#Jesus Christ this chapter is gonna be long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soaps-mohawk · 6 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment

Summary: A trip to town to run errands has you questioning everything.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,719

Warnings: Ch 21 Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, overstimulation, creampie, language, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, Ghost’s emotional constipation, unresolved sexual tension, angst, and of course fluff.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written the word panties as many times as I did here. Again, not much to say about this one, so I hope you enjoy!!

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You stare at your face in the mirror. Wisps of hair stick to your forehead from the sweat starting to bead on your skin, your lips slightly parted as you breathe heavily. Your hands grip the edges of the sink, knuckles white from how hard you’re holding on for dear life.

Your legs are trembling, quickly turning into jello. You lean forward more, resting your hips against the edge of the sink for stability. Your mouth falls open in a moan as it changes the position of the cock pistoning into you just slightly.

Soft grunts leave Johnny’s lips as he fucks you in your bathroom, his thrusts urgent and desperate. Five minutes, he had groaned against your lips as he pushed your door open and walked you backwards into your room.

It’s probably been longer than five minutes, but you’re hardly in the state of mind to care. He’s supposed to be halfway across the base by now, but you’re certain he doesn’t care either. It won’t take the others long to figure out what had made him so late, and you can almost guarantee John will make him pay for choosing to play hooky and having a quickie with you in the bathroom instead of going to training like he’s supposed to.

One of his hands leaves the vice-like grip he’s had around your hips to slide to the front of your body, his fingers frantically rubbing circles over your clit. Your back arches in pleasure as the sensations become too much, your hips pushing back against his. He’s still dressed, his cargo pants pushed down over his ass just enough to free his cock. Your pants are around your ankles, underwear pushed to the side. Your shirt and bra are pushed up over your chest, your breasts out on display for him. His eyes haven’t left them in the mirror and the way they bounce with every rough thrust of his hips.

“Jesus christ, yer gonnae kill me.” He groans as your pussy clamps tightly around him.

He presses his chest to your back, his hand gripping the edge of the sink as you writhe in his arms. His fingers don’t let up on your clit as you cum, your legs trying to clamp around his hand.

“Johnny!” You squeal as the sensation becomes overwhelming. “Too much!”

“Ye can take it.” He groans in your ear, his voice breathy and hoarse from pleasure. “Just a little more.”

All you can do is babble incoherently as he continues to slam his hips into your ass, his breaths heavy in your ear. You can feel the pressure building again despite the burning overstimulation of his fingers on your clit.

“Please, please, please!” You pant, your head pressing back against his shoulder as you arch further against him.

“Fucking love this sweet little cunt.” He growls into your ear, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. “So fucking good fer me.”

You’re cumming again, your knees buckling under you. His arm snakes around your waist, finally moving from your clit to hold you up. He lets out a loud, salacious groan as his hips slam into you one last time. You can feel his cock twitching as he cums, emptying his load inside you.

His forehead presses against your back for a moment as you both attempt to catch your breaths. Your legs are still trembling as he begins to move, pulling his cock from you before he slides your panties back into place. He drags his hand over your covered folds, groaning quietly.

“Better keep that in there.” He says, tugging your pants back up, doing the button for you and tugging the zipper back up. “Keep your mind on me the whole day.”

You moan softly at his words, your pussy clenching out of instinct. He groans as he tucks himself back into his pants, staring down at your tits as you turn to face him. He curses, cupping them in his hands for a moment.

“Fuck, I have tae go. Price is gonna kick my arse for bein’ late.” He leans down to kiss you, tugging your bra and shirt back down. “See ye at lunch, if I survive the wrath waitin’ fer me.”

He leaves you there so casually, as if he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes fucking you relentlessly in your bathroom. Your legs are still trembling as you lean against the sink, your teeth sinking into your lip as Johnny’s cum begins to seep out of you. They’ll know, they’ll know exactly why he’s late with one whiff of his scent. He’ll smell like you, smell like the musky scent of sex and sweat. All hope of blaming it on something else is out the window.

All you can do is pray John goes easy on him. It’s not like you haven’t made John late before, though usually both of you were late for meals because you decided you needed an appetizer, and it felt unfair to make him walk around half hard. You hope he can have a little sympathy for Johnny. If you’d said no, made him be on time to training, he might not have been able to focus at all.

You still can’t be sure he’ll be able to focus, though. You’ve probably only succeeded in changing the trajectory of his thoughts. Instead of whistfully picturing himself fucking you, he will be thinking about how he fucked you.

You wonder how John will punish him for being late and distracted. Pushups? Running? Maybe extra rounds running the obstacle course. Or maybe he’ll save the punishment for later. Maybe he’ll force Johnny to sit there and watch him fuck Johnny’s cum out of you, force Johnny to sit still and not touch himself or you. Maybe he’ll fuck you right over Johnny, your tits bouncing in his face just as he likes, but he’ll be restrained, forced to watch but not to touch. He’ll get all whiny, begging for any mercy as his cock gets all red and swollen, throbbing in time with John’s thrusts.

Your pussy clenches at the thought, more of Johnny’s release seeping out of you.

Fuck, you are going to be thinking about him all day.

“Took your time, MacTavish.” John says, crossing his arms as the beta Sergeant saunters into the gym.

“Get your dick caught in a door again?” Simon asks, crossing his arms too.

“More like he got his dick caught in a saucy little omega.” Kyle says, catching the overwhelming scent of sex and strawberries wafting off his fellow beta.

Simon’s hands clench, his scent thickening just a little, but none of them seem to pick up on it.

“Well, since you seemed to have more important things to do than your job this morning, you can go first.” John says, nodding to the mat. “Garrick, you’re up too.”

Kyle makes his way to the middle of the mat, cracking his knuckles. Johnny saunters to the middle of the mat behind him, still riding the high of his quickie before joining them. Your scent is thick on his clothes, wafting into his nose, bringing back mental images of you bent over before him, tits bouncing in the mirror as he drove his hips into your ass over and over. Those sweet cries of pleasure, the way you shoot in his arms making his blood pump in his veins, the satisfaction making his head spin a bit.

Kyle moves first, hoping to use Johnny’s seemingly distracted state against him. He aims for Johnny’s middle, but Johnny’s ready for it, blocking Kyle from getting his arms around him.

Johnny uses the advantage, planting his feet firmly as he flips Kyle onto his back, pinning his fellow beta. Kyle yields, Johnny’s shoulder in his stomach not helping the spasm in his diaphragm from how he hit the mat.

“Bloody hell.” Kyle gasps out, trying to catch his breath. “The fuck was that?”

“Just me beating you. Again.” Johnny smirks.

“Yeah? Well I still have you beat on the course.” Kyle says, pushing himself up to stand. “Should work on your speed instead of your biceps once in a while.”

“Alright, you two.” Price says, stopping the argument before it becomes something more. “Garrick, get out of there.” He silently motions for Simon to take Kyle’s place.

Simon moves onto the mat, staring down his beta. It’s not unfamiliar from the first time they ever sparred together. Simon has size and raw power to his advantage, but Johnny is quick on his feet. Johnny takes a defensive stance, planting his feet on the mat. Simon moves quickly, Johnny just barely managing to dodge his first hit. Simon catches Johnny's own swing aimed for his face, wrapping his arms around the beta to try and sweep him off his feet.

His mistake is taking in a deep breath so close to Johnny's chest.

The scent of strawberries flows straight into the back of his brain, igniting a fire in his veins. His blood is boiling, his instincts riding high off the scent of omega wafting off of his beta, creating an alluring cocktail that nearly blinds him.

Simon rams his shoulder into Johnny’s stomach, the air leaving the beta’s lungs in a pained gasp. He flips Johnny onto his back, the back of his head smacking the mat.

“Christ, I yield.” Johnny gasps, holding up his hands to stop Simon from continuing his assault.

Simon’s hands are shaking, his breathing ragged. His mind is still reeling from the scent of omega on his beta. He shouldn’t be reacting this way to the scent of an omega he knows well, an omega he recognizes. He had accepted Johnny would want that kind of relationship with the pack omega early on, so why does he feel jealousy burning in the back of his mind.

He leaves the training room, slamming the door behind him before heading outside, gulping down lungfuls of damp air free from the scent of omega. You weren’t even in the room and yet it was like you were standing before him, taunting him with your sweet scent. He leans against the outside wall of the gym, letting the air clear his head. Had they been alone and not in the middle of the base, he might have pulled off his mask, let the air touch his skin and dry the sweat that has slowly soaked into the fabric.

He squeezes his eyes shut as the door opens, the gravel crunching under cautious steps. He can feel eyes on him, the prickling of his skin from the harsh, questioning gaze. It’s not the first time he’s found himself under the scrutinizing stare of his pack alpha. He’s used to it, the attention being on him. He's an officer, he's the one being looked to when things go wrong, when important decisions need to be made. He has to be aware, clear-headed, and focused at all times.

That's the one thing he can't be right now.

“It will get easier if you just give in.” Price says, leaning against the wall next to him. “I know you want to.” Price cuts him off before he can offer up any argument. “The longer you try to deny it, the worse things will get for you. I don’t want to have to question your ability to be successful in the field.”

Simon swallows the lump in his throat, his mind reeling. He knows deep down Price is right. The longer he pushes away those thoughts, fights to keep those urges at bay, the more that tight rein on his emotions will slip. His hands clench into fists at his sides, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath. He’s spent decades now mastering control, keeping things buried when he needs to. Then you come along and fuck everything up for him.

It’s not fair to blame it on you. It’s not your fault. You don’t even know you’re doing it. You’re not even trying. You just exist around him and he's losing control.

Price can report that to the stupid initiative program.

“Is this going to become a problem?” Price asks him, giving him a pointed look.

Simon sucks in another deep breath. Is it going to become a problem? Is he going to let it become a problem? He releases the breath, shaking his head to try and clear it. “No, sir.”

“How are you doing?”

“Better.” You say, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I didn’t have a nightmare last night.”

“That’s great! Small improvements are still improvements.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down on her notepad. “How are things going with your pack? Have things settled since they returned?”

You nod. “Yeah. For the most part. There’s still...something lingering.” You chew on your lip nervously. You can’t tell her what it is, the thing that eats you alive daily. She’d have to tell your pack, and then everything would come undone. “I’m worried that any day now they’ll have to leave me again.”

“You won’t be alone this time, though.” She says, reminding you of what John had done for you.

“I know, but...what if they don’t come back?”

“That is an unfortunate reality, a risk you all have to live with. There’s not much that can be changed about that, but I know they’ll do everything in their power to return home to you.” ’ She gives you a soft smile. “They care about you a lot.”

“But...they're supposed to put their jobs above everything else. That was part of this whole experiment. Their jobs come first, and I come second.”

“But, Captain Price has already advocated against that by requiring one of them stay behind with you when they get sent out on assignments. That’s not putting their job above you.”

She’s right. John fighting to make things more comfortable for you was them putting their priority on you and your comfort. Of course, John had told you they had only advocated for it at this point. There was no guarantee those in leadership would approve, that General Shepherd would approve, but he said he’d fight it as hard as he had to. It wasn’t always necessary for all of them to be sent out anyway, so it was more likely there’d be at least one, if not two of them with you most of the time.

“Besides,” Dr. Keller continues. “In my professional opinion, it’s not sustainable to expect them to have an omega in their pack and also expect them to neglect their omega in favor of their jobs. The whole point of the initiative is to see if the assimilation of omegas into military packs will be helpful or a hindrance. There has to be a balance if they want even a chance at this being successful. While their jobs and what they do is important, they can’t expect full dedication to that job while also trying to care for an omega.”

You’ve never thought about it that way before. They had been so dead set in your briefings about how their jobs were more important than you and how you had to be prepared for anything to happen because their job always comes first.

“It’s important to keep in mind that you are essentially the trial for this initiative. There’s going to be ups and downs, things they didn’t account for in their planning, if they did any real planning, and things that have to be adjusted as they come up. There’s just some things you can’t properly predict until the trial is taking place.”

You haven’t really thought about it that way either. You are the first omega involved in this initiative, the trial run, the guinea pig. Is that why General Shepherd came to base and wanted to meet you? Is that why they wanted cameras in your room? To ensure things really were going properly, and everyone was doing what they were supposed to do? That things really are as fine as you, and likely John, have said?

What if they think things are going badly? What if they think the initiative is a failure? What happens then? What can they really do now that you’ve been claimed and assimilated into the pack?

“What’s going on in your head?” Dr. Keller asks softly.

“What if...what’s going to happen if the initiative fails?” You ask.

Dr. Keller hums, obviously not having expected that question. “Well, I don’t think there’s much they can do. They made it far enough in the planning that they thought it was worth the chance of a live trial with an omega and an established pack. They wouldn’t have taken that risk without the belief that it will be successful.” Dr. Keller crosses her legs, setting her notebook to the side. “If, and it’s a big if, it failed, then there’s not a lot they can do, legally. You’ve been claimed, which legally puts you under Captain Price’s care, and while the military is a grey area when it comes to legality, I doubt they’d run the risk of trying to remove you from the pack at this point.”

“They’d run the risk of their task force falling apart.” You say, the pieces starting to come together.

Dr. Keller nods. “Exactly. If your pack is as important as they appear to be, I doubt anyone involved in this would take that risk of losing such valuable soldiers. Forcibly removing you would turn your pack against them in the blink of an eye. All trust they have in their superiors will be turned on its head and destroyed completely. No matter how loyal they are to their jobs, that loyalty will shift very quickly should something happen to you at their hands.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, your heart rate starting to kick up. So you had made the right choice in keeping General Shepherd’s visit and the cameras a secret. The last thing you want is to ruin their lives over what was probably nothing, over something that would have been inconsequential in the end. Something they possibly know about already.

That thought lingers constantly in the back of your mind. They know and they’re waiting for you to finally spill and reveal what happened. What happens then? How will they punish you for lying to them, for withholding important information, information that puts not only you, but them at risk as well? Will they ever forgive you for not telling them right away? Could you grovel and plead with excuses of fear and naivety? Could you lie again and claim you were scruffed? John already knows of your nightmares, of your fear. You’d have to think up a reason as to why you lied to him that night too, though.

Lying will only dig you deeper and deeper into more lies until all their trust in you is broken beyond repair.

The trust between you will still be broken if you tell them, though.

“Have you been thinking of this a lot lately?” Dr. Keller asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

You nod, dropping your gaze to your hands. “I overheard John and Simon talking about it the other night. Simon asked if this was worth it if it failed, and John seemed confident it wouldn’t.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as I need to.” You lift your gaze to meet Dr. Keller’s. Her face is as serious as her tone. “Your pack isn’t going to let anything happen to you. Pack loyalty to omegas is not something to be tested, especially not a pack as fierce as yours. They’d go to war for you, if they had to. I don’t doubt that one bit.”

Your brows pull into a frown. “You really think so?”

She nods. “I know so. You’re very lucky.”

You are lucky. Things could have been much worse for you.

“C’mon kitten,” Johnny says, barging into your room.

You let out a startled shriek, nearly jumping out of your skin as you clutch your towel desperately around your naked, still slightly damp form. You just got out of the shower not too long ago, and had been deciding on what to wear on the warmest day you’ve experienced since your arrival in England when Johnny barged his way into your room.

Barged may be a strong word for it. Your door wasn’t even closed all the way.

Your heart is still thudding in your chest, your breaths slightly heavy as he digs through your closet, picking out clothes for you. “What the hell?” You breathe, adjusting your grip on your towel. “Scared the shit out of me.”

Johnny turns, giving you a grin. “Sorry, kitten.” His eyes drop to where you’re clutching the towel, and you can practically see the idea flash through his mind, the idea to rip the towel off and lick every last droplet of water off of your body before having his way with you.

“What’s going on?” You ask, trying to refocus his mind on what he was doing.

His eyes snap back up to yours, his grin widening. “We’re goin’ on an excursion.”

“Excursion?” You ask, barely managing to catch the clothes he throws at you and keep your towel up at the same time.

“Got some errands tae run in town, an’ yer comin’ with us.” He looks you over. “So get your claes on and meet us outside.”

You blink at him as he leaves your room, not bothering to close the door behind him. You stare down at the clothes in your hands, a t-shirt and the skirt that’s been hanging in your closet that you had yet to even try on. Of course he’d pick something like that for you to wear. You’re tempted to go without underwear, but that’s probably exactly what he wanted. If you were staying in the barracks, then you might have done it, but being out in public you don’t want to risk a stray breeze. The last thing you need is some alpha seeing it as an opportunity and trying something stupid.

You finish getting ready, drying yourself off and getting dressed before pulling on a pair of comfortable shoes. Your hair is still slightly damp as you make your way out of the barracks, a car pulled up outside as you expected.

“You promise to drive carefully?” John is saying, holding the keys up in front of Johnny.

“Of course.” Johnny says, looking past him to grin at you. “There’s precious cargo on board.”

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” John says, giving him a look before dropping the keys into Johnny’s hand. John turns to you, staring down at you for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. “Let me know when you get there.” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

You nod, leaning up to kiss his cheek before getting into the car.

You’re surprised to see Simon sitting in the passenger seat. You had expected maybe Kyle would be tagging along, or even John, but this is something entirely unexpected. He’s in his beanie and face mask combo again, the same thing he’d been wearing when he and John took you to town before your heat.

The night he bought the ingredients to make you enchiladas.

It still brings a warmth to your chest when you think about it, that he did that for you. It had been his idea to do it, his idea to bring you some comfort during the stress and insecurity your approaching heat had brought on. He does care about you, in his own way. He’s been showing it, at least for the most part, looking back on your interactions with him.

He has to care about you, if he’s willing to do this.

It wasn’t his decision, you know that. Johnny was likely forcing him to come along, either to appease John’s concerns, or in case of an incident. Not that Johnny’s not fully capable of handling a situation on his own, but having an alpha at your back makes it less likely someone would try something at all.

The fact John is trusting them with you speaks volumes of his trust in his pack, in his second alpha. You know they won’t let anything happen to you, they’ll protect you just as fiercely as if you were their omega.

You could be, if he wanted it.

You push that thought to the back of your mind as Johnny climbs into the driver's seat, the car rumbling to life.

Johnny isn’t a terrible driver. Despite the many stories you’ve heard over the last few weeks, you had been expecting worse. Kyle had been right, of course, he takes the speed limit as more of a suggestion, and weaves around on the road, passing slower cars and farm equipment in ways that are probably not legal. Despite that, you’re not gripping the seat in fear or holding on for dear life. You had been expecting much worse when he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Though, from what you’ve heard, Johnny is the most preferable of the two in the car when it comes to driving.

The farmlands fade into civilization as the buildings grow closer and closer together. It’s only your fourth trip into town, but yet you’ve already begun to recognize landmarks, businesses. You could navigate if you had to, something you know they’d be proud of. You wonder if Simon would praise you for that, considering how annoyed he always seems to be about how much time you spend lost in your own thoughts.

Johnny pulls into a parking spot on the street, and you send a quick text to John to let him know you made it in one piece. Johnny opens your door for you, offering you a hand. You take it, letting him help you out before he laces your fingers together, squeezing your hand gently.

You’re glad you wore comfortable shoes as you walk around with them, picking up a few items from different shops. Johnny keeps hold of your hand, Simon walking behind the two of you like a protective shadow. The people you pass on the street give you a wide berth, and you know it’s Simon’s doing as their eyes skirt past you and Johnny to the big alpha trailing you. You can imagine the silent threat behind his eyes, daring them to even think of trying anything.

“The last stop.” Johnny says, pausing in front of a familiar storefront.

You’ve been here before, the day of your first date with John when he’d taken your virginity. The lingerie shop where you’d gotten those lacy panties the guys seemed to admire so much. Your cheeks warm as Johnny opens the door for you, the stark reminder of who you’re with suddenly snapping into your mind. This trip definitely was Johnny’s doing. Did he even know this was a stop that you were going to make? If he did, he probably wouldn’t have come along and talked Kyle into it instead.

Or maybe he did know and he did want to come along.

Or, maybe, Johnny pouted at him and begged until he had no choice but to agree.

The answer is likely the latter.

You wonder if he’ll stay outside, or perhaps even return to the car in favor of stepping into a lingerie store. You can’t imagine him inside, the hulking alpha among the delicate lace and fabrics. A bull in a china shop.

You’re surprised when he enters behind you, looking about as uncomfortable as you expected him to in a place like this. His shoulders are squared, hands opening and closing into fists at his sides. He’s looking everywhere but at what’s on the racks, his gaze flicking around the store instead, taking stock of everyone inside shopping.

You let Johnny take the lead, Simon keeping his distance as you peruse the racks. You’re not just there to replenish your quickly dwindling stash of lacy underwear, you realize as Johnny begins flipping through items on the racks. He’s got some other ideas for you as well. You can see the wheels turning in his head, the concentration in his eyes as he looks over his options.

Your face gets warmer and warmer as he holds things up in front of you, studying you and the lingerie. He’s picturing you in it, most likely in lewd positions. You’re close to combusting out of bashfulness, but also from the fire igniting under your veins. You’re trying to keep it under control, trying to keep things as discreet as possible for the sake of the other shoppers in the store. The last thing you want is to draw any unwanted attention and cause a scene.

“That’s definitely the one.” He says, holding up a purple mess of lace and straps. You’re not sure how you’re going to get into it, much less what it will look like while you’re wearing it, but he seems to know what he’s looking at, so you’re not going to contradict him. You might just need his help getting into it, which you’re sure he won’t complain about.

Your skin prickles as you continue to follow Johnny, warning bells going off in the back of your head.

Someone is staring at you.

You lift your gaze from the rack Johnny is flipping through, scanning the store to try and find who it is that’s staring at you so intently. It’s not Simon where he’s lingering against the back wall trying to avoid touching anything like it might infect him with some deadly disease, or give him the mental image of you in it.

The prickling of your skin feels too different from the prickling you usually feel when his gaze is on you. Someone is watching you, yet the shoppers and even the employees in the store are in their own little worlds, going about their business and paying you no mind. You step closer to Johnny, your arm brushing his. It’s not unlike the feeling you get in your room, the idea that there were cameras in there, that there still might be one that you missed. That paranoid tickling down your spine that you might be being watched at any moment.

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, looking up at you as you step even closer to him.

Warmth presses against your back, making you flinch just slightly in surprise. You nearly panic, until the familiar scent of leather and eucalyptus washes over you.

“What is it?” Warm breath fans your ear, calloused fingers ghosting down your bare arm.

“I-I think someone’s watching us.” You say quietly, leaning into both of them.

Both of them straighten up, and you can imagine their gazes scanning the store, profiling every single customer and worker, picking up things you could only dream of noticing. Simon’s fingers wrap around your arm, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to offer a little support as they look for the culprit of your paranoid feelings.

There’s no tickling at the back of your neck signaling your brain picking up on a change to Simon’s emotions. Neither of them seem to pick up on a possible threat. Perhaps it’s all just in your head, some sort of trauma response after being cooped up on base for so long paired with what happened while they were away. There are cameras in the store. You are being watched. Maybe it’s just trauma fueled paranoia after all.

Simon lets go of your arm to step up close to Johnny, speaking quietly to him. You’re not listening, your eyes scanning the store again. You slide closer to Simon, the prickling feeling of being watched gone now. Your hand lifts, fingers wrapping around his forearm, his skin warm under your touch. You’ve never been quite this close to him, this physical, that wasn’t out of necessity before. It’s exciting, the prospect of being so open with him. Just the thought that he noticed your discomfort, picked up on your worry like that makes your omega want to roll over and show her belly.

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, his eyes flickering between you and Simon.

