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targaryen-dynasty · 1 year ago

Text

LECHERY.

Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Based on the request: “Can you write a jealosy Dom Aemond when his wife his dance and have fun with Jace at the dinner. So he put her on his knees and punish her, after that he fuck and give orgasms to show at who she belongs. A kinda dark but not to much, he loves her in his black heart after all“

WORDS: 3.9 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; DUB-CON, profanity, rough oral sex (face fucking), p in v, balls worship, humiliating, degrading, breeding kink, jealous Aemond, female Reader

“Come... let us drain our cups to these three... strong boys.“

And with that, everything went downhill.

The evening had started relatively tame, considering you had supper in the Dragon’s lair with ten more or less hot-blooded Dragons surrounding you.

There was a bit of tension between the youngest present members of the family, but considering most incidents happened way before you even met your husband, you were somewhat oblivious to most of it.

Until Jacaerys Velaryon had prowled around the long table and asked you to dance, catching you off guard, considering you were in a conversation with Helaena.

Her soft and encouraging smile eventually coaxed you to accept the offer, but only because you hadn’t dared to look at your husband from over your shoulder, and felt the need to accept it out of courtesy; not wanting to cause any bad blood between you and the side of your husband’s family.

Aemond wasn’t keen on dancing. Never had been, never would be. The only exception he made was on the evening of your wedding, more because he felt duty bound than that he actually enjoyed and wanted it.

The possessive and jealous demeanor of your husband wasn’t a secret, though you suspected Jacaerys asked you to dance on purpose as a polite way to rile him off. He barely touched more than your hand during the dance, but that was already too much for Aemond, probably because he loathed his nephew.

On top of that, the giggles and laughs erupting from you didn’t help with his jealousy either. It was Jacaerys easy demeanor and his inability to dance that brought you a great sense of joy after the first rounds of swirling and circling around each other, he just didn’t take himself too seriously.

Just one look over to where your Dragon sat motionless in his seat, facing the direction of the designated dance floor to keep his stern eye neatly trained on you, told you that you were in for a lot of trouble.

That proved to be right.

Not one glance was spared into your direction when Aemond exited the Small Hall after facing his uncle Daemon. It was unusual, had he always been nothing else than a devoted and caring husband, which was why you practically bolted out of the room to follow him.

His footsteps were heavy, bouncing off the stone walls of the Red Keep as his large strides effortlessly carried him towards your martial chambers, his stance threatening enough to have every maid or person of court moving aside on his way.

When the thick wooden door finally fell shut behind you, there was nothing else than silence and the dim light the fireplace granted filling your quarters. Hadn’t you seen your husband entering them before, you would have thought he wasn’t there. But you knew he was. You felt his presence. Your eyes flickered through the room, needing a few seconds to adjust to the light.

A firm hand caught your loose tresses in a tight grip all of the sudden, the gasp that surged from your tongue replaced by a short shriek with you being all but yanked towards the large bed.

It felt as if he placed his whole weight onto your body, your knees buckling until eventually they hit the hard stone floor. Much to your luck, the gown you wore was quite thick and cushioned the impact to a certain point. It still was painful, but hadn’t had you wincing.

When your wide doe eyes looked up, you were blessed with the sight of Aemond looming over you. His jaw was clenched, probably the only indicator visible on his usually stern face that displayed the anger he felt. The eye patch was long gone, the blue Sapphire in his socket capturing the obtuse light of the fire, making him appear even more threatening.

Your courtesy had pushed his limits, and with the position you were in, you knew you were trapped.

A frown was knotted on your forehead, and despite knowing all too well what got you into this dilemma, you opted to play the innocent victim, feigning your confusion.

“What is this about, husband?“

There were a few seconds of silence between you, passing with you shifting your weight from one knee to the other to ease the tension and stiffness in the joints. When the reply didn’t come even though his narrowed eye was fixed with yours, you tried to rise to your feet again, only for him to yank you back down by your hair.

The harsh tugging was the main reason your heart rate increased, wildly thrumming against the confines of your ribcage. A stark contrast to the way he treated you normally.

“Kneel, ��brazȳrys,” a command, and with the choice of his tone it was clear that it wasn't up to debate.

“But ‘tis not comfortable,” you protested.

“You were not complaining about being uncomfortable with my nephew earlier.”

“I was not kneeling on stones either.”

“Oh, but I bet you thought about it. I saw the lecherous way that bastard-born fool was looking at you,” each word laced with venom.

“You know we were just dancing, Aemond.”

“Were you? Or were you toying with him? Or toying with me?” he accused, hand remaining in your hair, whereas the other slowly undid the laces in the front of his breeches.

“I am… I am afraid I do not understand,” your eyes had long traveled down to watch the movements of his hand, when awareness toppled over you about what he had planned to do. The front of his breeches was strained into a tent, looking incredibly painful and uncomfortable.

It happened tortiously slowly. The laces loosened enough for him to push the front down, revealing his white braises which quickly followed to expose his throbbing length to the chill air of your quarters.

The pale skin was flushed around the tip, angrily begging for attention and relief. Droplets of his arousal leaked out of the small slit, giving it a slight glow. You were accustomed to the size of his member, sheathed deep inside of you almost every night since your wedding, but the perspective had it looking even more considerable than it already was.

Just by looking at it, you could feel the soreness already creeping up to the back of your throat, straining your voice.

His stones hung low, twitching and swinging every time Aemond’s hand wandered up to stroke down the full length of him. Lascivious thoughts clouded your mind, your mouth filling with saliva as the urge to lick and embrace his jewels with your lips became unbearable.

“You are mine,” an unnerving timbre in his quiet voice, “it would be best for you to remember that.”

With the shivers running up your spine also came bolts of electricity that flickered into the other direction, filling the heat at the apex of your legs with anticipation.

His jealousy and possessiveness toward you was something you should be concerned of, showing the danger that radiated off of him, and the true threat he was. If the deliberate ruse at supper was the fruit of nothing else than your courtesy, it would not stop at that. That only was the beginning, every sense of trepidation falling victim to his temper.

Your eyes were wide, the shimmer in them caused by the anxiety you felt.

“I do remember,” seconds of silence passed in which you were looking for the right words to say, “Iksan aōhon.” I am yours.

High Valyrian did not come as easy to you, as it came to your husband. The lack of lessons and Valyrian descent were not the best requirements to learn a tongue as difficult as it. But you tried, grasping a few of the words he repeated over and over whenever he spoke to you during multiple occasions.

A bit more of the blue Sapphire was revealed when his eyes widened in surprise, unveiling some of the tenderness he felt towards you, even though it turned back to its usual cold and stern expression straight away.

The grip on your hair released, and with the feeling of your scalp finally being able to relax again, you felt your heart rate slowing down, too. And when his hand instead cupped the back of your head, fingers tentatively massaging the assaulted skin, you couldn't stop leaning into his touch. You were basking in the feigned safety, caught by surprise when your face was urged toward his erect member.

“Perhaps my sweet wife needs some help to remember her place, gaomas ziry daor?” Does she not?

“Kostilus,” you teased, your own arousal not a secret anymore. Perhaps.

Much to your husband’s surprise, not one second was wasted until the tip of your tongue was sweeping from the base of his cock up to the bulbous tip, the salty taste of his arousal spreading over your taste buds.

Your heavy breaths fannef over the flushed skin, provoking a huff of air to slip past Aemond’s lips.

The entirety of his palm was immediately wrapped with the strands of your long hair again, making it easier for him to keep your head exactly where he wanted it. Not that you minded, as long as things moved on your accord with a lot of preparation.

Knowing your job, you reached to grasp his stiff member, using the bit of your saliva that ran along the underside as lubrication. Your tongue penetrated the spot between the base of his cock and the sac of his stones, until eventually your lips parted against his stones to suckle gently as you took them in your mouth.

You felt Aemond twitching in your touch, hand slowly stroking up and down the entirety of his thick length.

It was the first time you went that far and engulfed his jewels, but your husband had little time to question where that boldness came from. The pleasure was too good, perfectly audible in the ragged breaths that spilled from him, only interrupted by a few grunts and groans. The indecency of your own ministrations surprised you all the same, but it satiated and soothed something in you that was long embedded in the back of your mind.

It was the sharp tug of your husband that pulled you out of your trance like state, his jewels generously coated in your saliva from how fervently you had sucked on them.

“You appear eager to have something in your mouth, Y/N,” he rasped as two of his slender fingers pried your lips apart, sinking into your mouth deep enough to gag you, before they were replaced by his cock, “Perhaps I can help you with that.”

His erect member laid heavy on your tongue, and you had little time to prepare yourself for what was to follow. As the feeling of your warm mouth around him reached Aemond’s mind, he wasted no time in bucking his hips into you. The ambush on your throat caused you to clutch his thighs, nails digging into the thin fabric of his ruffled breeches.

The girth and length of him left little to no space for any air to fill your lungs, especially whenever he halted for a few seconds to relish in the tightness and heat your mouth granted him. He never went deep enough for your nose to nuzzle against his lower stomach, because otherwise he would spill down your throat in a matter of seconds.

All you could do was to hollow your cheeks around him, draggin the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock and the vein that ran from the base to the tip. His abdominal muscles flexed at the sensations you granted him, more so when one of your hands clasped around the bit of his length that didn't fit into your mouth.

However, your husband seemed to have other plans in mind, and peeled your hand off of him. Both his hands were steadily planted on either side of your face, keeping your head in place.

There was no need for him to sink into you fully, your eyes already glassy from swallowing only half of him. Tears brimmed in them, straining your cheeks on their way down. The urge to squeeze them shut was big, but you kept them trained on his violet one. This allowed you to spot the exact moment your husband lost control, his hips thrusting into you on their own accord. He grabbed your head, tilting it to try for you to take as much of him as possible, until you were doing nothing at all and allowing him to use you however he desired.

“Sīr sȳz,” the words pierced through the silence like a prayer, repeated by him multiple times. So good.

His groans grew in volume, whereas you only gripped his thighs as if your life depended on it. You gagged around him, saliva leaking down the corner of your lush lips and dripping onto your bosom, or at least the bit that was exposed through the low-cut neckline of your black dress. You relished in his praise, his appreciation making the whole assault a bit more bearable.

His cock started to grow harder, if that was even possible, indicating that he was on the verge of his peak. The mere thought of swallowing his salty spent coaxed you to hollow your cheeks around him once more, applying a bit of pressure to his cock by flattening your tongue and pressing it against him.

With his soaring pleasure also rose the pressure he applied on your face, combined with the loss of air the main cause for your vision to grow blurry, a slight headache flaring across your head.

The ability to suck in some air was short-lived, coming and going every time he chose to force the tip of his cock down your throat again. If you were to place your hand on the juncture of it, you were sure to feel him from the outside, feeling and seeing how he eased his way down the tightness.

But suddenly, the pressure eased, and you coughed when too much air filled your lungs at once.

Aemond’s breathing came in heavy bursts as he looked down at you, mouth agape and a slight pink tinting the pale skin around his cheeks, “Fuck that mouth of yours… I need to finish in your cunt.”

With that, you were yanked to your feet by your hair, turned around and toppled over the edge of the bed, landing on your stomach. The skirt of your dress was pushed up to reveal your smallclothes underneath, a damp spot visible in the center of them. The embarrassment of your lecherous desires caused you to bury your face in the bedcovers, heat radiating off your cheeks. You did not dare to look at him from over your shoulder, his mocking snicker perfectly audible.

“Do you like this?” he asked, sarcasm laced within his voice, “do you enjoy when I treat you like a common whore?”

The shame his words caused to rise in you had you clenching your thighs together to which Aemond just tsked. Both his hands grasped your thighs to pry them apart again. They inched up your arse, fingers hooking underneath the hem of your smallclothes, tearing them down your body.

From that angle, Aemond was able to see just how affected you truly were by the whole situation, your cunny pulsing around nothing, and shining with the juices that had seeped out of your swollen folds.

The sight was truly divine, and Aemond thanked the Seven for bringing you into his life.

“Oh, you undoubtedly like this,” he purred.

The bed shifted as Aemond climbed behind you, kneeling between your parted legs. One hand brushed your exposed thigh in a soothing manner, comforting you while the tip of his cock prodded at your greedy entrance. It moved up and down your folds, brushing against your little bud. Jolts of pleasure coursed through your body at that, the aching need for attention slowly being stilled by him.

It was your whiny voice that filled the silence, “stop teasing me, husband… please.”

You moaned at the sensations, fisting the sheets in both hands as you tried to push your hips back, needing to feel more of him. As that didn't work, you opted to wiggle your hips instead to coax him into you to which Aemond just served a stinging slap to your right arse cheek, not even giving you a warning first.

Your rear clenched together at the pain, not even his hand resting on the reddening skin able to soothe it.

“Stay still,” he instructed, hands gripping the flesh of your arse tightly, pinning you down.

The pressure at your hole returned. Knowing his size (and still feeling its remnants lingering in your throat) you were glad to be soaking wet for him, because otherwise it would’ve been even more uncomfortable than it already was.

Despite taking him almost every night ever since your wedding, you still hadn’t grown accustomed to his size, the pain of his intrusion causing you to gasp. For a few seconds, pain was everything you felt, until it was replaced by pleasure.

Once he had thrusted into you in a swift motion, his pubic bone pressing against your backside, he gave you time to adjust to his size. You felt full, almost as if he was to come out your throat at any given moment. The tip rested against your cervix, every throbbing of him adding to the fullness you felt.

“M-Move… please,” you all but begged him, resting your cheek on the bedcovers; and your husband complied.

A shuddered breath was heard from behind you as you squeezed his cock, resulting in him pulling out almost completely to snap his hips right back in once the tip was the only thing engulfed by your heat.

“I will never get used to your tightness,” he panted.

His hips moved to pistone in and out of your cunt, brushing your sweet spot every time he entered you. Aemond was so forceful, the tight grip on your hips was the only thing to keep you from shooting up into the headboard.

Not long after, he released one of his hands and started to slap your arse, watching the way you squirmed and whined at the pain and euphoria that simultaneously filled your veins. He was silently wishing he had allowed his jealousy to take over much sooner, seeing how much you seemed to enjoy it.

The rustling of the bedcovers and dipping of the mattress next to your waist indicated that Aemond had shifted in his position, one hand neatly planted on the bed to support his weight as he towered over your body. You reached behind you to try and grab ahold of any part of his body you could grasp, but your husband had other plans.

His hand clasped around your wrist whilst finding the other one, and brought them behind your back. His hand was large enough to envelope both your wrists, pinning them to your back and therefore forcing you to lean on your face.

You felt the steady tightening of your stomach, your cunny and thighs tingling as your moans and whines grew louder. Faint stars danced along your vision, blacked out by the pillows underneath.

Aemond felt you nearing your peak, his own already tingling at the tip of his cock thanks to the preparations you both had taken beforehand.

“‘M going to fill you up,” Aemond grunted, emphasizing his words with a row of sharp thrusts, “fill you with my seed again and again until you are round with my child.” Just the thought caused his stones to seize up. He was walking on the edge, ready to tumble down into the abyss.

He spared no time in seeking out his pleasure, letting his cock go in and out with determination, slamming his pelvis into you with reckless abandon seen only in patrons of a brothel.

The wet sound of your sweaty bodies slapping together was music to his ears, further sweetened by the quiet whimpers and moans you released every time he buried himself balls deep inside of your glorious womanhood.

His hand found your hair, pulling and twisting your mane in his hand until he forced you to arch your back for him, allowing him to thrust into you deeper than before. He was hitting your sweet spot so utterly perfect, almost spending himself at the mere thought of how deeply he was impaling you.

You, on the other hand, felt as if you had to pee, your thighs inevitably clenching together to stop the liquid from leaking out of you. The added tightness and stimulation allowed Aemond to topple over the edge. His soul was roaring in victory as his cock bursted his spent inside of you, spilling ropes of his hot seed deep inside your quivering walls.

