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belokhvostikova · 1 year

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Tuesday was the development between you and Eddie Munson. Wednesday, peace finally seems plausible for the two hurt kids, and understanding becomes a valued aspect.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, implications to verbal abuse, self deprecating thought, mentions of anxiety, bulling, parent abandonment, domestic abuse, and childhood abuse and neglect.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've gone back to all my posts and tagged everyone for the tag list. Literally. If you commented, I tagged you. If you reblogged and remotely mentioned you wanted more, I tagged you. If you were not looking to be tagged, please let me know so I can remove you. Also, I sincerely apologize to anyone who I've accidently been excluding from the tag list, that was my mistake.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲

There was no investment in moral quandary for him. Logicality. Everything had to be logical under the guise that all faults of the world had been facilitated by the emission of emotions that tainted the globe.

Feelings were wrong. Sentiment was wrong. Empathy was wrong.

He believed it was such vulnerability that led to the downfall of his life- not that he’d ever verbally admit his life had crumbled right in front of him, but a pit within the deepest tunnel of his consciousness recognized it. Drilled it. Cemented it. He had chosen to blame the emotions of amenability for the reason why his wife came home at four in the morning with the familiar scent of the neighbor’s cologne. From there, he knew to get rid of it. Emotions. So when you sobbed, asking why mommy hadn’t been home for a couple of days, he said it was not worth crying over. When you had to stand in court upon a scary looking man in a robe and hear mommy agree to only seeing you every other weekend, he said to not worry and suck it up. And when mommy stopped picking up calls and seemingly “forgot” it was her day to see you, he said to get over it. But maybe it wasn’t too bad, right? He always said to be grateful that, at least, he stuck around. At the minimum, he always provided good take-out often, though you were quick to realize it was because he had no desire to cook for you. But, hey, he had always let you watch TV during dinner. Granted, it was because he never sat with you, and chose the comfort of the living room couch, where you could always see the history channel playing from the archway of the dining room where you sat lonely. It was then, you got a deep understanding of the Civil War. And at least his stoicism permitted a great hatred for the presuppositionalism that had infiltrated Hawkins, Indiana. That was good, right? Though, you were never one to define metaethics through divine revelation, so it kinda didn’t matter. But it could be worse. He always said he could be worse. That his choice to deprive you from any physical harm was somehow enough to garner him some merit as a parent.

And maybe that was one of the underlying reasons as to why Eddie Munson scared you so much. He was like your father. And your father scared you.

Mid week. The morning of spring Wednesday had been a groggily dawn of humidity and fog. Though no weather circumstance could derail the perfected routine of your father’s morning. Wake up, shower, brush teeth, make coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterer, the better. Because that was by true definition strong.

It was like clockwork. Every morning. Because routine leads to success, he's ingrained. It was the only reason why every summer break since you were a child he had you waking up before sunrise with intentions of appearing downstairs for two hours of study time with a tutor he spent hours meticulously searching for that fit his standards. One with saggy cheeks, thin eyebrows, a thick accent, and a bad habit of reprimanding you with a smack of a ruler whenever you humanly made a mistake. The worst thing that could happen in his eyes was watching his daughter slack because of relaxation over summer. Especially after he programmed you into perfection.

But the unthinkable had occurred, and his routine was interrupted.

Between 6:30 a.m and 6:45 a.m, your father was set—like everyday—to retrieve the morning paper, sit down, set the timer, and complete the crossword puzzle. Ten minutes. Nothing more.

But by 6:33 a.m, Eddie Munson was nearly murdered by your father.

Oh, his girl. Of course, there was his sweetheart, Eddie was damn near devoted to that warlock, but then there was his girl. Definitely not the everloving relationship he had with his sweetheart, I mean, he touched her, and the harmonious sounds from her strings could elevate the pain of his mind, but there was still no doubt that a sentimental part of his heart was dedicated to his girl. Rusted and cranking, the old van had been gifted to the young man after countless hours committed to Harry’s Auto Shop over the summer. And though her imperfections nearly had him pulling the roots of his hair out of his head weekly, she still managed to get him from point A to point B—not to mention, she looked totally sick and provided the best comfort place to spark up a joint or spend time with a pretty boy or girl whenever the opportunity came (it never did).

But besides that, the moral of the story is his van, his girl, was deeply cared for.

Except for the occasions of last night.

Because right now, your father was wrinkling the informative pages of the daily news with a tight grip of pure seethe, because some dirty, gross van had parked over the curb of his property and ruined the pristine, clean-cut, green lawn with muddy tire tracks.

You had heard it all.

The blaring alarm at 5:45 a.m, the running shower from your father’s bathroom, and the heavy steps of his feet descend into the kitchen.

Exhaustion couldn’t fathom the ache of your body, as the fluffy duvet beneath you held no substance to the stiffening floor underneath. Not to mention, the heavy sorrow of the events that had only occurred a couple hours prior were relying heavy in your mind, prompting the loss of true sleep, made only worse when Eddie’s drunken snores were echoing as a constant reminder that he was right there.

Eddie Munson was in your bed- Eddie Munson was in your bed!

The ever so slight glimmer of the awakening sun was bleeding upon his sleeping figure, almost dead with no movement. He hadn’t shifted an arm or a leg, mouth still agape from his roaring slumber with a puddle of drool staining your satin pillow. You’d timidly approached the edge of your bed, knees scraping along the rough floor to reach his peaceful face. The disheveled bangs of his forehead had crumpled against themselves, shielding him from the oozing light through your window.

This was the calmest Eddie Munson had been in weeks.

No lumps in the mattress, an actual comforter, the pungent stank of his cigarettes now replaced with the captivating vanilla scent of your perfume, which eased him into a comfortable sleep and an all too real dream where you were in his arms. It felt scaringly natural.

There was a part of you that didn’t want to wake him. Whether it was because you could take an hour studying his pretty face, which led you to wondering how anyone could even fathom being so nasty to something so beautiful, or whether it was because that childhood anger and nestling vexation against a world that hated him was still deeply residing within Eddie, and you could easily fall victim to such hatred. It happened before, it could happen again.

You rested your head against your bed, a slight alleviation to the malaise of the floor, and let his warm breathing fan across your face. The tips of your fingers benevolently stroked the unruly strands of his bangs away, to reveal the fluttering eyes of his face. You wondered what he could be dreaming of.

You.

You were all he could think of. Awake and asleep.

“Eddie.” You softly whispered. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best choice given his hangover coma, but Eddie needed gentleness. “Hey, wake up.” You shook his shoulder. A pained groan prolonged far longer than you expected, as his face scrunched in a wince of a pounding headache. “Are you okay?”

That was too real for any dream. Eddie’s dry eyes snapped at the sound of your saccharine voice, suddenly realizing the devastating events that occurred last night. “Sh-shit!” He attempted to sit up, but your hand held his arm back.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You cooed, as he peered around frantically confused. He cracked his neck with a sharp turn, and his big eyes landed on you; once again, comforting him, as though he hadn’t put you through hell in the mere days he’s communicated with you.

His head fervently began shaking, as if to reject all that he’d done, as if everything he ever did you to was just a nightmare of his own fears, that he didn’t do what he did. But he did. And his eyes started welling up. “I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He choked. “For everything, I didn’t- I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Shh, Eddie-”

“I don’t want to scare you, and I’m s-sorry for doing it in the first place, I’m so so fucking so-”

“Eddie, just lay down, it’s okay.” You attempted to ease into him, as you lowered him down, his begrudgement leaving him hesitating until his back was flat against your bed.

Once relaxed, it seemed his body and mind gave up on the restraints of his emotions, and his stream of tears came pouring with all dejection and regret of how everything had played out between you two. Eddie Munson hated himself. Hated who he was. Someone set up for the failures of life, he rejected anything that could steer him from a path of love and acceptance. And he hated that. He hated the life he had. At any given opportunity to go back in time, he would scream at his father, hit his father, just get him and his mother away from his father so that he could just grow up to be a normal person. A normal person, who could process their emotions and not deduce themselves into a nihilistic asshole. A normal person, who wouldn’t degrade the only person who’s held him without hurting him. A normal person, who would love you and cherish you as you deserved. Yet Eddie Munson hated his life and hated any momentous occasion that could possibly diminish the pain of life… like you. Because good things don’t happen to Eddie Munson, and you held so much power to hurt him.

Seeing his palms stab into his eyes, you gently held his trembling wrist to relieve him from the pain he believed he deserved. “Come on, Eddie, please stop.” You softly spoke trying to ease his hands away from his face. “Everything is okay, I promise.”

“N-no, it’s not!”

“Shh!” You rushed out. “My dad’s awake downstairs.” You whispered.

“S-sorry.” He spoke so meekly, as his hands cleaned the staggering wetness of his eyes and cheeks.

The atmosphere between you both fell stagnantly silent, as he tried to control his breathing through the tiny sniffles of his nose. He felt you staring, eyes boring into the side of his head, as he peered up at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t stand to look at you right now. He had just drunkenly sobbed and was now blubbering like a child, because of all the bullshit he just put you through. He was a-fucking-shamed. Ashamed of all he’s done. Ashamed of who he was. And you were seeing the worst of it.

“Eddie.” He closed his eyes and shook his head no. “Please.”

He slowly turned his head and met your tired yet so fucking beautiful face. God, he could stare at you forever. How could he do this to you? Put you through off of that, just because he was scared. He fucking hated himself, and you could so clearly see the despise against himself in his saddened eyes. I’m sorry I am the way that I am, I’m sorry you have to put up with me, I’m sorry I’m here ruining your life. He didn’t have to say it, it was engraved on his face.

His heart almost lunged out of his chest when you crept closer, noses nearly touching, as your eyes engulfed him with a meaningful stare. “I’m really glad you came.”

“What?” You truly couldn’t have been, but your head nodded with the soothing confirmation he needed.

“Yeah, I am.” You whispered.

“You shouldn’t be.” He whispered. “What I did was awful.”

“I know.” You sighed. “I know, and please don’t ever do that again. But I’m still glad you came. Glad that we talked. Glad that I got to understand.”

“I wish I told you sooner… and better.” He pinched his eyes closed at the haunting memory. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, I’m so fucking sorry I did.”

“I know you are.” There was no “it’s fine” or forgiveness to offer, because he truly did cross a line that terrified you. But you could accept his understanding of the wrongdoing he did. Because acknowledgement was a valuable step in moving forward.

“I just- Y/N, I just really want to be with you.” There it was. He was putting himself out there once and for all, risking it, because you deserved to know. The torment of his emotional unavailability was ending, because he was ready to face the adversity of his trauma to make you happy. But that was exactly the issue. You could see he was ready to do it for you. Not himself. And whatever was brewing between you and Eddie Munson would not magically dissolve the underlying issue within both of you under the guise that you both got together and skipped away into the sunset happily ever after. Reality was a harsh slap in the face, and you knew he’d hate it, but it was what was needed.

“I just want you to be okay, Eddie.” You confided with a heavy bite of your lip. “I… want to be okay, Eddie.”

His eyes were glossing with threatening tears again. He knew what was coming. “You don’t wanna be with me.” He murmured. It was no question, but a simple truth he had to face.

“No.” You spoke with deep conviction. “I don’t want to be with the person you are right now. I can’t be. Not now. It wouldn’t be right, and I just want us to be okay.” You brushed his bangs away. His lips began trembling, but he accepted your boundaries with a vehement nod to his head to let you know he understood. “Eddie,” you punctuated so it became cemented, “I don’t want you to do this again-”

“I won’t, I swear, I won’t drink-”

“No, Eddie… I don’t want you coming here. To my house. To see me.” You sighed, as his eyes desperately scanned your face for the off chance you’d say you were kidding and you wanted him over all the time. But your words continued.

“I’m really fucking sorr-”

“I know you are, Eddie. I know.” A heavy breath from your chest escaped. “But I need time, and it may not seem like it now, but you need time, too. So I don’t want you calling. I don’t want you asking anyone where I am or how to talk to me. Not Chrissy, not anyone. Promise me.”

He agreed.

But Eddie Munson would break this promise. Not for some drunken, overbearing, emotional reason, though. But for good reason. All because your bedroom door slammed open.

Synchronized through driven fear, yours and Eddie’s head snapped at the sudden bust of your bedroom door, where your father stood effervesce with indignation of pure enragement at the sight of Eddie in your bed.

“Get out of my house!”

“Dad, wait!”

Your words were not of care to your dad, as he shoved you onto the ground with a shriek of horror escaping your lungs, as he charged himself onto your bed. The shot of adrenaline had coursed out any inebriations from the night before, as Eddie went against the swelling pounding of his head to jump from the comfort of your sheets and tumble onto the floor.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Imprinted with the mud of his shoes, the pool of his drool, and now crumbled under the heavy weight of your father’s fall, the sanctity of your bed—the only thing that had caressed you through the hardships of your life, where you found solace in the safety of its soft cotton and silk, where your mother once cuddled you to sleep as she spoke of the future, I’m gonna lay your pretty prom dress right on the bed and watch you become so beautiful for your special night, where you cried yourself to sleep for countless night because she left you and she didn’t actually want to see you become so beautiful for your special night—had demised under the ruins of men who made you bawl your eyes out and made you feel so little about yourself. And maybe your bed being derelict was a cursory occasion to cry over, maybe it wasn’t; nonetheless, your eyes began to brim with the flooding tears of the overstimulated stress of an exhausted mind, dry eyes, and a splitting heart.

“Please stop.” Too quiet and airy for any big, angry, men to hear.

Because big, angry, men don’t care for the aching pain of the people they hurt.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…” Eddie stumbled onto wobbly feet, planting the palms of his hands to stand himself away from your reaching father. “M’so fuckin’ sorry!” At that point, the directions of his words were either targeted to you or your father, you couldn’t decipher, and truthfully, you didn’t care to decipher.

Your father managed to unravel himself from the hold of your blankets, stepping off with heavy stomps to follow Eddie around your room. “You better get out of my fucking house, I’m fucking calling the cops! How dare you fucking touch my daughter?!”

“Dad, please.” Weak, broken, unheard.

“I fuckin’ didn’t!” Eddie was fortunate enough to spot his beloved jacket, snatching it from the confines of your desk chair, where he was able to roll it out as an obstruction to your father’s determined path of strangling Eddie Munson.

Because in the mind of a relentless resolute driven by all the wrong ideas because of the pain he so adamantly refused the face, Eddie Munson was the cause of your ultimate failure. Eddie Munson manipulated his daughter. Eddie Munson got his daughter suspended. Eddie Munson would be the reason your failure tainted the family name.

Eddie pummeled through your door, coming face-to-face with the extravagant expanse of your home. Cold. Everything was freezing cold, from the temperature to the decoration. Deprived from any signs of life. As if it was a museum. His bulging eyes found the large staircase, and it truly amazed him how his feet found every step without thought, simply autopilot. There was a yanking urge that was demanding him to go back. Go back for you. Make sure you were okay. Make sure to clean your tears up. Once again, he was making you cry. Maybe not entirely his fault, but his being was partaking in your agony and he fucking hated himself for it. But the weighing steps of her father marching right on his ass prompted him to move forward. Your front door was swung carelessly, welcoming the hot air of the burning morning, where once again, the clean cut grass of the manicured lawn was falling victim to Eddie’s destruction of mucky shoes. Maybe drinking hadn’t been too bad of an idea—it absolutely was—as Eddie’s drunken state, at nine at night, had left his keys impaled into the ignition ready to go.

The haggard van erupted to life, Eddie had never been so grateful to hear the god awful clunk that definitely needed to be checked out. Peer out once more, your wrathful father ran with a tirade of curses that condemned Eddie Munson back to hell, but the screech of his reversing tires interrupted his polemic. “Don’t you ever come back! You’ll be dead before your kind can even step foot into my fucking neighborhood!”

Eddie Munson would return back in eighteen hours.

“There’s an old man sitting next to me…” Wayne softly chuckled, as the lyrics had been repeating out of his mouth for the entirety of his shift, after Rodney Nickelvich decided to play the voice of Billy Joel during break.

It’d been a particularly difficult shift. His back wasn’t getting any younger, and the evident ache that decided to settle in the lower region was making it known. But the stiffness of his folding bed would alleviate enough, at least until his next shift. But that never came for Wayne Munson. Because the second—the literal second—his head managed to even briefly skim his flat pillow, the presence of his caterwauling nephew combusted through their front door with no regards for the tired old man in the living room. Eddie hadn’t even looked his way. A straight B-line to the phone.

“And where the hell have you been?” Wayne groaned with prostration. “Comin’ in here like you own the place, have you lost your mind, boy?”

But there was no answer.

Where Eddie would have normally spoken back with a clear answer of respect, there was nothing. No acknowledgement.

“Ed.”

Already engraved into his mind like the chords to his guitar, Eddie punched the buttons to your number on the yellow phone. But then he stopped. “I need the time… I don’t want you calling.” But this was bigger than that, right? He needed to know you were okay. “Please don’t hate me.” He scrunched his brows in the burning pain of betraying your boundaries. Once again. His finger dialed the rest of the numbers.

But it was dead. Not a ring. Not a buzz. Not a single indication that your phone was even ringing. Just a deadline. And Eddie’s heart sank to the deepest pit in his stomach. “Fuck!”

“Eddie.” Wayne’s face etched with concern. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Eddie’s chest began hyperventilating with worry for you. “I-I… shit, I-uh… I really gotta get to school.”

Wayne sat up, now. Never in the decade he’s been in the care of Eddie Munson had that boy ever rushed out to get to school. Something was deeply wrong. But he couldn’t even hurtle a question of scrutiny, as Eddie had already slammed the door shut with his being gone, so deeply perturbed.

Eddie was truly pissed off at this point.

The entire proposition of arriving early to school was to find Chrissy Cunningham, but just as it occurred yesterday afternoon, the cheerleader was nowhere to be seen in the breadth of Hawkins High. He knew he was going against your wishes, quite specifically, but his heart and mind couldn’t fathom the possible danger you could be subjected to. He had too. Right? Would you just hate him more for interfering? God, he was shooting himself over the complication he construed the entire situation to become. Asking his friends had quickly been classified as the most imbecilic measure he’d ever succumb to, as those guys had never found the courage to conjure up an idea to jump start an actual conversation with an actual girl. Knowing where the head cheerleader was was beyond their source of knowledge. Yesterday’s clothes, dry mouth, red eyes, the residing ache of his hangover still tormenting his sore limbs, and now having no comprehension of whether or not you were safe at the aggressive hands of your father, Eddie was about to traject the heaviest waterfall of beer and bile onto the grimy floors of Mr. Hall’s carpentry class. But the shrieking bell unexpectedly pacified the turbulence brewing in his belly, and he was shoving passed visibly annoyed bodies to reach the cafeteria. His only chance.

