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aerynwrites · 3 days ago

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Cards and Flowers

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

A/N: you all voted for Simon for the Valentines Day fic so I;m here to deliver! Hope you all enjoy this soft Simon goodness. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, simon being a big softie (probably OOC lol), angst, fluff, so much fluff.

*apologies for any spelling errors this was quickly proofread*

The note showed up a few days before Valentine's Day, slid beneath the door of your room in a simple red envelope. You were confused at first, but curious enough to pick it up the moment you saw it and carefully open the small envelope to pull out the card inside.

Will you be my Valentine?

Brevard’s, Friday at 6 pm.

- Your Secret Admirer

Immediately your skepticism reared its ugly head. You’ve never been asked out for Valentine's day, never been asked out period. What if this is some sick joke?

But then, all the memories of the little things that have been happening over the past week come to the forefront of your mind. The simple bouquet of daisies in the common room with your name on them. The singular candy bar with a sweet note resting on front of your door. a simple take out meal addressed to you one night when you were up late doing reports.

Maybe…maybe it was real.

Maybe, finally, you had piqued someone’s interest enough for them to go for it.

And, unbidden, the faint image of an all too familiar skull balaclava popped into your mind.

You smile, tucking the note away in your pocket before heading to the rec room.

Maybe valentines day won’t suck so much this year after all.

——

Ghost watches as you bounce into the commons area, eyes bright and an unusual pep in your step as you approach where he, Soap and Gaz sit around a small table playing cards. Your changed mood doesn’t go unnoticed by the other men either apparently, Soap looking up from the game to glance at you.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, lass?” He asks, drawing a card.

You smile brightly, and Ghost doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to him as a flush creeps up your neck.

“Guess who has a secret admirer,” you say excitedly, pulling out the card and placing it on the table.

Gaz is the first to grab the card, brows rising as he reads it. “Brevard’s?” He asks, impressed, “That’s a fancy place, the guy must be well smitten to go in on a place like that.”

You nod, clearly thinking the same thing. “So I take it, you’re not my admirer then?” You ask, not all that seriously.

Gaz smiles, shaking his head, “Brevards’ above my pay grade,” he claps you on the shoulder as you move to take a seat at the table, “you deserve the best though. Glad someone finally caught on.”

“Garrick’s right, lass,” Soap chimes in, reaching over to take the card, “Whoever this is, must be heelster-gowdie for ya…” he trails off for a moment. “Any idea who it is?”

Ghost watches, always watching - observing. It’s why he catches the way you look at him again before dropping your gaze back down to the card as you shake your head.

“No, not yet, anyways. Guess we’ll find out Friday, huh?”

It’s also why he doesn’t miss the amused over the shoulder glances a group of officers send their table, almost silent chuckles meeting his ears.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you’re up almost as fast as you got here when you check the notification. You mumble something about Price needing reports you hadn’t finished before rushing off, Gaz and Soap wolf whistling after you - earning them a loud laugh from you.

They return to their game, but don’t get far before Soap pipes up.

“So, finally decided to make your move L.t.?” he asks, a knowing smirk on his lips.

Ghost shakes his head, readjusting in his seat. “Wasn’t me.”

Both his sergeants look confused at his revelation, and Ghost internally curses himself for being so apparently obvious with his feelings towards you. Obvious to everyone except you it seems.

He sees Gaz preparing another question, a rebuttal, probably some snarky comment - so he’s up and out of his seat before he can speak, muttering something about getting more tea.

Mug in hand he approaches the small kitchen area, now well in earshot of the group of officers from earlier - all of them still sniggering about something.

“Ah, I don’t know, Jennings - Don’t you think it’s kind of cruel-”

The man is cut off by Jennings, as Ghost approaches turning the electric kettle back on.

“It’s just a little joke, Davies, quit being a buzz kill-”

Ghost watches from his peripheral as Davis shifts uncomfortably.

“I just think it’s a little much. I mean - standing her up, really? on valentines day no less-”

The pieces click into place for Ghost in an instant, and red fills his vision. Jennings set you up. Plied you with fake gifts and cards all in order to play some cruel joke on you - the final act leaving you sitting at a restaurant by yourself on valentines day.

He grips the handle of the kettle so tight, he hears the plastic creak beneath his fingers. His initial reaction is to toss the now scalding water right at the other officers face or at the very least step in and tell him what a terrible fucking mistake it would be to mess with someone on his team.