Your gaze snaps back to him, and you nod without even thinking about it. “Yeah.”

“You two go an’ pick out some new skids, I’m almost done.” He says. They must not have noticed anything worthy of being concerned about, nothing that could lead them to thinking there’s a threat.

It’s just like what happened that morning when you asked Simon to open the door to your room all over again.

Suddenly the mood shifts back to what it was at Johnny’s words, Simon shifting uncomfortably next to you. You can feel his muscles flex under your hand as he clenches his fists, letting out a long breath.

You shake off the paranoia and the worry, putting your trust in them should something happen. You drop your hand from his forearm to his wrist, tugging lightly on his arm. “Come on. They’re just panties. They don’t bite.” You grin teasingly up at him.

“Bloody hell.” He groans before letting you tug him over to the section of the store with the underwear.

You find the ones that you had gotten before, grabbing one in every color. Simon stands to the side like a guard dog, arms crossed, trying to look as manly as possible amongst the lace and ribbons. You pick up a couple more in Johnny’s favorite color, the beta approaching you both.

“Look what I found.” He grins wickedly, holding up a pair of panties.

You nearly choke as you stare at them, Simon shifting just slightly behind you. In Johnny’s hands are a pair of black cheeky panties with lace edges. They wouldn’t be anything special, had it not been for the skull pattern on the fabric.

Your face warms as you stare at them, the meaning not lost on you. Of course Johnny would find something like that in a store with probably hundreds of pairs of underwear. You can’t help but think he might have been looking for something like that this whole time.

Johnny steps up to you, turning you around to face Simon. His back brushes your chest as he wraps his arms around you, holding the panties up in front of your chest.

You wish you could see Simon’s face. All of his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes burning as he stares at the underwear in Johnny’s hands. His whole body is tense, the tendons and muscles in his forearms bulging from how tightly he’s clenching his muscles. A bead of sweat runs down your back from the intensity of his stare, his gaze shifting from the underwear to your face. They flicker back and forth, almost like he doesn’t quite know which is worse to look at: you or the panties.

His body tenses even more, his gaze finally settling on the underwear. He’s imagining you in them. You can see it, the way his eyes get darker and darker, his scent thickening. Several thoughts run through your head as you stare at him, your stomach fluttering as you suddenly come to a realization. You lift your hands, taking the underwear from Johnny, continuing to hold it in front of your chest.

“Fucking hell...” Simon breathes, his hands dropping to his sides, still tightly closed into fists.

“Would...” You clear your throat, trying to shake the waver from your voice. “Would you like to see me in them?”

His gaze snaps to yours, and it nearly has you running for cover. He looks like he wants to simultaneously devour you and bend you over the nearest table. The primal urge to run tickles in the back of your brain, to run and let him chase you.

He looks like he would do it, too.

Have you been misreading his actions towards you? You never thought he’d feel like that about you. Was his reluctant tolerance, his drive to keep you at arm’s length less because he disliked you, and more because he likes you too much?

His behavior and his actions begin to make sense the more you think about it. He’s not keeping you at arm's distance because he doesn't like you, because he doesn’t think you don’t belong with them. He’s not afraid of the weakness you might cause in the pack, the disruption you’ve brought to their lives. He’s afraid of how you’re making him feel.

Has he ever been in love? Has he ever held feelings for another before Johnny? Did he even want to have feelings for Johnny in the first place, or did Johnny force his way in until Simon finally accepted he can’t change the way he feels?

You’re not trying to invoke that kind of response from him. You’ve respected his boundaries, kept him at arm’s distance as much as you could to try and avoid making him hate you, to try and avoid ruining all the work you’ve put into just making him accept you as part of the pack.

Maybe you had been trying in all the wrong ways.

All the things he did for you, all the ways he treated you suddenly make sense. His disappointment at your neglecting him on the tarmac should have made it obvious to you.

Hell, he’d let you spoon him the very next morning like it was nothing.

Does he want to be your second alpha? Even if he doesn’t, does he want to push past that barrier and open up to that kind of relationship with you? The bond you have with him is hardly even platonic, a weak thread connecting you built out of proximity and interaction. The bond you have with Dr. Keller is stronger, and she’s not even part of your pack.

Does he want to build that bond with you?

Looking at him has your body warming, a fire igniting under your skin. You can’t handle it anymore, the intensity of his stare threatening to make you do something indecent in this lingerie shop.

You turn to face Johnny, certain steam has to be rising off your body at this point. You shove the pile of panties into his hands, including the one with skulls on them. “We’re getting them.” You say, trying to ignore the grin pulling at his lips.

You take half a second to breathe as the tension in the air is cut off, another shopper passing by, giving the three of you a look. You’re sure you’re projecting your scent, and you can imagine just how much Simon’s scent has taken over the store.

Johnny carries the armful of lingerie to the checkout and you follow behind him, Simon bending down to whisper something in his ear before heading for the door. You watch him step outside, moving until he’s just visible through the glass from the register. You have half a mind to follow him, half a mind to confront him and ask him for an explanation, ask him why he felt it necessary to hold you at arm’s length when there’s a chance he’s been feeling this way the whole time.

You don’t, instead sticking close to Johnny’s side as he pays far too much for the lingerie. Your heart is still racing from the exchange with Simon, your hands shaking just a little as Johnny hands you the bag. His hand is warm on your back as he guides you from the store, Simon turning as you approach him.

“Let’s grab somethin’ to eat, then we’ll go.” Johnny says, leading you back towards the car.

“We need to talk.”

You almost turn tail and run as Simon’s gaze snaps up to meet yours. He sits there, frozen for just a moment, before he slowly lowers his phone, sliding it into his sweatshirt pocket. You don’t sit down on the couch next to him, instead you remain standing, wanting to keep the energy in the room in your favor. You know if you sit, your brain will slip into submission to the large alpha. At least looking down on him, you have more of a chance at keeping that illusion of dominance.

“I want to know how long.” You say, taking half a step closer to him, one foot planted, the other half raised, ready to bolt in case this goes south. “I want to know how long you’ve had feelings for me.”

His gaze hardens as he stares up at you, and despite your position of dominance, you wish he’d take off his mask just so you could read his face, read his reactions. You can’t back down, though. Not now, not when things have come to a head between you. There’s no going back, there’s no playing pretend anymore. You can’t move on after the events earlier in the lingerie shop.

“I want to know the truth.” You say, not backing down. You won’t submit to him so easily this time.

“When you punched that asshole Corporal.” He says, looking away from you to stare at the black screen of the television. “Allen. Proved you weren’t just some weak, pathetic omega that was only going to slow us down, make us work twice as hard to keep you alive.” He snorts softly. “That first night with Johnny.” He continues, his voice softer than it had been. “That’s when it changed. He yapped the whole morning about what happened, what you two did, like a bloody slag.”

Your face warms at the idea of Johnny spilling all the intimate details. It doesn’t upset you as much as it probably should, though it wasn’t like they couldn’t all hear it happening. Simon especially, sharing a wall with him. He probably could have recounted the whole thing himself if he’d wanted to.

“I wanted to hate you. Fucking tried so hard to, but you make it so bloody hard.” He shakes his head. “I’m not supposed to.”

A frown pulls at your brows as you listen to him. As an alpha in the pack, he technically could if he wanted to. You’re certain John wouldn’t have a problem with it, in fact he might encourage it, if it gets rid of the stick that’s been up Simon’s ass since your arrival, or maybe even before then.

“I-I don’t understand.” You say, stepping closer to him.

“I can’t.” He snaps, wheeling around to face you. You freeze in your approach, your weight shifting back in case you need to run. “I can’t.” He repeats, his voice softer, the tenseness in his shoulders deflating as he diverts his gaze. “It’s too dangerous.”

Your frown deepens as you stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll only hurt you.” He shakes his head.

You understand it now. Those four words have given you all the explanation you need to understand his hesitation, his predicament, why it’s taken him this long to openly admit his feelings, to accept them.

You bravely continue your approach until you’re standing right next to him. His gaze is anywhere but on you, seeming very small despite his hulking size. “You’re not going to hurt me.” You say, slowly reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “I know you won’t. If...if you’re worried about turning out like your father, then that’s enough proof that you won’t. You know, you’re aware, so you can stop it.” He goes to turn away, but you stop him, catching his wrist in your hand. “We don’t have to. If you’re not comfortable enough then that’s okay. I have that need filled plenty.” You plop down on the couch next to him as you lift his hand to your face, pressing his bare palm into your skin. “But I wouldn’t stop you, if you wanted to.”

His hand is big and warm as it slowly relaxes against your face. His eyes meet yours, staring deep into them. You stare right back, not letting his size or the intensity of his gaze force you to submit. His thumb drags along your cheekbone, his calluses scratching across your skin, but that’s a feeling you’ve become very used to. You press your hand against his, your fingers trembling just slightly from the emotion and the intensity of the moment.

“It’s not just me that might hurt you. I’ve made enemies, people that would do anything to get back at me.” He says quietly.

You shrug. “So does everyone in this pack. That was a risk I was made well aware of before I was sent here. That’s why I don’t know jack shit about what any of you do. That’s why I’m basically non-existent and invisible except to a select few. I used to think about it, when I first arrived here. What if something happened to me because of your jobs? What if someone found out about me?” You shrug again, your thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “That’s a risk we all signed up for, right?”

He stares at you for a while, his hand still pressed against your cheek. You wish you could read his mind, see the thoughts turning those wheels behind his eyes. You wish he was an open book, something you could breeze right through like the ones on the shelves. Instead, he might be the most closed off person you’ve ever met. You’ve never even seen his face

Slowly he begins leaning forward, his gaze never leaving yours. If it hadn’t been for the mask, you might have thought he was leaning in for a kiss. You might have leaned in for a kiss, had he not been wearing the mask. Instead he leans forward until your foreheads are touching, his gaze finally leaving yours as his eyes flutter closed. You finally relax yourself, melting into him slightly as you sit there, breathing in the quiet moment. Something’s shifting, something’s changing between the two of you.

You’re not quite sure how it’s going to end, but you can’t deny the bond beginning to form between you and Simon.

NEXT ->

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #Simon Riley x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 9 months ago

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ The Prequel ] || [ Chapter 2 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 1: Kyle

All of last night you and your friends spent time tinkering with your profile, putting up the sexiest pics of you that you had, some of them from Instagram, some from your camera roll, and filling in all the fields of info you could…

And then you started checking out the profiles, definitely judging and roasting the men that popped on your screen (blame the alcohol), but always swiping right, regardless of what you (or them) thought of the most recent man on the screen.

But, once they left, you turned off the notifications and alerts from the app and went to sleep. You had acquiesced to downloading the app and making a profile, but the last thing you wanted was to be on that app constantly and get bombarded with DMs and Likes/Super-Likes…

The next day came and went and, as you sat in your kitchen after work, unboxing your take-out boxes of dinner, your group chat pinged with a text from Leah.

leah: How's Tinder going? 👀

You bit your lip and sighed as you typed out a response:

you: haven’t touched it all day bc i was at work. leah: Better touch it then!!

Rolling your eyes, you set the phone down on the table again, and locked the screen, as you began stirring the noodles you bought with your chopsticks.

Mia joined not long after with her own opinion.

mia: ive got a good feeling about today! ur gonna find a hot bloke i know it 🫶 im sending good energyyyy!

“Yeah, right…” You grumbled. But, once again, you acquiesced and clicked on the little flame-shaped app icon.

The app lagged at first, for a good 5 seconds, and then a bunch of DMs and Like notifications pinged your phone.

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself… Oh, how predictable men are… They see a picture showing just a bit more skin and they try to chat the person up. But, at the same time, it made you feel quite good…

You skim through the DMs you’ve already gotten, over 99 of them… And none of them tickled your fancy. Plenty of them were variations of “Oi.”, “Hey.”, “Hi.”... Not to mention the ones that were just directly asking you to meet up right from the get-go.

Returning to the groupchat, you text your friends a screenshot of the 99+ counter on both the DMs and the Likes, which causes them to break into cheers at you.

leah: Look at you!!!! mia: i knew it. you: not into any of them tho. mia: then go back to swiping girl!

Biting back a little groan, you returned to Tinder and flicked onto the Swiping page.

Surprisingly, now that you were alone (and kind of doing it against your will), it was a lot easier for you to not get lost over-analyzing the profiles and simply… mindlessly moving your finger.

Right.

Ew, that’s a catfish of a famous male model, Report.

Right.

“Kyle.” You said softly as you read the name on your screen. He looked adorable, with a squinted ‘the-sun-is-in-my-eyes’ smile. “29… A soldier… a Brummie…” You mused as you slipped a Chinese roll past your lips and chewed.

You took a screenshot of his profile and sent it quickly to your friends’ groupchat before you returned to Tinder. As you clicked through his photo gallery, you saw the push notifications pinging at the top of the screen.

leah: HE’S STUNNING! 😫 mia: 👀👀👀👀👀 mia: smash.

Chuckling, you continue going through his pictures. “Holiday photo, holiday photo, I seriously hope those are his nephews or something, mandatory picture in uniform, and… JESUS CHRIST, a warning would’ve been NICE?!” You said to no one in particular as your jaw dropped open and you almost dropped your Chinese roll.

“Bloody hell… Is that sweat or baby oil?” You asked yourself as you looked at his slick, bare chest in the mirror selfie he uploaded. “And is he cupping his-” You stopped that train of thought before it could go too far from the station.

Clicking the arrow in the corner you finally brought his profile into full-screen and proceeded to find yourself chuckling at his bio.

His pictures were all wonderful, he looked like a guy who took care of himself, and he was funny which was the best part.

Taking a deep breath, you press the Green heart at the bottom. A squeal escapes your mouth when the phone screen suddenly changes to the darker ‘It’s a Match!’ screen with Kyle.

Your eyes widen in surprise and, just as you press the DM button, intent on coming up with something to message him, you notice it.

Kyle: bought some shoes from a drug dealer this morning. don’t know what he laced them with but I’ve been tripping over myself all day and now think ive finally fallen for you 👀

The cheesy pick-up line has you closing your eyes and exhaling through your nose. It’s starting off terribly… But he’s the first bloke you felt inclined to text… That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

you: you fell out of a helicopter… i dont think its the shoes. i’m starting to think ur just clumsy. Kyle: holy shit you’re not a bot! let’s goooo you: a bot? you really thought that? Kyle: when someone has posted pics as cute as yours you cant help but have that worry in the back of your mind 😅 Kyle: or that ur a catfish 🤷‍♂️ you: i promise you im neither. you: and thank you. you’re cute too. Kyle: thats exactly what a bot/catfish would say 🙄 you: well how would a human talk then?? Kyle: cant tell you bc then ur gonna machine learn and start doing it you: well then how else am i supposed to prove im not either?? Kyle: let me take you out. let me get a proper good look at you. you: was that all a ploy to invite me out?? 🫠 Kyle: first time on tinder? you: that obvious huh? Kyle: a little. Kyle: so is that a yes? you: I’ll think about it. Kyle: i can work with that. 🥴 Kyle: hmu whenever youd like. no pressure.

Maybe you would hit him up later… Once you gained enough courage to go through with the whole ‘rebound’ thing.

Biting your lip, you click off the DMs and return to the Swiping page…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

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taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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queenimmadolla · 8 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.

Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.

“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.

Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.

Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

Interesting.

“No brains?”

Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”

Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

Why you? What did he want with you?

You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.

It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.

While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.

You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.

“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.

With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.

Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.

Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

You’d made him cry.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.

“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.

You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.

“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.

You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

“Uunngh.”

You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

He just blinked, almost owlishly.

Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.

“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

“You tryna knock me dead, too?”

When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.

With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.

“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.

“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.

“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

“Me?! I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

“Daddy…”

“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”

You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.

“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.

Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.

You’d have a loving parent.

You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.

Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.

The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.

Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

“Dang—anything else?”

“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.

Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

You were wrong.

The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.

You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.

You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.

He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.

Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You found him.

Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

He understood the sentiment all too well.

Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.

And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

I wish I was with you.

You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.

Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.

No sign of his uncle.

It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.

He knew where to go after.

Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.

Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.

He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.

So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.

The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.

He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.

FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.

It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.

Eddie heard a scoff.

“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.

Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.

The fuck was she doing in here?

It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.

Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.

She was invading your privacy.

If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.

He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.

Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.

If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.

Bitch.

Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.

See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.

He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.

“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.

Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

Served the hag right.

With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.

That one was for you.

Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.

While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.

You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.

Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

Oh, god. Just play it cool.

“Just some tampons and some chips.”

Leave. Walk out. Save face.

“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.

You were going for it.

“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.

You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”

Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.

She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.

You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.

“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.

At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.

You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

But it was yours.

When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.

You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

“Uuungh?”

You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.

As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.

“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.

“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.

“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

Laura.

“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

And for once, she scared you.

“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

Stepmother from hell, indeed.

“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.

You took a small step back. She took one forward.

“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.

“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.

“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.

Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.

“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

THUNK.

Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.

Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.

You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.

Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.

After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.

“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.

He shook his head.

“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.

Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.

“Mm-mm.”

You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.

He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.

It felt…like you mattered to someone.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.

“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”

He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.

“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.

“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.

Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.

“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.

Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.

A lightning bolt.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

And then it hit you. Lightning.

“OH.”

Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.

It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.

You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.

The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

No reaction.

“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”

You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.

The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

Well, you’d already started.

“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

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

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ganjas-shit · 7 months ago

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Oh, You’re Breaking My Heart

Summary: You get to the bottom of Billy’s feelings but will it be too late?

Pairings: Billy x reader, slight Steve x reader (nothing too crazy)

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexual intercourse, cursing, abuse, blood, harsh language, Neil Hargrove, angst, mention of drugs, mental illness, panic attack.

Authors note: So, turns out I will be turning this into a series but STILL don’t know how long yet! I hope you guys enjoy I’ve been working on this all day. Message me or comment if you’d like to be apart of the tag list! Thank you for your support <3

Chapter Two: You’re gonna be okay.

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The morning air was crisp and refreshing, like sipping cool water. It felt invigorating against your skin, awakening your senses to the day ahead.

You took one more deep breath, enjoying the cool air in your lungs and closed the door behind you, locking it with your house key, and made your way towards the front of your house waiting for Steve’s arrival.

You close your eyes before slapping a hand over your forehead. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, realizing you forgot to call him this morning. With his habit of sleeping in, you’d likely be late for the billionth time only this time you didn’t find it in you to care, the excitement from last nights events still lingered in your belly.

Billy showed a different side of himself, setting aside his usual arrogance and charm. This unexpected change only fueled your excitement, leaving you eager to learn more about him.

The sound of Billy and Max bickering snapped you out of your thoughts. Though you couldn’t discern their exact exchange, it was evident Billy had the upper hand as Max slammed the passenger door of his car. “Watch it, shitbird, or you’ll be walking to school!” Billy’s voice echoed with attitude and irritation. Neil’s sudden appearance brought a stern reminder for Billy to mind his words when speaking to his sister

As he was about to get into his car, your eyes met his ocean-blue ones, but they held anger towards you, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You immediately shook it off, offering him a wave and your bright, sweet smile. He maintained eye contact for a moment but disregarded your greeting, hopping into the driver’s seat of his blue Camaro.

You stood there, dumbfounded, watching him speed off, cringing at the loud sound of his departure. Did you do something? You thought to yourself.

You found the interaction between him and his father last night rather odd. His father’s presence was intimidating and uncomfortable, yet Billy left with a small smile directed towards you. It seemed like he was grateful for your conversation, so you couldn’t understand what could’ve happened.

Steve arrived momentarily, surprisingly on time, his burgundy bmw stopping right in front of you house. You climbed into the passenger side, a mixture of frustration and disappointment bubbling within you. With a heavy hand and a distracted mind, you slammed the passenger door of Steve’s car.

“Hey, easy!” He yelled, his tone irritated at your lack of consideration for his precious baby, bringing you back to the present moment. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shifting your belongings to the front of your legs and fastening your seatbelt.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve huffed. “Who pissed in your cereal this morning?” He glanced towards the driver’s window, checking for any incoming cars or pedestrians.

“Billy Hargrove,” you muttered grumpily, turning your gaze out the window as the trees and houses began to blur with the increasing speed of Steve’s car.

Steve looked over at you, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white in the process. “Yeah, well, at least you’re not being benched today because of him,” Steve said, his tone tinged with anger at the fact that Billy clearly upset you and at the realization that he’s not starting or playing the opening game today.

You remained quiet still distracted by your thoughts.

“What happened?” Steve asked, glancing over towards you. You straightened up and began explaining what had occurred the night before.

You started to explain the night in vivid detail to Steve, although he wished you wouldn’t have because he already didn’t like the idea of you and Hargrove together, and hearing the details made him inwardly vomit.

The car came to a halt when you had arrived at school. Steve parked and took the key out of the ignition, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"Billy’s always kind of had a weird temper, y/n," Steve spoke carefully. He wasn’t being judgmental; he's just been a firsthand witness to it. "Him and I have roughed each other up a couple of times," he admitted.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You guys fought?! MORE THAN ONCE? ” You felt a surge of anger; Steve had lied to you. “So that one day after school, when you had a bruised eye, it wasn’t from bumping into a locker, it was from Billy?!” You mimicked Steve’s stupid voice, scolding him.

Steve rolled his eyes at your reaction, his head hitting the back of his headrest. It was the very reason he didn’t want to tell you, because he knew you’d freak out like this. “Can you let me finish?” he asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

You waved your hands at him, signaling for him to continue.

“It was after practice one day, Neil, his dad had come to watch our scrimmage game,” Steve spoke.

Steve never forgot that day. Neil Hargrove looked like the biggest dick of a father anyone could have, and the way he spoke to Billy that day confirmed it.

"Billy, stop being a fucking pussy and get on defense!" Neil screamed, as if he were the assistant coach or something. Steve knew Billy could play defense; hell, he was the one who taught him to plant his feet properly.

Steve had the ball, with Billy defending closely. As Steve dribbled, scanning for an opening, he noticed Billy's distant and uneasy expression; it wasn’t filled with arrogance and a cocky smile like it usually was. "Hey man, you alright?" Steve asked, still dribbling. Billy's response was a glare of rage, yet he seized the opportunity. With a swift move, he snatched the ball from Steve's hand, pushing past him, sending Steve on his ass. Smoothly dribbling past him, Billy scored.

When Billy scored, he yelled and smiled as he usually did, then looked to the sidelines where his father stood, seeking some sort of approval or applause from him. However, he received nothing. Neil walked out, acknowledging nothing and Billy’s smile faltered immediately.

Coach Williams called an end to practice, and everyone left for the locker rooms to shower. Steve stayed for a couple more minutes to stretch his legs. As he walked out, he heard some yelling. Curious, he peeked over the wall to his right and saw Neil and Billy. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he did see Neil push Billy into the wall. Although he wasn’t close enough to hear the exchange, Billy looked frightened, and Neil appeared angry at God knows what. Steve witnessed Neil slap Billy once in the face, causing even him to flinch. With that, Neil left, leaving Billy there. Billy’s head hung low as he looked at his shoes and wiped his eyes.

Steve didn’t know what to do but he did what felt right. Again he asked like a broken record. “You alright?”

Billy flinched at the sound of Steve’s voice. “What did you see?” Billy spat with rage. Steve was confused and even hurt by his response. He was just asking if he was okay? Jesus Christ, was this kid always angry and defensive? Steve thought.

Steve decided Billy was a lost cause. He rolled his eyes, turned his back on him, and decided to just leave.

"Are you deaf?" Billy spat, his voice filled with anger, as he followed behind Steve and forcefully pushed his back, causing Steve to stumble and fall once again.

