#rip mike brown

[cato-of-blamesociety]

Git With This x Cato ft Jermain and Lucky | Unreleased +Unmastered | 2018

written/recorded in 2014/15

full track on my #Youtube channel

#2014 #2015 #mikebrown #RIPMikeBrown #Ferguson #Stlouis #Missouri #policebrutality #blacklivesmatter #nojusticenopeace #getwiththisorthat #blackpride #political #strapped #stl

[rainkays]

HORROR RECS FOR YOUR FAV UD CHARACTER!

(this came to me while watching the descent because it’s so sam coded so shoutout to all my horror lovers that are obsessed with until dawn i ❤️ u & these are mostly based on movies i either think the characters would like/ have their vibes <33 i would love to do this for other games (tq or lis) so lmk if any of you would be interested in seeing that!!)

(JESS) black christmas, ginger snaps, jawbreaker, sorority row, i know what you did last summer

(SAM) the descent, final destination 2, you’re next, ready or not, the strangers (2008)

(EMILY) X, urban legend, scream 3, drag me to hell, jennifer’s body

(ASH) paranormal activity, lisa frankenstein, shaun of the dead, killer klowns from outer space, the mist

(JOSH) blair witch project, cabin in the woods, evil dead 2, suspiria, creep

(MIKE) the lost boys, the strangers prey at night, evil dead (2013), as above so below, the shining

(CHRIS) rec, the banana splits movie, texas chainsaw 2, wrong turn, trick r treat

(MATT) nightmare on elm street 2, the reanimator, valentine, hostel, final destination (2000)

(HANNAH) carrie, saw 3, it follows, happy death day, christine

(BETH) barbarian, the exorcism of emily rose, amityville horror, hell house LLC, the orphan

[chirpsythismorning]

There’s something sort of patronizing and damn near infantilizing about the way stans (specifically stan twitter), will take something that isn’t that serious, or even is very serious, and will twist it as much as they possibly can, for pity and engagements.

I remember when that lie detector interview with Millie came out last year, and toxic stans of hers made it their mission to accuse the guy in the video of disrespecting Millie, when really it was all a bit? They were rushing to make posts saying, “this is so messed up! she doesn’t deserve this!!” And it’s like?? Are u guys serious rn??

And then there’s all that fucked up shit that happened with that grown ass man who groomed Millie and how a lot of hardcore stans of hers were making plot-twist edits with that horrid ig live he did??? All of that shit blew up and went beyond what it ever should have, and part of it was because a lot of those same toxic fans were out there low-key promoting a very private matter, for clicks???

Right after this happened, she deleted all of her old instagram posts (I think she’s returned recently), and still doesn't allow herself to be tagged in anything (again mostly hardcore fans there), and it’s pretty obvious to me that it's because at this point, not only does she have to watch out for people that hate her for no fucking reason and who actually mean to harm her, but she ALSO has to avoid so-called fans constantly acknowledging all the negativity surrounding her, for attention, with the guise that they support her.

Because like, do we seriously think she deleted all those sentimental posts from her past, to spite people that hate her?? No she did it to punish the so-called fans. That's the place where they could connect with her and she made a boundary that she couldn't let them into her life like that anymore.

Fans took something very serious, like as serious as it can fucking get, and were making it about stan wars. Anyone and everyone who makes one joke or one comment needs to be called out and brought down. Like it's just so obsessive and unhealthy and I get that a lot of these kinds of fans are children, and so there isn't much anyone can do. But still, it's ridiculous.

I support the notion that we should be calling out harmful behavior/language. But it eventually gets to point where it's like, what even is the point? Is there a point anymore? Or are we just speaking to speak, when no ones even saying anything? Are we seeing one negative comment and blowing it out of proportion as if everyone is saying that, to gain pity? Because it starts to get ridiculous.

In reality, people are gonna say what they want. Everyone with access to internet has the affordance of posting shit anonymously without any repercussions. That’s unavoidable. And these same people aren’t going to just be enlightened by someone calling them out. More often than not people like this want to upset others in the first place. They want a reaction. And so by constantly acknowledging their existence, and fixating on it, we're giving it to them.

And now ever since Noah has come out, we're sort of seeing something similar happening with him.

While he is getting unwavering support from a lot of people in his comments, there's undeniably a disgusting amount of homophobia being thrown at him as well.

And then somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, we have people making jokes, INCLUDING Noah.

And yet, the tag has suddenly went from unwavering support (as it should), to obsessing over any and every post/comment/joke that can be interpreted as somewhere between sarcastic, uninformed, mildly offensive and downright offensive, and we're acting like it's the end of the world.

There's no denying that all of this is overwhelming. It's a lot. And I don't blame people for speaking up when they truly feel that it's necessary. It's only natural to get defensive when you think someone is being wronged/harmed and you want to do what's right.

But again, to what point is it truly necessary to keep bringing attention to every single thing we come across that falls somewhere on that spectrum near negative?

Right now this space is filled with the negatives, even if it's coming from a good place. Do we think that Noah or Millie or any of the cast want to have to be confronted with negativity from all directions, even from the people that claim to just be fans trying to do the right thing?

It gets exhausting.

And now we're just seeing this stan twitter behavior create one big mess of delusion, with toxic Millie stans calling Noah a white sexist misogynist because he liked a TikTok referencing his coming out and the homophobic Millie meme?...

Is Noah only allowed to be open to unwavering support right now? Can he not make light of the situation, or are we just imagining that he's sitting there victimizing himself because of any and all of the negatives being thrown at him, that are never going to go away, no matter what he says or does? Because I honestly think that's the opposite of what he's doing or would even want to be doing.

And same with Millie, I don't think she sees anything and everything happening to her, and everything anyone is saying, and allows it to bother her anymore. Because how could she?? That kind of shit drains a person of their sanity.

Noah is out here not only liking TikToks joking about his coming out, he's still liking byler edits, still commenting on fans posts with a lighthearted positive attitude. He even mentioned Will in his post, so obviously he doesn't mind people making some comparisons between him and his character.

And yet here we are dwelling on everything negative we can get our hands on.

It's important to realize that the cast has seen the worst of the worst. And you can see that it's affected them. You can see they went from fairly public public figures to almost entirely private public figures, only interacting with fans when they have to, because they know a good portion of the trauma they experience comes from the fans themselves who just don't understand boundaries and common sense.

The most delusional aspect of all of this is that toxic stans are 100% convinced Millie and Noah hate each other... like they fully believe this lie they've told themself based on videos they've seen of them? Like they genuinely think they know her better than she knows herself I guess???

Now, I do want to say that I understand partly where these fans are coming from. Millie has went through absolute shit with this fandom. And it's mostly because she herself is known for saying stuff that causes people outrage. Whether it's a joke or a comment, that clearly just came off the top of her head, they'll flip it to something negative and use it as ammo to hate her. She doesn't deserve that. And I know a lot of her fans are coming from a protective place because they're so used to people hating Millie for no reason.

But even still, I don't think they realize they are a part of the problem themselves. And we are too whenever we allow ourselves to focus on the negatives, letting it practically consume us.

That sort of shit can make a person feel hopeless. 1 negative comment can outweigh 100 positive ones. And so imagine that by a scale of about a billion?

Again, I know a lot of fans mean well, but if you just take a moment to think about it, like really think about it, you'll realize that your energy would be much better directed elsewhere.

Instead of making dramatic intense posts that focus on all the negativity, BE THE POSITIVITY! Be someone that actually makes our community redeemable. Because again, we're no better than the worst of the worst if we're giving them all the attention, making the very people we're claiming to be supporting and defending, even more miserable.

And don't be surprised when s5 promo rolls around or any other event involves Millie and Noah interacting in a public forum, where they'll inevitably make jokes about all of this, arguably just as offensive as the ones we're getting worked up over right now

[runningupthatvecna]

get the peach(es)

bestfriend!eddie munson x reader

it's the day after chrissy got vecna'd and you and the gang decide to check up on eddie at rick's. he's still in so much distress that you can't help but selflessly stay with your best friend (who you've been harboring a crush on for quite some time) and keep him company. 6k words, not proofread.

cw: the good old friends to lovers trope, eddie is an anxious bean who just needs to be held (by you, ideally), mutual (and not so secret at all) pining, i wrote this with fem!reader in mind (she/her pronouns) but can also be read as gn i guess, fluff, hurt/comfort (for eddie), pet names, mentions of chrissy's death, there shall be kisses and a lot of softness. nothing too explicit but minors are still advised to LEAVE

a/n: totally not self indulgent, that scene of him being so terrified in 4x02 ripped me to shreds so this is my fix-it attempt, trying to still my need to hold him and scratch his head. disclaimer: this piece of writing is based on the ending of that episode, meaning all credits for the setting go to the respective writers. sources to the header images here, here and here. lovely divider by saradika. ok thank you so much for reading byeeee love y'all <3

–––––

The overwhelming need to befriend the satanic metalhead found you at that party at the Wheeler house. You had almost said no to Nancy when she invited you, knowing damn well how the night would end. Steve passed out with a girl on his lap, Robin silently pining after Vickie from some corner of the room while clinging onto the red plastic cup in her hand, Jonathan getting higher than a kite with his old school mates, the younger kids asking you every five minutes if you could give them a ride since you usually were the one staying sober.

Additionally this time, there would be Eddie Munson. This familiar stranger Dustin, Mike and Lucas had met and somehow befriended over the last months, due to them joining his DnD club. "He might come off as a bit intimidating ... but I promise he's super chill and easy going!", Mike had tried to convince his sister, poking the tip of her shoulder repeatedly with a bunch of pleases during lunch break in the editing room of the school's newspaper. Until she rolled her eyes theatrically and agreed to let the ambiguous stranger, which the whole town collectively perceived as not really fitting in (and who you both certainly knew under the not so chill reputation he carried around), attend the celebratory events at Casa Wheeler. Occasion: Karen, Ted and their youngest leaving the house for more than one day, off on vacation.

You'd always kinda stayed out of his ways, used to observe his antics back at school with a silent laugh and this .. intrigue poking at your guts. To you he always stood out, and if anyone asked you'd be hesitant to admit it, but his willingness to go against the flow and not conform to the acceptable standards set by society was honestly impressive. And besides, surely this whole mysterious drug dealer rockstar image must just be a fassade and deep down he's just a dork, right?

His eyes follow you through the living room, an echo of your name crossing his mind repeatedly after having pulled Dustin into a corner for a brief interrogation. He finds it endearing how quickly and almost bashfully you look away every time your curious gaze meets his. As you redirect your focus to the conversation you're becoming engaged in, there's a soft smile creeping onto your lips. Little did he know it would soon start to haunt him in his dreams at night.

"Anything specific you're looking for?"

God, his voice. The close proximity invites your nose to inhale a mix of fresh cigarette smoke, bergamot and sandalwood, allowing you to sense what can only be him standing behind you as you skim through the cabinets of the Wheeler kitchen. You turn your head for your eyes to confirm your assumption and what they find is the deepest brown of round baby cow eyes they've ever met, up so much closer now. The paring of his gaze and plush smile somehow manages to dissolve every little prejudice you've been involuntarily harboring about him. Eddie Munson, the town's freak. Prime reason for the existence of the satanic panic. Drugs. And then you realise that you should probably do the polite thing and give him an answer. "Yeah uh, I was just trying to find the peach syrup", holding his gaze with a small lopsided smile, lost in its warmth which you wouldn't have dared to expect from it, before facing away from him again. He snorts a little, "peach syrup?", pauses to bring a thumb to his upper lip, lightly scratching the skin above as if to wipe something away, before he removes it again and the dimples appear around the corners of his mouth, "that is oddly specific." His response spreads a smile over your face, and the next thing he says widens it, "looks like you have taste though."

You move one step to the side, about to investigate the insides of the next cabinet, the kitchen itself almost empty of people with only three others chatting away in the corner across the island. He follows, undoubtedly trying to stay close, and the heat from the fire he just ignited somewhere inside of you rises to your cheeks. "Thanks, I really like peaches. Especially in my drinks. It adds a little ... kick to my sobriety", you explain, Eddie now quirks an amused eyebrow paired with a lopsided smile at you, and as you get to the last cabinet it dawns on you (and also Eddie) that this household severely lacks peach syrup. An atrocity. Thanks Ted.

After he helped you rummage through the entirety of the kitchen without success but under a lot of small talk, the metalhead vanishes from the function for an hour or so. At least that's what your brain concludes when your vision fails to spot him among the people who are in attendance. Maybe he's selling out of Nancy's bedroom. Maybe he's puking up his insides in the bathroom because he had too much of that weird beer he's been downing all night. Maybe he's banging some random girl in the bathroom upstairs. Or summoning a demon. Or both. At the same time. You once again try focusing your attention back to the conversation you are involved in. Munson already feels so dear to you that the lack of his presence is starting to form an ache in your heart. It's tugging on those strings with how much you already want him near you. Yeah. You're gonna be in trouble with this one.

And then he stumbles into the room from the direction of the front door, an event you're totally unable (and unwilling) to miss. He doesn't look like he just puked, nor sold a whole lot of the stash since you notice it still bulging out the left ass pocket of his black jeans. Instead, as he pushes past the small groups of people socialising – and towards you – while you notice a red net of round fruits dangling from his right hand, and you start to think that his disheveled hair and that rosy tint on his cheeks might actually not be from shagging either. He meets your gaze again as he approaches you with a grin and your heart dares to swell at his attentive gesture (you think you might as well pass away on the spot).

"Have some, peach."

It's not syrup, but you'll take them anyway. And with your next drink, you swallow down not only that peachy sweetness on your tongue, but also whatever this tingly feeling in your chest is.

"Chchhrhch.."

Pause.

"Hey, uh– chrhchhr.."

Silence in your bedroom, the only thing illuminating the space is the moonlight softly falling through the window.

"Chrch– a-are you there?"

You stirr awake from dozing off in your bed, trying to piece together the information your senses are giving you.

Eyes gone dry, you have to blink a few times. Figure out which year it is and so on.

Confusion lies between the static crackle for a moment. That nap after your shift at the diner was necessary. God, you need to fucking quit.

"No I'm sure she'll pick right up, just– hey pleeease b-be awake, goddamn it!–"

Is it already past midnight?

You don't know and you can't tell, the clock on your nightstand still broken. What you do know though is that the familiar voice belongs to your friend Dustin and it's desperately trying to get ahold of you.

They must have found him.

"Dustin? I copy, where are you? What's going on?", you finally grab the device from the nightstand, fully awake and aware of your surroundings now.

You need to know. If he's okay.

There's that all too familiar instant tingle in your chest again, an ache that made itself familiar to you for the first time when he was introduced to you at the one and only Wheeler party several months ago. The dungeon master of Hawkins High's Hellfire club, the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin and a super chill and easy going guy, to put it in Mike Wheeler's words.

What you didn't expect back then was your heart starting to develop that feeling, that tingle you'd always get to feel when you were in his presence, or like now, when his name is threatening to spill from your friend's lips on the other side of the connection at any moment.

"Aha! See? I told you she'd respond in no time."

You can practically feel Dustin's shit eating grin through the frequency, basking in being correct over Steve Harrington once again. It never gets old between these two.

"Oh my god", Steve's muffled voice is what you can make out vaguely from the off, he's probably palming his face.

"Dustin!", your voice disappears into the device, and your impatience grows with every passing second, hoping he gets the hint.

There's the sound of a door falling shut, leaves rustling under shoes, he must be outside now.

"Alright, okay yeah, so we found him at Rick's and he's really upset and he's been asking for you. I know it's late but can you meet us out here? And maybe, uh, stay with him?"

It's not even worth questioning. You're already wearing shoes. Your biggest hoodie in tow, you stumble into your kitchen with the intention to raid your own snack drawer. Pulling out Eddie's favourite, which you of course had stocked up on ever since hanging out with him at your place had become more of a weekly routine for the both of you.

Ten minutes, you told him. You'd be there in ten.

The drive feels like forever. The longest ten minutes of your life, you think.

You know the route like the back of your hand, having driven along the gravelly road leading from the last intersection before Hawkins' border to the outer world, to the serene woods surrounding Lover's Lake countless times. Eddie would take you here ever so often, for picnics, an occasional smoke after picking up a new delivery from Rick's, cloud or star gazing, listening to Metallica and Tears for Fears on Wayne's old walkman.

The gravel crunches underneath your white reeboks as they land on the ground. You close the door to your car as quietly as possible after you've taken out the bag and your hoodie.

Dustin and Steve are stood outside the boathouse, waving like madmen in the darkness once you come into their periphery.

The younger boy hugs you tightly.

"So glad you could make it", he gets out, the relief palpable through his voice as well as the grip he holds you in for a brief moment.

You look at them both after Steve presses you against him cordially, and breathe out through your nose, making your nostrils flare.

Dustin cracks open the case to you as he starts to ramble about the state in which they found your best friend, "well first he attacked Steve with a broken bottle, we had to put in great effort to convince him that we'd be on his side, and we came to the conclusion that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, basically."

What you want right now goes without saying. Everyone here knows how close you and Eddie are. As friends, of course. No one would think anything different.

Without wasting another second, the boys lead you inside where Max and Robin are knelt on the wooden floor. Heads turning towards the entrance of the room where you're now standing.

The sight of what's offered to your eyes, sitting opposite of them, breaks your heart.

You can see that he's slightly shivering, eyes glassy in the dim lit room. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips though once his brain grasps your presence, and he can't help anymore but let the water fall once his eyes lock with yours.

The pain that is swimming in those two deep warm brown oceans hits you like a dagger to the chest. Over the months of being friends with him you'd seen him various different states, none of them comparable to this.

"Peach", his shaky voice announces your arrival and the sound of your nickname spilling from his lips cracks through your bones. The bag that's slung around your shoulder drops onto the wood with a dull thud.

Wobbly legs carry him towards you with a gentle shove past Robin and Max. You're once again reminded of your best friend's sheer physical strength as he wraps his arms around you, instantly burying his face into the crook of your neck.

One arm of your own sneaks around his torso, pressing him against you as tightly as your own strength allows you, while your other hand comes up to bury itself underneath the mane and to end up scratching soothingly over the scalp above the nape of his neck.

Eddie lets out a muffled sob, sniffling into the collar of the sweatshirt you threw on in a haste. He doesn't really want anyone to see him like this, certainly not Steve Harrington, so he clutches onto you so tightly that he thinks you might just feel his heavy heart beating anxiously against your chest.

And you do. How could you not with the amount of world he means to you? Like an automatism your other hand rubs slow circles over his back. Comforting him in the best way you could. Not a conscious decision you make.

"Okay so, m'not meaning to ruin the party, in fact I'd love to stay for another round of doom talk, but I really should get home soon, guys", Robin scratches the back of her head after she gets up from her huddled position next to the wooden crate Eddie had been sitting on. Max joins in and agrees, mumbling something about having to move her mom from being passed out on the couch again into her bed.

"Yeah me too, actually. My dad's gonna be fucking pissed. We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?", Steve's voice echoes through the room and you can tell he's already shoved Dustin back outside, itching to drive the kid home.

As Eddie processes having to stay in hiding, added the possibility of everyone leaving without him, his grip on you tightens even more.

"It's okay, Eds", you speak softly, head slightly tilted so your cheek rests on the dark frizzy mop you could call his hair. The skin on his neck and scalp so warm underneath your fingertips as you keep scratching it, emphasizing your presence, "I'll stay."

A soft muffled whimper is what you get as a response, and the way he lets you see him in this state melts your insides to a puddle.

You just need him to be okay.

They wave their goodbyes behind your back, accompanied by mumbles of "see you in the morning", and you can't even bring yourself to turn your head around, fully focused on making the young man in your arms less terrified of the world. A world he was sure was now going to come for him with all its force – in deep conviction of him being responsible for Chrissy's misfortunate end.

The door falls shut and Eddie muffles a quiet thank you into the fabric of your sweatshirt. The skin on your neck is damp with his tears, wet eyelashes tickling every time he blinks.

"It's okay, Eds", you softly keep repeating your words to him while continuously rubbing over the denim of his signature Dio vest in a slow motion, when he feels the urgency to claim the truth into the collar of your sweater about what has happened, "I– I didn't do it, I swear."

As if you would need any convincing.

"Oh no of course you didn't, I know that", you're looking for a way to ease the distress this entire situation is causing him, his quivering voice adding to your desire to soothe him to inner peace, "can I make a suggestion?"

Eddie nods with another sniffle against your collarbone, the round wet tip of his nose brushing against the column of your throat lightly. To his ears, your voice sounds like silk right about now.

"How about we head over to the main house and get ourselves a little more comfortable? Since we're gonna be here for a little longer? My god you probably haven't slept or eaten at all, have you?"

You can feel him nod his head again with a hum this time, and you start to think that the tears might not just be pouring because he just witnessed someone suffer a gruesome death right in front of him, but also due to physical exhaustion.

It makes your heart ache even more, that tingle still present, even more so now. It hurts to see your best friend hurt.

He just needs to be okay. And in that heart of yours there's that little spark of hope that leads you to believe you could be the one helping him with that.

You'd really want that. Be all his to find comfort in, to hold close, to kiss stupid

Stop.