But he stops himself as an idea curtails his rage. It’s a terrible idea - a selfish, horrible, will probably blow up in his face, kind of idea. But it takes root before he can stop it, and almost immediately he’s stalking from the commons area - Brevard's number dialed into his phone and kettle and card game long forgotten.

——

Friday - Valentine’s Day - came quicker than Ghost expected. And even though he had done everything he could to prepare, he couldn’t snuff out the nerves boiling his blood. He’d called the restaurant the day you got the card to make a reservation - not too shocked to hear that they didn’t have anything available. But he wasn’t taking no for an answer, and after having a rather vague conversation with Price that left the captain more confused than anything - he was able to have some strings pulled. And now, there was a reservation for two under your name at a restaurant Ghost probably would never have stepped foot in otherwise.

He stands outside the restaurant now, dressed in his nicest civvies, a simple bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, paper crinkling in his sweat damp palms. You got here near half an hour ago, he can see you sitting at the window side table for two, nervously glancing around, checking your phone as the minutes pass by.

He’s giving Jennings the benefit of the doubt, he tells himself, maybe he started to feel bad and would actually show up.

But Ghost knows better. He knows Jennings is probably out wining and dining some other poor woman, completely unbothered that you sit at a table alone, the waiter’s pitying gaze getting worse and worse each time they come by to check on you.

He finally shoves past his own insecurities, his own nerves when he sees you wipe at your eyes and start to fumble with your purse. He’s stepping through the restaurant doors, muttering to the hostess that he’s meeting someone and knows where to go. He just barely makes it to your table before you get up, tears bubbling up in your eyes as they land on him.

He’s sure he’s a sight - a hulking man you’re so used to seeing in tactical gear and a skull mask - now dressed in dress pants and a plain black button down, sleeves rolled up, black surgical mask replacing the usual balaclava. Ghost isn’t even ashamed to admit he tried to style his hair, Soap helping him when he failed miserably the first time.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth agape as you take in your Lieutenant standing before you with…flowers in his hand?

“Sorry ‘m late,” he says, pushing the flowers towards you, “took longer at the florist than expected.”

The lie is easy, just another one to add onto the calamity that is this evening. But when he sees the way your eyes fall down to the bundle - so much simpler than the extravagant roses typical of the holiday - your eyes light up, and a smile replaces the tearful frown that was present just moments ago. And Ghost knows he could give less of a fuck about little white lie.

He slides into the empty seat at the table, the dainty wooden chair groaning under the bulk of him, while he watches you try to take stock of the situation. Only after staring at the flowers for an unusually long time do you finally turn to sit back in your chair, eyes flitting up to meet his as you set the bouquet to the side.

“You’re...You’re the one who gave me the card?” You ask, voice soft.

And god…if he could put that bashful look on your face everyday, he would.

He responds with a soft hum, not quite a confirmation, but not quite a denial either. You take it as an affirmative, splaying manicured fingers out over the menu as the tension leaves your shoulders.

“I…” you trail off, eyes falling down to the menu as you pick at the edges of it with your nails. “I was starting to think I’d been stood up. Some cruel joke or something -”

Ghost reaches out across the white table cloth, taking your hand in his as easy as breathing.

“No joke,” he says, clearing his throat. “Not from me.”

You smile at him then, ducking your head down to hide your nervousness.

“I was…” you bite your lip, and Ghost squeezes your hand to encourage you to continue. “I was hoping it was you, Ghost,” you finally whisper, words almost lost to the din of the restaurant.

But Ghost hears them, and they spark a warmth in his chest he hasn’t felt in decades. A warmth that has him clutching your hand tighter in his own, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Simon,” he says in return, reaching up to tug at the elastic around his ears, setting his mask aside. “No need for callsigns here, love.”

You smile again, this time the small action staying put on your lips instead of slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

“Okay, Simon,” you say, picking up the menu, “What’s good here?”

Simon can’t stop the chuckle from slipping past his lips, picking up his own menu in turn. “Hell if I know,” he grunts, “Never been to a place this fancy.”

You laugh then, and it’s in that moment that Simon realizes he never wants to let you go.

——

You and Simon exit out into the cool evening air, a slight breeze nipping at your cheeks as you tug your coat on with Simon's help.