Steve's empathy ran out, replaced by anger. He got up and pushed Billy back. "Looks like you got some fire in you after all, Harrington!" he laughed manically. Steve noticed Billy's bloody nose, but it wasn't from him; it was from Neil.

Billy then charged at Steve, landing a punch on the right side of his face, and Steve retaliated almost instantly. They grappled and exchanged blows for a couple of minutes until Tommy H. and another teammate intervened to break up the fight.

You let out a deep sigh as Steve finished speaking.

Your heart broke for Billy; his father was a despicable, abusive piece of shit. You felt like an idiot for not seeing it earlier, but it still didn’t justify him taking it out on you. Did his father say something about you? You glanced sympathetically at Steve, who had tried to help and ended up with a blow to his right eye. Billy had no right, and while you don't excuse his behavior, you can't help but empathize with him.

"Just be careful with him, y/n," Steve said, his tone filled with concern. "He’s erratic and unpredictable," he added, his worry still evident.

Billy wasn’t a monster; you knew that. You also knew you could handle yourself; you didn’t need protection. After all, you had experience in this department; you dealt with a verbally abusive mother once upon a time.

You smiled at Steve. “I can handle myself. If I can handle the demogorgon, demo bats, and Vecna, I can handle Billy Hargrove,” you said, grabbing his hand that was resting on the center console and squeezing it gently. “Now let’s get to first period before clickety-clackety marks us late.” You finished letting go and opening the passenger door.

Steve did the same. “You know I hate when you and Robin call her that,” he said, now closing and locking his car. “It sounds nerdy,” he explained, speeding up to walk next to you.

Steve grabbed his hand attempting to calm the tingle he felt it in after your touch.

"Too bad," you said, playfully sticking out your tongue as you headed to class, earning you a classic Harrington eye roll. “Wait, how is that nerdy?” You chimed in again, sparking a lively banter between the two of you that continued until you reached class.

You got through your classes today only to be bombarded with more work.

The day you’d been dreading all week: the opening game of the season for Hawkins High.

You only ever enjoyed it when Steve played, but with him not playing tonight, the day seemed even worse. However, I suppose you could try to look on the bright side because it was Billy’s debut.

You walked around the gym, proud of yours and Billy’s work; the banners looked great. You double-checked that everyone was in their rightful place. Cheerleaders? Check. Band? Check. Student council? Check. Eddie Munson? Wait, Eddie Munson? At the Hawkins High opening game? No, it couldn’t be.

Eddie strode your way, wearing his infamous hellfire tee, paired with black ripped jeans and a silver chain that hung at the loops of them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You questioned, smiling, genuinely surprised to see Eddie Munson at the opening game.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m thinking about convincing coach Williams to let me join the basketball team,” Eddie said, mimicking shooting a basketball poorly. “Gotta work on my basketball moves,” he added, moving on to mimic dribbling, which was downright horrid.

“Clearly,” you said, laughing at his terrible performance. “Your form is so off, and you look like you have no rhythm,” you added with a chuckle.

“Oh, I have rhythm. But it’s all in the fingers, baby… And trust me, the ladies love it… both ways,” he said with a smirk, punctuating his words with a wink.

You roll your eyes. “Smooth, Casanova.”

“Why are you really here? Is it Chrissy?” you say, raising your eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner. “Or oh no, wait a minute, are you swooning over Billy Hargrove too?” you tease.

He scoffed slightly, his cheeks flushing at the mention of Chrissy’s name.

“No, but if you must know, O’Donnell said if I checked in with her after the game tonight, she’ll give me extra credit,” he explained, wiggling his eyebrows. You couldn’t help but laugh at how much of a dork he was.

But as you conversed, you couldn't help but notice the glares directed your way, especially from Carol and her friends, who were whispering about the two of you. Admitting it was difficult, but you found yourself affected by the things people said. It stung deeply; the cruelty of others weighed heavily on you, especially considering your own past involvement in similar behavior, which made you feel like you deserved the treatment you were receiving.

You shook off the thoughts that invaded your mind and refocused your attention back to Eddie.

“Wanna sit together? I have good seats in the student council section,” you said cheesing, reaching out to poke his stomach.

"Wow, Eddie Munson getting invited to the VIP section at his first Hawkins high basketball game? Count me in," he said, falling into step behind you as you headed towards the student section.

“You are such a dork.”

You and Eddie made your way to your seats, exchanging greetings with Robin as you passed by. Shortly after, the band started playing, and the basketball team began to roll in.

The team then huddled up and Coach Williams sent in the starting lineup, you felt the anticipation building. The game was about to begin.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Billy. Ever since Steve gave you a little insight into who he was, he had been on your mind all day. Despite your best efforts, he didn’t turn his head once to look at you in class today, You had hoped to catch him after class, but that ditz Tina beat you to it. Seeing him all over her made you physically sick. It was nothing new, but today it stung a little more.

Billy’s facade of arrogance and confidence was beginning to crack.

He wasn’t prepared for this game, his mind consumed by the events of the previous night. His father had never offered him approval, kindness, or any form of support. But he did for you, which only fueled his bitterness toward you. Billy had dedicated himself to sports, hoping to earn his father’s affection and love. And the only commendation his father ever uttered was about you, summed up in just two words.

“Nice girl.”

Billy came to the conclusion that that’s why his father made those comments about you, realizing that Neil was drawn to submissive, weak, and timid women. It gave him a sense of control, a power trip that he relished, and it was the only valid reason.

But, he knew you weren't weak; you stood up for yourself, you were resilient, but it unsettled him. Since the age of 13, Billy had been consumed by anger after his mother left. She abandoned him, leaving him with a void. In you, he found a sense of safety similar to what he felt with his mother. He was unexplainably drawn towards you. Yet, the thought of attaching himself to you terrified him, fearing you might leave just like his mother did.

The thought of his father wanting you for him unsettled him deeply and fueled his desire to rebel. His mind was a war zone; he was caught between conflicting feelings that were tearing him apart.

He couldn’t help but think that Neil wanted him to follow in his footsteps.

Tommy nudged his shoulder snapping him back to reality, “Hey? You ready to kick some ass Hargrove,” Tommy asked excitedly.

Billy nodded, mustering up everything within him to get his mind straight, but then he saw you in the crowd next to Eddie Munson.

His heart ached a little, he felt guilty about this morning, and he started to feel jealousy course through his veins as he watched you laugh with the mop-headed boy. He kept his eyes on you for so long that he completely missed the sound of the whistle going off.

Shit.

The opposing team took had the ball in play and Billy’s mistake was seen by the entire school resulting in the opposing team making their first point.

The crowd was visibly upset with their screams and yelling and this made Billy’s adrenaline increase and his heart rate was speeding up drastically. His father wasn’t present, dinner with his coworkers was much important than his sons first game but why was he hearing him in the crowd?

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING BILLY? WAKE THE FUCK UP.”

“YOU ARE WEAK JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER, SHE LEFT ME WITH A GOOD FOR NOTHING SON.”

“Pussy. Get up pussy.”

“Nice girl.”

His father's words echoed in his mind, panic rising. In the midst of the play, he signaled the refs with his right hand while clutching his tightening chest with his left, the crowd's screams growing louder.

“TIMEOUT. TIMEOUT.” Coach Williams screamed and the game came to a halt. The crowds screams turned into whispers and murmurs.

“Billy what’s gotten into you boy?” Coach Williams asked, “Can you do this or do I need to pull you out?”

“I need a minute.” Billy said gripping the chest of his uniform, making his way towards the nearest exit.

“HARRINGTON GET YOUR ASS UP YOU’RE IN,”

Billy held his gaze on yours, and yours remained locked with his. You both were so lost in each other’s eyes that the sound of the ref’s whistle made you jump. You cringed as Billy messed up, not because you cared about basketball, but because you knew how harsh the crowd could be.

Eddie looked from Billy to you, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Okay, what was that? ” Eddie spoke up, curious about the exchange of longing between you and the jock.

You sighed deeply.

“Eddie, I have a question,” you stated, your voice catching slightly. "Can I ask you about your dad?" you asked carefully, not wanting to upset Eddie or stir up painful memories.

“My dad?” Eddie questioned clearing his throat, confused at the sudden subject change, “Um yeah go head shoot,” he said as he crossed one arm over another. You looked over at Billy which didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie.

“After you got away from your dad, what was your personality like? Was it hard to trust people, let them in?” You asked refocusing your gaze to him.

Eddie briefly mentioned his dad while we were in the midst of hot-wiring his neighbor's RV a couple of months ago. And when you guys were gearing up for the upside-down, you had downtime leading to a deep talk about your parents, getting to know how bad Eddie had it growing up with his father. He was a schizophrenic, dope fiend, off his meds, obviously. His mother died of alcohol poising when he was about 7 years old, and he knew his father to be an addict his entire life, always in and out of jail, erratic, delusional, always up to trouble. His father didn’t take Eddie’s mother's death well; his mental state started to deteriorate, the drugs clashing with his illness more and more, and he started blaming Eddie for his mother's death, beginning to put his hands on him. Cigarette burns, bruises, black eyes—you name it, he had it.

CPS got involved, and his father was thrown into a psychiatric home. Eddie was alone, abused, for eight years until his uncle Wayne took him in at 15.

“Oh yeah, definitely. It took me a while to trust anyone,” he said with a dark chuckle. “My uncle Wayne was a patient man. I was rebellious, and I started to follow in my old man’s footsteps. It scared the shit out of me because I was hurting my uncle Wayne, but it was all I knew.” Eddie said, “My uncle Wayne taught me what love was, what it meant to be a true father. If I didn’t have that or some type of good in my life, I would’ve been screwed,” he reflected eternally grateful his uncle saved him.

You pulled Eddie in for a hug, grateful that he had shared with you, and he returned the gesture. After letting go, you took a deep breath, feeling a sense of clarity as you connected the dots.

“Billy’s in the same boat,” you admitted, “but he’s not letting me in,”

Eddie let out a sigh, looking at you sympathetically.

“You’re still a kid, y/n, and you’re not responsible for him. It took my uncle Wayne a while to snap me out of it. It wasn’t easy,” he said, looking over at you with genuine concern.

“Eddie, I’m far from a kid. I practically raised myself since my mom left. You’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” you said, slightly irritated at his reaction. Eddie regretted his choice of words, but he still meant them. You weren’t responsible. “He needs people like us around him. He’s not a bad person; he just doesn’t know any better, just like you at one point.” You said, your words making Eddie feel sympathy for Billy Hargrove.

The ref’s whistle blew, signaling the game was about to begin once again, and to everyone’s surprise, Steve was in?

“Holy shit! Yeah, Steve!” You exclaimed, leaping up from your seat in excitement. “Look, Eddie, Steve’s in!” With a playful slap on his chest, you urged Eddie to stand and join in applauding Steve’s entrance onto the court.

Eddie rolled his eyes and threw Steve a thumbs up filled with fake enthusiasm. You slapped his chest again, but this time it wasn’t playful; it actually hurt.

As the game commenced, you glanced over to the bench, Billy nowhere to be found. Concern gnawed at you, but you opted to give him his space, especially since he made it clear he didn’t want to be near you. You also needed time; you wanted to talk to him, but you didn't know how to go about it.

"I don’t understand the love for this stupid game. Don’t people know about D&D?" Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes, feeling ashamed he was even here.

“Oh, people know about it alright,” you said sarcastically, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “devil worshipper.”

Eddie dramatically gasped. "Take it back now or I’ll scream," he threatened, his voice filled with mock horror.

The night was an absolute blast. Steve's buzzer-beater brought the crowd to their feet, while Eddie's extra credit points from O’Donnell raised his grade to a D+. Principal Higgins even praised your role in the evening's success.

Steve confidently informed you about Billy’s failures, claiming he caught a bug that prevented him from continuing to play today. However, this seemed odd to you, considering he appeared perfectly fine this morning.

Billy was obviously lying.

You congratulated Steve as you bid him farewell, somewhat pleased to see King Steve back in action. Not wanting him to miss out on tonight's fun, you asked Eddie to give you a ride home.

The ride was nice and quiet which was much needed after todays events.

He dropped you off at home, and you made your way to your door. You jangled your keys until you found the right one and stuck it through the keyhole.

You found your way inside and you were welcomed to an empty house yet again, the same note still stuck to the fridge.

You went to your room and started to tidy it up until you heard the sound of Billy’s car pulling up, music blasting from it. He drove like such a maniac, he reminded you of Eddie.

You took a peek out your window and saw that he wasn’t alone.

Oh?

Tina was with him, and they were making out like fucking animals. This angered you beyond words. Did he have no consideration for his neighbors?

You opened your curtains aggressively, then your window which made a loud noise when it hit the top. You didn't know what came over you, but you couldn't care less.

"Hey! You two, mind shutting the fuck up?!" You yelled with all your might from your window, pulling Billy and ditzy Tina away from their heated make-out session.

"You mind fucking off?!" Billy yelled back. Your laughed bitterly which was then accompanied by a defiant middle finger thrown his way, to which he replied the same. With a frustrated sigh, you shut your window and cranked up the volume on your Walkman, drowning out the rowdiness from outside.

Your interruption infuriated him, rudely disrupting his moment with Tina and making things much more difficult between them.

“Billy maybe we should go somewhere else?” Tina purred, “Maybe lovers lake?” She implied, shoving her tits in his face.

"Nah, here will do. I can’t wait, doll," he said roughly, ripping the bra off her chest along with her panties. Billy’s dick was rock hard, it angered him so much, because all he could think about was you.

Tina lay sprawled out in his backseat, completely nude, and he couldn’t help but think about you, right next door, likely to hear every bit of it.

He lined his dick up at her entrance and hissed at the feeling. He closed his eyes and began to thrust mind falling back to you.

The way your nipples poked through your shirt that night, your perky tits filling his mind with so much imagination. Your flushed face and the way you clenched your thighs when he spoke to you, oh doll you don’t know what you’re missing. He was sure you hadn’t been touched properly with the way your body responded to him, hell, you probably hadn’t been touched at all.

Fuck, he thought, as he thrusted harder into the poor girl. If only she knew who he was imagining instead of her.

Her moans filled the car, echoing through the entire block. Billy was in for a treat tonight with his father.

"Oh god, Billy, right there, yes, yes!" She exclaimed with pleasure. Billy drowned out the sound of her voice and replaced it with the way you screamed at him a couple of minutes ago, you turned him on so much, especially when you were jealous.

Anger quickly consumed him again as he started to think about everything that took place yesterday, today’s game, and you. God, you were infuriating. You invaded his brain like some parasite, and he couldn’t decide whether it was a butterfly larvae destined to flutter around inside of him or a brain-eating parasitic worm who would gnaw at him for a eternity.

He fucked Tina harder, and harder feeling her clench beautifully around his cock. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his tan chest, the feeling quickly filling his body with pleasure, his movements starting to slow.

Unable to contain himself any longer, his groans grew louder.

“Ah, shit, fuck y/n,” he said with his eyes closed, tilting his head back cumming hard into the condom. As his high came down, he mentally scolded himself and closed his eyes once again, but this time in irritation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Tina screamed, pushing him off of her, “You’re fucking that freak?!” She yelled dramatically.

Billy rolled his eyes.

"Need a ride home, or are you walking?" Billy asked, his tone nonchalant as he completely disregarded her reaction, casually pulling up his pants and getting dressed.

Tina rolled her eyes back at him. “You’re fucking unbelievable, Hargrove. Take me home,” she huffed, quickly redressing herself.

Billy smiled, hopping into the front seat, and drove off.

Once he was done with that, he drove back home, preparing himself for what was about to happen.

"Left eye? Right eye? Nah, too noticeable. People will start asking questions. The stomach? Yeah, that's more of Neil's style," he laughed bitterly, talking to himself.

This is what he wanted. He didn’t care anymore. He always managed to piss his father off somehow, and it would never be on purpose. This was him taking his power back. He’ll give him something to be upset about, he thought, determination coursing through him.

Stepping out of the car, Billy was enveloped by the quietness of the night.

He walked up the steps of his porch and took a deep breath before opening the door. As he entered, there was Neil, seated on the couch as if he were some kind of king. Billy closed the door behind him, locking it securely.

The silence stretched on for a few tense seconds, with nobody daring to break it. Neil waited for an immediate apology, hoping to see Billy cower in fear, but as the apology failed to come forth, Neil's anger only grew more intense.

"You know, with the amount of times I've beaten you, you would think that respect is drilled into that thick fucking brain of yours," Neil spoke up, his voice laced with venom and rage.

Billy stood there unfazed by his father’s words, bored even.

"Don’t you get tired, Dad? Tired of being a shitty fucking father?" Billy spat, laughing bitterly. Neil's eyes widened, and he stood up. "When you act like a shitty parent, this is what you get—a shitty son," Billy finished, his words dripping with resentment and defiance.

Billy’s heart pumped vigorously.

“I pity you. You’re a coward,” he spat out with contempt.

Neil charged at Billy, causing him to fall onto his back, and started throwing punch after punch at his face. “Who do you think you are, huh?!” Neil stopped to grab the collar of Billy’s shirt, bringing his face up to his.

"Your son," Billy spoke, his voice wobbly, blood coming out of his nose, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He was deeply saddened by the poor excuse of a father he had.

Neil laughed dryly. “God, you’re a spitting image of her. You’re just like her too, pathetic,” he spat. “And I’m a coward? Are you forgetting that she abandoned you? She left you with me. What does that say about her?”

Billy now fueled with rage pushed Neil off of him and punched him dead in the face. All hell broke loose after that, with both men fighting seemingly to the death. Billy ended up on his back again, and this time Neil didn’t stop. Billy's vision started to blur, and the last thing he heard was Max and Susan's frantic voices as they attempted to pull Neil off of him.

You were drifting into a deep sleep until a loud banging on your door jolted you awake. Your eyes widened, and you got up immediately, the sound of your Walkman still playing in the background.

You ran towards the door as if it were instinct, and there stood Max. She was sobbing, tears staining her red cheeks.

“Max, what’s going on? Is he back?” you asked, reminded of what still lies beneath this town. Max shook her head vigorously.

“No, it’s Billy. Please, y/n, you need to help me and my mom get him into his car. Neil just beat the shit out of him and took off. We need to take him to the hospital!” She cried.

Without hesitation, you grabbed her hand and ran to the house next door. As you entered, you saw broken frames, beach shell decorations scattered everywhere, and broken glass littering the floor.

And there was Billy, his face bruised and gushing with blood. You wanted to sob instantly. The beautiful boy, with the most mesmerizing smile, lay unconscious on the floor, broken.

“I’ll take his arms, you two grab his legs. We need to move fast,” you said, suppressing every ounce of emotion and acting on pure instinct.

You all carefully descended down the steps, giving it everything you got, Billy wasn’t exactly light but you pushed with everything in you to get him into the back of that car. You fell into the back seat with him his head falling in your chest and Susan hopped in the drivers seat and max in the passenger seat.

You search Billy’s pockets and grab his keys, tossing them to Susan.

"Step on it, let's go! We have to hurry!" you said, your voice remaining calm but urging Susan to make haste.

Susan backed out of the driveway and stepped on the gas pedal of Billy’s car hauling ass to get to the nearest hospital.

You checked his pulse and confirming it’s still present, you notice his breathing is a bit light, sparking an overwhelming amount of anxiety within you.

You whisper softly in his ear, “You're going to be okay,” feeling tears welling up, but you quickly wipe them away, pushing your emotions down once more.

"Hey Susan, take a right here and pull into that spot," you instruct, recognizing the familiar surroundings.

You’d been here one too many times.

We pull right up to the emergency room entrance. Max rushes out, calling frantically for help. Two male nurses immediately respond, rushing out with a stretcher and opening the back seat of Billy’s car. You help him sit up slowly, and they swiftly pull him around with urgency, their movements slightly rough in their haste.

"Hey, watch it! Be careful with him!" you yell at the nurses, frustration and concern evident in your voice.

"Ma'am, please let us do our job," they respond firmly, their tone professional but reassuring.

We all hurriedly follow behind the nurses as they wheel Billy into the emergency room. A doctor approaches Susan, hoping for some insight into what happened so he can provide the best care possible. Susan tells him everything, providing as much detail as she can to assist in Billy's treatment.

"Please wait in the waiting room. We'll call you once we've assessed him and he's stable," the doctor says sympathetically, reassuring you as you reluctantly make your way to the waiting area.

You, Susan, and Max waited anxiously. Max buried her face into the crook of your neck, unable to contain her sobs. You brushed her hair gently, trying to offer comfort, but you were struggling to hold yourself together as well.

Being there brought back uneasy memories, and the uncertainty of Billy's condition only deepened your depression.

Over 25 minutes had passed, each second feeling like an eternity in the tense waiting room until,

"Miss Hargrove, miss Hargrove?" called a nurse, breaking the tense atmosphere. But as the nurse approached, her expression unreadable, a chill ran down your spine, leaving you to wonder what news she was about to deliver about Billy's condition.———————————————————————————

Taglist: @jennapancake @writethrough @callsignwidow @strlightfilms

Tags:

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #dacre montgomery #billy hargrove #eddie munson smut #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargove smut

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stormz369 · 1 month ago

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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 11

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: angst, little to no comfort yet

wc: 2.2k

Chapter Selection

Dick: heeeyyyy Jay?

4:03pm

Dick: … Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay??? Bruce is asking questions about your relationship.

4:45pm

Jason: And I'm ignoring them.

4:56pm

Dick: Well don't! It's important.

4:57pm

Jason: Not possible. It's not his relationship.

5:02pm

Dick: Look, I know you don't like sharing details with us, but Bruce is wondering how serious this is. Like … is she coming to the next Wayne Foundation Gala? Should we expect her at Christmas? Are you gonna tell her about your night job? These are things we kinda need to know

5:10pm

Jason: First of all, I'm not going to the next gala, so why would she? Second, it is way too early in the year to be worrying about Christmas.

5:15pm

Dick: … And the job?

5:25pm

Jason: … When do you tell someone something like that? We've only been together for a few months, but at the same time we've been together for /months/. It simultaneously feels too early and too late…

5:29pm

Dick: Yeah … you're asking the wrong guy, dude. I've only ever dated people “in the business” as it were … Tim might have some insights on that one.

5:31pm

Jason: Yeah, that's not happening.

5:38pm

Dick: Which leads us back to TALK TO BRUCE.

5:40pm

Dick: … DON'T YOU LEAVE ME ON READ YOU LITTLE SHIT!

6:30pm

Bruce: Call me

8:30am

Bruce: Jason, I just have a few questions for you.

9:30am

Bruce: Jason!

10:45am

Jason: Jesus Christ, B! Dick told me about your questions, I don't know what you want me to say! I have no answers for you, ok? This is all new, just let me figure it out!

10:50am

Bruce: As long as you're considering how best to approach the situation. I'm sure you realize you do not want someone else to tell her these things before you have the opportunity to. If you are serious about this relationship, sooner will be better than later.

11:02am

Jason: Believe me, I know. My worst nightmare is her finding out because some asshole tries to kidnap her. I know that us being together puts a target on her back, and if she doesn't know it's there she's at even greater risk. I know all this. It will be handled soon.

11:30am

Bruce: … That sounds pretty final; are you planning on ending things before something goes wrong?

11:41am

Jason: That would be the smart thing. The selfless thing. And I've considered it, I really have. … But I just can't. I don't want to. Can't I have just one good thing? Just this one, and I'll never ask the universe for anything else.

11:50am

Bruce: Jason, of course you can have good things! … But you need to find a way to tell her, before circumstance takes the choice from you.