His overloaded mind didn’t even process the trouble he was walking into, but unwavering was Eddie Munson as he marched into the bustling cafeteria of crackling students and cardboard food, legs pushing him to the table. “Chrissy!” Heads snapped like automated robots. Yeah, he probably should have thought this out. Glares couldn’t even amount to the looks he was receiving from the highest of Hawkins High. This was no laughing matter, but the urge to not laugh at Jason Carver’s battered face left all self control out of Eddie, as the perfect comb-over paired with the purple swollen skin personified the magnificence of juxtapositions.

“You want something, freak?” Jason stood with a puffed chest.

“Look a little different, Carver, that new?” Eddie gestured to the contuse skin, smirking oleaginously. As if it was previously discussed, Andy McAvoy and Chance Williams stood to defend the precious honor of their friend. In Eddie’s mind, it pleased him to know a conversation of protection was ordered by Jason to his goons to preserve any remaining prettiness of his face. Prom was coming up. “Relax, I didn’t say your names, did I?”

Eddie and Jason’s gaze looked down upon Chrissy, who’s brows were cinched with confusion and worry as to what was going to occur. Jason could only snicker incredulously. “She’s not speaking to you! You really think I’m gonna leave her with some devil worshiper like you? Why don’t you do this whole town a favor and fuck off with the circus, fucking basketcase.”

But Eddie was indefatigable to the insults of the perfectly pristine. They’d been propelled since childhood, the last thing to strike his ego would be the dense words of Jason fucking Carver. Eddie had bigger issues at hand.

“That’s really cute, Carver, but she can make her own decisions, and right now,” Eddie locked eyes with a frantic Chrissy Cunningham, “we have something important to talk about.” It was imperative for Chrissy to understand, and the moment her eyes softened, a breath of relief escaped Eddie at her understanding. Your name was oozing importance.

“Are you that fucking insane-”

“Jason,” Chrissy held his hand, “h-he’s right.”

“What?!”

A disgustingly pompous smile eased onto Eddie’s face.

“It’s, uh, it’s for, um, Mrs. Durberry.” Chrissy nodded. “I-I have to, uh, tutor Eddie. We, um, we discussed it yesterday during, uh, lunch. Yeah, during lunch!”

“During lunch.” Eddie smirked with a condescending nod.

Jason huffed through flared nostrils, bending down to look Chrissy right in the eye. Though whispered in secrecy, Eddie rolled his eyes with agitation. “Are you sure about this? Is he just making you do this?”

“No, I promise.” Chrissy assured. “You know I aced chemistry, Mrs. Durberry is just trying to give me an opportunity to get community service hours, and tutoring was the perfect chance. You know it’ll look good for college applications.”

The lie was good enough to believe- not good enough to like, but good enough to believe, and that’s all Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham needed. Jason sat down in defeat, the other players following in unison, as Chrissy gathered her items. “You try anything, Munson, and you're dead.” Jason pointed with a stern finger.

Chrissy had quickly walked by, hoping Eddie would just follow, but of course, he couldn’t leave without the last word. “Right, right,” he slyly smiled, “might wanna put some ice on that, s’looking a little nasty. Who did that to you again?”

“Eddie.” Chrissy chastised.

Now, it was most abundantly clear that Chrissy Cunningham was not an indictment of the American education system, her grades almost as perfect as yours—though no one could come close to your precociousness—yet Eddie had to reevaluate his beliefs when Chrissy was marching vastly farther than anticipated.

“Jesus Christ, Chris, y’know we don’t actually have to intrude Durberry’s class? She fucking hates me.” Eddie giggled. “‘Specially after I used the bunsen burner to light a joint. Kept asking “what’s that smell” for a week.”

Chrissy finally came to a halt after turning into another empty hall. “Sorry.” She sighed. “Just can’t have Jason following us.”

“Y’know, you could probably do better than some control freak who follows you around.” Eddie shrugged.

Chrissy blinked at her shoes in contemplation. Eddie hadn’t expected the words to hit so deeply, a mere critique to the numerous problems he found in Jason Carver, but nonetheless, the cheerleader got extremely quiet, before shaking her head to get back to the point.

“A-anyways, um, what is it that you, uh, wanted?” She rushed out.

“Oh! Right, um, I need you to go to Y/N’s house.” His eyes widened, as his lips tightened between his mouth. He knew it was outrageous to ask.

“W-what?”

“Look, I know that’s a big ask-”

“I already gave you her number and address, why don’t you g-”

“I did!” He heaved. “I fucking did, and I messed up!”

Chrissy slumped,“Again?!”

Eddie winced. Again, again, again, again, again.

“Look, I “made” it to her house, and we got to talk. But her fucking dad caught me in her room, and just went haywire on me. Practically chased me out.” Eddie stressed. “And I-I tried to call her to make sure she was okay, I mean, it’d been a long night and she was crying when I left, and, fuck, Chris, I don’t know what her dad is capable of.” Is he like my dad? “Her line was dead when I tried, like off the hook, and I can’t go over to make sure she’s safe, Chrissy. I have to make sure she’s okay. Can you please just, I don’t know, do this for me, I’m fucking helpless here, I’m…” Helpless to my mother.

Chrissy was taken aback by the pure fear in his eyes as he rambled into oblivion. She knew you. She knew your father. She could only imagine how ballistic he’s gone in the past couple of days knowing what’s happened. “Okay, okay, okay, yeah, um, yeah,” Chrissy took a deep breath with a soft nod to her head, “Yeah, I’ll try to come over- but her dad’s really strict, Eddie. Like extremely, he’s the only reason why she’s so, you know, hard about her grades and stuff, I don’t know if he’d actually let me see her-”

“Please, please, just try.” Chrissy took notice of just how tightly his hands were balling into themselves, knuckles turning a blistering white from the lack of ease he was inflicting upon himself. “She’s your friend, and she doesn’t want to see me, so please, I’m begging you, Chris-”

“I will, Eddie, I will.” She reassured, as she adjusted her knit sweater that suddenly became itchy on her sensitive skin. “I just, um, I’ll probably have to come up with an excuse, a-and skip practice.”

“Look, m’sorry I’m dragging you into this, but I just need to make sure she’s okay, and maybe you can finally have a chance to talk to her about…y’know.” Chrissy shook her head quickly, acknowledging but not trying to think about her implicit endorsement to the status quo at Hawkins High, and how much it had hurt you. And she let it hurt you. “Just- you can’t tell her it was me who sent you, okay? Sh-she wants nothing to do with me, and I’m trying to respect that, I just need to know she’s safe, but she can’t know I sent you. I don’t- I don’t want to make her more upset, Chris. I can’t, I just-”

“Eddie,” Realizing the words were once again coming out a mile a minute, he bit his tongue, letting a bubble of air constrict his lungs with a fervent grip. He wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t. Not here. Not at school. Not in front of Chrissy fucking Cunningham. Not that she’d judge much, she could already see the sheen of his eyes. “I’ll do it, I’ll check on her. A-and I won’t say it was you.”

His body was finally able to ease at her response, finally letting his airway release all tensions from the stirring anxiety that was still nesting in the crevices of his stomach. “Thank you, thank you so much.” His hands reached for her shoulders with a firm shake of acknowledgement, though his strength had her stumbling on her feet a bit. Not that he noticed. He was still worrying about you. “Just, uh, call me or something, the second she, uh- the second you know she’s okay.” Eddie didn’t want to think of the other possibility. The possibility where your father had laid a hand on you. Or worse. He wouldn’t know what to do. In his experience, silently crying and letting daddy take his frustrations out was the safest option. It was what mommy said to do, so dad wouldn’t do worse. At least ice cream was always promised at the end to make it all go away.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do that.” She nodded in agreement.

With the confirmation stated, Eddie had already begun walking away with a determined plan in mind to sit in front of the yellow telephone until the shrilling call came through. His mind dead set on you.

“Wait!” Chrissy had to snap him back to reality. “Eddie, I don’t have your phone number.” She lightheartedly scoffed.

Chrissy Cunningham began to worry. Yes, about you. She was ready to march her way past your father in order to make sure you were okay, and to pour her heart out on a well needed apology just so you could understand how sorry she was. Even if you didn’t accept it. But she was also worried about herself. Never in a million years did she expect Eddie Munson, of all people, to show her what true feelings were. He hadn’t even talked to you for more than a week, and he was bending over backwards to ensure all his wrongs were corrected for your safety and comfort. Jason Carvered loved her, she knew it, but the subtle things were becoming pronounced. Do you really think you should be wearing that? My parents will be there. Just come to the party, I’ll look bad if my girlfriend’s not there. When she comes back, I don’t want you hanging around Y/N anymore. She’s bad news and betrayed your friendship by fucking around with that trailer trash. Don’t make yourself look bad by being friends with her.

“Shit, yeah, sorry, my, uh, my brains all over the place.” He crazily signaled with a swing of his hand. Unlike yesterday, Chrissy’s pink pen was tainting a small torn sheet of notebook paper rather than skin, as risking the chance of Jason Carver seeing Eddie Munson’s phone number written on her hand would prompt another outburst of fury between the boys. So as Eddie reiterated the numbers to his home, Chrissy copied with intent.

Intent to see you. Intent to apologize. Intent to inform Eddie.

“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I leave her place.” Chrissy assured, as the queasiness in Eddie had simmered but surely hadn’t left. He knew as soon as he got home, the consternation would eat him unalive.

Eddie nodded his head. “Yeah, thanks again, seriously, I’ll owe you whatever.” He sighed, before his brows perked. “Oh! I can give a twenty percent discount!” He didn’t even have to specify.

Chrissy Cunningham didn’t smoke. But at least he was trying.

“Uh, s-sure, Eddie.” She simply agreed, and it was able to give him a satisfied smile. “Anyways, yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Just try not to worry too much, I’m sure she’s okay.” She inspirited.

“Okay, yeah, as soon as you can.” Eddie sighed. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m gonna go throw up or something.”

Luckily, Eddie Munson didn’t vomit in the filthy stall that is the boys’ bathroom at Hawkins High, though Chrissy Cunningham sure felt like she was about to hurl today’s lunch and breakfast standing at the doorstep of your home. Her toes tensed in the comfort of her sneakers, hearing the incoming steps of your father approaching the door. Hands gripping the straps of her backpack, she was ready- well, as ready as one can be about to face their best friend’s—did she even have a right to call you that—daunting father.

The door swung. “Hi, Mr. Y/L/N!” Smile, a bright smile and wave from Chrissy Cunningham was sure enough to get anyone to be polite. But his face plastered the same dead expression he’s had for the last four years Chrissy had known him. No smile. No squint of the eyes. Unemotional stoicism.

“Hi, Chrissy.” Robots had more pep in their voices. “Sorry, but Y/N is grounded, for quite an extensive period actually, so she’s not allowed visitors. Go home.” He began to close the door, but Chrissy’s manicured hand abruptly stopped the closure.

“Wait!” She immediately reeled back, seeing the disrespecting look take over his face. “Sorry, sir, I-I’m not here to hang out, it’s just, uh, I brought all the school work Y/N’s missed. You know, from her suspension?” She spoke sheepishly. “A-and well, we don’t want her falling behind, sir.” A nervous chuckle accompanied her faux parent voice. “In fact, Mrs. Durberry and I actually discussed tutoring, so, you know, Y/N is back on track by the time of her return.”

It was in regards to your grades, your father’s favorite. Chrissy Cunningham was a genius.

“Really?” He questioned quizzically.

“Yeah!” Chrissy bounced on the balls of her feet with a firm pat to her backpack. “I’ve got all her work right here. She’s free to turn it in when she gets back, and you know, she’s firmly secured that valedictorian spot, so there’s no need to worry.” She smiled, and of course, of course, that’s all he cared about in the wake of your suspension.

So easily had Chrissy been let into your home. She wondered what she would say to you, as she followed behind your father to your room. It was strange. Your home had always been a cold one, but your laughter and the endless sleepless sleepovers had the ability to bring warmth to such a colorless environment. But all that suffocated her was hostility. Long gone were the memories of an innocent friendship between the two girls. Another factor to consider was the mere fact that your father was guiding Chrissy. She’d been over to your house for years, the layout didn’t suddenly change over a couple days, and a nervous thump began upsetting Chrissy’s heart. And she found out why.

“Had to lock her up.” He uttered with no shame, as he pulled out a glowing key from his pocket. Haphazardly bolted on your door was a new lock, evidently cheaply and hastily done, as the lock resembled the numerous ones used for the lockers at Hawkins High, and the chipped paint and exposed wood could only insinuate the fury in which this job was done in. Your door lock, one onced used when you and Chrissy discussed the boys you thought were cutest at school in your pink pajamas, was now accompanied by a prison lock keeping you captive in your bedroom. “Should've seen the trash she was bringing in.” He muttered mostly to himself. Chrissy didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. Too disturbed for her own wellbeing. “Do me a favor, kid,” he unlocked the door, “knock some sense into that disgrace.”

He walked away without a care.

The door creaked open, and Chrissy had taken a deep breath. Stepping inside, with a soft click of the door behind her, her eyes landed on the still figure on your bed. Turned away and engaging at the neverending nothingness of everything, you cocooned yourself in your blanket, like a hurt child. Because you merely were one. Chrissy looked away, inching tiny steps closer. Disheveled would be an understatement to the usual cleanliness of your room. Knick-knacks and personal items were thrown about, cracked, and broken, and damaged beyond the actions of someone who was depressed. No, this was the destruction of deep rooted anger.

No expecting the company, you simply screwed your eyes closed with the awaiting words of hatred you thought would be coming from your father at any second. But it didn’t. Only the familiar softness of Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend. “Y/N…?”

You immediately jumped at the sound, meeting your reddening, wet eyes with Chrissy’s round, worried blue ones. “Chrissy…”

The occupying distrust you had for her was incomparable to the pain of what had occurred today. Yes, she hurt you. Yes, you lost your one true friend. But you needed her. And your arms opened like the broken child reaching out for help, and she immediately embraced you on your bed. Your bed, where you spent countless times giving each other at-home mani and pedis, even though your allowances provided enough for professional services, but this was more fun. Your bed, where Chrissy once vented about the first fight she ever had with Jason Carver, because he disregarded her at a party to do a keg stand—yes, it was trivial, but they were sixteen at the time. And your bed, where you both shared the vulnerability of losing a mother, either physically or emotionally, through sobbing tears and tight hugs, but none of that mattered because you were best friends and had each other. Forever.

“Are you okay?” Her vision appeared blurry under the disorientating state of water welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.” Chrissy stroked your hair. You couldn’t muster a word to respond with, merely silently crying into the junction of her neck, where she smelled of spring flowers. You’d picked out that perfume for her. Her seventeenth birthday. “I should’ve stuck up for you, I-I should’ve told everyone to stop, I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

Her apology suddenly revealed why you lost trust in her in the first place. Urgently pulling back from the hug far quicker than Chrissy would have liked, you brought your knees to your chest, letting your face find solace on the tiny space rather than her embrace.

“What are you doing here, Chris?” You mumbled so quiet, she was barely able to register it from the chirping birds outside.

“I came to apologize to you.” At least she wasn’t drunk. “I- Y/N everything I did to you was awful.” Her plucked brows furrowed with shame and remorse. You carefully picked up your head, as she gently held knee. “When everyone started saying stuff about you, I was so confused, and before I could even question it, Jason had me promise to not be around you, and I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to excuse what I did, I just should have known better, and I needed to apologize to you.”

Your eyes had closed in relief. You were beyond the trenches of exhaustion, everything was so sore from the exertion of crying, that the simple apology brought the grand relief you’d been yearning for. “I-I think I need space away from Jason.” That had your eyes snapping open. Jason and Chrissy, in love since the tenth grade, becoming the embodiment of young love in Hawkins. Their parents had practically set up a future in which both attended the same university as young adults, and married each other with the expectation of kids by the age of twenty-five.

“I don’t like who he is as a person.” She confessed with a wobbly lip. “ I know he loves me, but I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

You took her back into a loving hug, where she fell limp in your arms, as her tears stained your clothes. Though muffled you spoke with a small whine, “You sound like Eddie.” Which had her giggling through tears.

She had slowly pulled away, smiling at the small curve of your lips that was brightening your face. She wiped your tears, and caressed the hairs out of your face. “Yeah, he’s kinda my new friend now.” She shrugged. “Even offered me a discount to his… business.”

You laughed with a roll to your eyes. “Quite the entrepreneur he is.” She snickered in agreement. “But yeah, I could tell when he came to my house yesterday.”

“Oh, god.” Chrissy plopped back on your bed. “How did you even figure out it was me, you’re so smart?”

You giggled, joining her, as you stared up at the ceiling. “Seeing someone like Eddie Munson show up with pretty pink writing on him doesn’t seem like something that occurs innately in nature. Figured you had something to do with it.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.” She turned to look at you. “I shouldn’t have given him that information without asking you. He just really wanted to apologize to you, too, and it seemed like the right thing to do. What even happened?” She sat up to get serious.

You couldn’t fathom retelling the occurrence of what happened, so you merely opted for the safest choice, and nodded your head in silence. “He did apologize, just wish he would have done it differently.” You sighed. “And, uh, my dad-” Your throat had automatically constricted at the simple mention of him, eyes tightening with the hopes of suppressing the whirlwind of tears that were about to flood your face. “Chrissy, he wouldn’t stop yelling.” You began bawling, as she pulled you up to wrap her arms around your shrinking body. “H-he kept screaming a-and shouting, then he just- he just started throwing things-” Chrissy could only rock you body, gently and softly, letting your tears hit her shoulder with all might. “I was so scared.”

The dreaded question. “Did- did he hit you?” Chrissy spoke into your hair, terrified of how you might answer. But luckily, the tiniest bit of luck, you had shook your head no, and she let out a deep breath. But the harsh slap of reality was that your father had still severely crossed a line that put you in an unsafe environment. And you were petrified.

“He’s not letting me leave my room.” You whispered through sniffles.

“Did he take your phone, Edd-” Chrissy contemplated for a second, before she spoke extremely softly. “Eddie said you didn’t pick up when he tried to call you after what happened.”

“He tried to call me?”

“Just to make sure you were okay.” She emphasized. “He said he’s trying to respect your wishes of wanting space, but after what happened, he just needed to know you were safe… that’s why- that’s why I’m here.” Your brows furrowed and you immediately sat up. “I’d been wanting to apologize to you, and Eddie had been dying to make sure you were okay, so he asked me to come check on you, and so I could finally say sorry to you. He- Y/N, he really cares about you. We both do.”