Dinner went well - amazing - actually. You thought for sure you’d been taken for a fool when you were sitting in that restaurant alone, half an hour past the supposed meeting time. But then the one man you were hoping would show up, finally did. Blond hair styled just so, black button up neatly pressed, and a subtle tinge of red on his cheeks that you never expected to see from your unflappable Lieutenant.

You were nervous at first, of course you were, but it dissipated quickly as dinner went on. The waiter came over, relief on his face at the sight of your date finally showing, and you almost laughed at how happy he looked for you. Wine was served shortly - bourbon for Simon, naturally - with dinner courses shortly after that.

And Simon didn’t deny you a thing - he saw the way you wavered between ordering a steak and a salad, telling the waiter to bring both. Was in tune with the way you seemed to want dessert but hesitated at the prices. You both got what you wanted, you with a decadent chocolate mousse and Simon a simple piece of cheesecake drizzled with strawberry glaze.

“That’s all?” You’d asked, slightly teasing.

Simon smiled, fork sliding into the dessert like a knife through butter. “I’m a simple man, love.”

You smiled then, heart fuzzy with warmth as you take in the man before you.

“I highly doubt that, Simon Riley.”

You adjusted the bouquet in your hands, moving to cradle it in the crook of your elbow as Simon takes your free hand in his own - an action done so naturally you don’t even think to question it. But you do relish in it - in the warmth of his rough hand in yours, palm calloused with years of military work. You can’t help but lean into him as you both walk down the sidewalk towards the carpark, your eyes drifting to the bundle of flowers in your arms.

You only find the courage to speak when you reach your destination, Simon stopping when you both reach your car. The words linger on your tongue, afraid to voice your suspicions and ruin the one thing you’ve longed after for the past year.

You turn, resting back against the driver’s side door as you look up at Simon, neither of you saying anything for a long comfortable moment. You squeeze his hand, tugging him closer, smiling wryly as he obeys the silent request instantly.

“You didn’t give me the card…did you, Simon?” You finally ask, voice soft, unable to keep the disappointment from your words.

The silence that follows is answer enough, but Simon was never one to leave things unsaid. Not between you.

“No. I didn’t.”

Three simple words.

That’s all it took to make your heart sink to the floor, chest aching so fiercely it makes your eyes sting.

“So...” You sniffle, “You just -”

Did it out of pity? did it to make me feel better about being stood up on valentines date? Couldn’t let poor little me be looked over again-

“Hey.”

A hand cups your cheek, rough palms sliding against soft skin as Simon’s fingers move to tangle gently in your hair, tilting your head up to look at him once more.

“Don’t do that,” he says softly, brown eyes swimming in an emotion you’ve never quite seen from him before. “I…” he pauses, fingers twitching against your scalp as he struggles to find the words.

And he must not find them - or at the very least decides they won’t convey what he really feels. Because, before you can react his free hand reaches up, tearing the medical mask from his face before he’s leaning in and claiming your lips with his own.

You’d imagined kissing Simon more than you’d care to admit, but - as usual - he surprises you. It’s both gentle and all consuming. His lips moving against yours like he needs you to breathe. He releases your hand in order to take your face in both of his hands, pulling you towards him at the same time he leans forward to press into you, his warmth seeping in through your coat a stark contrast to the chill against your back from the car.

You only pull away when his tongue presses against the seam of your lips, afraid that if you give in you’ll never be able to let go, and right now there’s still so many questions despite most of them being answered by that kiss.

Simon doesn’t press, although he does chase you slightly when you pull away, instead shifting course to press a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips.

“How did you know?” He asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“The card,” you admit gently, looking up into his eyes, “it wasn’t your hand writing.”

You continue when he doesn’t speak. “And the flowers. I…I hate daisies. I remember telling you that on a mission once. And what my actual favorite flowers were instead,” you rustle the bouquet in your arms. “You remembered.”

Your words are like a punch to the gut, stealing the very breath from his lungs at the knowledge that you know him on a level deep enough to remember his handwriting. To know that he’s the type of person to remember something as trivial as your favorite flowers.

“I didn’t send the card,” he confirms again, pulling away just enough so his lips are brushing yours once more. “But I’m glad that fucker did,” he practically growls, “Gave me the push to finally take what I’ve wanted.”