As he peaked, he felt your cunt clamping down on him, milking him for every drop. You were peaking from being fucked like an animal, as if you were a wildling living in the lands beyond the wall.

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, and ridiculous amounts of your arousal oozed out of your cunt, coating the entirety of his member and dripping down his pulsing balls.

You laid limply beneath him, trying to tame the chaos your overwhelming orgasm had caused within you, whereas he didn't seem to have that much trouble to regain his composure.

Aemond’s tall frame towered over yours, bowing forward to press a kiss to the juncture of your shoulder. It was a welcomed gesture, but the gentleness quickly turned into something wicked, when he sank his teeth into the plumpness of your flesh. The stinging pain took you by surprise, causing you to clench around his flaccid cock. By the muffled groan Aemond unleashed against your skin, you knew he was just as overstimulated and sore as your cunt and throat.

When he let go of your skin, he admired the burgeoning bruise that showed on your skin, satisfied he had claimed you in two ways that night. Your maids were going to see his claim on you the following morning, and with them not being able to keep their mouths shut, it was only a matter of time until the gossip about it spread throughout the castle and reached the damned ears of his bastard-born nephew.

He pushed you off of him, hands grazing the reddened flesh of your arse, before he tugged himself back into his breeches. The heavy sigh that left his lips was enough to tell that his body (and jealousy) was content and sated, more so when a look over his shoulder revealed his seed trickling out of your well-fucked cunt. Another great rush of satisfaction coursing through him.

“Dawn is almost upon us, sweet wife,” he cooed, “catch some rest. We will discuss this matter in the morrow when we break fast.”

There was no response coming from you. Too many impressions were clouding your mind and perception, the most prominent one being the question about the next time you would be able to dance with another man.

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ellecdc · 8 months ago

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I'm sick rn so I wanted to know if you could do a little comfort fic of moonwater taking care of sick reader or something pls :)

awe so sorry you're unwell babes! hope you feel better soon <33

poly!moonwater x fem!reader who has the flu

Another shiver shook your frame even from your place burrowed deep beneath the thick duvet in your spare bedroom.

You’d woken up a little late this morning; Regulus needed to be in the office early for a meeting, and Remus had a meeting with his publisher, meaning you had been on your own. You felt awful, but ultimately hoped that as the day had continued, you might perk up a bit.

You did not perk up. In fact, you ended up spending so much time in the bathroom that your boss actually suggested you go home for the rest of the day.

Too poorly to feel as embarrassed as you probably ought to, you readily accepted and returned to yours, Regulus’, and Remus’ shared flat.

It took nearly all your effort to change out of your work clothes, change the bedding in your shared bedroom so that the boys wouldn’t have to sleep in your germs, and set yourself up in the guest room with a bucket just in case.

You’d slept on and off quite fitfully, waking up with a start when your fever induced brain concocted the most ridiculous nightmares to alert you to your sweaty and discomfited state.

You were so poorly that you hadn’t even realized anyone was home until Regulus was standing in front of you like a creepy vampire watching you sleep.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Regulus.” You muttered, slapping your hand to your own chest as you tried catching your breath, which caused a small coughing fit.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Your boyfriend asked incredulously.

You groaned as you rolled back onto your side to face him.

“Hello, Regulus. It’s nice to see you.” You deadpanned.

Regulus huffed and dropped his briefcase.

“Hello, amour.” He deadpanned in return. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He asked again as he gently sat on the edge of the bed to place the back of his hand to your forehead, grimacing in response to your sweat or your fever, you weren’t sure.

“I’m sick.”

Regulus made a pathetic cooing sound that was so contrary to his sharp demeanour made all the more severe in his smart work attire, it was almost comical.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You huffed at that. “So, what? So, you could come home and watch me barely sleep? I was fine.”

“Fine.” Regulus scoffed. “You don’t look fine, amour.”

“Words hurt, Reg.” You groaned as the pain behind your eyes grew.

Regulus made another cooing sound and stood.

You thought perhaps he was getting up to change or whatnot but opened your eyes to see him with his phone pressed to his ear.

“Regulus, what are you doing?” You demanded with all the sternness you could muster, which was not much at all in your current state.

“That’s enough out of you.” He muttered quietly as he brought his phone back to his ear.

“Hi love, how are you?” He spoke over your attempted rebuttal.

You could hear your other boyfriends’ low tones responding to Regulus from the other end of the line.

“Good. It went well, thank you. I just got home actually, Y/N’s already here; she’s quite poorly.”

Though you still couldn’t make out the words, Remus’ voice picked up in volume.

“No, she didn’t tell me either.” Regulus commented, sending you a pointed glare.

“Okay, yeah. Alright, we’ll see you soon. Yeah, love you too. Bye.”

You groaned petulantly. “Why’d you do that? He doesn’t have to come home for me.”

“Maybe he’s coming home for me; ever consider that?” He snarked back, pushing some of your sweaty hairs away from your head to press a kiss to your head.

“You’re a furnace, amour. Is it safe for me to assume you haven’t taken any medication?”

He got his answer in the form of a guilty expression.

“Tu vas être ma mort. Tu as de la chance d'être si mignon.” He muttered as he left the room to change and gather some things for your flu.

You came back into consciousness to the sound of Remus and Regulus speaking gently.

“I hate to wake her up, but she really should take something.”

“Has she eaten, though? She shouldn’t take anything on an empty stomach.”

“If that bucket is any indication, I doubt there’s anything in her stomach at all.”

“Can you guys go do your worrying elsewhere, please? I’m trying to die in peace.” You groaned, caused Remus to gasp and Regulus to scoff.

“Dovey! Oh, my poor girl. What happened? Are you okay?” Remus cooed, kneeling on the floor in front of you to start petting at your head.

“I’m okay.” You croaked.

“You’re a liar.” He responded; words pointed but expression loving.

“Do you think you can eat, amour?” Regulus interrupted.

“I don’t want to.” You moaned.

“That’s not what I asked, love.”

Remus tsked at Regulus’ coldness and took your face in his hands.

“Dove, can you try? Please? For me.”

You groaned very petulantly but began sitting yourself upright nonetheless.

You allowed Remus to position your pillows and arrange the tray Regulus had prepared for you on your lap, but you drew the line at him trying to spoon feed you the stew.

“Did you wake up this poorly?” Regulus asked from the end of your bed.

“Sort of, but it got worse at work.”

The air was sucked out of the room as both men turned to look at you incredulously.

“You went to work?!” Regulus gawked.

“Why, dove?”

“Ma MORT, je le jure!” Regulus groaned exasperatedly. “Why didn’t you call us to pick you up?”

“And you took the time to change the bedding and move out of our room when you were like this?” Remus added.

You were beginning to feel embarrassingly teary as you put your spoon down and pushed the tray away from you.

“I didn’t want you guys to catch this. I just... I was fine.” You sniffled and wiped at your eyes as the first tear fell.

Remus tsked again and rested his forehead against your temple, and you realized then how much cooler his forehead felt against yours.

“Okay.” Regulus said quietly, picking up the tray from your lap and placing it on the dresser. “Can you take these for me, love? Fever reducers and anti-nausea for now; we’ll see how you feel in a few hours.”

He held the pills out to you in his palm and held a glass of water in the other. You hiccupped and sniffled before accepting both, handing him back the glass half full once you were done.

“Thank you.” Regulus whispered gently, kissing your forehead and bringing your tray to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry we scolded you, dovey.” Remus whispered into your cheek, causing new tears to fall. “We just worry; you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” You whimpered, and even you could tell it was sort of pathetic.

“Oh, my poor darling.” Remus cooed, standing from your side to climb in on the opposite side of the bed.

“Don’t, Rem. I don’t want you to get sick.” You whined, though allowed your body to be pulled into his side.

“Tough.” He said simply, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll just get to call in sick too.”

You were sure the tears were mostly from exhaustion and discomfort, but you couldn’t seem to get them to stop.

“What’s the matter, hm?”

“I don’t feel good.” You whined.

“I know, babydove. I’m sorry.”

That’s how Regulus found you when he came back to the room; you crying into Remus’ shirt as he rubbed broad strokes up and down your back.

“Rem, we’re trying to bring her temperature down, love.” He admonished gently, though sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his own soothing strokes on your clammy arm.

“You try denying this sweet girl her cuddles, Reg.” Remus responded.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before placing a cold wet cloth on your head.

“I’m sorry you’re so poorly, amour. And I’m sorry if we made it worse.” He apologized.

You quickly shook your head (which you immediately regretted as the nausea threatened to return). “You didn’t; you don’t.”

“I upset you though, I’m sorry. I’m too rough sometimes.” Regulus admitted, sounding almost as teary as you. Remus tsked and reached one of his hands over you to take Regulus’ hand.

“I know what you’re thinking, love, and you’re wrong.” Remus insisted. “And I know you’re wrong, because your parents wouldn’t have fussed over you at all when you were sick; so there’s no way you could be acting like them right now.”

The fact that Regulus had spent any amount of time worrying that he’d been too harsh with you, that he’d been at all like his awful parents caused your few tears to turn into true crying.

“I’m sorry Reggie.” You cried, turning to look at him. His brows furrowed dramatically, and he looked just as close to crying. “If you weren’t here; I’d be sitting in bed with no food, no medicine, no cloths, and no love.”

“Well, you maybe would have had some love.” Remus argued from your other side.

“I would’ve died.” You insisted.

One tear did fall from Regulus’ eye as he smiled sadly at you. “I just hate to see you so poorly, amour. You should always be happy and lovely.”

“I am. I’m better when you’re here.” You insisted.

“How dare you insinuate that our sweet darling girl could ever possibly be not lovely, Regulus. Absolute blasphemy.” Remus scolded, causing both you and Regulus to chuckle.

“Terribly sorry, you two. I seem to have forgotten myself.” He laughed, turning the cloth over on your head and trailing his fingers down your jaw to massage at your neck.

“Don’t let it happen again.” Remus instructed.

You fell asleep to the sound of Regulus promising that he wouldn’t.

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jellybonbons · 8 months ago

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Calm husband x Assertive wife headcanons

DI!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

A/N: heavily inspired by safa and fahad’s relationship from dubai bling.

Leon with a wife who is a bit of a firecracker—she's got that bratty streak, a stubborn side, and isn't afraid to speak her mind. But beneath all that, she's also incredibly understanding, compassionate, and fiercely loyal (only to him and her loved ones).

After all he's been through, he's looking for someone who can keep him grounded, bring him back down to earth, or just take charge in the relationship. He wants to be pampered and taken care of.

Leon, who's all about going with the flow, has this "it is what it is" mindset, but you, his wife, are the one who calls the shots on his behalf. As Leon grew older, he stopped giving fucks except for his darling wife.

Take driving, for example. If someone cuts him off, he's the type to shrug it off. But you? You're the one with road rage, ready to give them a piece of your mind. And when his order gets messed up, he'll just eat it, but not you. You'll be marching up to the manager, making sure he gets what he paid for because, hey, it's all about getting your his money's worth.

"Sweetheart, it's fine, really," he said, offering a small smile.

"No, it's not. You specifically said no chilli. And what do they do? Add it in anyway. It's like they're gunning for you," you replied, clearly irritated and a tad dramatic. Poor white man can't handle his spice.

Sometimes you'd push the limit, and he'd have your back. But once you're home and out of the public eye, he'll give you a lecture about where you went wrong. It might take you a minute to actually hear him out because, let's face it, you're stubborn. But he's got his tricks to make sure you eventually listen, if you know what I mean.

People might raise eyebrows at your marriage because you two are total opposites. They whisper nonsense behind your back because of your straightforwardness and confidence, and that's something Leon doesn't let slide. That's when he gives a damn, because nobody gets to badmouth his wife.

"I heard Leon's wife is quite controlling. Poor guy can't even make a decision without her approval," someone remarked, their tone condescending.

"Excuse me," Leon quickly interjected. "Let me make one thing clear: my wife is not controlling. Decisions in our marriage are made together, as equals."

“And if I hear anyone disrespecting her again, there will be consequences. Understood?" His tone was firm as he addressed his subordinates with a hard gaze.

"Yes sir," the subordinates replied hastily, scrambling to return to their tasks.

This might have been the only instance he'd wield his authority as the top agent, but it was a line he wouldn't allow anyone to cross.

What really makes your relationship click is the mutual respect and understanding you both share, along with your shared drive and ambition. You get that his job can eat up a lot of his time, with weeks and even months away from home, and sure, it gets to you sometimes. But he's pretty good at making it up to you (material gestures and physical affection).

Leon really appreciates how you get his career demands, and he's all for you pursuing your own career path too. He'd rather see you doing your thing than stuck at home while he's away. However, if and when you decide to have children, he might lean towards the idea of you being a stay-at-home mom, though ultimately, he respects it's entirely your decision.

As for that tracker thing, it's not about being controlling; it's more about being protective. With him going on those risky missions, you like having a way to keep tabs on him and make sure he's safe. At first, he wasn't too keen on the idea, but when you explained how it eases your mind, he kinda got it. Plus, it's kinda fun to mess around with it sometimes, right?

“Hey, where'd you sneak off to earlier?" you asked with a mock sternness, tapping your foot as Leon entered the room. "Your little dot disappeared for a while there."

Leon raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about? I've been right here the whole time."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Oh really? Because according to the tracker, you vanished into thin air."

A grin spread across Leon's face as he produced a cup of boba from behind his back, "I may have noticed a certain someone was feeling a bit down, so I thought I'd surprise her with her favourite pick-me-up.”

“Aw, Leon!” you exclaimed, jumping on him and nearly causing him to drop the boba and possibly break his back in the process.

#leon kennedy x reader #death island leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil headcanons #death island leon #✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

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cocoakrispis-blog · 4 months ago

Text

✭ 2. REDISCOVERING YOUR GENDER IDENTITY ✭

pairing ~ ellie williams x fem! reader

summary ~ (y/n) is actually quite confident in her gender identity but what happens when she and ellie are forced to partner up and figure some interesting concepts out.

warnings ~ homophobia, tones of a little bit of religious trauma,

wc ~ 2.4k words

SERIES MASTERLIST

the next day of camp was the beginning of your journey to “rediscovering our gender identity”.

this concept was one that you didn’t quite understand.

although this camp had made you loose a lot of the confidence you had in yourself this area was not one of them.

i mean you knew what you were.

a girl.

a girly girl at that.

girly girl that liked to do her own makeup, try out trendy new hairstyles, and wear the softest most pastel colors.

overall you presented very feminine and you were quite confident in your ability to do so.

so this step felt quite useless to you.

as of right now you guys were exploring the housewife part of being a women.

cleaning being the main subject.

you and dina were practicing vacuuming the floor alongside riley who was having a little bit more assistance from maria.

when you glanced up from your vacuum you noticed cat and ellie in the corner giggling about something.

you couldn’t believe that they weren’t even pretending to be semi interested in the lesson.

you felt your jaw clench in irritation and you quickly put your head back down to continue vacuuming and letting your mind wander.

being clean was something that you did out of habit.

you never found yourself doing it in your free time or when you were bored.

a sudden thought popped into your head making you shiver.

‘maybe that’s the problem maybe the normal girls love cleaning even if they didn’t have to’ you thought to yourself subconsciously.

maria eventually noticed cat and ellie not paying attention and decided to call everyone to the floor o that everyone would be forced to pay attention.

“since some of you can not seem to work on your femininity independently we will do this in a group setting.” maria gave cat and ellie a stern look.

“okay girls the number one most important rule to mastering a perfect vacuum job must be to be extremely precise and thorough.” the loud sound of the vacuum being turned on filled up the room.

