#i would like to mention that i did everything on the face manually

[nobodyspecialhereblog]

IT'S DONE, artfight #2. holy flip.

remind me to check the brushes again next time.

Character is Azrael and belongs to @la-di-da-la-di-dee-die

Bonus:

[dix0nvix3n]

A Peaceful Moment

-`✮´- Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Pregnant!Reader

-`✮´- Media: The Walking Dead

-`✮´- Warning: None really besides nondescriptive smut and describing reader getting horny lmao, other than that this fic is pure fluff. Oh, and mentions of cum, oops (During aftercare.)

-`✮´- Summary: Daryl catches you working on your baby's crib when you shouldn't be so he helps you finish it and you can't help but get turned on by him in the process and he helps you with that of course and you fall asleep in his arms after. You also see a glimpse into your future of your kid with Daryl.

-`✮´- Word Count: 2.1K

You're standing in front of a changing table, looking down at a miscellaneous selection of tools that you took from Daryl's toolbox in the garage and a larger than a newspaper-sized instruction manual on how to build a crib that currently was in multiple parts on the floor surrounding you. 

 

Your morning brain was having a hard time making sense of the instructions, but you needed to figure it out somehow. A few days ago you hit the eight-month mark in your pregnancy, and you were currently in fully crazed nesting mode. This crib was the last thing in the nursery that needed to be done before the room could finally be finished; you needed it to be perfect. 

 

Daryl had come home late from a run late last night, and you wanted to let him sleep in since he rarely ever does, so even though you needed help, you weren't going to wake him up and ask for it. 

 

All of a sudden you hear footsteps behind you and a "What are you doing?"

 

You turned around to face Daryl, who had a playfully stern demeanor on his face. You knew Daryl didn't want you working on the crib, but you did it anyway.

 

Daryl wouldn't let you lift a finger during your pregnancy, so scared that you may overwork yourself and harm the baby. Having waited so long to start your family together, it was a blessing to find out you were finally pregnant just two months after the war with The Saviors had ended and Daryl wasn't going to let anything happen to your baby. 

 

Every time you and Daryl worked on the nursery, you technically never worked. Daryl would have you sit down in the rocking chair in the corner and tell you, "You direct, I do." 

 

"Shit, sorry." You ran your hands through your hair and let out a stressed sigh, looking down at the parts that surround you. "I know you want me to relax, but the baby is almost here, and I can't relax knowing this nursery isn't done. This crib is the final thing that needs to be done to finish the nursery, and I can't relax until it's finished."

 

Daryl can instantly tell how stressed you are; he knew when you were focused on something you couldn't know peace until it was done, just like him many times. 

 

"Hey, look at me." He reaches a hand out and gently places it under your chin, turning your head so that you're looking him in the eye now. "I'm gonna finish this right now so you don't have to worry about a damn thing."

 

His close proximity made your cheeks heat up; every word or action this man bestowed upon you always made you feel entirely loved and cared for. "Really?" You looked up at him, smiling softly. 

 

Daryl notices the shift in hue in your face, so he gently brushes his thumb against the apple of your cheek, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

 

"Mmhm," he hums affirmitively, "you just sit over there lookin’ pretty for me, okay?" 

 

He steps a little closer to you, his hand now moving from your face to gently rest on the top of your bump, a protective and loving gesture. 

 

His actions sent a sudden and unexpected pulse of arousal straight down to your core. With the constant changing of your hormones through your pregnancy, it was hard to not get turned on by everything your husband did. It was basically impossible to not constantly be craving him. 

 

You placed your hand on top of his before your daydream was ruined by a swift kick against Daryl's hand. You were so down bad that even for just a moment you considered pushing all of the crib business to tomorrow. 

 

A small chuckle escapes Daryl's lips once he feels another kick, a feeling that he'd never get tired of. He gently rubs his thumb back and forth, crinkling the fabric of the old Motörhead shirt of his that he'd let you wear all the time. 

 

"Okay. I guess I'll just get to work folding some more of the clothes we got. Thank you, hon." You looked up at him with an appreciative smile. 

 

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead before he gently turns you around, ushering you towards the rocking chair in the corner of the room as he begins to look at the selection of tools you brought up.

 

Once you sat down, you grabbed the black garbage bag that sat on the floor beside the chair. It was filled with various clothing items found on runs or were gifted from other communities from families whose children didn't need them any more. 

 

Most of the clothes you and Daryl had for the baby were gender-neutral because you and Daryl had no idea what you were having. It was just your luck when you found out you were pregnant that you were never able to get any ultrasounds done because somehow both the machines in Alexandria and at Hilltop had stopped working and no one has been able to find a new one since. 

 

Daryl glances over at you every so often as he puts together the crib, his eyes shifting from the task at hand back to you. He watches as you fold a onesie, using your belly as a space to fold it.

 

Despite the fact you had no idea if you were having a boy or a girl, Daryl for a few months now has had an inkling it was going to be a girl. He had no concrete reasoning, just an almost always right intuition. 

 

"Y'know... I know we won't know until the baby's here, but I feel like we're gonna have a girl... just a feeling though." You hum fondly at the thought, placing a stack of clothes on the dresser beside you. 

 

Daryl grins at your statement and nods, "I was just thinkin' the same thing. Just a hunch." He said as he pieced together a whole section of the crib. 

 

You smiled back at him before you returned to your work, pulling out another pile of clothes and placing them on your lap. You grabbed a shirt from the pile that you flipped around so the front faced you, smoothing out the fabric against your belly to flatten it. 

 

Once you smoothed the shirt out, you realized that it was a size meant for a toddler before you read the words, "Birthday Girl," which had an image of a birthday cake under them. 

 

"Babe, look." You let out a little giggle as you held up the shirt to show Daryl. 

 

"Well, damn, that sure feels like a sign."

 

“If we have a girl, we'll keep it for when she fits it; if not, I'll give it to Aaron for Gracie to have.” 

 

After a bit more time, Daryl had finished the crib and stood up, pushing the crib against the wall as you folded the last item in the bag—a pastel green onesie with a pattern of rabbits leaping throughout—and placed it with the other stacked clothes up on the dresser. 

 

You stood up slowly, adjusting to the movement as you held a hand on your bump to help stabilize yourself, and walked over to beside Daryl at the crib. 

 

You looked at the crib and then at him, “It's perfect,” as you traced your hand along the smoothly painted white finish, “Thank you.” 

 

“It's no problem, hon.” He replied as he wrapped his arm around the small of your back. 

 

“Oh, wait! One more thing!” You ran out of the embrace of his arm and ran towards the dresser, pulling open one of the smaller drawers and pulling something out. 

 

“Can't forget this.” In your hands, you held up a Winnie the Pooh-themed mobile that hung little plushes of the characters, honeybees, and jars of honey, of course gifted by Rick when he got super excited to finally be an honorary uncle. 

 

You stood back beside Daryl and hooked the mobile onto the crib's extended attachment that could hang one over the crib. 

 

You watched Daryl touch it, gently spinning it around, imagining the view your baby would soon get to see. Your baby would soon be lulled to sleep as they look up at the spinning objects and beyond it to the many glow in the dark stars scattered along the ceiling that you had Daryl stick on. 

 

Once the mobile stopped turning, he looked at you as you beamed at him, deeply taking in the moment of this side of Daryl no one gets to see—something special just for you. 

 

He brought his hand to your face again, brushing his thumb against your cheek, causing you to gently shiver. 

 

You looked up and crinkled your nose sweetly at him, a soft smile graced upon your lips. “You better make love to me right now.” 

 

Daryl quickly grabbed your hand, walking fast towards the bedroom as you giggled in toe behind him. Once your bedroom door was shut, he instantly freed you of his shirt before gently helping you down onto the bed, littering kisses along your chest and onto your tummy. 

 

This far along into your pregnancy, side sex became a favorite position for you and Daryl. It was easy on your body so you'd feel comfortable and also not strain yourself, but it also always felt perfectly close and intimate as Daryl held you in a cocoon of loving warmth as he'd bring you to your peak, safely wrapped in his arms while he filled you with another warmth, softly muttering his praises into your ear and against your neck as his hips stuttered, eventually coming down from his own high. 

 

Once you were done, he'd pull out, making you mumble out a groan, missing the feeling of him being inside you as you tiredly blinked your eyes shut, exhausted from having woken up early. 

 

One moment you hear Daryl turn the sink on in the bathroom, and the next you hummed contently at the feeling of a cool washcloth wiping away yours and Daryl's combined fluids before your pair of sleep shorts were slid back up your legs. 

 

Daryl forced you to get up and go to the bathroom before you could go back to sleep. Once you got back from the bathroom, he already had shoved the massive pregnancy pillow he had found you under the blankets so it would circle the both of you in a loving hold—a nest of sorts. 

 

You tucked your back tight against his chest, and he placed a hand on your belly, and soon you were out like a light, both of you falling asleep into a nap that ran into the late afternoon. 

Here you are, two years later, as you and Daryl sit in your dining room, beside your two-year-old daughter, Willow, surrounded by the people you've come to know as family over the years, still missing Rick and imagining him there like you did on her first birthday. 

 

She had just gotten done blowing out her two candles, and Willow stared down at the chocolate cake, mesmerized by the specially made sweet treat for her birthday, amazed because it was rare to have desserts to this degree as it was much harder to come by the ingredients to make a dessert of its size, but your pride and joy deserved a cake on her birthday. On her first birthday, you were only able to make her a cinnamon muffin, the one-year-old didn’t know what cake was so she had nothing to compare the muffin to, she just knew she was enjoying sugar for the first time, blinking excitedly at her parents who watched her eyes light up as she ate a bite of a muffin you gave her.

 

It took a lot of reading, but you finally found a recipe book in Alexandria's library that had a recipe for chocolate cake that you could actually have all of the ingredients for. 

 

Willow picked up her spoon, shoveling up a big bite of her slice before holding the spoon out to you and saying, “Mama, try.” as she pressed the spoon against your lips. 

 

“No, baby. It's your birthday; you get the first bite. Mama will have her own slice.” You smiled at her and redirected her spoon back towards her. 

 

She looked down at her spoon and then at Daryl as he smiled at her, waiting for her to take a bite before she held the spoon up to his lips. 

 

“Try, daddy.” Daryl was about to oppose and tell her the same thing you did; before Willow giggled and shoved the bite past his lips and into his mouth. 

 

You and the entire room lit up with laughter as Daryl swallowed down the bite as a few crumbs fell onto the birthday girl's shirt, the same one you found her two years ago. 

 -`✮´- Extra Author's Note: This is my first ever finished oneshot, please be gentle! Also does anyone want to be tagged in an everything tag, I'm a slow poster so you won't be spammed or anything. I'm surprised I actually finished something for once cause I randomly started this last night even though I have many wips I can't finish. Sorry readers for my series if you're waiting for chapter 2, writing is hard 😭. Also! Dividers by cafekitsune!!! Follow them!!!

[cursedcatvibes]

SWEET BELIEFS

re2r!zombie leon x survivor reader

word count: 7.2k

summary: Leon turns into a zombie and has to learn to navigate how to live as one, while doing this he comes across you and your group of survivors. What will he do when he eats your now dead boyfriend's brains and falls head over heels in love with you enough to make you become like him?

tags/warnings: 18+ only please. I don’t want any controversy, minors DNI. Smut, Angst? Fluff for a paragraph or two. Descriptions of blood and gore. This could technically be considered a bit of Necrophilia? Implied suicide. Pain kink, Leon kinda takes a few bites out of reader. Slight non-con. Mentions of breeding but it doesn’t happen. AFAB reader, I tried to keep it as gn as possible.

A/N: hii so like i am absolutely awkward when it comes to writing smut to be honest, like it’s a bunch of thoughts that have to go into positions and the dialogue. i’m still a little unsure how to work tumblr and i feel so old. I took very very heavy inspo from warm bodies, one of my personal favorite movies. (I pulled up the script and everything so if you've seen the movie and are like hey.. word for word, bar for bar, YOURE NOT WRONG)

Songs I listened to while writing (just so you can picture some scenes with what songs I was feeling):

Sweet Beliefs - Cyann and Ben

Yamaha - Delta Spirit

Midnight City -M83

Hungry Heart - Bruce Springsteen

happy reading!

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

Leon was a determined man; he could do mainly anything he set his mind to if he tried, and he did. He would do everything in his power possible to stop the spread of this virus, well, he tried anyway. He knew that he couldn’t do much to begin with, but he always had a small sliver of hope that he could. Stupidly he braved his way forward after the car exploded, promising Claire to meet at the police station. How naive. Is the two words he uses as he thinks back to that same day.

He held his Matilda gun in both hands as he made his way towards the front gate of the R.P.D. He grunted audibly as he shut the gate and then proceeded to lock it. He turned around to face the front of the building in partial awe, a bitter expression souring his face. This is where he was meant to work, to protect and serve the people and yet he never got a chance to properly even start to accomplish that task. 

With a heavy sigh Leon stepped into the building and looked around the main lobby, taking note of the shudder to his right that had a large warning with blood splattered on the floor, he grimaced and walked up to the small computer on the front desk, watching the cameras to see some guy flailing around a small notebook with the promise of a way out inside of it. 

Leon typed away on the computer to find out which room the guy was in and felt his heart sink a bit when he realized it was being blocked off by that same shudder he had saw earlier which was definitely not ideal but if he wanted to help get a cure he had to first escape with as many survivors as possible, so he inhaled sharply and opened the shudder by a lever with shaky hands, his grip on his gun tightening.

The shudder only opened enough for him to crawl under, so he pulled his flashlight out and crawled under while shining the light around, biting his bottom lip anxiously as he stood up from the floor and made his way to the room where the guy was, which unfortunately was behind another shudder. 

Leon holstered his gun quickly and manually forced the shudder open enough to pull the other officer out from, but unfortunately he was too late because the zombies had caught up to the guy on the other side and all the pulling from both ends along with the pressure of the shudder on the guys pelvic area ended up splitting him into two, leaving Leon with the upper half and the zombie with the delicious bottom half. 

He immediately felt sick, just staring at the blood and organs leaking out from the guy's poor body. Yet he forced himself to look away once he grabbed the small notebook from the guy's dead hand. He gasped softly when he saw that he needed to collect three medallions from different statutes and put them into the main statue in the lobby to unlock a secret path. 

Leon quickly pocketed the notebook and stood up, silently disappointed in himself for not saving the guy and making a quiet promise he would find a cure and try to save everyone else. He turned towards the door he entered, only for the door to swing open and a zombie to come barreling through, without hesitation Leon shot the zombie in the head and darted off, his main goal? Get back to the damn shudder that led him to this damn area in the first place.

As he ran, he bumped into two zombies, he panicked and shot one in the head and kicked the other one in the stomach to stagger back enough to fall on the floor. Leon heard a window break and started running towards the shudder, he could see the main lobby light peeking out from beneath the small sliver.

He got down on his hands and knees and started to force the shudder open, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Yet he couldn’t get it open much with just his hands so he pushed his upper body through it and placed his palms flat on the floor, forcing it open enough with his back, almost crying with relief as he crawled through.

That relief was short lived as his leg was grabbed from the earlier zombie and before Leon could try and either shoot it or attempt to squirm away he felt this horrible pain shoot through his leg. A loud scream erupting from his lungs, he scrambled for his gun and shot the zombie, standing up quickly to force the shudder shut. He whimpered in pain as he limped over to the medical beds in the main lobby. 

He could see the blood seeping through his pant leg and when he rolled the fabric up, he almost vomited at the sight of his flesh missing. Apparently while he was crawling and squirming it caused his pant leg to bunch up a bit to expose skin and a bit of his pants fabric was missing from where he was bit. All the hopes of saving everyone and being the help people needed went down the drain. He’d seen enough zombie movies to know he was going to turn within a few hours and this whole thing was pointless and stupid. 

He glanced down at his gun, breathing heavily as he brought it up to his temple. “I won’t become those... Things.” He whispered to no one but himself, tears welling up in his eyes, but he was too chicken shit to kill himself. He burst out into tears and laid back onto the bed, sniffling softly to himself. He failed. For the first time in his life, he failed to protect someone. 

That was the last thing he remembered as a human as his eyes got droopy, fluttering shut every once in a while, before finally shutting, taking his last breath. 

When he awoke, he gasped as he rose up, clenching his hand over his heart, taking no note of the fact his heart was no longer beating anymore. He glanced down at his hands and saw they were paler than usual, he figured it must’ve been a nightmare or maybe he was immune. Otherwise, how did he survive a whole zombie bite? 

He got off the bed and grabbed his gun once more he was able to find a sharp object to use to pry open a door, he carefully stalked through the West Office, pulling his lips into a thin line as he tried to be as quiet as possible but when he stepped onto an empty plastic bottle his head shot up towards the two zombies in the room that roused up from their sleep. Leon fumbled for his gun getting ready to shoot because he was not about to be bitten or eaten alive, only for the zombie sleeping at the police desk to shush him. “Sleeping... Shush.” The zombie grumbled tiredly before going back to sleep. 

Leon’s jaw dropped in awe, why hadn’t they attacked? Why could he understand them now?! All the scenarios ran through his head at once and he could only land on one possible one. With a panicked look on his face, he rushed out and sprinted up to the second-floor bathroom, the zombies lingering in the hallway ignoring him, grunting and groaning out broken English to each other. 

He threw the bathroom door open and walked towards the mirror, finally looking at himself. It finally made sense to him now. It only took one look at himself to clearly see that he too was now a zombie, a hideous creature like the rest of them. Yet he didn’t look busted and beaten up, all his facial features were still intact and none of his skin started rotting, although some joints of his were stiff, assuming the rigor mortis set in for him if he were to be an actual dead corpse, but he wasn't. 

His reality came crashing down on himself and he couldn’t even cry, dead things don’t have emotions anymore.

-

Upon watching the news for a few days, months, years? He wasn’t sure anymore, everyday blended into one and after a while he stopped caring, he was dead now. He made a few zombie friends, those…people? Helped him adjust to the new life he was forced into fairly quickly. Almost like a family, every zombie was family, it didn't matter if you weren’t related or what you looked like, if you were a walking corpse you qualified as family. 

But if you were human, you were considered bad, an enemy, a meal. He learned that humans managed to build a wall to keep zombies out while they tried to start civilization anew, hoping to repopulate. Though some rebellious teens often snuck out beyond the walls and became a meal or turned into a zombie, or people ransacked through old buildings in hopes of coming across supplies, fortunately for zombies they could sense humans by smell from miles away, just most were lazy and didn’t want to die a whole second time for a worthless meal, unless the humans were in groups. 

Just like your group.

Out ransacking a place for medicine for some members of your community that fell ill and just extra medicine just in general. Leon was rather hungry as he walked with his usual horde of zombies towards the building you and your friends were in. He was quite happy because it smelled delicious. (Having grown accustomed to eating humans at this point.)

It didn’t take long for the horde to break down the door to the room you were in before they started attacking, gun fire ringing through the air, yet if it wasn’t a headshot, it didn’t matter much. Leon made eye contact with you when a zombie in front of him got shot in the head. Once he locked his eyes with you, he was smitten, he hadn’t felt like this since the day he arrived in the city. He felt… determined. He was absolutely fascinated with you enough to spare your life from being taken by him, he watched your beautiful eyes widen before sliding away behind a counter to hide. 

The moment was short lived as some annoying guy shot him, Leon growled and pounced on the guy, ripping him to shreds within seconds, eating the yummy brains he got through hard work, blood all over his mouth, hands, and clothes. As he chewed on some of the guys' brains, he indulged in the memories he got from them, for some reason if you consumed the brains of a human you get to see, experience, and feel all their past memories stored in that part of the brain.

Yet as he silently ate the brain’s he started seeing you in this guys’ memories, your sweet laugh, the soft and tender kisses between you both, even when you guys had sex. Leon’s eyes snapped open at the last part, gasping softly at the stirring in his loins. It wasn’t strong, no. But it was very faint, and for a moment he felt human again. 

It didn’t take a miracle for Leon to figure out he ate your boyfriend, he gulped down the brains in his mouth and pocketed the rest, all while chaos ensued around him, people dying, gunfire, stabbing, crying, shouting. None of it mattered. He could feel the amount of love your boyfriend had for your coursing through his veins as he crawled over to you. 

He saw the look of horror on your face as he spotted you, slowly crawling over to you because your gun had jammed, and you ran out of stuff to defend yourself with. He sat right in front of you and watched as you leaned back with a scared and disgusted look on your face. He frowned slightly and leaned closer, placing his bloodied hand on your cheek, making sure to smear you in your now dead boyfriend's blood.

In a hoarse and cracked voice Leon then spoke up. “S-Safe... Now.” He stuttered out, it had been a while since he had to use that word that he almost forgot it. He wanted to keep you safe, he now claimed you. It didn’t take long for the other zombies to grab the brains and other pieces of human body parts before they got ready to leave, sniffing around to make sure they couldn’t smell any more alive humans. 

He carefully took your hand and placed his bloodied finger over your lips. “Shh... Come.” He muttered softly, it hit him that he hadn’t spoken in full sentences or English in a while now, zombies understood each other by just grunting or groaning, they did speak in broken English sometimes. 

“What?” You whispered in confusion as he helped you up and walked you alongside the pack of zombies. He held onto you tightly with an expressionless face, guiding you along with the group all the way back to the police station, very determined to keep you as his own. He took you to a small space that no one really lingered at. Luckily, he had claimed this space, so no other zombies dared to go back there out of respect for when Leon wanted to be alone. The other zombies didn’t suspect you either, to them; if you smelled like you belonged then they thought you were one of them, plus they’re brainless idiots too, who is gonna know the difference if they don’t have the intelligence to figure it out.

Leon stared at you with uncertainty in his eyes, wondering if it was really the best idea to bring you back here of all places. What he did know was that he was super happy to even have a human in his vicinity, even if well you did attempt to kill him.

“This is... home...” Leon said softly, crouching down in front of you on the floor, trying to figure out how to explain he wasn't going to eat you. He pointed at you and then himself, chomping his teeth a few times. Cringing internally when you looked even more horrified, so he repeated the motion once more. “Not... eat.” He mouthed quietly with a soft expression in his eyes.

“Keep you safe.” He stated firmly, his eyes darting away from your gaze awkwardly. He got up and searched the room for some canned goods he had stored away when he first turned into a zombie. Eating humans disgusted him and he really didn’t wanna try to figure it out, so he tried to eat normal food, but that was never no use. He always spat it out with a disgusted look on his face, it tasted horrible.

He found a large can of fruits, smiling happily as he brought it over to you with a knife. You shakily took both items from his hands, being extremely cautious around him still because you were still unsure. Plus, it’s not like he looked like a model, you were sure that if he wasn’t covered in blood and didn’t have a few pieces of his cheek missing he would be close to a model. 

He was cute in a sense, like a dog almost. But you didn’t trust him, not yet at least. Zombies were the things you were warned about. With a reluctant sigh you stabbed the knife into the top of the can and ended up prying it open. You glanced up at him as you used your fingers as a spoon, catching his eyes dart away nervously. 

You pulled your lips into a thin line before letting out a small chuckle. “I guess you’re not all that bad, Mr. Zombie.” You snorted, watching Leon sit down in front of you. He scratched gently under his chin, a habit he never grew out of even when he was undead. He also learned that if he scratched too hard then his skin would fall off. 

Which is why it looks like a cat scratched the side of his cheek; it would’ve been a cool scar if it healed. But he was dead... So, nothing could scar... Or heal.

“My name...” He murmured, trying to think back on what his name actually was. It had been so long since he actually heard his name or even said his name that he forgot what it was. You on the other hand perked up a little bit. “You have a name?” You asked, sitting up a little straighter. He nodded and tried to think back on it. “L...” He elongated the first letter of his name because that’s the only thing that came to what little mind he had left. 

“Leonard? Lachlan? Landon? Leroy? Lawrence?” You started listing off different names that started with an L that came to mind, hoping one would stick but he just kind of shook his head before blinking a few times. “Familiar.” He narrowed his eyes before shaking his head, he almost had it but just as soon as he thought he did he lost his train of thought.

You sighed and ran your clean-Ish hand through your hair, eyes roaming over his body before you saw what looked to be an imprint of a wallet in his pocket. Your eyes widened slightly, and Leon noticed your gaze at his pants. He got excited for a moment, thinking you were checking him out or trying to look at his dick. He would gladly show you if you wanted!

He watched with excitement as you moved your hand out to his crotch area, he wasn’t sure if he was prepared! What if you didn’t like what you saw? Could he even have sex? So many questions racked his brain, each making him more excited than the last. Until... Your hand swerved to the left of his pants, aiming for his pocket as you tapped the stiff object. His face dropped in disappointment, but what was he thinking? Why would you even want to think about such an ugly hideous monster in such an intimate way? “Can I?” You nudged your head towards his pocket, and he nodded in slight defeat. 

You took out the wallet and flipped it open, looking at his ID. If you thought he was partially cute before, he was definitely cute now. You had to hide the blush that was threatening to sprout on your cheeks, quickly shaking it off. You redirected your attention where it was supposed to be aimed at. His name. 

“Huh. Leon Scott Kennedy.” You murmured aloud, watching Leon perk up with excitement as his name came back to his brain. “Yes! My name...Leon!” He pointed at himself happily again. He nodded and gently took the wallet from your hands. 

His eyes settled on the ID photo, and he felt a small wave of sadness wash over him, it wasn’t even his fault he turned but he supposed he turned in the least painful way possible, the most unscathed too. Some people had their limbs pulled off their body and some people had been halfway eaten alive because the damn zombie wanted their organs and not the brain. 

Yet he felt this was the closest he had come to crying ever since he turned into a zombie. He had tried everything he could do in his power to cry, and none of it worked at all. It mostly just damped his mood.

But even now he could not get that tear he so desperately wanted to fall from his eye. He shut his wallet and stuffed it into his pants pocket again, looking away from you awkwardly. He was going to say something until he watched you look out the window with your own longing look.

He wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how, plus he definitely didn’t want to be called or considered creepy. So, he turned around and pulled out some of the stashed away brains in his jacket pocket, he popped a big piece into his mouth like it was gum. He was able to divulge in a few new memories that your boyfriend had.

His eyebrows scrunched up as he could see your dad happily welcoming your boyfriend into the family, having a serious conversation while also celebrating your dead mom's anniversary. Then the memory faded out until he came back to reality because you had started talking to him. 

“I want to go home, Leon.” You stated firmly, your gaze still peering out the window for a bit longer before turning around to stare at him. “It’s n-not safe...” He warned you once more that going outside was not a good idea at all and you were stubborn and set on leaving. 

You sighed rather heavily and rubbed your face as you tried to figure how to explain it to him because he was quite literally not the brightest tool in the shed, and it wasn’t even on purpose either. “I get that.” You paused before continuing. “And look… I know that you ‘saved’ my life. And I'm grateful for that. But you walked me into this place. So, I know that you can walk me out again.” You narrowed your eyes at him as you waited for his response, you had a solid argument through and through. Leon knew that but didn’t want to let you go.

His poor brain scrambled for an answer, he didn’t wanna lose you. “H…h… have to wait. They… They’ll notice.” He blurted out as best as he could manage. You weren’t the happiest person on the planet with that answer, but it was better than staying with him permanently. 

“How long?” You questioned, sitting down in front of him as he kept his eyes trained on you. “F.. f.. few days. Th.. they’ll forget. You’ll be o-kay.” Leon tried to reassure you and he sounded quite serious about this. 

You nodded with a firm tight-lipped expression. “Fine. A few days it is then.” You responded quite tiredly. Leon was a bit eager that you bought into his lie, why wouldn’t you? No one else could sway you to believe otherwise since he was a zombie and you believed he knew everything about every zombie in this post-apocalyptic world. 

The next few days consisted of the both of you doing fun things to relieve your boredom, he showed you his fun little trinkets and items he collected during his time as a zombie just so he could feel a little human again and you in turn showed him the fun things humans still did that he forgot about.

But all good things must come to an end when he got distracted roaming around outside the safe place, he took you to find some more food and perhaps a better blanket, it was a big police station, something had to be there. But when he arrived back a while later with the objects, he was shocked to find you missing when he deliberately only went out while you were napping or sleeping so he didn’t have to stress about you running away.