A sigh escapes your lungs at the thought. That tingle, that longing, it's selfish. It familiarly pools in your belly and slowly drips downwards. You push your brain aside. This is about soothing your best friend now.

"C'mon then", you utter softly, encouraging him with your hand to lift his head from where it leans against your shoulder.

For your heart it's almost too much to look at, the hurt still swimming in the glassy big brown irises, his waterline red and puffy. The soft smile returning to his lips causes the wet apples of his cheeks to push up slightly, reflecting the dim light coming from the one torch Robin left you, placed on one of the crates.

He really hadn't been able to close an eye for a single second since he he'd gotten up for school the day prior.

You smile back at him almost bashfully as you slowly create space between your bodies.

Eddie is grateful that it's you who grabs his ringed hand next.

He squeezes yours, hoping to get the message of this meaning something to him across.

And he closely trails behind you as you lead the way.

The house feels empty, like no one's really been here in months. You'd never been inside. The few times you'd accompanied Eddie grabbing stash you'd stayed in his van, waiting. But as far as you now can make out in the darkness, there's a couch with knitted blankets, a little TV with a whole stack of VHS almost rising as high as the screen itself, spilled and spluttered empty cans and papers and wrappings littered all around. Maybe this is why he never let you come inside with him. Keeping you out of this definitely not sterile mess. Along with keeping you out of the business.

In the middle of the living room, you let go of his hand and shuffle one step away from him. He's inside now. Safe. Job done. Doesn't need physical contact. You shouldn't, he's your friend. You feel like something between you would break if you'd go there.

Eddie thinks otherwise, regarding close proximity at least. He promptly follows you into what you believe to be the kitchen where you hope you might find a tea bag or two. He comes up behind you and encases you in his arms as you rummage through the cabinets (feels familiar, hm?), not at all ready to say goodbye to the warmth of your body pressed against his own just yet.

You giggle at the silliness of him putting weight on you just to make it harder for you to reach into the cabinets. It's endearing. And very Eddie.

Twenty minutes later and there's two mugs – cleaned to your best ability – with steaming hot liquid on the sixties wooden coffee table. Next to them a plate filled with the almost equally hot insides of a ravioli in tomato sauce can. Thank Rick for a still functioning microwave.

You drape the knitted blankets over both you and Eddie as you settle into the cushions. The only light existent coming from two lit candles on said coffee table. It wouldn't be too wise setting up the torch you think.

The side of Eddie's face glows in the orange yellow, his wide brown bambi eyes dried after the first grand storm, and there's this tug on the corner of his pink plush lips again. He exchanged his leather jacket for the freshly washed hoodie for comfort and a small part of you hopes he doesn't spill his dinner onto any of it.

You lean back into the backrest of the worn out couch and watch as he eats, a domestic thing you've done a thousand times already, yet you still find comfort in knowing that he's nourishing himself.

Or well, in this case, inhaling the raviolis.

"Thank you Peach", he moves to put the empty plate back on the coffee table and it makes the spoon chink and glide along the edge, "I really needed this."

His voice is a little hoarse, probably from the emotions of the hours behind him. Maybe he has indeed calmed down a little. His hand moves down to your thigh, squeezing.

You give him the most empathetic smile you can bring yourself to display, painfully aware of the blaze that is transpiring through your leggings and seeping into your bones, "it's no big deal, really. I mean it is– uh, being there for you, is."

And he can't bring himself to look up at you. Instead, he stares at the empty plate on that coffee table in front of him.

"And to me as well. It really helps that you're here."

He doesn't bother moving the calloused warmth of his hand from the soft warmth of your thigh. It lights your entire nervous system on fire. In a good way.

And that's when you begin to wonder if everything that has just happened and is still happening right now changes anything.

"I'm so glad it does", is all you're able to get out.

Eddie decides that it's time to lean into your side and wrap his arms around your torso once again, drop his head back to its favourite place with a soft content little hum.

He just needs physical comfort. Of course. Just that. Nothing more, nothing else.

The words are redundant but your mouth articulates them anyway, "try to get some sleep, yeah?"

His back already lifts and falls evenly. You place your hand on the back of his head that rests in the crook of your neck again, scratching through the curls lightly, searching to help him shut off even deeper.

–––––

The candles have gone out by the time your eyelids slowly open. It takes you a moment to recall the location you fell asleep in, and you hope that the nightly darkness the whole room is now filled with hasn't invited any stranger to take advantage of your unconsciousness.

There's a warm hand holding your face, the pad of a thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek softly. It makes its way from the bridge of your nose to the outer corner of your eye, and back. And forth. And back. And forth.

You must have moved to lie down on your back in your sleep, with Eddie's weight still on your body, legs entangled. It's not the first time you've slept like this, there had been movie nights that had ended similarly.

His hand caressing your cheek though, yeah that is new. There's something unspoken in the air this time around. Your stomach is doing flip flops when you realise that he is propped up on his elbow, just .. looking at you. With eyes that don't require light to hint at whatever it is he is trying to say, or maybe not trying at all.

"Eds, what are you doing?", you ask almost in a whisper followed by a lopsided smile, expecting an unserious answer, because he always tends to make a joke whenever he tries to avoid conversing about emotions regarding his heart.

His thumb stops its acrobatics on your cheek, comes to a halt.

"I'm–", he takes a deep breath before he continues, "I'm just so grateful it's you that's here right now."

Your hand comes up to cup his. Brush over his rough knuckles with a thumb of your own. Enjoying the warmth that is seeping from his palm into your skin.

"Yeah, I figured you were gonna be a little opposed to spending the night with Harrington", you laugh, an attempt to turn your nerves into humour.

Eddie snorts a little, "yeah right, it's almost like you know me", he grins and pushes himself even closer to your face than he already is. It doesn't necessarily help in extinguishing the fire that's consuming you whole at this point.

"It's almost like we're best friends and I know what you think of him because every time Dustin or literally anyone else mentions his name around you, you're not necessarily secretive about it."

"Hey, my own worldview is not my fault, it's just– ... he just kinda seems like a douche of the highest order."

"He's quite alright, Eds. Try giving him a chance, I think he'd look great as Coffin's tambourinist."

He snorts again and you feel his breath on the column of your neck next when he dips his head down, nose pressing against the soft skin, his small giggle being swallowed by the collar of your sweatshirt.

Your favourite sound. Ever. Followed by the relieved moan Eddie lets out at the way your other hand is softly rubbing over his shoulder blade. The vibration against your neck makes you twitch as much as being pinned into the couch cushions by his body allows you.

It's soothing as much for you as it is for him.

When he lifts his head, the soft gaze he eyes you with is enough to let the goosebumps erupt. Even in the darkness of the room you can still make out those round buttons that could melt the entire north pole.

"Thank you, Peach, really. I'd be goin' mental right now and probably tryin' to counter that by smoking an equally mental amount of the stash I've been hiding here."

Your heart aches.

"I'm just glad I can be that kind of comfort to you, Eds. You don't have to go through whatever the fuck this is alone."

"I know I'm never gonna be alone as long as you are there."

You almost cry yourself now, his words making your hand travel from his own to his cheek, almost passing out from the way his eyes bore into your own once again.

Eddie isn't sure what it is that is making him feel lightheaded right now. The whole rollercoaster of events of the past hours. Or your words of affirmation. Or mayhaps it is your cute soft hand with that little ring on your thumb which is gently swiping over his damp skin.

That cute soft hand he'd been imagining countless times at night, silently yearning for your eyes to look at him differently, to finally see him in a different light the next time you'd hang out.

Probably a combination of just everything.

You reciprocate his soft half-lidded gaze, hand moving from his cheek to tuck some of his hair behind his left ear, revealing that delicate silver hoop earring you'd gifted to him for his birthday, after having talked your ear off about getting his ear pierced for literal months.

He'd insisted you join him for the appointment, "another metal moment for the books", as Eddie had called it, the need to have his hand held during the stab comically urgent in the way his voice sounded when he called you that day. And in the pace in which he picked you up.

"I'm here no matter what", you respond to his sentiment, that hand that brushed his hair away resting on the side of his neck while leaning the weight of your head into his palm that is still attached to your cheek.

Eddie's confidence reaches a new all time high with the admission of your unconditional support being stirred into the cocktail of hormones and emotions that's been circulating in his bloodstream for a generous amount of time now.

Because then he goes on by saying impossible things.

Impossible things with a slightly less platonic undertone.

"You're so fucking sweet, has anyone ever told you?"

You smile as you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks once again and you're sure he won't be able to see just how flustered he's getting you (joke's on you he does).

You're also sure he's out of his mind for saying that. Now.

"A shame, honestly. You should scold your best friend for not telling you sooner. Tell him what a fucking idiot he is."

Eddie earns another giggle from you. Music to his ears. Better than Metallica. Okay maybe not but .. pretty fucking close.

"I'll let him know next time I see him", you say with a grin, playing along with pleasure, and you ask yourself why it is only now that you realise just how fucking close his face is to yours.

There is a moment of silence in which Eddie hesitates articulating whatever is seemingly bugging his mind.

"Do you, uh, still like him?"

If you lifted your head just a little your noses would be touching. A silly and utmost redundant question, and yet, Eddie dreads your answer. If the circumstances were different, less dystopian and tragic, you'd seriously wonder what would spark the doubt in your friendship in him, but considering that everyone else would be going to pour their judgement over him, you understand.

Every word exchanged between the two of you at this hour is soaked in mutual infatuation, something the idiots in both of you are slowly starting to fathom as well.

"Of course I do, he's everything to me."

As you say it, you can't help the grin which reappears reliably each time you finish verbalizing your thoughts. It's contagious, you notice.

"And do you think – just hypothetically of course", it's only then he breaks eye contact to clear his throat, "of course", you interrupt him still smiling and cocking an eyebrow at him, "d'ya think it would be okay for this best friend to, uh, maybe...", Eddie pauses, internally watching the ship containing his confidence set sail slowly and ultimately letting the irrational thoughts win for tonight, "would you let him..."

Eddie generally wasn't someone who lacked confidence. It showed in the way he boisterously wandered the halls of Hawkins High, the way his demeanor never changed, his mask never faltered no matter who was around. Except for you. You who he had always granted a look underneath the impulsive, extroverted surface.

"Eds", you try everything in your power to stay calm even though everything inside of you is screaming right now and you're certain you can feel your pulse in your earlobes.

"Would it be just insane of that best friend to kiss you right now?"

You want to squeal and kick your feet, pull him into your face, pinch your own forearm, pass away, leave the house and never return, and stay right where you are forever, buried underneath your favourite metalhead, the parts where your bodies are touching practically on fire, cosy and content.

Instead, the most fond smile spreads over your lips as you try to contain your internal overwhelm.

It's still dark, the only light source being the full moon outside. Eddie's so hopeful of your reciprocation and even more terrified of ruining his entire life at the same time, those deep doe eyes at this point pretty much resemble the shape of the space rock orbiting earth. Rejection from you, his pretty Peach and the Bonnie to his Clyde, would be unbearable.

"I think so," you almost whisper, the hand that's been rubbing over Eddie's back coming up to lightly trace one of his eyebrows with your index finger because you just can't seem to not touch him in some way, "but you should know that I love his insanity."

Your small giggle is being silenced by a soft and cautious kiss from Eddie Munson. Like he doesn't want to break you. Or he's afraid you'll snap out of a haze, slap him and leave if he starts kissing you like he really wants to.

And then it's you who goes for it, you feel at home, right where you belong, you don't think you've ever felt this good. The hand on his jaw tugs him closer softly, pressing your lips to his with a bit more urgency.

It gives him all the confirmation he could possibly need.

That tingle, it grows and fills up your chest and shoots through your entire being, goosebumps and all. Eddie moans and breathes against your lips, tongue dancing over the thin skin, asking for permission.

His ringed hand digs deeper and slowly moves to the nape of your neck, intending to hold you in place, afraid you could slip away from him if he didn't. This blossoming thing between you could slip away from him. If he didn't.

It's so soft, the way his lips touch yours, and before you know it they move to your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck before Eddie comes up again, smiling from ear to ear, to gently bump his nose against the tip of yours and his lips return home with a soft and deep hum escaping from his lungs into your mouth.

Relief floods his veins along with whatever it is you're doing to him. The ability to shut out the insanity of the past hours is what he so desperately wants to cling to for as long as you allow him, even if the dawn will remind him of the horrid reality he's involuntarily become subject to live through now.

"You're making things so much better, Peach, you're so sweet, so fucking cute, so fucking good for me, do you even know for how long I've been dreaming of this?"

Eddie greedily pulls your face into his again, not even giving you a chance to reply and not nearly getting enough of your affection it seems with how fervently his tongue searches for yours.

A gentle collision of skin.

The soft whimpers you let out only spur him on. You not backing away from him, staying with him, letting him be this close to you?

You, the only constant source of consolation Eddie's ever really had.

Life changing.

Soft touches follow soft touches, your thumb traces his jaw repeatedly.

"You don't–", kiss, "for how long–", kiss, "I've been dreaming–", kiss, "of you as well", you breathe against him and Eddie thinks he might be about to resort to sniffling into your collar again with the amount of relief he is experiencing.

You'd let him.

"Yeah?", he presses his nose into your cheek with his eyes closed, smiling from ear to ear, relaxing his entire body into yours as you let him slide inbetween your legs.

"Yeah, you know how much of a sucker I am for peaches", you grin, another peck to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, your hips slowly finding a rhythm against his own.

Eddie groans at your allusion with a wide grin on his face (and the feeling of your warmth against his dick), before pressing his lips against yours again lovingly, "me too baby, me too."

–––

taglist (thought you might be interested): @josephfakingquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @analogkraken, @wroteclassicaly, @songforeddiemunson, @joejoequinnquinn, @somnambulic-thing, @trashmouth-richie, @eddddiemunson, @ceriseheaven, @userchai

comments, reblogs and other forms of affection towards the author are greatly appreciated thank youuuuu <3

[madsipie]

oh my gosh i'm currently replaying and had Ashley not open the door for Chris and Mike literally holds her chin for a split second to get her to look at him when she's frozen in place and, well, ignoring the context of the situation, that's so sweet other than the fact that she just murdered her friend

i would like to take a moment to just rant about how much i ENJOY Ashley and Mike as a duo.

yes, they barely had any screen time together, but oh my gosh. spoilers beware of spoilers spoilers spoilersss below this point!!

but if Chris doesn't make it back to the lodge (Wendigo kills him lmao rip bozo/j) and his head gets thrown at the door, Ashley sobs and Mike freaks out too but he then crouches down and holds her arm and asks her if she's okay in the gentlest voice i've ever fucking heard and holds her hand as he takes her back down to the basement (while telling her to stay with him and turning to check on her AGAIN) and oh my god my HEART, i love them so much

like there's a decapitated Chris outside, and a fucking Wendigo out there as well mind you, and yet all Mike cares about is asking Ash if she's okay and carefully getting her back to the basement. yes you can argue that this is literally just his savior complex and him wanting to get the fuck back downstairs, but he obviously still cares about her because he's not yelling or being an asshole about it, he's being gentle and it's so sweet. these two are so underrated it's CRIMINAL. and also he came upstairs because he heard her yelling so if that doesn't scream "i care about you" then idk what will

this game has so many friend combinations you can make and they're all so tasty ohmygosh i will eat up any fluff (and hurt/comfort) i can squeeze from this shitshow i swear

[milliumizoomi]

Hi, I was thinking Armando Ateras x Reader. So let’s just say that Reader is half human and half vampire and she controls her thirst but she still needs to feed but the hospital is closed down. When Armando came home, he noticed that the house is completely quiet and he saw Reader on the bed back turn and was breathing heavily. He walked towards her and he noticed that her eyes were brown and dark and has dark circles under her eyes and he asked what is wrong and told him that she needs to feed but the hospital is closed down. So Armando offers her to feed off from him but she says no quickly but still lets her feed. :)

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄

☆彡SUMMARY.; You’re so thirsty, and yet you can’t take the help he’s offering.

☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO x HALFVAMP!READER

☆彡TROPE.; ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

☆彡FORMAT.; ONE SHOT

☆彡GENRE.; SLIGHT CRACK + ANGST (if you squint) + FLUFF

☆彡WARNINGS.; Mentions of Blood, Mentions of human testing, Child Abandonment, Mentions of Death, Biting, + Mature Language

☆彡NOTES.; Thank you sooo much for the request and I’m sorry it took so long, it took me 3 days to edit this🧍🏽‍♀️,, it was kicking my ass fr but I had fun writing it since I don’t think I’ve ever written something like this before. I hope yall enjoyyyy!!🥰🥰

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED🧛🏽‍♀️.

🎧FOR THE BEST EXPERIENCE, YOU CAN LISTEN TO SORROWS by BRYSON TILLER🎧

Death.

So this is what this dreaded thing feels like.

It had felt like years, centuries even you’ve been at home feeling pain beyond what you believe to be normal.

Put it simply, you’re thirsty as shit and the only thing that you can drink to ease it a little you have nothing of.

Blood.

With you being half vampire and all, it’d make sense that’d be the only thing you can even think of drinking.

The backstory of you being or becoming a vampire is definitely not a pretty one. You were tested in from an early age. Your shit parents sold you off for a couple grubby dollars because they could. They just didn’t want to take care of you, so what better way to get rid of a kid than selling her off right?

God bless the world now though because they’re dead, and they never get to bring another kid into this world. It took years of being prodded, poked, scanned, and lasered until Miami Department came and got you out of there. Only the people on this mission was even aware of your situation and what exactly you were.

Your situation was made top secret, which meant not many should even know you’re the person rescued from this place. Only the people in the mission, which was AMMO, and the captain, that was it.

That being said you had to be kept in a facility for a while to be monitored before they let you go. They didn’t want to risk anything so they had to make sure you were good to go to be let out. And with you being so top-secret, that meant you had to stay in a place with someone that already knew your secret. Marcus decided to take you in, after many, many… many talks with Mike. They made sure you got what you needed and you even got the chance to integrate back into society.

However, this isn’t the matter at hand right now.

With this all being said, the fact was that you were not full vampire. With that in mind, this sheer thirst you have for blood right now is absolutely ridiculous. You’ve never had this problem before.

You don’t even know why you’re feeling like this in the first place.

You were usually able to control yourself, control your desires, your urges, your thirst. But now, it felt like you could rip the walls off hospital just to get inside for even a drop of blood.

Stones felt like they were piling higher and higher into your neck.

You were so fucking thirsty.

It had been god knows how many hours, close to about 2 days since the hospital closed down and you could feel the hot sensation of burning in your insides, along with fatigue and pain all over your body. You could curse the damned hospitals for putting you through this. You could control your thirst, you knew you could, but for some reason these last couple days, you had been completely insatiable.

And the people who could help you right now had been gone for almost a week. One of them being your boyfriend of 11 months.

Armando.

You had met him at the department, where you usually had to go for routine inspection of the state of your body and your abilities. He had been let out of jail for sometime, and with him being on AMMO, his father informed him of your situation.

Apparently he trusted his son with your secret.

He was weary of you at first, but that quickly died when he saw how you carried yourself. What led him to become so drawn to you was your raw strength and mental fortitude. He was impressed (and partially terrified) not only of your speed and strength, but also your ability to keep your thirst for blood at a minimum.

Granted nobody else in the world was like you.

Still though, he half expected you to react in the ways he’d seen vampires in movies would, unarticulated and flat out greedy for blood. Your personality is what sold him though, but that’s a story for another time.

Right now, the man you were currently silently begging to come home was nowhere to be found, as he was busy on a mission, and only god knows how long it’ll take him, or anybody else who knows about your situation to come back, You wanted him to be back so badly so he could just hold you as you went through this, not wanting to be alone. You were laying on your side, back facing the door and breathing so hard you were feeling severely lightheaded, even when laying down.

The after what felt like another hour had gone by, you heard the front door open and could’ve screamed for joy if you weren’t so damn thirsty and borderline passing out.

“Baby..?”

You heard his voice as his smell was enough to make you feel like you could get through this.

Armando, on the other hand, was on it.

Immediately, when he neared the bedroom after putting his stuff down, he could already sense something was wrong. When he saw you laying on the bed, back facing him and breathing hard, he immediately was on full alert.

He came over to you and slowly turned you over in your back, trying to assess the state you’re in.

“Mama? Talk to me, tell what’s wrong, what do you need?”

You looked at him, barely able to form words, you were just so out of it. He noticed your usual brown eyes were so dark they were border-lining black now, and under your eyes were dark circles. You looked like you haven’t slept in days.

“Mama talk to me please.. I need to know what to do to help you..”

“..thirsty.” You barely manage to answer him, practically gasping as the single word left your mouth.

“Where’s your blood baby? You don’t have any more?”

You shook your head no. And you already knew what his next question would be, so again, grasping at straws for the words to rip themselves from the back of your burning throat, you managed to say, “..hospital’s closed.. can’t get more..”

He tsks at the information you just told him. He quickly kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed, lifting your head slowly to rest and on his lap as he brushes your hair, trying to find anyway to alleviate the pain he knows you’re in right now.

Judging by your state, you could very well die without getting blood somehow, and of course he could go get it for you, but he doesn’t want to leave your side.

He can’t risk that.