And then he’s kissing you again, this one just slightly hungrier than the last, both of you devouring the other, finally - finally - taking the plunge you both were too terrified to take before tonight.

And as Simon pulls you closer to him, one hand slipping beneath your coat to get just that much closer…You can’t help but be thankful for that damned card.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” Simon murmurs against your lips.

You smile.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Simon.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader

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gloomweed · 3 days ago

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Eddie Loved Valentine's Day (eddie munson x bestfriend!reader)

a/n: I got the idea for this story last valentine's day, but I didn't finish it until today and I'm still not quite satisfied with it but I had to just get this out there already. This fic is more angsty than romantic, but it didn't feel right trying to shoehorn in some romance, so this is just how it's going to be.

summary: Eddie deals with some bad childhood memories on a valentine's day he spends with you.

w/c: 3.7k

Eddie loved Valentine’s day. Loved, as in, he used to. Specifically, when he was still in elementary school. Back then, the class would spend the whole day creating little mailboxes to hold all their cards. Decorating the recycled shoebox with stickers and markers, writing his name in big scrawling letters over the top. His mom would help him the night before, preparing the cards he was going to hand out. She would tell him how to spell each name, going one letter at a time. When she would ask if he needed help spelling his name, Eddie would hold out his little hand saying very confidently, “No, I know how.” Her voice was always gentle when reminding him ‘Eddie’ has a second ‘D’ after the first one.

Although there was little variety in the pack his mom bought from the store, Eddie made an effort to pick the card he thinks the recipient would like best. A Garfield card for Sindy, since she is always borrowing his orange marker. It’s her favorite color. An Odie card for Josh, since he spends recess digging with sticks and rocks. Something about wanting to find dinosaur bones. It would go like that until all the cards were signed, folded, and held together with little heart stickers.

The following day, Eddie would pass out all his cards and return to his seat to find his makeshift mailbox stuffed. In those days, he would get a card from every single classmate. He’d be filled with excitement as he opened each one. The puns and characters on the cards were fun to see, but really Eddie just enjoyed the thought that someone made him something. Some cards even came with a little candy. It was a fun day all around, and doing less school work was also a big plus.

After his mom passed, Valentine’s day kind of lost its charm. His dad said buying Valentine’s cards that kids were only gonna look at once and throw away afterwards was a waste of money and effort; however, that didn’t stop Eddie from participating anyways. He spent the night making his own cards out of notebook paper, drawing hearts and smiling faces on each one. Despite all the care he put into them, the finished product looked pretty messy. The cards weren’t all the same size, there were some misspelled words, marker ink bleeding through the paper, and since he didn’t have stickers, they were held together with regular translucent tape. Give him a break, he was nine. It wasn’t much, but Eddie put his heart and soul into it.

Once all the cards were passed out, everyone began digging into their boxes, reading cards and opening candy. “What even is this?” Eddie looked up from his pile of valentines to see one of his classmates holding up one he homemade, a disgusted look on their face. Another kid laughed. “Why does it look like that?” Eddie felt red, hot shame fill his cheeks as others began to join in the laughter. He sank further into his seat, wishing to disappear completely. Seeing Eddie’s name on the card gave the boy a target. “What’s the deal, Eddie? Couldn’t afford real valentine’s this year?”

Eddie shot up from his seat. “No! My dad just forgot to buy them, is all,” he lied. “I just thought, you know, something is better than nothing, right?” His eyes darted between his classmates, hoping they bought it.

“Next time, don’t even bother. It’d save us the time of throwing them away,” they laughed. It was then that the teacher made the announcement to return to their seats to resume the rest of the learning day. As Eddie sat back down he could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes. He put a lot of effort into those cards, only for his classmates to laugh at him and throw them away. His dad was right. What a waste.

That was the last time Eddie ever participated in Valentine’s day. Ever since then, he would spend the day doing anything else besides celebrating it. This year, he was at your house helping you get a head start on spring cleaning. You wanted to turn your life around, starting with a more organized living space. February 14th is as good a day as any to get started, and it wasn’t like you had any big plans. Which is totally fine and doesn’t depress you at all.

Although he never told you exactly why, you knew Eddie didn’t particularly like the Hallmark holiday. You assumed it was because of how commercialized it had become since its inception. Of course it could be the matter of keeping up with his image. Soft petalled roses and candy hearts are pretty far from ‘metal.’ Whatever the reason may be, you hated the idea of your friend being alone on a day celebrating love, so inviting him to clean was the next best thing. While it took some convincing, eventually you coaxed him into it with the promise of beer and snacks.