“you must go in and out and in and out.” maria repeated the phrase over and over as she assisted riley in demonstrating the motion continuously.

something about the scene felt very intimate to you can you couldn’t help but feel your ears burn in response in embarrassment.

you discreetly looked to the other girls to see if maybe you were overreacting but everyone else except for ellie seemed to be having a bit more of an extreme reaction.

you watched as dina bit her lip seductively and cat licked her lips in an almost hungry way.

ellie seemed to be the only one not affected and just stared at the action with a clearly amused look.

the next activity you were doing was trying on wedding dresses.

this was by far your favorite thing you done so far.

you waited patiently from your turn to try on one of the gorgeous wedding gowns and nearly jumped for joy when it was your turn.

as a child you always dreamed of marrying your knight in shining armor in a beautiful gown and you thought it would be another couple years before you could experience it.

however here you were today in a long white gown being fawned over by the rest of the girls.

“wow (y/n) this dress was made for you.” dina complimented you for the 5th time since you had entered the room.

“thank you dina but i still feel like you looked prettier in your dress.” you felt your cheeks warm at her compliment.

“no you definently take the cake today (y/n) you just look like you were born to be in a wedding dress.” riley continued while cat surprisingly nodded along.

“you guys are so sweet.” you clutched the bouquet of flowers to your chest tight.

you had never felt more beautiful in your life and you didn’t want this moment to end.

the moment was ruined though when you realized the only one that wasn’t over there was ellie who was cutting up some paper in the corner.

after you had noticed that maria walked into the room to check on you guys.

once in her line of sight ellie proudly showed off the paper she had been cutting which revealed a paper chain of a bunch off girl is holding hands.

maria huffed before stomping off.

you didn’t understand ellie at all.

you didn’t understand why she had completely removed herself from the activity.

you didn’t understand why she wasn’t over there with the rest of you guys.

and you didn’t understand why she wasn’t showering you with compliments like everyone else.

did she have no desire to graduate this program and become normal again.

she was so confusing and you were completely clueless as to why it bothered you so much.

the last activity you did before taking a break was just to practice makeup.

this one easily slid its way into second place of your favorite activities.

makeup was such a fun way to express yourself and to be rewarded from doing it just made you feel ecstatic.

you finished your makeup much earlier than the other girls due to the fact that you had a lot more experience with it than the other girls.

when you looked up from your designated vanity you saw ellie and cat tucked away together in one of the chairs in the room while ellie playfully drew on cat’s arm.

the feeling that rose in your chest whenever you saw this was unfamiliar but you knew you didn’t like it.

what was so interesting about cat that made ellie want to spend all of her time with her?

you quickly shook your head to rid your brain of those thoughts and turned back to your vanity to see if there was any ways you could improve your already flawless makeup.

after a while of just staring at yourself in the mirror maria entered the room to tell you guys to change back into your uniform and meet her outside so you could have a small chat before lunch.

eventually you all made it over there and were now seated in a circle waiting for maria to begin this outside group therapy session.

“alright girls who is next to report on their root?” mary asked the group softly.

everyone simultaneously turned their head to face you.

you sighed when you felt all of their eyes on you and reluctantly gave a response.

“well i’ve been thinking really hard about what may be the root of my l-lesbianism but i can’t seem to come up with someone.” you twiddle with your finger awkwardly.

“i think pom poms over there is just to afraid to share hers with the group.” ellie rolled her eyes at your response.

“i am not ellie i really just haven’t come up with one what’s yours anyways?” you give the freckle faced girl what you considered a sassy comeback.

“pfft i don’t have to tell you my root i’m brave enough to own up to mine we’re the ones waiting on you to do the same.” ellie gives you a smirk.

you huff and prepare to respond until mary cuts into the tense conversation.

“well actually ellie i think it might be beneficial for (y/n) to be reminded of all of your roots to maybe make her realize what hers is.” maria gives ellie a tight smile. “why don’t you go first.”

“my mom got married in pants.” ellie gives what sounds like a sarcastic response.

everyone claps after she had shared hers and maria called on the next person to go.

“dina.”

“went to an all girls boarding school.” dina replied smoothly.

the group erupted in applause and then maria called on cat to go next.

“i was born in france.” cat sighed.

immidatkley after applause followed and finally it was riley’s turn.

“i like balls.” riley responded plainly.

you all clapped until it eventually died down.

“well thank you from that riley.” maria sent her a smile.

“you see how easy it is (y/n) all you have to do is dig deep down inside your mind right into those memories that cause you pain or sadness and find your root.” maria concluded the conversation.

“and now dina will you come up here.” dina followed her directions and stood up to stand next to her.

once dina was still next to her maia started up again.

“the next thing on the agenda today will be to experience one of the best things about the heterosexual experience.” she paused briefly to build suspense. “friendship!”

“so next i will need you guys to find a partner to be paired up with for the rest of the program.”

since there wasn’t that many of you getting a partner wasn’t too difficult.

however since there was an odd number of people dina was forced to partner with maria while riley and cat ended up together and you were stuck with ellie.

you weren’t sure hwy exactly cat and ellie didn’t decide to partner up together but you decided to not ask any questions because this now gave you a chance to study and maybe further understand the confusing brain of ellie.

“now that we all have your partners sometime later tonight i would like you to practice with these.” maria help up a deck of cards that looked different from anyone you had ever seen or played with before.

after dinner ellie called you over to practice the cards so that she could make quick work of it and go to sleep.

after that you found were maria had placed the cards, grabbed a deck, and took a seat across from eachother in the designated area where you were supposed to be practicing the cards.

you weren’t very sure on what you were supposed to be doing but held up a card to maybe kickstart the game.

the first card you held up was one with a red background and a woman throwing away trash with a bright smile on her face.

“it’s a lady.” ellie shot out the first thing that came to her mind.

“well uh yeah but what else.” you attempted to urge her to deepen her description.

“i don’t know.”

you rolled her eyes at her uninterested response and tried to help her out.

“she’s also a mother, a wife, and a daughter.”

ellie nodded along with an almost blank look on her face.

“once you learn about the important roles women have you can stop objectifying them.” you sigh softly.

“well have you done that?” ellie snatched the deck out of your hand to investigate them herself.

“i w-well i’m still trying to look for my root.” you stutter out a pathetic response.

“oh yeah must be so hard to think about other stuff when your princess brain doesn’t allow you to dwell on anything that isn’t dresses and makeup.” ellie hums rudely.

you gasp at the meanness of her words and defiantly cross your arms in front of your chest.

“i’ll have you know i’m actually very smart i make straight a’s in school.” you defend yourself to ellie even though she’s obviously not listening.

“it’s your turn.” ellie finally stops fiddling up the cards and shows you one she had obviously messed with.

the card displayed a very well developed women obviously rest out of the shower.

you squeak in shock once you process the picture and almost curse when you feel ellie pinch your arm hard.

“you’re gonna have to be more prepared for temptation in the real world (y/n).” elllie gives you a shit eating grin, obviously very pleased with her own little prank.

in that instance you wanted to do nothing more than slap ellie right across the face but decided to be more ladylike and opt for giving her a glare and stomping off to the sleeping quarters.

the next day you were continuing to work on the whole housewife lifestyle but it was more focused on childcare.

unfortunately it wasn’t similar to yesterday and there was a lot more lecturing involved and only one hands on activity.

after you had made it through the third and final lecture it was time to simulate changing a baby’s diaper using realistic baby dolls.

much to your dismay this activity required to use teamwork to work with your partner.

you were still quite upset at ellie for the way that she had treated you last night but did your best to try and start fresh today.

“make sure you work together with your partner to successfully put this diaper on because if you don’t manage the consequence may be quite inconveniencing i used food dye as the urine to raise the stakes a bit……” maria’s speech turned into background noise as you begun to argue with ellie.

“dude that’s the wrong tab.” ellie tried to snatch the diaper out of your hand.

“no it is not you’re the one doing it wrong can you just hold it still for me so i can handle this.” you snatch the diaper back from her.

you continued to go back and forth with the baby not even realizing maria had walked up to you two to reprimand you for all of the arguing.

while you wrestled the baby in between you two the pee ended up releasing and purple food dye splashed all over maria’s face.

once you saw the absolutely livid look on maria’s purple covered face you and ellie immediately looked at eachother and bit your tongues to hide the laughter.

“why don’t i go get you guys another doll.” maria sighs while attempting to wipe the color off of her face before turning around to retrieve another doll for your pair.

as soon as she left you and ellie looked at each other again and burst into a fit of giggles.

this was the first time you had heard ellie genuinely laugh and you were shocked at how soft and melodic it was.

you wanted to make her laugh again.

maybe getting partnered up with ellie wouldn’t be so bad.

a/n: i am actually so incredibly shocked that i ended up being able to finish this chapter i was so exhausted before starting this but i stil somehow managed to end up in through. we are finally getting somewhere with ellie and i am so excited to right more interactions between both of them. anyways thank you guys so much for the support on the series so far i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!!

taglist: @st4r-b3rries @dollyvuu @lvlymicha @jellyfishrnice @machetegirl109 @smiths-fan--13 @elliewilliamssrealgf @ravyaryn @yuhgetintoonit @nelzooo @luvmily @dearestdolly444 @venuzasmuse @madislament

#ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie #but im a cheerleader

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moonselune · 4 months ago

Note

The game never really elaborated other than giving you the “everyone disapproves” messages when you let Volo pluck your eye from your skull on accident. How do you think the romanced companions would react to Tav with their new Ersatz eye?

ooo it was fun writing for those who weren't actually part of the camp by then, good request !

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

You sat by the campfire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across your face. You felt the weight of your new ersatz eye, a strange and unsettling sensation that you were still getting used to. The camp had fallen silent, the rest of your companions busy with their own thoughts and tasks. Karlach, however, had been watching you closely ever since you had returned with the new eye.

She finally broke the silence, her deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"So, tell me, love—what possessed you to let Volo pluck out your eye and replace it with… that?" She gestured to your new, artificial eye with a wry smile.

You shrugged, trying to find the right words. "It seemed like a good idea at the time! Plus, it has its advantages. I can see things now that I couldn’t before."

Karlach chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, that was a bit silly, wasn't it?" She reached out, her hand warm and comforting as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against the edge of your new eye. "But I have to admit, it gives you a certain… unique charm."

You smiled, leaning into her touch. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," she said, her eyes sparkling with affection. "It’s very you—bold, a little reckless, and definitely one-of-a-kind." She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your skin. "And if it helps you in battle, then it’s worth it. Just promise me you won’t let anyone else convince you to do something quite so drastic again, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest. "I promise."

Karlach’s smile widened, and she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Good. Now, in your words, let's go find some evil for you to smack"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The air was tense as you approached Minthara, the stern drow warrior assessing you with her piercing gaze. You could feel her eyes on you, scrutinizing every detail of your altered appearance. When you finally stood before her, she reached out and grabbed your face with a firm, but not unkind, grip, turning your head this way and that to examine your new eye.

"You fool," she hissed, her voice low and filled with a mixture of anger and concern. "Why would you let that imbecile Volo mutilate you like this? I will miss your eye."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "This eye allows me to see people who have turned themselves invisible. It gives us an advantage in battle."

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you feared she would remain angry. But then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, transforming her stern expression into one of approval. "Is that so?"

You nodded, relief flooding through you. "Yes. It may look strange, but it’s useful."

Minthara’s grip on your face softened, and she let her hand slide down to rest on your shoulder.

"You always surprise me," she said, her voice tinged with admiration. "Your willingness to sacrifice for the sake of our mission is commendable. I suppose I can forgive you for this… folly."

You couldn’t help but smile at her words. You weren't going to dare correct her that you had done it as a last ditch effort to get the parasite out. "Thank you, Minthara."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "Just don’t make a habit of letting fools experiment on you. I need you whole and capable, not a collection of curiosities."

You chuckled softly, feeling the tension between you dissolve as she kissed your cheek. "I’ll keep that in mind."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The firelight danced across Lae'zel's face as she stared at you with a mixture of irritation and fascination. Her yellow eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of your new ersatz eye, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You fool," she snapped, her voice tinged with frustration. "You let that bumbling idiot Volo pluck out your eye? Your own eye, the most reliable asset in battle? When we are already on our way to the creche!"

You winced, her words stinging despite the underlying concern you could sense. "It wasn’t exactly planned, Lae'zel. But this new eye… it has its advantages. I can see things now that I couldn't before."

Lae'zel crossed her arms, her expression still stern. "Your own eyes were more than capable. But if this ersatz eye gives you an edge, then I suppose it is not entirely worthless."

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against your cheek as she inspected the new eye. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, her irritation melting into something softer. "It is strange, but… there is a certain appeal to it."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at your lips. "You find it sexy?"

Lae'zel huffed, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Do not misunderstand, it does not make you less of a fool. But yes, it has a certain… allure. Just do not let this happen again."

You nodded, relieved and somewhat amused by her reaction. "I’ll be more careful next time, I promise."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a brief, fierce kiss. "Good. Now, let us see how well you can fight with your new eye."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

You found Shadowheart by the edge of the camp, her eyes reflecting in the sun as she turned to face you. Taking a deep breath, you revealed your new ersatz eye, waiting for her reaction.

She stared at you for a moment, her eyes widening in shock before narrowing in annoyance. Without warning, she lightly whacked you on the arm. "What were you thinking? Letting Volo pluck out your eye like that? That was incredibly stupid."

You rubbed your arm, feeling a mix of embarrassment and regret. "I didn’t mean for it to happen. But it does have some advantages, Shadowheart. I can see things now that I couldn’t before."

She sighed, her expression softening slightly. "I can’t heal your eye. You’re stuck with that ersatz one now. You should have come to me first."

You pouted, feeling the need for some sympathy. You draped yourself over her, resting your head on her shoulder. "Shadowheart, I didn’t mean to be reckless. Can I at least get some sympathy?"

She laughed, her annoyance melting into amusement. Pushing you off gently, she shook her head. "You’re impossible."

You continued to pout and whine, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes. Finally, she relented, pulling you into a hug. "Alright, alright. You look… pretty. Stupid, but pretty."

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at her words. "Thank you, my love"

She kissed you softly, her hands cupping your face. "Just promise me you won’t let anyone else experiment on you. I need you whole and safe."

"I promise," you murmured, holding her close. "I’ll be more careful from now on."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The moment you revealed your new ersatz eye to Jaheira, her expression froze. Her eyes widened in shock, and she raised a hand as if to stop you from saying anything.

"Don't speak," she said sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. You could see the internal struggle playing out across her face as she tried to collect herself. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, clearly fighting to maintain her composure.

For a few long moments, the only sound was the crackling of the campfire. Then, her eyes snapped open, and despite her earlier efforts, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

"What were you thinking?" she yelled, her voice a mix of anger and worry. "Letting Volo of all people pluck out your eye? Do you have any idea how reckless and foolish that was?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but she cut you off, her words coming out in a rush.

"You could have been blinded permanently! What if something had gone wrong? What if he had lobotomised you - although that may have improved that brain of yours!"

You stood there, feeling a mixture of guilt and helplessness. "I… I thought it might work, that it might get rid of the parasite. It gives me the ability to see things I couldn’t before."

Jaheira took another deep breath, her anger slowly subsiding into a weary resignation. She stepped closer, placing a hand on your cheek, her thumb brushing against it. "Just… promise me you won't do anything like that again without talking to me first."

You nodded, feeling the weight of her concern. "I promise, beloved. I’ll be more careful."

She sighed, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Good. I don’t want to lose you. You're too important to me."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

When you showed Gale your new ersatz eye, his reaction was immediate. His brows furrowed, and his mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"You let Volo pluck out your eye?" he asked, incredulous. "Are you out of your mind?"

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his disapproval. "I didn't mean to let him pluck it out, it just... happened, when he was trying to get rid of the parasite. But! It gives me the ability to see things I couldn’t before."