“Mama vamos... bebe el mío, no puedo dejarte así...”

At this point, you felt like your head was splitting and your ears were ringing, so you swore you had heard him wrong. You gave him an incredulous look, which he picked up on. “Baby I’m not kidding.” Quickly, but carefully, he pulled your body up so you were in a position where you were sitting in his lap, face facing his.

“You look like you’re about to pass out, you need to drink some of mine, now.”

You shake your head immediately. Weakly, you respond, “Hell no.. I’m not doing that. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“No te lo estaba preguntando.”

He shoots you a look, and if you could, you’d muster up the strength to roll your eyes. You swore you’d never drink directly from a person, it just felt so wrong to you, wrong to even think about. It would make you feel less human, and it already took you months to start ingesting blood.

“Woman drink, now!” Still being stubborn, you didn’t budge. So he had to take matters into his own hands. He guided your head from the crook of his shoulder to look at him.

“Listen to me mama.. I can tell you’re fucking exhausted and tired, so I need you to listen to me and drink, I’ll be damned if I lose you to your stubbornness. I’m not playing with you. Drink.” You start shying away from the intensity of his gaze and words.

You knew very well what you not listening to him would do. Sighing, you sucked it up and looked at him, nodding. He leans back a bit and takes off his shirt, then cranes his neck to one side, fully surrendering himself so you can start the process.

You swallow nervously, the dry feeling scraping at your insides. Slowly, you lean closer, your fangs slowly growing as your face draws closer to his face. You stop momentarily, not sure if you want to go through with this. “Go on baby, está bien..” he rasps, rubbing your back gently.

At his reassurance, you come close enough to his neck and open your mouth, your sharp fangs coming into view and bite down. He groans at the intrusion, his body momentarily tensing at the feeling.

You on the other hand felt as if you were in pure bliss. The sounds you were making at the taste of his blood would have the neighbors sharing some questionable looks. You felt so energized, and you couldn’t get enough. His blood felt like crack to you, it was so addictive. Armando swore it would hurt more than it did. It felt.. pleasing.

He liked it.

Maybe he should let you do this more often.

Finally, you pull back from him, dazed. He too is a little whipped from the situation. He holds the back of your head as you pull back, studying your face. Your eyes were already beginning to glow, reverting to their original color. “¿Mejor?” You nod yes, bringing a hand up to wipe the access blood and the corner of your mouth. Your body had felt like it was buzzing with pure electricity.

It felt so much better.

“See.. that’s why you need to listen to me mama.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah I know.. thank you baby.”

He smiled at you. “De nada, mamá...now can you wrap this up for me so we can shower?” Gesturing to his neck.

You laugh a bit and smile. “Sí, vale.”

[GLOSSARY]

“Mama vamos... bebe el mío, no puedo dejarte así...” —“Mama, let’s go... drink mine, I can’t leave you like that...”

“No te lo estaba preguntando.” — “I wasn’t asking you.”

“. . . está bien..” — “. . . it’s fine..”

“¿Mejor?” — “Better?”

“De nada, mamá. . .” — “You’re welcome, mama. . .”

“Sí, vale.” — “Yeah, okay.”

ミ★

{TAGLIST} :: @armandosbabymama @ghettogirly @tinys0ftie @shurisgf @radioloom @butterflyybabe @dyttomori @nuggetnat888 @yeahnobyehoney @urbanlovestory || if you’d like to be added to the taglist just let me know in comments or dms🤗💕.

ミ★

©2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — MILLIUMIZOOMI. Do not modify, repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any work posted on this blog without my permission.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Space Oddity, Part 2

“Fuck the rest of them. Fuck ‘em all. Fuck ‘em all, but us.”

Word Count: 4,509 words (gahdamn)

Tag List (please lmk if you want to be added!): @melodymunson , @ali-r3n , @amandahobblepot , @twihard28 , @hiimjulie

[Chapter One]

Author’s Note: Fuck me Freddy, at last I have completed fanfic. This chapter was so much fun to write, especially after watching Dinner in America and feeling so seen and validated about the weird, off putting girl and the badass boyfriend relationship.

Interesting fact about this chapter, I actually did have two friends who decided one day to randomly exclude me from their friend group. They wrote me two actual, dumb ass letters I pretended to read about how they thought I was weird and they didn’t want to be my friend. The first one they put in my locker and I pretended I didn’t get it. The second one they handed to me in PE where I proceeded to laugh at them, rip it up, then throw the pieces in the trash. People think that only happens in bad 80’s movies, but some high school girls can actually be that stupid and comic book villain mean.

*****

“Mike! Jesus Christ, don’t just throw her!”

You and Eddie were fumbling with the spilled contents of your trapper keeper, trying to collect each sheet of xerox and graph paper. Every so often, Eddie would accidentally bump your shoulder or accidentally knock into you, and when you both went in to pick up a caricature you’d done of Angus Young, his head hit your nose.

Hard.

“Augh! Sorry, buttercup!” He said, quickly reaching out with his hands, “You okay?”

“My nose hurts…” you mumbled.

“Come here, lemme see.”

His hands were on your cheeks, you were in too much pain to realize Eddie Munson was actually touching you.

“Owie… Yup, I can see where I bonked you.” He winced in sympathetic pain as his thumb brushed your injury, “But you’ll be alright, it’s not broken. Come on. Upsy daisy.”

Mike and Dustin were at each other’s throats. Dustin was reprimanding Mike for turning you into a human football, while Mike was defending his actions for making sure you “stopped acting like a tool”.

“Knock it off, assholes!” Eddie snapped.

Mike and Dustin immediately ceased their caterwauling, and looked like scolded chihuahuas, ducking away from Eddie who looked like he was going to throw a chair.

“God dammit, you’re giving me a headache.” He hissed, then turned to you.

All you could do was stand there, awkwardly digging the tip of your shoe into the carpet. Avoiding any and all eye contact.

“You look real familiar…” Eddie said, pointing a ringed finger at you, “I know you… Where do I know you from?”

“… I sit behind you in Mrs. O’Donnell’s Economics class.” You whispered.

Pure, unapologetic joy made his face bloom pink, a dimpled smile gracing his features as his dark brown eyes sparkled with stars. Eddie clapped his hands, jabbing a finger in your general direction and then pacing side to side with his arms crossed.

“I knew it! I do remember you! You’re the funny chick who drew Figment the Dragon on the chalkboard, and then did the T. Rex thing with your hands when The ’Donnell tried to erase it!”

Eddie tucked his arms to his chest and made a terrific mimic of your high pitched screech, causing his friends to laugh hard and their eyes to light up in recognition. Your eyes widened, and you wanted to immediately die. Naively you didn’t think anyone had remembered your stand against O’Donnell and her dislike for Disney related media. She told you this wasn’t Mr. Miller’s art class. Of course, you let her have it, and it almost cost you a detention — and permanent placement in Hawkins High School’s joke of a Special Education program — until your mother came down to the school with her attorney from Indianapolis and raised hell, both of them threatening Principal Higgins, Mrs. O’Donnell, and the school Superintendent with a discrimination lawsuit. Since then you’d done even more outrageous shit to make everyone forget and keep away the bullying, surely this one time would have been buried in the numerous instances of other out of pocket things you did?!

Nope. Evidently the Figment Incident was the talk of Hellfire Club, and your crush could replicate your noises to a T.

“Oh shit! You’re the Dragon Lady!” said a guy in a Black Sabbath raglan with blue sleeves.

“The Badass herself in the flesh!” interjected one with curly hair.

“You’re a goddamn legend, dude!” laughed one guy that was eating Doritos by the handful, “We even made you into a character in one of our campaigns! She’s a wizard with a purple dragon — of course we named it Figment — and they communicate in Draconic Tongue to one another!”

“Like this!”

Eddie screeched again, and the guys burst into laughter.

You couldn’t help but cover your face with your trapper keeper. If there was a God, you wanted him to burst out of the sky in a puff of smoke and smite you and everyone else in the room with lightning bolts.

“After that time, you didn’t ever get out of your desk chair again.” Eddie said, crossing his arms after he stopped laughing, “Always sitting in back, keeping to yourself. I don’t think I’ve even heard you say more than three words to anyone all semester.”

Stepping lightly, Eddie began to circle you. Looking you up and down, cocking his head to the side and doing a little bit of an arrogant head waggle.

“Didn’t peg you for a D&D nerd, buttercup.” He said, his voice gaining a sudden confidence as he stepped to you, “By the look of this dandelion yellow sweater, I would have guessed you’d be more the Seventeen Magazine and like, naked slumber party pillow fights with fellow screamers kind of girl.”

You shook your head. You stopped buying Seventeen Magazine when your attempts to apply their makeup lessons to your everyday routine made you look like a KISS reject. And you’d never even had enough friends for a slumber party.

“You like to draw, huh?” He asked.

He was fishing for a reaction. Trying to make you talk.

You nodded.

“What else?”

“… I like to read…”

His head tilted to the side.

“Yeah? What do you like to read? You ever read anything by Rose Estes or Fritz Leiber?”

“Are you two gonna stand there flirting all night, or are we gonna roll some dice?” Cried out one of the boys, the one with the curly hair.

“Yeah man, does the lady even have a character?”

“Oh she’s got a goddamn character!” Mike interjected confidently while Dustin nodded.

“The best character, a tanky character, real hardcore shit.” Dustin said.

Eddie chuckled darkly, looking at you with a menacing grin as he got in your face.

“What’s your character, buttercup? Level one human fighter?” He teased.

“A cleric…” you whispered.

Eyebrows raised. He looked up, thought for a moment, pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Okay. Yeah… yeah I can see that.” He nodded, looking you over, “A little tough tootsie badass, but you’ve got a soft spot as a healer for a holy order. I can dig it.”

Rapid fire, he then began tossing a million questions your way, so fast and in a run on you had to stop to listen to keep up.

“You didn’t tell me your race though. What is it? Hengeyokai? Gnome? Half-orc? What domain did you choose? Life? Arcana? How about your weapon, did you pick a claymore?” With each question, his sneer grew.

Mike and Dustin looked on fearfully, worried that you could not answer him. They knew Eddie was sizing you up, setting a trap with his trick questions. The claymore was a clever way for him to catch you on your bullshit, to see if you were even paying attention.

Suddenly, as if possessed by a cambion, you began to unload on him in a trance-like monotone. Pulling out a character study where you’d spent all last period drawing the same Siouxsie Sioux-esque vamp beauty of a character that made up your D&D creation, you waved the character sheet in his face while you began monologuing.

“Um no… so, Shadowmoon is a level ten half-elf cleric of Shar — I picked Trickery domain for her — and she’s like cursed by the Lady of Sorrows so her morals are like, super flexible and kinda fucked up. And she’s got like, a Sharran morningstar because I know that clerics in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons can’t have any other weapons besides a morningstar and it’s really useful for her, and I wanted to make her a healer for the party because Dustin said everyone else mainly tanks but no one wants to play support, and I think a cleric could be useful because then maybe she could help be the face of the group — do you already have a group face? Shadowmoon would make a good face because she’s gothic and really pretty. And then like, Shadowmoon would be good at lying because she could like… cast Guidance to help with her high charisma modifier-…”

“How did you end up choosing Trickery?” Eddie interrupted, snatching your character sheet from your hands.

You paused, thought it over carefully, then tried again.

“Uh… Shadowmoon was already part of my story I’m writing, so, I thought Trickery fit her personality best because she’s like, pretending to be this honest healer to everyone when really she’s on a mission to deliver an artifact to her temple on a mission from her dark goddess. She’s um… she’s a Chaotic Neutral so like, she could get along with everyone and either murderhobo her way through encounters or maybe she can change into good halfway...”

You trailed off when you noticed that Eddie hadn’t really reacted at all to your lore dump. He wasn’t really paying much attention to you at all. Nose pressed to the paper, he was engrossed in your character sheet.

Immediately you panicked, thinking Dustin and Mike had been bullshitting and lying to you about Eddie liking girls who knew what they were talking about when it came to Dungeons & Dragons. He almost had that look on his face: the one you dreaded where the eyes would glass over, and you could tell someone wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying. As if they were bored of your rambling. Bored of you. It was the look that made you want to scream and cry, and lash out.

But to your surprise, Eddie handed you back your character sheet, and smiled.

“Not only do you have your backstory mapped out, but you’re making connections to your own story setting… You’re a full on closet nerd, aren’t you, buttercup?” He said.

“… I like fantasy and sci-fi.” You muttered.

Pause, and then he laughed.

“The cyberman fighting the chimera you drew in the corner near the Special Abilities area kind of tipped me off to that.” He smiled, pointing to the drawing on your sheet.

Quickly you snatched Shadowmoon’s sheet back. Tucking it into your body, you shrunk in on yourself and avoided looking at Eddie.

“So you wanna join Hellfire, yeah?” He asked, once again crossing his arms and pacing around you.

“You think you can handle sitting with the freaks at lunch? Take a couple hits to your social life? Maybe even take a few blows…?”

You nodded eagerly. Of course you wanted to join! Your heart was pounding, and your mouth started to salivate. He’d even offered to let you sit at the lunch table with him and his friends!

“You certainly seem like you’re okay with it, but let me ask this…”

Eddie got right into your face. So close, you could smell the lingering notes of Old Spice deodorant and Sea Breeze. Hell, you could even see the areas of his chin that were lightly spotted with acne and the blue of his incoming beard. His breath was warm on your face. Steaming even. A waft of sweet tobacco hit your nostrils.

“What makes you think a mousy little buttercup like you would even fit in with a group of degenerates like us?” He asked, voice so low you had to lean in to hear him better.

“We’re not the chess club, and we’re not the Doctor Who club. This is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. We’re the freaks, the underdogs of Hawkins High. The losers with too much time and imagination on our hands to do shit else.”

You gulped. He was pressing almost nose to nose with you. Staring you down and following your gaze when you looked at the floor.

“We are the weirdos your momma warned you about, little miss. You think you can handle us?” He murmured.

“… ‘malreadyweird…” you mumbled.

Immediately he pulled back, blinking.

“Huh?”

“I said: I’m already a weirdo.”

The rest was automatic. Shoulders up, arms and trapper keeper tucked further to your chest as you turned away from Eddie, insecurity creeping up into your heart as you grimaced.

“I’m the weirdo bitch who doesn’t have any friends, and who according to Shelley Warab in first period is ‘a fucking lunatic who is always drawing attention to herself’.” You said.

Eddie had looked confused, until the weight of your words sunk in.

“Drawing attention to yourse—… oh, hell no…”

“Drawing” attention to yourself, that was Shelley Warab’s attempt at a double entendre. But it was the furthest thing from the truth. If anything, you hid your drawings after the Figment Incident, and only drew during lecture on your own paper, when no one would talk to or look at you.

“And because Shelley Warab thinks you’re “drawing” attention to yourself, the other girls pick on you too, don’t they?” Eddie asked softly.

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed.

A large hand engulfed your shoulder. Shaking, with righteous fury. You looked up at him.

Eddie looked ready to burn down the school.

“They’re jealous. You know that right? Those jealous bitches are lost souls.” He hissed, “All they know how to do is steal daddy’s money to pay for acid, because they can’t come up with one goddamn original thought while sober. You can conjure up these elaborate, creative pieces like magic, and they hate it. Your talent makes them feel inadequate, so they try to drag you through the horseshit to make you stop. Don’t listen to them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You looked down shamefully, the Bitch of Hawkins High had her walls ripped down at last.

“Come on Eddie… look at her.” Dustin said softly, “You told us to look for the little lost sheep who didn’t fit in.”

All of your classmates said you were worse than the freaks. To them you were a mean girl. A bitch. The weird asshole who screamed at people and didn’t let boys like Tommy Hagan or Billy Hargrove come within five feet of your person before you started throwing sharp things at them.

“You’re damn right, Henderson.” Eddie responded, his voice just as soft as the fluff on a kitten.

“She’s exactly what we’ve been looking for: a shivering, lost little lamb… with no flock of her own to follow.”

His grip loosened, and he began to gently massage your shoulder.

“What say you, buttercup?” He asked, voice sweet and smooth as mulled honey wine, “You wanna be my little sheep?”

…

It had taken four years.

Four long, arduous, horrible years… Four years of screaming meltdowns. Uncontrollable rage bubbling up in your throat at the frustration of being excluded. At the lack of understanding. Nobody ever invited you to anything. No parties. No sleepovers. Not even to go to the bathroom together in solidarity.

Four lonely, long, miserable years… and someone had finally invited you to their group, saying you could belong…

The tears spilled out of your eyes in microseconds.

“Hey, hey! Sweetheart, don’t cry…”

Calloused ringed fingers were immediately wiping tears from your soft cheeks, patting you softly to calm you down. Eddie’s expressive, dark cognac colored eyes looked almost watery — like he was going to cry too — his brows furrowing into a frown as his facade of an intimidating freak immediately dropped.

“No…! None of that, sugarplum. You’re alright. There’s no crying in Hellfire Club, okay? You belong here, don’t cry…”

“R… really?”

His dimpled smile was so genuine, it made you ache.

“Really. You’re one of the black sheep now, buttercup. Welcome to Hellfire.”

The leather of his Schott jacket squeaked as his arm wrapped around your shoulders, free hand rubbing your deltoid as you instinctively pressed closer to him. You would have never guessed, but Eddie was particularly touchy. It was as if he wanted to be close to you at all times. Even if you pulled away a little bit to readjust, his hand came right back to the same position.

“Come on, let’s introduce you to the rest of the weirdos.” He said, leading you towards the others.

You rode the high of the night. You made new friends in Jeff, Frank, and Gareth, as they were chomping at the bit to get to know the infamous “Dragon Lady” who had doodled a near perfect copy of an obscure Disney character. Frank was in the middle of asking you to design a tattoo for him of Maleficent in her draconic form when Eddie called the session to order.

“So we’re going right into our main campaign for tonight, and I’ll give everyone an opportunity to introduce themselves to our new party cleric…” he looked at you and held out a hand from behind his DM screen.

“Shadowmoon.” You corrected him.

“Ah yes, the ever so cunning and duplicitous Shadowmoon; our very own half-elf Cleric of Shar, the shadowy seductress that is Our Lady of Loss.” His voice took on a low, deadly tone, as if evoking the name of Shadowmoon’s goddess would provoke divine wrath, “Hope you and Shadowmoon can handle a few good curveballs tonight, might be overwhelming… but any girl who can pick Lady Shar as a patron can handle my brand of freak.”

“I’ll work hard.” You nodded.

“Good girl.”

The campaign’s overall atmosphere was a success. You asked genuine questions, feeling comfortable when you noticed Dustin was right. No one had all the answers. The boys still looked at their character sheets and flipped through the handbook if they needed to look up an effect (even Eddie did it a few times when a player question gave him pause).

You got to name the party. Gareth had drawn a rather regal coat of arms for your ragtag group, and because he’d added the silhouette of a game bird that Frank argued looked like a chicken, you began to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asked, his serious facade slipping when he saw you smile and show teeth.

“We… it… with that chicken on our coat of arms… We’re the Band of the Cock!” You shrieked.

Immediately there was a cacophony of screams, chaos, laughter, and a few d4’s launched at your spinning, grinning head as you laughed into your hands. Playing with the boys, belonging to a group… it was all so fun!

Eddie laughed at your jokes, even when they fell a little flat. With the group’s combined social awkwardness and typical behaviors, your own tics didn’t even phase them. If you popped your mouth in a certain way, it would set off the person next to you until everyone was doing it. The guys helped you with math if you fucked up adding modifiers, but they did it in a way that didn’t make you feel stupid. Even Eddie helped you look up spell effects if you didn’t know offhand.

Hellfire Club was fucking fun.

And you were having a blast showing off and earning the affection of Eddie the Freak.

You were sorry when the two hours were up, and everyone was packing their things up and heading home for the night.

“Do you need help cleaning up…?” You asked.

Eddie looked up from rolling up his butcher paper map.

“Hmm? Nah, I got it.” He said, shaking his head as he continued, “You did good tonight, you know. Your timing was perfect, you did well managing your spell slots for Healing Word, and you even took Cornell Notes for our party. None of my little misfits even writes down their damn inventory, let alone takes Cornell Notes for the party.”

You shrugged, chewing on a hangnail.

“I just wanted to be of help… to really try.” You said.

“You didn’t just try, you killed it out there! Now I know I can rely on you to mother hen this gang of muppets that makes up our party.”

There was comfortable silence between the two of you. Even though it was late, you were willing to walk home in the dark if it meant you could just be around Eddie for a little while longer.

But something had been nagging the back of your mind… Ever since you had found out that Eddie Munson was DMing this campaign, the memories of the inception of your middle school crush on him had come back in full force.

“Um… Eddie?” You ventured.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He looked up.

“Um… do you… in middle school… do you remember finding a note in your locker…?” You asked softly.

“… I do, yeah.” He said cautiously, “Why do you ask…?”

“Do you… do you remember the poem in it?”

He stopped what he was doing, looked up at you with wide, dark eyes.

“It um… it was about light and stuff, and uh… it didn’t have a name signed on it, but there was a picture on the bottom of a fairy holding a lantern…”

“How the hell do you know about that!?” He asked.