This was the bit of progress you were wanting to see. To know that the Eddie Munson you met Friday afternoon, the one who coward away at the mere idea of feelings and compassion, the one who uttered the vile words that stabbed right through you, the one who shouted in defense because he was hurt, that that wasn’t him. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. It wasn’t who he truly was. But a recovery from trauma was not a linear progression, and last night you were able to understand the fluctuations of Eddie Munson, the reason why he berated and hurt, the reason why he comforted and protected, the reason why he wailed and sobbed.

“Chrissy, when’s the next time you’re gonna see him?” You cleared your face from staining tears.

“I’ll see him at school tomorrow, but he asked me to call him to make sure you were safe first.”

You nodded. “I, uh- can you actually ask him something for me?”

That one clunking noise Eddie had once been so happy to hear? Yeah, he’s returned back to detesting it, as he felt it drew so much attention to the all too quiet streets of Pinecrest Acres. He made the conscience—and sober—decision to park behind the gray De Tomaso Pantera—fighting the urge to just pop the hood and look at the beauty inside—that resided two houses down from yours. It gave him enough coverage away from any view of your father. Eddie was terrified. Much to his dismay, Chrissy had been fairly vague over the phone when she rang him at 5:59 p.m exactly. Luckily by then, a buddy of Wayne’s had taken him out to an early dinner before their shift at the plant, so his uncle missed out on the Olympic-worthy run Eddie had made to the phone the second it began ringing. And Chrissy had spoken. A lot. But so little at the same time. He was happy to hear you guys made up. Truly he was. But Chrissy had carried on for a five minute tangent about how gladly you accepted her back into your life again. Eddie Munson was honestly jealous. Though she had mentioned how you specified wanting time away from her, too, maybe meeting up to speak that coming Monday at school when your suspension would be over. Eddie had wondered if you would speak to him then, too. But he didn’t have to wonder much longer. After he so kindly told the cheerleader to get to the point, the real point he wanted to hear, she had assured him that you were okay. Physically, at least. Eddie had dropped to his kitchen chair with a breath of relief that no one had touched you. But then Chrissy kept speaking. She wants to see you. Tonight. That had Eddie trajecting back up from his seat. But his questions had disappointingly gone unanswered. No details. No explanation. No reasoning. Just show up, Eddie. At midnight. At her window. And not drunk. Chrissy had never gotten the full story as to what went down between you and Eddie, so that part desperately confused and intrigued the girl, but she didn’t push any further. Eddie, though, had cringed in disgust at himself because he knew.

An owl had hooted in the distance as he followed the tracks his beloved, dying van had made on your green lawn. Once again, Eddie had found himself in the same position as last night, cracking his neck and rolling his limbs for the climb of a lifetime. If it was somehow possible, he felt he was quivering more than when he was three beers down and no dinner. Yes, he was sober, but his heart could stop beating at the neverending questions his mind was bombarding against himself. Were you mad because he sent Chrissy over? Surely you couldn’t be, she would have said so. But you could also be really fucking pissed. The same type of anger that caught him off guard when his father swung on his little face when Eddie thought they were having a good time.

But he couldn’t rely on heavy thoughts as such. He just needed to get to you. Passed the trellis, over the trimming, onto the roof. Quiet as Eddie Munson could be. He couldn’t really be quiet, but he tried for you. Crouching his way to your window, he sucked in a deep breath before he ever so gently tapped on your window. He was eyeing his reflection, wondering who the hell he had become. The one definitive figure he didn’t want to become: his father. A relentless pessimist, hatred against the world, bruteness to show off, and the inability to take accountability for the hurt they cause, because they were hurt first, right?

But then your curtains opened, and there you were. You.

You, who’d included his friends when no one wanted them. You, who made him smile despite his hesitations of getting hurt. You, who took the fall for everything. You, who gave Eddie Munson a chance.

You lifted your window open. ��Hi.”

Eddie could cry right then and there. His shaky trembling hands slowly offered themselves to you, and you peered down, gently laying yours in his, where your warmth dissipated his coldness. He sighed with a loving grasp. “Y-you’re okay? He didn’t- did he touch you?”

Eddie had heard it from Chrissy, but hearing your small “no” was more comforting than a third-party person.

“Why, um, why did you need to see me?” He softly cleared his throat.

“I want to talk, b-but not here.” Eddie nodded ardently at your request. “Just somewhere far.”

Somewhere far, he could give that to you.

Helping you out of your window, you followed Eddie’s led to the edge of your roof, where you traced the dying height from your second story room to the hard, hard, ground. “Don’t be scared.” He soothingly smiled. “Remember, I made the climb drunk.”

You shook your head in disappointment, but he saw that small, beautiful smile peak through your lips. “Just, um, please don’t let me fall.” Your stomach sunk at the eerie possibility.

But Eddie was there, and he let you know with a secure squeeze to your joint hands. “Never.”

You watched him descend. Off of the roof. Over the trimming. Down the trellis. He made it look so easy, as if he actively partook in the illegal activity of breaking and entering. Eddie would never admit it, not now at least, but for good reason he had done it once. Once. Mr. Godly had a cat that fifteen-year-old Eddie once saw the old man kick. Safe to say, Cronkers now resides in the makeshift cat house of cardboard, wood, and a childhood blanket behind the Munson’s residence. Her favorite is Wayne’s Monday meatloaf.

He encouraged you down delicately. Instructing you to take small movements, find your steps, and he’ll be right there. He’d always be there. When your Converse hit the holes of the trellis, his hands faintly found your waist, where you trusted him to carry you down the last couple abrasive steps onto your crushed garden. Feet safely on the ground, you gazed up at his staggering height and met his concerned eyes. You merely nodded before he could get the words out, are you okay?

“Your car?” You interrupted his staring. But in his defense, your face was illuminated mesmerizingly in the moonlight of the dark sky.

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He muttered in embarrassment, as he quickly walked away before you could see his flushing cheeks. As if you hadn’t already witnessed him ugly cry drunk in your bedroom.

You walked the quiet trip to his van, where he graciously opened the door for you. You didn’t know at the time, but the couple yards it took to get to his car, he’d been battling himself whether or not that’d be the right move to try. He’d never opened the door for anyone. But your small “thank you” that flashed his way had him praising to the gods he didn’t even believe in that he was a genius.

His car smelled strongly like cigarettes and weed. It honestly hurt your head, but you hadn’t expected anything less from Eddie. It made you giggle to yourself. The usual was everywhere; littered receipts and wrappers crumbled into the door compartments, numerous scented trees hanging from the rear view mirror, which you could only assume had been Eddie’s attempt to mask the nicotine and marajuana, and of course, an array of tapes thrown upon the floor at your feet, you could vividly imagine Eddie getting tired of a tape and carelessly getting rid of it. But then there was something else.

Eddie appeared in the front seat. “You ready?” He heaved.

“Yeah, but, um, why do you have these?”

“Ice cream?” He questioned more than answered. Yes, ice cream sitting in the tight space of his cupholders, two cartons with a spoon for each. “Um, well, I figured it’d be nice to, uh, have. I always, uh, liked having it, I guess. Always made me feel slightly better as a kid. It’s vanilla and chocolate. You can take whichever.” You eyed him incredulously, he eyed you worriedly. “Do you not like either of those flavors? I know I went basic, but I thought they were safe choices. I can get you whatever. Strawberry, cookies n’ cream, mint?” He grimaced, as though it was a deal breaker but he’d look right past it.

You giggled at him. “No, Eddie, it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.” You shyly smiled.

“Okay, good.” He smiled, with a whistle of relievement. “So, it’ll make you feel better?”

Lovers Lake had been the destination of choice for Eddie. It was quiet and calming. The car ride had been, too. Eddie had suggested some music, but was adamant about his disdain for the radio, though you weren’t necessarily in the mood to have the voices of Megadeth screaming at you this late at night. Eddie had begrudgingly agreed. So it was quiet. He was itching to ask you why you wanted to talk, though that only seemed appropriate whenever you would arrive. You had reached over and played with the mini bobble head figure of Garfield that was nestled against his van’s windshield. You said it was cute. He blushed. Then proceeded to nervously ramble about how Uncle Wayne had one of Odie in his work truck. You didn’t know Uncle Wayne, but he spoke about him like you knew every detail about Wayne already. The lake had been abandoned and lonely upon arrival. The lights to Rick Lipton’s lake house had been shut off for nearly a year now after his arrest. Eddie had only agreed and smiled when you mentioned how an old, lovely couple probably lived there and sat out by the lake to watch the sunset. Sure, something like that. He’d let you have your fantasy. The way the idea lit up your face and eased your tension, he wasn’t about to ruin that.

“We can, um, head to the back.” He offered, to which you agreed.

In truth, the bundle of blankets and pillows in the back of his van didn’t paint him out to be the greatest of all people, but he quickly assured that he frequently takes nap in the comfort of his van when he doesn’t have the energy for Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice. Specifically adding a yapping gesture with his hand to emphasize. So there you were. Sitting in the back, doors open to let in the midnight breeze, as you looked out to the glistening waters. You’d settled on vanilla after you noticed the tighter grip Eddie’s hand had clutched around the chocolate flavor, and surely, a blooming smile erupted on his face when he got to secure his preferred flavor of dessert.

“So, um-”

“I just wanted to speak to you.” You confided. “You know, when we’re not yelling, crying, or drunk,” you giggled at his wincing face, “as we have been doing for the past couple of days.”

“M’a fucking mess, I’m sorry.”

“So am I, Eddie-”

“No, you’re not.” He firmly attested. “You were absolutely perfect before I came into your life and fucked everything up.”

You teased, “You're saying I’m not perfect now?” Your mouth dropped in a dramatic gasp that had him smiling.

“No! No! I’m not saying that at all, you are perfect now, you’ll be perfect for the rest of your life and you won’t even have to try.” He sheepishly grinned, filling his mouth with a big spoonful to bite back the smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Eddie, but I’ve been far from perfect even before I met you. I wish you would see that. It’s doing more harm than good.” You spoke sincerely. “I don’t like you placing me into a bubble, Eddie, especially when you’ve hated the people who’ve done it to you. But I never have.”

His head dropped with a nod. “You’re right.” He accounted. “I’ve had the bullshit done to me for years, I thought it’d finally make me feel good to do it to someone like you. And it was fucking gross of me, because you’re right, you’ve never done anything to me. Actually, that night you took our photo, that was quite literally the nicest anyone has ever treated me- us. And, fuck me, did I like the shit out of you.”

You laughed at his shy revelation. “You have such a romantic way with your words, Eddie Munson.” You joked.

“Sorry.” He covered his mouth so kidlike. “But, uh, yeah I obviously liked you, and well, something in me was just fighting me to stay away. Or get away, more than anything. Because, um, it’d… it’d really fucking hurt if you didn’t like me back.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, speaking with pure shame as to who he was as a person. “And, well, mission fucking accomplished, I, sorta, kinda went above and beyond with that logic.”

“You think?” You smiled.

“It was so stupid of me.” He regrettably sighed. “Because-because I thought- you were just so nice to me. Ready to be my friend and everything, that I knew, I fucking knew my feelings would get too much for me and the realizations that I couldn’t be with you fucking scared me.” His voice had significantly softened to ease the burning ache in his throat. “A-and I’m such a shit excuse of a person that I fucking hurt you when you didn’t deserve it.”

“You are not that, Eddie, don’t say that-”

“But I am, Y/N, I’m so fucking terrible. I-I’m, fuck- I really fucking hate my dad.” Your brows creased at the sudden change of topics. “He was an awful person, he- he would-” The crying began. “Fuck,” he wiped his tears completely embarrassed, “He would just do terrible things to me and my mom, and I fucking said- I fucking said I wouldn’t be like him, be like her- she just fucking took that shit, Y/N, she said it was for the best.” You held his hand, his ice cream long forgotten and pushed to the side. “I just don’t want to be like him- them. M’tryin’ so fucking hard that it fucking backfired. M’such a terrible person, and I’m so sorry.”

You wished this conversation wasn’t full of tears, but you realized how inevitable that idea was. You and Eddie Munson were hurting and releasing. Crying was necessary.

“You are not a terrible person, Eddie.” He had to hear, loud and clear. You rested your head on his shoulder, where his head dropped upon yours. “Terrible people don’t sit and wonder if they’re terrible. And the fact that you care about how you are as a person shows it.” You caressed the back of his hand. “You are a worthwhile person, Eddie. I can so clearly see it.”

“I’m really fucking sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Y/N.” He wiped the incoming snot from his nose with his denim sleeve. “I-I need you to know that everything I did was out of fucking stupidity.” He huffed. “What I called you, those names, that was fucking disgusting, and I don’t believe that about you at all. I never have.”

“I’m sorry for what I said about you, too-”

“Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry for telling the truth.” He deeply laughed through his sniffles, voice deeper from the being nasally stuffed.

You smiled back guilty. “No, I am! What I said was really mean, too.”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “What was it, ‘a sulking asshole too pathetic to deal with their problems?’ You hit it right on the nail, princess.”

“Well,” you giggled, “even if you won't let me apologize, I need you to know that I still feel bad. Slightly.”

“Fair enough.” He grinned. “But I do need to apologize, and I need you to know that I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. For what I said. For what I did. For making you feel horrible and scared. And for just putting you through all that. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“I know.” You whispered. “And if it’s any consolation to you, Eddie, I also hate my dad.”

“Oh, my god.” Eddie clutched his heart. “He really put a fucking number on me, fuck me.” He groaned, turning to face you. “Please, please, please tell me if he does something. I won’t be able to fucking live my life not knowing.”

Your lips tucked tightly within themselves, and with a soft nod you assured him you would.

You spoke. You both spoke for a while. The hours had passed unknowingly until both tubs of ice cream were empty by 3:33 a.m. Tears and laughter had flooded the back of the van, and you felt like you’d been his friends with him since childhood. He couldn’t fathom the way he treated you, when speaking to you floated him into another dimension of peace and acceptance. Something he hadn’t felt in the entirety of his life. But when you caught a glimpse of the repeating digits on his watch, your heart panicked and you urged him to take you home, which he suddenly complied. This time, though, Megadeth was gladly played, and to say you were shocked would be quite an understatement. Eddie had belted a laugh at your abrupt introduction to metal, finding your this-is-weird-but-I-don’t-want-you-to-think-I’m-judging-you face as the cutest thing ever. And sooner than he liked, he pulled up behind the De Tomaso Pantera. Your attempt to say goodbye fell short, though, when he shot down your idea to walk home alone.

“Really, Eddie, go home, it’s late.” You huffed, when you reached your house.

“I will, I will,” He snickered with defensive hands. “Just, uh, th-thank you so much for, um- well, being so understanding even after all that I did. I just- you really are the best, Y/N.” He ranked his hands over his face in hopes of concealing the ever growing smile on his face.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You giggled at his flustered state. “You’re quite incredible yourself.”

“Do, um, where does this… leave us?”

“I still want space, Eddie.” You spoke honestly, to which he concurred. “Until we’re okay.”

“Until we’re okay.” He sighed.

Eddie had managed to take advantage of the four hours of sleep left until school began. There was no sleeping past his alarm clock, no rush to get dressed, no giving up when lateness was inevitable. He’d shown up, showered and full with a bowl of cereal that went a long way, as he approached Ms. Kelly’s office. It was nerve wracking. He’d never considered this to be a good idea, in fact, following his father’s word, therapy was a pussy excuse for the delusional to waste money on. But those were the words that held him captive from the potential he so well deserved to reach. Turning from her filing cabinet, Ms. Kelly had caught sight of his timid figure standing at the door.

“Eddie.” She hadn’t been unfamiliar with his being, she’d actually been the one to break it to him the last two times that he was in for another year at prison Hawkins High. “How can I help you?”

He sauntered his way into her office, taking a seat with a gruff. It was evident his persona to seem calm, cool, and collected was falling through the cracks, as his finger spun the numerous rings on his fingers. “I, uh, I was wondering if it’d be cool to, um, just talk?”

“Absolutely.” Ms. Kelly dreamed of the day Eddie Munson would enter her office with good intentions. “Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Just got a lot pent up inside, I guess.”

“Well, the floor is yours, Eddie.” She smiled. “Talk as much as you need.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Unfortunately, my tag list for this series has gotten too long, so I will not be adhering to any further requests to be included. I'm so terribly sorry, but the amount of tags has beyond reached its limit, and I think it's best to stop. I hope it's understandable. Nonetheless, thank you all for your kind support, I hope you guys continue to enjoy the series, and if you ever have any ideas as to what you'd like to see, I'd love to know!

@sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #the yearbook: club pictures

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pajarinwrites · 1 year

Text

you could ask

➳ fem!reader x Dino

➳ wc: 2.7k

➳ TAGS: pwp; fluffy smut, smutty fluff MDNI, my dudes; it's so sweet tho kjsdiasejnasd

➳ WARNINGS: fucking(?) it's super fluffy though; fingering (f receiving), kissing, marking, petnames (babe, baby for her)

➳ AN: i continue to surprise in that dino is my least biased member except now that i wrote this, he might not be anymore; he's such a cutie ugh; also this RAN! AWAY! FROM! ME! it started as a drabble but 2.7k can under no circumstances be classified as a drabble. also there initially was supposed to be piv sex but then it got too long. i'll definitely write a continuation one-shot for this ugh. anyway, ENJOY!

also that's my fave photo of channie

You look up from your phone as your friend enters the lobby. He has his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, wearing the usual cap, mask, sunglasses combo in public, in an effort to remain unrecognised.

“Hey,” you greet with a soft wave. He pulls off his sunglasses to reveal eyes crinkling with smiles. “Hey!” He replies back, pulling you into a short hug before calling the elevator.

“How was practice?”

“The usual. Except Hoshi-hyung was hungover.”

“Huh?” You ask, sure you must’ve misheard him. Chan laughs in reply.

“Yeah, he filmed that program with Youngji yesterday that you like watching.”

“And he didn’t tell me?” You ask in mock affront, one hand resting on your chest dramatically. Chan shrugs. “I guess he assumed I’d tell you. But I forgot.” He sticks his tongue out to you as you follow him to his apartment.

You pass Vernon and Dokyeom in the kitchen; they wave to you in greeting before you follow Chan into his room.

“Leave the door open, children!” Dokyeom screams after you, prompting your friend to scream a dry hahaha back and slam his door all the harder. “They’re not even funny,” he pouts, dropping onto his bed where you’ve already gotten comfortable.

“Ugh,” he groans as the climbs up to the headboard next to you. “What’s wrong?” You ask, looking at his tense expression.

“It’s fine, practice just kicked a little harder than I thought.”