11:58am

Jason: Working on it

12:04pm

Bruce: Good. We'll see you both at the gala next month then.

12:09pm

Jason: I think the fuck not!

12:10pm

Bruce: It's your turn, you have to come. And if you think that girl doesn't want to be shown off on your arm we'll need to revisit your training, because your observation skills are slipping.

12:15pm

Jason: … This kind of thing is exactly why I didn't want to introduce her to the family.

12:19pm

Bruce: Is it so hard to buy your girl a dress and spin her around the dance floor a few times?

12:30pm

Jason: If any of those socialites flirt with her I won't be held responsible for my actions.

12:33pm

Bruce: You will not threaten, attack, or arrange an attack on anyone at the gala.

12:37pm

Jason: Of course not

12:40pm

Bruce: That includes after they leave, Jason!

12:43pm

Jason: … Damnit.

12:50pm

“Thank god you got the security system in place, huh?” she chuckled a bit mirthlessly as they watched the news. The night before, Jason had installed new security measures around her apartment; better windows with strong locks -and bullet proof glass, but she didn’t know that-, motion detecting cameras on the balcony and front door, and stronger locks on both doors. Perfect timing too, because Bane’s escape from Arkham had just been announced.

Jason pulled her closer, stroking her back, and kissed her forehead. “Not gonna let anything happen to you baby. You just stay inside for a few days, ok?”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders; “can’t. Gotta go to work tomorrow…”

“... Please don’t. … Please, I’ll take care of your rent, just don’t go out there until the bats have him back in Arkham.”

She looked up at his face, frowning a bit. “Jay, we can’t let them hold us hostage in our own homes. He could be out for months, it’s happened before. Hell, if he doesn’t do anything immediately and someone else starts making trouble, he could be loose for years before they get around to him. Besides, it’s not like you’re not going to work while he’s out.”

This was it. This was the moment; he was going to tell her. The only reason he was going to work was because his work was putting Bane back in Arkham. Say it. Say it right now. … She needs to know, just say it. This is the moment… Maybe she’ll stay inside if she knows, then she’ll be safe. Say it. …

“... then … let me take you to work? And pick you up at the end of your shift too.”

“... Just for a few days.” She nodded, kissing his cheek.

He sighed, stroking her shoulder, and held her close. … Coward.

A week later they were sitting on the floor in her apartment, legs crossed, knees touching, both wearing short sleeve shirts. Jason's wrists were resting on his knees, so she could see his arms. He refused to look in her eyes; this was too awkward.

The point was to slowly get him acclimated to the idea that she was a safe person to show his scars to. His forearms had some of his less gruesome scars, mostly cuts and a few old burns, and he was already less uncomfortable with her touching him there, so it seemed like the most reasonable place to start. She gently squeezed his hands, looking down at them. Not touching yet, just sitting with the fact that they were there.

“... Can I ask how you got them?”

This was it. This was the moment; he had to tell her now. Tell her. Tell her where they came from. Tell her what you do. Do it. Right now…

“... Um … well, …”

He was trying to find the right words, how to start this conversation. But all she saw was hesitation. So she squeezed his hands, smiling gently; “it's ok if you're not ready.”

It really wasn't. He knew it wasn't; she deserved the truth, she needed the truth, and she needed it soon. But it felt like too big of a thing to just say all of a sudden, and it was so easy to accept the easy out. He squeezed her hands back, smiling weakly.

“... I love you.” Just give him a little longer, he silently begged the universe; he'd tell her soon, just not today. Give him a little longer.

“I love you too, Jay~” God, how he hoped that would still be true when he finally told her…

“What do you think?” She spun on the pedestal, showing off a green dress. Jason and Steph had taken her to get a gown for the gala; Jason would have been happy for it to be just the two of them, but she insisted she needed a girl's opinion too.

Steph grinned. “I love that silhouette on you. … But the color ….” She waved her hand in a ‘so-so’ motion.

“What's wrong with the color?” She frowned, looking down at herself.

“Nothing, you look beautiful.” Jason smiled softly.

“But it'll look like Christmas!” Steph exclaimed.

She tilted her head, frowning. “Christmas?”

Steph nodded emphatically; “Jason only has one tie for these events, and it's red!”

“Oh! Well then I need a red dress!” She grinned, gathering up the skirt and running for the changing room. “I wish you had the tie with you to compare …”

“I can find a picture!” Steph grinned, going through her Waynebook photos.

Jason blinked a bit, not fully sure what was happening. “... Y- … huh? … you wanna wear red?”

She reemerged, grinning; “Of course; I want everyone in that room to know at a glance that I'm your girl~” He blushed bright red, letting her take his hand and pull him toward a selection of red dresses. Steph smirked a bit, following along to help find a few dresses that would match his tie nicely.

She blushed brightly and giggled at the soft groan that emanated from Jason's throat when she came out in a dress with a high slit and off the shoulder sleeves. Steph smirked; “That sounds like a yes to me.”

“Hmm…” She shifted and squirmed a bit in front of the mirror, frowning at her reflection. “I dunno about this one…”

Jason stood behind her, offering her his hands. “Why not? You look incredible…”

She blushed more, taking them. They stood in the mirror, him behind her and to the side a bit, her hands resting in his like he was leading her onto the dance floor. “I dunno, … the slit is really high, and the off the shoulder sleeves sit in a way that draws attention to my arm fat…”

Jason frowned, gently squeezing her hands. “And?”

She chuckled a bit, looking at his face in the mirror. “What do you mean ‘and’?”

“You're gorgeous. If anyone tries to tell you otherwise it's because they're jealous of how effortlessly beautiful you are. You're going to be the most stunning girl at that entire stupid gala. Really, getting to see you outshine all those hoity-toity-stick-up-their-ass bitches is going to make it worth going.” The sincerity on his face almost made her believe it. She giggled, turning toward him.

“... I haven't danced since P.E. in middle school…”

“We'll practice. Come on, let's practice.” He gently guided her away from the mirror. He guided her hand to his shoulder, then held his hand by her side, hovering a bit. “Can I touch?”

She nodded, grinning, and his hand finally rested against her side, gently guiding her in a simple waltz. Neither of them was particularly graceful, but Jason had the most basic steps memorized from years of being forced to attend Wayne functions. They stared into each other's eyes, mesmerized by the adoration and security they found in each other.

The trance was broken by Stephanie's coos of; “Aww, you two are adorable~”

Jason cleared his throat, smiling softly. “So … this dress?”

She looked in the mirror again, fanning out the skirt a bit. “... You like it that much?” He nodded, unable to tear his eyes off her, and she grinned. “Ok, this one then.”

Steph spent the next hour helping her find shoes that she'd be able to walk and dance in before they were finally able to check out.

That night at her place, Jason offered her a plate and kissed her cheek. She was, inexplicably, excited about the gala, she had fun picking out a dress, and now he was going to butter her up even further with her favorite dinner. She beamed, leaning into the kiss, and blinked in surprise as he sat behind her, gently pulling her to lean against his chest.

“... Babe?”

He hummed softly. “Yeah?”

“... You're … this is good?”

He nodded, arms wrapped around her waist, and kissed her shoulder. “This is good. Eat up~”

She grinned, trying not to vibrate with excitement, and ate happily. “Mh~ it's perfect~ thank you~”

“Of course~” Everything was falling into place. It had been a perfect day. There was no way she could be angry that he'd kept this from her for so long, right? She'd forgive him. She'd understand, and she'd love him anyway. She would… right?

Although, maybe he shouldn't be sitting so close when he told her. If it scared her, she might think him being behind her was a threat. And with him touching her like this, she was trapped against him. He didn't want her to feel trapped. He needed to find a casual way to let go of her, and get to the other side of the room so she would know she was safe when he told her … but he was so comfortable here … maybe just one more minute like this.

… Besides, it was better not to ruin her dinner. … Actually, maybe he shouldn't do it today. He didn't want her to associate the meal with this news, after all. Plus, they had the gala coming up, if she was upset she'd feel beholden to him, to go together even if she was upset. He didn't want that. No, maybe he should do it after the gala.

… Yeah, after the gala…

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#fanfic #fanfiction #dc fanfic #jason todd #dc #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader #first person pov #wayne family adventures #no use of y/n #multi chapter fic #Can I Get Your Number?

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lordprettyflackotara · 4 months ago

Text

Hitchhiker || Chapter Fourteen || The Proxies

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: hella smut, hoodies a dick, rough sex, hair pulling, degrading, violence for like two seconds, just a sprinkle of blood but no blood kink, readers a horny ass mf, face fucking, breath play, slapping

<— previous chapter

You laid flat against the metal examination table, trying your hardest to not visibly cringe at the feeling of the coolness against your skin.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean you’re quite literally just now getting your stitches out. Then you plan to learn how to fight within the hour?” Nova questioned. EJ’s hands were oddly hot to the touch as he removed your stitches, his lips sealed as Nova went on her motherly lecture. Tim was right beside her, arms crossed and cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. How he convinced EJ to let him smoke in the cabin, you’d never know.

“This is extremely absurd and just, you know, ugh!” Nova exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried not to look down, your wound finally healing to your liking. The last thing you’d do was fuck it up now. “It’s also reckless, endangering, and just the slightest bit stupid,” Tim added. You rolled your eyes are EJ took a step back, his job now done. “You’re gonna have a g-gnarly scar,” Toby chimed in. You sat up, both Nova and Tim in a hurry to guide you to slow down. “Will you two knock it off? Jesus Christ,” You hissed. You shoved both of them off of you, rising to your feet.

“If training with Brian or Hoodie makes them feel better about Cat Hunter being a peeping tom then so be it,” You continued. You went to storm down the hallway, annoyed at the relentless overprotectiveness. Tim caught up with you, the sound of Nova, Toby, and EJ all bickering growing more distant as you walked forward.

“Yeah but you’re not training with Brian, you’re training with Hoodie.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Brian would go easy on you. Hoodie likes to see people in pain.”

“Luckily for me i’m a masochist, so that’ll work out.”

You steered into the nearest bathroom, pulling your hair into a ponytail. “He’s not going to take it easy on you,” Tim continued. You tightened your ponytail, before sliding a long sleeved shirt over your head. “I wouldn’t want him to. Cat Hunter certainly wouldn’t,” You replied coolly. You doubted anything could hurt more than being stabbed. You briefly stared at the scar that now tainted your skin, before shoving your shirt all of the way down. Picking up hand wraps you wrapped them around your hand, ensuring a good portion of your knuckles were secured.

You went to turn out of the bathroom, Tim hot on your trail. In the spare bedroom you had been sleeping in apparently Brian had rearranged it, shoving everything into the corners to give you both space to tussle. Just as you reached the door, Tim grabbed your shoulder to stop you from darting inside. “Hoodie’s weak point is his legs. They move faster than the rest of him. If he gets you on the ground knock his feet out from under him,” Tim instructed. You met his gaze, the brunette pulling the cigarette out from between his lips.

“Got it.”

You turned to the door, your fingertips just barely grazing the handle.

“Hey y/n?��

You sighed, looking over your shoulder, “Yes Tim?”

Tim grinned mischievously, taking a long inhale of his cigarette.

“Beat his ass for me, will ya?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself into the room. Hoodie’s gaze instantly fell on you, giving you a small wave. “I’ve gotta warn ya, I will not be going easy on you,” He said cautiously. You closed the door behind you, the door clicking shut. “So I keep hearing,” You mused. Hoodie raised an eyebrow, his puzzled expression one concealed under his mask. “It’s not a joke. Cat Hunter won’t have mercy on you and I won’t either,” He informed you. Shifting your weight on each foot, you narrowed your eyes. “Are you just going to yap or are you gonna hit me?” You asked cockily.

It was then you had wore out Hoodie’s patience, the proxy throwing himself at you. A flash of mustard yellow temporarily blinding you, your feet throwing you to the left. You narrowly missed his punch, causing him to stumble into the wall behind you. “See? I’m not as easy as you thought I was gonna be,” You gloated. He gritted his teeth, shooting daggers in your direction. Swiftly he turned around, grabbing you by your waist. You had expected him to throw you down on the bed, your eyes widening in terror as he threw you down on the ground instead. The air was knocked out of your lungs, a shooting pain going up your back.

Gasping for air you clawed at the ground, forcing yourself onto your elbows to prop yourself up. “Again,” Hoodie said plainly. Unsurely you rose to your feet, rising your fist. Hoodie frowned at the sight, grabbing your small fist. “Untuck your thumb. You’ll break it if you tuck it inside of your hand,” He advised. You used his brief instruction to your advantage, kicking his shin as hard as you could. Hoodie glared at you, seething as he launched himself at you. You managed to dodge a couple of his punches, one of them finally landing on your nose. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over you, your vision briefly hazy. You stumbled back a few steps, your fingertips touching your nose.

Drops of blood coated your fingertips, your breath becoming shallow. You looked up at Hoodie, your once lover now turned into a sadistic fighting machine. “Hoodie I’m done,” You say firmly. You went to turn towards the door, his large hand grabbing your forearm. He twisted it backwards, a yelp of pain escaping your lips. “You’re done when I say you’re done,” He hissed. Panicking you stomped on his foot, the man gritting your teeth as he released your arm. You quickly turned around your palm connecting with his face. The impact was softer than you would’ve liked it to be, the mask providing some sort of cushion to him.

When you realized the impact wasn’t as strong as you wanted it to be, you lifted your knee. With all of your strength you kneed him in the crotch, the masked man instantly hunching over. You were breathing deeply at this point, taking a couple of steps backwards. You wiped your upper lip, the crimson paint smearing across your hand. You tried to ignore the nauseating sensation, watching as Hoodie collected himself. He steadied himself against the wall, panting as his mind was in a whirl wind. You swallowed, bending over and leaning against a wall. You put your hands on your knees, the blood from your nose dripping onto the floor. It was then the bedroom door swung open, a horrified Tim standing in the doorway. His gloved hands gripped the wooden frame, before storming inside.

Unfortunately, he saw what you and Hoodie were too blind to see. Hoodie, an alter who was created due to his sadistic tendencies, up to a certain degree lacks self control. From personal experience Tim knew it didn’t matter how much he cared for someone. Once he felt that nagging little shock of pleasure from inflicting pain, it was over. His common sense and personal feelings towards the individual were overridden. Offering to train you of all people was a terrible idea. Now you on the other hand, were too stubborn to know when to quit. Hoodie could’ve beat you to a bloody pulp and you’d egg him on to continue until you lost consciousness. Both of your ignorance only made Tim more angry.

“Enough of this bullshit! Y/n you’re fucking done. Go get cleaned up,” Tim barked. You shot him a dirty look, his face briefly showing concern as his gaze fell on your bloody nose. You forced yourself to stand up straight, cracking your back as you did so. Hoodie yanked off his ski mask, a visible purple bruise forming around his eye. Had you hit him that close to his eye? You swallowed as you two looked at each other, both of you sharing the same thought. “Get out Tim,” Hoodie said calmly. Tim felt like a hopeless mother, whose two children had turned to the devils crack. “What?” Tim sputtered. You didn’t break your eye contact with Hoodie, the fight far from over. “You heard him, get out,” You repeated. Tim stood his ground, before shaking his head.

“If I hear anymore thudding i’m coming back,” Tim muttered. Against his better judgment he grabbed the door handle, walking out of the room. “No Tim to save you now,” Hoodie taunted. The sadistic smirk that crept up his lips made him almost look like a foreign stranger to you. “Wouldn’t wanna have it any other way,” You replied. Before you could comprehend it, Hoodie was on you. Your back clashed with the closest wall, his large gloved hand wrapped around your throat. You squirmed under his grasp, swallowing as he restricted your airway. “Cmon. Fight me off. Get on with it,” He instructed mockingly. You thrashed your limbs underneath him, your finger attempting to pry his hand off of your throat.

Your attempt to move your legs annoyed Hoodie, the oldest proxy wedging his knee in between them. He stared down at you mercilessly, noting the audible whimper that left your lips. Hoodie recognized that sound. It wasn’t one you released from genuine pain. He chuckled darkly, smirking down at you. "I knew you weren't as vanilla as Brian wanted to make you seem," He snickered. Re-adjusting his fingers he squeezed your throat tighter, your breath forced to become shallow. He pushed his knee up higher, rubbing right against your throbbing core. You let out another whimper, your body betraying you. "Fuck you," You hissed, your fingers were still attempting Hoodie's off of your neck. This seemed to only amuse him further.

"I fuckin knew it. Brian tried to tell me otherwise but I knew you were a pain slut. You looked so happy after Masky had his way with you," Hoodie told you. Hoodie could feel your pulse quicken under his grasp, a sadistic grin spreading across his lips. He leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry i'll make you feel way better then Masky. You want that, don't you?" He purred. His teeth grazed your earlobe, your hips involuntarily grinding down against his knee. "Just say the word, i'll leave you squirming," Hoodie instructed. You nodded profusely, mumbling an agreement as you grinded down against his knee. "Good whore. But first, you owe me," He hissed. He released you from his grasp, shoving you down onto your knees. You ignored the harsh wood that dug into your knees, your focus centered on the man who stood before you.

"Open your goddman mouth," Hoodie barked. He began to undo his belt, before shoving his pants and boxers down in one shift motion. You flattened out your tongue, your mouth watering at the sight of his cock as it stood in front of your face. Hoodie pushed you backwards, the back of your head hitting the wall. "If you try to pussy out and use your hands i'll cut em off. Understand?" He asked. You nodded, opening your mouth. It felt restrictive, the inability to move making you wetter by the minute. You kept your hands on your knees, Hoodie quick to shove his cock to the back of your throat. The unexpected action made you gag, your eyes watering and head going to move out of instinct. Your eyes only widened more when you realized you had no where to go, your lungs running out of oxygen. "Loosen your jaw slut, cmon," Hoodie grunted. You tried to complete his request, your focus shifting to breathing through your nose.

Your fingers clawed at your knees, the man finally beginning to buck his hips. He pulled out slowly, before ramming his cock back down your throat again. His soft grunts and the sound of his cock abusing you flooded your ears, your core throbbing with desire. "Touch yourself for me. Go on slut. Desperation is painted all over your slutty face," Hoodie huffed. He continued to fuck your face, your hand now slipping down to your cunt. You drew circles around your clit, relishing in the feeling of some sort of friction. Your groans sent vibrations around his cock, the man above you biting his lower lip to conceal his sinful noises. "I should've done this sooner. Such a perfect mouth," Hoodie panted. He gripped the bottom of your chin, holding your face in place as he held his cock down your throat. "You're such a pathetic whore. Allowing me to use you like this," He taunted. He briefly pulled his cock out of your throat, your lungs gasping for air.

Saliva trickled down your chin and his shaft onto the floor, his hand still holding you firmly. "I have a surprise for you doll face," Hoodie snickered. He watched as your hand continued to circle your clit, getting off on every word that came out of his mouth. He dug in his back pocket, pulling out your missing pair of red panties. The moment your brain registered what he was holding, he shoved them in your mouth. You cringed at the feeling of the fabric against your tongue, the man crouching down before you. You could faintly taste something salty in the clothing, your hand not letting up for a moment. "Do you know how long i've waited to have you like this? All horny and desperate? At my disposal?" He asked. Mockingly he stroked your cheek as lovingly as he could muster, your eyes full of lustful terror. "You can't blame me for using your panties to get off. You were too busy taking my best friends cocks," He grinned, tapping your face.

You felt so disgusted, that disgust only making you wetter. "So desperate to get off huh? You'd cum just from my words?" Hoodie mused. You felt your face flush red as you realized your hand hadn't let up for a moment. Hoodie grabbed you, taking your place and sitting against the wall. He roughly grabbed your shorts and panties, practically ripping them off of you. He grabbed your waist, forcing you to straddle his thigh. "Go on doll face. Get yourself on my thigh," He ordered. Unsurely you put your hands on his shoulders for support, grinding your cunt down against his thigh. You could visibly see a wet patch forming against his jeans, Hoodie's hand slowly jerking his own cock. With his other hand he grabbed your throat, forcing you to look at him in the eyes.

"Just know if you cum on my thigh I won't make you cum again," He informed you tauntingly. You gripped his shoulders tighter, your desire to cum clouding your judgement. You continued to roll your hips against his thigh, the rough material of his jeans only sending waves of pleasure up your spine. Your eyes threatened to flutter shut, a sharp slap delivering itself to your face. You yelped in pain, Hoodie chuckling darkly as your skin turned bright red. "Doesn't feel so nice being hit, does it?" He taunted. You shook your head no, your sinful noises muffled by the panties wadded in your mouth. Hoodie was growing impatient, his large hands grabbing your waist forcing you to grind against him faster. "I'm getting bored doll face. Better hurry up and cum before I change my mind," He threatened. You moaned loudly, your clit brushing against him just right. The cord inside of your stomach tightened, your orgasm coming faster than you would've liked it to.

You bit down on the fabric, a muffled warning unable to escape your lips as his fingers dug harder into your hips. "Hoodie!" You cried, pawing at his chest as you came on his thigh. You felt humiliated, your juices soaking his pants. "Oh you slut, you've done it now," Hoodie huffed. He grabbed you again, repositioning you to his liking. This time he forced you to your feet, your face and chest smushed against the wall as Hoodie positioned himself behind you. One of his large hands cupped your head, the harsh wood scraping against your cheek as Hoodie rubbed him up and down your soaking folds. You squirmed under the sensation of his tip brushing against your swollen clit. "You're such a fucking tease, you know that? Letting us all use you but making me go last?" He hissed. You swallowed as he shoved himself inside of you, your eyes screwing shut. Your walls struggled to get accustomed to his girth, your gummy walls clinging onto his cock as he shoved himself in deeper.

"You're paying me back though, aren't you doll face?" He snickered. He leaned closer to your ear, his cockiness practically radiating off of him. "I'll be able to watch you fall apart on my cock again and again and again," Hoodie whispered. Your eyes widened, his hand guiding you to look to your left. Sure enough, an old fashioned camera sat on the bed, pointed directly at the two of you. "You always wanted to be an actress right? Congratulations on your first big role," Hoodie chuckled. He fully bottomed out inside of you, grabbing both of your arms. He pinned them behind your back, face now fully smushed against the wall. He yanked your panties out of your mouth, relishing in satisfaction as your own saliva trailed down your chin at its removal. "Gonna wanna hear you moan my name over and over," He grinned. He began to slowly move his hips, his fingers harshly digging into your arms.

Hoodie tossed the panties aside, the unholy noises finally falling from your lips freely. You whined as he began to pick up the pace, his cock brushing against your g spot. “I make you feel so much better than the other two, don’t I?” Hoodie purred. The pain had fully faded into pleasure, your eyes fluttering shut as you let the man behind you use you as he pleased. When you failed to respond he delivered a sharp slap to your ass, causing your legs to quiver. “Answer me slut. I’m better than them, aren’t I?” He growled. You babbled a mindless agreement, strings of curses leaving your lips as he pounded into you. Hoodie watched as he thrust into you, your juices creaming around his cock. It made him fuck you harder, your moans only growing louder.

“Such a noisy whore,” Hoodie snarled. He grabbed a handful of your hair, his other hand ensuring your arms were held behind your back. “Open your eyes slut. Tell the camera how good I make you feel,” He grunted. His thrust were merciless, his cock abusing your g spot as it pleased. “So good, so fucking good Hoodie,” You groaned. You cringed as he yanked at your hair harder, pounding into you so hard he was fucking you against the wall. “I’m gonna cum in you. Understand? You’re my fucking cum dump,” He huffed. He could feel your walls squeeze him tighter at the sound of his filthy words. “Awe you like that don’t you? If I could have it my way i’d keep you chained to my wall so I could fill you up anytime I want to,” He groaned. He could feel himself getting close, your walls milking his cock. “Fuck, such a tight fucking hole,” He mumbled. With those words his hips stuttered, his cum painting your inner walls. You bit your bottom lip, your own orgasm still boiling in the pit of your stomach. Hoodie groaned as he pulled out of you, watching his cum drip down in between your inner thighs.