He began to approach you, his chest heaving.

“I never even told anyone about that poem-… Did… did you write that note? Is that how you know about it?” He demanded.

“… yes…” you whispered.

“Why didn’t you sign it?!” He asked.

His face was contorted. A desperate look. As if he was going to cry.

“… because I was scared…” you said.

“Scared of what? Of me?!”

“No…”

Never. You could never be scared of Eddie. He was amazing. He was the definition of cool. You desired him biblically.

“No… I was scared that… that you wouldn’t like me…” you said softly, “I loved your performance at the talent show so much… and I wanted to talk to you after, but then you got sent to Mr. Coleman’s office for playing Exciter. So I wrote the poem for you, and… I didn’t ever find out if you liked it because I was too shy to ask if you’d read it. Then you went on to high school, and I didn’t see you anymore.”

There was silence. Backing away from you, he wiped his mouth, exhaling a deep sigh.

“I can’t believe it…” he said, shaking his head and running his fingers through his shaggy hair, “I thought about that poem for years… First I thought it was someone playing a prank, but it wasn’t mean. It was so… it was earnest, and heartfelt… and you didn’t even sign it.”

He looked back at you.

“How could you think I wouldn’t like you after you wrote something like that for me?” Eddie asked.

“You always stared at every other girl but me.” You said, “And then I heard a rumor you almost left for California with this punk rocker chick during senior year, and I thought… Well, I knew I didn’t stand a chance because I’m not stylish. And when I heard you got held back, and that you’d be in my year, I wanted to talk to you. But… freshman year I tried making friends, and because I fucked that up, all the rumors started and everyone called me a creepy, angry bitch...”

It all in the end came back to Shelley Warab. She had been the first person you’d tried to make friends with. Moderate popularity, middle class, dirty blonde hair, she should have dominated in the halls as the queen bee. But the cheerleaders hated her because she always tried to hang off the arm of the nearest quarterback or point guard, and the cheerleaders happened to already be dating said sportsmen when Shelley tried to get in their pants. Her locker was often decorated with the word “WHORE” written in red Maybelline lipstick.

So Shelley decided to form her own clique if no others would accept her. That included you: a bright eyed freshman from the middle school that everyone overlooked because you never talked to anyone, along with several other girls of varying degrees of loneliness. She ruled over all of you with an iron fist. Trying to mold you all into her own idea of a clique that would make mean girls like Carol Perkins (the main culprit of the Maybelline insults) kowtow to her self-made band of bitches.

One day at lunch forever changed your fate. Shelley decided to go through each girl’s knapsack and dump out the contents on the lunch table, judging her subjects on the personal effects they kept within. A particularly timid friend was being dressed down for balled up gym socks, and you stood up and asked how Shelley would like it if you took her Avon tote bag over to the garbage, tipped it upside down, and dumped every single bit of its contents into the slop created from a mixture of coleslaw and uneaten sloppy joes.

Justice was swift. Carol Perkins overheard your threat and laughed at Shelley for “getting gutted by a freak”. Shelley told you to leave, and the next day at lunch had the audacity to present an honest to god manifesto written in purple pen about how no one at the table wanted you to sit with them anymore, complete with signatures. Carol had of course laughed at you next for this rejection, so you lunged at her and screeched like a pteranodon in her face, ripping up the letter like confetti and dumping it all over Carol and Shelley’s watery cafeteria spaghetti, before turning over their trays in their laps.

It was a chain reaction of outbursts afterwards. Then the Figment Incident happened, making you untouchable, because the students knew your mother wielded her attorney like a sword. Even bullies like Billy Hargrove who didn’t care about any authority figure or law enforcement officer avoided you like the plague because you weren’t afraid to threaten to use your pencil to blind them.

Your rage kept everyone away. The one armor you possessed.

“You think I give a shit about rumors?!”

Eddie once again had you by the shoulders, his grip tight as he almost shook you with rage. His eyes burned with hurt, betrayal…

And… desire?

“Those rumors… that’s all just fucking bullshit!” He snapped, “You’re not a creepy bitch. You’re funny, you’re exciting, and you make all these adorable noises-…”

“… I am angry and bitchy all the time though…”

“Okay maybe a little, but I am too.” Eddie conceded, “But that’s because everything and everyone in this town sucks. But you don’t suck. You’re smart, and sweet, and kind… and… damn it… you’re beautiful.”

He was so close… So indignant, his righteous fury lighting a spark in his eyes that made you lean into him.

“All of that hellfire in you, that anger… god, it makes you a bonafide badass.” Eddie said, pulling you in close to his chest and rocking you side to side.

When you felt his fervent kisses pepper your scalp, you began to cry again. He pulled you in tighter, his kisses trailing down to your forehead, thence to cheeks, thence to capture your lips in a fiery, passionate make out session where he bit your lower lip to slip the tongue. You both pulled away breathless, and he kissed you one more time before pointing a finger right in your face.

“You’re the most metal fucking girl in all of Hawkins High. And anyone who says differently is a goddamn moron.”

[cloveroctobers]

SWEET DREAMS — Terry Richmond [October Prompts] 🧡

A/N: It’s really making me happy that I have someone new to write about! And now I get to do that some more during my favorite season? You know I had to! Thanks for all the previous love on my first work about this stunning lion looking man! Hope to do more for the next season too 🤩

WARNINGS: Get your sage & holy water ready! This fic includes — Fluff, grief, and Mike is alive! Most likely language, written with a black woman in mind, & this ended up much longer than I intended! Basically…fuck around and find out?

SYNOPSIS: Life is short, shorter than you can imagine but sleep can feel like a eternity.

Firstly this is inspired by the haunting of hill house just a little + PROMPTS can be found here & I’m using: 25. “Well, it is a seance.” / “Good thing the person I want to see is already here.” + 28. Playing with an Ouija board.

<- read my previous spooky anthology prompt here.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭

Terry remembers her roller set digging into his collarbone as they lounged on their couch together one (always) warm autumn afternoon. She often complained about wash days but each one was different when it came to how she wanted to style it for the next two to three weeks. He helped her roll and clip the back of her head once she started to whine that her arms were about to fall off. He may have worked her too hard in the gym two days ago but regardless, dealing with a crown like this would always be a task, so he didn’t mind taking on some of the weight.

He made sure to kiss her temple once she stated that she can handle the rest, while he left her to get started on dinner. It was always a rule between the two to have dinner at the table, since they hardly got the chance to experience that in their own upbringings. Majority of the time, this rule was followed but that day she struggled to keep her head upright as she shuffled around the waterfront raised french provincial home.

Terry was pretty commanding and even guided her to the table once everything was ready, although she wanted to throw a tantrum, a tender kiss to her lips snapped her out of it as they sat across from each other to have dinner. Once that was over? He had no issue lounging on the couch for a while; her nodding off with the aroma of rosemary being prominent from her roots.

“We should be fall shopping since scary movies aren’t really our thing.” She croaked, through slits in her eyes, as some football game was playing on the flatscreen.

Terry snorts, “I told you I was down for: it’s the great pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”

“What are we, five?” She sassed.

Terry leaned away to peek down at his girl, “Huh? You’re more of the scary one out of the relationship than I am.”

“…SO?” She huffed, followed by a yawn that ripped through her lips.

Terry chuckled, “yeah you must be real tired because that comeback was not challenging enough.”

She hums, tightening her crossed arms as she closes her eyes once more. Terry loops an arm across her chest, leaning the elbow of his other arm along the arm of the couch while pressing his knuckles against his mouth, eyes focused on the game now while he let her get her nap on. He already knew the deal, that he wouldn’t let her sleep too long since she had to go into her regular shift down at the library the next morning.

She’s been taking up extra hours, (since the mortgage rates continued to go up rather than down around here) even went in on her day off for four hours before she came back home to get started on her hair. So he’d wake her up so this nap didn’t disrupt her night routine in the next thirty to forty-five minutes.

Terry, always the active one and grew tired of the game—since he wasn’t rooting for a particular team anyway—left her with a honey colored Sherpa blanket to finish out her slumber and ventured outside underneath the house, through the carport to his workshop to see what he can get into. He had his timer set on the Apple Watch she got him last Christmas, although he was used to just tracking time on his regular wrist watch, he appreciated the gift.

She came and found him before time was up, arms sneaking around his waist while Terry’s humming along to Luther Vandross’, “Don’t you know that?”

He was too in his zone, fixing up Mike’s bike and jamming to old classics that he didn’t even hear her come in, which he should scold himself for but with the way she held onto him so lovingly, nuzzling her cheek against his back, made him put that on hold for now.

“Having a good time without me, Grandpa?” She teases while Terry turns to face her.

He runs a thumb over her cheek as she smiles up at him, “Never. You’re just who I was waiting for, grandmomma. All you’re missing is the moo-moo.” He jokes back, using his other hand to flick one of her rollers which she tries to smack his hand away to not mess with.

Soon that hand is up and intertwining with her’s as Terry leads them into a sway to the beat. She’s well enough rested as she grins up at him with a slight shake of her head, knowing Terry’s in a good mood now that he has her out here slow-dancing in this muggy workshop.

“Who knew that your simba looking self would be a big softie?” She tells him as he leans towards his woman.

He keeps his intense eye contact locked only on her and stops humming to reply, “You secretly love it.”

“I do…and you too, I guess.” She jests with a whisper, also inching forward so their lips can meet once more.

There’s a red light behind Terry’s eyelids before he decides to open them. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a while and picking up on the chirping of birds, buzzing of bugs, and the possible motor of a neighbors’ nearby boat in the water. His senses were always heightened. It’s late, he knows it but he doesn’t move as the door to the back patio across from the bed is pushed open.

There she is, surrounded by the orange sunlight that fights against the fog. It’s almost too bright that he can’t make out her facial features, when he knows he usually can with his eyes closed.

“Good, you’re up.” She says closing the door behind her but the opacity still blocks out her features yet not her hair, “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

He wants to move but finds his body stiff and unmoving. There’s a furrow of his thick brows as they start to search the brightness of the room, which is a contrast of what it’s been like for months. Terry flicks his eyes downwards, trying to move his fingers but they stay put.

He feels the dip of the bed and the clinking of a utensil against a teacup that looks an awful lot like his mother’s. She takes a sip and sighs while she then says to Terry, “This feels familiar doesn’t it?”

Terry swallows, his throat feels extremely dry and as if a lump has formed there. He wants to cough but makes no motion to do so. He keeps blinking, hoping that he can figure out what’s going on but part of him feels like he should already know.

“Don’t worry, honey. Just be thankful that you got the prettier version of me to haunt you, instead of whatever I was forced to see when I got like this.” She informs Terry, leaning over to finally show him what he remembered her to be.

The softness of her eyes, the way she sounded, the way her tongue pressed behind her front teeth when she smiled along with the way she smelled.

“I just hope you keep having sweet dreams and not what the night brings.” The last of her words echo off his ears before Terry is able to sit up with a sharp gasp of air.

His hand goes to his throat, massaging the space and clearing it as his wide eyes look around the room for her but she’s no longer here. He feels the beads of sweat appearing on the back of his neck, and the vibrating of his phone already tells him that it’s one of three people that’s probably calling him. Terry reaches over to take a peek, declining the call and sending a text that he would catch up with them later, then drags himself into the bathroom to get ready for another long day.

The obnoxious ringing of his doorbell, makes Terry stride quickly to the door to reveal his cousin, Mike along with their old friend, Summer McBride. She’s got her hands full while Mike straightens up from his position of getting ready to send a horse kick to Terry’s front door.

“I’m convinced you lost your mind.” Terry says to his family member, who just grins at him, “And I know auntie Josie taught you some manners, help Summer out, man.”

Mike scoffs while Summer sends him a knowing look with her doe eyes, “She almost chopped my hand off when I tried to take the bag from her, fam. So I did try.”

Terry steps aside to wave the pair in before saying to the short haired woman, “I told you that every time you visit, you don’t have to bring anything.”

“The only good thing my family taught me,” Summer speaks over her shoulder as she makes her way through the foyer, “was to never show up empty handed and this is nothin’.”

Terry and Mike unfortunately got to meet her (racist) family down at the usual court dates Summer had to attend. Every time they turned around her ex husband was having her down there and although Terry attended more so than Mike—not that it mattered—he had his own trauma of not wanting to be in any more courtrooms, they all showed up for one another in various of ways.

“Tell that to my still stinging hand.” Mike comments while the blonde sets her things down onto the wooden dining table.

He heads into the kitchen while Terry exhaled before moving around his own home as well.

“Oh, you complain more than my own kid!” Summer sassed while Terry gives a small smile at their bickering.

He finds himself tuning them out as he checks on the sides again before turning the stove off. When he turns back around he sees Mike rubbing his hands together in excitement, “what’s on the menu, cuz? You never answered the texts?”

Terry inhales as he glanced over his shoulder at the various pots and pans, “Nothing too crazy, thick cut pork chops with three options since I’m not sure what Summer prefers: hot sauce, applesauce, or smothered in gravy and onions.”

Mike scoffs, “well aren’t you a kind hearted son of a bitch. How come I don’t get options when we have dinner together on Thursday’s?”

“You’re just a picky eater and don’t nobody got time for that.”

Mike sucks his teeth, “you did all that extra work and watch Summer like her shit borin’ and plain.” He turns back to the blonde who stands by the side of the island counter, awaiting her answer with his brown eyes.

Summer sheepishly smiles, “I actually brought a mini hot sauce in my bag if it wasn’t an option.”

“See,” Terry laughs at Mike’s shocked face, “we got to know our friend by now, she ain’t regular.”

Summer questions, “Thank you?”

“Yeah it’s a compliment, Goldilocks. Now tell us what you did bring because if it’s coleslaw with raisins? I’m taking my plate to go.” Mike informs while Terry pinches the bridge of his nose followed by a chuckle, before moving around the kitchen to start grabbing plates.

Summer frowns, “do I look like a coleslaw kinda woman, Michael? And lucky for you, I can’t cook so I just bought over some fall inspired things that we can all try later.”

Mike pretends to gag, “this lady tryna to kill us with that pumpkin shit.”

“Mike, clear the table for me man, so we can have a clean space to serve ourselves.” Terry encourages while Summer just folds her arms and sticks her nose up at Mike’s actions before circling around to look at the prepared food until it was time to bring everything over.

Dinner was never awkward by any means. This wss a routine that they picked back up, having Sunday dinner or if they couldn’t make it or if Terry wasn’t feeling up for it they would come over for leftovers on Monday. Since Summer moved closer to where Terry and Mike resided in Lullin it was easier for her to stop on by. On Thursday’s Terry and Mike would mostly spend time at Mr. Liu’s for dinner. Although they had a business together where they saw each other every day, it was always important to continue their bond outside of work with food.

That’s been instilled in them since they were children, meeting up at Terry’s grandmother’s house and Mike’s grandfather—Terry’s great uncle—would always come by with Mike underneath his arm. That’s what started their bond thanks to their grandparent’s tight sibling relationship.

Sometimes Terry would even put on (grandpa, as she would like to call it) music while they carried on a conversation, it would mostly be Mike and Summer debating over something while Terry intently listened. If you didn’t know him, you would probably think he’s blocking them out but he could repeat back everything that was said. Since Mike was the only drinker and the pumpkin beer was mainly for him, he deemed it as not bad, shocking Summer who mocked him into giving her some credit and he even asked if he could take the remaining three pack home with him.

This was all after they stepped in to clean up the kitchen, Summer was on dish duty, Terry was putting everything into containers and making to-go boxes for the two, while Mike sipped and wiped down the counters and placed the decorations back on the dining table like how she used to have it.

Soon they were all seated on the couch, binging some ridiculous show Summer put them all onto before Mike pointed out that Summer never showed them what was in her large reusable bag that she brought with her. The blonde peeks at the time on her spot on the two seat sofa and sighed, “I guess now is a good enough time as any.”

Mike’s eyes are already low lidded as he’s lounging on the couch and looks over at Terry who simply shrugs at him.

“I’ve been thinkin’…Terry hasn’t been getting the best sleep lately, rightfully so and I thought maybe there was a way to get rid of that weight in your heart.” Summer speaks as she brings the bag over to the living room.

Terry blinks but there’s confusion in his light eyes, “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not!” Summer argues, “Sure you’re going to those therapy sessions but I know a sleep deprived person when I see one, believe me.”

Mike mumbles before taking a final swing from the bottle, “Blondie ain’t wrong, cuz. Normally you’re on your game and you always push through—don’t get me wrong—but I caught you sleeping in the office lately and that ain’t like you.”

Terry looks back and forth between the two but still speaks calmly, “so…this was your plan this dinner? To plot on me and have some sort of intervention?”

Mike shakes his head, “I don’t know what summa summa summa time brought with her, I don’t play no parts in that. I just know the anniversary of losing her is coming up and we just want to make sure you’re good, is all.”

There’s this slight ache that wants to punch through the numbness in his chest but when Terry sits up, burying his elbows into his knees, he’s able to make it subside some.

“…Because we care and we show up for one another.” Summer added, “and you started telling me about one of your dreams before in pieces but they were still so vivid. So I thought maybe she’s trying to tell you something.”

Both sets of eyes flicked to Summer as she turned to the bag that sat next to her on the sofa, her hands digging through the bag to pull out a board.

“…I know she fucking lying.”

There in her lap sat an Ouija board.

Terry drops his head while Summer blows out a breath and tries to plead her case.

“Before you all go houndin’ me about doing white shit, I just want you both to know that this was very effective for me. I got the chance to speak with my pawpaw—

“Oh yeah sure, Paw-Paw!” Mike does air quotes while Summer waits for him to be done.

“…He’s the only stable adult I had in my life and talkin’ to him through here instead of at a gravesite did me a helluva lot good. I just thought it could help you too.” Summer speaks, making Terry lift his head to meet her eyes.

Terry and Mike have known Summer for a while and she’s always been genuine. Maybe this did help her grieve her grandfather, Terry always gave people the benefit of the doubt and the chance to show their character or right their wrongs. He didn’t think Summer would purposely steer him wrong yet he’s seen some things going through training and being a marine.

He didn’t break then.

He still didn’t break when he lost her.

He couldn’t.

“You got me?” Terry finally finds himself asking Summer after a brief silence, who holds his stare before slowly dipping her head.

Summer affirms because Terry was keen on words, “I do.”

Mike wasn’t having it so Terry and Summer moved to the office that used to belong to her. Summer sets the board on the built in desk once they pass through the double doors. Terry grabs a chair from the main desk that’s in the center of the room for Summer and grabs the second from another but much smaller built in computer desk off to the side by the windows for himself.

“You’re going to have to walk me through this since this isn’t my expertise. I normally don’t mess with spirits and if this ever gets out to my grandmother—

“It’ll be our little secret and Mike’s.” Summer squeezes his shoulder before motioning for him to sit and then drags her bag in between the chairs, “it’s simple work really. We light a candle, you have something that was special to her, and we call upon the spirit realm to reach her. Then she’ll talk to us through the board.”

Terry’s expression held skepticism but Summer double checked if he wanted to go through with this. He said he would after pausing, feeling a draft at the back of his neck. He been cut the air off on the first day of autumn and was more of a let the fresh air in while she once preferred the automatic timer for the AC.

Since the evening was here already, Summer didn’t have to make the office dark. She closed the double doors per Mike’s request and lit the candle.

Playing with an ouija board was not on Terry Richmond’s bucketlist.

Ever.

“So—

Summer starts but Terry is glancing around him, “Did it just get cold in here or is it just me?”

The blonde also peers around herself and around Terry towards the wall on his right that shielded the other closed door that led to the loop of the rest of the home.

“Well, it is a seance.” Summer tried to ease her friend’s worries with a crooked smile while Terry just blankly stared at her from underneath his lashes.

“Not yet,” he mutters and fiddles with a trinket that belonged to the late love of his life.

A third time Summer asked if he’s ready before asking the second most important question, “What did you bring?”

Terry’s whole hand was wrapped around one of the many trinkets she once collected. It started in twenty-twenty when lockdown happened. The depression was hitting and she needed something that brought her out of it, she couldn’t safely continue doing piano lessons like she wanted once the library had to shut down for a while. This was her side hobby turned hustle, being musically gifted with the piano and composing.

Most of her sheet work was safely in one of these drawers.

It was really something to watch her get in her zone. Eyes closed and dainty fingers just barely touching the keys but the music always flowed and captivated. Terry was more into the physical connection with his body whereas the mental was more on her. With lockdown, Terry still knew how to manage and pushed himself even harder with keeping his body right, whereas she fell into a reading slump for awhile and started to play off key on the keys (which she hardly ever missed) along with her sleeping habits becoming problematic.

She’s always loved little trinkets, while she joked calling Terry a grandpa because of his music choices, he also joked that she was grandpa’s baby. The obsession with Calico critters actually brought her out of depression some and although she would wait weeks on weeks for the packages to arrive on their doorstep thanks to shipping delays, he never forgot learning how important these were to her.

And how by placing one, specifically from the new collection at the time, the hedgehog family, Maxwell the son and brother was placed right on her keyboard that used to rest on the main desk behind Terry and Summer. Apparently he was the pianist out of the family and was that little source of encouragement that watched her play. Sure it was kiddish by first glance but many don’t realize they have to heal their inner child to live. So you can look back at whatever you dealt with as a child and make them see, as you grow into your adulthood that this was all worth it.