“Are you still up for movie night? We can just move it if you’re too exhausted.”

“Of course not! I always have energy for you.” He smiles softly, scooting closer, resting one arm on his headboard behind you as if it did nothing to him. You cleared your throat, trying your hardest not to shuffle so he wouldn’t feel obligated to move his arm away again.

“What’ve you got saved on your laptop?” He asks as you pull it up and open Netflix.

“I mean, I’ve been dying to watch the Scream remake for a while…” You know his stance on horror movies. As expected, “ugh! Can’t we watch something cute and cozy that won’t make me pull a muscle from jump scares!”

“Unfair argument! First you say you’re up for movie night and when it comes to picking a movie you bring up the issue of your sore muscles!”

“Well I can’t just make ‘em magically disappear.”

“But you got to pick the movie the last, like, three times!”

“I’m not saying you can’t pick. I’m just saying pick a different one!”

“Nuh uh, I want this one.” He groans again, rolling his head.

“Okay, then what will you do about my sore muscles?”

“Me? Do you want me to massage your sore muscles for you? Since when are your sore muscles my fault or problem?”

He grins, and with how close his face is to yours, it’s doing all kinds of things to your heart. “If you want to watch Scream so bad, it is your problem…”

Oh, so that’s how it is, you think, realising he never expected you to make good on any muscle relief. Lee Chan knows damn well you hate massages unless you’re on the receiving end. The amount of times he’s given you one eclipses the times you have returned the favour, a grand total of zero times.

“Sure,” you smile sweetly, setting your laptop back down on the floor next to Chan’s bed. He stares at you, eyes wide as saucers. “Huh?”

You remove his arm from your shoulders and get up, motioning for him to lie down. If your best friend wanted to play a game of chicken with you, he absolutely could.

“Also, you obviously gotta take your shirt off.”

Instead of moving, Chan is sitting still as a statue, still staring at you as if your hair had spontaneously changed colour. You wondered if this was really all it was going to take but eventually he shuffles down on the bed. He shrugs off his tee and you pretend like you aren’t surreptitiously looking him up and down.

“Okay, but you gotta do it properly, “ he states as he rests his head on his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire as you get into position, positioning your left knee beside Chan’s body and swinging the other over so that you are straddling his butt.

“Just that you can’t quit after five minutes, and you can’t do it all softly.”

“Hmm,” you hum in agreement, “elbow grease.” Chan giggles in response, but it turns into a groan as soon as you dig your thumbs into the tops of his shoulders.

“You really aren’t holding back, huh?”

“I’ve been ordered to give it my all,” you reply, bearing down on one especially tight trapezius. Chan’s breath stutters under your ministrations and you’re glad he can’t see your face heat up. As your hands wander lower you feel like he’s tensing up more instead of less.

“Hey, relax,” you instruct, “this was your idea.”

Chan grumbles something into his pillow in reply but it only takes him a few more minutes and a few sounds that veer suspiciously into moan territory before he shrugs you off forcefully.

You let out a yelp of surprise as you flop down on the mattress next to him. “What was that for?”

“You did enough, we can watch your silly movie now.” He avoids your eyes and you can see that his face has turned red, but you try to blame it on the heat of the room and the fact that you just treated him like bread dough for fifteen minutes. As he sits back up against the headboard, he pulls the blanket over himself, his hands in his lap awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Preparing to be scared to death,” he replies with a chuckle you believe was supposed to be light-hearted.

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you. You can hide behind me if you get scared,” you offer graciously. Chan rolls his eyes. “Just start the movie.”

You pull up your laptop and snuggle into your friend’s side. Chan fluffs up his pillows, one behind your back, one in his lap, and welcomes you into his arms again. You’ve watched movies in this position before, but today you’re restless. Chan seems to exude extra body heat today, and maybe it’s your wild imagination but his workouts have really started to pay off, and the feeling of his biceps pressing into your side distracts you more than you’d like to admit.

You stopped watching whatever is going on on screen several dozen minutes ago when you finally clear your throat. You’d been sneaking glances over at Chan for a while, his uncomfortable shifting, the suspiciously placed pillow. You had a hunch when he shrugged you off him earlier but the longer you sat next to him, having to endure his endless shuffling, the more convinced you were. Of course, you weren’t entirely unbothered by his presence either. The glimpse of his naked chest and back hadn’t left your mind, although you were hard-pressed to admit, that that sight had been the reason for your inability to focus.

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning his frightful eyes from the screen. You hit pause.

“The movie, Chan.”

“Boring isn’t the adjective I’d use, but sure. We can definitely watch something else.”

“We could do something else.” You smirk, shifting so you can face him fully. Bless him, his expression betrays nothing but confusion. He opens his mouth to ask what you’re on about but you beat him to it.

“Chan,” you sigh, “is this going to be a repeat of Seungkwan’s birthday party?”

“Huh?” He asked. But the fact that he had turned a shade redder let you know that he was very aware of what you were talking about.

“You know, when we were in the kitchen alone and you leaned in and I was waiting for you to finally kiss me? But then you chickened out the last second and pretended you had just wanted to grab the vodka from behind me?”

Chan blinks at your, your words evidently not quite processed yet. “You wanted me to kiss you?” You rolled your eyes.

“For someone with such a big head, you can be pretty stupid, you know that?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? I can’t read your mind.” You lean in closer - resting your hand on his thigh - and take delight in the way his breath hitches.

“You can always ask.” You whisper. He moves in even closer, the pillow sliding off his lap and letting you see that you were right about your prior assumption. You bite your lip at the sight of the obvious tent in his sweatpants.

“Can I kiss you?” Chan asks, bringing your attention back to his face. He’s gorgeous, you think, in the half-light of his bedroom, his hair unstyled, his eyes shining. But he really isn’t going to budge if you don’t answer, it seems. “Yes, please,” you breathe.

His lips are on yours, softly, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. His right hand is cradling your cheek. It makes you smile, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him down with you. Chan let’s out another groan, catching himself with his left hand next to your head instead of letting his full weight crash into you, which coincidentally happens to be exactly what you wanted. You nudge his hand away, hoping for him to get the hint. Much to your chagrin, he pulls back, panting against your lips.

“What—“ you mean to ask but don’t get around to it when you see the dark, almost desperate shadow in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re real.” His gaze drops to your lips, he’s nipping at your lower lip, making his way down your jawline. You manage to hold out on him until he reaches your pulse point, attaching his lips to the sensitive skin and nibbling at it in a way that’ll definitely leave a mark makes you whimper. Right now you couldn’t care less.

“Chan,” you moan, “please…” You can feel him smirk but he complies with your unspoken wish, continuing his way downward.

“Can I take this off you?” He asks, tugging at you shirt. You look down at his eyes, blown out and looking at you like you created the universe.

“Only if yours comes off too,” you say, meaning to tease him. His shirt’s over his head and at the other end of his room before you can blink. “Better?” He smirks, usually you’d be careful not to stroke his ego too much, but right now all you can think about it tracing every ridge on the expanse of his body with your tongue. It’s so much more fun when you can look freely. It must show on your face because Chan leans forward, whispering, “You can eat me up later, baby. Right now it’s my turn.” You have half a mind to hold back your whimpers at the tone of his voice but at the end you’re just a human, not some saint, so you stand no chance against the carnal vices of the flesh.

Chan takes off your shirt so skilfully that a very unwelcome thought of possessiveness flashes through your mind but with how he looks at you (very much not like you threw on your oldest, most comfy sport bra) the evil little voice in your head stands no chance. There can’t be any lingering doubt over his feelings with the way he undresses you slowly, deliberately, with all the care in the world, makes you think he mistook you for a fragile piece of art. His eyes say the same, casting glances at your face again and again, questioning; like he’s ready to drop everything if you so much as breathe a word. You have to commend him, especially with how evident the tent in his sweats has been for the better part of this evening.

“Chan,” you whine, ripping him out of the worship of the skin on your tummy. He looks dazed already. “Please stop teasing.”

He smiles, “Am I teasing you? Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to. You’re just so beautiful.”

You want to tell him off for being a sap but he starts kissing a straight line downwards from your navel and your words are caught in your throat.

His hands skitter up your thighs, making you shiver as he finally presses a digit to your core. He groans, “So wet for me already, love, you’ve soaked through your panties.”

“Looks like you have to take them off, then.” You smile and he obliges easily. It seems he’s really had enough of the teasing because he presses his thumb to you clit immediately, circling it. You moan his name as he slides one finger through your slick, “wanna touch you too.”

“Later, baby. Let me focus on you for now. Can I keep going?”

You mumble a pathetic Ohmygod yes please, that earns you a soft chuckle from him. He wastes no time in sliding a finger into you. Chan moans at the feeling of you wrapped around his fingers.

“Shit, babe,” is all you get out of him before his mouth is back on your skin, kissing up the insides of your thighs as he stretches you out on another finger. “Wanna come on my fingers, love?” You don’t trust your voice right now, so instead you nod vigorously. He stops testing the waters as his fingers and thumb speed up, spreading a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach. He shifts his weight upwards and is hovering over you, never ceasing the motion of his fingers.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

“If you don’t, I’m leaving right now,” you barely manage to breathe out between pants. From the way Chan smiles at you, you can tell you must look at least as fucked-out as you feel. He chooses not to tease you and you silently thank him for it. Instead he just leans in, meeting your lips in a manner that is nothing like the soft, innocent kisses from before. He pushes his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth as if he wanted to taste all of you. Just at that moment his fingers find that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You moan into the kiss, prompting him to mirror your sounds. Chan doesn’t let up on that spot, speeding up and hitting it again and again and again until the pressure becomes to much and the knot in your stomach snaps. He fucks you through your orgasm, leaving soft pecks all over your face until you’ve calmed down.

“Feeling better?” He asks. You’re forced to watch as he retrieves his fingers from your pussy, putting them in his mouth instead and licking them clean. He hums comfortably, “you taste so good, babe.”

You’re still staring at him, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of why the sight of your best friend licking his fingers clean of your essence is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He notices your state and his brows furrow.

“Hey, are you okay?” There’s real worry in his voice, so you nod in reassurance.

“I was just thinking that if this what I get for massaging your sore muscles a little, I’m definitely gonna start doing it more often.”

His eyes widen. “You wanna do this more often?” The disbelief in his voice makes you laugh in earnest. “Of course, in case you couldn’t tell, I had a lot of fun.” You’re unsure of your next sentence, but if you don’t say it now, you fear you’ll say it never, “and I like you. A lot.”

He has the dopiest grin on his face as he leans back down, giving you another sweet kiss. “In that case, let me take you out on a proper date before we do this the next time.” You cock an eyebrow.

“Chan, do you wanna be my boyfriend?” The man in question blushes, avoiding your eyes. “If that’s something you also want…”

You look at his expression, hopeful gaze lifting to catch yours. There’s a blush lingering on his cheeks, his hair all mussed up. You’ve never felt more comfortable with another person.

“Of course,” you reply, snaking one arm around his middle and pulling him close, “I’d love that, actually.”

#lee chan #dino #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #chan seventeen #dino seventeen #svt dino x reader #dino smut #dino fluff #lee chan smut #lee chan fluff

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inactivewattpadauthor · 5 months

Text

Kabal x Reader: Usual Visit

~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Pleasure doing business with ya as always, Flash." The red eyed Aussie grins wickedly at Kabal after handing him today's cut. The fast man smirks beneath the mask, counting through his pay like a child in triumph after doing such simple allowance.

Simple tasks such as terrorizing and killing a few people for Kano due to late fees they never paid back. How unfortunate for them, but to Kabal - and definitely Kano - a job is a job.

"Don't spend it all on hooks and hookers." Kano joked before dismissing Kabal off.

"Right," Kabal scoffed with amusement. "I have better things to spend it on." Without giving Kano the chance to pretend to be interested enough to ask, Kabal dashed off in his usual abnormal speed. Far outside the clan, he runs to a big house on a hill. Thank the gods, no cars were outside, and he's willing to bet there isn't one inside the garage.

Carefully, he walks around the house to the back and knocks on a specific window.

...

You peered at the window, putting down your brush and walking to see who it was. Pushing the blinds away, you smile happily to see your masked friend. Opening the window with a little struggle, you greet him. "Kabal!" You lean over to kiss his cheek affectionately. If only you see the goofy, flustered smirk beneath his mask.

"Hey, Y/n! Doing well today?" He asks charmingly.

"Fine as usual. I don't take my medication until about an hour, so I'm not drowsy yet." You shrug with an aloof hint. But you didn't want to bring down the mood. "What did you do today? Beat any bad guys?!" Your eyes sparkled, hoping he has a cool story on how great of a hero he is.

"Ehh, just a few." Kabal says, tilting his hand side to side. "No one too powerful, but I still got a good amount of money from it." The boasting continues. You were slightly disappointed, not because there wasn't much of a story today, but-

"I thought heroes don't get paid." You murmur with furrowed brows. You folded your arms on the window frame and rested your chin, looking at him, downed.

"Well, yeah- but I need to eat too, you know?"

"I guess." You agree with the easy excuse, much to his relief.

"I've actually forgot something for you! I'll be back in not even three seconds." Kabal promises. You lifted your head up and raised an eyebrow at him. It feels like a dare.

"Really? One-"

A gust of wind flew through your hair as Kabal rushes off, your heart skipping a beat or two before he suddenly appears back with a small bouquet of flowers. He makes sure to rip the price tag off before you notice. "Sorry, a few of the petals came off on the way back." He hands his gift to you.

The flowers were still pretty nevertheless. They brought a warm smile to your face, the joy radiating from you to Kabal. "They're beautiful! Thanks!"

"No problem. Is there something else I can do for you?"

Setting your gift gently aside, you thought for a moment. "Well, father doesn't let me order food online. For awhile, I've been wanting to try that bakery from down-" You weren't given the chance to finish your sentence before he rushes off again.

Briefly he returns with a fancy bag for you. Inside was a fancy plastic box of macarons - and you knew those were pricy - along with fresh strawberries, covered in chocolate. One of your favorite treats that made you disregard sadness. "Ohh, thank you so much, Kabal. I'll go get my-"

"No need, princess." Kabal 'humbly' raises his hand. "It's my treat to treat you."

You softly coo at him before you hear the garage open. Readjusting your gown you stood up, alerted. "My dad's back. You should probably go now." You warn him. He nods and steps back.

"I'll visit you again soon, okay?"

"Okay." You smile once more. "Thank you for stopping by."

Kabal takes off before he gets caught. As for you, you hid the flowers somewhere. Before you hid your treats, you took one out to eat it before hiding it.

What an admirable hero Kabal is. ~~~~~~~~~~~~

#mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk imagine #mortal kombat imagines #mk headcanons #mortal kombat headcanons #mk kabal #kabal #kabal x reader #goddesswritings

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dreamwatch · 2 months

Text

Disenchanted Lullaby

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

In all my universes Eddie has Bipolar type 2. Make of that what you will. :)

Technically no pairing... technically...

Eddie opens the apartment door, a rush of stale air meeting him in the hallway. He steps inside and drops his bag, toeing his sneakers off. The curtains are still closed, dust motes decorating the room; there are upturned dishes by the sink that are long since dried. The sofa is a mess of clothes and books, discarded when he was packing. The place is just as he left it four months ago.

He sorts through weeks of unread mail, bills on one pile, junk on another. Starts a third pile when he recognises the handwriting on some letters; Dustin, Mike. Steve. He sticks that one into a pile of it’s own. No overdue notices because he cut off the cable and sent checks from the road for the rent and utilities. Probably confused the hell out of them with all the different post marks.

There’s a lingering smell of himself in the bedroom, an echo of him, and he wishes he’d changed the bedding before he left for the tour. He unpacks his bag, checking for clean clothes, but there’s road-stink on everything so he takes it all down to the laundry, trying to get four months of sweat and cigarettes out of the fabric.

He had the good sense to empty the fridge before he left; he forgot once and came home to find food so rotten it was almost sentient. But that means he has nothing to eat. He’s been living off pizza and Taco Bell for sixteen weeks; there was a venue in Denver that gave them fruit and vegetables among the usual subs and pizzas. He never realised eating a carrot could be a spiritual experience.

The aisles of the local supermarket are filled with women and their offspring, an old lady hits the back of his bad leg with her trolley, doesn’t even say sorry.

The harsh fluorescent strip light flickers above him as he stares at the deli meats. There’s fifty cents off pastrami. He needs to get bread.

The strip light hums.

Maybe some mayo. Should definitely get some oranges.

“Sir?”

He blinks and looks as the girl behind the checkout.

“Sorry, what…?”

She sighs. “$26.55.”

“Right. Yeah, sure.”

He hands over three tens and walks out as fast as he can. As he loads up the car he notices the twin six packs of PBR at the bottom of the trolley.

The stairs finish off the job the old lady started, he feels flayed and raw, but he ran out of Vicodin about eight shows back. The apartment is quiet enough that he can hear the whistling of his tinnitus. He thinks about calling Wayne but it’s lunchtime in Indiana and the old man will be sleeping. He’ll catch him another time.

He’s in pain and exhausted, so he slides out of his jeans, climbs on top of the dirty bed and sleeps.

Wayne used to say that his mother ‘suffered with her nerves’, and Eddie could never make any sense of that until he started high school. They didn’t see it for what it was at first, teenage boys and their angry moods, but Wayne recognised it eventually. Eddie’s been on and off meds ever since.

Right now he’s off. But they numb him, dial him down when he needs to be dialled up, so he doesn’t take them when he tours. It’s not smart; the last few weeks he’s felt it creep back, insidious tendrils grabbing him, pulling him down. His ‘nerves’. He needs to call his doctor.

It’s amazing how many people think everyone in a band lives together like The Monkees, all trapped in one big house. They did, when they first moved to Indy and found a two bedroom shitbox. Now, though, they can’t wait to get the fuck away from each other the second the tour ends. Weeks trapped on a bus with no privacy and very little hygiene doesn’t do much for long term friendships. By the end any camaraderie has begun to curdle.

Gareth and Matt live with their girlfriends now, Jeff with his wife and baby. They have solid families, good reasons to not be in the same room as one another until they have to get back into the studio. Eddie has his books, his records and a television set. He considered getting a dog for company but there’s nobody to look after it when he inevitably goes back out on the road.

He doesn’t verbalise it because it’s painful to admit, even to himself, but he’s lonely. He made some friends in LA, just for him, never to be shared. An actual boyfriend once. Or maybe just a lover, Eddie’s never sure where the line started and ended. But he has a habit of pushing people away, doesn’t even know why he does it. Hurts just to hurt.

He glances at the letters on the table. The letter from Steve.