You were both currently working in your bedroom. Eddie would hold something up and ask if you wanted to keep it or throw it away. Meanwhile, you sit on the hardwood floor creating piles all around you as you sift through the contents of your room. He did most of his work while sitting on your bed, a beer in his hand.

Sometimes he would try on clothes you were feeling unsure of, saying that having someone model it would make it easier to decide its fate. Of course, this theory might have been successful if they actually fit him. The mental image of him in your too small knitted red cardigan is something that will bring a smile to your face for years to come.

Running out of things to hold up to you, he looked in his direct vicinity and noticed a round tin by his feet, mostly under your bed. When you heard him gasp you turned to see what he had found. “Oh, that’s just my-”

“Cookies!” he shouted as he opened the blue butter cookie tin only for his face to fall in a confused frown.

You laughed. “Yeah, sorry. I reused that old cookie tin for my sentimental crap.”

Instead of delicious cookies, the tin was full of old birthday cards and handwritten messages left by people who cared about you. A letter from your now deceased grandmother, movie stubs from big releases, and Polaroid pictures of some childhood friends. Eddie smiled to himself. It was cute how you would keep stuff like this. From the outside, you didn’t look like the type of person to hold on to birthday cards from your 5th birthday. He looked at you with a playful pout, his eyebrows pulled together. “Aww. You do have a heart.”

Your offended face only made Eddie grin wider. “Shut up,” you laugh before grabbing the nearest stuffed animal and throwing it at him.

Laughing as he dodged your attack, he couldn’t stop some of the cards from jostling out. As he was gathering them back into the tin, he took a closer look at the one made of notebook paper. ‘From Eddie’ was written on the back in big messy letters.

Noticing his sudden silence, you stand to get a better look at what’s in his hands. You peek over his shoulder to see the valentine he hand made in the 4th grade. Immediately you become overwhelmed with embarrassment thinking Eddie was completely freaked out by the fact you kept the card so long, like some kind of stalker weirdo. Words vomit out of your mouth as you try to save your dignity. “Oh! That's- that's so weird! I can't believe I still have that. I thought I threw that out years ago. I’ll just take that back-”

Eddie instinctually snatches the card against his chest, his chin tucked in as he searches your eyes. When it's clear to you he isn't going to give it up, your hand falls limp at your side. Glancing at the card once more, he tries his best to keep his voice steady. “You kept this?”

The change in demeanor feels unsettling. “Yeah, of course I did.” You look at your feet shyly. “It, uh, means a lot to me.” When you look back up, you see Eddie staring back with confusion.

You’ve gone through this scenarios hundreds of times in the late hours of the night when your brain just couldn’t stop running. How would Eddie react if he found out you kept something he made you when you were kids? The scoff that slips past his taunting lips was the last thing you expected from Eddie. He stands from the bed, looking down on you with a humorless smile. “This shitty scrap of paper means a lot to you?” The sudden scrutiny feels harsh and full of malice. You’ve never had the displeasure to be on the receiving end of Eddie’s anger, and from what little you’ve seen thus far, you hope to never face it again.

Shrugging like it was no big deal, you try your best to downplay your defensiveness. “Well, yeah. I thought it was really sweet of you.” You can’t stop yourself from squinting at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, are you mad at me for keeping it?” Why is he upset with you over this? It was given to you as a gift. You should be able to decide what you do with it without his approval.

Despite being the one who asked the question, Eddie doesn’t really hear your answer, nor the following question. As he stares down at the messy writing on old, yellowed notebook paper, he feels his chest tighten in an overwhelming stifled rage. Having to be face to face with a reminder of his failure fills Eddie with so much self-hatred that he can’t think straight. It’s a reminder of his shitty dad. A reminder of his shitty childhood. It wasn’t fair. Every imperfect line and patch of bleeding ink stared back at him, mocking him. It all congeals to a point of no return in his gloomy head.

Eddie stares in silence for a moment too long and you can see the emotions shift in his face into something darker. “What are you-” You are cut off by the sound of a quick and quiet crunch, the paper crumpling in his first. It’s a knee jerk reaction that has you gasping at the sight, and Eddie immediately regretting. A piece of his heart shatters at the sound of yours doing the same. “Eddie!” Your high pitched squeal of anguish around the syllables of his own name has him filling with that same sinking heat of shame he felt all those years ago.