He pursed his lips into a pout before he heard you scream, he immediately dropped the stuff in his hands and rushed off towards the direction of the scream, finding you surrounded by zombies. He panicked and grabbed a fire extinguisher, whacking the other zombies in the head in order to protect you while you stepped out the way to avoid being attacked or injured in some way possible. 

When he was sure he killed the other zombies, he dropped the fire extinguisher and huffed softly, wiping the blood away from his face and hands onto his already bloody clothes. Leon snapped his head up towards your direction with a frown on his face. “You said a few days. It's been a few days, Leon.” You demanded answers, you were feeling restless after all. “I have to go home; I have a family. A family that's on the other side of that giant wall that keeps creatures like you out of it.” You tried your best to explain it to him, but he didn’t want to hear the nonsense. He wanted you.

He took your hand in his own cold and stiff one, tilting his head at you fondly. “S... stay t-together.” He smiled as best as he could manage while guiding you to the parking garage. “We leave.” He tapped his wallet again and then took you over to a hoodless red car that had the keys still in the ignition.

Leon wanted to drive but he wasn’t very sure in his abilities and as if you read his mind you spoke up. “I'll drive.” You exclaimed cheerfully, hopping into the driver’s seat while he got into the passengers. He took the parking garage keycard out from his wallet that he often used to go out and explore carefree and handed it to you, which you gladly accepted. 

-

It had been a few hours since you and Leon left the police station, a clear destination in mind for you. That same wall you referenced earlier. You could’ve gotten there before midnight, but it had started raining and the heater in the car crapped out. “Dammit it, I’m freezing...” You grumbled in slight frustration, but Leon wasn’t cold at all. Corpses don’t get cold, which is an added bonus sometimes.

You glanced around and realized you were in a neighborhood close to home, well not super close but close enough to finish driving the rest of the way there.

“Full disclosure, I am exhausted beyond, and I want to warm up before I catch hypothermia. I’m not a corpse you know.” You teased, smiling a bit as you informed Leon of what was about to happen. He nodded and gave you a thumbs up.

You were still a little uneasy around him, but he was growing on you. You pulled over into a random driveway and hopped out the car, shivering as the cold wind paired with the rain blew harshly against your skin. Leon followed right behind you, albeit a bit slow but he still followed along.

As you approached the door you silently hoped it was unlocked, because who the hell would lock their door after being evacuated in a zombie apocalypse? 

Unfortunately, it was locked, and you seriously considered busting the door down, you took a step back but stayed beneath the awning of the front porch, rubbing your hands up and down your upper arms to warm yourself while searching for a window that wasn’t boarded up to break into.

Leon on the other hand was confused why you didn’t just open the door considering he got there a little after you did. “What's... wrong?” He questioned, staring at you with his usual cute look of curiosity.

Your eyes darted back towards his own and you purse your lips tightly as you explained that the door was locked. “It’s locked, I can’t get in it and I’m searching for a window-” Before you could even finish your sentence Leon slammed into the front door and it swung open. You were stunned. Could he always do that? If so, why hadn’t zombies come in bigger hordes to storm the wall keeping the rest of humanity alive.

Leon turned towards you when he opened (broke) the door for the two of you, but mainly you. It’s like he was expecting some praise for helping you out. He was a good zombie after all! 

With a small smile on your face, you patted his head. “Thanks Lee.” You crooned, the nickname easily slipping past your lips as both of you sauntered inside the house while Leon closed the door behind the both of you once inside.

You desperately rubbed your hands together for a shred of warmth, Leon took note of this and frowned. He wanted to help you warm up but how? His brain (what was left due to deterioration) searched for an answer and came up with one possibility but didn’t know if you were going to want to do that. After all, he was let down earlier with the whole wallet situation.

“Let’s go upstairs, I’m dying to get out of these clothes and under a blanket.” You emphasized your point by tugging on your soaked shirt. Leon being Leon let his eyes roam over your body, admiring the way it clung to your skin before noticing you were walking away towards the stairs. “O-Okay.” He murmured, tailing after you like a puppy.

Once you reached upstairs you asked Leon to make sure no other zombies were in any of the rooms, you survived this far. No way in hell were you going to die in such a pathetic way. It's the first rule of the apocalypse, be cautious and also know your route to escape if you do encounter a zombie. You can thank Zombieland for that warning, it did amuse you in some odd way.

Watching some guy who was surviving a zombie apocalypse thinking it would never happen but never say never. It felt like some sick joke that sometimes didn’t feel real until you encountered a zombie, then it felt a little too real.

Speaking of zombies, here comes the cutie who waddled back with a shake of his head. “No zombie!” He exclaimed, pointing to a room at the end of the hall. "Bed.” He said simply, putting his hand on your lower back to guide you inside the room. You didn’t protest it at all, hell you would sleep on a rooftop if it provided you with good enough shelter along with a decent bed at this rate.

After a quick check of the mattress to discover it hadn’t rotted much, and a bedsheet was over it so it added a decent layer of protection as well, you sat on the edge of the bed while Leon sat on the floor like usual, wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

“I’m gonna get undressed. Don’t look.” You ordered firmly, hoping he would understand. You smiled when he nodded and turned your back to him while he turned his head away long enough for you to see he did before he turned right back towards you.

Leon wasn’t an idiot; he knew very well what he was doing. He was once human too after all, plus he would feel stupid if he let this rare moment slip away from his grasp, it had been too long since he saw actual decent tits and ass, most of the other zombies who were women were all rotting and very unappealing to him. He’s sure you would look so beautiful if you looked like him. 

You on the other hand were completely oblivious to Leon’s plan or the fact he was ogling you like you were his next most delicious meal, and in a way... You kind of were. 

Nonetheless you stripped down to just a bra and panties before curling back into the bed and under the blanket, shivering quietly while hugging your legs for warmth still. It was so silent between the both of you. So silent you could hear your teeth chattering echo throughout the room.

Leon sat on the floor awkwardly, wondering what to do with his newfound feelings. You never banished him from the bed, nor were you shying away from him when he touched you recently. Maybe this time he could get what he wanted from you, right? He would have to eventually.

A very confident Leon rose up from the floor, you watching with furrowed brows in confusion. Was he going to leave the room? But to your surprise he curled up in bed with you, his cold dead hands sliding around your waist to cuddle you from behind, you instantly stiffened up from multiple things, the fact he was cold, and his hands were resting on your belly and the fact he was so close to you like this. But after a few moments you relaxed and leaned back into his touch.

Leon felt like he was over the moon when you reacted positively at his touch, he could smell your scent, your musk and if he had a consistent blood flow, he was sure it would’ve all rushed down to his penis. Luckily for him he could make his body stiffen up in places or even all over in general. Lord knows how many times he escaped second death by doing this neat party trick when humans tried killing the groups of zombies he was in. He never left unscathed though and caught a bullet in his shoulder once. But it never bothered him because he didn’t feel it. It did piss him off though. 

He was so tempted to take a small bite of your sweet supple flesh; he had been suppressing his desires for so long now it was becoming unbearable. “Such a temptress...” He thought to himself, rubbing his hand up and down your waist gently, easing you up to his touch in small doses. 

You were feeling pretty sleepy but a part of you was getting a little turned on, you hadn’t had sex in a while even while your boyfriend was alive so any touch from a male was enough to set you off, even if unfortunately, that male was a zombie. But it was different somehow, he was gentle. Plus, he was cute so that definitely didn’t hurt either.

You guess the only plus of the whole situation was the fact Leon wasn’t breathing super loud in your ear like a fat pig. That’s what your now dead ex(?) boyfriend did, and it was a major turn off because it sounded like he was dying every time he was moaning or even came. 

Not a word was spoken between the two of you as Leon’s hand drifted lower to cup your inner thigh, the two of you looking down at his hand on your body. He whimpered softly at the warmth between your thighs. “M-May I?” He pleaded; he can’t remember the last time he was this nervous. Oh wait, yes he can. The first time he met you and a few hours earlier when you pulled that little stunt of disappearing on him. He thought he lost you forever. 

Not this time. 

Not ever again. 

You gulped quietly and looked over your shoulder at him nodding slightly, breathing out a soft yes. 

Leon was happy, he felt a warmth within himself in his chest area, well maybe if he had a beating heart it would feel way better, but he can’t get greedy now. Not after he worked this hard to get to this moment.

It had been a while since he had sex, things with his ex-girlfriend weren’t so great before he came to Raccoon city. He silently apologized if he was a bit rusty. Though as soon as his hand slipped beneath your panties, and he heard your soft gasp when his fingertip brushed against your clit it's like all his knowledge on how to please a woman came back to him.

He tightened his grip on your waist with one hand while the other dipped down to collect the slick leaking from your hole, using it as lubricant to swipe at your clit as best as he could, hoping to pleasure you. He figured he was doing a good job when you pressed your face into the pillow to muffle a moan.

That wouldn’t do at all!

Leon removed his hands from you and sat up, pouting a bit as his ego inflated from the soft whine of confusion left you. “I wanna..” He paused and looked down into your eyes. “So pretty...” He thought to himself. 

“Sound.” He pointed at your mouth; it took a second for it to click but once it did you nodded. “Right, yes. Sorry.” You blushed at his comment, for a zombie he seemed sure of exactly what he wanted. Even if he wasn’t good at it verbally.

Leon smiled and climbed on top of you, running his knuckle against your cheekbone with a delighted expression. You nuzzled against the gesture, a small part of you was calling yourself a freak for even enjoying this and the bigger part was you telling that other part to shut the fuck up.

Your hands came up to cup his face, being mindful of the piece of flesh missing from his cheek, he appreciated the gesture, but he couldn’t care less if you touched the wound. He rested his weight on his forearms to grind his cock against the wet spot on the gusset of your panties. A soft moan left your lips and if you weren’t so scared of getting bit you would’ve kissed him, but you didn’t want to tease him and him end up biting you.

You were so eager and desperate though that you yourself disregarded foreplay because you were definitely wet enough. You helped Leon strip down to nothing, admiring his toned body, ghosting your fingertip over the bullet wound too. He was embarrassed and shied away from your wandering eyes.

“You’re so handsome, Leon.” You confessed, watching his eyes go wide with his head snapping back towards you with a hint of vulnerability beneath them. “Really?” He tilted his head at you while you discarded your bra and panties somewhere in the room. 

When you met his eyes, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek, nodding while dragging your fingers through his soft but slightly matted hair, trying to ignore the fact you might’ve tugged a bit too hard that some strands actually fell out. It was just another reminder that you were literally about to have sex with a whole zombie.

Leon cleared his throat as best as he could while positioning himself between your legs to rub his cockhead between your folds. Low moans escaped both of you before he slowly pushed himself past the tight muscle that relaxed with ease. Leon swore he was in heaven, that he died for a second time and that heaven was you.

So warm and wet. Is literally all he could think of.

You on the other hand couldn’t get over how good it was, but that lingering guilt still bubbled at the back of your mind. You shoved those thoughts down and wrapped your arms behind his neck tugging him closer towards your body.

Slowly he started to thrust into you, he tried to be gentle, but each thrust was hard and rough. Punched out gasps and moans filling the room each time his hips met yours. “D-Do you like...?” He asked quietly, burying his face into your neck, holding his desire to bite you at bay. He had to remind himself it wasn’t a good moment. But seeing your bouncing tits and flesh so close to his face was his breaking point.

“Y-yes... I love it–AHH!” You screamed at the end of your remark, feeling tears well up in your eyes at the pain of being bit. 

Leon cursed himself for doing it, but he could only hold his primal desires at bay for so long. “What the fuck did you do! G-Get off of me!” You shrieked, trying to fight away from his grasp but he was much stronger than you. Immediately pinning your wrists down to the mattress with one hand, shaking his head as he continued pounding into you.

“I'm s-sorry!” He apologized profusely but his hips never slowed down. “Accident...” He whimpered coyly as you kept struggling. 

You felt like an idiot, who in their right mind would trust a zombie after all? You. You did and now you were reaping the consequences. 

As much as you hated to admit it, the blood loss and the blood around Leon’s mouth was making you dizzy with pleasure. It didn’t take long for your struggling to cease; you knew you would ‘die’ from blood loss but the adrenaline in your body was fighting while blood gushed out from the bite on your neck.

Leon let go of your wrists shakily to test if you would harm him but when you didn’t and you just laid there looking up at him with a hazy look in your eyes, he felt like he was on top of the world. In one swift movement he put your ankles over his shoulders, putting you into a mating press damn near with how feral he was fucking you.

The lewd squelching sound of your pussy was enough to send him over the edge, but he can’t cum, he lost that ability the day he died. He was upset he didn’t meet you earlier, he’s so sure that you would look so perfect with his child in your belly.

“You’re going to be just like me...” Leon hummed, concern brewing in your belly when he started getting easier to understand. Was this really it? You weakly protested against the idea when his thumb pressed against your clit to get you to have one final orgasm. 

He tilted his head to the side to lick up your calf all the way up to your ankle, suckling on the area he wanted to bite. Without much thought he sank his teeth in your leg, right where he was bit. What was more romantic than having matching bite marks?

You jolted from the pain mixed with pleasure, weakly crying out Leon’s name. “L-Leon... Stop it...” You pawed at his back as your back arched off the bed, feeling the life slowly draining out your body the faster your heart pumped out blood from such a stimulating touch, your body temperature lowering to almost eerily match his own.

He could feel your gummy walls squeezing the non-existent life out his cock and he threw his head back in pleasure, groaning loudly as he doubled down on his efforts, he could tell you were close. 

He wasn’t wrong though, you were so close to reaching your sweet release, the bedsheet and mattress soaked with your bodily fluids. Blood and your arousal forever staining the sheets. “P-Please my Goddess...” He squeaked out, leaning down to lick at your neck, lapping up the blood oozing out. 

Your body was getting weaker and weaker, eyes fluttering shut longer than they were open as you slowly died beneath him, yet right before you took your last final breaths as a human you came violently around his cock, feeling utterly spent and satisfied as you drifted into an unconscious state.

Leon sat up straight, staring down at your lifeless body with a small amount of concern. He had never turned someone into a zombie before, so he wasn’t sure if he actually killed you or not. He pulled his cock out of your hole, admiring the creamy white ring around the base of it.

He ran his fingertips over the bite mark on your leg, sighing in content, his eyes drifting up your body to admire your glistening folds. He glanced around nervously before leaning down to lap at your cunt, moaning softly at the taste. "Gosh..." He could definitely eat you up.

He whimpered in frustration when you didn't stir awake after a few hours (minutes), placing small kisses on your belly with a pout, wrapping his arms around your waist while he laid on top of you, covering your naked bodies with the blanket. 

He kept your hand outside the blanket, staring intensely at it. 

“Please move. Please move.” He thought anxiously, finally after what felt like eternity, he saw your fingers twitch and he felt relieved. He smiled fondly at the sight, kissing your sternum with a dopey grin.

You were going to be with him for eternity. <3

[rhaenyrathecruell]

          Angelic

            Aegon ii Targaryen x pregnant wife! Reader  

Word count:1,108 

  Warnings: pregnancy, Aegon is his own warning, and labor, blood and mentioning of death.  

A/n: hey y'all, happy house of the dragon Sunday!  sorry for the long wait for this one shot. If you like this I made a Robb stark one shot too!  Thank you! Enjoy! 

 Screams could be heard through the red keep, servants scrambling grabbing towels. The princess had gone into labor. Aegon is drowning in his cups as usual. He groaned as he clutched his head, what was all this commotion about? He jumps up as his mother the queen slams open the door. 

 The displeasure of being interrupted and his headache did not help his mood to not be sour. “What? Must you be so loud?”  

He looked up at his mother noticing his mother’s scared expression and labored breathing. “Mother?” the prince asked now suddenly sobering up at the sight of his usually calm mother so stressed and disturbed. The queen stared at her son and said in a Shakey voice “y/n has begun her labors.” Aegon jumped up from his bed and quickly rushed out the door with Alicent following him. 

 “Where is she? In her chambers?” Alicent quickly replied “yes, she’s in her chambers with the maester and a couple midwives. She was asking for you.” Aegon may not be the most caring person to his wife but he loved her in his own way. He could feel his heart beating like it did when they got married. 

 The halls feel never-ending as they make their way to the princess’s chamber. When they finally make it to the door, they can hear cries of pain and hushed talking between the midwives and the maester. Aegon burst through the door, the hinges rattling from the force of it. 

“Y/n! My love I'm sorry it took me so long.” he cried out as he rushed to her side. Alicent closed the door and went to converse with the maester. 

“Aegon I'm scared.” y/n said, with tears in her eyes from her physical pain and from her worries. Aegon puts his palm on her cheek and wipes her tears with his thumb. He could see the pain and fear in her eyes.  

He finally finds his voice and says in a shaky voice “i won’t let anything happen to you or our child. I swear this on the old gods and the new.” He cringed internally, he sounded so unsure when he said that. He had to be strong for her, for their child. Y/n rests her head in his palm, exhausted from everything. Aegon looks over at the maester and his mother, they speak in whispers. 

 “What are you whispering about over there? My wife needs assistance maester. You are here for that not for gossiping with the queen.” he says with pure frustration in his voice.  The maester immeditally comes over and checks how much y/n is dilated. He looks slightly worried. Aegon’s heart drops in his stomach. “what? Why do you have that look on your face maester?!”  

The maester sighs, “your grace she is dilated but the babe is breached.”  

Y/n gasps “what oh god.” 

Aegon is confused, “what does breach mean maester?” he asks his heart rate going up by the minute. He squeezes his wife’s hand in silent support. They would figure this out, they had to.  

“During a normal birth the babe is facing head first. In your wife’s case the babe is coming feet first. I must go in and manually turn the babe before she starts pushing.” The maester explains, while ordering the midwives in position.  

Aegon sits there like a fish out of water for a minute before immediately turning to his wife.  As he looks at her face his chest tightens with worry and sympathy for his wife as he sees her scared expression.  

Y/n pulls aegon close to her as she is moved downwards on the birthing bed so the maester can attempt to move the babe. She gets close to aegons ear before saying “if they can’t turn the babe, they will want to cut me open like my mother. Please don’t let them aegon. Please don’t let me die.” she sounds frantic and scared.  

Aegon tightens his hold on her as her words sink in. He pulls her chin up to look at him, before he looks deep into her teary eyes and says “i would never allow them to hurt you, my love.”  

Y/n visibly relaxes at his words, the maester looks at the young couple. 

“are you ready for me to attempt this your grace?” he asks aegon. 

Aegon replies “don’t ask me, ask my wife you idiot.”  

The maester’s eyes widen in apology before looking at y/n, who nods in agreement. The maester’s hands are cold and rough from age. Y/n tenses as the maester attempts to move the babe. She clutches Aegon's hands tightly as he whispers encouragements in her ear.  

The maester’s sudden words break the silence as he exclaims “i feel the babe! I'm going to attempt the rotation now.” the maesters hands leave y/n’s body and he lets out a relived sigh.  

Aegon asks suddenly “is it done? Did you, do it?”  

The maester nods “it is done now all that is left to do is push.” 

Everyone in the room lets out a sigh of relief that the princess and the baby were out of danger for now.  

Alicent finally breaks her silence “thank the mother!” 

Aegon kisses his wife’s head as she begins to push. Y/n’s face is scrunched up in pain as she pushes. Shes sweating and grasping Aegon's hand in a iron grip. Aegon is not fazed, as he gives words of encouragement and tells her she's doing good. 

Y/n stops pushing to catch her breath before she pushes one last time with all her might with a scream.  

Finally, y/n collapses on the bed in exhaustion as the babe comes out with a shrill cry.  

The maester hands the baby over to the young couple, the babe resting in its mothers arms no doubt feeling the love in the room. The maester speaks “a boy your grace.”   

Wides smiles are on Y/n and Aegon's faces as they sit and admire their beautiful son. Aegon breaks his eyes away from his newborn son and looks at his radiant wife. In that moment he swore he would never dishonor her. She was angelic like she was sent from the gods themself. He was never more in love than in this moment.  

Y/n breaks the silence “Aemon, his name is Aemon.”   

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | An apology is definitely at hand, and Eddie cements it when he drunkenly appears at your house despite your clear disdain.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, descriptions of depression, self-deprecating thoughts, alcohol consumption, driving while intoxicated, mentions of neglectful parents, mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, brief allusions to eating disorders, and brief mentions of predatory behavior.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | So sorry for the confusion, I was simply updating the color scheme of this chapter when an error was found in my tag list, which I had to edit. I had to remove the tag list, but everyone who was already in the list or asked to be will still continue to be tagged as new chapters are released.

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

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

You stayed in your bedroom. Not studying. Not reading. Not eating. Barely even moving. The concavity of teals and pastels with trinkets and knick-knacks that constituted the room you found solace in for the last twelve years of your life had swallowed you whole. The bookcase. The vanity. The dying plants begging for life in a personified reflection to your state. Your knees. Your fingers. Your sullen face in the smudged mirror. You listened to the sounds around you. The cars. The birds. The buzzing bees of the blistering spring. So lively, not you. Your father, the whirring indication of the coffee machine that kept him alive, the clearing of his throat, and the crinkle of his newspaper, as if he didn’t proclaim the nastiest words of failure and disappointment against the child he fathered neglectfully. But you had everything—food, a roof, money—who were you to complain, right? Your bladder is full, it hurts, yet you don’t dare to move. You suck in a breath, forgetting to do so innately. Everything has become manual. Your breathing, your thinking, your will.

You’re eighteen, a senior in high school, and you want to go to college. Which one? The farthest one. You’re merely a girl, a teenage girl, a teenage girl deemed a slut because you were nice to a boy. Nothing more, nothing less. Until the next day, where you would be deduced to a whore, because that was the inevitable step for a teenage girl who was nice to a boy. And that’s all you think of. All you repeat. Because you don’t want to remember more. You just want to wait. For what? You don’t know. So you think, you sit, and you wait. Just waiting until there’s nothing more to wait for.

Maybe when you learn to let go, you’ll finally be free. 

-

Perhaps it was the jocular facet of Wayne Munson’s personality that humored the struggling reality of his life, or maybe it was as superficial as he liked to quip an occasional joke here or there, either way, the same teasing line declaring his rambunctious nephew to be the cause of his exceeding aging—the one that always got a good chuckle out of his buddies while sharing a beer or a shy giggle from the tired waitress who worked the overnight shift just to serve him his coffee in the early hours of the morning—was vastly proving to be a coping mechanism, because Wayne Munson swore he could feel a new wrinkle brandishing his forehead as his nephew was on the verge of getting suspended… and failing… and arrested. 

Eddie Munson truly did age the poor man into oblivion. 

“…Twenty-two tardies, fourteen absences, thirteen detentions…”

Wayne briefly freed the indented grays of his head from one of his many beloved trucker hats before securing it back on. His calloused fingers splayed against his stressed eyebrows at an attempt to alleviate the impending pain with a heavy sigh. It was midday. He should be resting for his coming shift at the plant. But here he was, having a parent meeting with the principal for his twenty-year-old boy.

“…Persistent insubordination, frequent public outbursts, and repeated offense of inappropriate comments made against staff…”

That one made Eddie giggle. Oh, Mrs. O’Donell.

“Okay, okay,” Wayne politely interjected with a tight-lipped smile, “I think I get the picture here.”

Principal Higgins scoffed incredulously, as he dropped the particularly heavy file of Eddie’s extensive high school record. “Respectfully, I don’t think you do, sir.” Eddie rolled his eyes, as he apathetically slumped in the chair. “Your nephew has been tormenting the sanctity of my establishment for six years, six years, sir, and he’s in for a seventh after assaulting a fellow student on school grounds!”

“Oh, please, Carver deserved it-”

“Ed.” Wayne gritted with sternness. 

“Mr. Munson, I specifically warned you of the potential consequences of another detention or suspension, and you went ahead and disobeyed my word! Now, charges are being threatened! This is monstrous! Vile, even! Blasphemous-”

“I told you, that jockstrap deserved it!” Eddie sat up to defend his stance, blatantly ignoring his uncle's plea to calm down. “Why aren’t you getting him in trouble, huh?! He’s the one that started all this shit! Going around and spreading lies about Y/N!”

And maybe this is when Eddie should have shut up, because the way Principal Higgins eyes bulged at the revelation honestly kinda freaked Eddie out a bit. 

“Ms. Y/L/N?!” Higgins spit odiously. “This is about Ms. Y/L/N?!”

Wayne blinked between both men. “Who’s Y/N Y/L/N?”

The poor man’s presence had long been disregarded. Once again, this had been extrapolated into a battle between Higgins and Munson, a long six year war that seemed to have no ending. And you, well, you fell victim in the crossfire, left unaided, to die, vulnerable to the vultures of Hawkins High that got to pick you apart free of consequences. Because that was human nature for a small town that capitalized the American Dream with infiltrations of conservatism and conformity for the need to prioritize normalcy. And Eddie Munson was not normal, therefore you were not normal. Because you took his fucking picture. 

“In my years of administration, I have never, and I mean never, have had this much havoc from two students!” It became quite astounding how much a single vein could protrude from a reddening forehead of a forty-seven-year-old man. 

“This isn’t her fault!” Eddie burdened to emphasize. “Why are you always blaming her?! You used to love parading her achievements around as if they were yours, and now that she’s friends with me,” you weren’t friends with him, “you suddenly got your little feelings hurt?! You’re unbelievable!” Eddie sneered with a heavy breath and condescending laugh. 

Now, Higgins had been far too familiar with Eddie’s bite, but the abrupt revelation had the man searching for words that would excuse his exaggerating behavior. “I-I, uh, well, I… t-this- this isn’t about Ms. Y/L/N, this is about you, Mr. Munson, and what you did!”

Wayne had reached his wits end, “Alright, alr-”

“What? Rightfully put Carver in his place? Yeah, I did-”

“Alright.” Wayne’s jaw was heavy with tension as a stern scrape of his teeth was gritted to end the commotion. “Look, I truly do not have the time to be doin’ this, so we’re gonna run this quickly.” He sighed with a hand massaging his stubble. “I’ll have Ed apologize.”

Eddie made his annoyance evident with a loud groan and scoff, as he waved his uncle off. 

“But,” Wayne interjected, knowing his nephew would spew out more words that would worsen his consequence, “you said it yourself, sir, that Ed’s been “disrupting” your school for a couple years now, so I don’t think another repeated year would do anyone any good. Right?”

“I- I… well, I, uh, I suppose so…” Higgins mumbled. 

“Perfect.” Wayne perched out of his chair with a groan from his aching back. “I think a… sincere, heartfelt apology will teach my boy a valuable lesson here.” He patted Eddie on the shoulder before yanking on his denim vest to pull him from his seat. “So, no detention, no suspension, that way Ed will get to graduate, he’ll be out of your hair, and all’s good in life.”

“I, well, I think we’re being a little too lenient-”

Wayne shoved his working hand in front of Higgins. “I appreciate your understanding, and I’m glad we were able to come to a consensus.” Dumbfoundedly, Higgins shook the man’s hand trying to process everything. “Now, I’ll get in touch with the other boy’s parents, hopefully talk them out of charges, and Ed and I will have a long talk as to why we shouldn’t hit people. Right, Ed?”

“U-um, uh, yeah- yes, sir, I’m so sorry.” Eddie nodded, faux guilt casting his face, as he pressed his lips in and threw his round eyes of disappointment to the ground. 

“Well, then” Wayne sighed, “I better get going, sleep’s not gonna catch itself.”

“Mr. Munson, uh, sir-”

“Again, thank you for understanding.” Wayne shoved Eddie past the office door, before sending a polite wave to Higgins, left speechless and open-mouthed, yet no protest could be formulated, as the Munson men were out quick with a slam to the door.

Upon reaching the empty halls of the school, Wayne wondered how ethical it would be to lean against the cold, metal lockers and light a cigarette, because he had no willpower to wait until he was outside. Wayne Munson loved Eddie, he truly did. It may not have been affectionately shown for the majority of his guardianship, but it was there; through every cracked joke, every greasy late-night dinner shared, and every moment when he would miss work, because Eddie always waited last minute to finish the algebra homework that he knew he struggled with, and Wayne was there to help. 

But parenthood, itself, was a troubling journey, and when abruptly placed onto a man who had no desire to ever have kids of his own, it became devastatingly unfathomable. It became worse when the kid in question knew nothing but abuse, no hugs no kisses, simply fists and swears to condition his mind with the wrongful notions as to how to express his emotions. It was grueling. 