Terry had no problem listening to her view on her latest obsession once the teasing was out of the way. He even tried not to be a little jealous that this toy got to give her some joy back and find her passion for piano again. He was stuck listening to her gift from around the corner instead of taking one of the chairs and sitting it in backwards in the same room to listen like he used to do. She had plenty of trinkets all over the house here and there or in plenty of storage boxes she got from tag sales. Yes they were toys but people aren’t just people, they have stories.

They talked about children before and Terry even speculated that she maybe keeping a certain secret from him (she wasn’t) once the overload of figurines started to take over but Terry wanted to be married first. Plenty already had a lot to say since they lived together, bought a house together without being married but what worked for them didn’t have to work for everyone else. She was a product of divorce because of infidelity, Terry was a product of a single hard working mom who raised and provided for him mostly whenever his grandmother didn’t step in to help.

She and Terry agreed that their marriage had to be the best example of love, they didn’t have to try very hard but they wanted the way they loved to be what their kid should expect. That love can kind, patient, fun, overwhelming, have unity, it should feel and show all the good things but also something that can be built and shaped within that unity when it got tough. They didn’t want to repeat a cycle or screw their future kid up but Terry had to remind her that there’s no perfect parent. No perfect love story but it could be perfect enough just for them two. Sometimes she had her head way up in the clouds, she was the dreamer and sometimes he had to reel her—not down but beside him again. To see that dreams are beautiful yet sometimes reality can be a nightmare and not on purpose.

They could always handle it together and not particularly with only one taking the lead.

This hedgehog full of hair as big as her’s, whenever the shrinkage stopped playing around! symbolized a lot. The rest of Maxwell’s family was around here somewhere and this is why Terry chose this one specifically to bring out because trinkets maybe of little value as a standalone but once you get them into your hands they become so much more.

Terry wished he had infinite time with her.

He’s been so lost in his grieving that he missed out on the candle blowing out on its own. The scent of the blown out wax hits his nostrils and he loosens his grip on the critter as he sits up now.

“Terry? You alright?” Summer questions, although her doe eyes are searching around the office.

He hums, not sure how to answer that as he just got hit with multiple memories.

He missed her so much.

The candle lights itself again and Summer meets Terry’s eyes, her hands clasped right in her lap, indicating that she did not do this as the lighter was placed back on the desk and away from the ouija board.

“…are you here with us?” Summer says her name first, while deciding to be the one who asks.

Terry feels himself holding his breath, his chest feels tight as Summer reaches out for the critter to place above the ouija board. She raises her fingers to Terry, who lightly shakes his head, leaving her to do the honors of placing them on the planchette.

Within seconds, Summer’s hands are moving over to: YES.

That makes Terry rub at his goatee, feeling his heart race. He peeks at Summer who already has her eyes on him, “you’re not playing a prank on me are you?”

“I swear I’m not. This is the real deal and if you want proof? Ask her something and I’ll keep my hands off this time.” Summer encourages while Terry starts to bounce his knee.

He thinks about what he should say, anything that he asks and if the planchette moves on its own without Summer’s hands, he just might lose his shit.

“Were you alone when you passed?” Terry struggles to get the words out and Summer squeezes his shoulder, knowing what he’s getting at.

He was on the phone with her just an hour before she died. Terry wasn’t the biggest fan of her driving alone at night but she was dedicated to her job and drove out an hour and forty-five minutes to fight another round to keep the library afloat. If Terry and Mike weren’t swamped with their own business that weekend, he would have taken the drive with her. It went much longer than she expected and Terry encouraged her to just stay at a hotel for the night and take the drive back home in the morning.

There was nothing out of the ordinary on the call, the insomnia started to kick back in again for her recently—which is why she wanted to get the drive over with—and Terry claimed it as stress but she always vouched that it was something else.

Someone else.

He would wake up in the middle night, hearing sharp breaths and when he would roll over to see her face…He knew something was wrong. There were warm tears gliding down her cheeks and majority of the time she would be frozen in fear or fingers scrunched up as she balled up the sheets. They made appointments and medically they couldn’t find anything wrong but of course some sleeping pills were encouraged that she didn’t want to take.

All she kept saying was the figure that lingered in the dark it had a top hat, a hole in its chest, and the blood that dripped from its fingertips always flicked towards her, almost as if it was conducting a symphony, as it came close to the bed before she snapped right out of the paralysis.

The planchette shifts on its own over to: NO.

Terry scoffs out a breath, head wanting to drop as his suspicions came to light. The investigators concluded the crash as an accident but Terry always felt like it was more. They claimed she either fell asleep at the wheel or fell into cardiac arrest first and that’s what led to the collision with the tree but cars just don’t randomly end up on top of trees. Swerving to avoid something else on road was certain but not at this type of impact.

This confirmed it.

Before he can ask more the planchette is moving again to spell out: I-T-S-H-E-R-E-T-O-O.

“Terry?” Summer whispers, picking up on the sound of a piano but Terry relocated her keyboard from the office down to the workshop some time ago, “this didn’t happen with the seance I did for my paw…”

He doesn’t hear the symphony Summer was hearing but he gets a whiff of a smell he’s familiar and loved being intoxicated with. He looks up from his lap and peered over his shoulder, to see her sitting in a rust colored dress on top of the desk with her back to them, “Good thing the person I want to see is already here.”

Good on his part but bad for Summer as she starts to pant at the dark silhouette by the window.

She speaks to Terry, “I told you the sweet dreams don’t happen at night, didn’t i? Now look at what Ms. Summer’s about to see.”

He swallows, locked in only on her because of how radiant she appears as Summer gets to her feet, chair falling behind her while she whips around to let out a scream, which she struggles to cover once she gets sight of what only she and her can see but not Terry.

Taking his eyes off her for a second, Terry gets to his feet as well, reaching out for Summer but her blue-green eyes begin to change to a cloudy milk color as she holds onto her chest, fighting for her breath.

“The fuck is happening?!” Terry yells as he grabs onto Summer’s arms.

The voice that used to be so sweet and loving changes as she floats over to him quickly that if he had been watching he was sure he would have had whiplash, a gush of cold waves over Terry’s frame, almost bringing him to his knees but of course he fights against it, “he’s winning, you welcomed him in.”

There’s a knocking and wiggling of the knobs at the double doors and it sounds like Mike but Terry only feels his body shuddering as Summer slumps over to the side. He catches her before she can hit the ground. Terry still holds onto his friend as they both are lowered to the ground for different actions being done to their bodies. Terry still isn’t able to see what is taking control over Summer but he feels the frigidness of her hands while he tries his best to keep his friend up right.

She’s holding onto his face now, caressing it as her smile is wicked opposed to pleasant. “You can grieve now,” she tells him in a voice that no longer belongs to her.

That’s when the burning happens and Terry is yelling out in pain, using one hand to squeeze at his chest. He’s palming at his shirt, attempting to peel it off but raises it to see her name being carved into his pec.

He’s down on his knees, one arm holding onto a comatose Summer, chest burning and aching with the touch of her. A caress to his cheek allows a tear to spill from both corners of his eye.

A wink, a smile, and the humming of an old classic tune is all that is left but Terry still finds himself reaching out for her, doubling over as she steps back. A hand goes to her chest, patting just where her name is on his own before fading away from his view.

The shuffling of the board can be heard but Terry can’t move from his position as the double doors are yanked back by Mike who runs into the office to his aide.

The ouija board reads: S-W-E-E-T-D-R-E-A-M-S

Once it stops at the last letter, a sweaty Terry feels his eyes close followed by a cold yet gentle kiss upon his cheek.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𓉸ྀི ๋࣭

Continue with my October anthology prompts here.

[dahliascophin]

pussydrunk mike 😵‍💫 he doesn’t mean to overstimulate you but you just feel so good he can’t help his rough thrusts :(

Oh god i love making Mike a pathetic little thing in my writing i am all for weak!Mike pls.....

warnings: He's fucking pathetic. Collar and leash.. hear me out now... Mocking Mike for being pathetic 😵‍💫 dom!reader, Switch-ish? Mike ( def more sub ) 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... can't stop fingering and eating you out because he's fucking mesmerized by how wet you are it has him in some typen of hypnosis

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... moans and almost cums in his pants when you yank on his hair while he's 3 knuckles deep inside your sore, soppy cunt- making you cum and cry for the 4th time in an hour..

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... when you show him a pretty red collar and chain leash he looks at you with a baffled expression.. not telling you no though.

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... when you yank on the collar to smush his face back into your overstimulated puffy pussy he looks up at you with his mouth dropped open in surpising and sudden extreme arousal as he whimpers into your clit, and almost sobbed cry at how fucking horny and desperate he is for you

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... Clasping your thighs around his skull and squeezing his head further into your core- Mike's glassy brown puppy eyes rolling into his head as he fully accepts his defeat.

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... when you bend over the edge of the bed with the leash still on a strong hold and demand him to fuck you like the pathetic puppy he acts like and he just nods dumbly as his fat, red, weeping cock lays between your soft asscheeks- waiting for the green light to fuck you until you both cry.

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... when he starts fucking you- his hips are stuttering and he's shakey as his nails dig into your fatty hips as his back bends into a protective almost feral wolf growling over its fresh kill. Pathetically loud moans and babbles of how good you feel and how he can't function without your pussy..

"Ohh.. oh.. oh fuck.. fuck. yesyesyes!.. feelsogood.."

" 'mygod.. ohmygod.. so wet.. soo wet.."

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... hears your whimpering cries as you shove your face into the pillow- reaching across the bed to grab the charged wand and slip it between your thighs, making your knees fully buckle- Mike and the bed the only things holding you up.

- Pussydrunk!Mike who... Feels the vibrator against his balls when he slips in and out at a brutal pace- both of you quickly cumming as you yank on his collar to force him to cry out into your ear when he finishes

I need to rip him open like a bag of candy i love Sub!Mike

[bettysupremacy]

The Cheerleader Curse

summary When you randomly show up at Eddie’s table, he takes your presence more malevolent than you intended

w/c 1.3k

a/n requested here!

Carol groans as Tina’s new boyfriend squeezes the meat of her hip. Turned away, he’s locked in a conversation with his teammate beside him.

“It’s sweet.” You defend.

“It’s nauseating, is what it is, I’m trying to eat here.” She takes a fry from your tray casually, popping it into her mouth.

Your nose scrunches, kicking her under the table with your white cheer sneaker. “Don’t be a bitch,” you take a handful off Tina’s boyfriends tray, dumping them onto hers. “Take his.”

She laughs loudly, biting into another one.

Tina’s boyfriend Derek turns, confused at the loudness of Carol’s laugh. “Girls.” Tommy shrugs, covering up your misbehavior. He too steals a fry from Carol’s plate, slinging his arm around her when he’s fit the whole thing in his mouth.

Tina’s shoe nudges yours. “You coming to my party this weekend?”

You dust your hands, chewing on a fry thoughtfully. “Um,” you swallow. “I think I have plans.”

Tina and Carol share a look. A dramatic, exasperated, look. “We never get to see you anymore.” Your best friend whines.

“You know we miss you at the parties.” Tina follows in suit.

You nod, understanding of their annoyance. “I just,” you sigh. “I promised I’d bring the boys to this the arcade, and we usually don’t leave till midnight.”

“Can’t Steve take em?” Tommy steals another fry. Carol swats him in the chest. “What?” He chews. “Boyfriend tax.”

“Steve works the late shift.” You shrug. “And it’s my weekend.”

“My weekend.” Tina imitates. “Why does everything always fall on your weekend?”

You frown, wary of the fallout between your friends. “He’s going through a lot.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, but his thoughts are kept quiet.

“He is.”

“We know,” Carol mumbles. “We know.”

Tina scrunches her nose at the interaction, unaware of the events that ripped Tommy, Carol, and Steve apart. “Well,” She shrugs. “If you get off the hook early you can show up.”

You nod, reaching down to pick your bag from the ground at the mention of the boys. “Of course,” you push from your seat. “I’ll be right back, don’t miss me.”

“We will.” Tina takes a fry from Derek’s plate. He doesn’t seem to mind.

The walk over to the boys table isn’t embarrassing, but it is uncomfortable. Your mind spins the whole cafeteria looking at you, wondering what is she doing? Why is she associating with them.

You flick Mike in the head when you reach. He doesn’t seem to mind, flicking your knee, but you look up guiltily anyways when you hear Eddie scoff.

“Hello?” He huffs, annoyed. This was a first. Sending a girl to do the terrorizing instead of Jason. Maybe he was absent, maybe he called you and asked can you do me a favor?

“Hi,” you nod at the older boy. You don’t know his age, but you where you are a first time senior, he is not. You don’t like the glare he fixes you with, sitting, waiting expectantly, like you’ll do something.

He’s pretty in his own way. Soft brown eyes, big curly hair. Any girl would be quick to swoon at his usual easy flirt personality.

Or maybe that’s just you.

You smile at him anyways while Dustin looks up from his picked at lunch tray.

“Hi, buddy.” Your warm hand glides over the Dustin’s cool forehead. He fusses as you smooth his curls.

“Stop,” he swats with the coolness of a teenager.

Eddie nearly jumps to scare you away, and he could. Dark black eyeliner, enough silver to shine a mile away, he’s easily intimidating. Especially when his face holds this expression of expectant distain.

Your eyes crinkle at Dustin’s flustered embarrassment. “How’re you, kid?” Its directed towards Mike and Dustin.

“Been better.” Dustin huffs at the same time Mike shrugs a fine.

You nod, hands stuffed into the oversized pockets of your varsity jacket as you roll on your heels. “You have Biology next?”

“Do you want to kill me?” Dustin shoulders droop.

“You normally love that class.”

“Not today,” he sighs, sickeningly morose as he looks up at you. “Can’t find my book anywhere.”

You frown. “That’s not good.”

He doesn’t react to the bluntness of the statement. “Tell me about it.”

“You check under your bed?” You tilt your head.

“And my moms.”

“Your backpack?”

“First place I checked, obviously.” The end of the sentence comes out with less attitude than he meant.

“Hmm,” you hum, Dustin doesn’t notice the glint in your eyes that Eddie does. “My car?” You smile.

His shoulders drop, relief and embarrassment mingling together clashingly. “You bozo.”

You pull it from the shoulder bag you currently carry. It thuds to the table loudly, but nobody outside the table seems to notice. “I know, you’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” He snatches the book quickly.

You smile. “Nobody’s trying to take it from you.”

Settling into your spot, you watch as Dustin shoves his book into his bag carelessly, and ignore the upset feeling of Eddie looking at you over the younger boys back. Searching the expression, you can’t find anything nice in it. Your tummy flips uncomfortably. “Well,” you nod to Dustin. “Don’t die before biology.”

“Noted,” he salutes, and you have to stop yourself from wrinkling your nose in cringe. Teen boys.

Eddie notices of course, his guard standing strong.

“Wait!” Dustin panics before you fully walk from the situation. “Steve can’t pick me up today.”

Harrington? Eddie thinks. The fuck is Dustin doing with Harrington?

“You need a ride?” You offer, but not really offer, cause you won’t let him decline.

“That-“

“I can give you a ride,” Eddie interrupts loudly, standing from his plastic seat. His fingertips push into the cold, sticky, table. “I’m not doing anything after school.”

And it’s not that you don’t trust Eddie, but who lets their children get in cars with strangers? Especially strangers in scary looking band tees.“Oh, it’s fine.” you look down at the geeky teen below you. “Right, Dustin?”

The younger boy nods. “It’s cool.”

“No, really,” Eddie continues, doing what he thinks is a favor to Dustin. “it’s no problem.”

Mike giggles from where he sits.

“Dude,” Dustin laughs confusedly. “It’s cool.”

And Eddie sits back down.

“Meet me at my car.” You point at the boys. “Don’t be late.”

And with that you turn, all the way back to your preferred table.

“That was weird.” Eddie laughs uncomfortably when you’re out of hearing distance. The whole table looks at him silently. “What?”

“We’re friends with her.” Mikes eyes zoom in. Eddie sweats.

“Didn’t you see her glare at me?” Eddie’s eyes scrunch in confusion. “And when have we ever associated with that group?”

“We’ve been through shit.” Dustin shrugs. “She’s cool.”

“And Harrington.”

Dustin shrugs again, hesitant with his next words. “He’s cool too.”

Jeff laughs loudly at Eddie. “You’re looking for a reason to be paranoid.”

“You sure your weed is clean?” Gareth chimes in teasingly.

“Fuck off.” Eddie sighs slumping in his seat. His eyes eyes lead back to you as the boys move on. He saw you glare. “They’re like a curse.”

“Who?” Gareth laughs.

“Them.” He waved dismissively towards you. “The cheerleaders.”

“She was nice.” Jeff shrugs.

“Nice until they’re not.” His head shakes seriously.

“Nice to look at.” Comes in Gareth quickly.

Jeff high fives him under the table, but Eddie ignores. The Cheerleader Curse.

A good campaign name.

“I don’t think Eddie likes me very much.” You sit back down at the table.

“The freak?” Carol asks. Tina side kicks her, shaking her head in don’t be mean.

“Yeah,” Your bag drops to the floor. “He was looking at me weird.”

“Maybe he wants in your pants.” Tommy shrugs, unconcerned. Carol swats him again.

“Gross,” She rolls her eyes. “But I did hear he has a reputation.” She pauses, glancing back at him. “Somehow.”

You look up at your friends. “What kind of reputation?”

“I heard he sleeps around.” Carol shrugs.

“I heard,” Tina chimes in, leaning into the group. “That he sells drugs in the woods.”

“He does.” Tommy shrugs. “He’s weird, but his weed isn’t shit.”

Tina sits back. “What’s his price?”

The conversation gets placed on back hold in your mind. Briefly, you debate looking back, ultimately turning to peek over your shoulder. What couldn’t he like about you? Had your nonexistent interaction turned him off of the idea of getting to know you?

For some funny reason, the thought sits in your gut uncomfortably.

“You good?” Carol reaches over the table to lightly pinch your arm. “We gotta call the Nurse?”

“No.” The shake of your head is adamant. “No, m’good.”

“Seriously,” Tommy shrugs. “He’s just weird, don’t let it bother you.”

You nod placid. “Yeah,” Your eyes flit to Eddie, before back to your friends again. “You’re right.”

“That’s my girl.” Tina’s knee knocks with yours.

You smile convincingly, nodding to your friends words. It’s hard for you to focus after that, mind clouded by the mean boy 6 tables away. You don’t look back again, don’t peek.

And somehow, Carol can see right through you.

[coryosbaby]

content warning . Succubus! Reader, nsfw content below the cut

Luring Mike from the chaos of a friend’s party he had decided to attend, your glowing red eyes trapping him inside your powerful gaze. Nodding your head towards an empty bedroom, enticing the boy with your hips as you move towards it. His steps becoming ever so heavy as he trails behind you, fixated.

Wrapping yourself around him, throwing your head back as his aching cock fills you. His eyes, glazed and hypnotized, scraping over your form as he bites his lower lip. Running your hands through his sandy brown hair, licking at his lips with an intense ferocity. Your teeth, ever so sharp, scraping against his jugular. Delicious, sweet man flesh.

It would be so easy to rip out his throat, now. You could drink from his veins, drain his life away and make it your own. You could wait until he orgasms, that way he’d taste oh so sweeter, and you could lick up his creamy spend from his then flaccid cock. It could be perfect that way.

But…he’s different from the other ones. Looking at him now— strong, hairy chest, brown doe eyes, blushing face— you don’t want to kill him just yet. Especially not when his girthy length is fucking you so good; he’s thrusting in from below you, sweet sounds whining from his throat, utters of, “please,” “so beautiful” “let me cum inside you” falling from his kiss bitten lips. His fingers reach down to play with your clit— oh, he’s not a greedy one, is he? No, no, he likes to please…loves to please. Something powerful surges through you when he makes you cum. If the lights flicker uncontrollably, Mike is too fucked dumb to notice.

He’s trying to make you cum again. At the last minute, right when you’re on the edge of your orgasm, he draws his hand away. His thrusts don’t slow— in fact they increase. Your nails draw blood on his shoulders, and you hiss.

“Little mortal.. playing games, hm?”

A guttural moan rips through his throat, but not before the grin forms on his plump mouth.

“Love to play games.”

His finger goes up to play with your bottom lip, but you push it away.

“I wouldn’t do that,” you warn. “I might bite.”

He laughs— a deliberate, real laugh— and something flutters in your inhuman heart.

“Maybe I do, too.”

[fanficgirl429]

Awake (smut)

Pairings: Mike Schmidt x Reader

Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sex- 18+ only!

---

Staring up at the blank ceiling your mind was going in a million directions. It had been another sleepless night- lots of tossing and turning. Somehow your boyfriend had managed to stay asleep the whole night. 

The book on your nightstand was calling your name. Ripping the blankets off your body, you quietly stood up, grabbed your book and left your bedroom. You closed the door quietly behind you so you wouldn’t wake Mike up. 

The small house was quiet as you walked into the kitchen, flipping on the light. The brightness made you squint as your eyes adjusted.  