Your hands dart at him, taking the paper from his grip as fast as it was destroyed. You do your best to smooth the paper back into some semblance of its former glory, but the creases on the old, thin paper still remain. It makes it difficult to see the handwritten words on the page, especially since your eyes are welling up with tears. You turn away from Eddie, too angry to face him. Too hurt to let him see you cry over this. Instead you kneel on the floor, slumping over the valentine you hold with the same delicacy as you would hold a baby bird with a broken wing.

Eddie feels his heart racing with anxiety. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to make you cry. He didn’t mean to. All he wanted was to get rid of the stupid reminder, not ruin your priceless keepsake. Eddie stands there for a moment, unsure what to do with himself. He fucked up, he knows that, but he doesn’t know how to make it right. Your name falls from his lips in a stuttering mess. “I- I didn’t mean-”

Whipping your head back to shoot him a teary eyed glare, you cut him off. “Don’t.” A sad shake of your head, “Just don’t, Eddie.” You didn’t want to hear how he was just trying to make some kind of joke. It wasn’t funny. It was just cruel. You turn back to stare at the ruined item in your cupped hands.

Eddie backs up towards the door, eyes wide and voice small. “Sorry.” You don’t say anything, but of course he doesn’t really expect you to forgive him. He leaves you be, silently making his way out of your house.

On the drive home, he’s mentally kicking himself the entire time. Why did I do that? What is wrong with me? Why do I have to find a way to ruin everything? When he pulls into the gravel driveway of his uncle’s trailer, he cuts the engine and contemplates in silence.

He has to make this right. That valentine meant something to you. You kept that shitty scrap of paper for years while the rest of the class threw it in the trash where it belongs. That has to mean something, right? You wouldn’t keep trash for this long unless it was important, right?

Eddie runs a hand down his face as he belatedly processed what you said about him. I thought it was really sweet of you. You thought he was sweet? The tiny compliment is enough to bring a flush to his cheeks, and it only makes him feel worse about the whole situation. It’s going to take more than an apology to make it up to you.

It’s a few hours after the incident when you hear a knock at the door. “Coming!” You yell down the hall as you race to answer it. Seeing your kind smile fall when you realize it’s him, Eddie feels like you twisted a knife in his chest. He’s holding a modest bouquet of flowers towards you, gaze struggling to meet your own. “Well, look who it is.” You lean against the door frame, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’ve got some nerve, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie huffs a sigh, his breath visible in the frosty February evening. “I know. I know I don’t deserve to see you, but you deserve an apology. I came back to explain myself. Not that I had any right to do what I did.” He looks up at you from under his lashes. “Can I come in so we can talk?”

There’s a pout on your lips as you consider. The flowers do look very pretty, and he was thoughtful enough to have your favorite color as the centerpiece. Getting flowers last minute, on Valentine’s Day no less, was likely no easy feat, making the gesture more grand than usual. You hum in thought a moment before finally taking pity on the man practically groveling on your doorstep. “Fine.” You step aside to let him in, looking reluctant to do so.

Relief washes over him as you make room. The warmth of your home felt like a welcoming embrace upon his bone chilled body. Once the door is closed, Eddie outstretches the bouquet towards you again. “Uh, these are for you.”

Doing your best not to show how pleased you are, you take the flowers from him wordlessly. Eddie turns to walk towards your living room, and you take the moment to smell the sweetness of them while he isn’t watching. You sit on the couch, laying the bouquet on the coffee table for the time being.

Eddie continues to stand, feeling unworthy of your comforts. It feels reminiscent of when he first visited your home. The awkwardness of being new friends was evident as he stood in the corner, waiting for permission to sit on the couch or even enter the room. Now it’s like he wouldn’t sit even if you asked him to. Eddie preferred to pace while he talked. He has too much energy to expel to be still.