Gale shook his head, launching into a rant. "Volo is a charlatan, a storyteller with a penchant for the dramatic. Trusting him with something as delicate and vital as your eye is beyond foolish. And to think he could remove the parasite?! What if it had gone wrong and you were left with no vision at all?"

As he continued, his voice growing more animated, he inadvertently let something slip, "And yet, despite the madness of it all, I have to admit, it’s… it's incredibly attractive in a strange, reckless sort of way."

You blinked, taken aback by his confession. A smile crept onto your face as you saw the realization dawn on his.

"Gale," you said softly, stepping closer, batting your eyelashes at him "you think my new eye is attractive?"

He stammered, momentarily thrown off his rant. "Well, I mean… it's not the point. You were still a fool to trust Volo, but… yes, there’s a certain allure to it."

You leaned in, silencing him with a kiss. His initial surprise melted into a deep, passionate response as he pulled you closer. When you finally pulled back, you whispered against his lips, "Thank you for caring, Gale. And for finding me attractive, even when I do foolish things."

He chuckled softly, resting his forehead against yours. "Just promise me, no more reckless decisions without consulting me first. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

"I promise," you replied, your heart swelling with affection. "I’ll be more careful from now on."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

As you approached Astarion with your new ersatz eye, the night air seemed to still. He had stayed at camp whilst you and the others were exploring the grove, it had given you time to prepare for this moment. He was lounging casually, a goblet of blood (where it was sourced you did not want to know) in hand, when you revealed your altered appearance. His reaction was immediate and dramatic, his eyes widening in horror and surprise.

"By the gods, what have you done?!" Astarion yelped, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. It was as if he had seen a ghost or been caught in a sudden, terrifying twist of fate. His reaction was so pronounced that you couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance.

You crossed your arms, frowning as you looked at him. "Astarion, really? I didn’t think it would be that shocking."

He flinched, his grip tightening around his goblet. "I—I'm sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it. You startled me, dear."

You started to turn away, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. But Astarion quickly moved to stop you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Please, don’t go. I truly apologize for my reaction. I just… didn’t know how to handle it at first."

You looked at him, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. "It’s alright, Astarion. I suppose it was a bit sudden."

He sighed, pulling you into a tender embrace. "I should have been more composed. I’m just… well, shocked, darling. It is not everyday your dearest appears with a brand new eye. I apologise a thousand times over."

You softened at his touch, resting your head against his shoulder. "I’m not angry. Just a little embarrassed. But thank you for apologizing."

Astarion nuzzled into your neck, his voice warm against your skin. "I promise I’ll adjust. Your new eye is… striking. And it suits you, even if it did give me a fright."

You chuckled softly, feeling reassured by his embrace. "I’m glad you think so. It’s a bit different, but it has its uses."

"Well I simply cannot wait to see you put it to work my darling." Astarion smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, he was still in the doghouse but this was a promising start.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

When you revealed your new ersatz eye to Wyll, his reaction was immediate. His eyes widened in shock, and he let out a low whistle.

“By the gods, you actually let Volo pluck out your eye?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and concern.

You hesitated, feeling a bit awkward under his gaze. “Well not exactly, but let's not focus on that right now. The eye lets me see things I couldn't before.”

"We will get back to that later." Wyll shook his head at you, a bemused expression on his face. He tilted his face as he took you in. “Foolish, but then again, I suppose I can’t say much. After all, I’ve done my fair share of reckless things.”

He managed a half-smile, stepping closer and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Welcome to the one-eye club,” he said, his tone softening. “You’re now part of a very exclusive group.”

You blinked, a bit surprised but touched by his attempt at lightening the mood. “I am honoured, you have my eternal thanks, my love.”

Wyll’s smile widened, and he pulled you into a gentle embrace. “You’re still my beloved, no matter how many eyes you have or don’t have. Just… try to avoid letting anyone else poke at your eye, alright?”

You chuckled softly, feeling a mix of relief and affection and you melted into his embrace. “I’ll keep that in mind, Wyll.”

"Good, now it looks like I have some competition for the prettiest member of the one-eyed club." Wyll murmurs, and you laugh, pulling away. Wyll kisses your forehead and smiles to you, "Fierce competition indeed."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

When you revealed your new ersatz eye to Halsin, his reaction was immediate and deeply telling. His usually calm demeanor was replaced with a mixture of disappointment and concern. He drew in a sharp breath and let out a low, disapproving sigh. As he examined your altered appearance, his brow furrowed and he shook his head in disbelief, tsking softly under his breath.

"You let Volo perform such a risky procedure? Why would you trust someone like him with something so delicate?" Halsin’s voice was a mix of disbelief and frustration. His eyes were fixed on the artificial eye, assessing its placement and function with a critical eye.

Feeling a pang of guilt and embarrassment, you pouted, your shoulders drooping slightly as if you were a child being reprimanded. You reached out tentatively, wrapping your arms around Halsin in a heartfelt hug, hoping to mitigate the disappointment in his gaze.

"Please don’t be mad at me," you murmured against his chest, your voice muffled. "I thought it was a good idea at the time. I really didn’t think it would cause this much trouble."

Halsin’s expression softened, though his concern was still evident. He gently placed a hand on your back, the touch warm and reassuring.

"I’m not angry with you, my love," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I just wish you wouldn’t let hacks like Volo have their way with you. It’s not only reckless but downright dangerous. I care deeply about your well-being."

You tightened your embrace, nuzzling into his chest as if trying to seek comfort and solace. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I’ll try to be more careful next time," you said, your voice earnest and apologetic.

Halsin’s posture relaxed as he allowed himself a soft chuckle. He wrapped his arms around you more securely, drawing you into a protective embrace.

"I’m not truly mad, just worried," he admitted, his tone warm and gentle. "I don’t want to see you put yourself at risk. You’re far too important to me for that."

You looked up at him, your eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips. "Thank you for understanding," you said, your voice filled with gratitude.

Halsin smiled back, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

"Always," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. "Just promise me you’ll be more cautious in the future. I care too much about you to see you hurt, especially when it’s avoidable."

You nodded, feeling reassured by his comforting words and the warmth of his embrace. "I promise, Halsin," you said, your voice steady and sincere.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xoxo

Keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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sunflowersandsapphires · 4 months ago

Text

Finding You

Small Creatures, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt Murdock always assumed he’d never meet his soulmate. After all, who would want to end up stuck with a blind vigilante carrying enough baggage for a whole jet? Unfortunately for you both, his cursed love is closer than ever and determined to support him as his paradoxical life falls apart.

warnings: minor swearing, misunderstandings, awkward meetings

a/n: there isn’t a ton of Matt in this chapter, but there will be MUCH more of him from here on out. We are running straight for the hurt, comfort, angst, and fluff of this story, y’all. As always, please reply and reblog! And a huge shout out to @zomtart for helping me create this AU!

w/c: 4.5k

You couldn’t shake the feeling of him.

A tight coil of smoke, constantly twisted around your every limb. Your dreams were now hazy with clouds of ash, the bitter taste of charred organic material blanketing your tongue when you woke.

On the surface, he was dangerous, filled with a rage that burned more intensely than any flame in this realm. You understood that it was meant to scare you, to create distance. But, you were drawn to it like a newly hatched moth–seeking its warmth and light, not shying away from its destructive power one bit.

Whether your intense longing was due to your bond or simply a lack of self-preservation, you weren’t sure.

Walking home after the Devil snatched you from the jaws of death, it all suddenly made sense. One of those “you have to feel it to believe it” kind of things, meeting your soulmate. Your steps were unsteady and too light, like your weight was constantly fluctuating as you moved, or you were being carried along by an external force. You felt thoroughly inebriated, oxytocin and dopamine saturating every cell.

With each wobbly pace home, your chest pulsed with clipped waves of pain, like you’d been bruised. But even the dull ache couldn’t ruin the pleasant floaty feeling carrying you back to your place.

At points in your life, you’d heard musings. Of what it was like to be bonded with another. Though none of them had ever truly made sense until now.

You were torn, unsure of how to feel about it all. On one hand, knowing he existed was comforting. You weren’t crazy or damned or any other awful thing people sometimes said about marked souls. On the other, watching him creep away from you in terror was definitely a blow to your ego.

It was possible he’d had to go take care of something—there was never a dull night in the Kitchen—but given how your mark was radiating a concoction of doubt, shame, and another feeling you couldn’t quite place…it was probable he was truly not interested. You needed a clear answer, though. Whatever his decision was, you’d respect it, but you needed to be sure before giving up on him.

Therein lay the issue. How could you ask him for a clear answer when you didn’t even know his name? You had no idea where to begin looking for him, or if he could even be found.

And what would you say if you did find him? “Hi, you clearly want nothing to do with me but apparently we are destined to mean something to each other so here’s my card”?

What if he was in love with someone else? He could be married, have a family..oh god what if he was married–

A familiar voice called your name, snapping you out of the trance you’d apparently been in. Ripping your gaze away from where it had been listlessly staring at your coffee cup, you met your friend’s amused look with a sheepish laugh.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Imogen shook her head fondly, clearly not actually upset that you’d zoned out.

“Nothing more important than whatever’s on your mind. Spill,” She giggled, poking your arm with a manicured finger.

You groaned, pulling your exposed limb out of harm’s way. “Midge, it's nothing–”

“It's not!” Crossing her arms, the woman across from you gave her best attempt at a stern mom stare. “You've been out of it all day. We've been friends long enough for me to recognize when you're stuck in your head. So tell me, what's got you in such a funk?”

Sighing, you dropped your chin to your chest, overwhelmed with indecision. It's not that you expected Imogen to react badly, but how much could you tell her? I mean, he was a vigilante, a criminal. Would she truly be ok with that?

Taking a leap, you allowed her to clutch your hand, your nerves settling slightly under her encouraging gaze. “I may have met my soulmate last night?”

As if an earthquake had suddenly struck Manhattan, the two flimsy cups standing on the table quivered as the table vibrated beneath them. Your friend had erupted with joyful movement, kicking her feet and gripping your hand painfully tight as she shrieked gleefully.

“WHAT!? WHEN? HOW? Tell me EVERYTHING!” Eyes boring into yours with more enthusiasm than you'd ever held for something, Imogen beamed at you.

As much as you appreciated her zest for life, the other patrons in the small cafe were glaring daggers in your direction, apparently not willing to risk hearing loss for a stranger's happiness. Sending them an apologetic glance, you lay your free hand on Imogen's.

“Hun, I love you, but people are staring.” You chuckled, flicking your eyes to the annoyed regulars behind her.

“Alright, alright, I'll try to contain myself,“ Midge rolled her eyes. ”What's his name? Is he cute? Oh gosh, I shouldn't have assumed it was a he–”

Shaking your head, you patted her hand reassuringly. “'He' would presumably be correct. He sort of..helped me out last night.”

“Helped you out how?”

Deciding on an altered version of events, you left out the part about him donning a mask and saving you from certain death. Two birds, one stone in terms of things Midge would worry over.

“I was trying to snap a picture on the roof of Ink 48. He saw me struggling to get in position and..spotted me? I guess? When we touched...god, Midge. You weren't kidding.” Your voice was breathy, your heart pounding as you thought of his beautiful smirk, his warm hands.

“It's..indescribable.” She agreed, her smile softening as she studied your love struck expression. “What's his name?”

Averting your eyes, you felt a haze of lingering doubt settle over you. “See, that's why I've been out of it. We connected, forged a bond or whatever you want to call it, and he ran away. I..didn't get a good look at his face and I have no clue what his name was so I'm kind of at a loss.”

“Oh sweetie,” Midge pouted, dragging her chair closer to wrap an arm around you. “No leads? He wasn't wearing anything with a company emblem or an ID badge?”

“No, and honestly..I don't even know if he'd want me to track him down. I mean, he ran, Midge. Full on beelined outta there like I had the plague. He could be married? Or just not interested?” Your voice trailed off. You were at a loss, that much was clear.

“Or!” Imogen interjected, her voice optimistic as always. “He was surprised and he panicked. I think we both can relate to that.”

You raised a brow at her in disbelief, but Imogen was undeterred. “Babes, it's a big thing, finding your soulmate. Cut the poor guy some slack! He's probably nervous just like you are.”

“It's possible.” You relented. “But I still don't know if I'll ever see him again.”

“You will.” Your all-too-positive companion shrugged, withdrawing her hand from your hold. “You're way too capable and determined not to.”

“You're too sweet to me.” You scoffed, heat fluttering in your cheeks.

“I'm just being honest!” She giggled, tossing back the rest of her coffee. “C'mon.”

“Where are we going?” You laughed, draining your coffee so Midge could toss both cups in a nearby waste basket.

“You're going to show me exactly where you met him and we'll see if there are any cameras or other things we could use to track him down.”

Steps faltering, you blinked in shock before scurrying after your friend who was confidently traipsing out of the store.

Shifting the strained handle into the crook of your elbow, you angled your body so the weight of the large bag bumped against the flesh of your hip, rather than knocking into unsuspecting strangers. One solid kick from a passerby and the carefully stacked contents would topple–either into the street or onto you. Regardless, you’d have a mess on your hands and you’d be out a solid chunk of money. Take out wasn’t cheap these days, dammit.

You just hoped the hefty bill would be worth it.

It had been almost a week since your run-in with your soulmate and you were still mostly at a loss. Despite Imogen's confidence and your combined dedication, you were no closer to knowing his identity. Your failure to find anything definitive at the scene was partially because nothing had been left behind and almost entirely because Midge was still under the impression you were looking for a standard nine-to-fiver.

You weren't quite sure how to come clean, not when she'd spent so much of her free time over the past few days accompanying you to the same street, scouring the crowds for anyone who might look familiar to you. But, until you knew whether he wanted you in his life, you were hesitant to confess the one thing you did know about him.

After the third day of returning home empty-handed, you'd cut your friend loose. Telling her you were going to regroup before trying again. As lovely as Midge was, she was as clueless about the Devil's whereabouts as you were.

The internet, however, was chock full of fanatics and critics overly willing to share the opinions they had about him. In general, the city appreciated his efforts--the local message boards and blogs brimming with praise and gratitude. You couldn't help but feel a gleaming rush of pride with every compliment, appreciating the citizens for recognizing the man's work.

Of course, there were negative threads too. Calling Daredevil a threat and a coward. Screaming at him to give himself up, leave the crime-fighting to law enforcement. At first, you'd engaged with those users too. But, after one argument sparked so much rage you almost shattered your laptop screen in an effort to remove yourself from the fight, you began to ignore anything less than positive. Whether because of your bond or your genuine admiration for your soulmate, the disapproval created a primal urge to protect, to defend. Standing by wasn't an option, so you put blinders on to filter out the objections.

As a whole, however, the online forums were helpful. There were a few sites dedicated to tracking local vigilante news, allowing you to assemble a makeshift map of places the Devil frequented. You'd reached out to a few of the more active users to see if they could help you, but pretty quickly realized that the claim 'daredevil is my soulmate' was probably more common than you'd originally thought. So, for now, your feeble, hand drawn maps would have to do.

Unsurprisingly, Daredevil seemed to have a flexible schedule that mostly revolved around where he was needed. The idea of staging a crime, or intentionally putting yourself in harm's way did occur to you, but you weren't that desperate quite yet. And you doubted that would be well-received. Instead, you categorized locations by number of sightings and planned to work your way down the list.

Tonight, you were starting just before sunset for the roof of a building near the Clinton Community Garden. According to your limited research, the crimson-clad vigilante was often spotted between 47th and 50th street, around the intersections of 9th or 10th. A decent area to start with for sure, given that it was pretty central within Hell's Kitchen, and 10th street was a haven for petty crime.

Two failed attempts to buzz into apartment buildings later, someone finally answered your request over the intercom, unlatching the door for you. Dashing up the stairs two at a time, your stomach was in knots by the time you found a roof access door. Your every breath was measured, laden with doubt in the wake of so many possibilities. Pulse racing, you gulped in the humid evening air, bending at the waist to allow blood flow to your brain.