The red light of the answerphone blinks at him, telling him the tape is full.

He sits down with a beer and a bag of pretzels and switches the television on, flicking through the channels until he finds the Wheel of Fortune; he and Wayne used to watch that together.

He really should call Wayne.

It’s nearly eight o’clock. He’d have finished his vocal warm up by now, finished his stretches, gone for a piss before drinking more water, drinking more beer, finishing up with a line of something. Roadie hands him his guitar, the black Flying V, he runs some scales. Hears the chanting as the crowd get antsy while their techs do the last mic check and clear the stage. Jeff is always first so the wall of sound has already built before Eddie walks out. A crushing roar that rumbles deep in his chest before he even strikes the first chord.

The crowd applaud as Gary from Sioux Falls solves the phrase: There’s No Place Like Home.

Eddie gets up for another beer. Comes back with two.

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #corroded coffin fanfiction #cw depression #cw chronic pain #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #cw drugs

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vodika-vibes · 10 months

Note

Can you write a cute piece with Jaster where he comes back from a long mission and finds the reader and Jango asleep together in his bed waiting for him? Maybe turns a little smutty at the end?

The Mand'alor's Aliit

Summary: Jaster's been gone for weeks, and now that he's back, some hard truths have come to light.

Pairing: Jaster Mereel x F!Reader

Word Count: 1714

Warnings: Reader was physically assaulted, Jaster's temper

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I know you said you wanted a little smutty, and I'm sorry that this didn't turn out that way. I had a story that needed to be written, and smut just didn't make sense with what I had. Please feel free to send another request that I'll do better on next time.

When you agreed to go on a date with Jaster, it was well before he was elected Mand’alor. Sure, you’ve always known that your ambitious man wanted more for his people, but the title Mand’alor wasn’t something that he specifically vied for.

And then he was elected, and things became a lot more complicated.

The Mandalorians didn’t like you. They didn’t like you when you were just some upstart who managed to catch the attention of Jaster, and they definitely didn’t like that Jaster went to you for advice when he became Mand’alor.

However, no one pushed anything because you’re not Jaster’s Riduur. So far as they’re aware, the relationship is pretty shallow.

So when Jaster comes home with a recently orphaned 8 year old, announcing that he adopted young Jango, and then when you quietly adopted Jango as well, people suddenly started paying attention.

And that’s when the missions started. Long term missions, taking Jaster away from you, and Jango, for weeks at a time. Maybe they thought that sending him away would drive a wedge between the pair of you, but they couldn’t be more wrong if they tried.

“I miss buir,” Jango mumbles miserably as he buries himself against your side, “And I hate the other Mandalorians.” He adds, sounding even more miserable when he sees you wince in pain when you move to embrace him.

“I know you do, kiddo. I miss him too.” You smooth your hand through his curly hair. Today had been especially bad in terms of everything. Normally the people who stood opposed to you wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you.

But they had been drinking, and they forgot themselves, and yeah, you won that fight, even though it was four on one, but you still have a cracked rib and pretty severe bruising to show for it.

Worse than that is the fact that Jango witnessed the whole thing. Which means he’s about three times as clingy as he would normally be. And you tolerate it because he’s your kid and you love him. You love him enough to allow him to crawl into your bed, and cling to you while you soothe him to sleep.

You’re not really surprised when you drift off to sleep as well.

It’s several hours later when you stir awake at the sensation of Jango getting pulled away from you. And while normally your reaction would be to shoot first and ask questions never, a warm hand on your shoulder and Jaster’s voice in your ear, encouraged you to not shoot him.

You watch, half asleep, as Jaster carries Jango out of the room. And then you sit up, and you carefully stretch. Sleeping the way you were did nothing to help the pain in your side…you should have known better.

The door slides open again, and Jaster steps into the room, “Cyare,” His voice is low, exhausted, but he sounds thrilled to see you, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The lights are still off, but there’s enough light for you to watch him remove his armor. And you smile as you cross your legs, “Welcome back,” You say first, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you when I felt you pulling Jango away.” You add easily.

His fingers pause on the seal of his thigh plates and he groans low in his throat, “That’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

You laugh softly, “I think you’re overtired if you think my threatening to shoot you is hot.”

Jaster laughs, and resumes removing his armor. He sets the whole set to the side to be dealt with later, and then he peels his bodysuit off and tosses it into the laundry. And only then does he climb into bed.

He lays on his pillow for a moment, and you watch him relax into the soft mattress with a fond smile on your face.

And then he rolls over and crashes his lips against yours. “Missed you,” He rumbles against your lips, “Hate those long missions.”

“Missed you more,” You reply as you kiss him quickly.

Jaster pins both of your wrists over your head with one hand, and he releases a quiet laugh, “I don’t think that’s possible, cyare.” He kisses you deeply, and then moves his lips to your neck, “Missed you like a missing limb.” He slides his hand under your sleep shirt, and drags his hand up your side.

His fingers trail over your ribs, and a sharp hiss escapes you without your permission.

And Jaster freezes. He carefully presses his hand over the painful spot on your side, and then he releases your wrists and reaches over to turn on the lamp.

You squint at the sudden light, and Jaster’s fingers are very gentle as he slides your shirt up and over your head. His gaze is sharp as he takes in the red bruises covering a large portion of your body. He brushes his fingers over the swollen and split knuckles on both of your hands. And then he presses his hand flat over your cracked rib.

“Is it broken?” His voice is very, very even. And you know that he’s furious.

“Cracked.” You reply as you settle back on your pillow.

“So yes.”

“We both know that a crack and a break are totally different.” You point out with a sigh, as you trail a single finger over his arm.

“What happened, cyare?” Jaster asks, his gaze falling to your forearms, “These look like self-defense bruises.”

You sigh, “You’re not wrong.”

His eyes go cold, “Someone attacked you.” It’s not a question.

“You know as well as I do that there are some factions within the Haat who don’t approve of me…or Jango.”

Somehow, his eyes go colder, “I didn’t see any marks on Jango.”

You scoff, “I know I can’t hold my own against you, Jas, but if they even considered touching Jango, we’d be having a very different conversation. Very likely from the safety of my ship, in orbit.”

It’s the truth. If you thought, for a moment, that Jango was in danger on Mandalore, you’d take him and leave. And you both know it.

“Who hurt you?”

“They’re in the hospital.” You reply.

“Cyare-”

“Jaster.” He stops and regards you thoughtfully, “They’re in the hospital. You can’t do anything about it now.”

He inhales deeply, “Has anyone done this before?”

“I can handle a few pointed barbs, Jaster.”

His jaw clenches, “Why do they hate you so much?” He hisses, fury writ in every line of his body.

“Because I’m an outsider, and was barely good enough when you were just a son of Clan Mereel.” You reach up and lightly caress his cheek, “They thought I was your whore, and then we adopted a child together, and proved that I’m more than that.”

“They call you that? To your face?”

“Not when you’re around.” You sigh and tug him down so you’re able to kiss him, “Breathe, love.”

“They hate you that much?” Jaster asks.

“‘Fraid so.” Your smile is wry, “They want you to marry some proper Mando, raise an army of little mando children, and I’m not an acceptable choice.”

“That’s…that’s the dumbest kriffing-” He takes a deep breath, and then he cups your face, “You’re my choice. Always have been, from the first time I saw you-”

“I threw a rock at you and called you dumb.”

“You did, and fell in love at that very moment.” Jaster replies with a fond smile, “You are mine,” He murmurs, “And I am yours.”

You smile up at him, “I’m not about to let some small minded people scare me away from you, love.”

“Good,” Jaster kisses you solidly, and then pulls back, “Say the Riduurok with me.”

“What?”

“Right here. Right now. I have everything we might need for it.” His gaze is intense, “Become my wife, I’ll spend the rest of eternity making sure you’re happy, and no one will ever hurt you again.”

You stare at him, and then you smile, “Alright.”

He grins at you, and carefully climbs off of you.

“Should I put on some clothes?” You joke as you carefully sit up.

“Don’t worry about it.”

************

The following morning, while you’re fast asleep in your bed, coated in a thin layer of bacta to help you heal, with Jango cuddling against you watching cartoons, Jaster calls a meeting with the heads of the various clans.

He’s calm, very calm, dangerously calm. And apparently the men and women in the room can feel it, as they settle in their seats utterly silent.

“It has come to my attention,” Jaster starts slowly, not raising his voice, not having to raise his voice to be heard, “That there is a number among you who feels that my cyare is not good enough for Mandalore.”

Some of the people sitting around the table shift uncomfortably, and Jaster pins each of them with a dark, threatening, stare.

“It has also come to my attention that the verbal abuse turned physical yesterday.” At that there’s a hint of barely controlled rage in his voice, and more than one person flinched back. “Needless to say, not happy is understating how I’m feeling at the moment.”

He pauses, and no one says anything, so Jaster nods once, “So here are the cold, hard, facts. My cyare is now my Riduur. Any attack on her will be seen as an attack on me and my clan, and I will react accordingly.” He pulls his helmet back on, “Make sure that this information is passed out accordingly.”

There are general murmurs of assent, though one brave woman stands, “Mand’alor, I have to say that I think that the woman you chose as your riduur is not good for the future of Mandalore-” She starts only to trail off when Jaster unholsters his blaster and starts examining it thoughtfully.

“Your objection has been noted, and ignored.” Jaster says mildly, “Does anyone else have any complaints?”

The room is totally silent, and Jaster nods. And then he turns and leaves the room. He has a riduur to spend time with, and an ad he hasn’t seen in weeks. And at the moment, his aliit is the only thing that matters.

#star wars #star wars legends #jaster mereel x reader #jaster x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #answered asks

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weekend-whip · 2 months

Text

Ninjago Fic Rec Week (2024): Day 2

Prompts: Multichaps/Villains! (catching up slowly but surely~)

Multichaps:

Shark Bait: ALRIGHT CONFESSION I haven't actually *read* this one yet ONLY because I know it's going to soooooo good and it's going to change my brain chemistry so I'm waiting until I am Emotionally Prepared but UWAH just the premise alone should be enough to entice you: Movie!verse with completely secret identities, and Lloyd/Green Ninja trying to take matters into his own hands...only for irony to make them worse, as is the story of his life. This author is already a legend as it is so who needs a summary GO READ GO READ NOW!!

Ninjago: The Nya Perspective: SINCE this masterpiece favorite of mine just updated not too long ago, there's no better time than to recommend it once again! Have you always wanted more from Nya in the early seasons?! Have you always wanted more of HER side of story?! Have you wonder how Nya became the person she is today?! Well wonder no longer for this story has got those answers and more!!!!

Sharpen the Scythe, Before He Reaps: Another that I've started but never finished, it's a reworking of the Day of the Departed, so you know it's FULL of Ghost!Cole goodness, from the good to the angsty!! And what I've read so far is sooo soul-grabbing (pun somewhat intended) and makes me wish DotD was even half as introspective as this jhgfdgfd

Thank You For Giving Me Wings: Over a year later and this is still my only multi-chap ninjago fic (...that, uh, isn't Legacyverse nor OC-related, oop). Still, it's never a bad time to have a little introspective on Wu bonding with his students over the years, moreso as family than anything else <3

All I'm Asking For: Quite possibly one of my very favorite Ninjago fics ever, it is REQUIRED reading as far as I'm concerned! Cole's the anchor character, but it follows EVERYONE in a slightly-altered aftermath of March of the Oni, with everyone recuperating, figuring out what's next for them with their lives and relationships, and spiced up with a little Christmas flair <3

Mechanical Hearts: A story I've been keeping an eye on for a while, it's a college Jaya au with plenty of Jay+Cole dynamic spread on top, and the way the author (hi Finn!!) writes all the characters is so deep even in the lighter moments and makes all the senes in the world for the setting they're in, and I love all the little nods to canon or the cheeky changes made along the way–it's so enjoyable!

Villains:

for want (for nothing): Not technically a villain, but Kai's certainly an antagonist here ooooooooh (a different, heart-wrenching take on the Kai-Lloyd confrontation in S4)

Lord Garmadon Is Not Impressed With the Future: Another one I've recced before, but now it has an equally villainous SEQUEL so I've gotta get everyone on the train again! And this story's got villain!Garmadon and villain!Garmadon-but-having-a-personal-crisis upon realizing that his future is...not at all what he wanted. And he also discovers himself beating the life out of his own son–so yeah. We definitely can't have THAT. Good stuff, good stuff.

Bucket List: Might be a slight cop-out since this is moreso about Kai BUT it IS my favorite Morro-related fic, and he is a villain, thus it fits! (...Plus I gotta put at least three stories in this section, c'mon). Anyway, Kai allows Morro to possess him for less-than-ideal reasons and presents a fascinating dynamic between the two and what it means to truly live and take responsibility (the good, the bad, the ugly, and all). Be mindful of the tags and warnings, though!

Outgrown (from Spider Lily's Claws): I knew I almost forgot a Harumi one! DR-fic in which Harumi stumbles across the monastery looking for a place to recuperate, and a company-starved Lloyd welcomes her to stay. A fascinating look at a Harumi who's still got her "Evil" instincts but is still trying to act in her best interests, while Lloyd...is Lloyd hgfhgd. I love their back-and-forth bad-idea-good-idea dynamic here a LOOOOOT

#ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago fic rec week #fic recs #i hope i linked all those right my brain is all over the place ghfdgfd

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jhilsara · 6 months

Text

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 14

MJ has a gnawing feeling in the back of her mind. Something feels…off. She can’t put her finger on it, but she feels it in her gut. It’s churning in a way that she almost feels nauseous and irritable. She can identify it’s her anxiety, but she can’t identify why it’s getting triggered.

She’s scrubbing down the bar, cleaning it before her shifts over. She’s running through the events of her day in her head. Wondering if maybe she forgot something. Did she lock her door? Did she leave her curling iron plugged in? Did she forget to buy something? Maybe she’s just being paranoid.

She shrugs it off and labels it as her being paranoid.

There hasn’t been another strange life or death incident in over a month. Maybe she feels like she’s overdue for one… Or maybe her life is finally back to normal.

She shakes her head and a small smile falls over her face. Her life will never be normal as long as Hobie’s around. It’s not a bad problem to have though.

She settles on the pit in her stomach being up to paranoia. She just feels overdue for a Spider-Man adjacent event.

Hopefully that doesn’t happen.

She packs it up, waving goodbye to Andy and meets Hobie at the back door. He’s leaning against the bricks, head back and lolled lazily over to look at her. A soft grin on his face. He pushes himself off and drops his arms over her shoulder from behind. He leans his body weight onto her, already towering over her short stature. He rests his chin on top of her head.

She just scoffs, “Hobie!” She groans and goes to grab his arms, “You’re gonna knock me over.” She pouts jokingly trying to not laugh.

“I’m not that heavy.” He says in mock offense. Leaning more of his weight onto her.

“No but you tower over me, that’s enough.” She says almost knocking both of them over.

He scoffs but removes himself off her, leaving one arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“C’mon, tired after runnin’ round with the lizard in the sewers all night.” He tells her with a soured face.

She scrunches her nose, “So that’s what I’m smelling?” She teases.

He removes himself off her completely raising his hands up in defense. “Oi, oi, stop takin’ the piss.” He says and nudges her with his elbow.

He turns to sniff his vest and he scrunches up his nose in disgust, “Need a shower though…”

She giggles and nudges him back, “Showers yours first then.” She replies with a grin.

“Mmmm, or, hear me out…” He says stepping in front of her and starts walking backwards down the street to face her.

“We could, shower together.” He suggests with a smug smirk.

Her face flushes and she rolls her eyes, “Mmm and what would be the benefit in showering with a man who smells like the sewers?” She hums in thought.

He doesn’t miss a beat when he replies, “Benefits?” He cocks his head in thought then starts counting on his fingers, “One, more quality time with your favorite person.” He says with a massive grin.

She shakes her head.

“Two, I’m a riot. Three…I might need you to check my back because there was a moment where I was just sliding down in unknown muck…” He gives her a hesitant and crooked smile.

She winces but nods. “Yea this is a tag team effort.” She agrees with a skeptical look. “I will bail if the… unknown muck…. turns out to be absolutely foul. Definitely not sexy.” She says.

He nods, “Duly noted that sewer fighting isn’t sexy.” He says jokingly.

She just shakes her head and laughs as they walk back to her flat.

Once they entered the bathroom MJ is helping Hobie peel his suit off. Whatever he had on him from the sewer was clinging onto him like a leech.

“Oh my god, this is so foul Hobie…” She says holding his shirt up and as far away from her as possible.

“Ya weren’t the one who was thrown into it by a ten-foot-tall lizard.” He replies bitterly, trying to pry his pants off.

“What if, hear me out, we just make a new suit… you don’t have to wash this one, we could just toss it.” She tries to suggest making a face of disgust as he adds his pants to the pile.

“I have others, but we’re not trashin’ it. It’s fine, just needs a good wash!” he says giving her a playful glare.

She gives him a pointed look, “In who’s wash? Surely not mine.” She says dryly.

“Do ya want this smellin’ up your flat?” He says pointing to the pile of his spider suit parts still sprinkled with sludge.

“… no, no, not in my wash. We’ll put it in a bag and on the balcony.” She says looking at his clothes in horror.

He rolls his eyes but is grinning regardless. “Fine, I’ll take it.” He reaches out and holds her hips, “Can we please take a shower now?” he pouts.

She feels her face blush as he is just in his underwear and his hands are gently holding her hips, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin. She avoids how fast her heart beats and reaches for a plastic bag under her sink and hands it to him. “Put the smelly clothes in the bag and no one gets hurt.” She jokes.

He sighs dramatically, but neatly puts his clothes in the bag and ties it shut. He hands it over to her.

“Thank you!” She gives a large grin to him. “Start the shower, I’ll put this on the balcony.”

He nods his head and reaches over to turn on the water. She closes the door behind her and practically throws the bag onto the balcony. She never wants to smell whatever that was again.

She stands in front of the bathroom door, nervous. Which she doesn’t know why she’s nervous. She’s been naked in front of people before, had boyfriends and girlfriends before, but for some reason this shower is what’s making her pause.

She takes a deep breath and just decides to shake it off. She’s had a weird feeling all day and she refuses to let her nerves ruin her time with Hobie.

She opens the door and he shuffles the shower curtain back, poking his head out, “I genuinely need help… it won’t go away, the smell. I don’t know if it’s in my head or not.” He tells her face genuinely worried.

She looks at him amused and just shakes her head, “Okay okay! Scoot over.” She tells him.

He returns into the shower and she strips quickly and joins him. Her face is red and she immediately feels the hot water hit her back making her jump a little.

