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hypnoneghoul · 3 months

Text

Do Not Go Away

WC: 13k

Relationship: Rain/Dewdrop, Rain/Everyone, not rel. focused

Tags: Disability, Chronic Illness, EDS, POTS, Lots of Crying, Angst with a Happy Ending, Passing Out, Depressive Episode, Abandonment Issues, Self-Hatred, Marriage Proposal, Unreliable Narrator, Mild Suicidal Thoughts, Panic Attacks

"You finally did it, you pushed us all away. Congratulations, Rain. You are free." Or how Rain's body finally gives up and he gives up with it.

Notes: This is me expanding on this post in a heartbreaking way. Also making my worst fears come true for Rain, sorry not sorry, but at least at the end of the day he's not alone, right? While it's not my best work it's the most important and personal to me, I hope you'll like it. It's multi chaptered on ao3 so it's easier to grab a hold of an read bit by bit.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Now with art from Nono and Felix

Nobody really knows what went wrong with Rain’s summoning. Nobody really knows if it all originated from it, anyway. At least he’s not the only one, Zephyr is still there. What a thing to bond over, they have.

Rain was never doing good. Never good, just decent. He was tired all the time. And in pain.

“It is what it is,” he always said, shrugging. “It’s what comes with a faulty vessel.”

He was used to it already. Or was he?

He could deal with it, mostly. Sometimes it was better, sometimes it was worse, but in general he was okay. He had his pack, he had his music. He was okay.

Until he was not.

Until all he could do was lay and stare at the ceiling, without any power to move, with a lump in his throat, because everything hurt, the world was spinning and he was too exhausted to even cry. His phone was thrown somewhere next to him or on the bed, battery either already out or just right about to be. He could have grabbed it and sent a text—would his fingers manage? Hell, he could have even screamed—to someone, anyone, ask for…

For what, exactly?

Help? Help in what? There’s no helping him, is there? He’s broken and that’s it.

That is why he would just lay there, unable to move, unable to cry, unable to fall asleep, listening to his own shallow breathing and racing heart and feeling all the pain coursing through his damaged body.

Until it would be decent again.

Until the day when the decent would not come back.

This day was near, and Rain knew it.

The tour has never seemed so long. Maybe it never was, but Rain wasn’t bothered enough to actually check the dates and do the math. It’s not like it would change anything, would it?

He was a ghost. He was just there, barely present, just doing what he absolutely had to, and that was it. He was in pain, and despite the exhaustion he saw what it was doing to his packmates. They all had their own aches and they were equally tired, he hated that he was causing them distress just by… by existing.

Rain tried to convince himself it wasn’t his fault, he was summoned that way and most of the time he was careful as to not make it all worse. He knew his limits and usually did not go beyond them. Usually.

He hated that he was like that, broken, whether it was his fault or not. What did he do to deserve it? Most importantly, what did his packmates do to deserve to be burdened by his existence? What did Papa do?

The water ghoul tried his best to not be bigger of a bother than he already was. Swiss and Dewdrop usually called him a dumbass for that, told him that he was a bother only when sulking around with a frown on his pretty face. He always smiled at that, but when they looked away that frown always returned. No matter how much he appreciated the jokes, they weren’t fixing anything.

That was back home, in the Abbey.

Now, well into another tour, the rest didn’t even try the jokes. If they saw Rain needed them, they’d just quietly slip their hands into his and pull him away onto a couch or a bunk and hold him, sometimes letting him just cry it out. He used to feel better after that, just being with them, whoever it was. It was hard to believe that they still loved him, despite all, but some part of Rain’s brain knew it was the truth. It was what kept him alive.

He wanted to give them something in return, but he simply couldn’t. There was nothing but his body, the same one that caused all the problems in the first place. He didn’t have the energy for sex, not even the softest moments with one of his mates, not even if they’d do all the work. He knew they’d do anything for him, but he also knew he’d pass out the moment any of his blood went to his cock. The exhaustion and pain took away any potential need he might feel, anyway.

So Rain just was.

The only time he was something more, not just surviving but living, was when his aching fingers touched the sleek, shiny body of one of his basses. When his arms shook under its weight when he slung it over his shoulder. When he ran a finger over the thick strings. When he felt note after note vibrate through him.

It was what kept him sane.

He kept wondering for how much longer.

It was bad.

Three shows of the tour left. Rain didn’t think he’d make it. He was always doubtful, but this time it was the worst he’s ever been. He saw everyone around was worried, he wasn’t blind, even though they tried so very hard to not be obvious. They knew he wouldn’t listen or accept help, anyway.

He just had to focus, sleep as much as he could, eat well, stay hydrated, take painkillers and wear his braces and he’d be fine. He was a ghoul, for Satan’s sake, a literal demon, he wasn’t going to just– just fail. He was not failing anyone, even himself.