You'd been so nervous to confront him, you'd neglected your own needs. Dehydration and low blood sugar were only exacerbated by this obnoxious heat. Cringing at the realization, you paced to the edge of the roof, settling into a cross-legged position with your back against the squabby brick perimeter. With the back of your hand, you swiped at the beading sweat along your brow, doing your best to mop it up.

Now for the fun part. Waiting.

Patience was a virtue that didn't always come easily to you. Especially when your anxiety stepped up to the plate. Twiddling your thumbs, anticipating every possible thing that could go wrong only made time pass more slowly. And it wasn't as if there was a deadline you were inching towards.

Not a set one, at least. The food you'd brought wouldn't last forever, though you were hoping the thermal bag would keep it from spoiling too quickly. If it didn't, well, you'd feel pretty foolish for bruising your arm carrying the sizable thing around town.

Lifting the strap from where it was currently digging into your shoulder, you set it carefully on the ground, peeking inside to inspect the contents. Everything looked ok, thankfully. A bit banged up from the journey, but mostly unharmed and definitely just as tasty.

Relaxing into the prickly surface holding you upright, you scanned the skyline, admiring the wash of pinks and oranges slipping between skyscrapers. You hadn't wanted to tote your camera around in addition to all the food, but you were regretting that decision now. Somewhat remorsefully, you pulled a paperback book from an outside pocket on the tote. Imogen would be thrilled you were finally starting it.

The book was better than you'd expected. A historical fiction novel about the Nazi invasion in France–something you knew very little about. It managed to keep your attention for nearly 90 minutes, though you did take brief breaks to stretch and scan the horizon for a familiar figure.

As much as you wanted to stick it out, the food wouldn't last too much longer. Knee-deep in a mental quarrel with yourself about whether to give up for the night, your stomach dropped–yanked by an extreme force as if you were driving over a massive hill. It was intoxicating, thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Scrambling to your feet, you teetered on wobbly legs, nearly faceplanting on the concrete. All sense of balance had been ripped from you, as if the flat roof had been replaced with a trampoline, bouncing with every step you took. Before you could regain your bearings, a shadowy figure appeared at the opposite end of the roof.

His chin was angled down, mirrored fists clenched on either side of his broad, menacing stance. In the sliver of remaining sunlight, you could make out his sharp jawline and pink lips–your heart fluttering as they parted.

“You shouldn’t be up here.” He strode toward you, graceful and precise. Far more coordinated than you felt at the moment.

“Please,” You murmured, focus lost in the glow of fading light lining his body, a flexible halo around him. “Please, I-I just want to talk.”

“Are you sure you have time?” Stopping his approach about 10 feet from you, his mouth twitched with a smirk. You were surprised to sense humor in his words. “Seems like you might be late for your dinner plans.”

Chuckling weakly in response, your face flooded with heat. Something about his presence made your brain melt into soup. His confidence and cocky attitude stole the explanation right off your tongue, leaving you to stand there uselessly until he nodded to the rectangular bag lying at your feet.

“Oh, sorry, um,“ Scurrying for the shining handle, you pulled it into your arms, extending it out to him. ”I brought this for you actually.”

In a remote corner of your stomach, a tiny curl of something warm unwound. Surprise, then a much stronger sensation, not unlike fondness or gratitude. A mix of both perhaps?

“For me?” As he whispered, you couldn't help but smile. Those sudden emotions, they were his, not your own. The hesitant acceptance continued into his rasping voice.

“If you will accept it, then yes. As a thank you. For saving me and, well, for everyone else you’ve saved.” You answered, taking a step in his direction.

Hands shooting up, blocking an incoming hit you hadn't thrown, his guard slid back into place. With each inch you moved forward, he withdrew, like there was an invisible barrier forcing the two of you apart.

“I don't do this for handouts.” He growled, shoulders squaring off. You'd spooked him somehow.

“I never said you did.” You shrugged, sending him a soft smile. Retreating towards your end of the roof, you drew the bag towards your chest. “I just wanted to thank you, and to ask you a few questions. I figured they would be easier to swallow if I had something for you in return.”

Tilting his head at you, Daredevil flexed his fingers, no doubt fighting the urge to lock them into fists. His tongue dipped between his lips, sliding over the lower as he pondered. “What sort of questions?”

A bubble of pride rolled up your throat at the idea you'd gotten this feral cat of a man to trust you, even marginally. “About the other night. Nothing about your identity or anything, and if they seem too invasive you don't have to answer them at all. I'll respect whatever boundaries you need to set, but I would have regretted never asking. Does that make sense?”

The stubby horns on his helmet arced in semi-circles as he nodded. “I think so.”

“I just...did you feel it?” Grimacing as the question slipped out, you tried to clarify. “I mean, that's a horrible way to ask that but, er, when you..caught me, I think something–”

“Yes.” He interrupted you, his voice barely audible.

“What?”

Another coarse nod. “Yes. I felt it.”

“Oh my god,” You'd expected this answer, but you were still dumbfounded. “I thought maybe I was just crazy.”

“You're not crazy.” He huffed, a glimpse of his teeth shining in the city light as he smirked.

“So, that means we're...” You trailed off, not wanting to scare him away with the word.

The Devil stilled, his jaw quivering as his teeth grit together. The fragile peace you’d somehow achieved began to crack.

“It's ok!” You hurriedly reassured him. “I don't, I'm not–”

Tripping over your words, you held up a hand. After a deep breath, you tried again. “It's up to you what we mean to each other. I didn't come here to nag you, or demand things from you.”

“You didn't?” The question was posed as a statement. He didn't believe you.

“Not at all. That wouldn't be fair. To you or..well, to the other people in your life. I just wanted to know if it was real and to show my appreciation for the other night.” Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you watched as his posture slumped slightly.

“You didn't,” He sighed, crossing his arms. Holy shit was he hiding saplings under there? “You didn't have to do that.”

Swallowing harshly as you collected your thoughts, you giggled nervously. “I know, but I wanted to. Can't be easy to eat while flipping around the city.”

Another puff of breath, a hint of laughter. “What exactly is my reward?”

Chewing at the flesh of your lip, you fumbled for the zipper. “Well, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I brought a few options. They're sort of all over the map.”

Laying out the thin cotton blanket you'd packed, you withdrew a myriad of plastic containers and lined them up, describing each as you went. “Gnocchi and bolognese from Il Tinello, very hearty and comforting. If you want something a bit different, an Alice sandwich from that shop 'Toasties'? And, if you don't eat animal products, seitan satay from Plant-Blossom.”

“You weren't kidding.” The Devil remarked, creeping towards the edge of the blanket. “You ventured all over the city for this. You didn't–”

“Please don't feel bad!” You rushed out, stomach sinking at the guilty little pout on his face. “I was looking for something to do. Besides, you deserve a decent meal for sticking around to hear me out.”

“As much as I appreciate it, it's more food than I can eat.” The man protested, crouching beside the edge of the blanket, not quite crossing the boundary yet.

“I'll have some of whatever you don't want. And, if we still can't finish it, well I'm sure there's someone around here who will take it.” You reasoned, settling atop your folded legs. Despite your nerves, you kept your voice steady and your stature unassuming, not wanting to activate the man’s “scary Devil mode” again.

“Thank you.” Kneeling on the concrete, the vigilante cocked his head at the lineup of options, fingers dancing over his thighs hesitantly. His gravelly voice diffused into a murmur, showering you like a spray of glass beads. Cool and solid, steady as rain.

You nibbled at the inside of your lip, smiling softly as the treacherous defender of the city flushed pink in the pale golden hue of the sun. Despite his harsh exterior and skeptical nature, you were swooning at the glimpse of the man behind the mask. He was passionate and humble, truthfully taken aback by your gratitude. “I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be thanking you. So, are you hungry?”

Lips splitting with a beautifully subtle grin, the Devil nodded. “Always.”

Satisfaction tugged at your heart, making you crinkle your nose as you held back a proud smile. “Help yourself!”

You hadn't been lying to him, the array of options was for his benefit; it wasn't much of a repayment if he didn't enjoy the food. As his hand reached for the first take out container, you realized there was something in it for you as well. In addition to him answering your brief question, and spending more than a moment nearby, you'd end up learning about him.

Something as simple as choice of meal wasn't overly revealing, but it confirmed some suspicions you had about your other half. He wasn't adventurous for the hell of it, his decisions–though seemingly rash–were purposeful and thought out. You understood the enticing pull, the desire to stick to your routine or things you already knew.

Bruised fingers popped the seal on the gnocchi, cradling the warm plastic tub with a fond glance in your direction. “Did you happen to bring silverware?”

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment swatting at you as you scrambled for the utensils in your bag. “Oh gosh, yes, I am so sorry–”

“Don't apologize.” A comforting weight settled over the back of your hand, the rough pad of a thumb brushing over your knuckles. Tearing your eyes away from the packets in your grip, your mouth hung open in surprise as Daredevil tenderly swiped his finger over your skin. You froze in place, scared that the smallest twitch would ruin the moment.

Face slackening with realization, the man dropped your hand, sliding a set of plastic silverware out of your loose grip. “This will work. Thank you.”

Shoulders hunching, he pointed his body away from you, still kneeling rather than fully relaxing into a seated position. Busying yourself with your own plate of food, you tried to shove down the disappointment that gnawed at you, your fragile consciousness unable to stave off the feeling of rejection as he turned to face the city.

“Has it been busy tonight? The crime fighting, I mean?” You posed the question, hoping to bridge the literal and metaphorical gap once again widening between the pair of you.

The man opposite you hummed thoughtfully, swallowing before he spoke. “Not too bad.”

“That's good. Hopefully you'll be able to get some rest, then. If you need rest, that is. I mean, if you don't have a day job that would make it easier but how could you afford to live in this city? I guess you could probably bounce around and evade capture, but that sounds exhausting. How do you–” Cutting yourself off, you clamped a hand over your mouth. “Shit, I am so sorry. I really didn't mean to ask about that, I'm just nervous which tends to make me ramble.“

Scratching at the back of his neck, Daredevil curled further in on himself. “I, uh, I guess I can't blame you for being nervous.”

“Oh, it's not your fault.” You promised, shaking your head violently. “I'm sort of like this with everyone. Lack of experience, I guess.”

Studying you for a moment, his lips briefly flickering with a smile. “I understand that. People are complicated.”

“Understatement of the century.” You huffed, a familiar blossom of warmth pooling in your chest when he echoed the chuckle.

Sitting in cozy silence, you ate quickly, stealing peeks at the muscular man every so often to gauge his discomfort. As much as you wanted to believe you were making progress, the rational side of your brain recognized the finite nature of this exchange. It was likely that he didn't intend to do this again. This was a favor extended to you for your appreciation.

As darkness descended on the skyline, cloaking the stark angles in shadows, a tightly wound knot of sorrow clogging your throat as you tried to finish your sandwich. Choking down the last bite, you lifted the final plate.

“Don't suppose you'd want any of this for the road?” Ignoring the tremble in your words, you began folding the blanket, avoiding his gaze.

“Sure,” He gently accepted, prying the container from your grasp and taking extra care not to make contact with your skin. “Thank you, again.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” You croaked around the lump in your throat, coughing to clear it. “Just, be safe out there.”

Giving you a sad smile, the masked man nodded firmly. “I’ll try my best.”

Swaying awkwardly as you stood, shouldering your bag on the way up, your mind raced through its entire vocabulary in an attempt to find the words for a proper goodbye. You’d interacted with this man for less than an hour, yet he meant the world to you–but telling him that would be weird, wouldn’t it? You really needed a manual for these things. A roadmap to help you tread lightly, avoid landmines. Unfortunately, you were pretty sure the whole “my soulmate is a vigilante” thing wasn’t common enough to warrant an expert.

“I, um, I’m going to head home before it’s super late. But, here–” Rushing through the excuse as quickly as you could, you held out a tiny rectangle of cardstock, holding your breath while he slipped it from your outstretched fingers. “My phone number is on there if you, er, if you ever need it.”

Chin dipping towards his chest, he cocked his head, studying the scrap of paper. “I appreciate it. Be safe getting home.”

“I will.” You vowed, blinking back the building sheen across your vision. “Take care of yourself.”

Before you could stumble and say something he didn’t want to hear, you made your exit.

Taglist: @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04

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mtchee · 5 months ago

Text

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold - [Tenya Iida] SOULMATE SERIES | GN

blurb:

Your spitfire attitude is a stark contrast to your sister Ochaco, but that doesn't stop you two from having each other's backs. Through your gruff exterior, Ochaco knows you're well meaning and understanding--even when you tend to snap back. That's why it baffles her when you become dead silent after you're scolded by class 1A's class president, Iida, for an outburst in class. When usually you'd scoff at him, you'd reeled back and sat in your seat. But now... you won't talk at all.

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, Ochaco is your twin, fighter not a lover to lover AND a fighter, i love writing character/reader siblings its so fun, [name] is actually rather anxious, tsundere but not the annoying kind, Iida is an understanding sweetheart, protective Ochaco!, onesided (but not really) admiration

| masterlist | boku no hero academia collection |

[2.8k]

Ochaco was worried about you.

Between the two of you, you've always been more of the fighter. Her sweet nature contrasts starkly to your own spitfire attitude. Although you were rough, you always took care of her, and in turn, she's always had your back.

Through thick and thin since your very birth, you stuck to each other like glue. Eventually, her more outgoing nature prompted you to give her a nudge, to let her bloom on her own.

While she nervously went out of her way to chat with a few others on your first day at U.A, you stuck to the back and kept quiet.

You made quick friends with Kirishima and Jirou, sometimes rough housing with the former and taking the time to chill with the latter. You never went out of your way to really talk to anyone else, though you had decent enough manners to reply if someone did want to talk.

You weren't a jerk without reason.

You didn't really talk to Ochaco's friend group, but you would nod a curt greeting to them in passing.

The class learnt you were a bit snappy, though not quite to Bakugo's extent. Ochaco sweatdropped when you first got into a verbal battle with him, and it just went on and on and on...

Aizawa had to separate you in the end.

Lately though, you've been more quiet.

Scarily so.

Sure, she knew you weren't the talkative type, but you were never one to hold your tongue either. So when Bakugo barked at you one day during training and you shrugged him off, she panicked.

Then you guys moved into the dorms, and the only time she seemed to hear you speak was when you two were alone.

The last time she witnessed your fire was three weeks ago, when Bakugo had provoked in the middle of Japanese Literature, where you'd unintentionally interrupted the class to bite back at him before Iida scolded you in front of everyone.

Ochaco doesn't really remember what he said, but Iida had never been the harsh type. Stern, yes, but never mean. And you weren't someone who would take it to heart anyway, usually dismissing anyone who'd tell you off.

But, maybe he did strike a nerve...?

"Move it, hardass," Bakugo shoulders past you purposefully, throwing you a challenging sneer meant to rile you up. He narrows his eyes and huffs boredly when you only scoff and glare at him in return.

Ochaco shares a worried look with Kirishima at your lack of reaction and, unbeknownst to you, even the agressor himself glances back wearily at your odd demeanour.

While you take your usual lunch seat next to Jirou, your sister also decides to sit with you this time. While Bakugo and Sero where still filling out their trays, Kirishima and Denki sat across from you.

They seemed nervous while you poked at your food.

You deadpan at them, "What?"

"N-Nothing!" Denki gives you a not at all convincing smile, immediately stuffing his face with his pork tonkatsu.

"Mm, well... It's just," Jirou sweatdrops, "you've been kinda quiet lately."

"Yeah," Kiri gives you a reassuring smile, "we were just wondering if everything's okay!"

You look at your sister who shrugs sheepishly, and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, 'm fine."