Wayne cleared his throat. “Ed.”

“I know, I know,” Eddie was quick to explain, “but I swear, it really wasn’t my fault.” His eyes pleaded to avoid the wave of disappointment he knew he brought to everyone in Hawkins. 

“Boy, if this Carver kid and that girl, Y/N, are giving you trouble-”

“No, no, she’s not!” Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, and huffed. “I-I mean, he is, yeah, but it’s nothing I’m not used to, so it doesn’t matter. But her, she, uh, she didn’t- I, fuck, look this is all stupid! He’s stupid, she’s stupid- I, no, she’s not stupid-”

“Eddie.” Wayne was seeing the younger boy Eddie had once been. Struggling with emotions, struggling with words, unable to process and formulate because he was scared. 

“She fucking hates me, alright!” Eddie heaved. “All of this is stupid, and it doesn’t matter, because she fucking hates me! And I can’t even blame her, because I’m an awful fucking person!”

“You’re not awful-”

“I am!’ Eddie sighed to catch his breath. “C’mon, Wayne, you know I am. I nearly fucking failed for the third time in a row, because I have no self-control and apparently no fucking emotional intelligence, and now I may end up getting arrested in the middle of the fucking school day. And she fucking hates me, Wayne, she hates me!”

The quietness of the hall became deafening after Eddie’s tangent. He knew his uncle didn’t understand half of what he just uttered, but it sure as hell felt good getting it off his chest. And by now, a cigarette was looking real good to the older gentleman. 

“I- shit, I’m sorry, just forget all of that.” Eddie groaned, a tense hand running through his tangled hair.

“No, no,” Wayne shook his head, “say what you need to say. It’ll do you some good.”

Eddie suspired. “Look, Jason was saying some really gross shit about Y/N that wasn’t true, and the only reason why they said all that shit was because she added me- uh, Hellfire to the yearbook.” Wayne raised an eyebrow. “I know, don’t give me that look, like I said, this is all fucking stupid. Anyways, I felt bad, he was literally causing a scene in the middle of lunch, and well, I punched him-”

“Well, see, you’re not an awful person.” Wayne pointed. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” Eddie, now highlighted with genuine guilt, casted down to the floor. “When she first took our picture, I kinda yelled at her, because I thought she was just being some two-faced cheerleader, which she wasn’t, but, uh, after the whole cafeteria scene, well, she told me to just leave her alone, and um, I got defensive and called her… a sl- look, I just really fucked up, alright.”

Wayne puffed out a big breath of air. “Okay.” He really didn’t remember high school being this cursory, granted it was over thirty years ago for him. “Uh, well, did you at least apologize to her?” He truly didn’t know how else to approach this problem. 

“Well, no, she got suspended yesterday because of the whole yearbook thing. Highly doubt I’ll get a chance.”

“Well, make a chance.” Wayne waved off simply.

“What?”

“You care that much about what she thinks of you, make the chance happen. Don’t just sit around, do something. And if you really don’t care, then just let it go and focus on graduating and not getting in trouble.” Wayne pulled out his pack of Camels. “Either way, I need sleep and you need to get to class.”

“It’s lunch time.”

“Then eat.” Wayne sighed, as he began walking away. “Just stay out of trouble, because there’s only so many free car repairs I’m willing to offer in order to keep your ass out of jail, boy.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

-

“I can’t believe this! I totally don’t look like this!” Dustin shrieked. “This is a terrible angle! And I specifically told the guy to get my good side!”

Mike laughed with a mouth full of greasy pizza. “You look like the orcs from our campaign.”

“Who looks like the orcs from our campaign?” Eddie announced his arrival, as he took a seat at the head of the table. 

“Dustin!” Gareth guffawed. 

“But, hey, if you really wanna feel better, take a look at Stanley Godwin who literally sneezed in the middle of his picture.” Jeff stole the yearbook from Dustin’s grabby hands. “Poor kid and his sinuses.”

But before Jeff could thumb through to find the sneezing sophomore, Eddie had forcefully yanked the brand new book from his friend. “Where the hell did you get this?!”

“I bought it.” Dustin answered. ��The Yearbook Committee is already selling them. But, if you want my advice, don’t bother asking Nancy for a family discount.”

“You’re not family.” Mike sneered with a playful shove.

And in true Dustin Henderson fashion, the boy audibly gasped. “Have the last ten years meant nothing to you?”

“Is our picture still in here?” Eddie interrupted. 

“Yup!” Gareth smirked. “Front and center.”

Eddie flipped through the extracurriculars, filtering through the numerous clubs before his eyes bestowed upon their photo. There they were. All of them. Their faces and names representing the Hellfire title. 

“Hey, how’d the meeting with Higgins go?” Jeff snapped Eddie’s attention. “Your uncle dish one out to ya?”

“Uh, no, actually.” Eddie signed. “Got let off the hook.”

“Wait, Higgins isn’t suspending you?” Mike questioned, and Eddie merely shook his head in confirmation. 

“Wow, you’d think punching his precious star athlete would get you expelled.” Dustin laughed. “I mean, even Y/N got suspended for something less. Wish she was here, so I could thank her for the photo.” 

Your name had sparked something within Eddie. He quickly turned the pages to reach the senior class of 1986, and flipped until he found your face. Your fucking beautiful face. So pretty and proper, dressed in your best clothing, pearls shining around your neck, eyes glinting with perfection. You were perfect. Perfect. Down to the last minute detail. Your teeth, your lips, your skin.

Make a chance.

Eddie tore the page with much fervor in mind. 

“Hey, what the hell?!” Dustin whined. “That cost me forty-five bucks!”

“Sorry, kid.” Eddie muttered, as he stood from his chair, stuffing the torn page into the leather pocket of his worn jacket. 

“Where are you going?” Jeff catechized. “We’re in the middle of lunch.”

“To find Chrissy Cunningham.”

-

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot harder to find than Eddie had expected. She had been in the same lunch period with him for the entirety of the semester, but the one instance he actually needed to speak to her, she wasn’t sitting with the gaggle of cheerleaders and jocks that claimed the best seats in the lunchroom. The girls’ bathroom had been his best option, now he obviously didn’t enter, but after he begrudgingly called out her name through the doorway, he felt like a creep and left rather quickly. The gym was his backup, but after peering through the small windows of the double doors, all he saw was Coach Monaghan loudly instructing scrawny freshmen through enervating suicide drills for the sake of physical education. And the health room was no luck, as the guidance counselor was enforcing teaching the importance of abstinence to a group of girls—only girls—for the sake of sexual education. More like purity culture. Eddie was running out of luck. His watch indicated the mere five minutes he had left before he’d be obligated to endure Mrs. O’Donell. But, by the grace of whatever god may or may not be out there, Eddie caught sight of the strawberry blonde sitting alone upon the writhing wood of an old picnic table just outside of the cafeteria. He walked all around, just for her to be a couple yards from where he originally was. Sometimes Eddie could only scoff at himself. 

Appearing to be caught up in her own world, Eddie’s heavy footsteps went unnoticed, until he materialized into her peripheral, a startled shriek making him surrender with hands up in the air. 

“Woah, hey, sorry.” He raucously chuckled, looking around to make sure no one could fabricate some false story of harassment against a cheerleader. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

But his words brought no ease to her- clearly, it was just yesterday she was cleaning up her boyfriend’s lip, because of Eddie. “I, uh, I- well, if it’s alright with you, I, um, liked to talk- well, ask you for something.” He softly assured, as she eyed him timidly. 

“Um, a-about what?” Her voice could barely be picked up by the breeze of the afternoon. 

Eddie took it as an invitation to sit down across from her with a tight-lipped smile. It was awkward. He took notice of her uneaten lunch, merely picked apart but not savored—well, as savored as school lunch could be. “So, uh, what brings you out here?” Perhaps an attempt at conversation with someone he never even spoke to was too bad of an idea, but he simply chose the politeness path, as he ask was pretty hefty. “Finally got tired of Jessica’s big mouth?” He laughed.

Chrissy didn’t. Jessica had made a comment, one that sounded too much like her mother’s own words. 

So when Chrissy sadly shrugged, he dropped the small talk and diverted the conversation. 

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna be up front.” Eddie sighed. “I need you to give me Y/N’s phone number and address.”

Her thinly groomed eyebrows creased her forehead in confusion. “Um, what?”

“Look, it’s a simple ask, alright, I just need her phone number and address.”

“No, I hear you, Eddie, I just- well, I just don’t know if she would want me to-”

“No, and I understand that, I just really need to talk to her.” Eddie pleaded. “And obviously I can’t do that at school.” Chrissy stayed quiet with contemplation. “C’mon, you guys are friends- or were friends, right? I really just want to make it up to her after all the bullshit she’s been through. Us being partially at fault because of it, y’know.”

Chrissy’s guilty round eyes met his. “I just don’t want her to hate me more.” she whispered. 

Eddie’s mouth fell slightly agape, not knowing how to comfort. See, lying and saying all was good and merry between you and Chrissy in order to get what he wanted would have been his first solution—the asshole way of thinking. But being that Eddie being an asshole was the start of all your misery in the first place, he fought the urge to choose the easy way out and rubbed his face with agony. 

“Yeah, no, I, uh, get it.” He huffed. “And if it’s any consolation, she fucking hates me, too. Probably more than she hates you.” He smiled. And luckily, a sadden smile curled her lips, which was a start. “And I mean, rightfully so, we were jackasses to her.” He laughed.

“I should have stuck up for her.” Chrissy sighed. “She always has for me. I mean, she’s been my best friend for four years. But Jason, he just gets so far into this idea of what people will say and think, and he doesn’t want me or him hurting from others' judgment.”

“So you judged her instead?” He couldn’t really be one to speak on the morals of virtue, as he judged, too.

“I know, it’s so stupid.” She dropped her head into her palms with shame. “And I’m not trying to excuse it, I just want her to know I’m so sorry, but I haven’t had the courage to tell her.” She groaned. “Plus, her dad is really strict and really hard on her to be so successful, that I doubt he’ll want me over after she got suspended.”

Chrissy drowned with dejection. Four years of the purest bond between young girls had been cemented into a cascade of hateful rumors and a lack of clear discernment that severed their loving connection that persevered them through the pinnacle of teenage years. As naive fourteen-year-olds, you both had stolen the locked up booze from your father’s office, and cheered one another on as you took a sip, to ensure you both appeared to know what you were doing when you arrived to Bradly Leminski’s party. Turns out, you both had accidentally drank too much in the comfort of your bedroom and missed out. You’d even watched giddily, as Jason Carver asked Chrissy out, after you ran him through the basis of what she loves, because he was determined to get her on a date. But through the woes of boys and high school parties, you’d both been there for one another through the deepest of tribulations, like when Chrissy called you bawling, because her mother’s words manipulated the way she saw herself in the beautiful dress she’d been so excited to wear for the winter formal. Or when she held you tightly after saving you from the harsh grasp of a senior, Jimmy Saunters, who forcefully shoved multiple shots of tequila down your throat, and attempted to drag you into his friend’s bedroom when you were merely a baby freshman. 

Her comfort had saved you, just as yours did to her.

“Well, I mean, you can’t just not try.” Eddie reasoned. “Look, I fucking hate that she hates me, and I want to at least try to apologize to her, too, which is why I at least need her number and address, please. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you, too, whenever you get the chance.”

The school bell that Eddie had been all too familiar with screeched for the coming of class, and he jumped in hurry. “C’mon, Chrissy, please, you gotta help me out here.” The desperation became palpable. Chrissy turned and watched numerous students flood into the halls through the glass doors of the building. Caving in quickly, she rummaged through her backpack for a pink pen she’d nearly worn through after the excessive notes from her third period. But she simply grabbed Eddie’s jacket sleeve, and utilized the back of his veiny hand as a canvas for her information. 

He’d ache his neck with a contorted twist of his head to watch the fading ink print what he wanted. A seven digit number lined the back of his hands, a small smile consuming his face, but then Chrissy started capping her pen away. “W-wait, uh, her address, too.”

“Um…”

“Please, I swear, if she asks, I won’t say it was you.” Eddie rushed.

Chrissy sighed, before quickly scribbling the number and street name of your home. Eddie cursed under his breath. “Christ, Pinecrest Acres? I got hired to mow some dude’s lawn in that neighborhood one summer, and some prick called the cops on me for trespassing.” He scoffed, and poor Chrissy didn’t know how to respond at the irrelevance of his news besides with an awkward chuckle. “But, anyways, thank you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” Eddie saluted, as he headed towards the door.

But then he abruptly turned. “Wait! Uh, tell your boyfriend I’m sorry for the, uh, whole, y’know…” And Eddie laughed, as he mimicked the shocking punch that loosened Jason Carver’s front teeth. 

The entire reason why he hadn’t showed up to school that day. 

“Um, don’t you want to tell him yourself?” Chrissy sweetly proffered. “I’m sure it’ll mean more.”

Eddie could roll his eyes. It was Jason Carver. Nothing Eddie did could mean shit to him.

He winced with a hiss. “Yeah, see, I totally would,” no, he wouldn’t, “but since he’s not here, and you’re the next best thing, I trust that you’ll pass on the message for me.” He smiled so sickly, Chrissy couldn’t see the drenching lies of his words.

“Oh, okay.” She agreed. 

“Oh!” Eddie perked. “If Higgin’s asks, I totally did apologize to Carver, okay?” Well, maybe there was still a little asshole left in Eddie, but at least he wasn’t actively hurting anyone. Yet.

“Uh, o-okay.” She hesitantly smiled.

“Thanks, Chrissy.” He lifted his balled fist to bump with hers. It was telling of the fact that Eddie Munson had little interactions with girls his own age- or any girls for that matter. But she hesitantly bumped him back, nonetheless. “Y’know, you’re a really cool person, you should get better friends.” He affirmed, before waving a goodbye.

“Th-thanks.” She meekly watched him enter the school building. 

While uncomfortable at first, the overall start of the budding friendship between Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson was one to look forward to. While they evidently had nothing in common, it was quite comical actually, they could find reassurance in one another that improvements needed to be made within themselves in order to speak to the one person they both genuinely cared for. You. They at least had that in common. And luckily for Eddie, in six hours, Chrissy Cunningham would confide to Jason Carver to drop any potential charges, and he would listen, because he loved her. 

-

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbled under his breath. He shook the nerves from his hands, and rolled his neck in preparation. “C’mon, you can do this.”

“So, uh,” Wayne snapped Eddie’s attention. His uncle was staring at him circumspectly, as he shrugged on his jacket, “you preparin’ for a marathon, or somethin’?”

“What?” Eddie blinked through his messy bangs. “No, I’m about to make a phone call.”

“Right.” Wayne cleared his throat, studying the newfound nervousness of his nephew’s demeanor, which he hadn’t seen in- well, ever. “Ima head out to work, see ya tomorrow morning.” It was clear Eddie was waiting for his uncle to leave, as Wayne caught sight of how quickly Eddie grabbed the handle of the phone as Wayne, himself, grabbed the doorknob. “Is this about that Y/N girl?”

Eddie’s shoulder’s dropped. “Shouldn’t you be heading off to work by now?”

“Alright, alright,” Wayne mumbled, “just askin’. Be sure to eat dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it, Ed. Eat.” 

Eddie, in fact, did not eat. 

In order to not succumb to the nauseating feeling that was churning in the pit of his tummy, he came to the concurrence that a cold beer would extenuate the ferment that made his heart skip a beat every ten seconds. Now, in typical sense, Eddie had consumed enough beer in his lifetime, that a single one shouldn’t have affected him to the extent at which this one did. But see, Eddie didn’t listen to the wise words of Wayne Munson, and his gurgling, empty stomach rocked him to the edge of tipsiness far quicker than he was used to. 

And before he knew it, his cold fingertips were jamming the buttons to the sequence of Chrissy’s faded pink handwriting, and soon it began ringing- shit, the phone was ringing! Eddie began panicking in place, wavering between hanging up and bringing the phone back to his ear. He hadn’t even planned out what he would say to you. Well, he technically did, it was all that he could think about for the entire day, but each idea seemed unworthy to the standards you deserved, so he’d move on to the next thought, but then suddenly every thought was determined unfit by Eddie. Should he apologize? Fuck, of course, he should apologize, but for what first? Calling you a miserable bitch? An attention-seeking slut? Making a scene in the cafeteria? Yelling in your face? Making you cry? Jesus Christ, thinking it out loud, why on Earth would you ever accept his apology?! He should just hang up before it’s too late-

“Hello?”

Eddie Munson’s knees buckled.

He carelessly gripped the edge of his wooden table, and slowly steadied himself into the chair below. He should speak, but no words were coming out. His knuckle flew into his mouth, where his teeth brandished the tender skin with harsh indents. It was painful, but he couldn’t stop. 

You spoke so featherly soft, too delicate for his usual orotund tone. The one he’d use to berate you. “Um, hello?”

“H-Hi…” He pierced out, immediately cringing at the sudden loudness he uncontrollably spoke in. “It’s, uh- well, it’s me, um… Eddie.”

It was dead quiet for what felt like an eternity. 

No word, no squeak, no air. You were obviously holding your breath, and the mere thought was tearing at Eddie’s heart. “Please.” It came out so weak. “Please, Eddie, I don’t wanna start anything.” 

His stomach dropped, and his hands shook with how scared you sounded. You were scared of him. In the couple of instances he interacted with you, he scared you. Because to you, he brought harm. It may not have been physical, but it was detrimental, nonetheless. And you were scared. He was becoming the sole person he did not want to become, because he knew what it was like to be scared. 

“No, no, sweetheart,” he let out a shaky sigh, “I’m not gonna do anything. I promise.” He wanted to profusely vomit. It was the same words his dad had uttered to his bruised mom in order to sweet talk her out of leaving.

“I told you to leave me alone, Eddie.” You choked quietly. It was dinner. Your father was downstairs enjoying his takeout. Not yours. He stopped caring to ask the minute you refused to leave your bedroom. “I don’t even care how you got my number, but I need you to not call-”

“No, I know, sweetheart, but I really just need to talk to you.” His knuckles were casting white upon the tight grip he clutched the phone, as his lips brushed the bottom speaker in whispers. His other hand began insistently picking at the old wood of the kitchen table. Wayne would have a word with him about that. “I- what I did, I really need to tell that I’m sorry, because I truly am sor-”

“Eddie,” You gently interrupted, no energy to scream at him like your mind was begging you to do, “I don’t want your apology.” You sniffled. “If it really meant that much to you, you would have never done it to begin with, because I- I would have never done this to you. I would have never done this to you.”

His eyes clenched shut to mitigate the profound stinging of his eyes from the welling of tears his heart was urging to spill for you. He knew the probability of you accepting his apology was low, but his mother always seemed to accept his father’s after he sweet talked his way out of a domestic abuse charge. This is what was supposed to happen, right? You should be loving his words and running to forgive him, right? It was what he saw. It was what he experienced. It was what he was conditioned to believe. But you weren’t his mother. And he’d desperately do anything to not be his father. Yet everyday, the image in the mirror was sneering back that sickening smile that destroyed Eddie’s childhood. So you weren’t going to run in his arms. You were going to stand your ground, just like he wished his mother had done to his father. 

“Please, sweetheart.” A gritted through his tense jaw, as a tear stained his reddening cheek. “Please.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, Eddie.” There was no admonish to your words, in fact, you were so demure, holding back tears of your own, because he knew the ugly truth that you were well aware of the fact that if you screamed, he’d scream. And you’d, once again, be scared. “Just let me be, please. I don’t want you near me.”

The buzzing of the cutting line shot his bullet in his heart.

Your voice was gone, and yet, the phone stayed glued to his ear in hopes that he was just imagining it all. You didn’t hang up. You were still on the line. You would take back your words. You would accept his apology. But your euphonious voice never appeared again, and Eddie aggressively slammed the phone back on the hook with a grunt of frustration. The heel of his palms stabbed into his weeping eyes, as his shoulders assertively shook with every choke of his tightening breath. Rejection, heartache, vexation, and patheticism rampaged his mind from any calamity, and before he knew it, the characteristics he so badly hated about himself were being proffered up to the surface of his being. 

In truth, this was the scary aspect of Eddie Munson that resembled the harm he was verbally and physically ingrained with as a tragic child who knew of no hope. All rationale was gone, and wrongful devotion rooted in his deepest fear of being neglected with disregard had overtook his judgment. Standing with all fury, his finger’s strained through the excessive flexing of joints before his balled fist broke through the drywall of his trailer. His knuckles split with blood, but it felt deserving to him. Who was Eddie Munson without the infliction of pain? Absolutely nobody, he affirmed in his mind. He was meant to suffer. 

Chest heaving, beads of sweat pebbled his forehead, and the fridge door broke open. His truculent, battered hand grappled onto the torn yokes of the remaining three beers, hauling them, as his other hand reached for the keys to his van.

Eddie Munson was about to cause more harm. 

-

“Please, jus hol’ on f’me…” His drenched lips slurred with beer, as his hand crushed the empty can he haphazardly threw into the passenger seat, where his growing collection stacked. 

In the grand scheme of things, Eddie knew he was attesting to the predisposition of his role in this town, but he couldn’t help it. A lowlife, criminal, an irascible danger to society. Would you actually accept him? No, you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t blame you. But he couldn’t stand the pre-conceived notion he’d confirmed about himself to you, and he was in desperation to speak to you. Unfortunately, Eddie had panicked, and this was happening in the ugliest, most horrifying and sinister state he’d ever been in. And you would see it all.

As lucky as one can be under the influence while driving, the cracked roads had fortunately been desolate, as nuclear families gathered around their pristine tables to lavish in the draining emotional labor of home cooked meals by their underappreciated wives. He rejected all red lights and street signs, stampeding through neighborhoods, drifting past turns, and steadily accelerating until he’d approached the spotlighted sign of Pinecrest Acres. The affluence—actually the beer and sharp curves—made his stomach turn in disgust. The aristocrats of Hawkins housed together, where they frolicked with no worries in the prolific assortment of two-stories, pool houses, parterres, and vintage cars, all while the struggling families of Forest Hills had to huddle with worn blankets to survive the blistering winters of Indiana. Ronald Reagan’s conservatism sure had an ascendancy on this place. He came to an abrupt stop after his headlights reflected the engraved 630 of your mailbox. “6… 3… 0 Pinecrest fucking Acres.” He mumbled.  

His tire ran over the curb of your street before he pulled the keys from the ignition. For a second, he stopped. His breathing was becoming suffocating, as his chest fervently raised with each depth of an inhale. His hand found the door handle faster than his mind could process, and soon he was stumbling on inebriated legs to the front lawn of your house. Honestly, if your dad had found him, he would have shot him, but the man had driven himself into bed after downing the entirety of his rum. 

Eddie’s eyes scaled the height of the house. “Fuck me.” Maybe he shouldn’t have chugged four beers. He cleared his throat. His joints echoed in a rhythmic sequence of pops, as he pressed and twisted his fingers to loosen up. A guttural groan escaped as his neck was next, snapping it left to right to ease out any crooks. His breaths stammered in unprecedented waverness, as his ears ached through the thudding sounds of his beating heart that seemed to be amplified in his mind. Jaw ticking. Hands shaking. Mouth dried. Body sweating. What the hell were you going to do when he’d shown up without your consent? In fact, you explicitly said to leave you alone. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie wanted to cry. Should he knock? No, your dad would call the cops. Would you call the cops? He sure as hell would if a drunk man harassed his yard. 

But then, his stomach sank to his ass. 

The one room that had been illuminated by the glowing overhead light had accentuated your silhouette. You. It was fucking you. In your room. Where you stayed, where you studied, where you slept, where you’d been crying and chose stoicism to numb the pain of everything around. But everything had happened quickly, and soon, you were gone with a sharp close of your curtains. 

Eddie’s legs began working without thought, and he’d swiftly aligned himself with the window to your room, tramping the trimmed garden of crumpled rose bushes beneath his dirty sneakers. Your house had been complemented by the standing trellis that had been wrapped by vines of delicate nature. If there was any sign of either moving forward or leaving, the intricate trimming of your house perfectly starting where your trellis ended meaning Eddie had leeway to make it to your window, meaning Eddie’s intoxicated mind saw it was a passage to see you. “Jus do it f’her, do it f’her…” Regrettably, the rational part of his brain had fallen under the influence, which was screaming at him to just leave you alone. 

As stealthy as a drunk man could, Eddie prayed the trellis could hold his weight, as he began scaling the flimsy wood against your wall. All he could think about was you. Every step was for you. Every splinter was for you. Every stumble was for you. Yet his clouded judgment could not process the fact that you didn’t want any of this. But the bottom of his shoe was already scuffing the white trimming of your house, and he was hoisting himself to stand upon the hipped edge roof. Crouched and begging his intoxication didn’t drop him from the second story, he quietly approached the dormer of your window. 

His fingertips gently caressed the glass with great scrutiny. It was now just dawning on him as to what he’s just done. The danger he’s put himself and others in. The disrespect he’s inflicted upon you. The hurt. The knock was soft, barely comprehensible. You had ignored it, there was always noise. You tightly cuddled a bundle of your duvet, sinking yourself into the wallow of your bed in hopes of willing yourself to a serious need of sleep. But the noise continued. More apparent. More concerning. 

You jolted at the clearest indication of a set of knocks cascading against your window. 

Your heart began racing beyond compare, as the noise followed just outside. It was night, no one should be coming to your house, let alone your window at 9:27 p.m. And the one man you should have had full reliance on was currently passed out in his locked bedroom, where you knew awakening him would lead to a revile of the burden you’d become in his life. He said it when you were nine, and he’d freely say it again if you gave him a headache from his usual hangover. 

But suddenly, the trembling of your body succumbed when you heard it. 

“H-hello…”

Blindsided by the simple greeting, you stumbled out of bed with stupefaction that he would actually show up. Eddie. You ran to your window, swinging the curtains open to reveal him. Round, reddened eyes oozing with plead, as his hand pressed against your window. His heart sank at the look of disgust that his face garnered from you. He hated it. He hates your disheveled hair, your bagging pajamas, your wobbling lip. He hates you. He hates how perfect you were. Why the fuck were you so fucking perfect? 

You made out the shaky “please” that left his mouth. 

Opening the window swiftly, the cold breeze of the night engulfed you, as he helped you lift. “What are you doing here?!” You were quick to spit with spite.

“I-I,” upon seeing you, his eyes had an instant reaction to start welling for the shit he was putting you through, because he knew what he was wreaking was pure havoc in the normalcy of your life, “I just really needed to t-talk to you.” He managed to choke out.

His hot breath hit you like a truck, proffering memories of what a humid house party smelt like. “Are you drunk right now?!” He could only shamefully nod with closed eyes. “And you drove here?!” Another disgrace to his character. “Are you insane?!”

“M’so sorry… M’so fucking sorry, please, I-I jus- I jus-”

“You could have hurt somebody, Eddie!” Though whispered, it carried all the beratement of your anger. “You could have killed yourself!”

“I know!” He wailed with guilt. “I jus- I feel like m’losing my mind, because I need to fucking fix what I did. What I did to you! M’so sorry.” Your hands caught your head in anguish. You hated him, every being in your body wanted to shout at him, and yet, your heart was tormenting at the state he was in. And you fucking hated that you couldn’t hate him how you wanted- how you deserved. “M’sorry, I-I can leave and I swear I won-” 

“You’re not fucking leaving like this, Eddie, you’re gonna get hurt.” You began tearing in frustration.

“Nonono, p-please don’t cry-”

He tried to reach out to you, but you slapped his comforting hands away, forcing him to lose his balance, before you had to steady him yourself. “You’re just saying that because you know you’re the cause.” You mumbled far too low for his drunk brain to process, while you held a tight grip around his wrist.

At an attempt to pull him in, his heavy, limp body contorted trying to bypass your window alcove, brandishing it with the streaks of his dirty shoes, and it took all your strength to stumble him onto your bed with a huff. Having him sit in place, you kneeled in front of him to get a good look at his face through the peering moonlight. He looked beyond exhausted, a testament to the agony of contrition he’s been eaten by for what he’s done to you. His eyes wholly swollen with irritation and tears that stained his flushed cheeks, as everything around him felt like it was burning hot. You couldn’t yell at him. At this state, ambushing him with an onslaught of curses and shouts would only project him into a disposition of vindication in order to protect himself. And that side of Eddie Munson was scary.