You give him your attention finally, arms crossed again, waiting for the apology he owes you. He clears his throat, hands nervously wringing together. “So first of all, I’m sorry for ruining your valentine. And your Valentine's day, for that matter. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He chuckles dryly, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Shit, I wasn’t thinking at all. I just got caught up in my stupid bullshit. But I swear, I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. It was just-” You raise an eyebrow, not quite believing him yet. Eddie releases a breath like it was struggling to get out. “Seeing that valentine I made that everyone gave me shit for…” he sighs again, struggling to find the words. “It just brought it all back. I was a kid again being pointed and laughed at in front of everyone.”

As he says this, your features soften when you recall what he’s talking about. You heard what some of the other kids were saying about Eddie’s valentines, but at the time you didn’t think he cared what they thought. He was always unapologetically himself to the point that the thought of Eddie being embarrassed or ashamed never even crossed your mind.

Eddie looks at you with a sad tilt of his head, wild curls bunching at his shoulder. “That doesn’t make it right, but I thought you ought to know why I did what I did.” He shakes his head dismissively. “It had nothing to do with you and I’m sorry I couldn’t control myself. I’m a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart.” He smiles ruefully, “but you already knew that.” His eyes dim a little at his self-deprecation.

You nod in understanding, a small smile on your face. “I appreciate your apology.” You weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him just yet, and you wanted to be sure he realized that.

Although Eddie knew it wouldn’t be easy, he can’t help but feel disappointed he hadn’t earned your forgiveness yet. Regardless, he nods with a tight lipped smile in acceptance before reaching a hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. “I wanted to make it up to you,” he pulls an envelope out, “with this.”

You blink owlishly at Eddie’s outstretched hand, surprised he brought more than flowers. Standing from the couch, you gingerly take the card from him, watching him for any signs of what it might be.

As you open the package, Eddie is already explaining his reasoning. “Now, I know it’s not the same, and it doesn’t hold the same meaning as the original, but I tried my best to remake it for you.”

Pulling the card from the envelope, you gasp at what you find. The writing is much neater, the drawings more detailed, and even the paper feels like it’s made of thicker material, but there is no doubt that this is Eddie’s reconstruction of the card he destroyed.

The premise of the card was the same. A penguin (your favorite animal at the time) wearing sunglasses, surrounded by icebergs with bubble letters saying ‘U R COOL’ after your name. The sketches are much more sophisticated than any nine year old could make. It was clear that Eddie had honed his art skills over the years by doodling in the margins of all his school work instead of paying attention in class. But it wasn’t what the card looked like that made it special. It was the thoughtful gesture itself.

When you look back up at Eddie, he shifts on his feet uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. He’s unsure what to make of your expression. “So, uh. Do you like it?” Before you can answer, he’s already speaking for you with a defeated slump of his shoulders. “You hate it, don’t you? I’m sorry, I know it’s not-”

“I love it.”

His eyes go wide, genuinely surprised. “Yeah?” He perks up when he sees your beaming face. “Really?” Eddie lets out a small ‘oof’ when you crash into him with an enthusiastic hug. His chuckling rumbles against your ear as you hold him tightly. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Parting from the hug, you admire the valentine some more. “And I do forgive you, Eddie. I just wish you would have told me what Valentine’s Day really means to you sooner.” You search his dark chocolate eyes. “We’re friends, right? You know I would never make fun of you like that.”

And Eddie did know that, but in that moment, he couldn’t rationalize his intrusive thoughts away. It’s easier to hear that you’re loved versus actually believing it. All he can muster is a shrug, unable to put his inability to trust into words. “Yeah I know.”

With his unconvincing answer, you try a different approach to get him to understand what he means to you. Wordlessly, you leave the room leaving Eddie standing there wondering what you’re up to. You’re back before he gets the chance to overthink your departure, a picture frame in hand. As you fiddle with the tiny metal prongs holding the backing in place, you begin to explain. “From now on, I’m gonna make sure everyone sees this.” You slot the valentine into the frame before securing the backing once more.

You hang your trophy in the center of your living room wall. Once you’re satisfied with the results, you take a step back and admire it with your hands on your hips. “There. Now, anytime someone visits me, I can brag to them about the personal valentine you made me.” Looking back over your shoulder, you see Eddie smirking bashfully.

“Oh come on. No one’s gonna want to see that.” He gestures to the hand drawn image, but you’re already shaking your head defiantly.

“Too bad. They’re gonna have to. Matter of fact, I’m gonna require they marvel at it for no less than 60 seconds before they can even enter my home.” Your arms are crossed with a playful smile on your face.