Rain didn’t help with unloading the gear or soundcheck this time. Not on purpose, he always helped, he was just asleep the whole day and no one woke him up. They did so just in time to eat something and get in costume for the show. The water ghoul would love to have helped, despite all, but his body was certainly grateful for just that little less work.

The show started out as usual, without much struggle, probably due to adrenaline, which—no matter how many times someone would play in front of thousands—never left. Rain started zoning out and trusting his muscle memory by the third song. Which one even was it?

He remembers tripping—nothing new—and maybe he even fell over once. Or twice?

Someone had to gently push the water ghoul in the general direction of his tech when the show ended and he didn’t notice. The bass was taken away from him and he was dragged around some more. He was so dizzy, he couldn’t really see, he realized then.

Rain couldn’t bend down for the bows, he’d pass right out. His back also wouldn’t like it much. He felt Cirrus and Papa gripping his hands for dear life but he couldn’t focus enough to squeeze them in return. He didn’t know if it was him swaying or if the stage was moving. Probably the former, he couldn’t see much and it wasn’t because of the mask. Maybe he was shaking, too? Most likely.

He nearly cried out when Papa and Cirrus let go of his hands. He knew he had to move, he couldn't just stay there standing in the middle of the stage like a deer caught in the headlights.

Rain tried, he directed all and any energy towards his legs and willed them to just work. He managed to take two impressively wobbly steps before someone—Swiss, his brain provided—wrapped an arm around his waist and took the majority of the water ghoul’s weight onto himself.

“I’ve got you,” Swiss whispered, and Rain tried his best to cling to his body as tightly as he clung to those words. He didn’t really register their way to the backstage area, having to focus on not collapsing. At least not yet. He nearly forgot about his back and hip and knee and ankle and–

“Can you stay here for a second? Just a second, I promise,” the multi ghoul asked him and he, somehow, nodded and Swiss let go of him before sprinting away, yelling something to someone. Rain could feel his eyes stinging and cold tears trailing down his cheeks and soaking into the balaclava. He tried to keep on his feet, he really did, Swiss promised he’d be back in a second, he could make it, but– he didn’t.

The water ghoul ran out of breath. He thought he saw Swiss running back in his direction but he couldn’t be sure, it was getting darker and darker all around. Was someone messing with the lights?

“Rain, shit– Phantom! Mountain! Move your asses someone!” Rain thought Swiss was yelling, but he couldn’t be, it was too quiet, muffled. When did he… when did he end up on the floor? Was Swiss holding him? His back hurt a lot now, legs too.

“I’ve got you, princess,” the multi ghoul muttered. Rain opened his mouth to reply, to tell him I know you do, but nothing came out.

He knew that was it, that was The Fail.

His eyes closed, and he floated away.

Rain was done.

Dewdrop got to them first, of course. He must’ve felt something was very wrong with Rain through their bond. “What the fuck happened!?”

“He just– he fucking passed out, I’ve no idea!” Swiss was panicking. Truly a rare thing for him but the way Rain looked, the way he felt, the way he lay there limp in his arms terrified the multi ghoul. Rain has had his fair share of fainting spells and multitude of accidents, but this was different, and both Swiss and Dewdrop could see it.

“Give him to me,” the fire ghoul growled, throwing himself onto his knees, but the anger in his voice was not directed at Swiss. He carefully moved Rain so the other could hold him. He knew Dewdrop needed it to not freak out himself. “Help me with the mask.”

The multi ghoul obliged, taking it off with shaky hands, as well as the balaclava. His lips curved in a frown when he saw how pale Rain’s face was, how sunken his cheeks were.

“Get Phantom,” Dewdrop ordered. “Or find a medic or something, I don’t know, just– just get help.”

Swiss turned on his heel, ready to bolt and get someone. As he did he could hear Dewdrop mumbling to himself, voice shaking, and the multi ghoul’s heart squeezed painfully. “I don’t– I don’t know what to do, Angelfish, fuck…”

Rain came back to reality slowly. First he registered the warmth all around him, but not the uncomfortable, overheating warmth. No, it was cozy and safe and it felt like–

“Dew?” he mumbled, trying to look around but his sight was, somehow, still not back fully. The warmth tightened around him—arms—and he felt and heard a purr from behind him.

“I’m here,” Dewdrop said, and indeed he was, laying with Rain between his legs, his back to the fire ghoul’s chest. Rain hummed and tried to twist so he could nuzzle into his partner, but the slight movement immediately caused a wave of pain to wash over his lower body and a whine to leave his lips. “Don’t move, shhh.”

“Wh– what happened?” the water ghoul asked quietly and tried not to wince as Dewdrop was the one to move and adjust so Rain could see him.