“Eddie,” you sighed, as his hanging head managed to meet your round eyes and quivering lips. “You cannot do this again. Do you hear me? You’re scaring me.” He vehemently shook his head, as his hands were quick to cover his face with shame to shield from the embarrassment he was consumed by. You pulled his arms away. “No, Eddie, I need you to say it; that you won’t do this to me again.”

“I-I… I won’t do this to you a-again- m’sorry. I won’t touch you, I promise, M’not my dad.” He sobbed. 

You sighed in defeat. “What- why would you even do this in the first place? What are you talking about?” You pleaded to understand, as tears constricted your eyes. 

There’s so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. “I fucking need to fix what I did to you. I didn’t mean it, any of the shit I said to you. Being around is just so nice that I get afraid. I don’t want to lose you… a-as a friend, because- because nice things don’t happen to me, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost-” His breath had caught up to him, making him retch on nothing but tears and snot.

“Breathe, okay, Eddie, just breathe.” You quietly instructed, as he endeavored to follow suit. Your hands softly took hold of his, trying to ameliorate the violent shakes of his stiffening body, fingers delicately locking to find solace within his. And he held back so tightly. 

“Nobody- nobody’s ever cared like you have.” He whimpered. 

“So why treat me like this?” You mewled, sinking your teeth to discontinue the incoming sobs that stung your throat. 

“Because I don’t fucking deserve you-” You were quick to immediately shush him, as your father was merely a couple doors down. “Sorry, but I can’t fucking like you, Y/N.” He murmured through a quivering lip. His mind was spewing his feelings, the one he so badly wanted to ignore, but alas, his intoxicated state was regrettably telling all. “I can’t, it hurts too much. Knowing- knowing you don’t belong with me, I-I can’t fucking hold you, hug you, I c-can’t.”

“Eddie, you could have just talked to me.” You softly cried.

“No.” He looked so terrified. “I can’t fucking hear you ignore me. I-I know you don’t like me-”

“You don’t know that-”

“Fucking look at me, Y/N.” He bawled. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You don’t fucking deserve this. M’not a good person. I hurt you. I fucking hurt you.”

“I just wished you would have given me a chance, and talked to me, Eddie.” You squeezed his hands.

“No, I don’t want to burden you.” He cried with heavy breaths. “There’s things I wanna say to you- do with you, but I should just be letting you live free from me. No one cares about what I have to say, and you know it.” He begged for you to get it. “All that bullshit about communication doesn’t mean anything when it comes to me. No one wants to hear me. No one wants me.”

Your heart shattered at the revelation because it was beyond the definitions of truth. From childhood, Eddie Munson knew he was nothing if not a punching bag to his father, a therapist to his mother, an obligation to his uncle, and a burden to everyone. It became unwarrantedly embedded into a six-year-old boy and vandalized into his twenty-year-old self. He recognized it. Everyone affirmed it. 

You raked your hands from his hold, choosing to sit next to him on your bed, where your arms inundated him into a hug he had not received in years. The last close touch given to Eddie Munson left him weeping with a broken nose. He immediately fell into your embrace, shoving his head in the comfort of your neck, where his cries only amplified with the desperation of being touched lovingly. Your own tears had dampened his unruly head of hair, as you caved into him. His heavy arms constricted you tightly. 

At this moment, you were not scared of Eddie Munson. You’d seen his reasoning and you understood. Not excused, but understood. A lot of people had simply scared him first.

“I hear you, Eddie. I want to keep hearing you.”

-

“Eddie?” You whispered into his curls.

It’d been an hour of nonstop wails of distress, years of pent up emotions, and the realization that his being could be accepted. Even if it was just for tonight. His eyes had endured a rollercoaster of feelings, and they soon gave up on holding him awake. You didn’t move. He didn’t move. A tight hug that was necessary for both of you after heavy stoicism from neglect in your own unique ways. 

You caressed his head. “Eddie?”

He was out. You let out a shaky breath of relief. Carefully maneuvering his body, you gently laid his head onto your pillow, prying his strong arms from your waist where they refused to let go, bunching the fabric of your sweater. But you managed to escape his needy hold. Huffing lightly, you carried his legs onto your bed, deciding to let his shoes dirty your clean blankets. His arms had subconsciously gotten comfortable, splaying out against your mattress, where he fell into deep relaxation in comparison to the lumpy bed he’d succumb to back home. You took sight of the fading ink across his hand, your information decorating his alabaster skin with the all too familiar pink of Chrissy Cunningham’s pen. You wondered how the hell that conversation had gone down. You tenderly eased his arms from the malaise of his jacket, bringing the denim and leather infused with cheap cologne and cigarettes up to your nose. It was Eddie. Soothing the beloved jacket against the back of your desk chair, a small paper had dropped from the nearly torn pocket. Reaching out, you picked up the torn page from Dustin Henderson’s yearbook.

Though, no other student could be seen. It was ripped haphazardly to only focus on your picture. 

You.

Eddie Munson had now seen you, as you had now seen him. 

Softly placing the photo back, you rummaged through your closet to retrieve another set of duvets and blankets, where you preciously placed them onto the floor of your bedroom. Your bed had now been stolen, but you weren’t complaining—that much, at least. You’d quietly taken another pillow from your bed, placing it onto your newfound cushion of the floor. There was a reason why you shoved this particular blanket into the closet, it made your skin itch uncomfortably, but you’d withstand the terrible material of the woven covers if it meant that Eddie could get the peace he needed. 

Because if Eddie was okay, you’d be okay. 

Because similarly to Eddie, who were you if not catering to the needs of others in order to keep sanity in your life. You just wanted stability. True stability. 

Cuddling into your blankets, you heard the snores of the past out man next to you. You sighed. In the mere three days of knowing Eddie Munson, you accepted the emotional labor that came with his damaged self. But that was okay. Because Eddie Munson seemed ready to do the same for you. Accept you.

But how willing were you to tolerate the impulsivity of Eddie Munson who knew nothing of stability?

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Again, there was an error in my tag list, which led me to removing it. Luckily, it’s been a couple days, so I believe most who wished to be tagged already read this chapter. My tag list will continue, I just simply had to remove it for this chapter in particular. I’m terribly sorry for any confusion.

[goblinhoursinsomniaramblings]

I Know Those Eyes, Part 1

one dramatic in-universe reveal per chapter, let's go!

writing based purely on vibes, but i do have an actual plot brewing.

@grimdarling69 made more feel free to dm things you might want different

Prologue here

Tim had been the first to see the shape of his family’s future collective stress nightmares.

He’d been right there, after all. He had been asleep in the Batcave when Damian had decided to… he’d been right there, waking up to a single chance, loud noise Damian normally would have never made, with a chance to stop him, bring him to the others, talk it out, find a solution to whatever Luthor had been planning with concentrated Lazarus water. But he hadn’t woken up fast enough.

He had nightmares about that night for years. Sometimes, he knows exactly what’s going to happen and lets it happen anyway. Sometimes, he gets Damian to promise he’ll talk it out, only for him to run when Tim’s back is turned. The worst are the ones where he stops him, and everything works out for the best, and Tim wakes up and remembers what actually happened. Sometimes, he wakes up after getting to see Damian grow up, take on a new mantle, and haze a new Robin.

He always dismissed those dreams as filtering a fresh wave of grief through his knowledge of forensic analysis. He’d seen both Talia and Bruce, therefore he could map rough predictions of what he would grow up to look like, once he hit various milestones. It was all academic, since he would never get the chance to prove what he would have… been.

At least up until Oracle called him to verify something.

(“Red Robin, I need a judgment call.”

“A judgment call? Seriously? What exactly is stopping you from sending this to–”

“Luthor might be alive again. Check the footage I’ve sent you.”)

And… sure enough… here Tim was, three cups of coffee into an all-nighter, manually highlighting every shot in the security camera footage he’d been sent of a visiting CEO of a new tech startup that showed the man’s features. Which, actually, weren’t a lot, but once he started going through them all–yeah, that was Luthor alright. Same build, same face, the only thing that son of a bitch did was grow hair.

Like that wouldn’t have been the first disguise anyone who saw Lex Luthor would have suggested. Hair! Long, practically a lion’s mane of the stuff, tied into a low ponytail, with one of those chin beard things to hide the shape of his face more! All of it silvered by age and possible Lazarus contamination, and he hated that Luthor might purposely be affecting a ‘silver fox’ look.

And the worst part is it would have worked if anyone had removed him from the high priority list for being flagged for recognition. Tim almost had, but… Lazarus water. A mysterious death around concentrated Lazarus water. And apparently he had been, once again, completely right!

Tim had been furious by the time he’d combed through enough angles of his face getting out of a sleek black car to confirm, without a doubt, who he was. But then, the passenger side door had opened. All his anger had become shock. His hands shook as he opened a different, far more heavily encrypted profile.

Damian Wayne, priority 0.

Almost nothing came back an exact match, of course. The growth between 14 and 18 would have affected every feature, and the footage wasn’t nearly good enough to lift a retinal pattern or fingerprint from a distance (he noted the black gloves and mirrored shades blocking both), not to mention forensic prediction wasn’t an exact science, and beyond all of that, he could be totally wrong and Luthor was hauling out a clone, or a doppelgänger-

But as each feature lined up in his predictive model, as he watched the young man get out, brusquely close his door, and fall in at Luthor’s side without a word, a (surprisingly slight, far closer to Talia than Bruce) shadow falling into his wake like it was old habit, Tim felt certain he was right. He was certain he had dreamed of a world where Damian lived long enough to have that exact face. He called Oracle back.

“Hey, Oracle? I need a judgment call.”

***

It had taken minutes for Vlad and Danny to begin calling each other by their original names again. It had taken far longer, however, to get back to a familiar dynamic.

Oh, in the short term, it hadn’t been a problem at all. However, it was simply a matter of fact they had both led very different lives before remembering who they were meant to be. Vlad’s disgust at who he had been had colored much of his early days reclaiming his ghost half, and Daniel…

A childhood as a trained assassin had not been kind on the boy. Parts of Damian Al Ghul had needed to be chipped away over these last few years, most especially the fear of the League of Assassins that still hummed through him. Thankfully, Vlad had some help on that front and oh flaky pastry he was smiling again-

Though on second thought he supposed a warm and fatherly smile would help distance himself from ‘Lex’ Luthor. Yes, Lionel Vladimir Luthor, CEO and founder of VladCo, would be a man of warmth and fatherly compassion, and absolutely no one would suspect how thoroughly he could destroy them until they had dared to cross the line.

“You know we passed a dozen security cameras, right?” came a quiet voice to his left, the young man’s eyes flashing an even brighter green on occasion behind the shaded glasses he used to mask as Vlad’s bodyguard.

Oh, Daniel. So paranoid these days.

“Really? I only counted eight,” he replied, as the two of them were waved in by the desk clerk of their hotel.

“You’re not being creative enough with the word ‘security’. We’re meeting investors with ties to organized crime.”

Ah. So they were connected to weapons instead of larger networks of cameras. Classic Gotham City logic. Why only be corrupt, when you could be corrupt and violent? Though, it wasn’t as if he and his companion had to be careful anymore.

It had taken years to get to this point. Reclaiming their ghost halves, their powers, their lairs, their titles–their many, many titles, in Daniel’s case. Not to mention dear Daniela and Dante had taken years to recover, were still recovering, really, but at least now they could be comfortable staying with a substitute caregiver-

“Oh, any word from Frostbite?” he asked absently as he plugged the number code into the elevator to bypass the purposefully broken button for their intended floor. He had never encountered these kinds of silly little spy games after regaining his memories, it was almost endearingly pointless now.

“Nothing critical,” Daniel said with a small smile as they found their way to their specific unmarked door.

That meant there were pictures. Well. Good reason to get this nonsense done quickly. He raised a hand to knock.

“Game face, badger. We have a foundation to lay here.”

“Right back at you, frootloop,” said Daniel, slipping back into the resting scowl of his new childhood.

Honestly. Spy games. Next to what he and Daniel had planned?

Minor leagues.

***

-dramatic reveal in this chapter: the lazarus tech event brought back its victims.

-i don’t want to spoil their whole plan here but they’ve got obsessions to feed that are aligning super well right now and vlad wants to take the opportunity to show he cares and ruthlessly fuck over people who have personally wronged daniel/damian along the way.

-yes i am referencing the name used by luthor's father in the tv show, but in practice i'm referring to the time superman died and luthor pretended to be his own son, replete with luxurious hair.

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 6)

Word Count - 3k

Summary - TF 141 has regrouped at their safe house, and in the past two weeks they have been of trying to figure out their next move. Doc and Ghost finally have a little talk about their night together.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn

A/N - hi

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 7

Masterlist   

The two of you were back in the garage the next morning. Ghost getting up significantly earlier than you did; leaving you to wake up alone and slightly chilled from the morning air. 

There was also a delicious ache between your legs that wasn’t normally there. 

Ghost was servicing one of the armoured vehicles to make sure it was ready to go when the squad needed to move. It’s matte tan painting normally nothing significant but you couldn’t help but feel some sort of familiarity with the vehicle. While taking stock of your medical supplies you stared at the lettering on the side of the vehicle trying to pinpoint where you had seen it before. 

“Riley,” you called out, eyes still locked on the bolded lettering on the side of the hood. He paused what he was doing to look up at you. With narrowed eyes, you said, “Why do I feel like I’ve read about this ATV before?” You recalled reading about a vehicle being swiped from a convoy a few months ago in one of the weekly newsletters the military put out. 

“Uhh,” you could’ve sworn there was a slight blush underneath that mask, “Yeah, we stole it. Wasn’t our intent at first, but figured it would be a waste of an opportunity if we returned it.”  

You made your way to the stool beside him, “‘We’ as in?”

“Soap and I…” he thought for a second, searching for the right word, “commandeered it on our way into an active combat zone. In the report, we said it was a hostile.” he shrugged. Everything here was stolen, sure, but it was mostly little things like rations and ammo; which he had mentioned took forever to compile. The other vehicle was just a modified truck. This was an Oshkosh MPAP; equipped with a turret, and bulletproof windows, and was worth a million dollars.

And these goons just took it.   

Despite his seemingly nonchalance demeanour, there was clear pride in the set of his shoulders. You also knew he and Soap chuckled about it on their way here to stash it.   

“What did Price have to say about it?” you inspected the manual for the ATV to see all it came with. There was a hesitance from him and you lifted a brow at him, “What will Price have to say about it?” you reworded the question, getting the sense that Price doesn’t know. 

“I doubt he’ll even notice,” Simon set back to work, reaching for something and tightening it with a wrench. 

The rest of the squad arrived later in the morning and Price undoubtedly noticed. In fact, he pointed right at it, eyebrows raised but didn’t say a word. 

Soap pretended to be just as shocked, “How did this get in here?” 

Ghost did a good job of redirecting everyone’s attention, “We’ve got almost a week's worth of food reserves.”

Gaz swung his gear over his shoulder heading towards the makeshift barracks, “You leave any hot water for us?” he asked Ghost. 

“Nope,” he shot back dryly, failing to mention there was never any hot water to begin with. He shoved a finger in Soap’s direction, “You better get in there next. I can smell you.” 

“It’s a musk,” Soap retorted, feigning offence.  

“Go stand downwind of me,” Ghost strained as he looked an ammo crate into one of the trucks.  

You couldn’t smell Soap from where you sat but you were sure every one of them smelt like a little ripe from all the traveling. They looked weary from it. 

A strange feeling of unspoken uneasiness hung overhead all of you. Everyone was purposefully avoiding the obvious fact that we didn’t have a solid plan.    

When Gaz returned from his shower, he had a strange look on his face. A mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He had pulled a a pack of cigarettes from his pocket throwing them to Soap, “You win,” he said bitterly. 

“Really?” Soap caught the pack, immediately putting one in his mouth. He turned to Ghost, “You’ve just made me a very happy man.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ghost looked genuinely confused. He glanced at you with questioning eyes, wondering if you had any insight into their exchange.

You offered him a subtle shrug.  

Price was talking quietly with Laswell outside the garage. With dark bags weighing down his eyes, accompanied by a frown, Price looked uncharacteristically tired. Knowing him, he probably didn’t get the best sleep last night. It was us against the world right now, and since he was our captain every single one of us was looking to him for direction. It was a lot of pressure for one man. But there was a good reason he was Captain. He was level-headed and experienced. This probably wasn’t the first time he found himself in this situation either. This was just another Wednesday for him. For all of them. 

Except you. 

You don’t belong on a task force like this. You weren’t even sure you were meant for the medic life anymore. Lord knew you couldn’t save anyone when it mattered. 

Your teeth sank into your lip as you pondered your life choices so far. The hair on the back of your neck began to tingle and when you looked up to see Ghost watching you from across the room. His eyes revealed nothing before he dragged his attention back to Soap.               

Price called for a meeting after everyone was a little more settled in, “We’ll need to lie low for the next few weeks. Keep our footprint to a minimum,” Price took a seat on the bench next to you, swiping a hand down his face, “Laswell said that the brasses have been keeping it tight-lipped about our situation. So either they don’t know and someone is working on this alone or they do know and don’t want it getting out,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Which one is worse? I don’t know.” 

If they do know we risk giving ourselves away by trying to make contact. This was going to be a waiting game. 

We were in this alone and the thought of the world being completely oblivious to our disappearance was frightening. The idea of your family never knowing what happened to you left just as fast as it came. 

“Until we come up with a plan?” Gaz sneered, his eyes hardening making it evident it was hardly a question. 

“How long will that take?” You asked, your knee bouncing in a clear show of anxiety. 

Laswell cleared her throat, eyes peeking over the laptop she was sitting in front of, “I’ve got a few contacts on US soil who are doing some internal investigations. I won’t be able to exchange information with them as often as I’d like but they’re good at what they do,” She assured, this usually perfect braid falling loose down her shoulder. “I trust that they’ll be able to find some leads.”

“How long with that take?” Ghost repeated your question.

Laswell huffed, “I have no idea.” 

“Let’s aim for a few weeks at the very least,” Price said, lifting a fresh unlit cigar to his mouth. 

“We’ve only got a week’s worth of food,” you exchanged a look with Ghost, who was already looking at you, his dark eyes unreadable. Before the rest of the team got here he had donned his mask, making it all the harder to gauge what exactly he was thinking. 

“Ahh,” Laswell flipped her laptop to face the rest of us. You leaned forward and squinted at the bright screen with multiple windows pulled up, “There’s a little townlet three hours from here with no military presence. We can go into town to stock up when the time arrives.”

Two weeks. Two whole weeks passed and Laswells weren’t any closer to finding out who Specter was, and everyone was getting antsy. She did, however, discover that we have all been flagged as deserters. 

Price and Gaz were out doing recon every morning, and every time they came back with the same news. Which was no news.  

You and Ghost had gone into the little town Laswell aforementioned nearly every day since that first week. You spent most of your time at one of the schools there. It was a symbiotic relationship where you were providing medical services wherever you were needed in exchange for more medical supplies. All the while Ghost went off on his own sometimes coming back with food other times with information on the movements of the military. “For your safety” he wasn’t able to tell you who exactly he was meeting with for this information. 

You were cleaning the wound of a smaller child, her dark hair and wide glassy eyes flitting to everything that moved. Considering how her wound looked a week ago she was healing well. In a few more days there will be nothing left but a pink scar. You couldn’t understand each other because of a language barrier but there was mutual respect between you two. She couldn’t have been older than 10 but her eyes showed she had seen more than her years. Her eyes would sometimes glaze over and would stare far beyond what you could see. Her mouth would loosen and she would murmur to herself. A prayer, you were later told by a woman who spoke English. It was unsettling to see someone so young so grown. 

That’s what growing up in a warzone will do to you. You chastised yourself, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Here,” you secured her bandage showing off your work to her. Her delicate hand grazed it, her face void of emotion. With a slight bow of her head, she left. You watched as she disappeared back out the school door. 

You felt someone take a seat beside you, her identity easily discerned by her scent of pepper and rosemary. “Her mother would have been so devastated to see her like this,” she spoke softly, her accent almost undetectable. She was one of the teachers at the school, and also the one who let you use her classroom as a makeshift station when she didn’t have any classes. 

She seemed like a great teacher, artwork and previous school projects lined her classroom walls. 

It didn’t go unnoticed that she was using the past tense. Your mouth opened and closed as you fought to find the right words, “She’s too young,” too young for this kind of life. Too young to be seeing death. Too young to be this broken. 

“Is anyone ever old enough?” She began helping you pack your supplies, offering you a new medical kit for today’s services, “We are having trouble getting shipments in so this is going to be the last time we’ll be able to pay you back.” 

You tilted your head at her, “What do you mean by troubles?”    

She smoothed out the wrinkles from her shirt, “They’ve put up checkpoints at every roading leading in and out of eastern borders. It is almost impossible to get transport trucks through,” Her blue eyes had grown tired in the last few days.

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. If there is anything I can do to repay you, anything at all, let me know.”

She smiled and shook her head, “You’ve done more than enough,” she leaves you to turn her attention to a group of students coming in for her next class. 

Ghost returned to the school a few hours earlier than he usually did, his pace hurried, “Grab your stuff. We’re getting out of here,” he panted like he’d run the entire way back to the school but he was already moving to pack your supplies back into your pack. 

You looked up at him, eyebrows knitting together, “What’s wrong?” 

“A convoy was sighted three hundred kilometres to the east,” he didn’t wait for your reply before he slung ur pack over his shoulder and strode for the door, “And they aren’t insurgents.” 

Which means they’re American. And they couldn’t know we were here. They would take us all back in, and the last thing we wanted was to be getting into gunfights with our own. 

Ghost opened your door for you, “Get in.” 

You gave him a side glance before stepping up into the truck and letting him slam it shut behind you. Apart from the sound of the rocky road underneath the wheels and the whir of the engine the ride back was silent. You watched out your window, turning thoughts over in your head, debating whether the conversation you’ve been wanting to have with him but never the time, was worth it. 

Since that first night, nothing more has happened between you too. There hasn’t been the time for a conversation about it. Let alone actual sex. Still, a conversation needed to be had at some point. You wanted to know what he was thinking. He was always difficult to read and never shared his thoughts and feelings with anyone.  

“What’s on your mind?” Ghost spoke first, sensing your hesitation, his eyes flickering between you and the road. 

“A lot,” you tried laughing but it came out more like a sigh, then shrugged, “I guess mostly…about that night,” you started off.

His eyes widened before he quickly turned to face the road again, “Go on.” 

“We haven’t discussed it, or… haven’t really had the time to explore what it means. If it does mean anything. Don’t get me wrong,” you caught yourself, “There really isn’t a worse time for something like this,” it wasn’t like things had grown awkward between the two of you in the last few weeks, but you weren’t sure how you were supposed to be feeling. Or how he was feeling. Doubt had crept into the corners of your mind in the last few weeks. 

Maybe it was just a distraction for him. 

Your breakfast soured in your stomach at the idea.      

The clouds overhead began to turn a sombre grey, bringing with it the threats of a storm. 

Beside you, he’d grown impossibly still. His shoulders were taut with discomfort, “If you’re going to say it was a mistake just do us both a favour and say it.” 

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, “Was it–” you swallowed, “Was it a mistake for you?” 

“No,” he spoke with conviction, “No, it wasn’t.” 

Just as fast as the air left your lungs, they were filled, “Ohh,” you released a sigh, your head falling back onto the seat. 

“Once we get ourselves out of this we can talk about it all you want, but–”

“But, now isn’t a good time,” you finished for him, agreeing with the statement.  

“I don’t want you to think I used you like some sex-crazed caveman,” he shifted, the light of the day dwindling as we rolled down the road, the shadows from the trees creeping closer and closer to the truck. 

“I dont…” you started but he was already pulling the truck over to the side of the road. 

“I need you to know that the moment we get back to society that this,” he unbuckled his seatbelt and gestured between the two of you, “Isn’t going to end. I care for you but I need you to stay alive. So, I’m deciding for us to put things on hold because neither of us needs the distraction. It wasn’t a mistake. Do I wish I had waited until I was able to fuck you in a real bed? Kinda.” 

The first few drops of rain splattered onto the windshield, fat and heavy. 

He released the strap on his bulletproof vest to his chest and reached for my hand, “Feel this,” he brought my hand, dwarfed in his, to his racing heart. The heat radiated off his body, “That is what you do to me. Every time you look at me, or speak, or enter a room. I feel like I  can’t breathe around you. I’m terrified of you, and the possibilities that come with you,” he squeezed your hand, and he took in a shuttering breath, “And when you look at me like that,” his voice dropped and his eyes searched yours before bringing your hand lower, where you felt his member hardening. 

Your cheeks heated and you felt your own heart quicken its pace. 

The sounds of the rain became a rhythmic beat as it began to downpour, and without the windshield wipers to wipe away the downfall it was nearly impossible to see to the outside. 

He let out a low, agonizing sound when you gave him an experimental squeeze 

His attention flicked to the clock on the dash, his eyes darkening, “If I had been a smart man I wouldn’t have told Price we were leaving early. So if we take much longer it’ll raise questions,” he pulled away from you, slowly, like it was taking every sane part of him to do so, “And I’m sure you don’t want that.” 

You shook your head. You did not want to talk with Price about your extracurriculars. 

He took one last look at you, “Fuck sake,” he lifted the bottom half of his mask and pulled your lips to his. It was a chaste, desperate, open-mouth kiss. One where his hands dipped your head back to gain better access. His thumbs cradled your jaw, his fingers curling in your hair. 

It was just like the last time you kissed him. He was all fire and heat. He was explosive. 

When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet and rosy, his eyes half-lidded, “Promise me you won’t go anywhere?” he said lowly. 

You couldn’t help the sheepish smile, “I’m here.”  

His Foresight - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎@mymommmy ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎  @xheera​  ❤︎ @lockleywife​ ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae  

[thegainingdesk]

On Again, Off Again

As soon as I saw Mark I was head over heels. He was tall and naturally broad, a frame improved with well-honed muscles from years of manual labour. A mop of thick dark hair framed a broad, almost blocky face with dark brown eyes and a thick moustache, and mirrored tufts of hair poking out from the top of his shirt and at his cuffs. His voice was deep, but soft, with a slight Bristol accent.

He’d suggested we go to a local museum for our first date - I’d mentioned that I did art history at uni when we were talking on tinder, and there was an exhibition on the early impressionists. I spent a while pointing out some of my favourite paintings, explaining some of the techniques, the use of light, how the movement was different to what had come before but quickly noticed how quiet he was being and my initial attraction started to wane.

“Sorry,” he said after I asked him for the umpteenth time if everything was okay. “I don’t mean to- it’s just, I mean…”

I looked at him, expectantly. Despite myself, despite how flat the date was falling, I found myself crushing on him all over again, looking up into those big puppy dog eyes.

“I wanted to impress you a bit,” he said finally, running his hand across his moustache nervously.

I laughed reflexively, and felt awful as I saw him wince. “What do you mean, impress me? You don’t need to impress me.”

“I know, it’s not… You just said that you were into art and stuff, and that you work with this charity and-” He stopped and sighed. “I’m just this knob-head builder, you know? I didn’t think someone like you would really want to go out with someone like me, and I thought you were cute and the lads at the site said I should do something a bit fancy and… I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?”

I shook my head. “You’re great. Really. I chose to go out with you, didn’t I?” He shrugged those gorgeous hulking shoulders, somehow looking like a scolded schoolboy, despite his size. “Go on, where would you usually take me on a first date, if you weren’t trying to go all fancy on me?”

“No, no, really,” he insisted, unconvincingly. “I’m enjoying myself here.” He pointed at the nearest painting, a Turner painting of a choppy sea, a bright red buoy at the centre. “Go on, tell me about that one.”

I took his hand, and felt my heart flutter as a smile spread across his face. “Seriously, I agreed to go on a date with you because you were a good laugh while we were texting.” A blush spread across his stubbled cheeks. Fuck, he was hot. “Where we going?” I pulled him towards the exit.

“A pub or something, I dunno,” he mumbled. “We can stay, really.”

“Not a chance,” I retorted. “It's your round - you can’t wriggle out of it that easy.”