"I mean, you say that but..." You spy Bakugo growling at a panicked Sero for his meal choice while Ochaco thinks about how to continue, "how do I say this... you're not, uh, you're not as fiery anymore."

Jirou nods along.

"Yeah, I never hear you talk in class anymore."

"And you've like, stopped fighting with Bakugo," Denki looks at you worriedly, "and you always fight with Bakugo!"

"Oh."

Ochaco furrows her brows at that, you seem oddly taken aback.

"You noticed?" You don't give them a chance to respond, continuing while scratching the back of your neck laxly, "'m kinda stressed, I guess."

"Why? Exams aren't for ages." Denki shoves a bunch of noodles in his mouth.

Jirou squints at him, "Exams are in two weeks."

"See? Aaaages!"

"Stressed?" Kirishima tilts his head, and you glance off at another table to the side.

"I met my soulmate."

"YOU WHAT!?"

You scowl and slam your fist down on your tray to at their obnoxious chorus.

"KEEP IT DOWN," You close your eyes with a sharp intake of air, counting slowly before releasing your breath, "... you're too noisy."

"Are you kidding!?" Denki ignores you completely, leering over the table at you excitedly, "Mx. Stronghold over here found their soulmate! That's amazing!"

He laughs giddily.

"Dude, for real?" Kirishima beams, "that's totally awesome! Where'd you meet?"

"Yeah, and you're only telling us this now?" Jirou nudges you good naturedly.

"S..Soulmate?" Ochaco echoes, eyes wide, "So, you're soul words--"

"He doesn't know it's me."

A cold silence instantly sets them all on edge, you're admittance piercing them in their chests.

Denki blinks, "W-What?"

A silver lunch tray slams onto the table between you and your sister, and she shrieks, flinching away from the harsh impact as Bakugo scowls at her.

"Beat it, floaty. Go back to your own table."

"Oi," Your warning tone makes him huff, and he taps his foot impatiently, waiting for her to move.

"A-Ah.. it's okay, [name]," Ochaco smiles nervously, quickly picking back up her own tray and waving to the others, "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"'Kay." You wave her bye, and Sero takes a seat beside Kiri.

Elbow boy quirks up a brow at the stiffness of the others.

"So... what was that about?"

"Nothin'," You shrug, getting back to your meal.

"Like hell it was." Bakugo narrows his eyes, but ultimately decides he doesn't care enough to push for more and starts shoveling in his rice and curry.

You glare at the others threateningly, and the dutifully keep their mouths shut and eat, though the tension from your prior topic lingers.

As Ochaco makes her way back to her normal table, she can't help but dwell on your words.

She thinks back on your unusual change in behaviour, where now you sit still in class as though trying to slink by unnoticed, when before your presence was proud and fiery.

Very rarely are you two apart for long, so everyone you've met, she's met. She ponders on all your interactions in the last three weeks. She doesn't remember you outwardly reacting to anyone strangely.

You'd gossiped about soulmates before, and how you'd probably feel once you meet them. She's known how nervous yet excited you've been--to meet someone that the universe deems to be your other half. To have someone meant for you.

But, you didn't seem all that happy.

Actually, now that she thinks about it, you looked rather... sad. Not disappointed, but more so disheartened.

And you haven't really had any outbursts since--

As she sets her tray down beside Tsu, she gasps when looking at Iida, a lightbulb going off in her head.

"It's you!"

Iida responds with a polite hum, and Shouto blinks with Midoriya and Tsu looking back at her in confusion.

"So, you know how you and Bakugo got into a bit of a spit a couple weeks ago?"

You growl irratedly, failing to throw your nosy sister off your trail on the way back to the dormitory.

"And how Iida kinda stood in to settle you down?" She keeps going, ignorant of your flaring temper, "well, I know you've been kinda quiet since then which I thought was really odd. To be honest, I started to miss how snippy you get--"

"Ochaco, drop it." You huff.

"--but I thought, 'there's no way that actually upset you,' so I started thinking some more; and then you told us about your soulmate! Well, not really, but you said that you met your soulmate, and you know, you've never really talked to Iida before without me or Deku or someone there, so you never needed to anyway--"

"Ochaco."

"--and I remember! You didn't snap back at him!"

Your shoulders tense and your stomach churns uncomfortably.

She's getting way too close.

"And ever since then you've been so silent! We never hear you talk in class anymore, and you haven't been bothered to sit with us for lunch. So that's when it all clicked!"

She turns to you with a beaming smile, bouncing in front of you with her arms held out wide.

"Iida is your soulmate!"

"I said drop it." Your gaze is sharp and defensive, tone gruff and dripping with danger.

Ochaco falters, "But... [name], isn't that great?"

You scoff, "Yeah, whatever."

"Hey..." She frowns when you shove past her, "why're you... [name], you've been so excited to find your soulmate. And you're not too shy to talk to him. What's the problem?"

She has to double her steps to keep up with your hurried pace.

She winces, "Do... you not like Iida?"

"Ochaco.."

Her heart tugs at the exhaustion in your voice. You stop in your wake, features carefully slated except for the singular shine of hurt in your eyes. You don't look her way.

"Just drop it."

"[name]," Ochaco plants herself in front of you sternly, "you can't be like this. It's hurting you, and it's not fair on your soulmate. Iida is my friend! He's a great guy, and our class president! Trust me, you've got nothing to worry--"

"Damnit, I know!" You hiss as her probing reignites the spark of your temper.

"I know, Ochaco! It's why I can't let him know I'm his soulmate!"

Your words stunt her, and she reels back.

Her frustrated frown creases into one of worry, puppy eyes glistening as she stares at you in disbelief.

"...What..?"

"I-I can't--" You scunch your nose, closing your eyes and breathing in sharply, "--Ochaco, you know why. It's obvious."

Your shoulders sag from their defensive position and you roll you head to ease the stress caused crook in your neck.

Of course it's obvious. He's nice Iida. Handsome Iida. Intelligent Iida. Way out of your league Iida, who wouldn't spare a rascal like you a single look because all you do is spit fire and scowl.

"We're not a good match, sis. He... He wouldn't want me. It's obvious from my soul words."

You tentively inch up the blazer sleeve on your right arm, small golden words inked neatly onto the skin of your outer forearm: 'Cease this behaviour! You are much too astute to be acting in such an irresponsible and disruptive manner!'

"Oh, [name]..." Ochaco's eyes flutter, and when she looks back up at you, her heart breaks at the sight of your ever so subtly trembling lips and glossy eyes.

You crunch your nose at her distastefully when she coos at your reluctant sniffle.

"Hmph," You glare at the ground to keep your fruitless tears at bay, "we're just too different. S-So he won't know that it's me, and he'll find someone better."

She frowns at that, "You can't decide that."

"Well, I did."

You frown daringly right back at her.

But your sister's always had your back, for better and for worse. Even when you don't want her to.

Especially when you don't want her to.

You growl angrily at the incessant knocking on your door.

For the past two weeks since you stupidly confided in your sister she's been hounding you about your soulmate business. Your soulmate business.

Meaning, not her business.

So each morning you'd avoid her and every afternoon, if you didn't plan on training, you'd lock yourself in your dorm where she's been following to bug you.

Sometimes you'd throw yourself into your homework and studies and blast music obnoxiously to drown her out, but the sound of her knocking is just so annoying.

"Goddamnit," You've just about had enough of her, eyes ablaze, you almost snap your pen and ruin your paper.

"For the last damn time, Ochac-- oh, shit." After violently flinging your door open, you pale at the sight of not your sister.

Iida, from where he stands in your doorway, looks about just as shocked as you--though not with the same horrored expression that you harbour.

With a quiet gasp, the spectacle eyed male feels the skin on his chest tingle pleasantly, and you spy a subtle golden glow through the material of his blue collared cotton shirt.

Oh, shit.

Although your features are hardened, you swallow anxiously as you await his further reaction.

Iida's eyes daren't stray from your form, lips parted ever so slightly in shock from the truth of Ochaco's earlier information. He lets out a controlled, gentle breath.

"It is you."

You step back abrasively when his face brightens with an awed smile and a light pink blush across his cheeks.

All in a sudden moment you feel giddy and flushed and nervous before you quickly crush that hope with skeptical eyes and a defensive stance. Your heart thrums in your chest, and you can't help but berate yourself for the mere notion of him getting you afluster.

"Oh my," Iida sounds breathless and dazed, and his glimmering eyes have you frozen in place as he steps toward you, "you are my soulmate, indeed."

"Ochaco told you," You're quick to deduce, and you notice him swallow thickly at your evident displeasure.

His focus narrows in on your body language: how you shuffle back ever so slightly, chest stuttering with each deep breath, your thumb pressing into your closed knuckles by your side--you're on the defense.

"...You're not happy?"

"I'm not hopeful."

Your dismissing muttering peaks his interest, and he raises a pointy brow.

"Pardon?" He decides to keep pushing when you avert your gaze to the side, "what do you mean by that, exactly?"

"I'm-- we're not.." A flash of insecurity passes your features, but he's quick to catch it, "--this just isn't a good... match."

Something in his gaze hardens, and his chest expands with a sharp intake of air before he speaks, "I beg to differ."

When you glance up, you see a red blush tinting his ears and underlining where his glasses sit.

"I'd be quite dismayed if my soulmate were someone other than you."

"Eh?" Comes your eloquent response. You deadpan with disbelief.

"Ochaco put you up to this," You growl at him threateningly, "I don't need your pity!"

"I bare no form of pity," He frowns, "I'm telling the truth."

At his insistence you huff, crossing your arms over your chest with a 'whatever'.

"Shove off, I'm too irresponsible and brash for you."

He looks taken aback (and almost hurt) before his frustration becomes palpable, and he steps past the threshold of your doorway after a moment of hesitance.

"Pardon the intrusion; but that is utter nonsense and what I'm saying is true," He speaks with a firmness that demands your attention, and you send him a disgruntled look which he ignores, "from what I recall, while my words may have first been, unpleasant, by no means does that dictate how I perceive you."

"Oh yeah?"

He feels the urge to reprimand you at your challenging sneer. You grin victoriously when you pick up on his irritance with your behaviour, as though proving your point.

Instead though, he rolls back his broad shoulders with a quiet sigh.

"While occasionally explosive, and impossibly headstrong--you have a good heart."

"Hell are you on about?" He hushes you quickly, as one would a noisy child, and you frown.

"Let me finish. I mean it, [name]. I know how you are, we've consistently been around each other. I've seen how you treat Uraraka, how you look out for her while letting her pull her own weight. I've watched you converse with Kirishima and Jirou, and pull Bakugo down a few pegs."

You bite back a smug smile when he puffs out a bemused chuckle at that.

"We may not have spoken directly until as of recent, but even though, we already know one another very well," He clears his throat gently and holds out a hand, "now, it's just a matter of knowing each other on a deeper level. I-If you accept, that is.."

You scoff at his stumble, after having the gall to shush you and barge in like that. Still, you eye his hand--his implicit invitation--temptingly. You've always adored the prospect of soulmates, and it seems that despite your aggresive reservations, yours is more than accepting of you as you are.

Looking him up and down, you snort quietly at his obvious nerves. Iida's posture is staight, wide shoulders held high and stiff with one hand outstretched robotically while the other sweats, tucked behind his back.

Your eyes soften, and you plaster on a downturned smile.

You clap his tense hand with your own, only able to look at him briefly before sickeningly sweet fluttering in your chest becomes way too apparent.

"Sure. Yeah, soulmates or whatever," You bite the inside of your cheek as you turn your back to him, feeling a humiliating heat crawl up your cheeks, "just so you know, you're stuck with me now. No take backs--and you can't regret it!"

Unbeknownst to you, a wide smile crosses Iida's squared features, and he heaves out a massive sigh of relief. He positively beams while gazing at your turned back, chuckling softly with a sheepish blush as he observes your stewing bashfulness.

"Believe me, I would never."

#x reader #character x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha fluff #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha fluff #mtchee's library #mtchee's tea & story house #soulmate au #iida x reader #tenya iida x reader #iida tenya #tenya x reader

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moody-alcoholic · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 5 - The Bait

Summary: 5.1k words. 141 decide what they're going to do about your ex, leave it to the police or get themselves involved. Either way they're going to need your help. Also Simon has feelings...

CW: Smoking, language, abusive ex, stalking, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of a suicide (Not reader or 141), violations of privacy, physical violence, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, mental health, mentions of trauma.

Previous - masterlist - Next AO3

Enjoy <3

She hasn’t moved from the spot at the table, her fingers still running over the photos. Simon was stood by the door waiting for Price to arrive. Simon told him not to knock, he left the door open telling him to just walk in.

As soon as he does Simon locks the door behind him. Her head snaps up to look at Price then back down to the photos. Price sighs looking at the damage to the window.

“You stayed the night?” Price asks him quietly so she can’t hear.

“He came to her door.” Simon replies just as quiet, Price sighs.

“Not getting to lost in the mission are you?”

“No sir.” Simon replies, it’s a lie. Simon turns to look at Price. He knows Price can tell, Price can read him like a book. Truth is he’s in way too deep, there is something about you he can’t quite put his finger on. He want’s to be around you all the time like he can’t get enough of you. Johnny would say it’s something silly like ‘it’s love at first sight.’

It’s been years since Simon has had any kind of feelings he would relate to love. Maybe that’s what this was. There was something burning inside him a need to touch you, be near you. At least at work he could avoid you, push the thoughts away focus on the job. Being here in your flat, talking, opening up, watching you sleep. It was a good feeling, a feeling that made his heart skip. Maybe Johnny was right.

“What’s the problem?” Price asked crossing his arms looking back over at her.

“She wants to call the police.” Simon says.

“Okay then let her.” he replies.

“Then we have to back off.” Simon says through gritted teeth. Price sighs.

“Throwing bricks through windows this isn’t just a simple stalking problem anymore.” Simon says thinking back the colourful letter that came with the photos. Price hums, he’s thinking.

“Don’t think a simple talk will sort this one?” He asks eventually. Simon shakes his head. It’s been a while since they’ve had such an extreme stalker case. Most of the time a stern word and a few vague threats are enough to get most people to back off. If that doesn’t work a little bit of blackmail and a few knocks to the head usually do it. This time it’s different.

“Let her call the police, get the restraining order I’ll talk to Soap and Gaz.” Price says smiling at her as she looks at him. At least he’s trying to put her at ease. He looks round the flat one more time before going to leave.

“Actually, you should get Gaz here to check for bugs, wouldn’t be surprised if you found some.” Shit he hadn’t even thought about that. Simon pulls his phone out to text Gaz as Price leaves. He goes back over and sits at the table.

You watch as Simon types on his phone, he sits down looking up at you.

“What did Price want?” You ask.

“Checking to make sure you’re okay.” Simon says putting his phone away.

“Do you still want to call the police?” He asks, you nod reaching for your phone. Simon nods and moves to get up.

“Stay,” you say looking up at him. He must be able to see something in your eyes as he immediately sits back down.

“I’ll stay,” he says, nodding at you. You almost want to reach across and grab his hand, you swallow instead calling the non-emergency number.

It’s about another 20 minutes before two officers show up. Simon lets them in, they’re nice enough, one is a woman and that puts you at ease. You answer their questions while they collect evidence including the brick, the letter and the photos. By the time they’re done you feel drained, they talk to Simon too taking his details, witness statement.

They explain with the evidence they have they might be able to make an arrest. That makes you feel better knowing he’ll be locked up. Getting the restraining order might take some time. If he is arrested you’ll be granted an emergency one for the time being. You listen to what they’re saying and thank them when they leave. You turn back to Simon letting out a breath. The smashed window has let the cold in and you shiver.

“You should take a nap, you look exhausted.” He says, you shake your head. There is no way you would be able to sleep now. Or at least not a sleep that won’t be riddled with nightmares. There’s a soft knock at the door. Simon is already on his feet before your head even gets a chance to look. He opens it and you see Kyle, with a laptop under his arm.