“Fucking hell,” He mumbled. Slowly you turned around, meeting his satisfied gaze. “What about me?” You asked. Hoodie tilted his head to the side. “What about you?” He replied. He began to redress himself, the action making you form a look of horror. “Y-you didn’t make me cum,” You stuttered. Hoodie buttoned up his pants, taking a step towards you. “I told you if you came on my thigh I wouldn’t let you cum again. Listen better next time doll face,” He grinned. He planted a kiss to your forehead before fixing his belt. “Go clean yourself up, you’re filthy,” Hoodie teased, cocking his head towards the door. Humiliated, you glanced over at your shorts, shoving them back on as your core continued to throb. You trudged to the main bathroom, only to find it locked.

Fuck.

You stormed down the stairs, the living room empty. Using EJ’s bathroom was not something you wanted to do, but you needed to find somewhere private. You crept into his bathroom, flicking the light on. It was empty. You sighed as you shut the door, clicking the lock shut. Glancing in the mirror you looked like a fucked out mess, your spit still staining your chin along with the dried blood from your nose. You studied yourself for a moment, before trying to comb through your hair. It was then you heard an all too familiar voice.

“Fuck Jack! Please don’t stop, fuck!”

Your face turned red as you realized the wall to his bathroom and bedroom were connected. You could hear Jack grunt as he pounded into Nova in the other room. The walls were so thin you could hear the sound of skin clapping together. You knew it was wrong, the way her moans made your core throb. You put one hand over your mouth, concealing your loud breathing. With the other you brought two fingers to your aching clit, drawing fast circles around it.

“You like that? Yeah? Fucking take it.”

You had hardly heard Jack speak, but the sound of the two of them going at it was enough to get you off. That you were sure of. It was then you heard the shower curtain move, heat running to your cheeks. “H-hello gorgeous,” Toby greeted. He climbed out of the tub, watching as you scrambled to remove your hand from your shorts. “Toby! What the fuck are you doing in here?” You whisper yelled. Toby shrugged, taking note of your frazzled appearance. “There’s t-two bedrooms in this house. Both of which had couples f-f-fucking in them when I wanted to nap. I’ve slept in bath tubs before,” He explained. He brought himself closer to you, pressing you against the sink. His fingertips teasingly traced your jawline, making you shudder under his touch.

“Did y-you come in here to t-t-touch yourself? To the sound of EJ f-fuck-king Nova?” He whispered tauntingly. You felt your face go red. “No I didn’t! Hoodie didn’t let me cum,” You whined. Toby grinned at your confession. He shoved your pants down to your ankles, exposing your glistening cunt. “Why didn’t you just s-say so? I’ll take care of you,” Toby purred. He dropped to his knees, bringing his mouth to your aching heat. You gripped onto the sink, your hand flying back over your mouth as he began to devour your cunt. His large, slender hands pried your thighs apart. He licked Hoodie’s cum from off of your thigh, cleaning you entirely with his tongue. You whined as he sucked at your clit, trying your hardest to keep your sinful noises concealed.

“F-fuck, i’m gonna fucking cum, please let me cum Jack!”

Nova’s moans and pleas echoed through out your ears as Toby lapped at your folds. You gripped his hair with your other hand, grinding against his face. Toby gripped your thighs harder, his bony fingers promising to leave bruises in the morning. You could feel the cord inside of you tighten, your walls tightening around Toby’s tongue as he teased your entrance.

“Thats it, cum for me.”

Jacks words sent you over the edge, your body too desperate for release to ignore his command. You bit your bottom lip so hard you were sure it was bleeding, releasing all over Toby’s tongue. You squirmed as he cleaned you with his mouth again, swallowing every drop of your cum. He brought himself to his feet, undoing his belt. “C-cumming for Jack? W-when you d-don’t even know him? Filthy fuckin s-slut,” Toby whispered. He shoved his pants down, his cock springing out and brushing against your folds. He was quick to shove himself inside of you, your cunt dripping wet. “You s-should be thanking me f-for fucking you,” He growled. Faintly you could hear Jack and Nova resume their own sinful activities, her moans anything but subtle.

Toby realized you were distracted, a frown forming across his lips. He grabbed your clit between his index and middle finger, squeezing it hard. You whined, your eyes widening as you looked up at Toby. “Thank m-me whore. T-thank me for fucking y-you,” He huffed. You nodded, whispering babbles of gratitude as he began to thrust his hips into you without warning. You could taste the metallic liquid dripping into your mouth as you bit your bottom lip, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Toby fucked you. He watched as your body went limp, allowing him to use you as a mindless sex doll. Toby noticed you were bleeding, forcing your hand away from your mouth.

He shoved his tongue inside of your mouth, lapping at the blood as it spilled from your bottom lip. You groaned, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your final orgasm. Which each snap of Toby’s hips you found yourself lost in euphoria, your eyes fluttering shut as you came one last time. Toby swallowed your moans, groaning into your mouth as he came inside of you. You were a panting mess, leaning your head back against the mirror. “D-don’t worry i’ll get you a plan b,” Toby mumbled, slowly slipping out of you. You found the strength to sit up, Nova and Jack’s sinful noises still audible as they went at it like wild animals.

“Hey can you pick me up a pair of scissors when you go?”

“What do y-you need that for?”

“Brian needs a haircut.”

—> next chapter

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tieronecrush · 1 year ago

Text

hot & heavy

neighbor!joel x f!reader

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

series masterlist

chapter one: southern nights

chapter two: couldn’t look away

chapter three: show me how

chapter four: american pie

chapter five: try to walk away

chapter six: remember when

chapter seven: a conversation stuck in your throat

chapter eight: up north

chapter nine: jesus christ 2005 god bless america

chapter ten: a hidden gem, my own goldmine

chapter eleven: star-spangled eyes

chapter twelve: sunshine baby

chapter thirteen: hot blood & heavy memories

chapter fourteen: stuck by the glue

epilogue: our love is going gold

series extras

firecracker on a crowded street playlist - spotify / apple

#writing #me #h&h masterlist

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butchcarmy · 6 months ago

Text

Blood Orange (Ch 2: The Bathroom)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18, MDNI)

Rating: E (5.7k)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 1

Chapter Summary: No more fucking your boss. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but he doesn’t make it easy, even as you find yourself wanting to scream. Somehow it all falls away when you lower yourself to your knees before him. You don’t know if there’s any stopping this anymore.

Content Tags: work sex, blow jobs, mouth fucking, CUM PLAY, dom/bossy carmy, coworkers with benefits, carmy being difficult, mental illness, they/them reader, gender neutral reader, the usual

A/N: WHEW. It’s here! Thanks for waiting y’all. I think I embarrassed myself writing this one (flushed emoji). It’s ramping up. Next chapter is gonna be big one. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy! <3

Before you go to work the next morning, you make yourself come on your fingers. It would've been twice if you had more time.

You open your eyes waking from a dream with his ghostly blue eyes and low voice, and you already know you're wet before you even touch yourself. The pads of your reaching fingers chase the tender spot Carmy stroked inside of you, but they don't quite make it. Of course they don't.

Fingering yourself eases the ache for a little while. On the early morning transit with headphones over your ears, you still manage to find yourself aching for him. The music doesn't cover up the sound of his voice, and you catch yourself grimacing in the faint reflection of the dirty metro windows.

This is not a good way to start your second day at work.

Since you left the walk-in yesterday, Carmy's been following you around like a mosquito in the summer, whizzing around your head, buzzing in your ears. You can't rid your thoughts of him. When you close your eyes, you're trapped in the fridge with him, again, and his fingers are deep inside you.

Fuck. You're standing in front of the restaurant, willing yourself to go in. Just stop it, you think to yourself.

You really should be more mad at him. He technically never apologized for insulting you, but you suppose you didn't expect him to in the first place. You didn't usually get apologies at places like this, from people like him. You don't want to get in the bad habit of expecting good things from broken people.

No more fucking your boss, you think resolutely to yourself, and that's the thought you meditate on as you open the door.

By this time yesterday, there were already a couple of people floating around the kitchen. Today, you find dim lights and silence. Your footsteps feel too loud on the white linoleum as you walk to the lockers to drop off your stuff. You can’t pretend to understand the schedule yet.

“Carmen?” You pace around again as you secure your apron with a tie. No response. Surely he's here, at least. Someone had to open the place.

You take a couple more steps when you hear his voice.

“No, I'm not—that's not what I was sayin’.” The direction of his voice sounds like it's coming from his office. “Of course I miss him. Sugar—” A pause. “I know. Yeah. It's bullshit.” He laughs then, you think. You can't measure how genuine it is. “You're bullshit. Look, I'll call you back later, okay? And I'll—yeah, I'll look at it. Promise. Yeah. Bye.”

It's quiet after that. You're standing there, not sure what to do with yourself when you hear footsteps. Sure enough, Carmy pops out of the office, and you catch just a glimpse of something haunted in him before surprise takes over.

“Hi,” you say at the same time he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“How long have you been here,” he asks, as you go, “That's an interesting way to pronounce my name.”

“Um,” you start, and he stares at you blankly, unreactive to your joke. Too early, you guess. “I just got here.”

“Okay. Cool. Uh…” Anxiety radiates off of him, making his hands fidget and run through untamed hair. Not that you were looking at his hands at all. “You’ll be doin’ prep again.”

“Alright.” You expected as such. You’ll probably be on prep for the rest of the week, if not the month. That’s how most places go, but this isn’t most places.

“Your station was dirty when you left yesterday.” You walk up to your station, and it’s spotless. “I had to clean it before I left.”

“Ah. I’m sorry about that,” you apologize quickly. I was preoccupied with other things, you think bitterly to yourself, thinking of locked doors and heated kisses. Not that you’ll mention it. “I’ll make sure to clean it this time.”

“Prep’s gonna be a bit different today,” he says, completely ignoring your apology. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping. “You’re gonna inspect produce, and then you’ll prep the stock again. Correctly this time.”

“It was nearly perfect, I just misplaced it,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah, nearly.” Looks like he heard you this time. Asshole. He places a box of onions on your station, rattling the table slightly. “Do I have to tell you how to sort out the bad ones from the good ones?” You’re honestly not sure if he means that as a jab, but the way he says it makes your insides sizzle with irritation.

Don’t take it personally, you remind yourself. Don’t. Take. It. Personally.

“How about you show me just in case? Just so we’re on the same page.” It’s a wonder how calm you keep your voice. To your surprise, Carmy doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t sigh, he just nods and proceeds. Every time you think you’ll predict him properly, he does the opposite.

You follow the line of his callused finger pointing to brown splotches on some of the onions. Intently, studiously, you examine the dark spots (indicative of mold), the sprouts (initial stages of deterioration), and the mushy areas (a sign of decreasing freshness). He’s talking about details as he seems to do when it comes to food, even elaborating on the farming process, but you don’t quite pick up that part. You just pay attention to the parameters you need to follow.

No more fucking your boss, you remind yourself again, because you catch yourself aching at the sight of his fingers. Your eyes have a hunger of their own, flickering up and down his muscular arms. God damnit. Maybe there’s another reason you can’t quite pay attention today.

“Are you listening?” Carmy’s pointed question snaps you out of it. Fuck. You hope he didn’t catch you staring at his fingers again.

“If I can save it and just chop off the bad parts, then I should,” you regurgitate on instinct. “Those are the best ones to use for the stock. Otherwise, I should just toss it.”

For a split second, all he does is fix you with his focused stare. You feel the intensity of it in your chest, your beating heart fluttering with its weight. No matter how many times you scold yourself for finding him attractive, your eyes can’t ignore what’s right in front of them. You find yourself counting his moles.

“I caught you staring,” he murmurs, “for real this time.”

“I—uh—” Your eyebrows are so raised you’re sure they’re bound to shoot off your warmed face. He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. You weren’t going to mention yesterday, and after your first interaction this morning, you were sure he wasn’t going to, either. Guess you were wrong again.

“I’ll be in the back if you need help. The others should be here soon.” He’s moving on without giving you a chance to recover. Your brain can’t process the shock. “Just call if you need anything."

Before you get a chance to scrounge up anything to say, you’re alone in the kitchen again.

This time I'm really gonna do it, you fume internally. Because you have a healthy amount of anger management, you don’t let yourself continue that thought.

Sydney is the third person to show up after you and Carmy. You give her a nod and a thin smile as she walks in, and she waves back. Soon after she arrives, the others trickle in one by one. As you're learning to expect, the quiet never lasts for long.

There are tasks circling you just like yesterday that you don't fully grasp yet. Everyone seems to be instinctively following their own schedule, their circadian rhythm matched to the chaotic ecosystem of the kitchen. It’s just as suffocating as it was yesterday. You remind yourself that as a new hire, you don't need to understand the madness yet. Nonetheless, an invisible pressure presses down on you.

“Hey, d'you mind telling me where this produce goes?” A triple stack of filled containers sits heavy in your arms. With Sydney out of the kitchen, Marcus is your next safest option in terms of coworkers. His head flicks up from where he was focused on kneading dough. A streak of white flour is across his nose.

“Oh, that one's bottom shelf, near the back.” He claps his dusty hands together, flour falling between them like snow. “Here, I'll just show you. You know where the walk-in is?”

With Marcus, it doesn't feel like there are any stupid questions. It's a gift you don't take for granted, especially around here. You let him lead you to the fridge again, even though you remember where it is. It doesn't hurt.

“Thanks. I'm, uh, still having a hard time figuring out where stuff goes,” you say after you put the produce away.

“It’s cool. It's only your second day, right?” You nod. “Just takes time. Don't sweat it. You ever work in a restaurant before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Then you know what you're gettin’ into.” That makes you laugh.

“Sorta.” You shrug. “To be honest with you, I just need money, and I like cooking enough, so…now I'm here.” You're not quite as honest with how desperate your situation was on the verge of coming, but it's fine. Not really the time and place for it anyway.

“I gotcha. That's how it was for me too, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, that's how I started at McDonald’s. That was a while ago now.”

“I see. It's better here, I hope.”

“Hard to say,” he says, but there's a little smile on his face. “For the most part, Michael was cool, but—”

“Michael!” You blurt out, startling the both of you. “Holy shit, I'm sorry. I've just been trying to remember the name of the previous owner for forever now and—wow, sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”

“It's fine.” Marcus has this amused expression, but it dissolves quickly. “You met him?”

“I did. I came here a couple of years ago when I first moved. Just once, but—anyway, what's his deal?”

“His deal?”

“Yeah, like, why'd he give the restaurant away? Carmy said he didn't want it anymore.”

“Oh.” You can't read the way Marcus’ face shifts. “That's what he said?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see. Okay. Uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know how this sounds, but just try not to bring Mike up for now. It's still kind of a sore subject.”

“Ah, my bad.” Your brain instantly supplies stories of estranged families, sibling spats, and stolen money. You suppose it's a sour sort of relationship—something you're intimately familiar with. “Can I ask what happened, or…?”

“I'll tell you later,” he replies evasively. “You know what else they got you training on today?”

“No idea,” you answer honestly. The nosy part of you wants to hear more about the Berzatto family, but the responsible part of you reminds you to cool your jets. “Carmy just told me I was on produce. Know where he's at? I peeked into his office, but he wasn't there.”

“Oh, he just left.” Your blank stare makes him elaborate. “He's off doing Carmy things.”

“Doing Carmy things?” Looks like the person in charge has abandoned you yet again.

“Business stuff, probably.” Marcus shrugs. “He does that sometimes. He probably won't be back for a while, so I can help you with training for now if you want.”

“That would be great.” There's a remark on the tip of your tongue about poor management, but you hold it. “Is Carmy a better boss, at least?”

“Compared to Michael?” You recognize sadness in Marcus’ pinched brows, even if it's only momentary. “I dunno. It hasn't been long, but this place has been running more smoothly since he started doing things.” Your shocked expression makes him laugh briefly. “I know, it used to be worse if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” you admit.

. . . . .

The next several days at work continue to test your patience. While Carmy keeps you on prep, keeping your tasks simple, he continues to find ways to keep you on edge. You stiffen up every time he enters the kitchen, waiting for him to point out yet another mistake.

Chef, this cut's too uneven. Chef, you're taking too much time on this. Chef, you should’ve cut this part off. Chef, you’re creating too much waste.

Yes, Chef, you always reply, even as his comments become more and more grating. A childish part of you wants to do a worse job out of spite, but another part of you is hungry for his approval far more than you would ever admit. You wonder if he's this tough on everyone.

The incident in the walk-in does not get mentioned again. A childish voice in you wonders if Carmy has forgotten about it. Of course he hasn’t, but every time he critiques you, you wonder about the Carmy who kissed you. You wonder what that Carmy's thinking, because you have no clue.

Has he been thinking of you, too?

This is how things should be, you remind yourself after you touch yourself for the fourth night in a row to the thought of him. Your fingers are wet, and your wrist is embarrassingly sore. I can't have sex with my boss again. I just can't.

Would it be different if he also touched himself to thoughts of you?

You desperately suck your own cum off your fingers, and you wish it were his fingers instead. It doesn't taste the same.

The bright lights are irritatingly bright when you come in this morning. It looks like you're the first person here again, other than Carmy. You hear his irritated voice as soon as you enter, which is clearly a good sign.

“I appreciate you thinking of me, I do. I do. It's just—” He sighs. Looks like he's having another phone call. “I can't come back. Not right now.” Silence. “No, uh, won't happen for a while, I think. The place's fucked.” A shaky breath. “What? What did you say?

“The head chef asked about me?” Carmy's voice has gone tight. “I see. Of course he said that. No, it's fine.” Pause. “...I know what they've been saying. I figured they'd look down on me.” His laugh is hollow and painful. “Look, I got shit to do. Thanks for asking me, but it's a no. I can't.” Another pause, drawn out and tense. “Sure. Bye.”

After he hangs up, you hear him muttering to himself. You can't pick out any of the words other than the curses, but it sounds bad. As you put your things away, you silently pray to the abstract idea of a god to give you both strength of patience. Seems like you'll need it today.

“Morning,” you tentatively greet him when he sees you. He's not surprised by your presence today, it seems. He nods back.

“Morning.” His eyebags are dark with a lack of sleep. Upon closer inspection, his whole everything screams sleep deprivation, perhaps a bit more so than usual. His messy hair seems particularly unkempt today. “You're doing prep again today.”

“I figured.”

“You need to get better about cleaning your station.” His words are full to the brim with irritation. “I keep having to clean it after you.”

“I thought I was—” You stop. Calm down, you think, but it's getting harder and harder to repeat. “Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“I told you the other day that it was dirty. Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was!” Annoyance bubbles over inside of you, potent and unbridled. Carmy barely reacts to your raised voice. Somehow, that pisses you off more. The cap on your contained anger has popped off, and there's no fitting it back on. “Are you always like this towards your employees?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole?” You're too irritated to hold yourself back.

“Depends. Are you always like this with your boss?” He retorts immediately.

“I don't usually have sex with my boss, so no, I suppose not,” you respond stupidly, and that makes him go dead silent. He narrows his eyes, fixes you with his gaze. Like you're a new problem that needs solving or something like that.

God damnit, you think to yourself. Why'd you have to say that?

“You've been thinking about it.” The air feels thicker, suddenly.

“I never said that.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Shit. “You said you were going to do better.”

“And I have been. I've been trying to do everything you've been telling me to do.” You don't know why you take a step towards him. “You said you were gonna be nicer.”

“And I have been,” he echoes, and his sincerity makes you roll your eyes.

“Bullshit! You've been nit-picking me all week!”

“We have standards here, and you need to learn how to follow them. That's all.”

“You're right! I'm learning,” you argue, throwing exasperated hands up in the air. “Cut me some fucking slack!”

“Then learn. Improve.” He slams a hand down on the aluminum surface next to you, enclosing you partially in. Being this close to him, you can really see how dark his dark circles are. You could easily move to the side if you wanted to, but something in you stays put. “There's no excuse for a dirty workspace in a kitchen. I thought you would know that already.”

“I'm so fucking sorry, chef,” you spit back with about as much venom as you can muster. Which, right now, is a lot.

That shifts something inside him. You see it flash across his face—surprise, anger, and then…something else.

“Dirty work station and a dirty mouth,” he murmurs. His voice is lower, quieter, and it sounds just like how it did in the walk-in. You hate how that change instantly makes your heart pick up speed. “You think you get a pass to act like this because of what happened in the walk-in?”

“You motherfucker,” you hiss, meeting his glare with your own. “So now you're going to acknowledge it? And for the record, I get to act however the fuck I want. Especially with someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” He doesn't ask you to elaborate. He just laughs, breathy and condescending, and he's so close you can feel his breath fan across your face. “You think you're above all this, don't you?”

“What?” The question takes you so off guard that it almost dissipates the strange mix of anger and arousal simmering in your gut.

“I know it doesn't feel good to have to take orders from someone you hate, but here's the thing. You have to.” He's not smiling, but you swear he's getting some sort of sick satisfaction from all this. Why else would he be saying any of this shit?

“I could leave right now if I wanted to,” you threaten him. “You won't be able to find anyone else that wants to work in this shithole of a place.”

“You're right. You could leave if you really wanted to.” His eyes narrow curiously at you. “Then why haven't you?”

You’re well within your right to leave already—it checks all the boxes. Chaotic work environment. Awful management. General workplace misconduct. Unprofessionalism between coworkers. You suppose you're partially to blame for that last one, but still.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you told yourself. You're not sure why you're not listening to your own advice. The simple truth of the matter, though, is that other jobs won't have him. They won't have the man that's been keeping you up at night, the man that you want to simultaneously devour and destroy. They won't have Carmen Berzatto, and for some reason, that's all it's going to take.

You don't understand yourself. It scares you, but not enough. Not enough to leave.

“...I don't know why I haven't left yet,” you say quietly after a while. “I have no clue.”

“I see.” If he's dissatisfied with your answer, he doesn't show it. “Then for the time you're here, let's make one thing clear.”

“What is it now?” You sigh.

“I'm in charge here,” he whispers. His other hand is on the counter now. You're completely blocked in. “I'm the one who runs this place, so you're going to be good and listen to me when I speak.”

“You're not really giving me a lot of incentive, chef.” You lower your gaze to the counters next to you. “Maybe if you gave me something to work with.” You don't mean for it to come out as suggestive as it does, but with him surrounding you like this…

“Incentive?” He brings a hand to your face, tucking his fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back to him. His touch is achingly gentle, but it forces it to look straight into his eyes. Your fidgety gaze catches glances of the dark blue speckles that border his pale iris. “Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart's pounding like sprinting feet thudding on concrete. You can't place what feelings are excitement or anxiety or both, but maybe no separation exists. Shutting your eyes was a weak attempt to temporarily block him out, but now all you can focus on is the sensation of his rough hand on your hot face.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes to face him. Ice blue and dark circles. His intense stare is difficult to match, but you try.

“What do you want from me?” You ask quietly.

“I want you to clean your station. Think you can do that?”

“Don't patronize me. Of course I can. I just—happened to forget.”

“Hm.” He smiles briefly. It's just a bit mocking. “You don't have a good track record so far, so you'll have to prove it to me.”