A couple of drinks in, the date was thoroughly back on track. Mark was funny, charming and charismatic - I’d go so far as to say he was gregarious, but trying to keep up with the way Mark drank turned that into a few too many syllables for me at the time. A few more drinks and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other - looking back, I cringe at the scene we must have made in that pub. Charitably, you could say we were somewhat hidden away in a corner; realistically, it was a Saturday evening in the city center and people were probably gawping.

“I told myself I wouldn’t fuck you tonight,” he grumbled into my ear, while his big square hand pawed at my achingly hard dick. “That I’d wait a couple of dates.”

I was practically gnawing at him at this point, my mouth deep into the soft crevice between his thick, strong neck and his strong, yard-wide shoulders. “This is basically our second date,” I told his neck. “The museum was number one, the pub is number two.”

I heard him laugh into my hair. “I’m serious, I’m trying to break some bad habits. Trying not to have so much casual sex.”

I moaned. “I’ll give you permission to make an exception.”

“I don’t want this to just be sex,” he whispered. “I really like you.”

“It doesn’t have to just be sex,” I whimpered back. “But it could also be sex.”

I heard him - felt him - practically growl. “I suppose if you came back to mine, we wouldn’t necessarily have to have sex.”

I nodded, and lifted my head to look him in the eyes. “Absolutely, no sex.”

The sex was phenomenal. It was like something out of an 80s romance novel. It was animalistic but sensual, passionate but slow. I think I actually swooned. Mark could throw me about like a ragdoll, and he made good use of that ability. His body was covered almost top to toe in dark, wiry hair, and his cock was so thick I could barely get my mouth around it - but by god I gave it a go.

We spent all of the next day together, nursing twin hangovers and cuddling up on his sofa. Mark explained his philosophy that the only worthwhile hangover cure is as much food as you can manage to keep down. While I nibbled on bread and butter and sipped on water all day, there was barely a moment where he didn’t have some food on the go - bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast, clearing his fridge for lunch, a string on deliveroo drivers.

By the time I felt well-enough to go home, he tried to convince me to call in sick to work the next day. Tangled up with him like that, I almost did. Even so, I managed to drag myself away, with the promise of seeing him on Friday.

We didn’t make it to Friday. We met up for dinner on Tuesday. Lunch on Wendesday. On Thursday I packed a bag and decided I could just go into the office from his flat in the morning. We were inseparable. Insufferable, most likely. But we couldn’t stop ourselves, didn’t want to stop.

The dinners out, the takeaways, the long days spent cuddled up without a thought of the gym started to add up - on Mark at least. And yes, maybe I encouraged that a little, but I’m allowed a type aren’t I? Okay, maybe more than a type - a predilection, if you were being fancy, a full-blown fetish if you were being honest. So I like them big! Is that a crime? I never went overboard - never stirred butter and double cream into all of his portions, never tricked him into gainer shakes, never slipped him appetite enhancers or miraculous weight-gain pills - I’m not the protagonist of a gainer story, after all.

All I did was nurture that healthy appetite of his. Gave him my unfinished portions, asked him if he wanted seconds, encouraged him to get dessert, muttered into his ear that no, he can’t go to the gym and leave me in bed, cold and alone, that I’d give him all the work-out he needed. He never complained, and I never made any real secret that I didn’t mind him putting on some weight.

It was subtle at first. He’d never had any abs to cover up, but there was a general loss of definition - muscular limbs got smoothed out, pecs started to go puffy, his belly started to permanently bow out into a little arc. His body, already big, sailed past 220 pounds easily enough, and you could barely tell that he’d put on any weight at all, not really, until he’d hit 240 or so.

But then, my god. It’s like some magical fat threshold was reached, almost overnight, like all the gaps in his body had been filled with fat, his whole body lightly covered with a thin sheen of chub, ready for the real work to build up over it. Smooth limbs got soft, puffy pecs drooped, his little distended belly curved out in all directions to form a proper little pot belly. Not six months into our relationship, he was sitting fat and happy at 260 pounds, a firm ball gut at his center, and all traces of that muscular hunk that tried to impress me at a museum were buried under soft, gorgeous flab. If he ever got self-conscious, he never said anything. Still, I told him how gorgeous he was, how sexy the extra weight made him, how he looked more manly, more mature.

We settled into a routine; huge dinners, hot sex, movie nights spent cradling his growing gut, an occasional date night at some new restaurant before moving onto a pub or a bar. We spent so much time at each other’s flats we both assumed we’d move in together sooner rather than later, that this would all last forever.

“Australia?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“I know, I know,” he said, pacing and stroking his moustache nervously. “But the money’s so good, I can’t really pass it up.” I closed my eyes. Gripped the table. Tried to wish it away. “It wouldn’t be forever,” he said, lamely.

“It would be for a year though,” I whispered, opening my eyes.

He slumped down into the chair opposite me. One hand continued to stroke his moustache, the other sat on the shelf of his belly, stroking it ever so slightly. Even while I was distraught he could still drive me wild without even trying. “I’m sorry,” he said simply after a while. I knew there wasn’t any point arguing. That I wouldn’t want to stop him taking the opportunity. It just hurt.

We agreed we’d not wait for each other. We’d stay in touch, but we’d be free to date, and if either of us met someone over the year, or if we’d changed as people, no obligation to go back to how we were.

I spent a full week moping. I became a walking cliche - I barely ate, I barely slept. I sustained myself on a diet of Carole King songs and Richard Curtis films. Mark never had any social media - barely used his phone for anything really - a fact which I was, in turns, thankful for and furious about. On one hand, at least I couldn’t obsessively stalk his profiles all year while I missed him, on the other hand, I couldn’t even stalk his profiles all year while I missed him.

I still can’t decide if that year went fast or slow. There were points when it felt like I was going through the same old bored routines for decades, and days when I’d realise how soon I could see Mark again and it would feel like seconds. I did my best to get on with my life - I met with friends, picked up hobbies I’d let fall to the side while I spent every day with Mark, even plucked up the courage to go on a date. It was nice. He was nice. But it wasn’t Mark. I’m not even sure I could tell you his name. After that, I resigned myself to waiting.

I’m back! The text said. My heart fluttered. Want to meet up for a drink?

I tried to not reply immediately. Wanted to come across as cool and unbothered.

Amazing!!! I replied, not two minutes later. Yes! Where?

As a cucumber.

The Goose? Or maybe your flat? Up to you.

My heart pounded. Meeting at my flat was not the act of an uninterested man. Meeting at my flat was not the act of a man who’d fallen in love with some gorgeous Australian surfer.

My flat’s fine! I responded.

Great. I’ll be like an hour?

My flat was already impeccably clean - I was a bit of a clean freak as it was, but I had it practically sparkling in anticipation of Mark’s return to the northern hemisphere - but still, I busied myself cleaning every nook and cranny. I hoovered my spotless carpet, smoothed my immaculately smooth bed, dusted corners that I previously didn’t know existed.

I had just decided that the flat was too unnaturally clean, like I’d gone out of my way to clean it for Mark or something, and was in the middle of pulling various items just slightly out of position, when my doorbell rang. I yelped, and hurriedly crumpled a throw blanket, before breathing slowly and making my way to the door. It was just Mark, I told myself. Everything would be just the same as it was before. It’s just Mark. It’s just Mark.

I opened the door to a man I barely recognised. Mark was buff. Beyond buff. The fat I’d so deviously piled on him over all those months had disappeared without a trace. He’d not simply returned to the naturally broad, built figure he’d had when I’d first met him, either - he’d added hard, shredded muscle - at a guess I’d say 20 pounds easy. His face was thinner, sharper; his arms were vascular, and I could swear I saw the stitches on his sleeves almost pulling themselves apart; when he raised his arms and his t-shirt rode up, I could make out a defined six-pack even through his dense pelt of body hair. Worst of all though - he’d shaved off his moustache.

I just stood blinking for a while, until I realised that tears were welling up in my eyes. Despite it all, despite the time, despite the body, despite the fucking moustache - it was Mark. It was really, actually, fucking Mark.

Neither of us said anything, he just stepped through my door, held my face in his hands and kissed me, deeply and desperately and hungrily. We stumbled backwards through my flat, knocking perfectly placed objects as we went, pulling at each other’s clothes, never once stopping kissing, until he picked me up and tossed me onto my bed. This time, I definitely swooned.

We didn’t properly talk until the next morning, while I lay with my head on his chest, my fingers lazily pulling through the curls of his chest hair. “Go on then,” I said. “What’s all this?”

Mark yawned. “What’s what?” he asked.

I lightly slapped his six-pack. “Who invited He-Man over here?”

He laughed. “I bet you had a thing for He-Man didn’t you?” he said, running a hand down my back and squeezing my bum, avoiding the question.

“No really,” I insisted. “What happened to my sexy teddy bear I sent off?” I steeled myself. “I bet it was for all those sexy ozzy men, eh?” I forced myself to laugh.

Mark was silent, and didn’t move.

I held my breath. “It’s fine, you know. We said. Date whoever.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said simply, after a while. “I umm… couldn’t bring myself to. That’s why I spent so much time in the gym actually. To take my mind off of…” He trailed off. “Did you? You know…”

“One guy,” I said. “Just a date, you know, nothing…" I added quickly, keen to reassure him. "It was awful.” I sighed. “No, it was probably fine, it just wasn’t…” I looked over at him, took in his chiseled jawline and perfect cheekbones. “It wasn’t you.” We stayed like that for a while, just smiling at each other. I shuffled up his body to kiss him, and rolled over. “I might have to change my stance on that if you don’t grow your moustache back though.”

We were back to our old routine almost immediately, illicit feedings and all. By the time Mark had regrown his moustache, his abs had been hidden by soft fat and he was on his way back to the Mark I knew and loved. It’s like his body missed the fat - it piled on faster than it had the first time, and within a few months he’d put on all his lost weight, plus extra. His newfound muscles clearly faded a little, being neglected so thoroughly by time spent away from the gym, but they provided a firm base for all the fat to cling to, so that all his fat was perkier and bouncier than last time - I was in heaven.

“I need to lose some weight,” Mark murmured around one of his breakfast donuts one morning. I looked over to see him trying to tug a pair of scruffy work jeans closed, but there were several inches of soft fat between the button and its hole. I inhaled and set my shoulders - it was time to bite the bullet.

“I don’t think you need to lose weight,” I started, nonchalantly.

Mark laughed and shook his gut. I fought to stop myself from getting hard. “Look at me - I’m 20 stone and can’t fit into 40 inch trousers. 40 inches! I need to lose weight,” he repeated.

I stood up and walked over to him, putting a hand on each side of his middle. “I like it,” I told him matter of factly, before kissing him.

He smiled and returned my kiss. “You’re sweet, and I know that you’ll love me no matter what size I am, yada-yada-yada, but come on,” he slapped his belly again. “This is getting ridiculous.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I like it. I…” I inhaled deeply. “I prefer it. Actively prefer you fat, actually.”

He stared at me and blinked, not speaking for almost a whole minute. “You… like me fat?” he asked, finally.

I nodded. "Mm-hmm," I said, as casually as I could pretend to be.

He squinted his eyes at me. “Fatter?” he continued.

“I… wouldn’t complain,” I said slowly, studying his face.

He took a few steps away from me and looked down at himself, as if seeing his body for the first time. He hefted his gut a couple of times, almost experimentally. His hands drifted upwards, squeezed his soft pecs. I just watched, knowing he needed some space. Finally, he raised his head to look at me. “Why?” he asked simply.

I shrugged. “Why is anyone attracted to anything, you know? Big guys have always just done it for me, I guess,” I explained. He carried on looking at me inquisitively, clearly expecting me to continue. “I mean… it just seems more manly, you know? Like you’re tall and you’re hairy and you’ve got this great moustache and hot face, and being bigger is just one more thing that just makes you even more masculine, you know?” He nodded and I saw him subtly flex, as if in admiration of himself. “So you’re okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “I mean, if it means I don’t have to diet or go to the gym, why not?” he laughed, and carried on getting ready for work. “You might need to pop out today to buy me some new clothes though,” he added.

I nodded and smiled, happy that inevitable, awkward conversation went as well as could I could realistically hope. I started to get set up for my day working from home, and brought Mark a donut as he was about to leave, kissing him on the cheek as I passed it over.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked carefully at the donut. “Did you do this Ben?” he asked, after a moment or two.

“What?” I asked. “Yes Mark, I brought you the donut. Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “No. Not the donut. Me. Did you make me fat?”

I swallowed. Hard. “What? Mark. How could I make you fat? I can’t eat for you,” I pointed out.

“No,” he agreed. “But I put on weight almost as soon as I met you. You’ve always given me half of your dinner, told me to get dessert, stopped me going to the gym.”

“Mark, you can’t seriously be accusing me of manipulating you into gaining weight,” I told him, feeling myself shake a little. "You have a big appetite." Was I trying to convince him, or myself?

“But did you?” he pressed.

I paused just a little too long and he sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not like I forced you to eat anything!” I protested. “You enjoyed the food, you wanted it, you never cared about putting on weight, never enjoyed the gym. I just tried to give you permission to let yourself go a bit.”

“But you didn’t Ben!” he snapped. “You didn’t give me permission because never had a choice!”

“Mark, come on,” I reached towards him, but he knocked my hands away. “I’m sorry for being sneaky, but that’s all it was - a bit sneaky. I never lied, I never convinced you to do anything you didn’t want to, I just made the choice a bit easier.”

He opened the door. “I’m going to stay at my parents for a bit,” he said.

“Mark, no,” I pleaded.

“I just… I just need some time to think.” He moved through the door.

“Please Mark, I love you.”

He sighed. “I love you too,” he said. “It’s just a lot.”

The door closed. The day was a write-off. I spent the whole day cleaning and tidying, scrubbing floors and counters and remaking my bed. I thankfully didn’t have any meetings, and the only work I needed to do was busy-body work that no-one would notice was getting done badly. I fell back into old routines - didn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, Carole King, Richard Curtis.

Staying at his parents “for a bit” meant a couple of weeks, as it turned out. I was mid-Notting Hill when I heard the door open and I turned to see Mark walk in, an old band t-shirt riding up to reveal the bottom of his gut. I rushed over to him, but stopped before I reached him, unsure of what was about to happen. He closed the distance and pulled me into a hug. I melted into him, and we stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I overreacted. I… freaked out.” He scratched his gut. “You were right. It could have happened in any relationship, I just…” He closed his eyes. “I’ve been fit for a really long time, you know, and I’ve never done a proper relationship, and I always felt like people just use me for sex and all of a sudden I find out that you’re a big part of why I’ve put on so much weight and it just felt like… Like you were changing me.”

I shook my head and hugged him again. “I’m so sorry,” I said into his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to change. You’re exactly what I want, any weight, I promise.”

He hugged me back. “I want to change for you,” he murmured into my hair. He pulled away and held my shoulders, smiling. “I spent a lot of time trying to figure stuff out and… you're right. It’s hot.” He slapped his gut. “I get it, I think. I like being big and I like eating and I like that you like it.” I must have looked skeptical because he carried on. “Okay, I’m not, like, thrilled with putting on quite so much, but I also don’t care enough to lose you over it, and I can see where you’re coming from.” I didn’t know what to say, so just kissed him, running my hands under his t-shirt and up his love handles. He pulled away. “I want you to get fat as well though,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I think you should put on weight as well,” he said again. “To see what it’s like.”

“Mark, I… I thought you’d forgiven me. I said I was sorry.,” I said.

“I’m not saying it as some kind of punishment or whatever,” he said, and patted my own flat stomach. “I’m saying that I think you’ll like it. That I’ll like it.”

“I think you might be confused,” I told him. “I don’t want to gain weight,” I explained. “I just like fat guys. It’s a different thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I didn’t want to gain weight either, and it turns out I kind of like it.” He squeezed his gut for emphasis. “You already like all this stuff, and I just think you owe it to yourself to see whether you like all the aspects of it.”

“Really?” I asked. “You want this?”

Mark shrugged. “Why not? Maybe it’ll be hot, and if you don’t like the first twenty pounds, you can lose it all faster than I’ll be able to lose all this.” He slapped his gut and sent it shaking.

“I uh… okay,” I agreed. “Yeah, I’ll try it out.”

The changes to our classic routine were unsettling at first. No more subtly suggesting dessert or quietly giving extra portions, now Mark would quite happily take seconds and snack throughout the day. He also made sure he wasn’t alone though - everything he ate, he would make me match, to the point that most days I’d end the day cradling my too full stomach while he gently rubbed it for me. Being more open about my preferences meant that we could start introducing food into the bedroom as well - sex now meant ice cream and chocolate and whole-cakes, all eaten off each other’s bodies or while Mark was deep inside of me.

While Mark’s gains kept up a good pace, especially for a man his size, the weight hit my body like a freight train. Without the base of muscle that Mark had, my gains were much softer, and spread across my body as opposed to Mark’s firm core ball gut and fat covered muscles. I found myself loving it - I'd get distracted by the way my flesh would slide past itself, the gentle restriction of clothes just on the verge of being too tight, and the pillowy softness of my body. I would find myself in work-meetings slipping a finger between shirt buttons to stroke around my navel, and it became one of Mark’s favourite jokes to point out when I’d mindlessly pull my shirt up while at home so I could play with my underbelly.

"You not going to lose too much weight while I'm gone, big guy?" Mark asked, kissing me on the cheek as he hoisted his bag on his shoulder.

I swallowed the last of the custard slice I was eating. "You're only going for a week," I pointed out. "Besides, you've managed to put nearly a hundred pounds on me in less than a year, I don't think I'm likely to stop losing weight anytime soon."

"Oh, I see," Mark said laughing. "It's me who put all that weight on you is it? You didn't have anything to do with it?"

"I should be more worried about you!" I said, changing the subject. "Going with all those skinny twigs - they're hardly going to make sure you're eating right."

He gripped his gut with both hands and lifted it. "It's a stag do," he said simply. "My diet's going to consist of beer and kebabs. I don't think you have to worry."

I kissed him goodbye, our guts melding into one another, and he left to get his taxi. I made my mind up to give him something special to come back to - as much weight as I could conceivably gain in the week he was away. I was sure I could put on five pounds (we both did that easily in the week between last Christmas and New Years), but how much more could I do?

Me and Mark were both used to four enormous meals as standard by now, so I added multiple tubs of ice cream and gainer shakes each day on top, to really kickstart my growth. I spent the next week bloated, groggy and uncomfortable - it was one of the hottest things I've ever done.

By the time Mark was back, I'd managed to push eleven more pounds onto my body, bringing me up to a cool 267 pounds. He walked into me lying prone on the sofa, shirt off, fresh stretch marks covering my gut, melted ice cream dripping onto soft moobs. I struggled to sit up to greet him, burping through a smile.

"Uhh, hi," he said, not moving from the doorway. His gaze hovered somewhere over my head.

"How was Berlin?" I asked, finally managing to sit up with a soft "ooft".

"Yeah it was…" he trailed off. "You know, fun. Good to see the lads." Still by the doorway. Still no eye contact.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, the ice cream sitting less comfortably in my stomach by the second.

"Yeah, no, it was just…" He finally moved away from the doorway, pacing around the room, eyes looking at everything except my expanded form. "They kept on taking the piss out of me," he said eventually. "You know, for being so fat."

"Right…" I said slowly. "But you're… you're okay with that, right?" I stood up with some effort and moved towards him. He moved towards the kitchen, still not meeting my eyes. "You've said you find it hot?" I felt self-conscious now, and looked around for a t-shirt I could put on.

He sighed, and finally looked at me. "Maybe not everything has to be hot," he said simply. "Like, yeah, it's great for sex but… Christ Ben, I'm over 24 stone now! Look at me!" He gestured down to his body, swollen with fat in every direction. "Every fucking day was just me trailing behind everyone else, completely out of breath, putting up with fucking jokes every other minute about my double chin and moobs and rolls-"

"Okay, your mates are arseholes!" I said. "Does that matter? Your workmates make jokes like that all the time."

"It's not my mates!" His voice was growing louder. "They're right! We've- I've-" He sighed and rubbed his face, his double chin moulding under his fingers. "We've taken it too far." He looked at me in the eyes. "This," he gestured down at himself and looked guiltily at me, "isn't just 'being a big guy' anymore. It's really, properly fat."

We tried to avoid talking about it for a few days. Then talked about dieting, going to the gym, building muscle, what weight might be a good compromise. Every conversation turned into an argument. Every meal, every shopping list.

I'd gotten so used to over-eating that I'd sneak off in the middle of the night or when he was at work to gorge. The couple of times he caught me turning into raging arguments. The times I caught him doing the same weren't much better.

Three weeks later, he'd packed his bags and gone to his parents. Whereas in the past I'd have stopped eating, I'd now fundamentally rewired my brain. Comfort eating was now de rigueur and every day seemed to overshadow the last. My snacks would have left a grown man satisfied, my meals turned into feasts, ice cream filled the time between like it filled in gaps in my stomach.

I ballooned. My tits drooped, my stomach swelled, my thighs chafed. I was grateful my job was mainly work-from-home, since my old clothes became restrictive to the point of pain. Buying clothes became a matter of adding the biggest size available to my cart and hoping for the best, waiting for the day I had to move to big-and-tall shops. Whenever I did have to go into the office, button-ups strained, my belt dug in, ties became comedically short. I saw my coworkers talking to each other, jokingly at first, then with concern. How could they not? I took up twice the space that I had done not long before, my face was round and jowly and soft. HR sent an email asking if I'd like a stronger chair. Emails were sent round reminding people about the gym memberships that the company offered, ostensibly office-wide, but I knew who they were targeted at.

When I reached 325 pounds I realised I almost weighed as much as Mark had when he left. Would I celebrate, I wondered, once I passed that milestone? Eat a cake to myself? Would that even register at this point?

I heard the door open and close, and I twisted around as best as I could. My flexibility had reached a critical point - now every action came with resistance, as fat bunched against fat and stretched around the sheer bulk of me. I looked around desperately at the mess around me, the ice cream cartons, cake boxes, tubs of cake frosting eaten straight.

"Ben?" Mark asked. I stood up as quickly as I could, tried to pull down my t-shirt so it covered the rest of my gut, did my best to button my shorts. I felt his hands on my arms before I even had a chance to get a good look at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I looked up, finally. "You've lost weight," I said. It was true. His gut, his double chin, his tits, all were still there, big, but diminished.

He chuckled. "The lads at the site still call me a fat bastard," he said and shook his belly. It was true, I supposed - by anyone else's standards he was still obese. "You, erm, haven't," he added, quietly. "Lost weight, I mean."

I felt huge. Disgusting. "I can lose it," I promised, tears welling up in my eyes. "I just missed you so much and-"

"No," Mark said.

"No?" I asked.

"No," he repeated. "I don't need you to lose weight, I don't need…" He sighed. "I thought I needed to get fit again. Lose all the weight. I started going to the gym, dieting. Started seeing results. Got down to two-sixty."

I peered at him. "You're not…" I began.

"No, I'm about two-eighty now. Probably a bit more," he answered my unspoken question. "I realised being smaller wasn't making me happy. Once I stopped dieting, the weight piled back on." He ran a finger across his moustache and looked around nervously. "Then I realised the reason I wasn't happy was because I wasn't with you." I noticed for the first time that he was holding back tears.

I moved towards him and help him for a while. He gripped me tight, his strong arms sinking into my soft back.

A while later, we were sat at the table, a chinese takeaway in front of us - a small attempt at normality.

"So," Mark said, looking at me sideways and speaking slowly, as if to test the waters. "What are you weighing at these days?" he asked.

I sucked air through my teeth. I knew this was coming. I wasn't upset as such - by this point, our relationship was defined by fat. It was a shock though, him coming back having lost so much weight, me having put on so much. "Three-two-five," I said, as calmly as I could. "Well, a couple of weeks ago at least."

Mark whistled and reached over to slide a hand across my belly, as if in admiration. "God, did you ever imagine you'd be the bigger one in the relationship?" he asked. I felt my face go red, and I started to stammer a response. "I've got to be honest," he continued. "I'm pretty jealous."

I choked. "Jealous?" I managed to spit out. "Of being this big?"

He sighed wistfully. "I've always been a big guy, you know? And then when I started going out with you I got used to being the biggest guy in most situations. And I definitely never thought I'd be smaller than you."

I smirked. "Fancy changing that?"

He chuckled. "Just you wait," he said. "I'll be the bigger one again in no time."

I grinned and picked up a rib. "Good," I said. "No man of mine is going to be under three hundred. You'll have to hurry up and catch me though," I told him. "I'm going to be a moving target."

He smiled. "Sounds great." He spooned some food onto his plate. "See you at three hundred and fifty pounds?" he teased.

I grinned. "At least."

[eliecasa]

summary: reader see’s a man spank a box on tiktok & it awakens a monster

warnings: minors i know I said I wouldn’t but we all lie as humans. this is one of those times where you mustn’t interact, plss ( contains these mentions: asphyxiation, verbal, and spanking kinks ) the reader is mentioned to have a vagina.

wrdcnt: 2K

inspo

A small huff of frustration pushed from your nostrils as you’re once again opening your eyes to stare out into the rainy darkness of the night. The sight is usually lovely and heart-warming as it was Simon’s wish to live somewhere with nature all the while staying a generous 20 minutes away from the city. It’s quiet here but there’s a memory that echoes loud and vibrantly in the back of your mind.

Simon sat still, sleeping as quiet as a mouse as you squeezed your eyes shut and subtly rubbed your thighs together. If you’d never downloaded tiktok, you’ll probably be sound asleep and dreaming of a dog handing you something as strange as a sweater with your own face sewn into it. Soap suggested that it be a good idea to keep a good balance of humor and seriousness since Simon would be left alone to tease you without anyone else jumping in to defend you, and the only way to do that was to give in and download the god-forsaken TikTok app.

Oh how you wish you’d never listened to him.

The first thing you’re greeted with is a video of a buff man underhand smacking a box to fit evenly with the others atop and below it. It came immensely loud from your headphones and caused a barely-audible yelp to part your lips. Your first thought was to get out of there so, you did… by scrolling one video down as Simon came over from the kitchen and asked what was wrong. And of course, having lacked a good answer, you merely waved him off and cleared your throat, saying that your headphones were accidentally turned to maximum volume.

He squinted those dark and suspicious eyes before humming and going back to make dinner- which was the deal for an old bet that he lost. Anyway, you’re instantly back on the video and fluttering with little butterflies of heat and embarrassment… that was until you opened the comments and saw that everyone else was thinking the same. Even married people were saying things such as “I try to get my husband to do this but he doesn’t know manual labor too well” which tickled you a little bit.

Though you were laughing at the time, you found yourself staring at Simon’s hands a bit longer than usual as the two of you ate dinner together. Don’t be mistaken, Simon had done nearly everything you desired with those strong pair of hands but still, that new seed planted in your head was quickly taking over and growing vines up and down the walls of your busy mind.

“What’s on your mind?” He said after watching you daydream for five minutes. It almost seems deliberate as he moved to hide his hands underneath the table. Classic Mr. RIley.

“...Nothin’,” you shrugged, connecting your gaze before promptly taking a good chunk of spanish rice.

Simon paused and did that empty stare where he kinda just assessed you before going back to whatever business he was originally doing. The judgemental gaze causes the slightest of shame to boil your skin as you roll your eyes. He’s your husband and has seen and touched every nook and cranny of your body and for some reason, you don’t want to tell him what’s bothering you.

Fast forward back into the present. The fluffy white comforter seems to get unbearably hot just as the heat radiating from Simon does. Sex and experiment is no taboo between the two of you and your coyness was just overall pitiful, however, that small little angel in your head keeps saying “Well, you have to really ask yourself if he’s the type to wound his loving spouse” while the devil said “Tell him to throw you over his lap and spank you like that goddamn cardboard!”

Again, you rub your thighs together. Maybe your mind was turning into one of those awful hormone monsters from a show that shall not be named. A small sound of anger escaped your mouth as you try to clear your mind, knowing that Simon would get woken–

“Having a strop, are ya’?” His heavy voice felt heavy and trapping as you knew that this was the most reasonable time to just get it over with.

Almost too quickly, you flip in his arms and lock eyes with him. Well, he was still waking up but your patience led you to gently pinch various areas of his face before he’s basically stretching his neck to be freed.