Hobie grabs her arms, hands guiding her in gently. He smiles at her, eyes roaming her fuller figure.

Her eyes meet his and she notices him looking at her. She smacks his chest teasingly.

“Okay do a full body turn let me check your back for the unsexy sewer sludge.”

He grimaces and shakes his head, “Showers should be sexy, like fundamentally.” He does turn and show her his back.

She immediately laughs, “Oh god, it’s bad. It’s like stuck to you! What is this?!” she asks and grabs a wash rag. She covers it in soap and gently washes his back. Adding enough pressure to actually scrub it off of him.

He hums in response. “Never going in the bloody sewers ever again…”

“Agreed.”

She spends the next few minutes scrubbing his back, focused on removing the muck from him. He’s giving soft sighs and grunts of content. If she wasn’t flushed before she definitely was now.

“I- uh, I think you’re good now…” she whispers.

He turns to look at her over his shoulders, brow raised in amusement.

“Sure? Nothin’ else?” He asks.

She nods her head and clears her throat, “Yeah. All clean.” She gives a tight nervous smile. She awkwardly pats his shoulder.

He gives a soft chuckle and turns to face her.

“You’re really red ya know?” He says with a lopsided smile.

She pouts up at him and crosses her arms over her chest, in mild irritation but also in a failing attempt to cover herself, feeling a little self-conscious.

It’s hard to not feel that way when someone who literally does acrobatics everyday is standing naked in front of her, with his ripped back muscles and toned arms… she has to stop looking. She shuffles a bit uncomfortably.

“The water’s just really warm…” She scoffs a bit and grabs a different clean rag and throws it at him. “Just wash my back please.” She mumbles turning around.

He just shakes his head and places his large hands firmly on her round hips, leaning down and resting his head on her shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Ya cute when you act like you’re not flustered by me.” He says cheekily.

She groans but doesn’t move away from him or his touch.

“See? Don’t even have a comeback, ya speechless.” He grins and kisses her neck.

It sends a shiver down her back, “Just wash my back please spider boy.” She mumbles with a small grin on her face.

He removes himself off of her and grabs the wash cloth and the soap from above.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing.” He says and starts to gently wash her back.

She hums in comfort and rolls her head to the side. Relaxing under his touch. One hand is working the wash cloth slowly up and down her back. His other hand is gently massaging her shoulders, going down her arms, and traveling down to her hips where he continues to kneed her skin.

She’s melting against his hands, moaning a bit from the ministrations. The hot water against them, his large hands pressing against her, she’s so comfortable she could easily just fall asleep like this.

Her eyes are closed and her head is lolled a bit to the side.

He presses into her shoulder and she releases a deep moan from her throat, one that makes her eyes fly open in embarrassment.

“Careful, gonna tease me too much with those noises.” He murmurs holding onto to her soft hips tightly.

“Christ, what were you a masseuse in another life?” she says with a dreamy sigh, turning to face him.

He lifts his hands up and wiggles his long fingers, “Magic hands.”

She snorts and shakes her head.

She leans against him and wraps her arms around him in a loose hug, “I’m sleepy.”

He pulls her to him, laying his head on top of hers, “Yeah? Wanna cuddle?” he murmurs.

“Absolutely. Let’s finish before the water get’s cold.” She says excitedly.

They finish quickly, the water turning ice cold making them rush. She grabs one of her big towels and wraps it around both of them. They wipe each other down, drying off quickly.

Hobie puts on a pair of clean boxers he had shoved away in MJ’s underwear drawer. MJ slides on a sports bra and matching panties.

Hobie places his hands around her waist, pulling her soft body to his and nuzzling his face into her shoulder. He hums in contentment.

She just pats his arm and starts walking to her room, him right behind her, awkwardly waddling along.

MJ flops them onto her bed and she curls into a ball, Hobie’s arms still encapsulating her.

He kisses her shoulder a few times before he lets go to grab her large and fluffy duvet to cover them. He lays on top of her, smiling broadly, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. He settles his head on her chest.

She wraps her own arms around his shoulders, legs wrapping around him as well.

She sighs happily and closes her eyes. Listening to the sounds of them breathing. They fall asleep wrapped up in each other and fall into a blissful sleep.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

MJ groans a bit, squeezing her eyes tight. Too loud and too early.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

This time it’s enough to wake her and it’s ungodly early for someone who went to sleep at four in the morning. A sad whimper escapes her mouth. She shoves her face into Hobie’s shoulder.

“Fuckin’ hell is that?” she hears him groan, voice a deep sleepy tremor.

“I don’t know… I’ve never had a problem with my neighbors before.” She whines.

“Maybe if we ignore it, they’ll stop.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around her tightly pulling her closer.

The banging continues, somehow, getting louder.

“Why, what have I done to deserve this suffering?” She murmurs sleepily.

“I’ll get it, just go back to sleep.” He says and kisses the top of her head.

“Hurry back, I’ll get cold.” She fake whines with a laugh.

“Oh, piss off, you’ll be passed out.” He teases her back shoving her off playfully.

She hears Hobie shuffle to her door and she feels herself ease up as the banging finally ends. She sighs and wraps the blankets around herself tighter, finally, some peace.

Then she hears the shrill and piercing voice of her worst fear.

Stomping footsteps towards her door.

Her eyes fly open and she wonders how bad it would look if she flung herself out the window topless.

She doesn’t have enough time to decide before her door is flung open and she’s face to face with someone she hasn’t seen in ages.

“¡Dios! ¡Qué estás haciendo holgazaneando con un hombre medio desnudo! Pensé que te crié mejor.”

MJ groans and sits up, holding the blanket over her chest, and looks at her mother standing in her doorway.

She sees Hobie’s head peaking behind her and looking at MJ in confusion.

This, this is what her gut was warning her about. Why her nerves were so fried. She always got that weird feeling when her mother was involved.

Tag List: @missshelleyduvall

Message if you would like to be added to the tag list!

#hobie brown x oc #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #hobie fanart #hobie atsv #atsv hobie #spider punk #spiderman fanfiction #across the spider verse fanart #across the spiderverse #mary jane watson #mary jane oc #my art

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 2 years

Note

dawg, lemme tell you somethin, I LOVE your writing style so far and I want more SO BAD !! I’ve been stuck by myself in the “I’ve been an arcana fan since release but now it’s like dead” hole, so I’ve been absolutely starving for content. Your headcanons are such a great length and so descriptive, each one feels like I’m reading a whole fanfiction, and it’s a real treat. I cant wait for more !! 🥺🥺 If I ever get around to scribbling some stories based on your thoughts, I am tagged u on SIGHT.

I’ve never requested headcanons before but what about m6 with an mc who walks with a cane?

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an MC who walks with a cane

~ thank you for the positive feedback @taduki ! I'm so happy when I find out my ramblings bring people joy. I have a few friends who use canes regularly, but I don't have any personal experience. I'm basing this off of the little bit of research I did and the experiences I've heard about, so if I make any mistakes please let me know so I can correct them ~

Julian

He thinks it's hot

He's a doctor, he's familiar with mobility aids and the many reasons someone may need/want to use one

Dude literally had three years of experience as an apprentice under Nazali in active warzones amputating limbs

He's the type of guy who loves learning new things, so once you're comfortable going into detail about your condition to him he will have so many questions

And then he's going to go do research about it

And then he's going to come back with even more questions

But mostly he just thinks it's hot, canes just have so much dramatic potential

Can you keep a sword in it? Can you use it like a club? You would make such a good pirate with him

Once you explain that it's actually easier to use if it's lightweight and easy to store he'll stop suggesting modifications

But if you have it with you while you're out and you don't feel like using it he'll keep it hooked over his arm or clenched in his fist because deep down he's a theatre kid

Asra

However much they knew about mobility aids before the Red Plague, they learned everything they could after you woke up

He's so tuned in to you he can tell at a glance what kind of day you're having and will act accordingly

When they were reteaching you magic some of the first spells they taught you were what they remembered you using to help with your disability

He has definitely enchanted your cane before, mostly with your permission

One of the useful ones was a shrinking/growing rune so you could keep it in your pocket

Less useful was when one of your customers made a rude comment about you not moving as fast as they wanted you to around the shop

So they enchanted it to trip them on sight

He forgot to tell you, you didn't find out until the rude customer came back on a day you weren't using it and you watched your cane fly across the room to thwack them across the shins

They're not allowed to touch your cane without your permission anymore

Nadia

The evening she first arrived in your shop you weren't using it so she didn't notice it until you arrived at the palace the next evening

When she realized she had been getting annoyed at you for being late, only to see you walk in with a mobility aid, she felt awful

It was also a wake up call realizing how many stairs you had to climb just to get to the front doors of the palace

She doesn't want to pry or burden you, but she's also deeply committed to providing for your every need, and there's a day or two of her waffling back and forth between pumping you for information and pretending there's nothing unusual afoot

Once you open up about it she's very invested

Every outfit she gifts you comes with a high quality cane, beautifully painted to match

After everything's done with the Devil and she's reworking Vesuvia's infrastructure she is definitely taking accessibility into account

She's not going to burden you with her education or assume you're an archetype, but she makes sure you know that your input is more than welcome on any and all of her plans

Muriel

That trip with Morga was hell on your body

You spent weeks riding and walking for hours with minimal rest, trying to learn physical self-defense tactics at the same time

He may be gruff but he's not cruel, he was offering to carry your bags (or you) by the third day in

Seeing how patient you were with both Morga and yourself was one of the things that convinced him to open up to you and trust you

He prefers speaking with actions more than words

One of the first gifts he gave you was a beautifully crafted cane, lightweight and incredibly durable, with the story of your journey together carved into it

He also customized it to work with you perfectly, because he knows better than anyone what a body in discomfort moves like and he's memorized all of your tells

When you move into his hut with him he makes trails through the woods for you so you don't have to worry about uneven ground or roots or loose stones

He is also very happy to carry you around if you ask him to (he will blush the whole time though)

Portia

It's cannon that the first time you meet she out walks you across Vesuvia

It takes her a little while to adjust her assumptions

Not because she thinks badly of anyone who uses a mobility aid, but because it's her job to be on her feet all day long and the concept of having difficulty doing that is totally new to her

There are definitely a few moments when she bounds up the stairs two at a time, only to wait awkwardly at the top silently berating herself for not paying closer attention

The first time she matches her pace to yours on a slower day for you her whole worldview shifts

Being the type to power-walk everywhere, this is the first time she's been able to notice all these beautiful details around her

Was that painting always there? The fabric on those curtains is gorgeous!

Now it's one of her favorite things about who she becomes around you

She will (and does) throw hands with anyone who makes a disparaging comment about you moving too slowly

Pepi tried to jump up onto your cane once when it was propped up against a table and made the biggest crash when she fell

Lucio

Ooh, nice accessory, he's got one too!

It should be shinier though. Don't worry, he'll fix that for you as soon as he's no longer an incorporeal goatman

He has no filter between his brain and his mouth, he is bombarding you with questions. Why do you use it? Were you in a particularly nasty fight?

For once he's not being remotely judgemental (except about the fashion sense involved), dude has an entire missing limb

Sometimes he'll reminisce about what it was like before he got the alchemical prosthetic he has now, and will ask you if you have any ideas for your cane

He is very happy to carry things for you and often suggests you use his golden arm to lean on instead

He says it's more fashionable this way, but really it's a point of common ground for him and he likes having you close and being dependable

If you let him he will absolutely buy a pair of matching canes for the two of you, yours to help you move around and his to make grand sweeping gestures with

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana #the arcana shitpost #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #portia devorak #muriel of the kokhuri #lucio morgasson

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hoardlikegoldenirises · 16 days

Text

This is the counterpart to my post about Peter and glasses.

I could have included some more details or doodles of Kaine's like, various mobility devices as he gets older but: this is supposed to be glasses-focused. and also... my hand doesn't want me to do that.

closeups below:

baby Kaine. Even though I claimed that this drawing is solely about glasses, it's also to show that Kaine's hair gets darker as he matures and it was much redder when he was young. And only mild myopia at 12 lol

I'm not gonna go into the whole timeline here but if you haven't read Dr. Warren's notes on Kaine's development for windowverse (major CW for a lot of stuff, please read the tags) the tl;dr is that Kaine is 12 when he gets taken out and then rapidly aged to adulthood. I did this on purpose rather than going along with the 616 canon. my AU my rules etc.

Anyway here's Kaine 3 years later, when he's 24 and is freed from Warren. Still mildly nearsighted but also starts developing a specific kind of cataract because he's been on various corticosteroid and other medications that fuck with his body (probably better than his body killing him) (maybe) It's a posterior subcapsular cataract btw and it develops basically over the span of a few months, overlooked by the people around him and by himself.

He is actually in the hospital (no longer with Warren) when this happens, partly because of an adrenal crisis from oops suddenly stopping prednisone cold turkey after three years. Everyone's a little preoccupied...

His skin should probably not be so clear here now that I look at this lol but I was more focused on his eyes and hair than his various lesions and acne/skin picking...

Oh, his droopy eyelid is from physical trauma btw. A combo of nerve damage and his orbit/brow bone and surrounding area having healed wrong from a pretty bad break/injury (related to his busted up nose). It's not Bell's palsy and he can still move the left side of his face for the most part but the area around his eye especially is definitely weaker

jumping forward another few years —

by 2015 Kaine can't really see much out his left eye, aside from like... light glare and stuff like that. Bottom left is Kaine in 2014, hair still in the process of darkening as it grows Very Rapidly.

During the windowverse equivalent of The Lost Years and Redemption, from late 2012 to early 2015, Kaine is really underweight (nothing new to him, really...) and very sick and unmedicated, and also dealing with things like the long-term chronic effects of ending steroid medications, withdrawals, etc etc etc... not doing so hot...

He also gains a lot more scars over this time period.

Top right is mid to late 2015, around September probably, don't know why I wrote 2016. Kaine keeps his hair long for a few months in Houston then buzzes his hair in November 2015:

After some shit happens. Post-werewolf mauling, basically. Included a mask on this one since he is on (steroid sparing) immunosuppressants and needs to be more careful... at Donald's urging lol

Kaine also wears sunglasses inside pretty often (along with stuff like ear plugs, which I forgot to draw lol) since, like Peter, he is sensitive to bright lights and is also just in general a little more prone to sensory overload than Peter is. So those are supposed to be Tom Ford Marko FT0144 sunglasses, aka James Bond sunglasses lol (Kaine does not know this, of course)

Anyway, astigmatism in his right eye is getting kind of noticeable (it's more than that but...) He also has acquired some optic nerve damage in his already blind eye because of a combination of factors, so that eye actually is totally blind now

Anyway 2016:

After some stuff happens, Kaine ends up back in New York (with Aracely), things are hectic, finally settle down... very late in 2016 Kaine finally goes to the eye doctor

Unsurprisingly the eye doctor wants Kaine to get cataract removal surgery. Also unsurprisingly, Kaine refuses.

Anyway his indoor frames are based on Gucci's men's cat eye glasses, which technically only come in tortoiseshell but I decided that it's My AU and I make the rules and I can say that Gucci also made these in black, in windowverse. and also kaine's size. lol.

$450 💀

Like Peter, Kaine has tinted lenses. Unlike Peter, they are not Transitions/photochromic. So indoors he has lighter shades with a gradient to almost clear at the bottom, no polarization or anything like that.

For outside—

These are just Kate Spade Genice sunglasses with the lenses replaced w/ black mirrored polarized lenses. Though I don't think I made them flat enough—

My justification for Kaine being able to wear itty bitty designer shades (seriously, why are the arms on kate spade frames so short?) is that he has a couple million dollars and he can do whatever he wants. (Like have the arms replaced.) These specific shades also have pretty large lenses so I figure as long as the arms are lengthened, they should fit.

And also I like them and I want him to wear them.

Anyway jumping ahead like 8 years to when Kaine is in his mid 30s��

More Tom Ford frames. Ingrid, this time, with prescription lenses presumably lol

I'll be honest I did consider giving Kaine a prosthetic eye, but... in this context I think the only reason he'd ever get eye surgery would be if it was a life-threatening emergency, and tbh even with issues like glaucoma and complications from the cataract, it's not clear to me that it would ever be life-threatening unless he managed to get an infection, which I guess is possible, but idk? Eye pain is def not enough motivation for Kaine to have it removed, especially since surgery would increase his risk of infection on account of being immunocompromised on the long-term.

If I were to go that route, windowverse Kaine is the type to have an expensive and glamorous eye made btw, because he is already going to draw attention, he cannot look "normal," regardless of how realistic a professional prosthetic can be, and people are going to stare at him regardless, so I think he would prefer to do something that feels, like... well, like him.

Anywayyyy... I've left it as just an eternal cataract for now but if it turns out that would cause actual dangerous problems I will have them take his eye out...

As far as his working eye goes, in his mid-30s his eyesight is definitely worse, and he's pretty nearsighted, but it's definitely still basically fully correctable with prescription lenses (issues w/ depth perception and lack of binocular vision notwithstanding). But without, he has to look pretty closely at stuff like food labels to be able to read it and even then it can still be blurry.

Those frames are Gucci as well btw

again, lenses replaced with darker, polarized lenses to suit his needs wrt light sensitivity etc.

Kaine's temples are also starting to thin a tiny bit but it's not very noticeable yet.

This is also four years after he and Aracely moved into a luxury motor home and adopted a stray cat, and his meds are not too awful to keep track of (yay for patches), and actually make him feel comparatively better, so he's like... doing alright for himself. Even his eyebrows are healthier (because he isn't compulsively ripping them out from stress)

Jumping forward another 5-7 years:

I made these frames up on account of it's 10 years in the future. Continuing the cat eye trend.

Kaine starts letting his facial hair grow out at some point between 36 and 40, probably just because shaving is kind of a hassle and he has arthritis (etc), and it's not like it will ever grow very long... he also goes fully gray very quickly upon reaching middle age lmao — Peter doesn't start going gray until a few years after Kaine, and even then doesn't really get grayer than a big skunk stripe before he dies. Ben goes gray in his 50s, but may or may not still be bleaching or coloring his hair at that point lol

Kaine's hairline is obviously also receding a bit more obviously now, unlike his brothers... :/ damn them (okay Peter's got a tiny bit of a receding hairline by 48 but only barely)

But Kaine is... dare I say... kind of happy? He's in a good place in his 30s and 40s, emotionally and relationship-wise, with his whole platonic soulmate thing with Aracely, and the random stray cat she adopted, and their expensive motor home and so on. His vision may be getting worse and he is retired because of his many disabilities but he's like... pretty okay.

Anyway Kaine is very undeniably going blind by the time he's 40 and he's started to learn braille around age 41 as he accepts that.