Placing your book on the counter, you begin to make your much needed coffee. As you wait for the coffee to start, you flip open your book and begin to read, leaning your elbows against the counter. 

Reading was one of your favorite things to do. You loved being able to escape reality and go to a different world. Becoming engrossed in your fantasy world, you didn’t even notice when your boyfriend had come up behind you. He places his hand lightly on your shoulder and you jump, swatting him playfully on the arm. 

Mike wraps his arms around your waist and presses his body against your back. His body was still warm from being under the covers and you melted against his touch, placing your hands on his arms that were resting against your body.

“What are you doing awake?” he asks quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply, shrugging.  “What are you doing awake?”

“Well I was having a dream about the two of us when I woke up. I was hoping that we could finish what had started in my dream,” he tells you.

“Oh yea?”

“Mhmm.”

His hand plays with hem of your shirt before slipping underneath. His fingers danced along your stomach and up towards your breasts. He gently squeezes one while two fingers begin to rub against your nipple. 

An ache begins to form in your core as Mike continues to touch you. Once both nipples are standing erect, his hand moves back down your stomach and slides underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. 

His fingers move down to your core, gently moving along your folds. Your breath caught in your throat as a finger gently grazes your sensitive spot.

“You’re so wet already,” Mike mumbles to himself. 

He pulls his hand away and you groan, wanting him to put it back.

“Mike please” you beg. 

A soft chuckle comes from behind you before Mike pushes two fingers inside you and you let out a soft gasp. He moves them quickly in a ‘come hither’ motion as you grip the counter that's in front of you. 

His fingers continue to move and the familiar knot begins to form in your stomach. You try your best for hold onto it as long as possible but with each movement you can feel yourself getting closer. 

Not being able to hold on any longer, your walls clench around Mikes fingers and you let out moan. 

Mike pulls his fingers away and places them on your hips. He slowly pulls your hips back towards him as you lean your elbows on the counter. 

When you look behind you, you see him pull his pajama pants down, just enough to free his length. His brown eyes catch yours as he pushes your underwear and pajama shorts to the side.  

One hand grips your hip while the other lines himself up with your opening. Slowly he pushes into you and you let out a small gasp as he fills you up. 

He waits a moment allowing you to get used to the feeling before he places his other hand on your hip and begins to move his hips. 

From this angle, his length goes deep inside of you, hitting the perfect spot with each thrust. 

The small kitchen is filled with the sounds of yours and Mikes heavy breathing and the occasional soft moan. 

A knot forms in your stomach as you become closer and closer to your high. 

“Faster,” you plead. 

Mike obliges and his thrusts become quicker. Within moments your walls clench around him just as he releases into you. 

“Fuck babe,” Mike says as he slows his pace before coming to a stop. 

He pulls away from you and adjusts your shorts, making somewhat presentable. Your cheeks are flushed and your breathing is still heavy as you turn around to face him, your back leaning against the counter. 

Mike pulls up his pajama pants and adjusts himself, his brown eyes staring at you. His brown hair is still messy from sleeping and his cheeks are a soft pink color. 

He takes a step towards you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. 

“Are you awake now?” he asks, chuckling

“So very awake,” you say, laughing. 

“Maybe round 2 after Abby goes to school?” Mike asks. “We don’t have to be quiet.”

“You know I will never say no to a round 2.” 

[ghost-likes-drawing]

Just Wish I Knew What Caused it

(Fitpac exs to Lovers)

Ch. 4 (to be named maybe)

Translations done with the assistance from @keezers and @iridescentpull (Spanish) and @yama67 (Portuguese) Beta reading done by: @Caracolast (may your blog RIP)

First Chapter Previous Chapter.

Cw for mention of cannibalism at the very end

Fit was really glad him and Ramon went for icecream. If allowed him to finally let go of whatever figurative breath he'd been holding because of the stress of a new job, in a new state, which requires him to eat meals next to his ex.

A night with only his son was exactly what he needed.

Three days went by and Fit got used to the new schedule and changes in workload as Bobby and Roier were doing work too. Bobby worked well with Richarlyson even if they constantly were goofing off and having to be reeled in by one of their dads.

Speaking of dads, Fit needed to get his hearing aids checked because for some reason he was certain he'd been hearing Richarlyson refer to Roier as “Pa” and Bobby do the same to Cellbit.

That didn't make sense. Right? For a moment he considered maybe Cellbit and Pac were polyamorus but he remembered Pac's jealousy well enough to dismiss the idea immediately.

On a similar note he thinks Pepito had been calling Roier Apa but the conversations he heard that in were either in Spanish or just vague enough in English Pepito could have been talking about someone else.

The reason for Pepito’s insistence on speaking Spanish made sense very quickly after Roier returned. Fit noticed that Roier left work before lunch to go help Pepito in the kitchen generally taking either Richarlyson or Bobby with him so they could practicing their cooking skills.

It was Dinner time again and Ramon was scribing notes under the table of what Bobby and Richarlyson were talking about on Ramon’s other side. It was about a game of Football from the previous night and considering it was the start of July Fit assumed they didn't mean American Football.

Fit was kind of Zoning out in his attempt to not look in Pac’s direction and he was just kind of looking at Pepito and Roier.

The previous evening Fit and Ramon went back to the car so Ramon could talk about the things he'd learned and managed to put together from the last couple days so he can attempt to make friends with Bobby and Richarlyson. This information included, somehow, the fact Bobby was definitely Roier’s bio son which Fit had presumed anyway but was cool to have confirmation on he supposed.

The reason this matters NOW though, while interesting, was just raising flags.

Bobby could almost be Roier’s mini me. Bobby’s hair was more reddish brown and had a more feathery volume then Roier’s and Bobby’s face was a bit rounder and he was ever so slightly tanner but they definitely looked like father and son.

The thing was the more he looked at Pepito next to Roier when Bobby wasn't sitting right next to Roier the more Pepito looked like Roier too.

Pepito didn't look like Roier the way Bobby did. Pepito was much darker than any of the adults at the table. A fact Fit payed little mind to having already assumed him and Richarlyson were just adopted and probably not related to eachother, (considering Richarlyson was Afro-Latino and looked nothing like any of them) and the distant memory that Pac hated the idea of getting pregnant, but Pepito had other things. His hair grew in the same way and was exactly the same color. Pepito’s eyes were more green and brown but their eye shape…. Not to mention their noses.

Had Fit noticed these things in people before he became a parent?

Fit felt like a conspiracy theorist. Examining the features and coming up with solutions but they all felt… convoluted?

He thinks at some point someone mentioned Mike used to live here? Maybe Mike and Roier were Pepito’s bio parents? But then why was Cellbit and Pac the one Raising him? Why didn't anyone else talk about Mike? Mike was alive he overheard Pac on the phone with him. Could Mike get pregnant? And it had been over 12 years but he didn’t think Pepito looked like Mike

He must have started making a face because he gets a jab in the ribs from Ramon and when the world comes back into focus he's in a staring contest with Pepito. Fit blinked as obviously as he could and Pepito smiled so wide, clearly proud of himself and Fit put in a show of having lost. He heard a familiar restrained snort from Pac before Ramon signaled in the corner of his eye for his attention.

Fit looked to him. “Need something?”

Ramon signed “what?” Before gesturing to the accidental staring contests

“Gossip, tell you later” Fit signed Back.

“What Gossip?” He saw Richarlyson lean around Bobby to sign as he spoke. And he heard a restrained snort from Bobby

Fit could just see Ramon’s eyes light up at a chance to form a connection with the two boys. Ramon turned and while he couldn't see the question asked he could figure out it was probably “you two know sign language?” From the arm movements and then Bobby’s response

“Yea, our cousin Tallulah” he finger spelled then gave her name sign “started teaching us, we were around” he stalled to look at Richarlyson for help. “7 maybe 8?”

Fit hummed smiling and took a sip of his water to watch the boys talk.

“I was 7. You were 8.” Richarlyson answered.

Bobby seemed happy with the answer and looked back to Ramon “we kept on learning afterwards. she cried next time we saw her. She was so happy”

Ramon nodded “I know Lullah” he used the name sign before finger spelling and pulled out his phone to show a picture.

They both looked and clearly recognized her “you know her how?” Bobby signed

“My cousin. In 2 ways.” Ramon answered leaning to one side “1. my biological father is the younger brother of her dad, Missa,” he shifted to his other “2. my dad is close friends to her dad Philza. The two were in war together.”

Both kids nodded in understanding and Richarlyson signed “Cellbit and Philza worked on enigmas together after the war”

“Roier and Missa’s brother used to date” Bobby signed trying to be sly, presumably hiding from Roier who threw a small piece of meat at Bobby making him laugh.

“Okay asshole, my bad dating decisions aren't their business.” Roier chuckled out and got the piece of meat thrown back at him.

Fit looked around and realized Everyone had been watching the conversation… well except for Pac, the first time Fit looked at him since the meal started, “do you all know sign?” Fit asked aloud as he signed

Roier and Cellbit in tandum shook their hands to indicate it was only kinda

“We can understand well but we don't practice the way those two do.” Roier shrugged

“Besides Pac who refuses to try” Cellbit gestured his head toward Pac starting a laugh and then he paused seemingly after seeing Pac face “Ei espera-” Cellbit looked aprehensive “are you hard of hearing?” He turned back to Fit

Fit was taken aback and looked around the table for a second and everyone looked as bewildered as him. Except for Pac who looked completely done with everything. “Uh yea… the end crystals during the war took a lot of my hearing. I wear hearing aids for it and everything.” Fit kinda akwardly turned his ear to show them

Cellbit licked his lips and looked mortified “Pac é por causa disso?-”

Pac cut him off mid question “Sim, é exatamente por isso!” He sighed and stood up taking his plate with him “I'm going to bed” he huffed and brought his plate to the kitchen before turning back and climbing the stairs shooting Cellbit a look as he passed

Cellbit bit his lip “Eu peço desculpas amanhã, eu fui meio mlk.””

Richarlyson nodded in agreement but tugged at Bobby’s Overalls. They turned themselves at an angle so that no one could see their hands without making an attempt obvious before turning back to Ramon.

“Hey Ramon, after snack tomorrow do you want to practice with us? Tallulah and them are coming up for Pepito’s birthday so it's probably a good idea to be on the top of our game” Richarlyson said Decidedly

“Oh, sure! That'd be awesome.” Ramon smiled akwardly and looked to Fit clearly proud of himself.

Fit gave him a inconspicuous thumbs up.

“Yay! More practice!” Pepito smiled wide.

Richarlyson and Bobby looked panicked as they looked to eachother.

“Oh…Sorry Pepito. Next time you can join but I don't think Ramon wants to help teach you his first time practicing with us.” Bobby shrugged

“I don't mind” Ramon assured.

Richarlyson and Bobby looked to eachother. Then they looked to eachother then at their parents, Cellbit looked at them expectedly. Roier looked to Cellbit and the kids clearly trying not to giggle. They looked back to eachother.

“How about you practice with me and Richars the day after? You've gotten to spend a lot of time with Ramon.” Bobby offered trying to placate the seven year old “I've only just gotten the opportunity” he said matter a factly.

Pepito looked to Cellbit. And Cellbit nodded thinking it was fair although Pepito seemed unconvinced

“I’ll paint you a bunny” Bobby said flatly

“Deal!” Pepito sat off of his chair to shake Bobby’s hand and Bobby stood to meet his hand and shake it.

“I'll have it ready by next week.” Bobby Promised

“I'm holding you to that deal” Roier pointed to Bobby with his fork “I'm not raising liars”

Bobby smiled and nodded “I know”

“Or cheats”

“He’ll still get his birthday present” Bobby put his hands up defensively.

Roier nodded in approval and stood up taking his and Pepito’s plates to the sink. He came back and shooed Pepito out of his chair “come on Pepini, Bath time”

“Aaaaapppppaaaaa” Pepito whined and seconds later Bobby and Richarlyson were out of their seats going:

“Don't worry Pepito!”

“We’ll save you!”

“Hold on”

Roier tried to stop them "Esperen no alto” But it was to late

In a fluid motion Richarlyson hoisted Pepito out of his seat and on to Bobby’s back as they ran off with him. Pepito squealed in delight holding on to Bobby tight and laughing as the kids ran around the living room with Roier trying to catch up.

Cellbit just laughed

“Gatinho! Ayuda!” Roier shouted

“Awww but they're being so sweet. Gosto de ver você correndo atrás deles G..” Cellbit stood up quickly cutting himself off as the teenagers started running toward the door “Q MERDA! he blocked their path both kids running into him and they tumbled to the floor. Roier caught his breath and picked Pepito off of Bobby’s back.

“Ow” Cellbit groaned

“Ve a caminar y se te pasaf” Roier called back As he marched up the stairs with a still giggling Pepito in his arms.

-

The following day started the same as any other…. Kinda…

Fit had gotten done a bit earlier than normal and was the second one downstairs for breakfast when usually he was near last. He'd been only beaten by Roier who was currently cooing out in what sounded like concern but looked like an excuse to cuddle standing up while Cellbit dosed out assurances, Cuddling back with one arm and trying to finish breakfast with the other.

Fit couldn't understand what they were saying. it being to quite and he barely understood Spanish or Portuguese.

Fit was stood halfway down the stairs watching when Bobby and Richarlyson squeezed past him, saw their dads, looked to eachother and chuckled going to the table

“Blehhhh” Bobby called at them. “Get a room”

“At least my hard work payed off” Richarlyson hummed causing Bobby to laugh even harder.

Cellbit pulled away from the cuddle “Okay, merdinhas, seis querem brincar assim?” And chased after them in a brisk walk as they tried to escape in a brisk walk. Everyone too tired to give a good try.

Pac walked down the stairs and looked around “where's Pepito?”

Roier finished placing food on the table and looked around “must not have gotten up?

Pac went to go back up the stairs.

“Ey no it's your day off I'll get Pepito.” Roier stopped him and Roier went back upstairs

Pac hummed and went to sit at the table stalling Bobby and Richarlyson’s attempt to ‘flea’ to give Richarlyson a hug and a kiss on his head before letting them keep going.

Cellbit was polite enough to pause his pursuit.

Ramon went down the stairs and saw fit stopped and looked at his face “Fit are you okay?” He stepped out of the way as he saw Roier come down Pepito being dragged behind him coughing.

At the bottom of the stairs Roier stopped to see if it would correct itself. Roier lifted Pepito’s arms holding them so he wasn't covering his face anymore and and after a few more coughs Pepito gave a thumbs up. Roier let go and Pepito hugged Roier, Roier hugged him back before sighing and picking him up.

“Goddamn asthma” Fit could barely hear Roier whisper and Cellbit detoured from his chase to take Pepito into his own arms as Roier pressed a gentle kiss to Pepito’s temple.

Ramon started pushing Fit along to the table and getting them both seated.

Cellbit sat Pepito at the table while Bobby and Richas came behind him. With Bobby telling Pepito rubbing his back “Wow eres muy suertudo, cuando yo tenía asma nadie me dio mimos.”

“Trataste de pelear con Jaiden y conmigo cuando intentamos acercarnos a ti!” Roier protested causing Bobby a chuckle and a smile from Pepito as everyone got sat around the table.

Because Pac wasn't working neither was Richarlyson but Roier reminded him he still had to help cook this time because he and Bobby promised they could cook lunch on their own today. Richarlyson gave a thumbs up and everyone went on their way.

Bobby was as much help as normal and Ramon had been entrusted to fix up the engine on something Fit couldn't remember if he tried, but Roier and Cellbit were still acting odd.

Cellbit, who usually was the one being a freak about water breaks, was now being over shown by Roier who wouldn't let Cellbit work for 5 minutes without drinking water. Cellbit didn't protest but for most of them he clearly barely took a sip to satisfy the Mexican before moving on.

As the morning went on and got closer to noon Roier just seemed more and more clingy and Cellbit was getting less and less insistent on staying on track.

“Oh gracias a dios” Bobby huffed “I can go start on lunch, you two are so cheesy” he whined walking off causing Cellbit and Roier to giggle.

Fit wasn't sure what that was about but he was just trying to stay focused as he heard quiet arguing from the two still in Spanish and Portuguese.

“Kk se eu te beijar, você me deixa realmente finalizar meu trabalho aqui ?.. certo?.” Cellbit chuckled causing Fit to pause because he did understand part of that…

“Si, yes, i promise” Roier sounded like he was smiling

“De boa?”

“Por lo menos 5 segundos” Roier stipulated

“Okay, pucker up” Cellbit hummed

This couldn't be happening, right? Fit tried not to but he tuned his head and there he saw Cellbit cupping Roier’s face with both hands kissing him as Roier was pulling Him closer. Fit looked away not daring to be caught seeing that.

Roier let out a dramatized moan and Cellbit pushed him off with a scold “…. Volte ao trabalho,”

And Roier did not even bothering to remind and insist on the water half as much.

The lunch and the rest of the work day had a weird fuzz around it. At first Fit was processing the idea that Pac had been married to a cheater for who knows how long. Then Fit had to turn over the moral of telling Pac versus keeping him and Ramon afloat.

If he told Pac he'd lose his job eventually right? If Pac said how he'd probably be fired immediately. if Pac kept a secret of how he found out they'd divorce and probably liquidate and Fit would still have to find new work.

Snack time finished up and the work day was officially over. Pac, who had joined to have snack with everyone stood up giving Richarlyson a hug and giving a side one to Cellbit "Eu vou ver, se termino uns negócios pessoais, antes de eu tentar começar o jantar.”

“Okay de boa,divirta-se po”

Ramon gave Fit a quick hug before going upstairs with Bobby and Richarlyson to practice sign and in a Split second decision while Cellbit was looking to see what Pepito wanted Fit followed Pac outside.

“Pac! Pac!” Fit called out in a stage whisper, half walking half running down the stairs to catch up. “Pac, we need to talk!”

Pac groaned out a sigh turning to give Fit a glare warning him to reconsider. Fit stopped in his tracks and did but shook it off “Pac I'm being serious.”

Pac rolled his eyes and faced him fully “okay what could you possibly need to tell me, hm?” He shoved his hands in his Jean pockets

Fit paused “okay, you have basically no reason to believe me. I get it. But While I was working today…” Fit paused again not wanting to fuck up how he phrased it “And you know I had been noticing for a while that things seemed odd…” he paused again

“Spit it out Fitche!” Pac snapped leaning into his words

“Your husband is Cheating on You!” Fit finally managed. Before blushing at what was once a term of endearment being used in this context.

Pac’s face softened less from annoyance to confusion “I… excuse me, my what?”

Fit had to take a second to contain himself again and nodded “your husband… Cellbit… I uh saw him kissing Roier earlier” Fit looked away akwardly “and you know despite everything I don't think it's right to just let your husband cheat on you without telling you.”

It was quiet for a moment before he heard a soft snort, then a chuckle, then a laugh and by the time Fit looked back up to Pac he was double overed

“What's so funny?”

“Okay Fit who set you up to this? Hm? Cellbit? Não... ele tomou oque eu disse como sério..” Pac hummed he gave another chuckle “he's so protective because Mike’s not here… uuuuh Roier Right? has to be! Bobby and Richas Don't have enough weight to be worth it if I get mad and told Cellbit” pac nodded decidedly “what did he say to get you to joke about that?” He said still chuckling

Fit was taken aback and hand to pause unsure how to proceed “no… Pac I'm not joking. No one set me up to say that I'm telling you what happened.”

Pac stopped chuckling and Fit felt bad as he knew reality was setting in. But Pac just looked more confused “you're telling me you think Cellbit is cheating?”

“Yes” Fit nodded

“On me”

“Yes”

“With Roier?”

“Yes”

“Cellbit’s husband.”

“Yes!” Fit said exasperated before processing the words “I'm sorry his what?”

“Yea Cellbit isn't my husband.” Pac shifted his weight “he and Roier are married. I'm not married. Check their hands they never take their rings off.” He showed his own hand for a second before shrugging “Why did you think I was married to him?”

Fit paused and had to think back “I mean. I knew Cellbit had a husband I don't think I was told who. And then I showed up and you walked out and Richarlyson called you both Pai I just assumed!” He blushed a bit in his embarrassment “then he threatened me over you and and I guess that nailed it in that he was just a super protective, maybe a bit crazy, husband.”

Pac thought about it and nodded “oh yea that makes sense. And Roier wasn't home that first week” he chuckled “although if you thought that was protective and crazy you should see him when anyone tries to flirt with Roier or makes him feel unsafe.”

Fit nodded “I'll take your word…” Fit rubbed his neck “sorry for bothering you… guess I'm just kinda a dumbass?”

Pac hummed “yea kinda.. but you're well meaning, Ent.. esta bem.” He shrugged with a genuine smile

Fit nodded “well I'm glad you can see my attempt. Uh what’s the joke you thought I was pulling on Roier’s behalf?”

Pac snorted “ugh this thing from when we first moved here… it's a long story…” Pac waved him off “Não se preocupe.”

“Well if you say so.” Fit took a step back towards the house.

Pac turned away to continue walking “I'll see you at dinner Fit.” Pac chuckled again “it's still so funny… Me! Married to the man who ate my leg…”

“Yea hillarious” Fit agreed without thinking and went back up the stairs. He may not have meant for it to go that way but maybe this'll lessen the tension between them.