“Fuckin’ stop will ya?”

“Why haven’t you ever gotten rough with me?”

In the moonlight that shows through your windows, you can see the way that Simon’s face bunches into one handsome twist of confusion and tiredness. His eyes slowly open to look at the ceiling before he turns his head and stares dead into your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Your right hand moved back a couple of inches and came back to gently slap him as his face remained cradled in your hands. A small chuckle escapes him before he pinches your thigh.

“Why’re you kicking my ass instead of explaining–”

“I obviously mean- like during sex,” you spoke with the tiniest amount of annoyance in your voice as the sexual frustration was beginning to plague.

The hand on your thigh rested as his face relaxed.

“I do… it was your idea to get into the choking thing-”

“No! I mean- yes that but why don’t you ever hit me?”

He seems to relax into the pillows a bit more as his eyes darted back to the white and plain ceiling. Simon was taking a moment to actually think if he’s never done such since it seems like a problem that could have been bothering you for who knows how long. Maybe you were doing that classic tactic of trying to alter his memory for your own benefit. There’s been multiple times where you’d lay on top of him and ask when was the last time he’d give you proper praise despite him clearly remembering it happening two days ago. He tilts his head, thinking of the past five months. The two of you had gotten into a couple new positions, areas to have sex, as well as experimenting with verbal kinks. Not to mention that asphyxiation kink that appeared to stay and make an appearance during each session.

“Simon!”

“I know, I know… just making sure you aren’t lying,” he said, casually sitting up to turn on the blinding light next to the bed. You try not to grab him as he moves from over you to settle back and rub his eyes.

“What needs to be done to get you sound, eh?”

A lightning bolt strikes as you pretend to think as if Apollo was saying “Don’t you dare waste that man's time, Y/N.”

So, instead of pissing anyone off, you decide you sit on your knees and face Simon with your chin up and your shirt covering your sweaty palms that were hidden underneath the oversized fabric. You’re ex-military and you’re especially all but a coward. Simon Riley will not stop you from reaching your dreams.

“I want you to start…” your lips twist in the slightest as you try to find the right words just to settle on “spanking me…”

He tries not to seem surprised but the smallest raise of his eyebrows gave it all away.

“Today,” you finish, almost coming off stern and unmovable.

Many would disagree with this but you could say that Simon had very telling eyes and right now, he was not only questioning just how freaky you were as well as how much of a possible masochist you were underneath that loving and soothing base of your personality. The asphyxiation thing was brought up during sex so he couldn’t really so no to you in the heat of the moment but now you’ve caught him fresh out of an innocent sleep.

“Are you… sure?--”

“Simon,” you dare, looking away for a second before shaking your head at his timidness.

He wasn’t following the script; you’d admit that you wanted to be spanked and he would pat his lap and get to work. That’s how it was supposed to go! However, Simon wanted to play the long game and see how long he could drag this until the sun began to rise.

“Why didn’t you say this instead of staring at my hands the entire meal?”

“Who the hell would just come out and say ‘Hey, mind hitting my ass when we fuck’?”

A small smile spreads his pink lips as his shoulders momentarily hunch.

“You’re not shy any other time.”

For the 800th time, your pupils roll to the back of your head. As you’re shaking your disappointed little head, you pause to see that the storm seems to calm down a bit, instead turning into a windless pour that wouldn’t wake anyone if they were sleeping. The silence left you no choice as Simon indeed began to follow the script written in your head.

“Guess we’d better get to trying before you’re all snappy then,” his heavy mancunian accent coming loudly as he stood up and stretched.

The movement caught your attention and glued it onto his strong thighs. Simon was a brief type of guy— which was honestly a bit surprising when you first discovered it. The soft fabric remained comfortably on his strong thighs that would soon have you stretched across them.

There’s a couple of heavy steps across the bedroom floor before he settled on the front of the bed and in front of the black screen of the television.

“Are you serious?” you purse your lips, crawling towards him as he looks at you from over his shoulder.

Instead of being verbal, he jerks his head to coax you over as a barely-noticeable smile squints his eyes.

And be damned; you were over there in no time. But instead of instantly giving you what you wanted, Simon couldn’t help but tease you a while longer. Only now do you wish he was a quick mover that despised roleplay. Your hips jump a little as two of his slightly-calloused fingers slid down the smooth and silk skin and dew of your cunt.

“Why the long face, doll?” He laughed, taking a glance at the way your lips and eyes were tightly closed shut.

“Do your thing, Simon,” you spoke quickly to muffle a sound of pleasure by covering your mouth and turning away from his eyes-view.

“I just wanted to feel you a little bit, no harm done,” he gently slapped your soppy cunt before lifting your shirt to bunch around the waist. Tonight, you were just wearing a normal pair of lace panties without the partner of a bra. Bras are vibe killers and the world could do without. Plus– it gives your lover easier access to rest or warm his hands when he’s bored.

Anticipation made the fabric become nearly insufferable as the room seemed to double in heat.

“Keep these on?”

You thought, looking at the shiny oak of your bedroom floor before giving him a muffled response.

“I don’t mind them staying on.”

As so, his ring finger released your panty and turned into a palm that smooths over the entirety of your plump ass. The feeling of Simon’s hands on your bum had often aroused you more than it probably should have. He’s never spanked you but he's grabbed it and caressed it as often as you allowed. The way he’d squeeze long enough to make it hurt had always brought out the bedroom hormones even though sometimes he would do it somewhere other than the comfort of your home. anything that made you feel like his was enough to keep it wet for hours.

“What are you waiting fo-AH!” you nearly turn into a flailing mess before your hands quickly resettled onto Simon’s strong thigh which was trembling with amusement.

For someone who was wary of hitting you, he’d come down really heavy handed. You’re a first-timer, it wouldn’t have killed him to at least warn you. However, the hot and stinging feeling is an arousal-multiplying sensation that has your mouth feeling a little numb and your adrenaline flowing.

Your eyes nearly comically blow wide as the two of you make eye-contact, Simon’s face being one of subdued delight as you gently pant out.

“Do. That. Again.”

[creedslove]

BETRAYED - PART NINE

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: fluff, like, a lot of fluff, implied age gap, mentions of death, and descriptions of a catholic wedding (I just wrote down how they go in my country, but no, it's not *the* wedding you're thinking about) and mentions of smut

A/N: Just one more chapter and we wrap up this story!!! I hope you guys enjoy this one because I know my heart melted while I wrote it!!!

A/N part 2: still can't manually tag people on the works because I use the app and it won't let me do it, that's why I don't have a tag list at all!

3.4k words

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT

One year later

You stood at the altar feeling excitedly but also a little anxious. A bunch of familiar faces stared at you taking in all the details of the ceremony that was about to begin.

You could even spot Pedro among the guests, he looked handsome, as he always did, his hair was a little longer now, making it wilder in a way it made him sexier than before. He noticed your eyes on him and winked, as if he encouraged you in that situation

And that's why being a bridesmaid was so fun. While the focus wasn't necessarily you and your group of bridesmaids, you were all in the spotlight while the bride took long to arrive.

You could practically hear all the thoughts crossing people's minds, how they judged the dresses, the makeups and the hairstyles. It always happened and you wouldn't be any exception, but not that you cared very much about it, as you were so happy for your best friend Nat tying the knot with her dream guy, nothing would bother you at all.

As you felt Pedro's gaze on you, burning your skin, you thought of everything that happened this past year. It didn't even feel real, after you left his home that morning, you never returned. And he kept his word of not coming after you, which was all you needed in order to get your life back on track.

The first thing you did when you got home was to change all the locks to prevent anyone from breaking into your house. It didn't matter if it was Liev, a burglar or Pedro himself. You never wanted to walk into your home, a place you assumed safe and find someone uninvited there. Then, your second part of your action plan was to look for another gym, so you could train without having to change your schedule every single time you didn't want to run into someone in there. You wanted to exercise, to see people, to feel the endorphins flood your body and not step on eggshells all the time. Needless to say, it was a good decision.

Then, you just focused on yourself.

You finally finished your studies, you found a job that made you happier and paid well too. You took short trips here and there, getting to know new places and you also looked at yourself in the mirror and realized you were more beautiful than ever, and that was why you were loving yourself, you took care of yourself and you put yourself in the first place, just like it should've been from the beginning.

You still had feelings for Pedro, of course, but the distance helped manage it, some days you were able to go by without even thinking of him, and others you missed him deeply. You didn't know if his feelings for you changed, but you weren't as close as you once were. However, you weren't estranged either. It was just that your lifestyles got simply too different and your lives took different paths, making it so hard to be around each other.

After Pedro's career took off he became almost impossible to reach - physically at least.

He was already well-known when you two had all that story going on, of course, but now it had reached stratospherical levels. He was a big deal, he was a big celebrity, all your social media was flooded by videos, his interviews and his pictures. You began following his career, from afar, admiring him, how far he'd come, feeling your chest burst with pride every time he was nominated for an award or you saw him walking down a red carpet. It was still disturbing to you to see how much he was harassed by the media, how he couldn't walk down the street without being photographed and how they picked on the whole daddy thing. Sometimes it was a little funny though, seeing him blush and her visibly embarrassed at that. You often chuckled to yourself when you eventually saw his fans writing the sweetest things about him, how they called him their boyfriend or future husband, if only they knew your story, they'd call you crazy for turning him down. Because to them, Pedro was perfect, a prince charming. And to you, he was just a human being, with flaws and qualities, like everyone else.

You two didn't go the whole year without speaking, quite the opposite, your phone would buzz eventually, receiving a text or two from him. And you would often text him as well. Just simple things: birthday messages, wishing each other happy holidays or checking up on each other. Nothing too intimate, but enough to show you still cared and worried about each other.

He watched your stories and liked your pictures, and you did the same. Being there, even if you weren't there anymore. It was confusing, but it worked for a while.

When you realized you were able to see his pictures with fans, co-stars and women you had no idea who they were and your whole body didn't heat up in anxiety and jealousy and your heart didn't drop at your toes, at the mere thought crossing your mind of them being his lay for the night, you knew you were ready to let him in.

Not exactly let him in, you didn't know if he still cared about you like that, or if you would still have anything in common, or if he would even bother becoming your friend again now that he had met some many different people. But you still decided to text him, best case scenario he would reply and you would have a conversation, worst case scenario he would leave you on 'seen' and you would move on with your life, because you lived for yourself now, and not for Pedro.

Of course he replied to your message right away. He smiled big when he read it and couldn't even believe after all that time you were the one engaging in a conversation with him. God knows how many times it took all of his willpower to erase the gigantic texts he wrote you and just drop a 'Merry Christmas' or 'Happy Birthday, mariposa' he'd promised you he would let you live your life, and just like a butterfly, he let you be free but now you were flying to him again - maybe, that was what he hoped at least, so he allowed himself to daydream.

You'd sent a simple text telling him how much you enjoyed his new series, and if he had time next time he was in town, maybe you could go for drinks. He replied almost immediately, saying he couldn't wait.

And your conversation began.

Slowly, you would text through the day about many things, while he was away and lonely, he told you all about his shooting routine and what he did for fun so far away from home.

You updated him on everything knew in your life, seeing how proud of you and happy he really got. You briefly mentioned you were thinking of learning a second language, to which he quickly suggested Spanish.

But when your uncle died you didn't get a text from him. Instead, Pedro managed to get a short break from filming and hopped on a plane. He wanted to be there for you, it didn't matter to him if he was going to be there as a friend or as a possible boyfriend, he just wanted to hold you while you cried because he knew how important family was to you. He wanted to attend the funeral by your side, to dry your tears and tell you comforting words. And that was exactly what he did.

You couldn't believe your eyes when he showed up there, in black and pulling you into his embrace, which reminded you it used to be your favorite place in the world and at that moment, it became your favorite again.

You had no strength to discuss feelings with him, and he wasn't after that either. He just wanted to try and make that moment a little less miserable for you.

But the moment the funeral service was over, Pedro would have to come back to his work again. He apologized a hundred times for not being able to stay longer with you, but you assured him it was alright, not forgetting to thank him for coming all the way just to be with you.

He said goodbye with one of his warm hugs and a peck on the cheek, that landed way too close to your lips, it didn't matter if it was on purpose or not. The damage had already been done.

From the moment you realized he had left his job - the thing you assumed he loved the most in life - for you without expecting anything in return. That familiar warmth in your chest appeared after months and months of it being dormant. It was hard to deny how much you loved Pedro.

•••

You had always heard horrible stories about women who agreed to becoming bridesmaids and had to deal with the infamous bridezilla. You were sure it wouldn't be Nat's case, but those women were not exaggerating when they said you would have to put a lot of effort, energy and even money to a moment that wasn't even yours.

While all the guests were comfortably sitting down, you along with the other girls and the bestmen had to stand up the whole ceremony. You knew the priest was probably saying beautiful words about love and stuff, as you could see the emotion in some people's eyes and how some of them even sniffed and shed one or two tears, but you were just not paying attention. Church services weren't really your thing, you tried really hard not to get bored, but it was too late, you were already bored.

That's why your eyes scanned the whole place, not really focusing on anything in particular, you just hoped time would go by faster and you wished you would all skip to the reception, because there were other things you wanted to do and mostly other people you wanted to talk to. You looked all over the church decoration and though it looked very beautiful and elegant you thought about how you would never have a wedding in a place like that. Then you watched Nat's wedding dress closely. Of course you'd seen it a couple of times already since the early stages of planning and preparing the wedding, but at that moment it looked different and you couldn't stop yourself from wondering if you'd ever get married at all and wear a pretty dress like that. You shook those thoughts away from your mine and looked at the guests absent-mindedly, not watching anything in particular until your eyes locked with Pedro's.

He didn't even blink and sustained your look, he was completely oblivious to a wedding happening just a few feet away from you, as you were really the only thing that mattered to him.

After flying to you for your uncle's funeral, you weren't able to meet again, as he was more and more caught up at work and you also had your own life. So when he got the invitation to the wedding, he didn't think twice before confirming his attendance, though he didn't really care that much about the bride and groom, he was still thankful to them.

You blushed softly and smiled big at him, he wasn't too distant, just a few rows away from the altar, close enough for you to see when he mouthed 'hermosa' making you look down in shyness. You knew Nat and Pedro had seen each other maybe five or six times and the only times she talked to him was to tell him how much her boyfriend - and now husband - loved Mandalorian. So you knew she had only invited him because of you and Pedro had only showed up to the wedding because of you as well. It felt quite good, you had to admit and for that, you even forced yourself to pay attention to the ceremony again.

Once the reception started you thought the fun would start as well, but you were wrong. Now, the bridesmaids duty kept you busy each passing second. First you had to follow the bride and groom to the photo session, then you had to assist the bride to make her big entrance, and after it you had to help her go to the restroom, which was the most chaotic part: four girls helping another lift up layers and layers of cloth in order to be able to pee.

And when you realized, it was already dinner time. As the food was served people stayed at their tables, usually guests were starving after the whole marathon of sitting through a long and tedious ceremony, then endless waiting until the bride and groom showed up.

The whole time you and Pedro exchanged looks and smiles, he even texted you in hopes to talk to you, but you were way too busy to check your phone, at the same time as soon as some guests recognized Pedro, he was bombarded with requests for selfies, autographs and girls throwing themselves at him. And he was way too nice to decline those requests even if it bothered him - though he declined the girls right away.

You thanked the heavens when dinner was finished, you knew the dance floor would be finally open to the guests until you remembered a very tacky wedding custom.

The bride was going to throw the bouquet. You pinched the bridge of your nose in embarrassment, you've always hated that moment, ever since you were a kid and your parents dragged you to relative's weddings.

Just a bunch of women going all savage over a couple of flowers made you cringe to the core, so you stepped aside and waited for the small crowd to gather. You tried to brush it off at the insistence of some people, but when Nat cleared her throat and gave you accusatory eyes, you even tried to argue. But she motioned her head towards Pedro and you saw him waiting for you to get in the small commotion. He had his hands inside his pocket and a dirty smirk, he couldn't wait to see you pick the bouquet, he was sure you'd look gorgeous.

You on the other hand felt embarrassed and awkward to stand there, Nat got in position and showed all the single ladies the bouquet, making them all shout in excitement. She looked at you and winked softly, and you gulped. Oh no, there was only one thing worse than fighting over a bouquet of flowers in front of a crowd of people, and that was definitely receiving the bouquet out of pity.

So when she threw it towards you, you stood still, making absolutely no move and watched it as it flew right past you.

You turned around and saw when two women were almost on the floor, struggling to get the bouquet. Nat frowned at you, confused as to why you didn't get it, you just shrugged at her. You didn't want to get married, there was only one thing you wanted to do, and when you thought you were finally able to do it, the DJ announced it was time for the waltz.

You rolled your eyes, as annoyance spread through your body. It had been hours all you were trying to do was to exchange a couple of words with Pedro, but that seemed impossible.

The guests all gathered around the bride and groom as they showed their rehearsed steps, some people swooning over them but you just looked around, trying to find Pedro, needing to see him and talk to him. But he wasn't there anymore.

Had he gone home? You knew he enjoyed parties, but you weren't sure about wedding parties, especially the ones where he was harassed every five minutes by people who insistently wanted pictures or just goof around a movie star.

But he wouldn't just leave you without saying goodbye, would he? Over the months your relationship became stronger even if you weren't physically close.

You were deep in thought as you felt someone touching your wrist, making you jump a little at the sudden touch and turned around, seeing Pedro standing there.

And he looked good. Very good.

He was wearing a dark suit, all in black. It hung tight to the right places as he looked absolutely like sin. His hair was messy like always and you caught a few gray streaks on his beard and that made you weak at the knees.

You smiled big and held his hand "Pedro! I thought you'd left!"

He raised his eyebrow and chuckled "do you really think I'd sit through a whole wedding and then leave before talking to the only reason why I'm here in the first place?" He held your hand and eyed you up and down, not even hiding how much he appreciated your looks "I don't mean to be one of those bitchy people who come to the party and trash talk it, but when we get married we'll have a lot less church and a lot more party"

Pedro's words stirred something inside of you, even if it was a joke, you felt yourself blushing.

"Too bad it won't happen, I mean, I didn't catch the bouquet so…" you replied in a shy way and made him laugh as well

"Yeah, well, we can figure this out later, right now I'd like to have a dance with the most beautiful girl at the party?" He offered his hand to you, and you hesitated at first

"It depends, Pedro" you saw his confusion, finding it quite amusing

"It depends on what, hermosa?" He questioned curiously

"Where's your plus one?" You saw how he frowned not really getting where you were going

"What plus one, Y/N? I came alone…"

You laughed softly and nodded, taking a step closer and accepting his invitation.

"I was just making sure, you know, I was friends with a guy once and he pulled such a jerk move, where he invited a plus one to a party and ditched her to dance with another girl and ended up taking this other girl home and left his plus one really heartbroken"

A deep shade of crimson spread through his face as he was at a loss of words for a while. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard.

"H-he sounds like a real dick" he replied a little self conscious, not sure if you were joking or playing games

"He really was, but I heard he managed to change into a better person and his plus one even forgave him after all"

His smile was wide and the relief in his eyes was visible as he wrapped his arms around your waist and glued your body to his. It was a slow ballad and you wrapped your arms around his neck at the same time you swayed your hips together.

"Thank you for forgiving me, I really missed you" he whispered against your ear, your faces were inches apart and you closed your eyes, his cologne lingering on your skin. You took your hand to the back of his neck, stroking his hair and feeling it softly between your fingers.

"We needed this, Pedro… I guess now we could start things over" you said and welcomed his lips against yours, as they crashed in a needy contact. You moaned lowly at the feel of his tongue against yours. His hands squeezed your waist and if you could get any closer to him, you would have, because you could swear that was not enough.

His kiss was intense and unlike the other times, he wasn't trying to overpower you and make you accept him playing dirty with your hormones, he was kissing you, feeling you and taking you as his. And you wanted it as much as he did.

When you broke the kiss, he nibbled your bottom lip, caressing your cheek and not giving a care in the world if someone filmed or photographed you.

You danced as if there was no tomorrow, as the ballad was over, you danced with Pedro to any kind of songs that came in the playlist, you had fun and when sexier songs came up, you dance even more, loving how you rubbed your body against his and Pedro never spared any neck kiss or groping your body.

By the time you could feel a tent against your ass, you turned to him, kissing his lips again.

"I guess it's time to get out of here, princesa" he whispered into your ear and squeezed your ass. You moaned against his lips as you couldn't agree more.

_____

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did, it was just so easy to write I was really into it. I loved it so much and I can't believe this series is almost over 😞 also, if y'all don't go soft on Pedro now I don't know what to do, LMAO

[dira333]

I run from the things that I want the most - Shoji x Reader

requested by @fuzztacular - this was a wild ride to write

Reader has a lizard quirk, this fic is in tune with this Tokoyami fic

“Cute,” Shoji thinks, lips pressed together tightly to make sure the word doesn’t slip out.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, fighting against sleep. Your hair’s stuck to the side of your head, no doubt from sleeping on your side, and the sleeves of your sweatshirt dangle from your arms, your hands hidden away. You always do that and while he’d never openly admit it, it’s the one thing that makes his stomach flutter every single time.

But he’s nice and respectful and he’s not going to make you feel weird in your new, shared apartment. Besides, you’re probably not interested anyway.

“Here,” he pushes a cup of coffee toward you and turns back toward the stove, “Do you want real eggs for breakfast or the vegan alternative?”

“Both is fine,” you groan into your coffee, so he checks the fridge. He’s running low on bacon, but the vegan alternative Koji brought over last time tastes like cardboard. Well, he supposes he can leave the bacon for you and eat cardboard for breakfast today.

- -

One month after you’ve moved in, things have turned a little less awkward. You’re in your room most of the time and he’s out for work during all the other hours.

Shoji knows you settled in from all the little things. 

Your conditioner is squeezed into the tiny tray with his things, your shampoo bottle sitting cozy on the bottom next to his. Sometimes, when he feels particularly lonely and awkward, he gets flustered looking at your toothbrush sitting in the same cup as his. 

But this is fine. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.

.

“I’m making dinner,” he calls out to your closed door. “Do you want something?”

He leans down to pull the pan out, the movement pulling at the fresh stitches. He hisses at the pain, clutches his side, and almost topples over.

Shoji’s barely regained his balance when he feels an arm under one of his, pulling him up.

“Are you okay?” You ask, breath washing over his face. It almost makes him topple over again.

“I’m fine,” he insists, but he can feel a sticky wetness on his left side. 

“You’re bleeding,” you point out and he groans. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Are you hurt?”

“A little,” Shoji confesses when your brows do that funny thing they did the first time you met. 

“What do you need?” 

“Food,” He snorts when you look wholly unimpressed. “I’m serious, I’m fine. I just… moved wrong. I think I pulled at my stitches, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you. Come on, call your doctor or nurse or whoever gave you permission to go home and tell them what you did. I’ll cook in the meantime.”

Shoji sighs and grabs his phone, makes it past the kitchen table when you turn around and snip your fingers.

“In here,” you point at the table, “Where I can hear that you’re not making light of anything.”

- - -

How does one make friends?

Shoji has never been good at it. 

It’s not like anyone ever gave him the manual everyone else seemed to be able to follow either.

He’s too quiet or says the wrong things, is too scary or not scary enough…

Sometimes, mostly when everyone he knows is out working or busy doing other stuff, he can’t help but wonder if he only has friends because he happened to come close to one Midoriya Izuku. 

Maybe that’s all it is.

.

The front door opens in the middle of his ruminations and you stop, halfway into the apartment, bags hanging off your shoulders. “Oh,” you say, “You’re home.”

Shoji freezes for only a second before he shakes his head.

“Just sitting around. If you want to use the living room I can read in my bedroom just as well.”

“You don’t have to,” you insist, “I was just going to watch something. I can do that in my room as well.”

“What were you going to watch?”

“Oh, you know…” You stutter out the name of a show he’s heard mentioned before.

“I don’t know that show,” he admits, “Would it be too forward if I watched it with you?”

.

 The show is quite interesting and he makes a mental note to catch up on it later.

You’re sitting tense, body crammed into the opposite corner. Maybe he’s readying all the signs wrong too.

Maybe you’re not shy like Fumikage said, but rather not interested.

“How did-” You start and he looks over. “Never mind.”

“Please?” 

You’re looking away and he’s already giving up hope when you speak up again.

“How did Tokoyami convince you?”

Shoji furrows his brows, a little confused.

“To let me move in,” you explain.

He blinks. “He just told me that you needed an apartment. Didn’t he tell you that I was looking for a roommate?”

“No, I got that, but-” You bite down on your lip and he looks away, intent on not making you uncomfortable. He’s probably doing a shit job at it as is. “I’m a girl.”

“I know.”

You’re now furrowing your brows and maybe you’re already losing patience with him or you’re really just trying to figure out how to explain this. 

“How did he convince you?” 

“Oh, he didn’t, but my cousin… you know, since they’re dating…” You’re rambling now, already gone far past the point you were trying to make. “And I thought maybe you’re looking for a girlfriend rather than a roommate-”

“I’m not.”

“Oh,” you make and he’d give his career to know if that just sounded a little disappointed to him or if it was meant that way.

“Not that I’m not interested,” he tries to explain himself, “But looking for it doesn’t really make sense if you don’t know how to look.”

Embarrassment floods him like a tidal wave. He’s staring at the screen now, hoping against hope that you didn’t realize what he meant by that.

“I know what you mean,” you point out, voice so quiet he almost misses it. When he turns you’re not looking at him, hands fiddling in your lap as you stare at the screen as well.

“So we’re both unfamiliar with how dating works?” He asks, unable to keep quiet, to just assume.

You nod, stiffly.

“Maybe we could give each other pointers,” the words slip out before he can wholly figure out what he wants them to mean.

You nod again, still not looking at him.

“How about,” he starts, looking down at his hands, all six of them. “Being friends?”

- - - x

“Morning,” Shoji greets when you slip out of your room. 

You wave in his approximate direction and drag yourself to the bathroom first. It’s getting colder and you can tell your body’s not pleased about leaving the warm cocoon you’ve built in your bed. 

You didn’t get all the cool benefits of your mother’s quirk, not like your cousin. You’re not even a little fireproof - you had to find out the hard way.

But just like any regular lizard you’ve got a problem regulating your temperature. 

Your eyes blink back at you a little less colorful today and the world has turned foggy. You bite back a groan and slip into an array of shirts to keep you warm. You know what it means, but if you can live a little longer in denial, you’ll take every minute of it.

.

“Breakfast’s ready,” Shoji calls out when you step out of the bathroom.

He doesn’t seem to feel the biting cold at all, wearing nothing but a tank top and sweatpants. The sight of his bare feet makes you shiver. The sight of his tanktop-clad shoulders makes you shiver too, but for a different reason.

It still felt like a fever dream some days, all of this. Moving in with your cousin right after College only for her to find the man of her dreams within six months of you living together. And she’d been so nice about it too, promising she’d never ask you to move out or leave you alone with a rent too high to pay alone. 

But one could only do so much third-wheeling before it became too much.

And now you’re here, already five months into living with Shoji, who’s probably the last decent man on earth.

He even cooks you breakfast every single day - well, minus the two weeks he was out of commission because he got stabbed at work.

“You don’t have to cook all the time, you know,” you point out when he slides a plate in front of you and sets a cup of coffee next to it. You can tell by the color that he did it exactly the way you like the most.

If you could get an award for being a good person, Shoji would have a record in getting gold medals.

“I know, but I like doing it. And you have enough on your mind in the mornings as is.” He points out before taking the seat opposite of you. His knee knocks against yours under the table. He doesn’t pull away. 

Sometime in the last month, after making it past spending time together watching a movie and talking to each other at least once each day, it has become a thing to touch. 

You had both agreed - in your weird study of what’s the difference between friends and lovers and how to find them - that touch was important. But touch was also… unfamiliar, sometimes weird, and sometimes not at all comfortable. 

The solution, as Shoji had proposed, seemed pretty simple: get used to it with someone you trust. You trust him. And he seems to trust you.

- - - x x

Your face is pressed against Shoji’s shoulder. He’s incredibly warm. So warm, in fact, that you want to do nothing more but crawl into his skin and stay there.

“I don’t think that’s going to work out,” he mumbles and you have half the mind to realize that you must have thought that out loud. 