“...And how would I do that?”

“Depends,” he replies vaguely. “Depends on what you want.”

“What I want? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”

“When I touched you, you told me you wanted to touch me.” The realization clicks in your head. “Do you still want that?”

You hesitate. Memories of the walk-in flood in. You remember the silhouette of his tight jeans over his bulge, and you ache. You shouldn't say yes. You really shouldn't. A distant voice says, you don't want to do this. What have you been telling yourself? This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it's far past a matter of want anymore. It's a matter of need.

“Yes,” you whisper back. Your fate is sealed. “I do.”

That's how you find yourself in the cramped bathroom with him. It's dark with one of the lightbulbs having gone out, making it feel even smaller. An eerie green cast coats the room.

“You're going to show me that you can listen. That you can clean up after your messes.” He's leaned up against the wall, broad hands unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes shamelessly zero in on the motion. “Think you can do that much?”

“Of course I can,” you reply, but it comes out a lot softer than intended.

“Good.” You force your eyes away from the outline of his bulge in his boxers to look at his face. His darkened eyes are trained on you. “Get on your knees.”

Oh, you think. So this is how it's gonna go.

You wish you could say that you hesitate even a little bit, that there’s even a shred of contemplation left in you. However, there isn't any of that remaining. Obediently, you fall to your knees, resting them against the cold, hard bathroom floor. You're at eye level with his unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, you raise your eyes to look at him.

His downturned face is framed by wild strands of hair. Looking down at you casts darker shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his expression. It's an odd mix of hunger and what you think to be admiration. Surely not, but that's immediately the thought that comes to mind.

“Waiting for directions, chef,” you murmur.

“Mm. Right,” he says, like he was lost in thought. “You look better like this.”

“Watch it,” you warn him. “I could still bite your dick off.” To that, he just briefly smiles, and then it's gone.

He's pulled his black pants down just enough to let his clothed bulge hang over the waistband. The sight of it goes straight to the simmer starting in your gut. You watch his veined hand disappear into his boxers. He's doing this far too slowly for your taste.

Finally, he pulls out his cock, nearly completely stiffened, and you can't deny the way you begin to salivate.

You were right. It's big, though not just in length. His cock is thick. You immediately know you won't be able to take the full length of him into your mouth, but what fits is going to be a stretch. You're already imagining how those bulging veins are going to feel against the flat of your tongue.

“Use your mouth for something other than talking back to me. Make me come,” Carmy orders quietly. “Enough direction for you?”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, ignoring the feeling of the growing heat inside you, and you pull the reddened, shiny tip of his cock between your lips.

His pre-come mixes with the saliva on your tongue. You savor the taste of his salty musk, suckling slowly, and you hear him exhale shakily above you. Looks like you've been given something of an opportunity to get him back for the walk-in. Not repayment—payback. The distinction is important.

When you pull back, thin strings of spit connect the pink head to your glistening lips. One of your hands moves to hold the base of his cock as you close the gap again. You drag your tongue down the side of his length, licking the thick vein you were eyeing earlier. You feel him twitch.

“Do that again,” he breathes. Without question, your tongue retraces its path, running back over the line of spit it created. That gets you a quiet, strangled moan, and it's music to your ears.

“Is this part sensitive?” You ask as you stroke the vein with your thumb. You suck your way down the vein again, making small, wet seals of pleasure.

“Somewhat.” He sounds good like this, breathless and flustered. A smile twitches on your lips. You lick across the inside of your hand, wetting it before lazily curling it around his cock. He slides effortlessly in your grasp.

“You gonna come already?” You can't help but tease. He's surprisingly reactive, more so than you would've thought. It's not that you're complaining—it's not that at all. The sound of his low groans is making you drip.

“Hah—no. You'll have to work harder than that.” You feel a hand pushing back your hair, and that makes you raise your head towards him. His touch is surprisingly gentle. You watch the movement of his lips when he speaks. “Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

You can't quite figure out what it is about all of this that makes you submit. Just moments ago, you wanted to wring your hands around his throat. It was far too easy to abandon your anger and kneel in front of him. Maybe it's the incomprehensibly part of you that undeniably needs his validation. Maybe it's the soft, low tone of his voice, gentle yet commanding. Either way, it has you obeying with a thought in your mind.

You do as he says. You part your lips and extend your tongue. As your eyes flutter upwards towards him, you're struck with the impression that you must look obscene.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and just the one word sends something of a euphoric rush through you. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You soak up the praise, basking in the warmth of it. Then, Carmy spits onto your tongue, and his saliva slides towards the back of your mouth.

You can't hide your surprise. Your breath hitches, but you don't say anything. Fuck, that should've made you angry, but it just made your clit throb painfully hard.

He drags his thumb down your tongue, slow and sensual. You have half the mind to suck on it until he glides the head of his cock on your tongue, leading it into the heat of your mouth.

“Ah—” You lose the words you were going to say, along with the empty space in your mouth. The tip of his cock's nearing the back of your throat. You breathe shakily through your nose. You were right again—you can't take him fully in. It's enough of a stretch as it is.

“Fuck, that's it…” Carmy sighs. “Just like that…”

His hand holding your hair turns into a tighter grip as you begin sucking up and down his cock. It's an awful mess, the size of him forcing spit to drip down your chin. It's not just that, though. He's thrusting his cock back into your mouth quicker and quicker. You wish he would slow down so you could lean back and suck on his dribbling tip, but his hand has you anchored.

Time slows as he starts fucking your mouth. Your hands fall to your hands. Your knees are starting to hurt. You care surprisingly little about that fact, instead opting to care about rubbing your clit as quickly as possible. When you get your hands under your underwear, you find your whole pussy already smeared in wetness. You've seeped through the fabric.

When he pulls his cock out of your mouth (or rather, when he tugs you off), you think he's going to give you a new order. Or that he's going to say something. You don't realize what's really happening until it's too late.

You watch him bring a hand to his cock. He strokes it twice, keeping his hand tight in your hair, and with a low groan, he comes.

With his hand on you, you can't move away. Not that you try. When the first glob of cum streaks your cheek, you freeze. All you can do is pause as he comes on your face. Even your hand under your pants has frozen, your palm pressed up tight against your pulsing clit.

With each rope of cum across your face, you feel yourself throb. Carmy is a sight to behold as he comes, long-lashed eyes falling shut with his parted, gasping mouth. He's jaggedly fisting his cock as he just keeps coming. You feel the cum starting to drip down the slopes of your skin, even your lips.

By the time he's come down, he's left your face an absolute mess. Your jaw feels heavy, and his cum is hot against your swollen lips. You've come down as well, and it's left you with the irate realization that he just came all over your face without asking.

“You could've at least told me you were gonna come on my face,” you snap. Your cheeks are burning. Your argument feels weak with how worked up you feel over watching and feeling him come, but the irritation is still very real.

“Clean your station, chef,” he responds, infuriatingly smug even as he catches your breath. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Are you kidding me?” Of course. That's what this all was. A fucked up lesson, a twisted sort of discipline.

“I'm not.” He uncurls his fist from your hair. “Stand up—your knees must hurt.”

You pause for a second before you shakily get back up on your legs. One minute he's messily fucking your mouth, and the other, he's worrying over your sore knees. He continues to become more and more confusing.

“You're gonna make me clean up your mess.” You catch your face in the small, shitty rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. God, are you a filthy sight, cum and spit all over your face.

“I had to clean up yours for the past week, so yeah.” He's zipped himself back up. He's clean, not a drop of anything on him. Unlike the mess parading itself on your face. At least there's not any in your hair.

“This is not the same. This is—” You frustratedly search for the right words. He's remaining as stoic as ever. “You didn't even kiss me,” you blurt out, and as soon as you say it, you regret it.

Carmy stills. You can't tell what he's thinking with his unmoving expression. You're sure he's about to insult you again, but then he’s leaning in and sealing his lips against yours.

You're stunned. A small noise escapes you as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. His tongue drags up a trail of cum and spit up your chin and back into your mouth. Or back into his. You're unsure, with the way they're all blending together.

“There,” Carmy murmurs against your lips. When he pulls back, you see his tongue running across his lips, collecting the pearlescent sheen that was on them.

“Um—” You start and immediately stop. You’re speechless.

“Now clean up.” You hear the sound of distant company. Your other coworkers must be arriving now. “I expect improvement now, chef. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply bitterly. “I suppose I met your expectations, then?”

“Sure. Closely enough, anyway.” Potent aggravation hits you like a cast iron pan. He drags his thumb in one last infuriating line across your cheek. He sucks it into his mouth and cleans it off. “Don't take too long. I have a lot planned for you today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carmy leaves. He leaves you alone in the shitty bathroom with a now flickering lightbulb, left to clean his cum on your face with water, hand soap, and thin paper towels. You don't know if you've ever been so angry before.

The anger doesn't make the arousal go away. You rub your needy clit to orgasm, your back pressed up against the wall like Carmy's just a moment ago.

As you come with Carmy's cum slowly trailing on your face, you wonder if there is any coming back from this. If there's anything left to be done to stop whatever's happening. You can't come up with any solutions or suggestions. Only one thing is undeniably clear:

You hate Carmen Berzatto, and you're already thinking of ways to get his cock in your mouth again soon.

taglist: @zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @thehouseofevangelista @alastorssimp @talas-starlight @jmamas92

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagines #carmen berzatto imagines #my fics #blood orange #ARGHHH ITS HEREEE. i won't lie this chapter was so hard to write #im still having a hard time figuring out what this particular carmy acts like. its difficult. im getting there tho #my smut

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bangchxnnie · 5 months ago

Text

how long will this last? (pt. 2)

pairing: felix and fem!reader

tropes: friends to enemies to lovers, idiots in love, brother’s best friend if you squint? , college!au?

content warnings: 3rd person writing, alcohol is mentioned, reader is nicknamed barbie, felix is stupid, cursing, orange cats, shitty writing, bin being bin, massive miscommunication, what can barely be considered angst, some suggestive elements (but as always, read at your own risk buddy!)

chapter word count: ≈4.7k

|| hlwtl masterlist || part 1 || part 3 ||

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“Did you eat my fucking pasta leftovers?” She groans, searching through the fridge.

“You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up and ask what is off limits and what isn’t.”

“You’re such a prick.” She slams the fridge shut and fights a full-on pout.

My pasta…

“What bit your ass?”

It takes a while to explain everything to her brother fully. With how busy his job has been, he’s barely popped in over the last few months. She’s be lying if she said it wasn’t good to see him, though. Scare or not.

She keeps stopping to fight the residual anger, sadness, or the weird mix of both that comes whenever she says Felix’s name. To Chris’s credit, he does his best to sit and just listen. Until she gets to the part about Felix saying she’s not worth it. He laughs at that.

“What’s so funny?”

“God, he’s so transparent.”

She looks at him in confusion.

“Continue. Please.”

BP, the little traitor, sits in Chris’s lap the whole time, purring contentedly at the constant affection.

Can’t trust none of these hoes.

When she finishes, he sits in silence for a moment.

“So it sounds like he’s jealous, dude.” He says simply.

B immediately shakes her head in protest and waves him off for good measure.

“No, he’s just a dick.”

“That may be true too, and I do want to kick his ass, but he’s clearly and obviously jealous of you and Binnie.”

“You’re clinically insane. There’s nothing to be jealous of!” Her irritation could not be more obvious. Folded arms, jaw tensed, eyes skyward. “He’s just an ass, and there’s nothing more to it.”

“Are you really that oblivious? I mean, c’mon, I know I’m the brains of the family, but-“ She smacks him upside the head. “Ow! Don’t damage the goods!”

“Then stop saying dumb shit!” Chris glares at her.

“I’m not. Anyone with eyes and half a brain cell can see he’s into you. Like, well into you. And has been. It’s quite gross, actually.” Her heart rate picks up at his words. She doesn’t actually believe him, but it gives her butterflies all the same.

She covers by raising an eyebrow at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do. But think about it. He threw a fit that day because he came home and saw you flirting with Bin.”

“I wasn’t flirting with him! That’s gross. Bin was just being himself. He’s always like that. Felix knows this.”

“Doesn’t mean he likes it. Maybe he just snapped.”

She doesn’t buy it. They’re grown-ass people.

If Felix really was that upset, why wouldn’t he just say something? He’s always been able to tell me when he’s bothered.

If it were that simple, why didn’t you tell Felix how you felt, either?

…Even my brain is a traitorous traitor. Why are we defending him?

“Okay, fine. What about that day he lied about his laptop?”

“Maybe he genuinely forgot he had it. Or maybe, that loud ass sound you heard was him at the door.”

B doesn’t say anything.

“You said he was in the hallway, right? Maybe he had come home, saw Bin and you doing…whatever the fuck you were doing, and left.”

Surely she would have noticed if Felix had come in, right? She’s normally so observant. Or at least, she thought she was. It’s a lot of information to process.

“I mean, really? What the hell were you doing?”

“Irrelevant. What do I do about it?” B reaches for her cat, still seated in Chris’s lap. BP hisses at her.

Fucker.

“Talk to him, dude. Jesus Christ, I thought you were smarter than this.” Chris just sighs.

“Thanks, dipshit. And how exactly do you expect me to do that when he ignores me at every turn?”

“I can’t give you all the answers. Damn. You’ve got to do some of the work yourself. Now,” He gently sets BP down and stands to stretch. “I’d really like to get some sleep. Is the spare room clean?”

B thinks she’s probably going to kill him before this week is over.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“What about that one? He’s so cute!” Felix points to a nearby cage, cooing at the cat on the other side.

“His sign literally says, ‘I Don’t Like People.’” B counters, shaking her head.

Felix just smiles that goofy smile at her that she loves. “Which means you already have something in common!”

Her mouth drops in semi-shock at his comment, and she half-heartedly nudges his arm. “I like you well enough!” The same arm wraps around him and she continues walking. “How about this one?” She points to a couple of cages over; a little paw sticking out between the tiny metal poles of the door.

“I dunno…she seems a little small. So dainty. She’s got to be able to hold her own in your house.” Felix plays with her as much as he can through the barrier, even going so far as to make baby talk to her. B giggles, just watching him for a bit. He’s so gentle with everything; no wonder the littles flock to him at family events. “Whad’ya think, Beautiful? Do you wanna come home with us? Just say the word, and we’ll take you home, yeah?”

Us. The way that one word makes B feel is more than dangerous. Floaty, warm, and fuzzy. After all, there is no us. Just her and Felix. As friends. Until the end of time.

How miserable.

Felix jolts back when the cat swipes at him, catching his knuckle. “Ow! Fuck!” B blinks back to reality.

“Serves you right for calling her dainty.”

Felix throws his free arm up in defeat. “Fair enough.”

He steps into B’s space silently, suddenly laser-focused on reaching the top of her head. He gently moves a stray hair back into place, following it down to tuck it behind her ears. “Sorry, Gorgeous, it was standing up weird.” It’s all he offers in explanation.

Not that she minds. But between the pet name and the touch, she’s sure her face is outing her in more ways than one.

You’ve got to get it under control, girl! Get. A. Grip.

Felix clears his throat, steps back, and offers his arm to her. “Shall we?”

They interact with a few more cats, and every time Felix talks to the cats, it tugs at B’s heartstrings. She can’t help but watch the way his freckles crinkle when he smiles or how his eyes light up when any of the cats interact with him back. “How are you today, sweetheart?” or “Are you having a good day?” or B’s personal favorite, complete with baby voice-“I might have to just steal you for myself. Yeah, I think I do.”

Eventually, they come across one that seems thoroughly uninterested in Felix. Felix tries to play with him, but he doesn’t budge. “Well, fine. Be like that then.” He pouts like a petulant toddler.

“I think he’s just tired.”

“Is he? He seems pretty indifferent toward me.”

“Let me try.”

“Be my guest, gorgeous.”

B tries to coax him out from the corner of his enclosure. He slowly sits his head up and just stares at her. At least it’s more of a reaction than what he gave the man.

The cat approaches the cage leisurely like he has all the time in the world. Which, one supposes, he does. B drops her arm from Felix’s to get closer to the semi-curious cat, who lets Barbie pet him and seems content with just that.

“I think he likes me? Maybe?” She searches the cage for his information card.

Name: Bobby Pin

Felix laughs. It compels another smile from B, much like anything else he does. “Bobby Pin? How do they come up with these names?”

“I mean, my friend in grade school had a cat named Crayon. She tried to eat one as a kitten right after they got her. So there it was.”

The way he listens so intently when she speaks makes her feel like anything she has to say is important. That she is important, it’s a feeling she cherishes more than he knows.

Felix tries to reach for the cat again, seemingly feeling like he’s missing out. When the cat grumbles but lets him, both humans laugh. B decides that he’s the one.

She goes searching for a shelter employee.

“Excuse me, we’d like to fill out an application for this one?”

The memory pulses a pang in her chest that feels so wrong. It doesn’t seem right that just a few months ago, they were fine, and now, he’s saying shit like, “You’re not worth it”. It doesn’t make sense. Her conversation with Chris and the memory keeps her up until her eyelids can’t hold their own weight anymore.

She manages an entire 36 hours almost completely people-free. She gets out of bed three times the first day. Once to use the bathroom, once to grab an obscene amount of snacks and dash back to bed, and a third time to grab the remote that fell underneath her bed. Other than that, she’s either sleeping, eating, or watching episodes of a show she’s seen a million times. It usually leads to another nap, honestly. The other days it's even less. Maybe twice, if that. Chris checks on her once a day to ensure she’s alive, asks if she wants him to stay (she says no), tells her to call if she needs him, and leaves. She doesn’t call, though. In fact, she turns her phone completely off to avoid everyone else.

The fourth morning, however, another unwelcome visitor breaks into the apartment. He also has a key, but that’s beside the point.

“B, are you home?” She’s already awake but would rather be sleeping off what feels like the beginning of a massive headache. Maybe it’s from all the crying. Maybe someone snuck in the middle of the night and poured alcohol down her throat. Maybe it’s from the yelling. She can’t be sure. The possibilities are endless, really. But what she is sure of is the fact that she doesn’t want to deal with Changbin. Not today.

Die. I want to crawl into a hole and make it my home like I’m some kind of mole. I could be a mole man. Mole-woman? Mole-person.

She snaps her eyes shut and listens for his footsteps. She’s trying to gauge how far away he is since he says nothing else. She is unsuccessful.

“Well, you look awful.”

Fuck.

“Go away.” She pulls the covers over her head and turns away from the door.

“No, we’re not doing this sulking thing. C’mon.” He grabs BP from the foot of the bed and sets him on the floor. BP is unhappy about it, grumbling annoyed cat noises while he stretches and searches for a new sleep spot.

“Oh, hush. You love me.” Bin argues with himself, it seems, because BP ignores him.

He gently tugs at Barbie’s comforter. He’s trying to give her a chance to let it go. And when she doesn’t, he just snatches it from her hands and tosses it to the end of the bed. He sits on the edge and waits for her to sit up. She doesn’t.

“Um, hello?! I have no pants on!” B protests, though she makes no effort to hide anything. Her sleep shirt is long enough that it covers everything anyway.

“Oh, no! Legs! What’s a man to do?!” Bin faux gasps, clutching his hand to his chest.

He deadpans seconds later. “C’mon, Barbie.”

“If you say, let’s go party, I will kick you in the stomach.”

Bin blinks at her. “Just get up!”

“I don’t want to!” She thrashes around in protest, tears already threatening to expose themselves. “I’m in pain, I’m humiliated, I’ve been invaded, I’m-“

“Invaded?” Bin tilts his head, amused.

She props herself up on her elbows. “Chris is here.” And just as quickly, drops herself back flat on the bed.

Bin mouths a silent oh.

“Well, he can come too.” Changbin pats her leg and stands.

“Where are we allegedly going?” Once again up on her elbows, B eyes him carefully.

“The beach. Obviously.”

An eyebrow raises. “In autumn?”

“Nobody said we were swimming. Now get up, and take a shower. You smell like sadness.”

He finds his way to her tall dresser across the room and starts rummaging through it for appropriate clothing.

She sighs in defeat, dragging herself up to a sitting position. A hefty yawn escapes her lips, and it dawns on her she has no idea what time of day it is.

“Wait, what time is it?” B searches for her phone, but it’s not in its usual spot on her nightstand. “And where’s my phone?”

“7:30.”

“AM?!”

Bin waves her off as if it’s unimportant information.

“You do realize this is an executable offense.”

He turns his head to look at her, evil smile spread across his face. “Kill me and I’ll haunt you until your last breath.”

It’s probably true.

He tosses some clothes at her and points to the bathroom, exiting the bedroom in the same stride. “Shower. I’m gonna go wake your brother up.”

“Best of luck, soldier.”

She takes a deep breath, determined to face whatever the day throws her way. She quickly grabs the clothes thrown at her and heads to the bathroom. As she steps inside, a feeling of dread overcomes her.

Why do I feel like this day is going to be a shitshow?

She closes her eyes and prays for the best.

The shower is surprisingly refreshing. Once she finally convinced herself to get in, it’s hard to get out. A full wash can be quite draining most days, but the effort came with a little more ease once the warm stream also warmed the room. She leaves a little less dread-filled and a little more hungry.

After she gets dressed and styles herself to her liking, she heads to the spare room to see how successful Bin is at getting Chris up. He’s usually hard to rise since he doesn’t sleep much, either.

She finds her brother and her friend..giggling. On the bed. Bin lightly punches Chris’s arm, and Chris falls into a full fit of laughter.

She smiles, happy to see some of her favorite people so happy. “What’s so funny?”

Their laughs settle, and Chris waves her off. “It’s nothing.”

Bin agrees, lingering laughter escaping. “Don’t worry about it, Barbie.”

She frowns, but doesn’t press. The uneasy feeling in her is growing, but doesn’t have the energy to have it out with them about it.

“Oh. Well, are we going to leave soon?” Her entire demeanor shifts.

“Soon, we’re just waiting for one more arrival.” No one has time to address B's body language because as if on cue, the door shakes violently. The doorknob attempts to turn, but, of course, it’s locked. The door shakes again, and B sighs.

“Why would you leave a brainless squirrel outside by himself?”

Bin shrugs.

“I heard that!” It’s slightly muffled, but the hurt is still there.

B unlocks the door and steps back, allowing Jisung to clamber inside. He almost crashes into Barbie with how aggressively he runs in. He’s breathing heavy, dramatically sets his hands on his knees to ‘catch his breath’. When he stands, he narrows his eyes at his friend.

“The door wouldn’t open.”

B laughs. “Because it's locked, dumbass.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“When it didn’t open?” She ruffles his hair. He swats her hand away and attempts to fix it, muttering something under his breath.

Han Jisung is…a special friend. He can be incredibly intelligent, and very insightful, but it’s blanketed by a lack of common sense sometimes. Most times. He likes to say he’s too smart for his own good. There’s a sliver of truth to the statement.

“Can we go now?”

The beach itself is relatively uneventful. Bin packed a picnic kit and some chairs for the group to just sit and talk for a while. He even packed a book for B for when she’s burnt out socially. It’s a kind gesture, but B opts to just sit and listen to the waves, conversation as her background noise. Jisung chooses to sit with her in silence. Eventually, she lays her head on his shoulder. It’s the happiest she’s been all week.

Nobody says anything to her until they start getting back to the car.

“You know, it’s okay to talk about it.” Chris says, pulling his seatbelt across his lap in the driver’s seat. “How you feel about it.”

B shakes her head. “I don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s fine too.” It’s the last he says on the subject.

The rest of the boys pile in after closing the back of the car, resuming whatever new conversation they’d started on the walk back. B doesn’t really take in much of it. Until she heard something about her brother’s birthday.