It wasn't until the door slammed behind him that Pac’s words fully processed.

“Did he just say Cellbit ate his leg?”

Chat, hate to say it. This Fic may die after I post chapter 5. I hope it doesn't but I'm at a loss with ch.6 but I'm TRYING. And there will be context Fics for this au, stuff in this universe I have that I have modivation and direction on. Hope anyone still reading this is having a good one <3

[everythingcanadian]

Marvey: domestic vinyl disco

If anything threw Harvey off it was what happened when Mike officially moved in.

The small amount of boxes they unpacked didn't worry him, he knew the whole story. The one full box of video games and a console and controllers didn't bother him, he rarely watched tv anymore. The ripped jeans didn't even cause him to blink.

What did throw him was the notebooks. Each with a year and date timeline on them. Mike had smiled as he put them away in a little fabric basket he'd put into the larger shelving unit they bought together. "Memories and idle thoughts." Mike had said.

"You write in diaries?" Harvey had teased. And all he got was a shrug and a cheeky smile. Harvey snorted in acted annoyance, squatting down and kept shelving the books Mike had packed.

A list had fallen out of one of the notebooks and was loose in the basket, so Harvey pulled it out, itching to open the flimsy lined paper and devour what his partner wrote. Instead, he called out, "Mike! Something slipped out of your diaries. I don't know which one."

It's a few moments before Mike comes out of the guest room turned home office. He holds put his hand for the paper and Harvey gives it to him. The dichotomy of their stance mirrored that of last night, except Harvey wasn't on his knees and Mike wasn't against the wall.

Mike's face lit up as he looked at the title of his own note. A small laugh coming out. "Oh- yeah I remember this. The first Christmas we actually were going to spend together and I was trying to think of things to get you." He hands over the page.

Harvey looks up at Mike before looking at the paper and taking it back. He frowns at first but as he reads past the fourth line he smiles in disbelief and then a full sunny grin. "Vinyls." He gives a huff of a laugh.

"Ones you had looked at online or in stores as we passed." Mike says bashfully, a light pink coming to his cheeks. "It's- become a list of records I'd get you randomly."

"Just because?" Harvey's face shifts into that of soft awe, the one he has when he melts inside from anything Mike does.

Mike nods, "just because."

Harvey looks back at the page and his brown eyes soften. "You have a few crossed out."

"Because they're in your shelf already."

"What?" Harvey looks to his home collection of records.

"Here and work." Mike says proudly. "I said I was sneaky."

"No you didn't."

"Oh but I did. Said I'd find ways to surprise you."

"I-. I didn't think you meant things like this?" Harvey looks at the list as he stands, seeing one he knows he didn't have here at home. He walks his shelf and looks at the A's. He grins and laughs when he sees it. Pulling it out the black and gold record sleeve is bold and bare. "Would you care for a dance?"

"To disco?"

"Mmhm, with me?"

Mike pauses and his whole body lights up with glee. "Yeah, yeah put it on. We deserve a bit of a break anyway."

"Yes we do." Harvey is reverent in slipping the black record out, the band's name emblazoned on the center with all the songs. "Do you have a preference for a side?"

"Start from the beginning."

Harvey's smile softens, the meaning of those words pulling his heart strings. "We can do that. We'll just change records when it ends." The little ritual of putting on a record is something almost sacred to Harvey, and Mike watches his delicate movements with his hands. The opening static and then a blast of piano and catchy notes fills the condo with delightful and cheesy music.

"ABBA, not something I'd pick for myself. But it does have its moments." Harvey comes over to Mike and grabs his hips, leading them to a more open space to move. His laugh is full of life as he watches Mike dance a shitty attempt at Travolta. "Oh my god. Come here." Harvey kisses him softly, smiling too much for it to be proper, only to join Mike in being a dork.

[moonmeg]

A little addition to "Curious"

“D’aw and yet here ye are unable to live wi’out me”

Robyn rolled his eyes as a smile began tugging on the corners of his mouth. There was some truth to it. Micah was his best friend, the person he’d trust with his life and imagining a life without those red curls, trilled Rs and filthy tongue was impossible. At the very least, Robyn thought, it would be a rather unhappy life without Micah.

As he stared at the ceiling of the barn the thoughts came rushing back. Endless trains of thoughts pulling him from one question to the next. That was nothing new. His mind was always restless and always made it difficult for him to concentrate on something fully for a longer amount of time. It’s been this way since his childhood but this train of thoughts was different somehow. Vivan’s words didn’t let him go. Who was his “somebody else”? What does Vivian know that he doesn’t? And instead of sitting and thinking of who it is, all his thoughts could be stilled with a little glimpse into a crystal ball. The solution is right there. And Robyn certainly didn’t care much for rules. He could ask someone else to take a look but…

Micah was right. Oracle magic is not to be underestimated and knowing your future may be more dangerous than one might think at first. And what if he does suddenly know who he’s going to be with? Wouldn’t it feel forced? Like it didn’t naturally develop but because “it must happen”. That would affect the whole relationship, no? Isn’t that the nice part about romance? That you yourself don’t know what will happen. That your unknowing will make the little things and the firsts of a relationship so much more meaningful? Even the kiss with Vivian has a meaning now that it wouldn’t have had in a case of knowing how she felt and that she will kiss him.

A bunch of hay suddenly poking his face ripped him out of his deep thoughts.

“Ey!”, he exclaimed disgusted. “Ew, Mike, what the heck?!”

“Oh, sorry, was that not the wheelbarrow? Oopsies.”, Micah grinned.

“You bastard-”, Robyn started grinning himself and stood up from the hay seat, gently pushing Eilidh’s (the unicorn) head off his laps, “-I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Come and try, Shorty.”

“Alright that’s it!”

Robyn picked up small piles of hay and threw them at Micah, who dodged them without throwing anything back. Laughing and with another pile in his hands, Robyn approached Micah. The freckled boy however, held out the pitchfork to his attacker.

“Put the pitchfork down.”, Robyn halted smiling.

“Put the hay down.”, Micah replied, “Then we’ll talk ‘bouta pitchfork.”

“You’re a very unfair opponent, good Sir. You attacked me first! Now you’re using weapons I don’t have. Make it fair. Hay against hay.”

“Only if there’s ceasefire while I put it away.”

“You have my word.”

A moment of delay. Nothing happened as they both smirked at each other. Micah placed the tool on the ground and kicked it behind him, never once breaking the eye contact with the brunet.

“Good.”, Robyn tried to suppress his smile and be fully in the role of a dueling opponent, who would ensure to be on the winning side, “Now eat hay!���.

Micah dodged the hay attacks once again, still not throwing anything back. He instead attempted to flee, running around in the barn with Robyn right behind him. Both laughing heartily in this game of chase. Robyn chased after Micah for a good minute until Micah’s reflexes were too slow and gave Robyn the opportunity to pin him to the wooden wall by the shoulders.

“Where to now, Freckles?”, he smirked up at Micah.

Micah smiled, panting and catching his breath, trying to still his heart beat along with it.

“Alright, alright!”, he laughed, “I surrender.”.

Robyn didn’t give a response. He tried to catch his own breath and only managed to stare at Micah. Stare at his face as if he’s never seen the light brown freckles all over it or the reddish brown of his eyebrows and eyelashes. As if he looked at those golden eyes for the first time and as if he first notices the chunks of red hair falling into that pale face. As if this was the first time he noticed how beautiful all those traits were together. His breath calmed.

“Rob? Ye- uh… ye can let me go now.”.

Robyn blinked rapidly a few times and pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, right. Sorry.”, he let go of Micah’s shoulders and backed away, “I uh.. I spaced out for a little there.”.

Micah chuckled. “I noticed. It’s alright.”.

The redhead looked around the hay-covered barn with a long uttered “Well”.

“We better get this cleaned up again before ma dad notices.”, he rubbed his neck.

“Yeeeaah”, Robyn chuckled, “Sorry about that too.”.

“Nonsense, I got myself into this literal mess. It was fun though.”, Micah turned and smiled at Robyn.

“It was.”.

Robyn picked up a broom from the corner of the barn. He better forget about whatever that intense stare of him just was. He wasn’t staring in that sense.

Right?

Micah was attractive to him. But that’s nothing new.

There wasn’t more to it.

…

Right?

[bobafetts-princess]

Good Luck Charms

Months 7-12

Summary: After things have become a touch less frosty between you and Detective Magalon, you find that you actually like the man quite a bit. Maybe more than you bargained for.

Pairings: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: cursing, canon-typical sexism, mentions of substance issues (pain meds), someone gets shot.

A/N: This is slow burnnnnnnnnnnn

Months 1-6 can be found here!

MONTH 7

Month 7 is when things change.

It’s a raid. You’ve all been on one before but never together and the guys have never seen you this dressed down. They’ve only ever seen you in work clothes; pencil skirts and jackets, power suits, wrap dresses, slacks and silk blouses. You never have a hair out of place, it’s always styled with the perfect work makeup.

But today your hair is braided, you’ve got on jeans and a pink button down and brown boots, with a bulletproof vest over the top. Not an ounce of makeup. It’s a different side of you and the guys don’t know what to make of it.

“Fed? Is that you?”

“What’ve you done with the chick that comes to the office every day?”

“Well damn I didn’t know you owned a pair of jeans!”

You roll your eyes at all of them, flipping them the bird which makes them cackle. Detective Magalon doesn’t say anything, but it doesn’t bother you.

Really. It doesn’t.

But the raid goes sideways, only a little. One of the ATF guys doesn’t clear a room completely and you get shot.

Well, not really shot. More like grazed. It rips a hole in arm of your shirt and slices you deep enough that you think you’ll need stitches, but you’re alive and that’s the important part. You’re just lucky it was your non-dominant arm so you can still pull the trigger.

Detective Magalon takes the guy down and checks on you, but you wave him off. It’s not the first time you’ve been shot and in your line of work? It won’t be the last either.

“I’m fine. Finish the raid. Suspect is in the center,” you yell over the sound of gunfire. Big Nick finds him and tackles him down, wrestling with the gun and managing to get it away from him. You’re next in, jumping on the suspects back and getting cuffs on him before he has a chance to get away.

You’re running on pure adrenaline and haul the suspect up, it’s the head of cocaine sect of the organization. Catching him alive was the number 1 priority of this mission and you and Detective Magalon (with the help of his team) have succeeded. You shove him out, handing him off to Mike to be booked and turn, looking to the team. They’re exchanging high fives and cheers and Detective Magalon smiles at you. Henderson comes to high five you and you raise your arm to give him one back. You’re smiling and relieved until a shot of pain goes through your arm and you have to drop it.

Benny knows you got shot. He was there when you jerked, grabbed the spot and yelled at him to keep going. He knows you got shot even though you cuffed the suspect and marched him out. He really knows you got shot though when you move to give Henderson a high five and gasp in pain. Medical doesn’t arrive quick enough (in his opinion, at least) but they end up patching you up. They’ve gotta strip you out of that pretty pink button up, leaving you in a white undershirt and jeans as they give you stitches in the back of an ambulance. Benny notices a tattoo along your collarbone that he hadn’t seen before and he wants to get a closer look.

“You good?” He asks, stepping over after being checked himself. You glance up at him and Benny is surprised to see a light dancing in your eyes, the after-effects of an adrenaline rush no doubt. The guys are behind him, checking in on you at the same time he is. He catches some words and a date, something he definitely can’t see when you wear your buttoned up power suits and those fucking pencil skirts.

“I’m good, Detective,” your eyes are flicking between them all and you turn your body, wincing slightly as the needle punctures skin and he reads what the ink says. ‘How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard’. Benny wonders if it’s about an ex but shakes the thought away before it can take root. Why would you get a tattoo about an ex anyways? Stupid thought. But then you’re speaking again, drawing Benny’s attention. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot. At least this one didn’t require surgery.” You quip and Benny’s eyebrows raise at the insinuation. He knows the group chat is gonna blow up about this little insight into your life in a while and Benny already wants to put his phone on mute.

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

MONTH 8

With month 8 comes…..coffee? You’ve found this little hole in the wall place by your government issued apartment that serves fantastic coffee. They open at 5:30 in the morning, so when you get there at 5:45, the coffee is hot and fresh. They know you by first name at this point and know what time you come by in the morning. It’s easier than making drip coffee and it tastes better too.

Well one morning your alarm doesn’t go off. Or you shut it off. Or you sleep through it. You’re not really sure what happens. But you do know when you open your eyes and check the clock and see 7:30, you’re flying out of bed. You dress and clean up in record time and are out the door by 8:15, to your coffee shop by 8:20 and ordered before 8:25.

It’s 8:45 before you get a coffee in hand.

“I’m so sorry honey!” Shouts the owner, a stunning woman in her late 60’s. “One of my girls has the flu and one of our coffee machines broke!”

“It’s okay Mrs. Akron,” you assure her but god you are so late. You’re never late. Ever.

“Here darling,” she says, out of breath and frazzled. “Take a large black coffee, on me!” She thrusts your caramel macchiato at you as well as the large black. You start to protest but she won’t let you. “I insist! You’re running late and probably overslept, so you might need an afternoon boost. Take it,” she says, closing your hand around the cup. You nod at her, stopping to stuff a $50 in the tip jar before you make it to work. You roll in at 9:00, three hours late. The entire office whips their heads up and watches you walk in but you refuse to let it bother you.

“You good?” Detective Magalon asks and doesn’t press when you nod.

“Do you drink black coffee?” You ask before you lose the nerve. He’s bought you so much food, the least you can do is give him your extra coffee. “My coffee shop gave me an extra and….” You trail off, setting the coffee on his desk and taking a seat without an answer.

“Thanks.”

You simply nod but a couple times a week you bring him a large black coffee.

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

MONTHS 9&10

Months nine and ten brings a trial and it’s a long trial. The examination and cross examination and evidence and witnesses take nearly 6 weeks. You and Detective Magalon spend nearly every waking hour together, working with the district attorney to make sure all goes the way it should.

You’re both emotionally, mentally, and physically drained and by the time the jury is sent off to make their own decision, you feel like you can nap for hours.

In fact, you do.

The couch in the district attorney’s office is so dammed comfortable and you’re sitting next to Detective Magalon, whose body is just radiating heat. You’d both just finished testifying, his took 3 hours and yours took 4. You’re silent next to each other, too drained from all the information you had to recall and all the talking.

The next thing you know, you wake up. Your head is resting against Detective Magalon’s shoulder and you might (you’ll deny if anyone asks) have drooled on his shoulder. You push off him and get some distance between your bodies.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry. This case has taken it out of me. How long did I sleep?”

“Three hours.” He says, clicking his phone shut and looking at you.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re kidding? I’m so sorry,” you tell him but he waves you off.

“It’s been a long trial. I don’t blame you for being tired,” he says, standing. You hear his knees crack when he does and see a wince of pain cross his face as he makes his way to the restroom.

Oh my god, he let you sleep even though he had to piss? There’s no way you’re unpacking that right now.

Benny never tells you that he fell asleep too.

When the verdict comes back a few weeks later and the suspect is found guilty as sin, you celebrate. It’s only one person, only one head of the hydra you’re dealing with, but it’s something.

The guys get a couple packs of beer and one Friday after work, you drink together.

“Fed! You have to hang with us for a little while. You just had your first successful trial with us,” Connors insists and you agree to stay.

“One beer!” You tell them and they laugh and wave you off. It’s the first time you’ve ever drank with them and you’re so damn careful not to overdo it. They shoot the shit, swapping stories and peppering you with questions you refuse to answer.

“Still no boyfriend?”

“Is it hard working around such attractive dudes all the time?”

“Ever smoked weed? Does smoking disqualify you from being a fed?”

“You seem like the type to own a cat”

“Got a hot sister?”

Benny notices the last one makes you wince and he wonders why. Then he tells himself that it’s none of his business. But then he thinks of your tattoo and he can’t help but try to put the pieces together.

“Even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I wouldn’t know, all y’all are ugly.”

“No it doesn’t disqualify you.”

“That’s a weird statement.”

You swallow hard before you answer the last one.

“Doesn’t matter if I do, none of you are meeting her.”

Benny can see you’re uncomfortable and he doesn’t want the guys to latch on. So he takes the reins of the conversation, asking Big Nick about his latest divorce. Of course he launches into a huge speech about how it’s not his fault that he likes pussy so much and blah blah blah.

Benny shoots you a glance and notices you looking at him. You give him a small nod and raise your bottle in thanks.

At least, Benny thinks it’s in thanks.

********

MONTH 11

Month 11 earns you a nickname.

It’s another raid. Another head of the hydra that you’re looking for. You wear basically the same outfit, only this time the button down is army green instead of soft pink.

“You ready?” Magalon asks you, standing next to you and you wonder if he’s thinking of the last raid where you got shot. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with a grey LASD beanie over his hair. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and you see the strong salt-and-pepper there. It makes you twitch, low in your belly and wonder if he has-Jesus. A raid. You’re wearing a goddamned bulletproof vest and are getting ready to charge into a building where you might potentially get shot. Tamp that shit down.

“Yeah. I don’t think anyone is ever fully ready but I’m as ready as I can be,” you tell him, twisting your neck to look up at him.

“Try not to get shot this time,” he chuckles, looking at you. You nod, smiling as well and promising to do your best.

You get shot.

You actually get fucking shot.

It happens in a flash, one second the LAPD is declaring the room and by extension the building clear. The next second, you’re on the ground absolutely gasping for air.

“What the fuck?” Connors yells, pointing his gun that direction as Magalon covers your body with his own.

“You’re like a fucking magnet for bullets,” Magalon grumbles at you, grabbing you by the shoulder straps and moving to haul you out.

“Stop,” you gasp. “I’m fine, got the wind knocked out of me,” you tell him, pushing him off. The last thing you need is him getting shot in the back because he’s worried about you. “Get the suspect,” you tell him, pushing him off and finding cover behind a couple barrels off to your left. There’s a few more shots and a small shout of pain, hopefully from someone that isn’t on your side, before everything stops.

The barrels are moved out of the way and your gun flies up before you see who it is. Magalon. You never thought you’d be so happy to see him. “He’s cuffed. Connors shot him in the shoulder too but he’ll be fine. Unfortunately. Come on, you need a hospital,”

“No. No hospital. I’m fine,” you insist.

“Bullshit. Can you walk or do I need to carry you?”

“I’m fine. Seriously.”

“I guess I’m carrying you,” he says, handing his gun to Big Nick and moving to take off his own bulletproof vest.

“Damnit, I can walk,” you say, moving to stand.

“Good. Walk yourself to the ambulance so we can go to the hospital,” his jaw is set and you know that you’re going to end up at the hospital whether you like it or not.

“Fucking stubborn ass,” you snipe at him as you pass your own gun off to Connors.

“I’m going to get you a four leaf clover for luck, maybe then you’ll stop getting shot,” he shoots back and you can hear the frustration laced in his tone. As well as something else? Fear? Surely not.

“Ha!” Big Nick laughs and everyone turns to look at him. “That’s the perfect nickname for our fed. Clover,” and you groan because you know it’s going to stick. There’s no way it’s not going to stick. You don’t even get a chance to think about them calling you ‘our’ fed until you’re in the waiting room of the hospital.

—————————

“It’s two broken ribs and a nasty bruise,” says the ER doctor, sticking your x-rays up. “Desk duty for the next two months,” she tells you and you groan. Magalon hasn’t left your side yet, the others have, reports to write and debriefs to be held. “I’m going to give you some pain meds, I think the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet and that’s the reason you aren’t feeling much pain.” You have been feeling pain but downplaying it in the hopes of fooling the doctor. Unfortunately for you, x-rays can’t fool a doctor. “I’m also going to insist that you take the next four days off, bed rest.”

She stares you down and you have no choice but to nod and agree. She turns to Magalon and says “as her partner, I fully expect you to keep her from over-exerting. And absolutely no sex until those ribs are healed,” she wags her finger at the two of you and you both splutter at the same time.

“We’re no-“

“It’s not like-“

The poor woman is confused and you can see why because Magalon introduced himself as your partner when they brought you back to the waiting room.

“I’m FBI,” you explain.

“I’m LA County Sheriffs Department. We’re partners on a case,” Magalon finishes the explanation.

“Ah, well. Regardless,” she points her fingers at you, “you’re on bed rest for four days.” She turns to Magalon, “I don’t know if you can make that happen but I expect you should try.” He nods and she moves to leave the room. “And I know you’re not being truthful about how much pain you’re in,” she points at you again and your face heats. Her finger swings to Magalon, “make sure she takes a pain medication. Take it with food. It’ll probably put you to sleep,” she warns before she heads out.

She must decide that either you aren’t going to take one or Magalon isn’t going to be able to convince you to take one because a nurse makes you take one before you’re allowed to leave.

“She’ll need another one in four hours,” she warns before she takes off. And of course, it takes almost 45 minutes to get out. Between filling the script and getting discharged, by the time you make it to the parking lot you’re a zombie. It’s been a long day and you’re sore, exhausted, and grouchy.