“You’re a really good hugger,” you say, too tired to think of a proper compliment but not tired enough to keep quiet.

“Thanks,” he hums. “Warm now?”

“No,” you snuggle a bit further into him, “But I won’t be until my skin comes off.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” he says, “Is that why you’ve been trying to scratch your back lately?”

One of his hands scratches your back at exactly the point that had been itching you all week and you groan, eyes rolling back at the absolute relief. 

Shoji laughs, a quiet, comfortable sound. You want to drown in it.

He keeps scratching and you keep sinking, into him, into sleep, into this sea of comfort you call his arms.

His voice drifts around your head like clouds. You can barely make out the words.

“Would it be the wrong moment to tell you that I’m in love with you?

.

You wake up swaddled in blankets, stretched out on the Couch in the living room, no sight of Shoji.

Last night feels like a fever dream and your limbs feel heavy and hazy. When you pull your shirts off in the bathroom, a big patch of your old skin comes off too. It’s thin and leathery and you toss it in the trash, your whole body on edge.

It doesn’t hurt to shed your skin. It’s just… gross. Uncomfortable, weird. 

“Weirdo, Weirdo,” the kids had called out, pointing at you when the skin around your nose started flaking off in school.

“Ugh, that’s so gross,” a girl you had called a friend took her food and got up from the table, “I can’t watch that when I’m trying to eat.”

“I’m home,” A voice calls out from somewhere behind the door and you need a minute to recognize it in the midst of all your memories. 

“Bathroom,” you call back, rushing to turn the key. 

If you want to come back out, you need to look normal.

- - - x x x

“I bought groceries,” Shoji says when you open the door. You glance over, relieved to see him with his face in the fridge, organizing his stuff. “Do you want to have a salad or some snack stuff first?”

“Mhm, you decide,” your voice sounds weirdly choked up and you make sure you’re at your bedroom door before he looks up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, totally fine, everything’s fine.” You rush to add, “Just… Forgot I had something I needed to get done today.”

The door closes behind you before he can say anything.

You lean your back against it, but there’s no relief flooding through you, just embarrassment and shame. You look hideous right now, patches of old skin still sticking to your face. You don’t want to rip it off but you can’t show yourself to Shoji like that either.

Not when you-

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

His voice is muffled by the door, but he sounds close like he’s just on the other side of it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you insist. It’s not his fault you’re uncomfortable all of the time.

“Are you sure? What I said…”

You halt, turn to the door as if you could face him properly that way. 

“Wait, what did you say?”

“When you were falling asleep, I-” You press against the door as if that could make him speak faster. “I confessed to you.”

Time stands still. You’re pretty sure someone with a time-stopper quirk must have walked by and froze you. You cannot explain it otherwise.

It’s only when Shoji calls out your name that you realize you’re able to move, feet and all.

“Sorry, I just… I… Really?” The last word comes out a little high and broken, a little desperate and lonely, but you can’t take it back.

“Really,” he says and his tone matches yours just as perfectly as everything else he does.

You pull open the door, not at all mad to see him in your doorway, broad and safe and warm and tall, arms hovering as if he’s waiting for nothing else but to pull you in.

“Even if my face is gross?” You point at it, tears already running.

You don’t really expect him to have an answer to that. Even less that he moves to cradle your face in his hands.

“As an expert in gross faces, I don’t think your face is gross. I think it’s very cute.” 

“Your face is not gross,” you claim, moving to cradle his as well. “It’s really cute.”

A smile blooms on his face. “Really?” He asks, his tone not unlike yours before.

“Really.”

-x-x-x-

“Someone’s missing,” Sato points out, a giant cake balanced in his hands. He’s counting the heads, coming up short one. “Who’s missing.”

“No one’s missing,” Tokoyami pulls back Dark Shadow before it can wreak havoc on the cake. “Shoji’s just hiding his girlfriend.”

“I’m not hiding,” you call out from where you’re curled up in Shoji’s arms, “I’m cold.”

“She’s cold,” Shoji repeats and you can’t see his face but you can hear the content smile in his voice. “I’m warming her up.”

“Don’t make me regret showing up,” Sato huffs, setting down the cake. “Don’t remind me that I’m single all the time!”

“It’s a skill issue,” Ojiro jokes, tail hanging off the empty chair next to him, “You’re the only one left.”

“The only one left?” Sato gasps. “Koji? Really? Et tu, Brute?”

Koji ducks his head, smiling. You snuggle further into Shoji and grin.

It was a good idea to set Koji up with your coworker after all.

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[hxltic]

Just read like all of ur stuff and it’s so gooood! Saw ur post abt price ideas and what about one where he keeps pictures of you, sure there’s the cute ones but then there’s the spicy ones that he keeps as well and you find out but you’re not mad ikykik;))

You and Price have always had a healthy relationship; somehow always back and forth with harmless banter like an old couple, but the chivalry never seems to die. He was the sweetest thing, so sweet it seemed fake. Just like the movies.

The both of you would wake up and brush your teeth, the feeling so surreal in the morning you wouldn’t be surprised if a camera crew popped out of nowhere. You would make sure to make breakfast as he worked in his office.

The technology he used was so advanced, it hurt to look at the three widescreen monitors curved around the desk with several different screens and tabs pulled up. You just rest the plate beside him and lean down to peck him. He had his glasses on for work with papers stacked elsewhere.

And despite being focused, he will never deny your lips. He habitually leans up to find them. The brush of his perfectly sculpted facial hair never gets old.

Like you said, everything was so nice. Sometimes you worked out in the garden. Other times, you read a book or did pilates in the sunroom. Whenever you finished, your husband would either locate the bathroom and hug you from behind, his large biceps encasing almost your entire frame; or come in the bedroom and manually lay you out along the bed. His rough hands would treat you delicately, folding skin and tissue for a well-needed massage. God, you were spoiled.

Life was good. With no kids too? You were his one and only. His main priority.

And don’t even mention when you both go out for dinner. The dress you wear sculpts your body just right, your pretty breasts on display for him all night. He comes around the hood to open the car door for you, plus have his large hand awaiting yours patiently. A soft smile with his tight eyes leads you out of the vehicle.

Your heels clank along the pavement until the valet directs the car away, his arm wrapped around your waist until it disconnects to hold the wide restaurant door open for you. You kiss his cheek on your way in while attempting not to smudge the red on his face.

Once you sit, you go to place the strap of your purse along the back of the chair. He offers to hold it on his side for you.

“Hello and how is everyone doing on this fine evening,” the waiter starts, “My name is Jack and I will be serving you both today.”

Jack passes out the menus and John plucks it to read. He slightly squints without his glasses, but only a little. You smile at the observation.

“Is there anything special going on today?” Jack glances between the two of you.

“Not necessarily,” John shifts and gestures to you politely, “dinner with my lady.”

Sometime later Jack finally leaves, leaving you and your husband. You admire the place around you and the atmosphere. It was warm inside with low lighting, a flickering candle and a centerpiece being the only thing separating you two but a large chandelier decorating the ceiling. A plus about being married to him is that you two definitely weren’t low on money. And with no kids, he had no problems spending it.

You two talk like normal. It was so comfortable: your spot in life, your relationship with him, the environment knowing there’s a trained man by your side—you couldn’t ask for anything more.

Sometimes he’ll just gaze at you with pure delight, and the sight makes you smile back at him.

“What?” you blush and your face brightens.

“You’re a beauty.” he replies. He was taking a mental picture with the perfect lighting, your done hair, beautiful eyebrows, eyes, dress, everything about you. And on top of that, the necklace from the day you got married rested just above your breasts.

. .

After dessert, you conversed with him until the waiter returned. Suddenly, he gently takes the napkin and rests it on the table.

“I’ll be right back; have to go the restroom.”

You nod patiently as he arises and proceeds to walk on. He halts beside your seat and places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“You alright?”

You nod again, but just in case it wouldn’t suffice, a soft “yes” falls from your lips. You know that you’re the happiest thing to happen to him, and he’d be damned if something from his own profession took that away. His head slightly dips affirmative before he fishes out his wallet and holds it to you.

You really were just going to wait until he came back, but this was better. You take it from him and flip it between your fingers to keep you occupied.

Dinner with him was so good you never even thought about your phone. And in the slim chance you did, it would make you feel bad or improper to use it. Of course he wouldn’t mind if you took a glimpse or shot a quick message, but it’s just your mental.

Jack comes around with the check, and just as quick as he came, he left. In the other hand there was a hot plate of food.

You skim the thin paper and make sure everything was calculated correctly. Your fingers unfold the black, leather wallet currently in your hands, then search for the card you notice he always picked on this occasion.

Your nails proved a problem in retrieving it from its pocket but it doesn’t stop you. You slip it behind the clear plastic of the book.

Jack comes back around.

You could wait for John to sign it, but it would take longer, so you decide to just sign it anyway. Was it illegal? Maybe.

Once the final receipts in the book are placed in front of you, you receive the card, slide it back in its previous position, then sign the tip off.

Your bag was across the table, but you trusted the security of the restaurant. So instead, you unfold the wallet and look around.

His I.D, Driver’s license, military registration stuff, A line of cards, some cash, and a picture. Of you. You’re in the sun smiling, the picture hazy and the glow on your face bouncing off your eyes. You wore a pretty sundress.

You try your best to pull it out without disturbing anything else, and when you do, you almost gasp in the restaurant when it unfolds.

There was a long list of them, some more innocent than others. And when you finally realize just how non-innocent the others were, a red flushes across your cheeks, accompanying the blush you had already put on.

One was in the lingerie you bought for his birthday. Another was you both at the bar, but only you were in the picture, the dress high on your thighs and a drink pulled up to your lips flirtatiously. That one wasn’t that bad, especially compared to the one right under it.

It was taken from behind, your arch on display. Obviously you had no clothes on—though you couldn’t see much but your loose hair, your back, only a hint of under-boob pressed into the bed sheets, and his single ring-adorned right hand holding on to yours. the picture cut off down about three fourths of your back.

Your left hand was gripping onto the sheets for life.

Your face wasn’t in it, and they were all pictures you had no problems with him taking, but the fact that he keeps them in his wallet is something you wouldn’t have thought of in a million years. Before you hold them out too long in a fancy restaurant, you fold them up and put it back.

You rest it on the table and sit your hands in your lap. Right on cue, he returns.

“Are you ready?”

He doesn’t bother to sit down and instead grabs your purse for you. He notices your quick movements and quietness. He’s picked up attentive habits being in the forces so long, so he can’t ignore how red you are. He places your bag on the table.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly. Your chin lifts with his thumb on it and another under.

“I’m okay,” you say, a lot lighter than usual. This prompts you to stand before he can get a good look at your countenance. He watches you move swiftly, then reaches for his wallet— but then it hits him like a truck.

In realization, he holds the wallet up and stares at it, then back at you. A cheeky grin grows on him, and he’s prepared to tease you for the rest of the day. It starts when you grab your purse and speed walk away, aware that he’s figured it out. He also knows you’ve been snooping.

. .

You get home, and once you thought he’d forgotten, you return to your bubbly self again. It only retreats when he’s on a knee, undoing the strap of your heels.

“Thank you baby. I love you,” you grin.

“Always. I love you too sweetheart,” he slides it off and massages your calf. “Love you so much I carry you around everywhere I go.”

You’re not sure if he did it on purpose, but your thoughts immediately trailed to earlier. You blush all over again.

He chuckles deeply as you now look away from him, but warm lips and a bit of his hair meet the slope of your foot.

©️ hxltic

[thewulf]

It Takes Time || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Summary: Request - Maybe where you're Iceman's daughter and assisting Maverick with teaching the daggers and everyone's respecting you. But due to everything in him telling him to not do it, Bradley Bradshaw falls for you and you resist him... Read Rest Here

A/N: 3 x 1 – the three times you and Bradley nearly cross the line and the one time you do. Changed up the request a bit, hopefully you don’t hate it. I love a good comfort, especially when its Bradley Bradshaw.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Y/N

Word Count: 4.5k +

One – The Meeting

“And your teachers for this mission, Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, and Captain Y/N “Sunny” Kazansky.” Cyclone introduced the two of you. Your father had called in a favor and got you stationed back at Top Gun out to help your fathers longtime friend out. Mav was like an uncle to you at this point. With your recent promotion to Captain, it was time to test the waters out as a more senior leader anyway.

You heard the murmurs. You were sure they were all curious as to who the two of you were. They all likely knew about Mav. You’d flown under the radar as much as possible. Your eyes darted around the room until they landed, and stayed, on the handsome looking brown curly haired pilot with doe eyes who was staring right at you. You subtly looked back at Maverick careful not to look back at the unashamed pilot. He, however, couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He’d heard about you. Just as ruthless as your father in the sky but as sweet as could be on the ground, hence your callsign Sunny. You’d all but managed to draw his attention away from Maverick, the man he swore he would hate for as long as he lived.

What Bradley wasn’t expecting was your sheer beauty as you stood next to Mav. You’d moved up through the Naval rankings quickly and everybody talked about that, but nobody had mentioned just how fucking pretty you were. Sure, he’d seen pictures, but you’d always been covered by a helmet or bandana. Now that you were standing him front of him he was at a loss from words. He had a hard time drawing his gaze away from you even as Mav called on him. He gulped knowing he was in grave trouble.

“Captain Kazansky, how’s your father doing?” The blonde pilot sitting towards the front asked before Maverick could get into the spiel he had planned. You cocked your eyes towards the pretty boy. Why was he asking? Did he know your fathers cancer was back and more bitter than ever? Or was the pilot simply just trying to make a name for himself? You knew who he was, but you didn’t know how he acted. That was the only problem with learning about a person through a sheet of paper.

“He’s wonderful. Thanks for asking Lieutenant.” You didn’t give him a smile nor a frown, emotionless. You studied him as he studied you. You saw Mav give you the side eye, a break in your voice indicating that was anything but the truth. Mav decided he wouldn’t push you right now, not when you looked like you were going to break down. Only he could know that though. He’s known you your entire life. He knew your tells. You’d never flown with the pilots in front of you. They were none the wiser to the giveaways. But Mav knew. Admiral Kazansky was not alright. Maybe, just maybe, that’s why he was here.

Mav cleared his throat letting the class know he meant business now. He started his speech with the overdramatic manual throwing. You told him he was being over the top. He clearly disagreed and went with you. He got the reaction from the class that he wanted with that stupid little Maverick smirk spread across his face. While you were watching Mav and thinking of the blonde boy and his angle Bradley had kept his eyes trained on you. He couldn’t get enough of you. Not even with Maverick standing right there next to you. He didn’t seem to matter.

When Mav dismissed the class you hung back waiting for the room to clear. You were doing the coaching and teaching from the ground today while Mav taught in the air. Not paying much attention as you put the chairs back in line you hadn’t noticed Bradley hanging back with you. He wasn’t selected in the first group to go flying so what’d he have to lose? He had time to change and get ready.

“You’re the admiral’s daughter?” He spoke breaking your concentration. He shied away seeing you jump out of your skin.

Spinning around on your heel, you weren’t aware you had an audience, “One of them, yes.” You nodded eyeing him over. Bradley Bradshaw. You knew everybody in the class already. You knew his dad flew with Maverick. You knew he and Mav were in rocky waters right now after Mav pulled his papers all those years ago. You knew so much about him, but he knew nothing of you. It almost felt like you were cheating a bit.

He gave you a curt nod, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Your eyebrow raised at that one, studying him, he’d heard a lot about you huh? You could’ve said the same, for much different reasons. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have a clue though.

He continued on seeing as your curiosity didn’t falter, “People talk. A lot. Especially about the admirals daughter who is actually good. Almost as infamous as Maverick.” His tone of voice changed to one of a bitter man once he referred to his long-lost father figure he’d grown to love throughout the years.

“I’m taking that as a compliment, Bradshaw.” You smiled taking a step towards the much taller man. His picture really didn’t do him justice. While the blonde pilot was pretty, Bradley was strikingly handsome. Exactly your type. You swore off pilots long ago though, you knew who they were through and through. You were one of them. You knew exactly how they thought. How the job came first, the job always came first.

Enjoying his surprised reaction, you simply waited for a reply. He seemed a little tongue tied as you eyed him. You didn’t notice his stuttering as you were taking him in, all of him.

He nodded his head rapidly once your eyes landed back on his, “You should Sunny.”

Two – The Time You Knew You Liked Him

“Whatcha reading there Sunshine?” Bradley’s voice made your eyes tear away from the page quickly. It was your usual lunchtime ritual. Get your stuff and head outside for an hour to eat and read. The only time you could get away from the chaos of the day.

Closing the book you handed it to him, “Pride and Prejudice?” He asked turning the worn-down book in his hand.

You hummed, “My favorite.”

He sat down next to you on the picnic bench you were sitting at, “Why’s that?” He asked genuinely. You were opening up to him and he’d take anything. He wanted to know anything and everything about you. The more he knew the deeper he fell. It was inevitable really.

You thought for a moment before answering, “Because love is messy, fucked up and not always up to just the one you love. It dives into so many different messed up scenarios and navigates through them flawlessly. Lizzie is just, she’s the perfect narrator for her own story.”

He looked awestruck at your answer. He knew you were smart, but you were eons ahead of him. No wonder you’d risen to Captain so quickly. It just made sense. You were truly the whole package. Smart, beautiful, funnier than he could’ve ever thought. He liked you a whole lot and he was on a mission to make you like him just the same.

“Have you read it before?” You asked all too curiously.

He shook his head looking at it, “No, mind if I borrow it after your done?” He didn’t miss a beat. If it was your favorite he was sure as hell going to go stop by the bookstore and pick up a copy on his way home. He’d read the whole damn thing tonight if it meant he’d see that smile tomorrow when he talked about it with you. He was smitten. And he was completely fine with it. You’d managed to do it without even trying too. He knew it was over for him.

Beaming up to him you simply nodded, “Take it. It’s yours to borrow. Treat her well though. I’ve had that copy since college.”

He held it down to his abdomen tightly, “Consider her protected, at all costs.”

You grinned playing along with him, “I expect nothing less B.”

“B?” He cocked his head towards you. He had to admit it sounded damn good rolling off your tongue.

“Yeah, for Bradley. Get it?” You smirked this time playing along with him.

He shook his head while pinching your hip. A small yelp and a shiver of goosebumps erupted from his touch. Damn. Your body was reacting to him now? It might have as well been over for you too.

“Yes Sunny. I get it.” He leaned over whispering in your ear, “And I love the way it sounds coming from you.”

“Fuck off Bradshaw.” You pushed him off biting your lip to stop the smile that was forming.

“Yes Captain.” He just knew how to get right on under your skin didn’t he?

“You’re so annoying.” You laughed loving the time you got to spend with him. He made it so damn easy.

You made it easy for him too, “You love it though.”

“Maybe, just maybe, I do.”

Three – The Moment You Fell In Love With Him

The Lieutenants had just finished up Mavericks bastardized game of football on the beach. You opted on watching from the sidelines, far too much testosterone on the beach for your liking. You couldn’t help but to have your eyes drawn to Bradley’s chiseled frame. God, he was fucking hot, and he knew it. The way he walked around all cocky had you feeling some type of way. Who would’ve thought you’d have a thing for a guy with a cute ass mustache anyway?

“You should really look at somebody else if you didn’t want to make it too obvious Y/N.” Penny smirked walking right on up to you.

A light blush was surely rising on your cheeks, “What are you talking about Penny?” Pursing your lips, you turned your eyes away from his perfectly sweaty body that was literally glistening in the setting sun. Fuck, you were toast.

Her smile was one of a woman who knew more than she was letting on, “Bradley Bradshaw is what I’m talking about Kazansky.” Her cool smirk let you know she knew exactly how you were feeling.

“Am I making it that obvious?” Knowing you weren’t going to be able to talk yourself out of this one you just leaned into it.

She shrugged, “You’ve been eyeing him like a candy bar for the last twenty or so minutes.”

“Can you blame me?” You bit your lip in sheer frustration. Why him? Why a pilot? Why did he have to hate Pete? Why’d it have to be so damn complicated.

A soft laugh came from your longtime family friend. Growing up in San Diego meant that you’d spent your fair share of time with Penny and Amelia. You’d babysat Amelia while you were in high school and she was just a baby.

“He’s not the one I’m looking at.” Wiggling her eyebrows she laughed once more seeing your disgusted face.

“Please don’t talk about Pete like that to me.” A fake gagging noise came from your mouth at the thought

Her laughter continued drawing the attention of Bradley. He grinned seeing you and Penny on the sidelines having your own type of fun. He’d tried relentlessly to get you to join the game, but you were adamant about sitting this one out. Getting trucked by a bunch of six-foot men just didn’t sound super ideal to you.

When you looked back over to him you caught his eyes on you. You flashed him a bright smile while giving him a nervous wave. You’d caught him but he wasn’t looking away, no. No, he was looking right into your damn soul with those eyes. Even from that distance away. You were thankful the sun was out, and you could just blame the blush on the sun.

When Mav blew the final whistle Penny said her goodbyes before finding her boyfriend. Shaking your head and turning away you weren’t expecting Bradley to be right behind you, but here he was. Certainly not shy.

“Bradley,” You laughed off your nerves, “You played well out there.”

He smirked loving the fact that you were watching him, “You think?” He was fishing and he knew it. He loved it when he could break you out of your tiny little shell. He knew he made you nervous, in a good way of course, and he had to figure out how to lean into it. Keep that feeling but calm those nerves just a bit.

Rolling your eyes you shoved his arm playfully, “Yes Bradley. You played great.”

“Thanks honey.” He winked knowing that’d surely throw you for a loop. When your eyebrows raised in sheer confusion he only smiled harder wanting so desperately to grab for a hand but there were far too many prying eyes for that.

“Honey?”

He nodded, “Would you prefer pretty? Darling?  My dove?” His smile only grew in size when he saw your scowl.

“Shut up Bradley.” You knew he was messing with you. He always did.

But something was different this time. His tone of voice? The way he looked at you when he spoke? “I’m not kidding Sunny. I won’t call you that if you don’t want me too though.” So Bradley, leaving the choice up to you. Always making sure you were

You spoke far too quickly in response, “I didn’t say that.” It was like word vomit coming out of your mouth.

It made Bradley far too happy, “Alright darling.” He leaned down closer to you making sure nobody was here, “If we were alone right now I’d ask to kiss you. But since we aren’t we’re just going to have to save that for later, yeah?” He was all too sure of himself now. Especially when he saw the way your mouth dropped a little and eyes shot right to him with nothing but lust in them. He’d done it. He’d won you over.

Before you could answer though a much different voice interrupted your conversation, “Hey mister.” A small hand pulled on Bradley’s much larger one. Both of you looked down at the much smaller child.

“Hey kid.” He smiled warmly to the young boy. So easily he shifted his focus away from the heated exchange and to the boy.

“Uhm, can you play with us?” Your heart about melted right then and there. The soft little doe eyes from the small boy got you. The kid motioned to the football in Bradley’s hand afraid he might say no.

You weren’t sure what he was about to say. You wouldn’t blame him if he found some excuse because he was tried, hungry and wanted to cuddle up on the couch with you. But that wasn’t him, no. That wasn’t Bradley at all.

“You betcha.” He smiled down to him, “Go long.” He waited for the kid to sprint off before throwing the ball down the beach towards him.

“Have fun.” You giggled to yourself seeing the happiness in Bradley’s eyes.

“You know it pretty. Wait up for me, yeah? I can drive you home. Go get yourself a beer. I’ll buy it for you.”

You nodded quickly at his suggestion, “You know where I’ll be Bradshaw.” You smiled waving him off as you walked towards The Hard Deck. Oh boy, Penny and Pete were about to have a field day with this one. You were a goner that was for sure. Turning around and watching him run around with a bunch of eight years old’s made your heart swell ten times. Goner for sure.

Four – The Morning Mav Knew There Was Something More

You weren’t really ready to come back. But you had to. Your bereavement time was up and you didn’t have any vacation to spare. Your father was gone, and you had to accept it. The world continued spinning and so did your life. It didn’t make it any easier though. You’d gotten to work and just sat in the room waiting for the class to trickle in. You were there hours early. Sleep was hard to come by these days for you. It’d only been two weeks since he passed. Two weeks on this earth without your dad. It felt far too fucking lonely without him here.

The mission was only a few days away now. You were back in time to see this through. You weren’t ready though. Not in the slightest. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there staring at the white board in front of you before hearing the door open and close.

Not turning towards the sound only looking forward you were surprised hearing Bradley’s voice, “There you are.” Your head snapped up seeing his exasperated gaze, “You weren’t answering your texts or calls. I got worried so I went over to your place. Didn’t see your car so I came here. Had me scared shitless Y/N.” He was frowning as he slipped into the chair next to you.

“I’m sorry Bradley.” You looked down and away from Bradley feeling all too uncomfortable with his upset gaze on you.

He shook his head afraid he upset you, “Are you alright?” He brushed his fingers under your chin turning your head towards him. His lips pursed when he saw the trail of tears falling down your face. Clearly, you weren’t alright.

Despite all that you still nodded your head, “I’m okay.”

His frown only made the tears continue to spill, “Honey.” And that was all it took for the waterworks to commence. Full on sobs racked throughout your body as you let yourself finally breakdown in his arms. He pulled you onto his lap, annoyed by the small seats. Cradling you close he just let you cry it out. He, of all people, knew exactly how this felt. How suddenly empty you felt. Even if you had all the time in the world to prepare. You’d never hear his voice again. See his face. He was all but memories now, fading at that.

Bradley watched the door making sure nobody saw you in such a fragile state. Not here. He cradled you in his arms while whispering sweet nothings in your ears trying to ground you back to the present. It was hard. Impossible. You’d only lost him two weeks ago and here you were, back to work. Bradley couldn’t imagine that.

“I’m so sorry.” You mumbled once the tears stopped flowing and you’d successfully soaked through his uniform. Not bearing to look at him you kept you head buried in his chest.

“There’s nothing to apologize for pretty.” He kept cradling you, so long as you wanted it. So long as you needed it. So long as you clung to him so desperately.

You took long deep breaths not in the mood to argue with him. Bradley just watched as you calmed yourself down. Clearly embarrassed by the outburst. He knew it was the first of many. You’d have good days, and you’d have days far worse than this. He knew. He was ready to be there for you.

As shitty as you were feeling the cute little terms of endearment he used to calm you down did make your heart sputter as your finally processed his words, “Thank you Bradley.” Mumbling into his chest you couldn’t bear to break the embrace he had you in. It felt too damn good with him holding you like you were the most precious treasure in the world.

His hand brushed down your hair and back in a steady rhythm, “Anytime. Any day. Any minute. Any second.” He leaned down giving your forehead a light kiss. The shiver that ripped down your body might have been a dead giveaway at how you felt when he did so. That’s as far as he’d go though. He couldn’t push you now. Not when you were grieving and broken. He knew he needed to step up and be your comfort now. Hold you when you needed. Let you cry it out even at the weirdest hours of the day. Grief was a bitch, and he had a front row ticket to it. His life seemed like nothing but grief. He knew how to handle it.

Bradley was so focused on you. And you were so focused on hiding from his gaze that neither hadn’t heard the door open and shut. Pete walked in silently, as he always did, not expecting to see the scene before him. Bradley gently rubbing your back as your body was curled into him. It didn’t surprise him per say. He’d noticed the two of you had gotten closer over the last few weeks. Pete paused thinking of what he should do. He could walk out but that risked somebody else catching the two of you. Relationships weren’t forbidden they were just… highly frowned upon. And Ice would be awfully mad at Mav if he let his daughter get in trouble for something so stupid. Especially when you clearly needed it. More now than ever.

Pete did all he could think to do, he coughed. He watched at you shot up from Bradley quickly backing away from him. Pete’s heart could’ve broken right then and there seeing your tear-stained cheeks and disheveled hair. You looked broken.

“I’m so sorry sir. I just…” You gulped rubbing the haziness out of your eyes. You didn’t have an excuse. Bradley was just looking at you with sorrow in his eyes. Pete looked at you with pity.

“Why don’t you take the day Captain?” Pete suggested instead of acknowledging your apology.

You shook you head, “I can’t, I don’t have the time.”