...probably his lenses should be thicker but I can barely draw glasses as it is..........

In addition to whatever specs he's wearing, he finally gets a tactile cellphone for emergencies around this time, basically only for speed-dialing Aracely, Ben or Peter, or 911.

I figure he prefers tactile stuff like braille or buttons because it's all touch-based and he doesn't like dealing with TTS or dictation (for multiple reasons) and doesn't like screen readers (mostly for sensory reasons), but he does occasionally use those things because sometimes tactile feels worse than listening to a robot, and obviously screen readers can be more useful for specific situations.

ANYWAY Kaine probably has like a BlindShell 2 or MiniVision (non smart) or whatever the hell.

It's worth saying: Kaine can still see out of his right eye, but he can't clarify images well, mostly just moving shapes and blurry silhouettes and colors and light. He can still read really massive text if it's close enough to his face (with glasses) or like, really huge signs, but not with crispness or clarity, and probably still causes some strain. Anything else is illegible.

Still sensitive to light and being dazzled though, probably actually worse now, so still wearing tinted lenses both outdoors and indoors.

Does orientation & mobility around age 43, once someone finally thinks to refer him to a low vision specialist... He does get a cane but not the typical long cane people associate with blindness. He mostly navigates okay on his own since he can still see a little, and the cane is mostly for his chronic pain and other health problems... but he's definitely a lot slower than he used to be, as well as easily startled, and prefers to have Aracely with him if he's out and about.

But all things considered, he's not doing too terribly for a guy who wasn't expected to survive past 30.

So, Anyway, mid 40s:

(aka the cutest part of this drawing)

Another frame I made up. Just nude acetate and bronze wireframe...

And a puppy lol (American Doberman)

When Kaine is around 45, since he does have some problems navigating, especially if he's alone, and Aracely can't be around him all the time, Aracely convinces Kaine to get a service dog

Warren's Jackal mask in windowverse was a black leather Anubis mask, not a green bat thing, so the blurry silhouettes of black Dobies make Kaine... stressed, which is why a brown Dobie with uncropped ears (and a Dobie because they drool less)

It takes a while to train her of course, and lots of money too... but they do

So once Brownie is a year old, Kaine has his very own seeing eye dog 🐶

There are like... more details but I want to actually draw Brownie and Kaine's gear for her, so I'll just leave that for some other time. also this post is way too long as it is lmao

Peter probably does bitch a little bit about the breed choice but he can deal with it.

that's it for now.

#i will not be making one of these for ben. ben just spends his whole life squinting and wears $10 sunglasses #nadiart #rough art #kaine parker #came in through the window last night #fanadiart #idk what exactly to tag this tbh lol #as an aside:#kaine's face roundness varies a lot based on what meds he's on and how much he weighs and hormones etc.#so it varies a lot in this pic

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sunsetandthemoon · 2 years

Note

saw in your tags you mentioned earthmix were in a serious fight while filming moonlight chicken? what's the story there? (ty in advance if you answer this and np if you don't :) )

Hii. Ok, so, while I do follow them on Instagram and Twitter, I never noticed anything until they talked about it during the MLC promo a few weeks ago, so I definitely don't know the full story, but here is a short summary of all the information that I’ve managed to gather from Twitter.

Apparently, there was a 4-5 month period last year where Earth and Mix were fighting (so-called their “divorce era”). It started with them going from constantly hanging out together to never interacting with each other anymore and fans quickly noticed something was up. Then this video from the MLC set was posted and it only further fueled all the speculations (it looks like a perfectly normal video to me tbh but to some, it looked like Mix was angry or like he was sulking 🤷)

They also had a few work events during that time and fans reported a noticeable tension between them. There was also a lot of subtweeting and indirecting on their social media including posts like this:

which is funny considering this is how they described each other in an interview once

("am I still your flower" is absolutely sending me 💀)

some more Mix retweets x/x

Earth even posted this on his insta story

and then, during the Oishi Magic Of Zero trip, they seemed to have finally gone back to their normal selves (x)

they even acknowledged the fight and said that they had made up and that everything was okay between them again (x/x)

and everyone was happy for them including P'Godji who posted this video (x)

Mix even posted this on his story

which may or may not have been a reference to this scene from ATOTS

then, during their interviews recently, they talked a bit more about their fight (x) (their poor manager 😭)

and P'Aof even teased them about it by saying "the hard part for me is, I wanna work with them when they aren’t fighting with each other" when EM were asked what were the easy/hard parts of working together on three different series (x)

speaking of P’Aof, I need to include this bit from MLC bts where he forgot Jim and Wen weren’t supposed to kiss each other during their sex scene in ep1 because it’s just so funny like dhfjhsdjkd

P‘Aof: *after watching them unnecessarily devour each other five takes in a row while knowing damn well they’re in the middle of their divorce era* “whoops my bad 🤭 please don’t kill me” 😂😂😂😂

(x)

anyway - TLDR - Moonlight Chicken was filmed during their divorce era and they were spending their days filming scenes like this

only to then go home and start subtweeting and shading each other online at the end of the day 😂

but they're making up for it now by being inseparable and constantly posting about each other. there are too many moments to link but here are some honorable mentions: x/x/x/x

including these posts from last night x/x

#anonymous #earthmix #moonlight chicken #oh man you should see my twitter search now after trying to find all these tweets dhfjkdshk #big shoutout to YILOVEY for always providing all the translations #i couldn't find more indirects but i know there are a lot more since i saw people talking about them #they really said yes we're having a fight and we'll make it everyone's problem lmaoo

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salemshotspot · 3 months

Text

YOURE WHAT MATTERS

Dean Ambrose x Reader

Song Fic

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

DESC: After being driven apart Dean and y/n voice their feelings to one another

Gender Neutral Reader [They/Them]

WARNINGS: Implied Alcoholism//Implied Depression//Self-Doubt//Bad Friends//Arguments//Not Proof Read//Angst With A Happy Ending//Brief Mention Of Paranoia//Manipulation If You Squint//Reader Talking Bad About Themself

RED >> Song Lyrics

A/N >> Some of the song lyrics are changed ever so slightly to either make grammatical sense or fit the pronouns used in the story! Sorry this has taken a while to get out, I’ve had a few personal issues making it difficult for me to write and at one point half of this got deleted and I had to rewrite it

TAGS: @itsvxlentine

Enjoy!

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There was no doubt that y/n and Dean were made for each other, they were like something only read about in twisted, romantic fairy tales; the insecure, shy y/n desperate to be cared for in any possible way and the unstable, brash Dean, who underneath his unpredictable demeanour just wanted somebody he could care for. Despite this ‘perfection’ both parties had their flaws, making the relationship a disaster waiting to happen, y/n and Dean hadn’t spoken in almost three weeks since Dean’s drinking and y/n’s unspoken relationship doubts fuelled by, what they were desperate enough to believe were their friends, had driven a wedge between the two.

It was a fittingly dreary September evening, the sound of rain hammering against the windows of y/n’s home, echoing throughout the walls of the empty house, once again reinforcing the increasing loneliness y/n felt. Laying on their bed, enveloped in their own self-doubt y/n’ mind began to wander to places they couldn’t help but entertain; ‘it’s no wonder Dean hadn’t reached out, why would he when he could do so much better than somebody so pathetic, so weak-minded.’ As these types of thoughts began to fester within y/n they let out a defeated sigh, they cannot let their mind wander to that place again before they met Dean, he made their life so much better and realising this only made them feel more hopeless, as a last-ditch effort they pulled out their phone and called their two best friends, the only people they had left now Dean wanted nothing more to do with them.

After hearing their phone’s dial tone buzz two times their friends answered the phone and greeted them with a ‘hi’ in unison and before y/n could continue one of their friends spoke up; ‘y/n if this is about us hanging out without you, we just forgot to invite you, it’s not that big of a deal’, y/n was that desperate to feel like they weren’t completely alone in this life they chose to ignore their friend’s hundredth excuse as to why they had once again been excluded from a group hangout. Putting on a forced smile in attempt to force an ounce of cheer into their tired voice y/n began to speak ‘what? No, it’s not that, don’t even give it a second thought I really don’t mind, it’s just-’ the same friend which had so easily lied to them cut them off in a harsh tone ‘it’s just what?’ ‘I just..I just need my friends right now, I know it’s stupid but I'm really missing Dean and-’ with a cruel, condescending laugh y/n’s previously silent friend cut their cry for help short. As y/n adjusted their body into a more comfortable sitting position they heard their friend continue ‘Dean?’ They laughed ‘you can’t be serious y/n Dean is an absolute psycho there must be something seriously wrong with you if you seriously miss him’; before y/n could respond their other friend chimed in with a soul-crushing laugh ‘yeah y/n we know you have to have low standards because well..look at you, you’re damaged to say the least and your looks definitely don’t make up for it but surely you can do a little better than Dean ‘The Self-Proclaimed Wildcard’ Ambrose.’

With each word their friends spoke, with each laugh their friends shared y/n felt smaller, hated themself a tiny bit more, physically shrinking into themself to provide the smallest amount of comfort they could, y/n weakly responded ‘thanks for looking out for me guys’ before they abruptly put the phone down and sighed loudly; there’s not a doubt in their mind that their friends were talking about how rude and pathetic y/n was. Once they put the phone down and was once again greeted with an unwanted silence they couldn't stop themself from breaking down into tears, they have never understood why their friends hated them so much, why their very presence seemed so funny to them but it didn’t matter to them usually; it didn't matter when they had Dean. Usually when their friends made them feel this way y/n would have Dean to go to for comfort, for reassurance, for nothing more than conformation that no matter what they had one person who didn’t see them as a joke, who looked at them with unwavering love clouding their eyes. It was the absence of this security that made them do what they promised themselves they wouldn’t do this time; they called Dean, as usual they were the one to reach out in an attempt to make amends.

Before y/n could question whether or not it was even worth it Dean answered the phone but stayed silent; after a few agonising seconds of silence y/n mumbled a question down the phone ‘can I come over’ and before they knew it, before Dean could even answer their question they were sitting in his driveway, gripping at their car’s steering wheel until their knuckles turned a sickening white as they began to question why they were even there, questioning if they should just drive home and forget this whole thing.

Dean looked out of his window as he saw a car pull into his driveway, he immediately recognised the car as y/n’s, he felt a brief wave of concern wash over him as he could tell, even from the window of his house, the person sat in the car was a shell of the person they were weeks ago, part of Dean wanted to leave them there, consumed by their own emotions but another part of him knew he didn’t want this his way, he wanted theirs instead; before he could decide what he wanted to do he was already walking towards the car and knocking on the window.

Y/n’s head jolted to the right as they were pulled from their thoughts by the sound of Dean knocking on their car window, as they looked up at the man they frowned as their tired eyes scanned his features realising he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping. Seeing a frown form on y/n’s face Dean began to speak; ‘you look like shit, you should come inside before the weather makes you ill and makes you look worse’ and before y/n could respond Dean was walking back to his house, secretly hoping y/n was going to follow. Y/n sighed and decided since they had come this far they couldn’t back out now.

As y/n entered the house they froze in the doorway of the living room, suddenly terrified to enter, was this really a good idea? Before they could continue worrying Dean motioned for them to sit down. A suffocating silence filled the room and Dean began to subtly fidget with his hands as the silence made him feel powerless in a situation he already wasn’t in control of. Growing more uneasy at the silence Dean harshly questioned ‘what are you doing here y/n?’ Suddenly unable to formulate any thoughts y/n simply muttered ‘I don’t know, I was talking to my friends and-‘ Dean abruptly stood up and cut them off; ‘I’m fucking going to bed, I can practically hear your friends laughing’ he spat.

As Dean walked away y/n, filled with adrenaline, stood up and, with a raised voice, questioned ‘what is that supposed to mean?’ Dean stopped in his tracks and turned around quickly, making y/n recoil in fear, regretting even speaking ‘it’s what they always do y/n’ he started in an irritated tone ‘they fucking want to break me, the way their eyes look show it-‘ but before he could continue something in y/n snapped, they couldn’t stand to hear Dean tell them what deep down they knew was right; 'they aren’t the problem Dean’ y/n shouted ‘it’s us! You’re paranoid, you’re convinced my friends, the only people that care about me are out to get you and I’m desperate enough to believe you because I can’t live without you’ and before y/n could even process what they had said the room fell silent.

‘Paranoid?’ He said in a low, almost sinister tone, Dean expected to have his paranoia thrown back in his face by a lot of people but not y/n, they lowered their head lowered in shame as Dean spoke, they took a step back as Dean began to shout ‘you think I’m paranoid about your friends? Was I paranoid when you kept knocking on my door when all I wanted to do was sleep and when I finally answered the door to your pathetic tear stained face you started with your whole ‘I hate my friends because they call me all night’ speech because you’re too weak to fuck them off so instead you let them call you all night making you feel like shit. You don’t get to call me paranoid when I deal with your problems that could so easily be fixed if you stopped being so spineless.’

Each word Dean spoke chipped away at y/n and he knew that but he was too angry to care; despite his anger blinding his scenes Dean was still very observant of the way y/n was carrying themself, he could tell they hadn’t been sleeping, it was only when they hadn’t slept for days they would be brave enough to argue back with Dean, this is why in his fit of anger Dean did what he knew best, he pushed their buttons. Dean was never good with the emotions that came with caring for somebody, let alone loving someone the way he did y/n which is why whenever he was worried about y/n and if they had been sleeping he’d make a passing comment about how they seem physically rougher around the edges, it was his way of showing he noticed things about them and he decided that this was a perfect time to do so as he knew them well enough to know this would push them over the edge and destroy their wavering resolve.

Mockingly Dean commented ‘the notches of your spine are looking sharp tonight’; as he did so y/n clenched their fists in an attempt to stop themself from crying as they almost softly began ‘you think I’m the only person to blame here?’ They almost laughed ‘you’re right, I’m pathetic, I’m spineless, but I’m not stupid Dean’ which caused the anger fuelled man to raise an eyebrow, unsure what they were getting at. ‘Before all of this I could see it in your eyes every time I told you I love you, you looked disgusted, you found it funny and you thought that I wouldn’t notice if you mouth the words back each time.’

Dean tried to interject but y/n continued; ‘I’m not like you Dean, I can’t throw a punch towards the wall whenever I’m angry but that doesn’t mean I won’t pull my punches, I’ll use my words to knock your teeth out one by one if you try and tell me I’m the only problem here Dean.’

Y/n fell silent expecting Dean to start screaming and shouting, they expected him to do anything besides stand in front of them silent. Y/n’s adrenaline levels began to fall causing tears to well in their eyes which is what caused Dean to break his silence; ‘could you hold your tears back just for another minute’ he asked in an unreadable tone. He sarcastically claps and begins to speak ‘if only you could be this harsh with your friends’ he stops himself and, with air quotations repeats the word ‘friends’ before he continues to speak ‘well what’s a friend without a secret you pretend doesn’t matter? Your secret is your friends don’t see you as anything more than a joke y/n and I can’t keep doing this’ he stopped speaking for a minute before continuing, strangely softly he continued ‘I have friends and they all matter, they all care about me and you don’t know what that’s like and quite frankly it kills me y/n, it takes someone special to get me to care about them and when I do I can’t stick around and watch them willingly destroy themself.’

The words echoed in y/n’s mind ‘ it takes someone special to get me to care about them’ and without thinking they asked in barely a whisper; ‘you care about me?’ Which caused Dean’s expression to soften in confusion, there’s no way y/n thought he didn’t care about them is there? 'Then why won’t you tell me you love me Dean, why does the idea disgust you so much?’ Y/n asked close to tears. Dean slowly took a step towards y/n and placed his hand on their cheek, using his thumb to wipe away a stray tear falling down their face; ‘y/n I do love you and it terrifies me, I couldn’t say it before because it scares me that I care about someone so much I can confidently say I love them.’ Dean sighed and continued to speak; ‘y/n I know you can do better than someone like me but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you I’m just scared, it’s like I’m a gas leak and you’re a woodhouse, we’ll both go up in flames when I inevitably break and I don’t want to be the one to do that to you, I won’t be the one to break you.’

‘Dean-‘ y/n tried to speak but Dean spoke over them 'your friends are right about me, I’m unstable and there’s no reason you should be with me but they are not right about you, you’re so much more than the creature they see you as but because of them whenever I look at you deep down it’s like you’re walking on water with rocks in your just trying to get home.’

With this y/n finally began to cry causing Dean to pull them into his chest as the two rocked back and forth; once they had calmed down y/n spoke softly once more ‘you’re right Dean, you’re always right, I just don’t know what I’d be without my friends, I just want to feel like I belong somewhere.’

Dean warmly smiled at the person in his arms and whispered as he titled their chin up to make them look him in the eyes; ‘you’d finally be yourself’ he stopped for a second then continued speaking ‘you’d be mine.’

Y/n placed their head back on Dean’s chest and began to take in everything he had said; maybe they really didn’t need their friends, this is something they had always known but hearing someone else say it seemed to give them to confidence to believe it.

Y/n was pulled from their thoughts by Dean awkwardly clearly his throat, ‘I’m sorry for what I said y/n I don’t think you’re pathetic or spineless' y/n was shocked as this is the first time they can remember Dean truly apologising for anything without being asked; ‘and you know what? You could cut my tongue out of my mouth on any given night and it wouldn’t change a thing, it wouldn’t change how much I love you y/n.’

For the first time in weeks y/n felt safe, secure, with this feeling a wave of fatigue washed over them; their lack of sleep and high emotions from this interaction tiring them out; ‘I love you too Dean’ they began ‘I’m sleepy’ they mumbled, prompting him to take the both of them to his bed where they both lay holding each other as if scared letting go would make them lose the other. Y/n smiled to themself before finally falling asleep.

Maybe this time they would finally be happy now they had Dean back by their side.

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A/N >> First time writing a song fic so sorry if it’s not great, drop any writing requests in my inbox!

#wwe #wwe x reader #wwe imagine #wwe oneshot #dean ambrose #dean ambrose x reader #songfic #jon moxley #jon moxely x reader #Spotify

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somestorythoughts · 4 months

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Eldritch Echo - Part 7

I return. There are explanations here! The kind that answer the what and not the why, but explanations nonetheless. Someone also asks if they can eat the Chancellor, but I promise he doesn't actually want to eat him. That much corruption definitely tastes nasty. Also @mezmatch I'm not sure if I've been tagging correctly but hope this is visible.

In Coruscant, CMO Blood ignores the way the wall across from him peels away from the emerging face with stone eyes and needle-long fangs. He’s stitching a gash in the leg of one of his Corries and isn’t about to pause to look at a dramatic ARC.