“What happened?” He asks when he sees the state of the flat. You were not looking forward to cleaning all the glass up. You stand going to the bathroom where the cleaning supplies are while Simon explains the situation to Kyle. You wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t have to wonder for long as when you come out the bathroom with a dustpan and brush Simon is already waiting for you.

“Gaz is going to check the place for bugs, cameras, what not.” Simon says. You feel sick, you hadn’t ever thought about that, your hand grips the broom tighter.

“D-do you think he’ll find anything?” You ask your mouth suddenly dry. Please say no.

“I hope not,” He says his hand finding it’s way to squeeze your arm. He sounds sad about something, you look up at him. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, you like feeling his hand on you.

“I’ll start in the bathroom.” Kyle says, Simon drops his hand. You nod at him and force a smile going over to start sweeping the glass. Simon says he’ll call a someone to replace the window, apparently he knows a guy.

The cleaning is a good distraction and Simon comes over to help finding a box for you to put the glass in. You’re on the balcony when you see Kyle come out the bedroom into the living room. You sit down on one of the patio chairs as you tip the last collection of glass in the box. You look up at Simon.

“I could kill for a cigarette.” You say letting out a breath, Simon smiles and heads back inside. You watch as he goes over to his jacket pocket coming back out with a packet and a lighter. He smokes the same brand as you. He passes you one and you’re almost shaking trying to light it. You take a deep suck in letting the smoke warm your lungs you watch Simon light one too leaning up against the balcony wall.

“You don’t have to stick around.” You say eventually. Simon looks at you almost like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying.

“Do you want me to leave?” Simon asks.

“No,” you blurt out a little too quickly. You don’t want to be alone right now, not that you’ll ever admit that.

“I mean if you have work or something.” You take another puff of the cigarette.

“Right now this is my work.” He says looking back inside as Kyle’s walking around the room. You suddenly feel exposed being out on the balcony, the photo’s you saw earlier flashing back in your head. You rub the rest of your cigarette out on the wall and throw it in the box with glass. You want to get out of this flat even if it’s just for a few hours.

“I think I’m going to go into work.” You say as you head for the balcony door.

“I’ll come with you.” Simon says flicking the cigarette butt on the floor and stamping it out.

“Gaz stay here, there’s a guy coming to fix the window in about an hour.” You hear Simon say as you go into the bedroom closing the door. You sit down on the end of your bed putting your head in your hands. You don’t want to go to work, you want to just curl up in bed and do nothing. But you need to get out this flat, even if it is just for a few hours.

If nothing work will be a good distraction. You let yourself take a second to processes what’s happened. The brick through the window, the searching for hidden cameras. Spending the night with Simon in your flat. Your emotions are all over the place. You’re starting to feel overwhelmed. You stand up pushing the feelings away. You’ll deal with them later.

——————————

When you get to work Simon leads you straight up to John’s office. He drags you in without knocking and you stand there sheepishly not quite knowing what’s about to happen. You hear John sigh as he puts down whatever he was working on.

“We need a plan and I want her to be involved.” Simon says. You’re taken aback by how direct he is. You try to remember what he was telling you last night about how he met them but you were so exhausted, you fell asleep after a few anecdotes. John looks over at you then back to Simon. He stands up, you feel like you can see something in his eyes. Annoyance? But not at you at Simon.

“Come on.” He says as he walks past Simon out the office. Johnny is making his way up the stairs as you all pile out. John tells him to turn around and you’re being lead to the storeroom. You grip Simon’s shirt and he turns to look at you.

“It’s okay,” Simon says and before you know it you’re in the room. It doesn’t look as scary as you remember. There’s a smell you can’t quite place, a smell of metal and rubber. Everyone walks over to the table in the middle as John brings a laptop over from one of the counters.

“What’s the plan then?” John asks as he stands back folding his arms. Johnny catches your eye and smiles at you, that puts you at ease.

“Let’s lure him out, grab him before the police do.” Simon says.

“So the police are involved?” Johnny asks. Simon explains what happened this morning as well as the police saying they think they will have enough evidence to charge him.

“Why not let the police just handle it?” Johnny asks looking at John, who’s still standing over the laptop with his arms crossed.

“It’s not just a simple stalker anymore, he’s violent throwing around threats. If he get’s bail who knows what he could do.” Simon says. Johnny nods. The storeroom door opens and Kyle walks in. He looks surprised to see you in there but he comes over to the table anyway.

“Your guy was late.” He says dropping something on the table. You don’t quite know what it is it looks like a bunch of wires. Simon picks one up in his hand you can see it’s a tiny camera.

“Where?” You ask Kyle as he moves to put his laptop away.

“You don’t want to know, trust me.” He says.

“I do, I want to know please.” You ask almost begging, your mind going to the worst places they could have been. The bathroom, in the shower, looking at you on the toilet. In your bedroom, watching you sleep. The thought sent shivers up your spine. You look over at Simon he’s still inspecting the camera in his hand. It’s small, they all are.

“These two were in the bathroom, this one was in the bedroom.” Kyle says picking them up.

“That one was in the kitchen.” He says as he takes the camera from Simon’s hand.

“Do they record?” You ask swallowing the lump away. Kyle shakes his head.

“Live feed only, and you would have to be close to access them.” Kyle explains. That’s some comfort at least. Or is it? You’ve still been spied on your privacy violated. Knowing he only had to be a wall away from you to view them. You feel sick.

“Should we tell the police?” You ask to the room.

“Yeah, we’ll tell them, after we’ve had a chat with him.” Simon says, he sounds angry. John sighs, you feel like they want to talk about something but they can’t with you around. Johnny seems to pick up on that too. Walking round the table to meet you.

“C’mon lass let’s get something to eat you look like you could use it.” Johnny says, you mindlessly follow him out the room, watching Simon’s eyes dig into John like they’re mentally communicating something.

Johnny takes you back to the same sandwich shop. You’re not hungry but you get something anyway, because if you didn’t Johnny threatened to force feed you. He leads you back to work and you both sit on the sofa’s upstairs.

“You don’t do deliveries do you?” You ask Johnny, while you pick at the bread on your sandwich.

“Sometimes we do, we have to keep some kind of cover.” Johnny chuckles. “Cannie file our taxes as ‘blackmailed a stalker.’ Easier as ‘delivery to some office.’”

“Is that what you do blackmail stalkers to get them to stop?” You ask before he changes the subject.

“Sometimes, sometimes we have to be a bit more aggressive.” He says taking a bite out his sandwich.

“What kind of things do you do?” You ask. Now is the time to push him, he might give you some answers.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself with lass.” He says, you sigh. You’ve lost your chance.

“What about me?” You ask. “What would you do for my situation?” Johnny hums, he looks at you thinking for a second.

“I would let the police deal with this one, if he’s as bad as he seems. They have enough evidence to lock him up for this. Most of the time when people come to us they’ve already been down the police route. That or they’re involved in something illegal and need, discretion.” He explains.

That was more then you were expecting, maybe they were just being open with you now. They let you in the storeroom, they let you listen on how they plan things. Maybe they trust you. Or maybe they can blackmail you into silence.

“Seems like Simon’s taken a personal interest in your case though.” Johnny says. You frown at him.

“What do you mean?” You ask. Johnny is about to reply when the storeroom door slams closed. You watch as Simon makes his way up the steps to you both.

“I need to have a word with her, Price will catch you up with what you’ve missed.” Simon says gesturing for him to get out the chair. He doesn’t seem too impressed being forced to move huffing and wrapping his sandwich up. You feel nervous all of a sudden as Simon takes Johnny’s spot.

“How's the sandwich?” He asks, casual, like they weren’t just planning on grabbing your ex, whatever that means.

“I’m not really hungry.” You say offering it to him, you’ve never seen him eat now you think about it. Only sip cups of tea, like a lot of tea. He shakes his head, you wrap it up placing it on the coffee table and scooting over to him.

“We’ve got a plan. All you need to know about the plan is your role.” He says leaning forward.

“My role?” You ask, trying not to sound nervous. Simon nods.

“The best way to get a stalker out is to bait them out, like what you did with your post. If we want to get him we have to move tonight. Otherwise the police will have him and we don’t know what will happen after that. The easiest way to get him out is for you to set up a meeting with him. You’ll be the bait.” He explains.

You gulp, you would have to message him, then meet him somewhere. You don’t like the sound of that, the thought of even having to do that made you feel sick.

“You don’t have to do it, but then we’ll leave it in the police’s hands.” Simon says.

“What do you plan on doing to him?” You force out.

“Just a chat, like with most stalkers, they just need someone to spell it out for them.” Simon says. You don’t know if you believe him but you trust him.

“You won’t kill him.” You ask looking directly into Simon’s eyes. He shakes his head.

“We don’t kill people unless absolutely necessary. We’re not hitmen. If it makes you feel better the last person I killed was over a thousand miles away and I was still a soldier.” He says. You nod, that does make you feel better. You swallow your nerves looking at Simon, you trust him.

“I’ll do it.” You say reaching for your phone. Simon smiles.

——————————

You’re nervous. You trust them but you’re nervous. You’re on your second cigarette, if you have another one you might actually throw up. At least the smell will keep him away from you. You don’t know where Simon and Price are but you know Johnny is behind you round the corner of the building. He’s the closest to you, you think.

You check your phone you did say 8pm. It’s now 8:15, typical, he’s late and he’ll find some excuse where it’s some how your fault. You hear footsteps behind you. You swallow hard turning as the footsteps get closer. You can tell it’s him from the way he walks, the way he clears his throat. He’s stood a few feet in front of you. You purposely blow smoke in his face. You see a cheeky grin form on his lips, it makes you feel sick.

“Missed me?” He asks. You take in the last puff of your cigarette and move away from the railing to the middle of the path. Just like you were told to do. Keep him in the open, don’t let yourself be cornered.

“I don’t know if missed is the right word.” You say flicking the cigarette at his feet. He takes a step towards you.

“Well I missed you baby.” He says, the smile still on his lips. His arms are outstretched as he takes another step towards you, you’re frozen in place. Move! Your brain is screaming at you. Move do anything don’t just stand there! Your legs are betraying you though and before you know it his hand is on your arm. You freeze tensing your arm as he grips it, his eyes are burning into you when you feel a hand on the small of your back.

“Who the fuck are you?” Joe asks as he looks past you. His fingers digging into your arm.

“Just some guy.” It’s Johnny’s voice. It doesn’t make you relax you wish it was Simon. You want to look around for him but you don’t want give away that there are other people.

“Is this the kind of girl you are now, sleeping with random guys? Turned into a right little slut.” Your ex spits. You try to pull your arm from him, his nails dig into your skin. He let’s go taking a step back which surprises you.

You hope it’s over that he’ll just walk away now, you couldn’t remember what was supposed to happen next. You shudder, it still feels like his hand is on your arm. You watch as he looks around almost like he thinks someone is watching him. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.

“What the fuck Joe!” You say shocked, he’s not pointing it at you, just holding it against his stomach. You feel Johnny straighten up taking his hand off your back. It’s a show of force, there is no way he would actually use it. You look past him for a second your eyes being drawn to movement. Please be Simon, or John, or Kyle.

“Maybe you should move on, leave me and my girl to sort things out.” Joe says, there is a shake in his voice, you can hear it.

“‘Course, clearly you love her more then me.” Johnny says taking a step aside. You want to beg him not to leave. You see a shadow behind the bushes moving silently all in black.

“How long have you know each other anyway?” Johnny asks. He’s trying to be a distraction. The shadow moves closer you try not to look so your ex won’t get suspicious.

It happens quickly. A body pounces on your ex pinning him to the ground as he shouts. The weapon flies out his hands sliding across to your feet. Johnny picks it up unloading it. You look round as Kyle and Price make their way over.

“He had a gun?” Kyle asked his eyes looking at you. You shake your head. You had no idea. The sound of zip-ties drags you back to your ex being hauled to his feet by Price and Simon. Simon’s wearing a mask, not the normal black surgical masks or balaclava you’ve seen him in.

This is different. It’s a skull, your hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he won’t meet your eye line. Johnny is by your side again as Kyle takes the weapon out his hand. Joe is still shouting profanities, you can see he has a bloody nose now.

“We'll take it from here.” John says his hand landing on your shoulder making you jump. You can’t help looking at Simon, he looks scary now, it's not the Simon you know.

“Anything you want to say to him?” John asks. You look up at him not expecting him to ask you that. You don’t know what to say. You’ve dreamt of this moment, for what you would say but your mind is blank.

You look back at your ex, he looks mad, blood running down his face his hands tied behind his back. You have nothing to say to him. You shake your head. John’s hand leaves your shoulder.

“Pathetic,” you hear your ex mutter under his breath as he spits at your feet. You don’t even register your step forward, your knee thrusting into his groin. He buckles forward groaning in pain despite Simon trying to hold him up.

“I’m pathetic!?” You shout a wave of anger washing over you.

“I’m pathetic? I’m sorry, I’m not the one who can’t get over the relationship! I’m not the person who beat the woman they’re supposed to love! I’m not the one who hides cameras! You’re pathetic!” You push his chest with all the strength you have left, feeling your eyes well. You turn away before they spill over. You will not let him see you cry. You don’t even remember what you said, adrenaline is pulsing through your body. You feel an arm wrap round your shoulder, as you suck in deep breaths.

“Quite a set of lungs on you there lass.” Johnny says as you wipe your eyes. It didn’t feel good why didn’t it feel good.

“Take her home Soap, we’ll see you later.” John says and you hear them walking away. You hear Joe’s protesting. You don’t know what comes next, you don’t care, you just never want to see him again. You stand there for a few more seconds letting the adrenaline wear off as you breathe in the cold London air, but all you can smell is the river.

“Ready to go home?” Johnny says after a few seconds. You nod and let him guide you to a car. You don’t bother asking Johnny want happens next, maybe it’s best you don’t know.

——————————

It’s still dark out when you hear the door of your flat open and close. Johnny is gone, you see Simon now. You blink a few times trying to orient yourself reaching over for your phone to check the time. It’s almost 3am. You sit up, looking over at him, he’s standing by the door, like he wants to ask you something. You push the blanket off yourself and go up to him.

“Did you do it? Will I never see him again?” You ask as you approach Simon. It’s dark in the flat but you can still make out his features, the living room curtains are still open so the outside light is shining on his face.

“You’ll never see him again.” He says, almost like he’s relived too. A weight you didn’t even know you’d been carrying melts away at his words. You fling your arms round him squeezing him tight.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his chest. He smells good, salt and gunpowder. You learned what that smell was when you were in the storeroom last. You break away realising what you’re doing. His hands rest on your shoulders and you look up at him. His eyes are shining in the light, beautiful and golden brown.

One of his hands moves to your cheek, following your jawline round to your chin. You find yourself moving closer to him, his hands are warm on your body. He leans in slightly, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist. You know what he wants he wants to kiss you. You don’t know if you’re ready, you don’t care, right now you want to kiss him too.

You lean in pressing your lips against his. You have to stand up on your toes to reach him properly as you push your tongue in his mouth. He lets you, moving his hand from your chin to cup your cheek. You feel your body tingle as he starts playing with your tongue his hand gripping your waist as he tries to get you to stand back down. You don’t care throwing your arms round his neck and pulling him down to you.

You moan, he tastes of ash, and something sweet. You’re not thinking, lost in a world of your own as his hands start to move round your body. You grip his neck running your fingers through his hair. One of his hands finds your waistband and his thumb slips under your shirt, the skin to skin contact makes you shudder and you pull away. His hand drops from your waist.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. You look up at him. How do you even explain it?

“That was the best kiss I’ve had in years.” You say letting one of your hands drop from his neck to rub his cheek.