Pete walked over handing you your coat off the top of the desk it was resting on, “I’ll cover. Go. You too Lieutenant.” Pete looked at Bradley giving him a curt nod letting him know it was fine. Mav knew you needed Bradley.

He looked a little shocked but stood from his seat, “Mav, are you sure?”

He nodded, “Take care of her.” He nearly whispered as he walked away from the pair. He walked right on out of the room giving you the space you needed. You could’ve broken down right then and there again had Bradley not pulled you from your thoughts. You felt all the love from your pseudo uncle, so thankful he was in your life.

Bradley pulled you towards the door gently, “You wanna change or just go home?” Bradley asked softly careful not to startle you.

“Home.” You looked up to him afraid you’d run into Phoenix or Halo in the locker room. They’d never judge you. It was just easier to avoid it altogether though.

Giving your hand a squeeze, he smiled right at you, “Let’s go home then honey. We can watch some trashy reality television and order some disgustingly greasy food if you want.”

For the first time in a long time a small smile came to your face, “That sounds perfect B.” He smiled even brighter at that. He adored it when you’d used that nickname on him. If he were honest he’d fallen in love with everything about you. Your laugh. Your smile. Your personality above all else. You were truly like nobody he’d ever met before. He’d be damned to let that slip away from him, not without a fight.

“Follow me out. I’ll drive us home.” You nodded doing as he said. Keeping your face hidden until you got to his truck. The ride home was silent. Bradley talked occasionally breaking you from whatever fucked up thoughts were coursing through your even more messed up brain. It was driving you crazy how much of prisoner you felt your very own brain. You wanted to be happy, to smile but it just wasn’t coming. Not until you fully accepted his death. Your dad wasn’t coming home. Never again. That was a hard cross to bear.

You cuddled up to him on the couch once you got back to your place and the two of you changed. Bradley promised to stay for as long as you’d have him. Joke’s on him though, you’ll never kick him out.

“Can I ask you something?” You questioned him once the two of you had settled on Vanderpump Rules and some pizza. Your favorite comfort food.

“Anything.” Once again he brushed your hair with his hands knowing it calmed you instantly.

“How’d you do it? Losing your mom? Your dad?” You’d asked the question you’d been so afraid to ask before. But y

“Time.” He answered you truthfully, “It takes time.”

You sighed knowing that was likely the answer he was going to give you but not the one you’d wanted to hear, “I was afraid you’d say that.” Your voice wobbled, on the brink of another fresh set of tears.

Bradley pulled you closer, “But I’m here. I’ll be here through everything. The ups, the downs, the bumps. It all. You have me. You have your siblings, your mom. You have people here for you pretty.” He kissed your forehead once more.

You felt a few tears fall at that. Looking up to him you had to ask, “Why? Why are you being so kind to me?”

Shaking his head, he used the pads of his fingertips to wipe the fresh tears away, “I like you. A whole lot more than I really should.” He admitted, laying it all out there for you, “You’re Incredible Sunny. The most incredible woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m here for you. If you’ll have me.”

Ever the gentleman he was. Always leaving it up to you, “You like me?”

He laughed, throwing his head back in amusement, “I think I’ve been rather obvious Kazansky. But yes. I like you. A lot.” He didn’t want to throw the L word out just yet. That was far too soon. But he knew he loved you. He loved every single inch of you. He knew he’d love you for a long, long time to come to. He’d truly, never felt so sure

“Oh,” You grinned feeling the tears dry up, “Then please stay. Stay for a long time.”

He brushed the stray strands of hair out of your face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like you too. A lot.” Squeezing his hip with your hand you hid your face in his chest feeling all too exposed at that admission of your feelings. It never came easy.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Y/N Kazansky, you just made me the happiest guy in the world.”

“Yeah?” You peaked up at him with a grin on your face. Red face of exposure be damned.

“Oh yeah baby.” He cradled you close feeling every joyful emotion course through him. He got you. He fucking got you. He wasn’t going to let this one slip. No. It may take some time to figure it out but that’s what life was about. Time.

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[kybercrystals94]

First Brothers

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 6 | Prompt 6: This isn’t going to work. 

Rated: G | Words: 720 | Summary: Rex and Fives have a conversation about past brothers. | Character Focus: Rex, Fives, Echo 

“This isn’t going to work.” 

“Humor me.”

Fives sniffs at the steaming beverage and makes a face. “Ugh, why does it smell like that?” 

“Just drink it,” Rex says, patience wearing thin.

Fives takes a tiny sip. “It tastes worse than it smells!” 

“Maker, Fives! Drink it before I pour it down your throat myself!”

Fives glowers at the offending concoction a moment before he pushes it away, the glass bottom of the thick mug grating across the tabletop. “Captain, you can threaten me all you like, but I’m not drinking that. It’s disgusting.” 

“It’s kriffing Sapir Tea, Fives! It’s supposed to be soothing.”

“Well, I don’t feel very soothed with you yelling at me,” Fives grumbles. He pokes the mug of tea further in Rex’s direction. “You drink it. You seem to need it more than I do.” 

Rex glares at him, but takes the mug anyway, gripping it in both hands. The warmth against his palms reminds him of rainy nights on Kamino before he was deployed for active duty. A lifetime ago, sitting with his batchmates, speculating what the promised war might be like. He’d been so naive back then. All of them had. Flash training taught them everything and nothing. The stain of a brother’s blood on shiny, white armor was a lesson they’d not prepared for in the sterile environment of Kamino. 

Rex turns the mug in his hands. “I’m not yelling at you,” he mutters at Fives. 

Fives leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “I beg to differ,” he says, but Rex sees the mirth in the eyes identical to his own. “Did you call me down here just to bully me into drinking your weird boiled leaf brew?”

Rex sighs and decides to rip the bacta patch off. “When you mentioned you’ve been having trouble sleeping,” he admits, “I thought you might want to talk about it.” 

Fives groans, dropping his forehead to his arms. “Ah, c’mon, Rex. I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“It’s been a year.” 

“I know.”

Rex brings the mug up and sips at the scalding tea, waiting. 

Fives doesn’t lift his head but a sigh sifts through the barrier like a hiss. “What do you want me to say, Rex? We lose brothers everyday. Good brothers. It’s the only sure thing in this war.” 

“It is,” Rex agrees. 

Fives sits up, rubs a heavy hand across his eyes. “Echo isn’t more important than any of them.” The ARC keeps his sharp gaze focused on the wall past Rex’s shoulder, not meeting his eye. 

“I never said he was.” Rex puts down his mug. “But he was one of your first brothers. That means something.” 

Fives’ expression softens at that. “I’m the last Domino,” he says, then chuckles bitterly and adds, “I always thought Echo would be.”

“Why?” Rex asks. 

Fives shrugs, but doesn’t explain further. He changes the subject instead, finally looking at Rex again. “I bet Echo would like your kriffing tea.” 

“That’s because Echo had taste,” Rex says. 

Fives barks out a laugh. “You’re talking about the man who read and memorized regulation manuals during his downtime.” 

Rex chuckles. “I didn’t know he memorized them.” 

Fives scoffs. “Oh, yeah. He was worse about it when we were cadets. Between parroting regulations and orders, he more than earned his name.” 

“That’s why his name was Echo?” 

“He tried to make us stop, but that just made the name more compelling.” 

The floodgates open, and Fives regales Rex with stories about his brothers, the ones Rex had and hadn’t met…and the one Rex had known well enough to feel his absence like a reverberating wound. Rex finishes his tea, but he and his little brother reminisce long into the night. 

|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|<<>>|

“What’s this?” Echo asks.

Rex glances up from an intercepted report he’s been pouring over. Echo is examining Rex’s tin of Sapir Tea, turning it over in his hand. Echo doesn’t wait for an answer before he opens the lid and sniffs at the contents inside. “Smells good,” he comments, almost to himself. 

Rex grins. “Tastes better. Make us both a cup, will you?”

The last Domino smiles at him. “Sure thing, sir,” he says, even though Rex has told him repeatedly, like an echo, that he’s not a captain anymore. 

But old habits die hard. 

END

I can't believe we are already 6 days into April! I feel like it just started!! See below for links to all our stories thus far!

Prompts Completed:

@the-little-moment (1. Homesick / 4. Longing)

@just-here-with-my-thoughts (2. Frozen / 5. Self Surgery)

KyberCrystal94 (3. Broken Hearted / 6. This isn't going to work)

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Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb

[hellfire--cult]

So I just finish reading second chance at Cupid and I gotta say I love it and I would love to hear more about those two .

I would like to think Eddie took her to see the place where he grew up and told the reader everything about his past including his band .

And the reader bought Eddie his guitar so he could play for her..

And I just got to say it was perfectly written and a really unique story ..

OMG my first request!

Thank you so much for your words I really appreciate it! I am so happy you liked it! I got a little carried away with the Returning to Hawkins request, so here we go! Prepare you tissues!

SCAC ❤️ - Back to Hawkins

Read Second Chance at Cupid

WC: 4.4K

Warnings: +18 angst, mentions of suicide, depression, nostalgia, mentions of death and anguish, fluff, overall, crying for Eddie.

Summary: Eddie introduces you into his past, but you don't think you would encounter certain people along the trip, and Eddie finally brings closure to his long life.

A/N: I cried while writing this, I am so sorry...

“Seriously, this takes away the fun of driving darling.” Eddie exclaimed for the tenth time this afternoon. You were on your way to Hawkins, his home town before becoming cupid himself. He had never returned to that place, saying that only bad memories reside in it. 

“Don’t bash on my automatic car Eddie!” You say with a giggle as you look into your gps, signaling that you were close. He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“In my days, you drove with a stick, manually, like a man.” He says and you can’t help but laugh at his words. You sometimes forget that he is actually like 60 years old, but looks 23. You were afraid that time would get to him, as if it was lost in some space and dimension and he would look 60 instantly. 

But it didn’t. It was as if his life cycle had a pause and now it started once again. 

“Sure thing grandpa.” 

“What did you just call me?” He jabbed a finger to the side of your rib, causing you to giggle and he smiled at you, to then get his eyes on the road again. The GPS signaled to turn right, and as Eddie did, he could see the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign coming up ahead. He clenched tightly onto the steering wheel as regret started filling his insides. He didn’t want to face his past, but you lit up so much when he told you about his birthplace, excited to see it one day.

And now here you both are.

But Eddie was anything but excited. He was the whole other spectrum of it. He was anxious, nervous, sad, and nostalgic. Everything all at once. You noticed the whiteness of his knuckles and you looked at him with a frown to your eyebrows. You reached out and put a hand on top of his over the wheel and he shot you a small smile as a thanks.

The first thing you noticed was the amount of woods that were in the area, looking all around. Thank god you didn't bring Dorito with you, because he was such an indoor cat that you were afraid of him getting lost easily. Gladly, Steve offered to take care of him while you were gone, but that's another story for another time.

“In 1983, a little boy called Will Byers disappeared into the woods.” Oh, you heard that story, your dad told it to you so you wouldn’t go running alone through the trees. “It was a fucking mess, people searching everywhere, knocking at every door, and stuff. Turns out, the boy had a broken ankle and couldn’t walk, near the shore of one of the lakes. He was actually very bright, hiding in between bushes in case a predator would come up.” 

“You sound like you met him.”

“I did! Back in 1986, when he entered freshman year with his friends. I had a club, Hellfire Club, and it was only for DnD campaigns!” Eddie had already told you about his dungeon master days, telling you he has an itch to play that can’t possibly compare to anything else. You were sad that you couldn’t play with him, since you have no knowledge of it, but you did indulge him into Facebook groups that organize meetings. He could make friends and make his own guild if that goes well.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to play, but he said , in a very sad tone, that it’s not the same without his friends.

“Yeah I remember that… I wonder if your club still stands!” You said excitedly and he laughed, shaking his head.

“We were treated like freaks sweetheart, they called us satan worshippers, just because we played a fantasy roleplaying game. It was all over the newspapers too! How Dungeons & Dragons induced homicidal thoughts.” He snickered at that, making you shake your head at how close minded people were back then. Your eyes lit up as you passed the trees, seeing a parking lot.

“Oh my god, stop, it’s your school!” He grimaced at that, but slowed down, pulling into the parking lot of the high school he once attended. He parked on a spot, and you checked your watch, realizing that it’s still school hours and everyone was in class. 

“You know darling, I don’t have the best of memories of this place.” He says to you and you sigh, looking at him. 

“I’ll go in! I want to check something first!” You got out of the passenger’s seat, and he was calling you out to stop you, but you didn’t. You ran into the school’s doors, looking at all the green decorations of the place, looking in awe at all the lockers as you walked through the halls. You looked at the pictures on the walls, looking for something in particular.

You turned the hall and that’s when you found all the pictures of active clubs that were in the school. You scanned all around, basketball team, tennis club, art club, history club, newspaper club, computing club… A smile broke on your face as you stared at one picture in particular. 

“At least this place is much cleaner than the last time I was here.” You heard Eddie turn the corner to finally meet up with you and you beamed at him with a smile on your face.

“Eddie, look!” You pointed at a picture and he frowned, following your finger and then his face softened, his mouth falling agape slightly. He couldn’t believe it.

There, in a nice frame, stood a picture of 10 boys and girls, wearing the Hellfire shirt, his logo, his signature mark. Under it, it read, ‘Hellfire Club, Founded in 1980.’. They even got the date right. He didn’t fund it of course, but he cannot believe that after all these years his club actually got acknowledgement. 

“Excuse me, why are you pointing at our picture?” Someone calls to your side and you look to see a boy, your size almost, probably a senior, wearing a hellfire shirt. Eddie looked at the boy, and stared at him for a long while. A cap on his head, curls all around and he couldn’t stop himself before he talked.

“Henderson?” The boy’s eyes widened and he tilted his head with a sheepish smile on his face.

“You know me?” You knew that this couldn’t really be happening, but you didn’t really know what to say. You were looking back and forth at the both of them and that’s when Eddie snapped out as he felt his stomach turn slightly.

“Um, not you precisely?” Eddie continued, trying to save the situation and then the teenager made an ‘ah’ sound as if understanding.

“You must mean my dad, Dustin Henderson. We really look alike, don’t we?” Eddie’s eyes widened, and that’s when he realized that Dustin must be 51 years old now. He had a family, a future, and part of Eddie was saddened he didn’t even try to see him, how he was doing or anything at all. “I’m Chris!” 

“Nice to meet you Chris!” You beamed and cleared your throat to dissolve the situation. “We were just looking at your picture because Eddie here was part of Hellfire just the year he came as a freshman here. He wanted to know if the club was still up and running, you know.” At that Chris smiled excitedly and nodded.

“Oh! You’re an old Hellfire Club member?! Well, welcome back you brave warrior. What was your role?” He asked excitedly and Eddie almost choked up in tears as he tried to talk, but he gulped the lump down, giving him a small smile.

“Yeah, I was a Dungeon Master.” At that Chris beamed, pointing at himself.

“I am one too! Like my dad was, although I have to say my aunt, Erica? She’s a fucking badass.” Eddie smiled at that widely, now knowing that the Sinclairs are still friends with the Hendersons, and that means that Mike and Will are in the picture too. 

“Can I ask you a question?” At that Chris nodded and Eddie stuttered a bit before continuing. “Don’t you get bullied? For playing this? I remember getting bullied here and there by a few at the time.” Chris chuckled and shook his head at Eddie, making him stand straighter, paying attention to the young boy.

“Nah man, that shit is long gone thankfully. We know about the bullying years of Hellfire, and you know, we put our foot down to the jocks. It was in 2009. My cousin, Elena Byers, was like super done with all the jocks mocking us, so she trained herself in Karate, and chopped their dicks, almost.” He said with a laugh and your eyes widened at that, looking at Eddie’s reaction.

But what you found was pure adoration with a wide smile to his face. They weren’t the small little group like before. They stood up for themselves, marking their territory, their right to be a club, to be considered people and not freaks for liking something different. But now, he felt like crying, he was glad to know his old friends were doing okay, and his children were doing fine too so it seems.

“Well, I’m glad man… We gotta go now–” Eddie started but Chris stopped him, jumping up as if he remembered something.

“One second!!!” He rushed away in a comical fashion, you and Eddie looking at eachother once as you waited for him to return. It literally took two seconds as you saw him getting out of a classroom, heavy breathing from the sudden run. “Ah, shit, this is why I am bad at PE… Here.” He handed something to Eddie, and the older man looked at it with a confused frown in his eyebrows, opening it up to reveal a brand new Hellfire Shirt, all black, with his logo in the middle.

“Oh, wow…” You say, eyes widened at the gesture but Chris just smiled widely, nodding in Eddie’s direction.

“There’s for some reason this uh… tradition in Hellfire Club, made by my own father actually, back in 1986. He said that there should always be a spare T-Shirt in the club. Not for one of the members, not even if they lose theirs. He never knew the reasoning for the tradition, he just felt that it belonged to someone, and they might pick it up someday.” At that mention, Chris’s smile fell slightly and did a shrug with his shoulders. “For some reason, I felt like giving it to you.”

Eddie was speechless, looking at the shirt in his hands. In the stretch of time and space, there is one part, one small minuscule part, where everyone holds his memory. They always held it there, and embraced it, and this was proof of it. His eyes watered as his throat closed up, biting onto his bottom lip to try to suppress his tears.

“Thank you… This means a lot…” He muttered under his breath, holding back tears and Chris smiled at him while you stared at Eddie with your own tears filling your eyes. He was remembered, in some strange way, people remembered him. “You happen to know the Wheelers?”

“Oh, Aunt Mike and Aunt Nancy? Yeah! Well, Mike doesn’t go by Wheeler, he goes by Byers, but it’s the same thing.” Chris said with a chuckle and Eddie smiled still looking at the shirt, now knowing Mike and Will were married, and they even adopted a kid.

“That’s great… Really great… Thank you for this, really. And send my greetings to your dad.”

“Oh, sure! Your name?”

“Eddie.”

As you got in the car, Eddie didn’t shed one single tear. You knew he was holding back from it all, but you still got a long weekend ahead of you, and you knew this part was just the very start of going back into his past.

You can pick him up later on. You’ll just let him have his own pace. 

“That over there, I used that spot to do most of my dealings, now for some reason it has turned into an amazing botanical garden.” He said with a chuckle, pointing at his right side to show you it. You looked on, and there it was, a nice kept greenhouse, with various plants and flowers, carefully treated for different seasons of the year. He continued driving, finally reaching the town of Hawkins and he was glancing at everything in awe.

“For being a small town it sure does have nice shit.” You say out loud looking at all the stores and food chains as well as restaurants. He was stunned to see the amount of lights and how modern everything was. Even his old record store was changed into a more modern one and he was slightly saddened at that thought. 

There’s one place he wanted to see unchanged. One place he really wished nothing had turned modern. He kept driving as the afternoon son started hiding itself, leaving a pink hue in the sky for the both of you. You didn’t question where he was going, you fully trusted him, even after two months of being with him, you felt like you’ve known him your whole life, and even in past lives. 

This trip was all about Eddie.

After 10 minutes of driving, he finally parked in front of a bar. It looked rather vintage to you, rustic even, and the bouncer at front didn’t even give a second glance to you as you both walked in. 

Eddie’s eyes widened when all that’s changed of his old bar, was the fact a few led TV’s hang from the corners, some AC was put up, and the leather has been reupholstered. The rest was all the same. 

“Holy shit…” He walked on into the bar, sitting on one of the stools of the bar, and you sat right next to him as he looked around. You took out your phone and snapped a picture of him without him noticing at all, and smiled as the expression he wore in the photo was that of a five year old seeing Santa. 

“Looks the same?” You asked him, putting your phone on the counter. 

“Yeah… This is where my band and I played on Tuesday nights.” He explains to you as he looks onto the stage, you following his gaze. You could just imagine Eddie playing his guitar on that small stage with his best friends, having the time of his life, and you cannot even have a picture of it.

Eddie explained that when one becomes cupid, all memory of them is gone. That meant, the pictures were also gone or any image format where his face may have appeared. The bartender came up to you both and you took the order since Eddie was still looking around.

“Two beers please.” You say with a smile and the man simply nodded at you, popping two bottles from under the counter and taking the caps off in one swift movement. You thanked him and gave him the money for your drinks. You slid one bottle in front of Eddie and he finally snapped out of his trance, looking at the drink, and then back at you. You were wearing a smile, lifting your bottle up to him.

“To Corroded Coffin.” You said with a smile and he gulped the lump that formed in his throat, smiling back at you, and grabbing his bottle to clink it to you. You both took a sip of your drinks as the bar started filling with people. 

Eddie told you stories about all the shows they played there, how their fanbase was just three to five drunks and if they were lucky they would turn to seven. He also told you about the fights that broke in this bar, and how he partook in a few of them just for the hell of it. You shook your head in disapproval at that and he just laughed and kissed your cheek, telling you that now he would only fight if it’s in your honor.

“I can defend myself, thank you very much.” You say as you take a swig out of your beer and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Oh really? What if a big mean man comes right now and chokeholds you? Whatcha gonna do?” He asks with a snicker and you were about to reply to him, but Eddie was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, making him turn around, facing a man with brown hair, a few gray hairs here and there, and with a beard on his face. Eddie squinted as he looked at him, and the man also looked confused himself.

“Excuse me young man… Do I know you?” The man asks and you were baffled at the interaction. Eddie too was surprised by this, but there was a part of him that knew who this person was, but he didn’t look like him, so it cannot possibly be him.

“Um, no sir… I don’t think we’ve ever met.” Eddie replied and the man scoffed, scratching his head slightly.

“I’m sorry, I just… really thought you looked familiar but for some reason I don’t even know who you look familiar to.” He replied with a soft chuckle and that’s when Eddie’s throat closed, swallowing thickly as he continued talking.

“Maybe… What’s your name Sir?” 

“I’m Gareth.” He replied with a smile and Eddie felt like crying right then and there, feeling his chest just crumple into itself as seeing how old his friend is, and imagining how old he was supposed to be now. 

“H-Hi Gareth… I’m Eddie, and this is my girlfriend.” He introduced you too and you were trying to hold your own lump, knowing very well who Gareth was in Eddie’s life. Eddie had described him as a brunette, wild hair, rosy plump cheeks, but the person before you was an aged man, around 55 years old. 

“Nice to meet you both. Are you both new in town or just visiting?” He asked, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s as he talked. Eddie cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Just visiting… My uncle came here a lot. Listened to a band in particular but I believe they’re long gone now.” Eddie say with a sad smile and Gareth's interest peaks.

“Really? Which band?”

“Corroded Coffin.” At that, Gareth’s eyes widen and he almost jumps in excitement as if he were a thirteen year old and patted Eddie on the shoulder.

“Well, I’ve got news for you! You’re looking at the drummer of the former band Corroded Coffin.” He says with a wide smile and Eddie’s eyes twinkle at his joy, a smile forming on his lips as well as tears already burning their way out.

“Really?” He says as if surprised, but Gareth kept smiling, nodding wildly. 

“Yep! Jeff is still on the bass, and Freak on the second guitar!” He says with excitement spilling out of his lips. You were watching the interaction fondly, taking short sips of beer as the two men interacted, but you decided to intervene at that.

“Second? Who’s first?” You asked and Eddie looked at you and then back at Gareth, who’s smile fell and turned into a confused one, with the hint of sadness behind it.

“I… I don’t know really, I knew there was someone… I knew that there was a point where we sounded amazing, excellent even, and then… It just wasn’t the same… We still play at my garage, my kids hate it, but we always try to reach that sound again.” He finished with a shrug and Eddie straightened up in his seat, his voice cracking as he talked back to Gareth.

“I– I uh, live an hour away. I play guitar… If you guys have the open spot I can do a tryout?” He asks, hopeful at the question and your eyes widened looking at him. Gareth’s smile returned and his eyes became full of life as he looked at his old best friend.

“Really? A young lad like you wants to play with old men like us?” Eddie chuckled at that, swallowing the lump in his throat and nodded. 

“It would be an honor to my uncle.” He says and Gareth nodded at that, satisfied as he took his cellphone out of his pocket.

“Who’s your uncle by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Wayne… Wayne Munson.”

And finally, you came to your last stop. Eddie showed you what once was Forest Hills, his old trailer park, now filled with suburban houses and he scoffed at how everything was done for the rich now. 

And now here you stood. Flowers you thought of buying before hand in your left hand as you held onto Eddie’s right hand, tightly, fingers intertwined. The moonlight illuminates both of you perfectly as well as the engraved stone before you.

Wayne Munson

1942 - 1989

A friend, an Uncle, a Father.

“1989. Three months later after Wayne’s death, I really didn’t have a purpose in life any longer. I didn’t think anything was worth living for, and I felt utterly and completely alone. I thought that there was no harm in me leaving as well, because no one would miss me, no one would care if I left… The chance of becoming cupid, and to keep living while being forgotten, felt exactly the same, without the dying part.” Your tears were flowing down your cheeks at his words, feeling the despair in the deep center of your gut as he talked.

You cannot even begin to think how he felt, all alone in that trailer park, succumbing himself to drugs and starvation, waiting for the darkness to simply consume him at a point. 

“He would be disappointed in me.” Eddie said through a wet chuckle and then sniffled as he wiped his face with his free hand. “He would go ‘I taught you better than that, I never taught you to quit!’” He tried to say in a lower voice to then end up in a choke as a sob tried to come through.

In all honesty, Eddie had never once cried for his uncle. For his father figure. He just became hollow, void of emotions, feelings completely gone from his heart and his mind, but now, he felt like crying, like a little kid that just got hurt. 

So he did. His sobs could be heard through the cemetery as he dropped to his knees, his hands over Wayne’s name. You bit your lip as you tried to keep your sobbing down, be there for him, bending down to press your hand on his back as he cried out, yelled it all out, years and years of keeping his emotions inside, intact, never once letting a tear out of his eyes.

His shoulders shook as minutes passed, and he finally felt air being thrown into his lungs. A long hidden weight being lifted off his shoulders as his heart felt calm, steady, even with the pumping thanks to his crying. He looked at Wayne’s name and gave him a nod, sighing.

“I don’t know if you remember me in the afterlife. But, it’s me, Eddie… I’m sorry I was never here to visit you. I’m sorry for not keeping you updated… I’m actually here with my girlfriend.” Your heart warmed when he presented you to his uncle and you kneeled down next to him, with a wet smile on your lips, stained rosy cheeks as you looked at him. “I promise I’ll visit soon. I’m aging now, so I better use the most of my time.” He said to the grave stone with a smile to his face as you felt a warm breeze caress the side of your ear.

You placed the flowers on his grave as Eddie told him about his life until now, and you simply sat there, listening intently, letting Eddie talk to his uncle once again. 

Once you both bid your goodbyes, you were walking back to the car, hand in hand. You turned around towards the cemetery and then forward again.

“You know… I can ask for a remote position at work.” You say out loud, catching Eddie’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

“I can work from home… Maybe get a nice house in Forest Hills, saw a few ‘In Sale’ signs up.” You said with a smile. It would take a loan for you to buy a house, but your happiness depended on his. And you knew this was the right choice. Eddie stopped on his tracks and looked at you, turning around to face him worriedly.

“You don’t… You already did so much for me, I can’t possibly–” 

“I want to. I want to, Eddie… I want to be near your family too.” Eddie’s eyes glistened again as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in a tight hug, embracing you in warmth, in his love, in his adoration for you, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, gripping onto his back with the same devotion.

“I am glad… I am glad I decided to become cupid… If I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have ever met you…” He said into your ear, the hint of a sob hidden behind his lips as he nuzzled into your neck. A tear rolled down your cheek as you giggled softly.

“Don’t know… I am kind of into the whole sugar daddy thing.” A wet laugh could be heard onto your neck, Eddie pulling away from you with stained cheeks, looking down at you.

“I don’t know if I would have had a lot of money Sweetheart…” He says and you just smiled at him, tip toeing to catch his lips in a soft, wet, yet deep kiss, that said so many words in just one simple touch, a simple grace of skin. I love you, I adore you, I can’t live without you, but one thing you had to tell him.

“I would have chosen you either way, just the way you are, the way you’ve always been.”

A/N: I am so sorry... At least he gets to play with his friends again, right?

Would love to get more requests for SCAC! ❤️ I enjoyed writing this, even if it was too painful to do so

Remember that if you get inspired or anything, you can always message me with blurbs, or imagines, or you can also tag me in it!