“Sitrep?”

“I’ve finished with the Guard. The slicers developed something, but they were debating how to send it out last night. I don’t know if they’ve decided yet. And you?”

“I’ve got the files. Three copies with me, three with the medics you directed me to on Kamino. You sure we can’t-”

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a cannibal so badly.”

“I don’t, I’m just saying that if we ate him we’d be extra sure he wouldn’t survive.”

“A beheading is just as effective and less gross.” Blood replied, leaving the unconscious vod so he could wash his hands. “Give me one of those copies and then keep yourself busy for the next two hours. The meeting is in two and a half, and we need you to play your part in this plan.”

ARC Trooper Fives grins, eager and angry. “Don’t worry Blood. I’ll be there.”

…

In the Marauder, Wrecker approaches Echo, who’s been reading for the past hour. “We’re gonna talk about what we know about your thing. I thought you’d want to know, and since you’d probably listen in anyway I should just invite you?”

“Thanks Wrecker.” Echo replies. He’d been listening to their conversations as much to know if they wanted to kick him out as to see how their investigation was going. As a twin he’s used to looking strange from time to time, but there’s strange and there’s forcibly and painfully altered before being used to kill vod. He’s growing comfortable with his new limbs and his new team, but he hasn’t fully reached comfortable yet. And he thinks it’s mutual, maybe especially now that he’s been messing with them.

But hiding it isn’t a long-term solution, not on a ship this small. The Bad Batch says they like weird. If they’re honest about that, his tendency to occasionally grow claws and turn blue shouldn’t be a problem.

He catches Hunter’s eye when he follows Wrecker in and the Sergent shrugs. Crosshair gives Echo his usual scowl, which he uses for everything from inconvenient terrain to burned coffee, so that’s probably not too bad. “Any chance you’ll just give us an answer?”

“It’s payback.” Echo grins, needle-sharp for all of a second. “For those two times you forgot I hadn’t memorized your plans yet. And the smell of the ship. It’s also entertaining.”

“Your plans are the same kind of crazy don’t deny it.” Hunter sighs. “Can you at least agree not to lie if we ask?”

“I never lied. Not for these questions.” And it’s true. Crosshair may have gotten nowhere with his questions, but every answer Echo had given had been either blatantly ridiculous or true but vague. He’d gotten a lot of entertainment out of it this week.

“We should start by reviewing what we know.” Tech states. “Echo has some form of deviancy from the Prime that expresses itself in multiple ways. They mostly appear to be physical but has also included using his shadow to eavesdrop and talk to us when he was in another room.” He paused, then glanced up. “Incidentally, could you use that to scout ahead?”

Echo made a so-so gesture. “Depends on the terrain. I wouldn’t recommend it over someone scouting ahead in person, but it’s helped before. And I’m not separate from my shadow, I can’t pay attention to what’s in front of me and what’s in front of my shadow at the same time.”

“That is good to know.” Tech replied. “We have seen multiple examples of your shape changing in small ways, not enough to indicate your limits, though from your comment about your prosthetics I believe you either cannot alter them or are still learning how to. Is that correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you elaborate?”

Echo tilts his head back, frowning. He’s tried to put words to this before, he likes words, and he’s trying to remember what he’d thought then. “The changing is a bit like a reflex. You can stop it – we all did our best too while we were on Kamino – but it’s also partly automatic. My body’s still adjusting to the prosthetics so they don’t change as much on their own, and I’m still adjusting mentally, so it takes a little more effort to do something like this.”

He raised his right arm. The scomp end split apart into something like a flower, Torrent blue with red stripes.

“There are more of you then.” Hunter states.

Echo smiled, bittersweet. The sweet glowed under his irises, the bitter ached in his throat and bruised his skin as if it was trying to do more than metaphorically suffocate him. “It’s never a good idea to assume you’re entirely alone in the universe. The first pair were decommissioned within their first year. The Kaminoans like uniformity, and from what Ninety-Nine told me that first pair was way off the mark. He said it was as if all of us that came later got the message somehow, our differences were quieter as tubies. But we’ve never adhered to uniformity well.”

Echo, who found comfort in the kind of quiet minute detail-work that was essential but considered boring, who had been threatened a time too many with decommissioning, and who was often overshadowed by his louder twin, had been an exception to that norm. Not anymore.

“And who’s we?” Crosshair asked.

As fun as this game has been, he might as well wrap it up. “We’re twins Crosshair. Myself and Fives, Cobalt and Cerulean, you know that absurdly cheerful medic in the 212th? He’s another.”

“But what is a twin when we’re all clones?”

Echo shrugged. “We just are. You know how you know how to reassemble a blaster, effortlessly and thoughtlessly? It’s like that but without the endless drills. Or the way most batches pick oldest and youngest by vibes. Each twin in a set was decanted on the same day, and when we find each other, we know. Fives I, I don’t remember meeting him and if he says he does he’s lying but, we’ve always known. Someone suggested there was Force stuff involved and it’s as good an explanation as any, but I don’t think any of us knows the why of it.”

Tech and Crosshair shared a glance before Tech said, almost hesitantly, “I read the report of ARC trooper Fives’ death. But you always talk about him in the present.”

Echo’s next breath shudders. “I, I would know. He’s the other half of my soul and I would know if he was truly gone. There was this shiny in Torrent a bit before the Citadel called Dogma. He’d lost his twin a few months before being sent out and I think the only thing keeping him going was his remaining batcher and his extreme loyalty to the Republic. He told him that he felt his twin die from all the way across Tipoca City. So I’d know.”

The squad glances at each other uncertainly and anything they might have said interrupted by a beeping from the console. Tech hurried to the pilot’s seat and Hunter sighed. “Mission time boys.”

Echo shoved up from the seat. Time to get to work.

#echo's gonna go feral soon i think #normally I'd advise against biting droids but if you can make your mouth like a hyena's it could work #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives #bad batch echo #tbb #clone wars #eldritch echo #eldritch clone troopers #the bad batch

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so-long-soldier-writes · 9 months

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Flying Monkeys

kai parker x reader | requested by @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

summary: kai mentions in passing that he can fly a plane. you challenge him to prove it.

tags: based on s06e08: Fade Into You, small drug references, flying / aircrafts, kai being confused by someone caring about him, developing friendships, implied possible future friends to lovers

word count: 2.5k

a/n: i wrote half of this when you sent that ask and totally forgot about it until this afternoon. i have so many requests i need to finish, it's so bad 💀 but i hope this is what you were looking for!!

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true!”

“There’s no freaking way; you’re totally bluffing.”

“I am not! Hey, if you need proof, ask Bonnie.”

You glance over at Bonnie, who’s sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant. She dines with one of her best friends, the both of them desperately needing a drink, they had announced. You originally went with them, but upon spotting Kai at the bar, abandoned their company to talk to the young witch. Damon begged you not to; he wanted you nowhere near him, yet you can’t help your interest in the boy.

“Why would she know?” You ask instead.

“‘Cause I flew her from Mystic Falls back to Portland.”

“Willingly?”

“No, I had drugged her.”

“Kai!”

“She didn’t give me much of a choice! I had to get out of that stupid prison world, and she wasn’t going to let me out unless I manipulated my own way out. Unfortunately, I needed to use her to escape.”

A sigh leaves your lips. As much as you want to hate him for torturing her, you can’t blame his desperate need to get out of that hell. You hadn’t been in the prison world, but by the way the pair describe it, it’s a terrible place to be. To be stuck there for eighteen years, and then denied your only chance at freedom? Not to mention, Kai’s a sociopath who struggles with the way he’s supposed to feel about other people, and he’s insanely lacking in his social skills. What he did isn’t okay - not by a long-shot - though you can understand what drove him to do it.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks, taking a sip of his drink.

You cock your head, surprised by the question. “No, I just…”

“Hurting her was never my plan, I just needed to get out.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. Maybe it's the effects of the merge.

Regardless of which, you take it as a sign that Kai’s warming up to you. In that moment, you decide not to crush his tiny seed of trust.

“...can’t believe you flew a plane,” you finish, changing the topic.

Kai smiles. “But I did! It wasn’t a big one, it was a Cessna. One pilot - obviously, since I was the only one flying anything - and not meant for super long distances. Stopped for gas midway.” Then he mutters, “gave her a little more gas, too, so she’d sleep through it.” You ignore that part. “But I can promise you, I know how to fly.”

“You’ll have to prove it to me.”

“Yeah, I doubt anyone’s going to let that happen. I definitely don’t have a legal flying license.”

“We’ll convince Damon to compel someone to let you.”

“Something tells me he won’t support that.”

“All I’m hearing are excuses to keep you out of a cockpit.”

Your challenging tone has him straightening his posture. “You really don’t believe me?”

“Not one bit.”

“Fine. Then I will prove it to you.”

~~~~~

A week later, you’ve successfully convinced Damon to one, let Kai fly a plane short distance from one small airport to another; two, let you ride with him, and three; compel a pilot to let him borrow a plane, as well as compel everyone who would typically be involved to pay no attention to the unattended aircraft that will inhabit two runways and the open sky for roughly thirty minutes total.

Bonnie, to say the least, is not happy about this plan. When you and Kai first approached their table in the grill to discuss it, she was pissed. Now, as Damon drives the three of you to the airport, she’s still lecturing you on the dangers of not only flying with an unlicensed flier, but for said flier to be Kai Parker, of all people.

But to her dismay and Kai’s surprise, you shrug her off, promising you’ll be fine.

“Okay,” Damon says, parking his car. “I’ve secured thirty minutes for you two dumbasses to do this. The flight distance is twenty miles, so your actual time in the sky should only be-”

“-about ten minutes,” Kai interrupts, “I know. I know what I’m doing.”

Damon ignores him and continues, “giving you ten minutes to start up, ten to fly, ten to land. I did some research of my own when you proposed this completely diabolical plan to me.”

“It’s not-”

“Do it quickly,” he ignores again, “and keep her safe.”

“Maybe compel him for that part,” Bonnie says.

“Smart.” Damon puts a hand on Kai’s shoulder.

Kai shrugs him off. “You don’t need to compel me. I’ll keep her safe, I promise.”

Damon looks over to you.

“I trust him,” you affirm.

The man stares at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“I’ll be okay,” you tell him, trying to ease his nerves. It doesn’t appear to work, but you don’t try again. “Kai?”

“Hm?”

“Ready?”

“Yep. See you guys in thirty.”

The plane is sitting in the middle of the runway, left alone with the keys, after Damon had compelled its owner away on a “super serious mission,” in which, if the man didn’t run inside and make Bonnie a coffee with specifically one and a half packs of sugar and a dash of peppermint mocha creamer, his new boss would fire him on the spot. Then, by the time he comes back and you and Kai are already in the sky, he’ll compel him to not freak out, but go to the neighboring airport for his plane, because it had been taken over by flying monkeys.

Damon recites the second part of his plan as the pair of you climb into the plane. Bonnie rolls her eyes at him. None of you comment.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s having fun,” Kai says once out of earshot.

“Oh, he definitely is.”

Down below, Bonnie finally mutters, “I don’t even like peppermint mocha.”

“Well then I guess he’ll get fired.”

The girl rolls her eyes again. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Y/N? With him? Hell no.” He sighs. “The minute our poor, actual, pilot comes back, we’re getting to that airport quickly.”

“Alright,” Kai sits down in the cockpit. You go to the seat beside him. “Put your seatbelt on.”

You fight the urge to giggle as he practically commands you to be safe. It’s so un-Kai-like. Then again, he is taking you five thousand feet into the air.

“Okay,” he starts pointing to all the little instruments, “this is the speed, this is the altitude, this is the height above sea level, this is the rate of turn, this is the compass, and this is the vertical speed.”

“How high above sea level are we right now?”

“Five hundred and ninety-four feet.”

“Ah.”

“These controls have a lot of explanation, and I better start so Damon doesn’t yell at me, but I can talk about them another time. Briefly, pedals down here, steering wheel - or yoke, in fancy people terms - here, throttle, and what controls the wings.” He points to the right of all that. “Communication stuff that I don’t use, to talk to other pilots, confirm take-off and landing and weather conditions and all that. Navigational systems.” He points to the left for those. “Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you scared?”

“No.” Just a little.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Hopefully that’s the right choice.

“Okay. Up we go.”

The boy quiets as he starts up the plane. You can’t help but admire his concentration.

Kai manages the controls carefully, and before you know it, you’re lifting off the ground. Your hand flies to the side door, gripping the handle bar subconsciously.

“You okay?” He peeks over at you. He could practically feel you tense up, although he expected you would.

“Mhm,” you nod.

He’s not entirely convinced, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He continues gaining altitude, and before you know it, you’re completely in the sky.

“You still good?”

“Yeah.”

“Need any sleeping pills?”

“Kai!”

“I’m just joking!”

You look over and playfully roll your eyes at his teasing, dimpled face. He’s glad he’s cute, otherwise there’s no way you would’ve actually gone through with this idea. Thinking about it now, it’s totally crazy - letting a boy you barely know fly you into the sky when he doesn’t even have a license. But for some reason, you trust him, and as he effortlessly controls the plane as it travels through the blue beyond, you’re confident about placing your trust in him.

Although… your friends down below are probably losing their shit…

“How high are we?” You ask, distracting yourself from that thought. No reason to worry about it now.

“You sure you want to know?” He laughs.

“Hit me.”

“Oh, alright,” he checks the meter, “about eight thousand feet up.”

When your eyes go wide, he chuckles. “Scared?”

“I trust you,” you assure both him and yourself.

That answer seems to relax him. A gentleness settles in his eyes, brightening the usual gray to a color more like that which surrounds you. Your grip on the door handle eases up, and you ride in silence for a while, appreciating the journey.

After a couple of minutes, he announces, “coming up on the airport.”

“Already?”

“It was only about a ten minute flight.”

“Damn.”

“Do you think we’ll see our unhappy co-conspirators on the ground?”

You snort, then immediately cover your mouth. Kai only smiles. “Definitely. Shaking their heads and rolling their eyes.”

“Surprised I didn’t crash the damn thing.”

“Or kidnap me.” He starts to laugh, but then pauses, unsure if you’re joking. But then you start to laugh at your own joke and he takes it as a sign that he can laugh along with you. “Guess this means I believe you… you really can fly a plane.”

“Don’t praise me yet, we haven’t landed.”

“What?!”

“Easy, I’m kidding. Landing will be just as smooth as take off was. I’ve gotcha.”

And it is. He skillfully lands the plane with minimal roughness, and maintains a good distance away from the distraught-looking pair. When he turns off the engine, he throws you the keys and a wink.

You barely catch them, then let out a laugh. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

“Why thank you, Y/N.”

“So how did you learn, really?” “Books, manuals, and lots of trial and error.”

“How bad of an error?”

“Died once or twice… or more… but I couldn’t actually die in the prison world, so I’d just crop back up and try again.”

“Ouch.”

He shrugs. “But that’s all over now.”

“You have to be more careful to avoid situations that could get you hurt now.” He narrows his eyes at you, making you confused by his reaction. “No more trial and error anything. If you’re not in the prison world, you’re susceptible to getting hurt, or worse, and I’m not letting that happen on my watch.”

“I’m on your watch now?”

“Well… yeah.” You shrug, “I mean, in terms of reckless behavior, yeah. You’re my friend, and I want you to be able to live now that you’re not stuck in that Groundhog Day world, but in order to do that, you have to be safe and avoid situations where you could get hurt.”

“You consider me a friend?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly, “I’ve just… never had a friend before.”

“Well you do now. And your friend is super impressed by your flying skills, but wants you to stay safe, too, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“But you weren’t scared, right? This wasn’t brought on because you thought I was gonna crash, was it?”

“‘Course not, I had full faith in you the entire time. I only got worried when you said you died trying to learn.”

“Oh.”

“So no more of that, right? You can impress me with all the skills you already know, but no more near-death experiences. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you. I-” Your next words are cut off by your own scream as someone knocks on the plane door. Looking down, you see Damon reaching up.

“Get on out of there, you lovebirds. We have to return this plane to its actual pilot.”

“Ugh.” You both roll your eyes, but listen to the man. Kai comes around to your side as soon as he’s out. He puts a stabilizing hand on your shoulders, which comes in handy when you stumble with your first step.

“You okay?” Both men ask at once.

“Good. I always trip when I leave airplanes, too.”

A few feet away stands an annoyed looking Bonnie. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

“Glad to see you, too, Bon. Alive and well.”

“You could’ve-”

Her retort is interrupted by the pilot running over for his keys. “Those flying monkeys! Have they returned my plane?!”

Damon tosses the keys to him. “Yep, good as new! Not a scratch!”

“Oh, thank god! Thank god. I was afraid I’d never see it again. If you find those monkeys, can you tell them I’m really upset, and that they need to go away?!”

“Of course I will. You have a good day.” The pilot runs away and Damon turns towards you and Kai. “You heard the man, time to go.” He shuffles you into the car, stuffing you both in the backseat again, Bonnie in the front, and starts the drive back to town.

The forty minute drive is quiet, everyone too afraid to get on Bonnie’s nerves, but you and Kai text in the back.

y/n: thank you again for the flight. i enjoyed it very much!

kai: i’m glad you let me show you my skills :)

kai: but i’ll keep your promise, no more dying

y/n: good

kai: thanks for the friendship. i’m glad to have you

y/n: me too

y/n: i knew i was gonna like you the minute damon complained about you

y/n: after he got out of the pw

kai: what did he say??

y/n: that you were talkative and annoying and seemed like just the type of person i would befriend

y/n: appears he was right

y/n: except for the annoying part

kai: huh. the talking doesn’t annoy you?

y/n: no i like hearing you talk, plus i know you were isolated for a long time, and i would like to be a person you’re comfortable talking to

kai: wait, really?

“Why are you smiling?” Damon’s voice cuts through the silence. He eyes Kai through the back mirror.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Ummm…”

“Because I told him what you said when you got out of the prison world about me befriending him. Seems you were right.”

“I said that as a joke.”

“Yet you hit it right on the nose.”

Damon huffs. “Well I also said he was annoying, and that’s true, too.”

“Maybe, but it just so happens that I like his,” you use quotation marks with your fingers, “‘annoying’ qualities, just as much as I like the rest of him, too.”

“It’s your headache, Y/N.”

You only shrug.

y/n: yes, i do like hearing you talk, and i do like even the ‘annoying’ parts about you

y/n: they’re kind of endearing, actually

Kai tries to ignore the weird fluttering-like symptom in his stomach and nervously replies,

kai: thank you

kai: i like you too

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #tvd fanfiction #kai parker fluff #based on tvd 6x8

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