“Oh, yeah! Have you finished everything for Saturday, Chris?”

“Yeah, about that…” He cringes, like the words are paining him.

“What did you do.”

“ThevenuecanceledandwehavenowhereelsetohostitsoIwashopingyouwouldletususetheapartment.” The words blur together, but she manages to get the gist. And she’s not happy about it.

“And how long have you known this, Christopher?” She stares him down through the rear view mirror.

“Just since yesterday! I swear! I was just as mad as you are but I know that you love me and you’ll do me this major solid and I’ll owe you big time.” He flashes her his biggest smile, hoping it’ll seal the deal. The car is quiet, save for the radio, while she contemplates her answer.

“…Yeah, you’ll owe me big time.”

The whole car lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re the best!” Chris sing-songs. B flips him the bird, smile fighting at the corners of her lips.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Turns out, Chris has much more of his party planning shit together than anyone realises. The transition from venue to house party is relatively smooth over the next few days.. Hiding away the valuables and ultra breakables (nobody plans to get that wasted, but who knows), deep cleaning every room in the house, locking doors to off-limit rooms, the works.

“Do you really not trust your friends that much?” Barbie questions. She’s washing up the rest of the dishes before she has zero energy left.

“It’s not his friends he’s worried about, Barbie.” Seungmin joins in, spread comfortably across her couch.

“Oh, right. The New Year’s incident.” Jisung had gotten so drunk he’d gone up to every single person at the party and challenged them to an arm wrestle, and if they lost, he got to kiss them. He almost left with a broken arm.

“We agreed we won't talk about that anymore.” Jisung gripes anytime somebody mentions it.

“You agreed. With yourself.” B counters.

Jisung, Changbin, and Chris all make weird eye contact with one another. It sets off that uneasy feeling in B’s stomach again. It’s so frustrating to feel out of the loop. Again.

“What is this, some sort of weird intimate mindmeld? What aren’t you guys telling me?”

They make eye contact again, and Bin clears his throat.

“Um, Felix is, uh, coming to the party.”

Her stomach drops at his name. Whether that’s from anger or something else is unknown. She hides her feelings behind a neutral face.

“Oh. Well, I knew that. He and Chris have been friends for ages.”

Nobody’s buying it.

“Are you sure?” He speaks slowly; he’s scared to spook her.

“Yes. Just because he can’t be civil doesn’t mean I can’t. Kill ‘em with kindness, yeah?” She shrugs and walks off to her room as casually as she can manage.

She locks her door behind her and can feel a panic attack rising with every breath. She uses her grounding techniques to fight it off before it consumes her.

Okay, I have exactly…16 hours to get my shit together. Oh shit. Chris was right. I just need to get through the night, and then I can sit his ass down and sort this shit out. His being into me is the only logical explanation for all his bullshit. It has to be. Yeah, I’m gonna talk to him when this is all over.

She eventually hears a knocking sound in the back of her mind. It takes a few seconds to register that it is, in fact, a real knocking sound.

“Hey, y’okay? We can tell him no if that’s what you want. Believe me, I have no issue doing that with how stupid he’s been acting lately.”

She tries to laugh, but it comes out choked. It’s more air than sound. Some stray tears get eaten, which is weird because she didn’t even realize she was crying. She wipes her face and gets off the bed to unlock the door.

She’s met on the other side of the door with Chris leaning on the doorframe, a sympathetic look adorning his face.

“It’s okay, really. One night won’t kill me.”

“I’d be a shit brother to let him around after all this.”

“Good thing it’s not your call, then! It’s mine, and I say I want to move forward.”

Chris nods. He knows when it’s the final straw for her, and she’s nearing it. He doesn’t bring it up again. She’s grateful for it.

One more day and I’ll get my answers.

….

She jolts awake, a scream echoing through her brain. Was it real? Was it in her head?

She takes a moment to process her surroundings. The clock says 2:26 am. It’s dark. It’s cold. She realises 3 things:

She had a nightmare.

Felix is not here. She doesn’t know where he is. Thankfully? Unfortunately? Why do I wanna know where he is?

The scream was real, as noted by Chris and Changbin rushing to her room to see what had happened. My bad, bro.

It takes a cup of tea, half a movie, and an extra body (Changbin) in her room to get her back to sleep. It’s in moments like this that she deeply appreciates the friends she has and the way they support her.

When she wakes in normal operating hours, Changbin is still asleep in her bed. Granted, he’s somehow wrapped up in two blankets, and one of his legs is hanging off the bed, but he’s still there. She reaches across and attempts to unravel him because it must be hot like that, but all he does is grumble something that sounds like, “Get off my head,” and rolls toward the middle of the bed.

Can't say I didn’t try.

B leaves him to his fate and gets herself ready for the day.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“Hi! Thank you for coming!” B greets guests happily, hugging and smiling as each person steps over the threshold of her apartment. She gestures to the nearest bedroom, offers them a place to drop their bag and coat, and tells them to enjoy themselves. It’s the same formula for nearly every person.

While doing rounds, she spots a familiar face by the back door.

“Look at you, all dressed up!” She wolf whistles at him, and Seungmin’s face reddens, but he brushes her off. Truthfully, it's just a button-up and pants, but he looks good anyway.

“I was told dress nice or die, so.” He does his best to keep a neutral face, but it’s obvious he’s in good spirits.

“Well, you look very nice. Very handsome.” B teases, pinching at his cheek. She loves to mess with him like an older sister, and as much as he complains, B has a feeling he doesn’t mind one bit. To save face, however, he ducks away and wanders off to find his friend Jeongin.

Chris is mingling happily as cohost, beer in hand, as he hugs or high-fives his friends who made it out here. Communicating the last-minute change was the hardest part, but they made it work. It's nice to see him relaxed. It doesn’t go unnoticed how he works himself into the ground at that studio of his. Hopefully, this week has been a nice break from that.

A hand on her back makes her jump,and she gets immediately defensive. Have spins around, ready to say something about personal space, but it’s just Changbin. “My bad, my bad! I didn’t mean to scare you!” He looks…nice. Fitted polo shirt that shows off his arms (shocker) and neutral pants. It’s a good look when you add in the watch on his wrist.

“Just wanted to tell you that you look cute, Barbie!” He continues, gesturing to the dress B picked for the evening. Black and simple. Hair and makeup to match.

Elegant. Classy. Easy, breezy, beautiful, covergirl.

She smiles. “It has pockets!” She dips her hands into the pockets and twirls the dress to show it off.

“I’m thrilled for you and your pockets. Do you want a drink?” She takes him up on his offer, and he sets off on his mission.

In the meantime, she checks up on supplies. Everything seems to be good. Something catches her attention back toward the entry, and B’s heart drops to her ass.

In walks Felix. And he looks divine. Black turtleneck, black pants, he even dyed his hair. She swears time has stopped.

Holy shit. Just, holy shit.

She agreed with everyone earlier against greeting him for fear of a cold shoulder. She knows herself, and she won’t let it slide if he decides to show out today, and today is not the day for that. Tomorrow, definitely, but not today. Instead, she just watches him walk in and barely notices the person following behind him.

Binnie returns with her drink, and they watch Felix timidly approach Chris. They share a mildly awkward embrace. Another person is standing beside Felix, a woman who looks just as, if not more, uncomfortable by the situation. They can’t hear what’s being said, but they see Chris give Felix a weird look before turning his attention to the woman. Chris greets her politely, gestures to the kitchen, and makes eye contact with Bin across.

It genuinely looks like he’s trying to say something telepathically, and Bin almost looks like he understands.

Men. How fucking weird.

Just like it’s weird that Bin steps behind her, semi-casually wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don't do anything crazy.” Is all he says. She’s so busy getting ready to question how much he’s had to drink and what the fuck he means that she doesn’t notice when Felix approaches. Felix clears his throat and stops an awkward distance away.

She acknowledges him by meeting his eye but doesn’t break Bin’s hold.

“Felix.” Bin doesn’t hide his ire. Apparently, things haven’t been as smooth as he’s been telling Barbie it has been. She makes a mental note to bring it up later.

“Long time no see, huh?” He attempts a laugh, but it falls flat.

B scoffs. “And whose fault is that?”

Bin squeezes her waist, a warning. She ‘accidentally’ steps on his foot in response.

“How are you?” He looks straight at B. He almost sounds…genuine. She contemplates giving him a real answer. Changbin answers before she can say anything-“We’re fine.”

Felix goes silent. The moment stretches, long and very awkward. It’s becoming more and more uncomfortable with each blink, and B prepares to just walk away before Bin decides to speak up.

“Who’s your friend?” He gestures to the woman pretending to look around the room. Felix reaches for her hand, and she smiles, interlocking their fingers. She’s pretty. Like, really pretty. Between the two of them, B’s not exactly sure who she should be looking at.

“This is my girlfriend, Aila.”

Changbin’s grip on ‘his’ girl tightens.

I think I’m gonna throw up.

#felix fluff #felix x reader #skz felix fluff #skz felix x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids felix fic

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waynes-multiverse · 8 months ago

Text

Rehab – Epilogue

Series Summary: Thanks to Soldier Boy, the CIA was able to develop Project Bloom under the fierce leadership of Grace Mallory: a final cure to Compound V and a hopeful end to the supe epidemic three years after the explosive incident at Vought. A secret rehab facility in Upstate New York is supposed to help former heroes find their way back to humanity. The catch, though? Soldier Boy has never fucking agreed to any of this shit and is surely not happy about being powerless for the first time in his goddamn long life.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, some crack, a bit of fluff and angst, hard decisions, a lot of goodbyes & all the feels

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: We're here, babes! End of the road! Thank you guys so much for everything. This was a wild ride, and I'm glad I had you in my passenger's seat 💚

Feedback is my fuel 🖤

<< Chapter 8 || Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Epilogue: twin flame

You’re gonna be nowhere The loneliest kind of lonely It may be rough goin’ Just to do your thing’s the hardest thing to do…

“Morning.” Y/N smiles brightly as he stirs and slowly wakes. “Wakey, wakey, sunshine.”

Blue eyes flutter open and fearfully widen, his brow scrunches in confusion as he looks around and scans his environment. He tries to wiggle free of the handcuffs around his wrists, keeping him tied to the metal bed frame.

Not that it matters – he can’t leave either way.

She turns off the radio with a blissful sigh. “You know, that was one of his favorite songs. Your father’s,” she clarifies. “He sang it all the time. It was fucking annoying.”

“Why the hell can’t I move? Get me the fuck out of here,” the man in a sky-blue hospital gown demands and lifts his head off the mattress, only a few inches, attempting to get up.

Needless to say, that attempt is futile and fails miserably.

“Don’t strain yourself, John, or you might shit the bed. And I ain’t cleaning that mess… You’ve been in a coma for three weeks,” Y/N tells him with an amused smile. “Oh, and you can’t move because you’re paralyzed from the waist down. I even doubt that meager dick’s still working.”

His nostrils flare and let out a huff. “It’s Homelander, you bitch. No one calls me by that name.”

“Yeah, not anymore.” Y/N twitches her shoulders in mock apology. Her mouth curves into a Machiavellian grin. “Scared yet?”

“Where the fuck am I?” he growls through gritted teeth, upset by her blatant disrespect.

“You’re at a rehab facility for former supes. I mean, it’s discontinued. Abandoned, really. It’s just you and me,” she replies flatly and then forces a customer-service smile to her lips. “So, guess I’ll be your nurse for the day. How are we doing, you–”

Her brow furrows as she tries to remember the exact words, pensively pursing her lips.

“Wait…” She holds up a finger to stop him from interrupting her as she fishes out a crumpled piece of paper from her jeans pocket. She squints her eyes in concentration as she skims over its content.

“Ah yes!” With a smile, she clears her throat and reads from her paper. “So, how are you doing, you bootlicking… carpet-munching… cockboy?”

Homelander frowns at the insults. Y/N does too, but for a different reason as she shakes her head.

“Jesus fucking Christ, your dad’s handwriting is an atrocity,” she mutters as she tilts her head with narrowed eyes at the paper in her hands.

The blond man’s eyes narrow in both shock and confusion. “How do you know my father?”

“Oh, uhm, I’m his wife,” Y/N says and smiles complacently. “Which technically makes me your step-mommy, but let’s not go there, you–… Wait.” She peeks once more at the paper in her hands. “You cumguzzling… cowfucking… cuck fluffer.” Her brow draws up, impressed. “Huh, nice. Little alliteration going on there. Guess all those books paid off…”

“Can we skip to the part where you tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?” Homelander snaps impatiently, annoyed with the shenanigans.

“Alright, your dad sent me here to, you know… gloat,” Y/N says simply and shrugs, flashing him an easy smile. “He wanted you to know that he’s the one that put you into this damn bed. Funnily enough, he once woke up in this very room, tied to a bed. Not in a kinky way, though. Although, he probably would’ve loved that…” She chuckles fondly. “This place really changed him, but I doubt it’ll do the same for you.”

“And why the fuck isn’t he here telling me this, huh?” John asks with a challenging look. “I didn’t reckon him for a fucking coward.”

Y/N’s facade cracks a little at his words, a vicious smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, he was not a coward. He was the bravest man I’ve ever known. He was and is a fucking hero and surely getting celebrated as one.”

Y/N leans back in her chair and grabs the remote from the bedside table, switching on the TV. A news report flickers across the screen. It’s a recording from a few weeks ago, but Homelander doesn’t know that. It shows a row of celebratory parades held all over the country. A statue of Soldier Boy is being erected next to the Statue of Liberty.

Homelander finally defeated. Soldier Boy dies a hero in fierce combat. America breathes a sigh of relief.

Homelander watches the news and reads the taglines as they scroll in front of his eyes. His mouth is agape in bewilderment before Y/N switches the television off again.

“Everyone loves him… and fucking hates you. Like spit-on-your-grave hate,” she summarizes and watches his face darken. She rises from her seat and smiles down at him. “Have a nice life chained to that bed till you rot to death, you dickfaced, inbred, garbage-eating fascist.”

With a wide smirk, she then leans down and whispers into his ear, “Those were my insults, by the way.”

“Well, he’s dead, and I’m fucking alive, which means I won,” Homelander snarls from the bed with a contrivedly triumphant sneer, rattling with his handcuffs. He’s close to an explosion, she can tell.

“Yeah, you’d be telling yourself that if it makes you feel better…”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N turns her back. As she marches out of the room, Homelander’s furious screams of agony haunt the clinic’s empty hallways, but there is no one here to hear them anymore.

Project Bloom has been disbanded. There’s only a handful of CIA nurses left, tasked to take care of Homelander until his hopefully slow and painful death. If someone decides to hold a pillow over his head at any point, she supposes she wouldn’t be that mad about it either.

Homelander is history. Soldier Boy is dead. And Ben is at rest.

Finally, Y/N can leave this godforsaken place behind her.

Y/N slides into the driver’s seat of her Prius, her head falling back as she exhales a long, exhaustive breath and rubs her temples. That damn brat gave her a fucking migraine with his whiny bitching.

“Finally,” it huffs from the backseat. “Took you long enough. How the fuck did it go?”

Y/N blinks into the rearview mirror and catches a set of expectant green eyes. Her hand drops from her temples as she chuckles.

“Your handwriting is horrible,” she says as a response and pulls out the paper, pointing at a word. “What the hell is that one?”

Ben leans forward between the seats and squints his eyes. “Mmh, pube flosser,” he supplies and frowns. “You didn’t use that one?”

Y/N sighs. “I think he’s got the gist without it.”

“Yeah, but that was a good one,” Ben mumbles and sighs disappointedly. “Did you play him the song?”

“Yes, I did. I played him the song and did everything else you wanted me to do,” she confirms patiently. “You know, you’ve got a weird knack for torture.”

“Thank you. It’s a gift.” Ben blushes and adjusts his baseball cap. “Did you sell it properly? You know, acting is a skill. The most important thing is to–”

“Ben! For the love of God, shut up or I’ll run you over with my car,” Y/N snaps. If he gives her one more acting lesson, she swears she’ll turn herself a widow.

“Fine.” Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes back. “Did he fucking buy it?”

“Yup, he surely thinks you’re dead. Like the rest of the world,” Y/N says and shoots him a smile over her shoulder.

He matches it and scratches his shaved chin, letting himself fall back into the seat. “Good. So, we’re done, right?”

“Yeah, he was the last stop on our list,” she replies quietly, her smile mixing with sadness. “How’s the arm?”

“Good, good…” He nods, his head bobbing thoughtfully as he clutches the scar on his right bicep. “Healing nicely. Finally got a real war wound. Always wanted one.”

“Okay, then… Let’s go, I guess.” With a heavy swallow, Y/N turns the ignition and starts the car.

“You know, I’d really love to kiss you now,” Ben notes, heartache swinging in his voice, and finds her eyes in the rearview mirror.

Y/N bites down on her lip and nods. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice…”

Three weeks ago…

A guard gestures down the hallway to the restrooms, but as soon as Y/N rounds the corner and is out of sight, she takes a turn in the opposite direction.

The good thing about a super secret government facility that’s not supposed to exist is that it only comes with the necessary manpower. There’s no abundance of guards at every corner. It’s quiet and desolate.

Moreover, no one expects a silly and weak human to cause any trouble. It surely has its advantages to be constantly underestimated.

Y/N finds the lab she’s passed on their way in, where she spied a glass fridge with vials of different colors. It’s guarded, but only by one person. It’s sloppy, honestly.

A flirty ambush, a stab to the neck with a dull pocket knife, a stolen keycard, and she’s inside. She drags the body in, too, leaving no trace of her crime behind.

Her fingers rummage through differently labeled flasks. There’s plenty of blue and yellow, but not the poisonous green she’s looking for.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” she mutters to herself as she desperately searches every drawer, every goddamn cabinet of the laboratory.

Out of breath, she stops and grips her temples, shoulders slumping as her mind spins. She wants to curse and scream, but that would draw too much attention. She knows she’s running out of time. No one takes that long to fucking pee. Decisions have to be made quickly.

She grabs a blue vial.

Rolling down her sleeves, she walks nervously back into the control room. Neither Mallory nor Edgar pays her any mind. Everyone’s eyes are glued to Soldier Boy and Homelander. Father and son. It’s biblical.

It’s as if she isn’t even there.

Her veins twitch, her blood boils. It’s tingling in her fingertips.

“Little help would be fucking appreciated!” Ben yells as he wrangles with a defunct Homelander.

Stan Edgar’s smile. So vicious. So cold. So calculating.

She knows the air in the room is about to shift. Her hands ball into fists by her side, gather their energy.

He gives his command. She screams.

“No! That wasn’t the fucking deal!”

Edgar doesn’t even look at her fully. A sideways glance is all she’s worth. “Take her out, too.”

Mallory sees it first, her eyes widening when she realizes what’s going on. It’s too late to warn anyone, however, her cries for help unheard as the acid rots her throat.

Edgar and two guards are next, metal weapons melt and mix with a puddle of human soup on the ground. Then, she goes after the one that got away.

The third guard hurries inside the prison cell, but Y/N slips through the crack of the door before it slams shut. The first gunshot goes clean through Homelander’s spine, but the second is deterred and only strikes Ben’s arm as the guard bubbles to a pond, a hot spring in the concrete.

Ben clutches his bleeding wound with a hiss before his green eyes lock with hers. They widen, and it takes him a moment to make sense of it all.

“Y/N, what–”

He takes a step forward. She takes a step back.

“Don’t come near me,” she orders him with panic blinking in her eyes like a flashing alarm. Her chest rises and falls with every anxious breath.

He holds his palms up high, surrendering. “It’s okay.”

Ben carefully walks around her and steps over the bubbling human puddle on the floor. He peeks outside the door, purses his lips, and nods in impressed satisfaction.

“Those little blobs outside–”

Y/N bobs her head at his unfinished question. “Mallory and Edgar plus two guards,” she replies.

“Nice job.” He whistles lowly and shoots her a devilish grin, taking a step closer. “Gotta say, I’ve never been more turned on by you. I’m getting fucking hard.”

“Ben!” Y/N scolds and backs away from him until she’s pressed against the wall. “I told you, don’t touch me,” she warns him again.

Ben’s smile fades as he recognizes her fear. His features soften, the jokes disappear. “Hey, it’s alright. Twenty-four hours and you’ll be fine again. Just gotta get through it.”

Y/N shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. Ben’s brow knits in confusion, his face stern.

“What-… Why are you shaking your head?”

A tear escapes and streaks her cheek. “It won’t go away in twenty-four hours,” she chokes out. “They were out of Temp V.”

Ben’s face drops at the realization. “No, no, no… Tell me you didn’t fucking do this!” he yells.

“They were going to kill you! What was I supposed to do?” Y/N explains tearfully.

“Die, Y/N! You were supposed to let me fucking die!” Ben’s jaw tightens as anger surges through his body.

“I didn’t let you die the first time! What made you think I would let you fucking die right now, huh?” Y/N cries through gritted teeth, her hands balling into fists. “Stop trying to kill yourself. You fucking promised me!”

Licking his lips, Ben swallows. He’s quiet, running a palm over his face while his mind races a mile a minute. “Okay… alright,” he says finally, his voice significantly calmer now. “Where did you get the Compound V from?”

“There’s a lab here,” she replies in the same calm manner.

“They got more?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Ben nods and finds her eyes. “Show me.”

Y/N presses her lips into a thin line, shaking her head once more. “No.”

His anger returns, nostrils flaring as his brow creases. “What d’you mean no?”

She swallows thickly. “Look, if you really wanna do this, then I won’t stop you,” she says, a pleading glimmer haunting her eyes. “But you finally got a chance. You can live the normal, boring life. You can go on road trips, see Mount Rushmore… I know you want to.”

Ben swipes his tongue over his teeth and averts his gaze. He pinches the bridge of his freckled nose, and Y/N can see that she’s right.

“I’m not even sure if I want powers,” she continues after a pause. “But at least this time it was my choice. And I don’t regret it if it means I got to save you, okay?”

When Ben finally looks at her, it breaks her heart. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile. “I know… And you won’t be. I promise.”

Their attention is then temporarily drawn to a groan on the ground. Y/N’s brow furrows as she looks at Homelander’s body and notices his fingers twitching.

“Is he still alive?”

“Looks like it,” Ben replies. But as Y/N gets ready to take care of the problem, he stops her, holding out his flat palm. “Wait, wait, wait… Judging by the wound, he’s gonna be a fucking vegetable. It’s a waste of a kill.” He then grins mischievously at her. “I’ve got a better fucking idea. The other question is: how the fuck do we get outta this place… alive?”

Y/N’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t have an answer aside from a helpless shrug for him. This is as far as she has planned. Actually, she hasn’t planned any of this at all.

“I might be able to help with that,” a woman’s voice sounds behind her.

Y/N’s eyes widen as she recognizes the newcomer, her mouth parting anew in both surprise and shock. Ben, on the other hand, furrows his brow and glares at the stranger as if she had just spoken Russian.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ben prompts and then leans closer to Y/N, whispering in her ear, “Kill her.”

Y/N frowns, but her eyes are glued to the young woman in front of her, the familiarity sinking in. “I can’t,” she grits through her teeth.

“Why the fuck not?” Ben asks now loud enough for everyone to hear, including their guest.

“Because I’m the president,” the woman replies, smiling complacently. “And an old friend.”

Ben’s brow creases even more. “President of what? Cunt-town?”

“The United States, Ben,” Y/N tells him flatly. If she could kick his leg right now, she would. Leave it to her husband to get them both killed.

