Making sure you were safe.

The next few weeks were filled with lots of ice cream, cheap wine, shitty movie nights, social media algorithms feeding you breakup posts, loud bars with too many people, your friends and family checking in, more tears (fuck, they never run out), takeout delivered to your doorstep, maybe an impulse buy or two…

When you were in distress, Alpine would always sit on your lap until your uneven breaths were in line with her quiet purrs. You would stroke her fur and mutter a thank you while you kissed the top of her head. She would eventually be irked by your flurry of kisses and promptly leave, knowing you were okay.

And so you found yourself turning onto an all-too-familiar street, pulling into an all-too-familiar lot, walking up to an all-too-familiar door.

Whatever trance you were in broke as soon as you felt the jagged edge of the key in your hand. You came to your senses long enough to reluctantly send Bucky a text, asking if you could pay your favorite girl a visit.

His response was almost immediate, shining brightly on your phone screen.

Open invite.

You sighed gratefully, though his response didn't indicate whether he would be in attendance. You pressed your ear to the door, and were greeted with silence. Carefully, you entered your former home.

It smelled like amber, like pine, like leather. Like Bucky. It was overpowering, threatening to shut off all your senses until-

Your heart melted as you spotted Alpine, summoned by the sound of the door. You hadn’t even let yourself into the space, instead falling to your knees and spreading your arms right there by the door. She came to you, stepping on your thighs and pulling herself up to your chest. You embraced her, and your tears fell.

You and Alpine stayed like that for a while, until she wriggled out of your grasp and disappeared.

that's enough, she seemed to say. dust yourself off.

You retrieved a few treats from the cupboard, leaving it for her on her favorite spot on the coffee table.

Your rendezvous continued every week. You seemed to have found the magical window of time where Bucky Barnes was never in his apartment. A weekly debrief with Sam, you guessed by the sticky notes on the fridge. You time, Alpine time.

At first, you stayed in front of the door, not daring to leave the space occupied by the doormat. Alpine would come to you, until she wouldn’t.

She coaxed you to the kitchen first, pawing at where Bucky kept her food. You gave her a little extra in her bowl, knowing that Bucky had already fed her. He was religious about it.

If she could roll her eyes, she would.

i’ll indulge you this time, she seemed to say, nibbling while you sat on the ground and petted her.

Next was the living room. She walked across the cushions, inviting you.

i haven’t got all day, she seemed to say.

You sat next to her, feeling the familiar sink of the cushion beneath you. Though you sat uncomfortably, your spine stick straight and your bum right on the edge of the couch.

You left her treats every time, in the same spot. You didn’t notice how the bag seemed to magically refill every time.

On your next visit, Alpine napped peacefully on the glass coffee table, right next to a thin vase of flowers.

You flinched. He had decorated. For someone else? But as you stepped in, you recognized the blush pink hue of camellias.

Alpine’s eyes slowly opened until she registered your presence. She walked around the vase, tail adding a dramatic flourish. Totally unnecessary, as the plant stood out enough in Bucky’s horrifically monochrome home.

dad said they were your favorite, she seemed to say.

A week later, Alpine purred in your lap as you leaned back on the soft couch, even daring to turn on the television. You were greeted by an array of music videos lining the search history. All the songs you told him to listen to, but thought he never did.

“This one is the best,” you told Alpine, gesturing to the most recent video played. She looked up at you.

dad’s only played it a million times, she seemed to say as she lengthened her body into a stretch.

“Huh,” you said on your next visit. A single magnet sat on the fridge door, a cartoon bear operating a gondola. A souvenir Bucky picked up after a conference in Italy. Also known as, your old message to Bucky when he came home in the dead of night from assignments. It meant, food inside. eat, please, then come to bed. i love you. He would sit his aching body, massaging a bruise or picking at Sam's shoddy gauze work, and enjoy the meal you prepared.

It must have been a fluke, but you found yourself pulling open the fridge door. A nearly empty fridge, save for a styrofoam container perched on the middle rack.

You sat at the kitchen table, enjoying your comfort meal from the Thai restaurant you could never stop praising, while Alpine watched you lazily.

“Tell him thank you,” you told her sheepishly. “I guess.”

i’ll think about it, she seemed to say as she yawned and walked away.

Every time you visited, there was a small gesture to make your stay just a little more comfortable. Your favorite tub of ice cream. Your favorite candle. Your favorite author's new book. This was Bucky's love. It was quiet. It was subtle. It crept up on you, like the smile you didn’t know you were wearing. He was details.

You filled up his fridge, a colorful combination of fruit, vegetables, and snacks. You brought in bags full of throw pillows and blankets, arranging it carefully in his home. The muted colors looked blinding in contrast with the monochrome pieces Bucky preferred.

And this was your love. It was the big-ass elephant in the room, if the elephant also yelled, "Hello! I'm here!" It was a clown car, pouring out in impossible amounts. It demanded to be seen, it demanded to be heard.

“Big it is,” Bucky said, feeling the cool air of the fridge, staring at the arrangement of food that threatened to spill over.

Alpine had the honor of watching you both. There was a lot she seemed to say.

You hummed, turning the key until you heard the lock free itself.

Balloons grazed the ceiling, shaped in cheesy hearts and shining proudly in metallic pink and red. Bouquets of forget-me-nots and roses, asters and camellias greeted you from the tables and countertops. You heard the familiar rhythm of your favorite song filling the air.

Alpine stood in the middle of it all, mewing happily and swiping at one of the many balloon strings.

Bucky stepped out from the doorway that led to his bedroom, just barely. You could make out the blue shirt that stretched over his chest, the wrinkles in his pants, the nervous twitch of his jaw.

"No debrief?" you said hesitantly, stopping short at the door.

"Cancelled. I had something that took precedence.

“Alpine insisted on the decor. I told her it was too much,” he said sheepishly, still gauging your reactions, gesturing towards his pet that paid both of you absolutely no mind.

You stared at him in disbelief, still not sure he was really there, in front of you, but you couldn't help but laugh.

“I worked on a schedule,” he said quickly, “with Sam. We called Clint, we got his advice.”

“Uh-huh,” you said absentmindedly, dropping your bag on a chair.

“Even Scott had some advice, but a lot of it depended on being on house arrest…”

“Sure,” you said, fingers grazing over rose petals.

“All this to say, I'm sorry. And I know you hate hearing it, and I know I don’t deserve it, but if you were-”

“Bucky?” you interrupted, taking one last step to close the gap between you two. In his anxious state, he hadn’t realized you were making your way over to him. Your fingers reached out, the prickle of his stubble tickling your fingertips. He sighed into your touch as you traced the chain of his dog tags, setting off the familiar jingle of metal.

“Yes?” he breathed, barely audible. His arms stayed at his side, heavy as anvils, the desire to trace your curves overwhelming but wondering if he was deserving.

“Say what you need to say,” you murmured, “quickly.” You wrapped your arms around his neck; he lowered his head until your foreheads rested against each other. His hazy blue eyes rested underneath furrowed brows, tense with regret.

“I'll do it right this time.” He spoke to your lips, and you watched as his eyes dipped low, masking the blue behind a curtain of eyelashes. “For you. For us.”

“I'm just here for the cat, Barnes,” you responded with a smile, pressing your lips to his.

He chuckled, feeling sensation return to his arms. He cupped his hands underneath your thighs and lifted. You yelped as you wrapped your legs around his torso and your hands gripped the back of his shirt.

Alpine paused her playdate with a curling ribbon just long enough to watch you two disappear into the bedroom.

my job here is done, she seemed to say.

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