“Too soon?” He asks. You shake your head. This is it, you’re never going to be able to have a normal relationship again. You can kiss him but you flinch at the slightest mount of physical contact. He probably just wanted to run his hand up your back? It doesn't matter your brain registered it as a threat before you can even react.

“I’m sorry,” you say dropping your hands from his neck.

“Want me to leave?” He asks.

“No, stay.” You say, grabbing his shirt. Great, attachment issues too.

“Want me to sleep on the sofa again?” He asks. You look up at him. You press your lips against his again this time his hands stay over your clothes. He breaks away first.

“I know what it’s like.” He says his voice barely a whisper. “I get what you’re feeling, you don’t have to explain it. Just tell me when to stop.” He kisses you again, a quick kiss. It still takes your breath away.

You take him by the wrists and lead him to the bedroom. You can do this at least, or you’re going to try. He stands as you do what you need to do. Rearranging the bedding, getting extra pillows and the spare duvet out the wardrobe. When you’re done you turn to him.

“You shouldn’t sleep on the sofa it’s bad for your back.” You say leading him over to the bed.

“Believe me I’ve slept on worse.” He says smiling, that puts you at ease. You let go of his arm to climb into bed, pulling your duvet around you leaving the other half of the bed open for him.

“Mind if I.?” He gestures to his trousers, he wants to take them off. You nod, watching as he unbuckles his belt letting them slip to the floor. It’s too dark to see anything anyway, or at least you hope so, then he won’t be able to see you blushing.

He makes sure you’re okay before moving slowly into the bed. He pulls the spare duvet over him lying on his side so you’re face to face. He reaches over slowly, his hand brushing your cheek, then your hair. His touch is gentle, soft as he tests what your limits are.

“Want me to tell you this funny story about Johnny?” He asks. You smile nodding. “I’ll let you take the piss out of him tomorrow.” As he tells the story you close your eyes. His hand comes back periodically to brush your hair. It feels nice you let yourself enjoy it as you drift off to sleep.

You’re woken the next morning by the ringing of the doorbell. You shoot up in bed.

“I can get it.” You hear Simon groan.

“No, I’ll get it.” You insist praying that Simon is right and you never need to worry about Joe again. You look through the peep-hole it’s the police officers from yesterday. You open the door.

“Morning, sorry to bother you.” The female one says.

“It’s okay,” You respond automatically.

“We thought you might want to know there has been an update to the investigation regarding your stalker.” You look at her confused.

“What happened?” You ask.

“When the officers went to arrest him this morning he was found dead in his apartment. We’re very sorry, we suspect it was a suicide.” The officer says. Your hand grips the door harder as you hear the words.

“He was your ex-boyfriend correct?” The officer asks. You nod swallowing to get the lump away in your throat.

“He had you written down as an emergency contact, we’ve been unable to locate his family, do you happen to have their contact information?” She asks.

“I-I have his mothers number, just a second.” You say using all your willpower to let go of the door. You head back into the bedroom to get your phone. Simon’s back is facing you his legs swung out of the bed. You go back to the officers telling them the number.

“If you have any questions, or anything you need to add don’t hesitate to call us.” She says smiling. You nod and thank them as they leave. You close the door behind you, slipping the deadbolt into place. Suicide. The word spins round in your head. What the hell did they do to him?

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#call of duty #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #cod #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #retired 141 #task force 141 #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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evilminji · 1 month ago

Text

Know what's been haunting me? And my Yandere loving brain?

What if... an SI-OC? Fffffucked UP™?

Like? STRAIGHT up "....Oh No. I have? GRAVELY miscalculated."? Cause? And I'm probably wrong here, or forgetting nuisances, but? Dooku? Left the order and began his Fall? NOT because he disagreed with the vast majority of Jedi philosophy... but?

Because of what the Jedi had BECOME.

Senate attack dogs. Indentured servants. Following NOT the Force or their Orders Mandate, but a mere GOVERMANT. Politicians. Straight into ruin and slaughter no less! It was vile. Corrupt. A perversion and degradation of HIS beloved Jedi Order.

He was proud and filled with grief, isolated. Palpatine chose well.

But! He was ALSO a Master Jedi with DECADES of Mastery under his belt. You do not become that with out clear vision of what you want. Who you ARE. And Dooku? Very CLEARLY planned on winning. Killing Sidious and taking his place. An unfortunate necessity, really. In his Grand Plan™.

Too?

Start over, obviously.

Instead of just leaving and starting a NORMAL Religious Schism, building a temple on Serrano, and publicly calling his old Council members lil bitchs. Slap fighting in the town square, as is traditional. Maybe sending pass aggressive notes back and forth in the hands of increasingly spoiled Padawan, because OUR temple at least FEEDS these POOR WAIFS. Etc etc?

Dude went the SITH route. Of... you know... "kill everybody".

Bit extreme. Just saying.

However! Dooku? Not well! In fact, DEEPLY unhinged and masterfully hiding it! Because he is, in fact, a MASTER jedi! And know how to fucking DO THAT. So that slow creep of Deepyly Crazy? No one sees it. Gives ya time to miss the countdown to Boom, as it were.

Which leads to our dearly beloved SI. She? Is a well meaning IDIOT. She can't help it. It's the Force, man. All that feel good juice, clogging up her brain! Making her? Optimistic! Vaguely perky! Wanting to see the GOOD in people!!!

Disturbing, she knows. But it is what it is.

And MASTER Dooku? Feels? Stern but warm. Stalwart. Like one of those ancient trees or great temples in a quite moment. Old and powerful, not necessarily KIND, but certainly not UNKIND. Just... fussy, you know? Proper. Collected and self contained. Doesn't like messy and dirty and needless noise.

So... what's an itty bitty Crecheling to do? To stop this Respected Master from falling? Well... Yoda seems to think "babies" works? And SHE is Baby...

Better scrub down so I'm EXTRA not "why are all children so... sticky?" and make my self look as presentable as possible. Then? Plan: Stalk the Respected Master Dooku Like A Duckling is a GO~! Yoda finds this INSTANTLY hilarious. Starts feeding her insider information (One of his many, later Great Regrets).

Dooku likes THIS tea. Meditates in THIS garden. Ask him about THIS subject, no one listens to him rant about it, he'll enjoy lecturing you about it for HOURS. She actually learns quite a lot! Man's a good teacher. And SHE? Is a dutiful, polite, thoughtful, shining young paragon example of what he feels the Jedi SHOULD be.

She LISTENS. Unlike his foolish peers. She tries to better herself, day by day, instead of running around screaming and playing in mud. Asks after etiquette from the courts he's traveled too, so she does not offend in the future. Does not react with blind disgust to questions others would deem heretical!

Instead? SHE comes from a JEDI place of approach with compassion and consultation of the Force. What creates the most GOOD? How can we strive for the kindest, most ethical, most equal social possible? What brings the universe the most Light? Where do OUR duties end and the duties of OTHERS begin, and when is it time to call them on their failings, should there be any?

It is? Delightful~ if he were not already committed to his path, he would seriously consider taking her on as a Padawn. Like the Granddaughter he never had. In FACT? He is conflicted. While he does not wish to lose the bright little light he has become so accustomed too? He should probably do what is best for her.

He IS leaving after all. Eventually. Perhaps after Qui-Gon finally knights his own padawn. He can convince the man to come with him. A talk between them has been so very, very long overdue. And the man is like a son to him. Young Obi-Wan is a fine young Jedi. Upstanding and collected, could use a bit of tempering. Outrageous flirt. It would be hilarious.

It's a good plan.... right up until it isn't.

Until the Council's BLINDNESS lead his SON to dying alone. For Sidious little games. And the place in HIS chosen lineage is USURPED by some WHINY SAND COVERED BRAT who can not CONTROL himself! No. NO.

Absolutely Not.

As far as HE is concerned? HIS lineage? Goes him, Qui-gon, Obi-Wan, and then SI-OC. No Sand Brat. Is he spiraling? Oh yes. Has been for a while. But now? NOW someone just kicked out a major support beam. The building is a'shaking. SI-OC is worried. Knows this could make or break his Fall.

Doesn't realize that ship has sailed LONG before she arrived.

Jedi Master's do not Fall over night. It is the slow erosion that kills them. Death by ten thousand cuts. He was already thousands deep. Bleeding and bleeding, beyond her abilities to heal. Yoda could have changed things. He is a Master. But a mere Crecheling? An untrained child? No. She stood no chance.

Does not realize that, as she stands in the heart of the storm. The center of the bear trap. As composed Master Dooku grieves and rages, hair disheveled and robes a mess. No, he can not come to the comm right now. No, he is not taking visitors, thank you. Please, Master Dooku. Please! Drink some tea? Eat? Something. Anything. I beg you.

It is a focal point. An anchor to cling to, in that great Fall. As SI-OC fusses with blankets and music that might help, pressing her small and fragile light against his shields like a comforting weight. As though trying to protect him from the pain. As though ANYTHING could protect him.

Sits with him, in remembrance.

Comes with him, to the funeral.... where stands the sand brat. At HER Master's side. As though enough has not been stolen. How dare he? How dare THEY? To allow this!? Hatred festers. Rage. The mania that Darkness brings. He sees now. Ooooo ho ho, does he now see.

The Order has become Rotten. It cannot be saved. The Jedi have lost their way.

The old must be purged... and they must begin again.

It's all so CLEAR now. So simple. The path forward. Its so obvious now, HE is not leaving, oh no, THEY are leaving. It would be madness to leave a vulnerable Crecheling in such unfettered corruption. Exposed to the nonexistent mercies of Sidious and his ilk. Not to mention, Force knows what filth they'd attempt to stuff in her head behind his back!

Knight Kenobi is an adult. Can comport himself and defend his person. SI-OC can not. She is just a youngling. Should have BARELY been a padawn. But... things have changed.

SI-OC fall asleep, comfortable and certain she is perfectly safe, in MASTER Dooku's apartments. Just another Tea Time and obscure Force Philosophy lecture. Maybe some hands-on etiquette lessons. There are many, MANY different ways to take tea. And... man... the room is so cozy. Always so comfortable and tastefully inviting. Warm an... an snoozy... feelin... *thunk of a small child falling over, dead to the world*

Drugged? Sleep suggestion? Soothing bedtime tea? Yes. Yes, he did. She stood literally negative chances. He scoops up HIS granddaughter and leaves droids to pack the rest. Tucks her under his cloak. No one thinks to even check. Who would? He is trusted. Respected. It is well known how he dotes upon the child. Old age has softened him, some jest.

The dangers of attachment indeed. But it is not HIM who is in danger. It is HER who his attachment endangers. Because he can not let go. WILL NOT. Because it can crossed from caring to obsessive. Possessive. To mine, mine, mine.

Children are not property. Not toys or trophies. Teddy bears to squeeze until your hurt stops. They are living, breathing, entities in their own right. Which is something a JEDI would be able to accept. The SITH? No. No, see, his Great-grandpadawn is HIS. This is HIS family. HIS Jedi order. HIS plan to "fix" everything.

She done fucked up.

She wakes up on a ship to Serrano with COUNT Dooku.

His... his eyes turn Interesting Colors now. Ha ha... she is... staying Very Calm. It is REALLY important to stay VERY calm. No sudden movements. We Do Not startle the Darksider! Eeeeeeverones FRIENDS here! R-Right?

Oh of course. Nothing to be worried about, dear. You're just going to his Manor until the NEW temple is finished. (Neat. Terrifying. So, SO many horrifying parts of that sentence). And SI-OC? Pulls the good ol "never argue with the crazy person with a gun" technique. Smile and Nod! Mmmmhmmm! G-great! Can't wait!

(Oh god, help me)

War breaks out. She's on THE Separatist planet. But not? Before crazy grandpa? Has hired bounty hunters to find him force sensitive kids. You know, for the NEW Jedi order. Because we're all pretending here. Smile and nod, fellow hostages. For the love of the Force, smile and nod.

She's not entirely even certain half these children were from families that WANTED to give them up. It makes her sick to think about.

She still has to have Tea Time. Because she, a child, is the HEAD of the New Order. And he has decades of Jedi knowledge to impart. Also? Lonely and fixating. We're a happy family. Because I say so and have hostages. That's why you love you, don't you dear? *SI-OC with a wide, terrified hostage smile* mmmmhmm!

The Jedi? Have figured out what happened. Crecheling mysteriously disappeared at the same time a Count Dooku? They originally thought she tried to follow him. Got lost or grabbed by slavers. But now... NOW? Oh Force they know they horrifying truth. The Darksider stole a CHILD.

Everyone remembers SI-OC. She was the sweet little duckling. Well behaved and polite. A kind child. Worried for Count Dooku. And now look at what's happened?! The CIS is trotting out the "head" or their "new order" and it's their lost Crecheling. Now a teenager. Terror in her eyes and a fixed jedi smile.

The Creche Masters have to be physically dragged away from stealth ships. (They're just going to talk! They're jUST GOING TO TAL-!!!) Plo Koon is fucking HELPING and that's NOT helpful! No, your commander do NOT have "a point"! You can not do just a "little bit" of murder as "a treat"!

A certain Quinlan Vos? Never heard of him, of course, rocks up to this New Order with a smoothie. Has betrayed the OLD order and the Republic. Definitely for realisies and not because he's here to spy! Heeeeey, kiddo. How you holding up?

Answer? Oh THANK GOD, AN ADULT JEDI! Halp! Followed by gross sobbing. So... you know... not GREAT. Wouldn't recommend it.

But! The INTEL. Sweet holy shit, kid. Chips. Palpatine. Dooku behind the Clones. Everything ELSE she's quietly been noting down. Uuuuh, yeah. Yeah that WILL be... real useful.... Holy shit. No, seriously, give him a second. Just like that? Huh. Didn't even have to convince you. Wow. Okay.

Well then! Let's fuck over some Sith!

How the Shadows go about it? Probably very action movie and nail biting. High octane. Sweet big budget cgi effects. They get the De-chipped clones involved. Fox gets to finally, FINALLY shoot his boss. Never a happier man. He deserves it.

But that's not important. What IS? Is Quinlan Vos? Showing up to the Temple, with a burger and smelling strongly of smoke, and like.... over 450 force sensitive younglings, teenage and below. And probably a litter of tookas. Because what? Were they supposed to LEAVE them?

She takes One(1) step into the temple and gets hit with like? Three generations of Guilt Complexes. Man Pain. Yoda, Obi-Wan, AND Anikin? Mother FUCKER, you were 9! What were you supposed to DO? Bite him?! You literally JUST GOT HERE. *SI-OC has used Logic against Skywalker Guilt... it is not very effective!*

When? When will she be freeeeeeee? Cannon Yoda had the right idea.

She should go hide in a fucking SWAMP.

@babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @lolottes @hypewinter @mayfay @hdgnj

#minji's writing #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars oc #count dooku #long post #feel like i should specify #platonic yandere #yan dooku #had his brain chemistry COOKED by the Dark Side #and it twisted his perfectly normal desire for family and interpersonal connects?#into obsession and fixation with deeply unhealthy controlling tendencies #his younger self would be appalled #dont do Dark Side kids #not even once

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

Note

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever.

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems.

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore.

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you.

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough. You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against.

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles).

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into.

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary.

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you.

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her.

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips.

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means.

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you.

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds.

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about.

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right.

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week.

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now.

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie.

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you.

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call.

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.”

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting.

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer.

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way.

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye.

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm.

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing.

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college.

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs.

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be.

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching.

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully.

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease.

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago.

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need.

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret.

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure.

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?”

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading — and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly.

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious.

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for.

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry.

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you.

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him.

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him.

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so.

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes.

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you.

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all.

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats.

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling.

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day.

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down.

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone.

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him.

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold.

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler.

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock.

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.”

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time. “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are.

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were.

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?”

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so.

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.”

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost.

But it’s happened before.

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight.

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise.

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak.

You want him.

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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