“Wait, a skirt is president?” Ben arches an eyebrow and mutters, “No wonder this country’s going to shit…”

“Charming,” Victoria Neuman says with a small sigh, but seemingly unbothered by the old-school views. Much like Y/N, she ignores the comment and doesn’t take offense to it. “I can see why you married him,” she adds wryly, looking at Y/N.

“Technically, she wasn’t elected. She was Vice President till President Singer died… accidentally,” Y/N explains, knowing Ben only reads the paper for the sports section and the comic strip. She swallows the thick lump in her throat, her heart thrashing wildly in her chest.

“Ah, I know what that’s code for.” Ben smirks coolly. “Bold move. I can fucking respect that.”

“Yeah, God knows some old fuck’s approval is what I’m looking for,” Neuman taunts, the sarcasm dripping from her red-painted lips.

Ben’s face drops as a bit of anger bubbles up inside of him. That bitch is lucky he’s V-free. He forces a tight-lipped smile. “I’m just saying I would’ve done the same thing, okay?”

“No offense, but you’re too much of a moron for that,” Neuman replies dryly.

Ben’s nostrils flare as he grits, “Offense fucking taken.”

“Okay!” Y/N tries to cut the tension with a nervous chuckle, pushing herself between Neuman and Ben. “How about you just tell us what we have to do to get out of this one?”

“See? She’s smart,” Neuman says and smirks at Ben. “I’ve always liked you, Y/N. You know, when Stan and Grace told me their plan of getting you two involved, I warned them. But they just wouldn’t listen. Everyone always underestimates the orphan. I should know, and so do you. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Yeah, guess we’re MVP, after all, Nadia,” Y/N says and makes it a point to emphasize her real name.

Victoria just smiles in response. “So, since you took care of two problems for me, one in here and one out there, I have a proposal for you.”

“What is it?” Y/N knows she’s really out of choices. Either she agrees, or Ben and her will spend the afterlife together.

“I need a new Chief of Staff. I want you to do it. You’re smart, driven, and I know you wanna change shit around here. You wanna make a difference? This is your chance,” Neuman proposes. “You can’t take the cure again. It’s going to kill you. Trust me, we’ve done studies, and the results are not pretty.”

Y/N thinks for a few breaths. “What about Ben?”

“I guess he can live. It’s not like he’s a threat to anyone,” Neuman says and almost sounds bored. “Hell, for all I care, we can even make Soldier Boy a reformed hero for dealing with Homelander. He dies heroically in battle and quietly lives out his retirement in fucking Florida or some shit. We get him a big fucking statue. It’s good publicity.”

Y/N shares a look with Ben. “What d’you think?”

Thoughtfully, Ben clicks his tongue. He supposes it’s the best deal they can get, and declining it would probably get them nowhere, although he hates everything about it.

Swallowing, the former supe nods. “Alright, let’s fucking do this,” he agrees and states his conditions, “But for the record, I’m not moving to shit-ass Florida. I want a nice lake house in Minnesota.”

Victoria rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Minnesota it is.”

“You okay? You ready?” Y/N checks as Ben has made it up the stone steps and halts in front of the big, red door.

“I don’t know. You really think this is a good idea? I’m not sure I can do this,” Ben says and insecurely eyes the entrance.

“You’ll do great, alright?” Y/N smiles encouragingly. “I believe in you.”

“I don’t wanna do this alone. What if I fuck up?” Ben asks.

Amused, Y/N chuckles. “Oh, you’re for sure gonna fuck up.”

The green-eyed man scowls. “That’s fucking reassuring. Thanks.”

“Look, this way you won’t be alone. I’ll wire you money every month and check in as much as I can, alright? You can always call me. This isn’t the end,” Y/N soothes his worries. “Maybe one day there’s a cure that’ll work, and we can be together again for real.”

She forces a weak smile to her lips, although she doesn’t believe her own words. But as long as Ben believes them, it’s enough.

“Okay.” Ben nods and takes a deep breath – in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I think I’m ready now.”

“Good.” Y/N sends him a smile. “You thought of a new name yet?”

“I’m still marinating on it,” Ben grumbles.

“Well, marinate faster. I have to introduce you.”

As they enter the orphanage, Y/N checks them in at the reception and fills out all necessary forms. Ben taps his foot nervously and scratches the back of his neck as they wait before one of Y/N’s former colleagues walks in with a little boy in hand, who’s no older than five.

Ben tries to smile but isn’t sure if it looks creepy, so he stops and opts for a more neutral expression. Y/N, however, immediately kneels down to the young boy and smiles brightly at him. It causes Ben’s heart to ache. She deserved to have all of this, but instead, she gave it all up for him.

“Hey, Benny,” she greets the boy. “You ready to meet your new adoptive parent?”

The boy scrunches his brow in careful suspicion as he eyes his future father-to-be. “I guess so,” he says. “Is that him? He looks like he drives a fucking minivan and offers candy to kids. Are you sure he’s not a pedo, Ms. Y/N?”

Ben purses his lips, biting the insides of his cheeks. The initial smile was definitely a mistake. They’re not off to a good start.

Y/N presses her lips together to muffle her snort. “Yes, Benny, I’m sure,” she replies patiently. “He’s cool, trust me.”

“Fine, whatever.” The kid rolls his eyes. “As long as he’s not fucking vegan like Ms. Teresa. They’re the worst.”

“Ugh, agreed! Do I look like a fucking plant-shitter to you?” Ben asks the boy rhetorically.

“No, you look like a fucking pedo to me,” the boy retorts.

Ben grins broadly at Y/N. “I like the kid. I think I get what you mean now. I see the resemblance.”

“Well, great. Glad you two are hitting it off… I think,” Y/N says with a crinkled brow, although a part of her is doubting her idea. Honestly, it’s wild she’s trusting him with a child. A year ago she would’ve thought that it was insane. “Alright, uh, Benny, this is, uhm–”

“Sam,” Ben proudly introduces himself with his fake name and shakes the kid’s hand. He then notices Y/N’s strange look. “What?”

“Nothing, just… you don’t really strike me as a Sam. That’s all,” she tells him in a whisper-tone, shrugging.

“Oh, really? Well, I don’t give a fuck. I love it,” Ben quips, grinning rather smugly.

“Fine.” Y/N sighs. She turns back to little Ben with a smile. “You guys ready to hit the road?”

“Where are we going?” Benny asks curiously and promptly takes Ben’s hand, dragging the older man through the doors. He’s been waiting to get out of the orphanage for a while, the excitement of finally being able to leave visible in every step he takes.

It’s a fresh start for both of them.

“Uh, Mount Rushmore,” Ben answers.

“Cool! Can we get burgers on the way there? I’m starving.”

“Sure can, kid.”

Y/N can see Ben’s initial hesitance until he eventually accepts it and eases into the situation, holding the boy’s hand tightly. He helps the kid into the car, even puts the seatbelt on, and shuts the door behind him.

Her heart twinges as she watches the two, wishing she could go with them if things were different. However, she knows the risk is too big. She would never forgive herself if she hurt either of them. She doesn’t trust herself enough yet. Maybe someday she can.

“You okay?” Ben asks as he sees the unshed tears brimming in her eyes. He’d dreaded this day for the past few weeks, hoping she’d still change her mind. He hates that this is goodbye, but he supposes he has to set her free now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N says with a forced smile, but a tear escapes and rolls down her cheek.

“C’mere.”

Y/N protests as Ben slings his arms around her and pulls her flush against him, holding her tightly. He hasn’t touched her since that night, but he doesn’t care anymore. He presses his lips against hers and tastes her one last time.

Breathlessly, Y/N withdraws and sniffles. “Are you fucking insane? I could kill you.”

Ben simply smiles at her. “Hey, if I die kissing you, then that’s a fucking great way to go out. ‘Sides, insanity is contagious,” he quips and sends her a wink. “Thank you… for everything, you know?”

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly and swallows harshly as the tears fall freely now. Not every film has a happy ending. “I guess I’ve done my job as your sponsor. You’ve been successfully rehabilitated.”

Ben snorts. “If by that you mean I’m fucking boring and responsible now then yeah, you’ve done your job.”

“You won’t be bored for long. The kid’s already trying to hotwire the car,” Y/N tells him, laughing.

“Wha–” Ben spins around and points a warning finger at the boy. “Ay! Hands in your fucking lap!”

The kid raises his palms in surrender and yells, “Hurry the fuck up!”

With a shaking head, Ben turns back to her. “Gotta watch that kid like an eagle,” he mutters. He exhales a dreaded breath and licks his lips. “So, I guess this is goodbye, huh?”

Y/N smiles softly, the corners of her mouth reaching her dimples. “Maybe.”

Little Ben gets me every time 😂 Alright, now you may yell and complain, but I love this bittersweet ending 🥲 (But of course, you're welcome to send in requests. Whether it's deleted scenes, bonus shots of a potential future, or some fun Big Ben/Little Ben drabbles)

Thank you so much for reading, for your gifs and comments! It's so appreciated! Without them, this would only be half the fun 🤍

I'll announce future plans soon. The final five of Plastic Hearts will probably be next up. Get ready 'cause it's another wild one! 🌟

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @imsapphine @globetrotter28

Series Tags: @nancymcl @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @sparkydonugh

#rehab #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy reader insert #the boys reader insert #the boys x reader #the boys amazon #the boys season 3 #the boys fanfic #soldier boy fanfic

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estellan0vella · 15 days ago

Text

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Thirteen: The Minho Way SS: 4 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.3K & 1.4K Content Warnings: Drug Use, Discussions of Addiction, Minho holds Hayun underwater Previous Next Masterlist

Minho strides up to Yeji's dingy apartment building, his mind a storm of frustration and concern. The door is weathered, the paint peeling and it’s just another detail that makes Minho’s blood boil. He bangs his fist against it, hard enough that the doorframe rattles under the force.

"Open up!" he shouts, his voice reverberating down the narrow hallway. "I’m here for Hayun!"

There’s a muffled thud from inside and then an irritated voice calls back, "Who the fuck is it?"

Minho’s jaw tightens. "Lee Minho, Chaeryeong’s brother!"

The silence that follows is thick, but then the door creaks open. Yeji stands there, leaning lazily against the frame, dressed in a loose tank top that hangs off her shoulder, her hair a mess like she just rolled out of bed. Her eyes flicker with amusement as she takes him in.

"Well, fuck me," she says with a smirk, her tone slow and taunting. "Didn’t expect the murderess’ brother to be tight with Sunshine Hayun. What the hell do you want?"

Minho’s eyes narrow, his patience already wearing thin. "Where is she?"

Yeji’s smirk doesn’t falter as she lazily gestures behind her with a flick of her hand. "She and Ryujin are in the living room. Took oxy. They’re having a good time."

Minho pushes past her without another word, his heart pounding with anger. He storms into the cramped, dingy apartment, his eyes scanning the room until they land on Hayun and what he sees makes his stomach churn.

Hayun and Ryujin are sprawled out on a battered, stained couch. Hayun’s wearing her sunglasses inside, and her body is slack, limp, as if gravity’s winning the fight to keep her upright. Ryujin doesn’t look much better, equally out of it, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Hayun," Minho growls, stalking over to her, his anger barely restrained. "It’s eleven in the morning. How high are you right now?"

Hayun turns her head slowly, almost dreamlike, a lazy smile spreading across her lips. "I had two oxys," she slurs, her voice thick and sluggish. "I'm just lightly buzzed."

Minho crosses his arms, staring her down with a mix of frustration and concern. "Yeah? Then why is your neck like a limp noodle?" He reaches out and gives her shoulders a light shake, her head lolling to the side, clearly unable to stay upright on her own.

Hayun just sighs, her words slow, dreamlike. "Stop being dramatic, Minho."

His eyes darken as he yanks off her sunglasses, revealing the full extent of her glazed-over, half-closed eyes. "You’re fucked up, Hayun," he mutters under his breath, staring at her in disbelief. "Jesus, you're really out of it."

She giggles softly, as if nothing's wrong, and leans back into the couch. "I feel great."

Minho’s hands tighten around her shoulders as he shakes her again, more urgently this time. "Stay awake, for fuck’s sake. You’re not passing out on me."

Hayun groans, weakly trying to bat his hands away. "Stop being mean!"

Minho’s voice drops, sarcasm biting through his frustration. "Yeah, that’s me. Big bad meanie Minho, here to take care of your drugged-up ass. Again."

"I didn’t ask you to come here," Hayun mumbles, her words barely coherent as she tries to pull away from him, though her movements are clumsy, slow.

Minho’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. "Well, tough shit, princess. Every time you do this to yourself, I’m gonna show up. Every single time. I’m not letting you bury yourself in this mess."

From the doorway, Yeji leans against the frame, lighting a cigarette. She watches the scene unfold with mild amusement, taking a long drag before speaking. "She’s a big girl, Minho. She can make her own choices."

Minho spins around, glaring at her, his frustration barely contained. "Yeah? And you’re the one feeding her these choices, aren’t you? You and your drugs did this to her."

Yeji blows out a cloud of smoke, unbothered, her eyes half-lidded as she shrugs. "She did it to herself. I just provide what she’s looking for. I keep an eye on her when she’s here. So does Ryu." She motions to Ryujin, who is barely conscious, slumped against the arm of the couch, her eyes rolling shut every few seconds.

Minho glances at Ryujin, his fury growing. "Yeah, because Ryujin looks real capable of babysitting anyone right now."

Yeji shrugs again, flicking her cigarette ash onto the floor without a care. "There’s no point moving her now. She needs to ride it out. Just let her be, Minho."

Minho’s patience snaps. He steps closer to Yeji, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re going to stop selling to her. Right fucking now."

Yeji’s eyes gleam with amusement as she takes another slow drag, blowing the smoke directly toward him. "Why would I do that? She’s got demons, Minho. Demons to run from. I help her run. I’m the only thing keeping her sane."

Minho’s eyes flash with anger. "Sane? You think this is sane?" He motions toward Hayun, who’s barely holding her head up, her body limp against the couch.

Yeji chuckles softly, shaking her head. "First time she came to me, I said no. Told her I didn’t want to sell to some sixteen-year-old kid. But she told me what she’s been fighting since the night Yuna disappeared." Her eyes flicker toward Hayun, her expression sharpening. "I took pity on her."

Minho’s voice tightens, his frustration bubbling over. "You know what happened that night?"

Yeji leans back against the doorframe, her cigarette dangling lazily between her fingers. "I’m one of the only people who know the truth. Me, Hayun, Yuna, Lia, and Mingi. And well..." Her lips curl into a sneer. "Yuna’s dead. Good riddance. If your sister killed Yuna, she deserved a fucking medal for it."

Minho’s whole body tenses, his fists clenching as he steps closer, his voice cold and dangerous. "Chaeryeong didn’t kill Yuna. And she didn’t kill herself, either."

Yeji holds his gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable as the cigarette burns down between her fingers. "Believe whatever helps you sleep at night, Minho. But you’re swimming in shit you don’t understand."

The room falls into a thick, uncomfortable silence. Hayun slumps further down on the couch, her head tipping forward slightly, barely aware of the tense confrontation happening around her.

Yeji takes a final drag from her cigarette, then flicks the butt onto the floor, crushing it beneath her foot with a slow, deliberate movement.

"You’re not going to fix her, you know," she says, her tone light but mocking. "She’s been broken for a long time. And you? You’re just a Band-Aid on an open wound."

Minho doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on Hayun, his mind racing. The anger is still burning under the surface, but there’s something else. Something more helpless. He can’t fix this in one day. He knows that. But there’s no way he’s letting Hayun drown in this. Not here. Not with Yeji. Not ever.

Without another word, Minho steps forward and scoops Hayun up into his arms. She’s light and limp, barely responding as he lifts her, her body slumping against him. He adjusts his grip, holding her securely as she leans her head against his chest, too out of it to fight back.

Yeji watches with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leans back against the doorframe. "You can take her, but she’ll be back. She always comes back."

Minho glares at her, his voice steady but filled with fury. "She’s not coming back here. Ever."

Yeji just laughs softly, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Oh, Minho. You don’t get it, do you? You can’t save her. No one can."

Minho doesn’t respond. He turns and walks out of the apartment, Hayun still cradled in his arms, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He casts one last glance over his shoulder at Yeji, his eyes cold.

"Watch me."

With that, he steps out into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Yeji’s laughter echoing through the empty apartment.

Minho grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white, his jaw clenched in a way that makes his teeth ache. The frustration in his chest is building to a boiling point, and the worst part is the worry tangled up in it.

The image of Hayun slumped over in the passenger seat, her head lolling against the headrest, makes his gut twist. Her face is pale, her lips parted slightly as she breathes slowly.

When they finally pull up to his house, Minho jerks the car to a stop, tyres screeching slightly on the pavement. Without waiting a second, he jumps out, rushing around to the passenger side. He pulls open the door, and Hayun’s body slumps further, almost falling out of the car. Minho catches her before she hits the ground, hoisting her into his arms.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, adjusting her limp form. She’s barely conscious, her head lolling against his shoulder. "Come on, stay with me."

He kicks the front door with his boot, his patience long gone. It swings open almost immediately, and Hyunjin stands there, eyes widening as he takes in the sight of Minho carrying Hayun.

"What the fuck, Minho? It’s the middle of the day. What’s wrong with her?" Hyunjin asks, stepping aside to let them in, his voice full of concern.

"She’s high," Minho snaps, pushing past him into the house. "And do not tell Jisung or Felix. Don’t tell anyone. Help me get her to the bathroom."

Hyunjin’s eyes harden, and he gives a quick nod, following Minho toward the hallway. "Shit. Yeah, okay. Let’s get her up."

They half-carry, half-drag Hayun down the narrow hallway toward the bathroom. Her feet barely touch the ground, her shoes scuffing against the floor. She’s murmuring something under her breath, her words slurred and incomprehensible.

Once they get her inside, Minho and Hyunjin hoist her into the shower, clothes and all. Minho slams the door shut behind them.

"Turn it on," Minho orders and Hyunjin twists the knob, setting it all the way to cold.

The water comes blasting down, frigid and relentless, soaking all three of them instantly. Hayun jerks slightly, her body reacting to the sudden shock of cold, but she’s still far too out of it to fully comprehend what’s happening.

Hyunjin, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, shoots Minho a grim look. "Yeji again?"

"Yeah," Minho growls, keeping his grip tight on Hayun to keep her upright.

Hyunjin’s lips tighten. "I hate her. She’s my cousin, but I don’t give a shit anymore. She’s killing people like Hayun. Slowly, but surely."

Hayun whines softly, trying to push herself away from the freezing water, her body shivering uncontrollably. "N-No... s-stop..." she murmurs, her voice weak, almost childlike.

Minho holds her firmly, his voice cold. "Suck it up, princess. You wanna get high at Yeji’s? Then you sober up the Minho way."

"The Minho way sucks," Hayun groans, her weak attempts to move away from the water doing nothing as Minho keeps her steady.

"Yeah, well," Minho mutters darkly, "you’ll hate it even more by the time we’re done."

She’s shivering so violently now that her teeth are chattering, but Minho shows no mercy. He keeps her under the freezing water, his jaw clenched as the icy spray soaks through his own clothes. He knows it’s brutal, but he doesn’t care.

"I’m not your responsibility," Hayun mutters, her words slurring together. "I never asked you for anything."

Minho’s eyes flash, his frustration mounting as he leans in closer to her face. "Yeah, well, you made yourself my responsibility when you made me care about you," he snaps. "You don’t get to self-destruct without me getting involved."

"I’m not an addict," she mumbles, her head lolling forward again as the cold water drenches her, running in rivulets down her face and body. Her lips are turning a pale blue, and her hands tremble as she tries to keep herself steady.

Hyunjin, holding her up from the other side, snorts bitterly. "Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You’re drowning, Hayun, and you’re pretending you’re swimming."

Minho tightens his grip on her shoulders, leaning down to speak directly in her ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You go back to Yeji’s place again without telling anyone, I swear to god, I’ll fill a bathtub with ice water and hold you under. You hear me?"

Hayun tries to bat his hands away, but her movements are weak, barely more than a half-hearted attempt. "You don’t get it," she murmurs, her head drooping forward as if she’s losing the battle to stay awake.

Minho’s voice is sharp, cutting through the roar of the water. "Then explain it to me, because right now, it looks like you’re trying to kill yourself."

"I don’t need you to save me," Hayun mutters, her voice quieter now, almost fragile. "I was fine at Yeji’s. I was happy."

Hyunjin’s jaw clenches as he glances at Minho. "You were high."

Hayun lets out a weak, bitter laugh, the sound hollow. "Same thing."

Minho’s patience snaps. "You think this is happiness?" he demands, his voice rising. "This? Lying on a couch, high out of your mind, waiting for someone like Yeji to bury your body when you take one pill too many?"

Hayun groans, barely able to keep her eyes open. "You don’t understand."

"Fine," Minho says coldly. "I’m done being nice."

Without warning, he steps away from her, leaving Hyunjin to hold her up as he moves toward the bathtub. He turns on the faucet, cranking it all the way to cold, and within moments, the tub is filling with freezing water. Hyunjin watches him, eyes wide, but doesn’t say anything as Minho leaves the room and returns with a bag of ice, dumping it into the tub without hesitation.

"Minho..." Hyunjin starts, his voice uncertain, watching the ice cubes swirl around in the frigid water.

Minho cuts him off, his voice hard. "No more cold showers. That clearly didn’t work."

Before Hayun can even register what’s happening, Minho yanks her out of the shower, her feet stumbling against the wet floor. She’s barely coherent, her head still lolling to the side as Minho lifts her into his arms once again.

"Minho, wait-" Hyunjin tries again, but Minho doesn’t listen.

With a determined, almost cold efficiency, Minho lowers Hayun into the ice bath, submerging her body in the freezing water. The shock hits her immediately. She gasps, her limbs jerking weakly, but the drugs in her system are still dulling her reactions.

"Deep breath," Minho orders, his voice steely, and Hayun barely manages to inhale before he pushes her head under the water.

One, two, three, four, five- he counts silently in his head, his jaw clenched as her body thrashes weakly under the surface. Then, he pulls her back up, water pouring off her face, her breathing ragged as she gasps for air.

Minho stares into her eyes, his gaze hard, looking for any sign of clarity. But her pupils are still blown wide, and the haze in her eyes hasn’t faded.

"Still high," he mutters, his frustration growing. "Guess you’re going under again."

Before Hayun can protest, Minho pushes her back under the water. Her body jerks again, weaker this time, as the freezing cold assaults her senses. After another five seconds, he pulls her up, and this time, she spits at him.

Minho wipes the spit from his face, his expression dark. "Cute," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I’m going to do this every time you get high. Don’t like it? Stop popping oxy."

Hayun’s body trembles violently, her breathing shallow as she slumps against the edge of the tub. She’s still not fully sober, but the cold is starting to break through the fog, bringing her back to reality.

Hyunjin watches in silence, his arms crossed, but his face is grim. "He’s right, Hayun," he says quietly, his voice soft but firm. "This isn’t a game. You’re playing with your life."

Minho’s gaze softens just slightly as he leans down, his voice quiet but filled with determination. "I care about you, Hayun. And I’m not going to let you destroy yourself, no matter how much you try."

Hayun’s lip twitches, her eyes still glassy, but there’s something broken in her expression now. She doesn’t spit this time. She can’t. She’s too worn out, too cold, too drained.

Minho stares at her for a moment longer, then reaches into the tub, lifting her out of the icy water. Her body is trembling uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as he wraps her in a towel, holding her close.

"You’re not going back to Yeji’s," Minho says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I won’t let you."

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