Eddie chuckles and there’s a small pause as he appreciates you. “You’re such a dork,” is his mumbled response.

You point up at the framed doodled penguin adorned in shades behind you with an astonishing amount of confidence. “Not according to my best friend.”

He huffs an exasperated sigh. “That’s it. I’m taking it back.” Eddie starts towards the wall, reaching above you. “You’re not cool anymore.”

Instinctually, you put your hands on his chest in an attempt to stop him, but Eddie isn’t one to back down. “No! You can’t!” Giggles bubble out of you as you try your best to stand your ground. “I am cool!”

#eddie munson fic #fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #gloomweed writes #stranger things #eddie munson #valentines day #angst with a happy ending

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tokiro07 · 2 days ago

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Something I alluded to in this week's Ichi review was that while I've been invested up to this point, I haven't been as completely immersed as I had been with Undead Unluck or Cipher Academy, which both captured and held me from ch.1 all the way to the end

I decided to chase that and analyze why Ichi wasn't connecting with me the same way

Looking back at chapter 1, the thing that hooked me was the setting; a world where only women can wield magic, and do so by passing tests posed to them by monsters who embody the individual spells. Even ignoring the premise that a man manages to break the status quo, that core concept alone was enough to spark my curiosity

From there, each chapter continued to expand on that setting - giving examples of the types of monsters we'd see, teasing the process of finding and facing them, showing glimpses of the society built by the women who use magic, their tools and their fashion, but something was still missing

Every week I found myself asking "what are we doing this for?" What was the grander goal, and who was going to stand in the way?

It wasn't until the most recent arc with the introduction of the World Hater that I really got the answer to that question - one of the monsters, moreso than any other, wants to destroy everything. In turn, our protagonist, more than anything, wants to kill it - regardless of whether or not it would save lives, he just knows it would be fun. It's a fairly simple goal, but a compelling one nonetheless, allowing me to not only be invested in the setting, but now also in the plot

But something was still missing

And it was only during this chapter that I realized what it was. Desscaras, The Strongest Witch, faced with a situation that her strength won't help her overcome, chooses to be open and vulnerable, and suddenly that something wasn't missing anymore

I was finally invested in the characters

I thought Ichi was interesting enough, for sure, with how unhinged he was and the themes that his philosophy suggested for the series, but I didn't know what the intentions were for his arc. Desscaras was silly and fun to watch, but I didn't have a good read on how she would contribute to the narrative. Kumugi was the only one I particularly saw thematic potential in from the get, which is why I latched onto her pretty quickly, but it was clear she was meant to be a slow burn and wasn't going to be getting a ton of focus for the foreseeable future

In other words, everyone in the cast had an interesting hook, but no one had shown any real depth yet, at least not to the extent that I wanted

But now I can see it

The flaw in Ichi's philosophy that makes him reckless with the life that he supposedly cherishes so much, the weakness in Desscaras' heart that necessitated she become the Strongest in the first place, and the connection forged between the two of them

Granted, I also said from the beginning that I expected that sort of connection to come up between Ichi and Uroro, so it's not like I couldn't envision how this story would deepen its cast, but just imagining how it would do it and actually seeing it happen are two different things. Now that we're seeing the bonds deepening between two characters, we're likely to start seeing it happen with others more and more often, though likely still fairly slowly

Now that I have a clear picture of how the cast will grow, I can definitively get excited for it rather than just projecting a hypothetical that I hope to see

I think this is also why there are so many manga in Jump that I don't get excited about

I didn't care for Kagurabachi from the beginning because I didn't care about the setting, plot or characters. It was only during the Rakuzaichi Arc, which really started focusing on the characters, that I started feeling invested, but I still don't care about the setting and only slightly care about the plot. In the Samura Arc, though, I'm starting to care a bit more about the plot, and I can see a bit more of interest in the setting, but I'm still not there yet. If it can clinch that, I'll be all in

There are other factors that matter, of course - art style, pacing, themes, etc. all contribute to my enjoyment, but I can look past the art and pacing if everything else works, and I can only care about the themes if I like at least one of the previous factors

By analyzing my experiences like this, I'm getting a clearer picture of my tastes and how I define the quality of a work. Hopefully this framework will help me better articulate my opinions going forward and give me a better approach to appreciating what I read

#ichi the witch #madan no ichi #shonen jump #reader experience

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