“I had the guys bring your car,” he tells you and you nod. “What’s your address? I need it to get you home,” he says. His voice is soft, like one you would use around a skittish dog as he helps you into the passenger seat but your tongue is thick and heavy and you can’t form words.

By the time Benny makes it back to the drivers seat, you���re asleep. Passed out against the center console and Benny can’t help but smile. You look so soft and peaceful and not at all like a woman who just got shot.

Benny decides to take you to his place since he doesn’t know how to get to yours. He bridal carries you up the stairs to his apartment and manages to get you inside without waking you. Benny settles you down in his bed, unsure of whether to leave your clothes the way they are or try to change you into something comfortable and decides to go with the latter.

He removes your shirt, hoping you’ve got a tank underneath it like last time and is relieved to find one. He slips one of his t shirts over your head, pulling it down across your body before reaching under to pull down the tank. He refuses to look at the tattoo, knowing it’ll kick his brain into overdrive if he does. When he removes the undershirt, Benny must brush against your bruise because you groan in pain but he manages to get it off without waking you. Remembering an old trick from a previous lifetime, he unsnaps your bra and pulls it out the arm holes of the shirt, tossing it with the tank. Jeans are last and he makes sure to keep the shirt pulled all the way down as he blindly unbuttons and strips you. Finally, he tucks you under the covers and grabs a pillow to take to the couch. He sets an alarm and passes the fuck out.

The thing that wakes you is the aching pain in your ribs. You groan, doing your best to sit up but god, they hurt so bad. Glancing around the room you expect to see your collection of plants and pink sheets, but are surprised by bare walls and black sheets.

“Where the fuck-“ you start but then Magalon appears in the doorway. It’s that moment that you realize you’ve been changed into clothes that aren’t yours and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I didn’t see anything. I closed my eyes,” he tells you, crossing the room. “I had to take you to my place because you fell asleep before you could give me your address,” he explains. He’s got a protein bar in one hand and a cup in the other and he hands the cup to you first. “It’s time for your next pain med,” he drops the little pill in your hand, “I know your ribs hurt,” he gives you a pointed look. Grimacing you take the pill and chase it with the water.

“Thank you,” you say when he hands you the protein bar. Scarfing it down, you glance up at him as he nods. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. God, you probably had to carry me inside, didn’t you?” Magalon chuckles and nods.

“I need to tell you that I’m not leaving your side until you can go back to work,” and you open your mouth to protest. “Nope. No arguments. I’m more than happy to take you back to your own place if that would make you more comfortable, but you are stuck with me,” he says and you can tell he isn’t going to argue with you about it and you don’t have the energy to try either.

“Fine. How did you get me changed without ‘seeing anything’?” You smile as he explains, careful not to laugh because you know that it’s going to hurt. “I need to shower. Do you think I’ve got enough time before this kicks in?”

“Not sure, but I think it might be safer to wait until you’ve rested a little more,” you can’t help but agree because as he leaves the bedroom again you feel the deep weight of exhaustion overtake you again and before you know it, you’re out.

—————————

The next time you wake, Benny is already there and waiting for you.

“No, I want to try to shower first,” shaking your head at him and trying to sit up. Goddamn, your ribs hurt. He gives you a hand and leads you to the bathroom.

“I’m sure I don’t have the right…anything. But feel free to use anything in my shower,” he says. “But leave the door unlocked just in case you need me. Do you want me to try to make you something to eat?” Your stomach gives an aggressive grumble at that exact moment and he laughs. “Fried egg sandwich? Coffee?” Nodding at both he takes off to his kitchen. Heading into the bathroom, you flip on the lights and take a look at yourself in the mirror. You look like absolute shit. Red eyes, dark circles, your hair is a mess and a half. You haven’t washed your face recently and you know that the shower is going to dry your skin out. Of course Magalon doesn’t have any body lotion either.

Stripping off the tshirt, one of Magalon’s no doubt, you inspect the large bruise on your right side. It takes up almost your entire ribcage, stretching from under your breasts to almost touching your hipbone and it’s a nasty deep purple. It’ll only worsen over the next couple days too, turning brown to green to yellow. When you turn on the shower, you realize you don’t have a clean towel.

“Magalon?” You call out and hear his answering response. “I don’t have a towel, can you bring me one?” There’s silence, then he calls back that he’ll do it in just a second. Locating a brush, you step into the shower and groan at the hot water on your skin. Magalon has a nice shower, a cool grey tile with glass doors. And he has several body washes to choose from. And an actual shampoo and conditioner, not a 4-in-1 combo. You wash your hair with one hand because it hurts to raise the other and skip washing your feet cause you can’t bend over to reach them, but damn do you feel better.

The towel and a pair of sweats is right outside the bathroom door when you get out. You try to rip a brush through your hair, but the exertion makes your ribs hurt too much. So instead, you dress and head to the kitchen. Magalon is in there, plating a sandwich and setting it next to a cup of coffee. Your damn ribs are absolutely aching but right now? You’re more hungry than you are anything else.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But you’re my partner and I’ve got your back.” Swoon. No-wait. No swoon. Swooning is bad.

“Can I ask you for a small favor?” He nods and you hold out the brush. “It hurts too much to try and brush it.” He takes the brush and looks at it a little funny before he moves to stand behind you. He’s so gentle with it, afraid to put any tension on your head and hurt you. He gets through it as you sip on the coffee, (black, gross) and it doesn’t take him much time and you feel so much better when he’s done.

“Do you want to take your pill now or after you eat?” You opt for now and he hands it to you with a cup of water. “Still tired? Did showering hurt? Do you need to nap?”

“A little but not like I was. No, I feel a lot better being clean. I guess we’ll have to see.”

“Do you want to head back to yours or stay here for now?”

“I’d like to go back to my place, but maybe food first,” Magalon nods and you suppose you should be calling him Benny now. “Clover is gonna stick, isn’t it?” He looses a chuckle and grabs his phone, pulling up a text thread.

Big Nick: How’s Clover?

Benny: Fine. She’s resting. Pain pills took her out.

A couple hours later.

Z: Clover still out?

Benny: Ya. Long day for her. She’s at mine.

Big Nick: Damn Borracho, how did you get that to happen?

Z: OooOOooooHHhhhhh

Connors: Apparently only drugged women go home with you.

Henderson: Y’all are obnoxious

Benny: Fell asleep before I could get her address.

A couple hours later.

Connors: Clover good? Still out?

Benny: Ya. And ya.

Henderson: You know Borracho, my favorite thing about you is how conversational you are.

You snort a laugh and immediately regret it, grabbing at your ribs.

“Are they always like that?”

“As long as I’ve known them. They’ve taken to you though, more than any other person we’ve worked with. Man or woman.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“They’re used to other departments being straight-laced and talking shit about us. You haven’t done that. You call the guys out when they need it and let shit slide that doesn’t. They respect that,” he says, shrugging.

“Is that what happened with the other female agents that worked with you guys?” And he nods.

“By now you know how they are and if they think they’ve found something that’ll bother you, they dig in. And they don’t know when to quit.”

Nodding you ask, “is that how you got the nickname Borracho?” It’s a far cry from how you made fun of his nickname all those months ago. He sighs heavily and you know it’s a story that irritates him a little.

“One time, back when it was Big Nick, Henderson and me, we had a work event. It was fancy and an open bar, so I naturally got shit-faced. Nick and his first wife had to help me out and make sure I didn’t vomit all over myself. Nick started calling me Borracho and I never got rid of it, especially once they realized I hate it.” Your sandwich is gone by now and you move to go put the plate in the sink but Benny stops you. He takes the plate and puts it in the dishwasher before coming to sit next to you again.

“That’s a horrible way to get a nickname,” you smile at him and he smiles back.

“Tell me about it.” A pause. “Getting shot is a much cooler way to get a nickname,” and you shoot him a small glare. “Do you want to try and nap again or are you alright?” Between the shower and the conversation, you’re exhausted again so you opt for another nap. “While you sleep I’m gonna run to the office and grab some files so I can get some work done while I’m out,” he tells you and you nod, drifting back down the hallway to his room. Pulling back the sheets and sliding in, you don’t even hear the front door shut before you’re asleep again.

—————————

You’ve forgotten how much you hate being on bed rest. It’s been years since you last were but good god it is awful. At least there’s company. Once Benny got back from the office with a box in the SUV and some get-wells from the boys, you’d finally felt rested. You got Benny to take you back to your own apartment and he chuckles when he walks in.

“This is the girliest place I’ve ever been in.”

“Leave my decoration choices alone,” but he’s not wrong. Everything is soft and feminine, a grey couch with pink and grey pillows. A baby pink sheets and comforter set and plants everywhere. “Thanks. Seriously. I appreciate you staying with me to make sure I’m okay.”

“No coffee machine?” He asks in lieu of a response.

“I only get coffee from that one place,” you remind him. “It’s easier and it tastes better than drip coffee from a pot.” He laughs and says whatever before he sets the files on your counter.

“Two more days, then you can go back to work,” he reminds you and you stick your tongue out at him when his back is turned. Your ribs still ache but you can at least take a pain pill and not pass out within 20 minutes, so that’s an improvement. “Do you want to sift through these files with me?” He asks and you groan. You don’t, you’re too foggy. “Okay okay, we don’t have to,” he chuckles and turns to you. “What do you feel like doing?”

Truth be told, you want to watch a show. Your favorite romantic show just released a new season last week and you want to get caught up. But it’s steamy and not a show to be watched with a coworker so you say, “is there a game on?” Benny quirks a brow at you and you sigh. You like sports but you just aren’t in the mood for them.

“What do you actually want to watch?” When you give him the name of the show he belly laughs and says “let’s watch it. Cmon. I want to see what it’s like.”

Two hours and several spicy scenes later, Benny is deeply invested in this show. He keeps asking questions and insisting things don’t make sense, but that’s only because he hasn’t seen the first couple seasons. If it didn’t hurt so much to laugh, you would be in absolute tears by now because who knew that Detective Magalon from the LASD would be into regency romances?

“Who is that man?”

“They’re in the garden alone. Don’t they have to get married now?”

“He touched her tit, they definitely have to get married now.

“Who is this entire family?”

Finally you get tired of answering his questions and suggest that you start the whole series over, so he can be caught up. He gives you a side eye, but you ignore it, starting from Season 1 Episode 1 and let it play. The two of you get through the first four episodes before it’s time for another pain med, you’re trying to stretch out the time you need them so you can wean. After you take it you curl into the couch, Benny at one end and you at the other. It doesn’t take long for this one to knock you out and eventually you’re stretched out, your head in Benny’s lap as he finishes the season by himself.

He picks you up as gently as he can, walking you down the hall to settle you into your own bed. He takes the time to examine the pictures hung up in the hallway when he heads back to the couch. He notices a girl in your pictures, one so similar in a way that’s more than just a sibling. You both look about the same age and share the exact same smile, often the both of you holding matching Winnie the Pooh plushies. The pictures of the two of you stop when you reach late teens, Benny guesses somewhere between 17-19. It’s just you now, you and your parents, you and another sibling, a brother. Benny starts taking the pieces and putting them together. A memorial tattoo, a refusal to talk about your family. A decided sensitive spot about your sister, or lack of? Benny doesn’t want to make assumptions, he knows what they say about assuming. But he’s a cop, a long time cop, and he knows how to make an educated guess.

You wake in your own bed, surrounded by your fluffy pink comforter and a deep ache in your ribs. It’s not time for more pain meds, so you decide to ice them down instead. Sneaking past a sleeping Benny and you take the time to study his profile. Strong nose and jaw, salt and pepper in his beard, eyes that have a capability to be soft. He really is an attractive man, if you were being honest with yourself, which you try not to be. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, so much different without the deep furrow between his eyebrows. You try to be as quiet as possible as you make a bag of ice, but it doesn’t take him long to follow you into the kitchen.

“In pain?” He asks, leaning up against the counter. His beefy arms cross his chest and you have to avert your eyes quickly.

“Yeah. The sharp pains are gone but the aching pains won’t budge.” He nods before glancing at the clock.

“It’s early,” you glance at the clock yourself and notice it’s only 6 am. Old habits die hard. “Want to get out of the apartment for a while? We can go grab breakfast?” He offers. “Does that coffee shop you like serve a full breakfast?”

“Actually it does. I’ve never eaten breakfast there before though.”

“Are you willing to try it?”

“Anything to get out for a bit. Just let me finish icing my ribs first. It should take about 30 minutes. Do you need to go home and shower?”

Benny shakes his head, “nah, I took one in the guest room while you were sleeping. Want to watch your show while we wait?” Obviously the answer is yes and you can’t stop watching mid-episode so it’s after 7 by the time you leave the house. Benny orders literally only a cup of coffee and you side eye him a you order blueberry pancakes, bacon, and hashbrowns with a French vanilla cappuccino.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” He shakes his head at you.

“Nah, not much of a breakfast eater,” he says, taking a deep drink.

“Breakfast is the best meal of the day,” and it sends the two of you into an argument about which meal actually is the best meal. (Benny says they’re all the same, which leads you to believe he doesn’t eat much outside of work.)

This silly argument lasts nearly the entire time you wait for food and when it does arrive, you dig in. You’re so hungry that you almost don’t notice that Benny steals a piece of bacon off your plate. “Hey! Get your own food!” You cry, moving to stab him with your fork, but he manages to dodge. He laughs, a full belly laugh, and the sound is delicious. “You should’ve ordered something,” you warn, covering your food with your arms. “I don’t share food.”

He laughs again and flags down the waitress, ordering a side of bacon and some toast. You glare at him until it arrives, and the waitress chuckles as she fills his coffee. “I don’t share food with my boyfriend either,” and before you can argue that Benito Magalon is NOT your boyfriend, she’s gone.

————————-

Benny stays with you the next day and a half, until Monday and you’re allowed to return back to work. He offers to drive you but you refuse, telling him you go in much earlier than he does. “I can stay on your couch again. I’ll wake up when you wake up,” he says and you finally relent. So the next morning, at 6:30 you head into the kitchen, only to find Benny showered and holding coffee. “Hey. I grabbed coffee,” he lifts said coffee. “Want me to drive your car?”

It’s so bright in the office, much more bright than the low lights of your home, and it makes you wince.

“Clover!” Comes the cry from your office mates as they see you. You can’t help but smile and then it widens when you see what’s on your desk. A tiny pot with something green in it, which upon further inspection turns out to be…..clover.

“You guys have to be fucking kidding me,” you laugh, gently so not to upset your ribs. There’s a loud ruckus of laughter from them, as if it’s the funniest practical joke they’ve ever pulled. “You know this won’t live, right?” Examining it, you notice that it looks like they literally dug it up from the front lawn and stuck it in a pot. “It needs a lot more light than it’s gonna get sitting on my desk,” you explain before thanking them for doing something so thoughtful.

Big Nick steps out of his office to welcome you back, reaching over to slap a hand on your shoulder. You brace, waiting for the impact to jar your ribs but a sharp ‘don’t’ from Benny stops the hand before it connects. “Those ribs are still broke, Nick,” he says, barely lifting his eyes from his files to acknowledge Nick. Nick grunts, turns, tells you how good it is for you to be back, then disappears.

Lifting your eyes, you notice the same stunned expression on everyone else’s face and exchange of glances with one another. And glances with you.

That Monday is one of the longest of your career. you barely get anything done and all you want to do is go home and rest, but you can’t. It’s nearly midday when your patience snaps because Henderson looks at you funny when you grunt in pain.

“Got something to say, Henderson?” You snap and he gives you a wide, nervous glance before his eyes snap to Benny. “No. Don’t look at him, look at me. Do you have something to say?” Benny, you see him out of the corner of your eye, checks his watch and then pulls his phone out.

You’re so annoyed because you know they’re texting their little group chat. And you know they’re texting about you. Especially when four phones go off at the same time, more than once.

Borracho: it’s her first day off pain meds. Cut her some slack.

Nick: been there.

Henderson: same.

Z: does she need anything?

Borracho: food. And a coffee.

Z: what does she like?

Borracho: get her General Tso’s and house fried rice. And a caramel macchiato.

Z nods, getting up from his chair and heading out the door.

“Y’all texting about me?” You snap, eyes sharp as they bore holes in Benny’s head. He gives you this soft, pitying look that absolutely makes you rage and stand up suddenly before you double over in pain. Stupid fucking ribs. Stupid fucking perp that shot you. Stupid fucking pain meds. Wait-pain meds. Oh goddamnit. That’s why you’re so grouchy, you haven’t had any today and you’re sore and shaky.

“Are you alright?” Benny asks, standing. You wave him off, heading to the back of the bullpen where there aren’t any eyes and take a couple deep breaths. After four days of basically living together, you recognize the sound of Benny’s feet as they come up behind you. “Hurtin’?” He asks and you nod your head. “Want to head home?” You shake your head, but you really like the way he uses home like it’s somewhere the both of you are going.

“Nah, I just need a little bit of food and probably some coffee,” and you’re confused when Benny smiles.

“That’s where Z went. He’s grabbing Chinese and a caramel macchiato.” And you know that it was 100% Benny’s idea.

“Thanks Ben,” you smile at him, placing a soft hand on his forearm. There’s a moment there, in the back of the bullpen, between the two of you. You’ve been toeing that line all weekend, really for the last two months and this might be the turning point in your relationship. Benny feels safe. Benny feels like comfort. Someone you can trust. Someone you can count on.

Which is amazing to you because it’s such a far cry from where you started, nearly a year ago. Which makes you think, then makes you apologize.

“I’m sorry for how I acted when I first got here.”

“It’s fine. I think you had the right to be, these guys are a tough nut to crack,” he says, gesturing to the bullpen behind them. “They don’t take very well to others, especially fed. The ones we usually deal with are snarky and uptight. They make fun of us or judge us.” You understand, really you do. It makes sense, how defensive they are and how they treat new people. “Are you sure that you don’t want to head home? I can work from there,” he offers and it makes your chest tight. But his phone dings and it’s Z, letting him know that he’s back and that makes your chest tight again. These men care about you, your physical and mental well-being, and they want to make sure you’re okay. So, you shake your head at Benny and head back to your desk, lobbing an apology to everyone for your behavior, and sit down. Grabbing a file, you start to flip through it, but before you even have a chance to look at it, a bag and a coffee are set in front of you. You glance up and smile at Z, thanking him and apologizing to him in the same breath. He waves you off and sits down, but you can’t quite let it go.

“Z, what’s your cashapp. Or your Venmo? Let me pay for this, you didn’t have to go get it for me,” you tell him but he waves you off again.

“Nahh, Borracho already paid for it. Don’t worry about it,” and when you look at Benny, he refuses to look at you.

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

Month 12

Month 12, you’re added into the group chat. Your phone buzzes one morning with one text from Big Nick and you notice that there’s a bunch of numbers there that you don’t recognize. Benny’s you do, but no one else. After about a week he stopped sleeping on your couch but he still gets to the office early and the two of you spend your mornings in companionable silence, sharing breakfast.

Big Nick: Anyone up for grabbing donuts this morning?

Big Nick: Also, drop your names so Clover knows who’s who.

Clover: Isn’t being a bunch of donut loving cops a little cliche?

Big Nick: Rude. No donuts for you.

You laugh a little out loud, noticing the ache in your ribs has almost completely disappeared, nearly two months after you got shot. You know Nick well enough now to know that he’s joking and he’s not being the rude, brash, asshole you initially thought that he was.

Zapata: It’s Z. Can’t this morning, gonna do a witness call.

Connors: This is Connors. I’m already at a crime scene, so I can’t. Save me some though!

Henderson: This is Henderson. I’m gonna be late as it is, I don’t have time.

Benny: Borracho can grab some from the usual place.

Clover: Don’t get any jelly filled ones, they’re the worst.

Zapata: Uh oh.

Clover: What?

Connors: NO JELLY FILLED? THAT’S UN-AMERICAN. I’M GOING BACK TO THE OTHER GROUP CHAT.

You laugh out loud again, the idea of Connors taking jelly-filled donuts so seriously honestly tracks for who he is as a person.

Clover: I’m sorry! Get all the jelly filled that you want, but get me long chocolate donut. No jelly, please.

Connors: Borracho, get a dozen jelly-filled just to spite Clover.

Clover: Awe, Connors. You’re hurting my feelings.

Big Nick: It’s too early to be reading this many messages.

Clover: You texted us first.

Benny: Chill or I won’t get donuts.

Henderson: You started the group chat.

Connors: You text first?!

Zapata: Speaking of, what should I name the chat?

Big Nick: Why does the group chat need a name?

Zapata: Our other chat is called The Regulators. We need to name this one too.

Connors: How about the FEDulators? It sounds the same!!

Clover: That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard, Connors.

Clover: How about Clover and the Four Leaf’s?

Zapata: OoOoOoOhHhHhH!!!!! I like that!!!!

Zapata changed the group name to 🍀Clover and the Four Leaf’s 🍀

Big Nick: Y’all are fuckin’ idiots.

You’re already in the office and lift your head at the sound of someone coming into the bullpen. It’s Benny, carrying two dozen donuts. He smiles at you and it makes something go slippery in your chest and Jesus you’re an adult.

“Welcome to the group chat. It’s hell here,” he laughs, holding out an open box for you to grab one. The two of you sit in silence, eating donuts and sharing files.