“Well,” he sighed, “you were exhausted and sore well before tonight’s show. Then you fell over during the ritual. Twice. I guess that’s what made your legs and back so bad. At the end you passed out. For a few hours, it’s three in the morning now.”

“Fuck,” was all Rain could manage to choke out. Tears began gathering in his eyes, and Dewdrop, still carefully, scooted closer so the other could bury his face in his chest and hold onto him. “I– I’m sorry, we have two shows left, but I– I can’t, I hate it, I’m s– sorry.”

“Shhh, don’t apologize, don’t you dare,” Dewdrop cut him off and cupped the back of his head, bringing him closer.

“B– but the tour, Papa–”

“Papa is not angry. No one is,” the fire ghoul didn’t and wouldn’t let him babble about something everyone but Rain found absolute bullshit. “If anything, we’re all disappointed you haven’t said anything about how bad it was.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

“We’re not disappointed that you don’t trust us enough, I know that’s not the case. We hate to see you in pain, that’s it.

“I’m so–”

“Stop,” Dewdrop spat, but there was no venom in it. Quite the opposite, his voice nearly cracked and Rain thought he felt his heart cracking with it. He should’ve told them, asked for help. Now he made his lover upset and he was just a fuck up, he should–

“Stop,” the fire ghoul repeated. Rain took a deep breath, trying so hard to not burst into tears like a child. It was his own fault, he had no right to complain or feel bad about it.

He cleared his throat and whispered, “Where even are we?”

“In the girls’ nest,” Dewdrop told him. “Back of the bus.”

“What about them?”

“You need it more now.” He shrugged and another wave of guilt washed over Rain. The ghoulettes always slept together and the bunks didn’t allow that, so they had the nest. He’s taken it away from them. “They offered, they don't mind.”

“What about the rituals?”

“Playback. We’ve got recordings for everything, you know that.” He did know it, but he also knew it was nothing like live playing. The fans would be disappointed, he knew they loved each and every one of them. He remembers what happened when Sunshine and Aether didn’t show up when everyone had expected them, when everyone was excited to see them among the rest. Now, after a few years without any changes, the fans expected all of them and Rain knew he might be a favorite for many of them. He’d disappoint thousands.

“Stop thinking, Angelfish,” Dewdrop said. His voice was stern but not angry. If anything, it had a wet tone to it, as if the fire ghoul was on the verge of tears, too.

It took a few moments of silence, interrupted only by Rain’s sniffles, Dewdrop’s purr and the bus’ rumble, for the water ghoul to compose himself a bit and speak again, “Everything hurts.”

“Oh… I know, love.” Dewdrop was sure he could hear his own heart breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t– I can’t even say what’s messed up, ‘cause it feels like… everything.”

“As far as I'm aware, after Phantom’s rough evaluation when you were passed out on the green room’s floor,” the fire ghoul sighed, “one of your hips is dislocated, I think one knee, too, and possibly an ankle, plus one wrist from you falling on it. You also most likely slipped a disc and something’s up with your ribs.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe it feel like everything because–”

“It is everything,” Rain sobbed. “I’m fucking done, completely broken, D– Dew, I– I can’t…”

“Shhh, Rain, breathe,” Dewdrop’s voice was shaking, for once he sounded out of place and Rain hated himself so much for it. He tried to do as he said, but it was so hard, everything hurt and he was suffocating under an avalanche of thoughts that he couldn’t stop. “Breathe, Angelfish, breathe with me.”

“D– Dew, I’m– I’m scared,” he cried out and he could feel Dewdrop’s own tears dripping down onto his face before the last word even left his mouth.

The last two shows of the tour Rain spent on the bus sleeping. He could’ve been backstage, but he didn’t think he’d be able to bear listening to everything and not… not being there. Alone on the bus he could’ve at least cried his eyes out in peace, until he’d gotten a headache so intense from it he’d passed out. Two days in a row.

Then it ended, officially, and the next two days were a blur of traveling by bus, by plane and then by bus again, until the noise of wheels over a smooth asphalt turned into a crunch of them over the Abbey’s gravel. Rain pretended he was asleep, let Swiss believe he was waking him up when they got back home and let himself be carried away to his room. They carried him around a lot lately, most of it against his will. He refused to use crutches, so they started to just hoist him up like a child, not caring about his protests. He didn’t have the strength to physically fight it, so he ended up just limply hanging off of whoever pulled the shortest straw.

Now, the water ghoul was carried out to his room, where he spent the night alone, cold, in pain and miserable. He hasn't slept alone in ages.

Rain didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, but it wasn’t particularly important anyway. It’s not like he had any plans and that made him angry.

He found himself not… scared, or sad, anymore. No, he felt so much rage, he felt like he was burning with it. He hated himself, he hated the world, the Clergy, Lucifer, his pack, Dewdrop. For what?

How could he?

The realization of how awful he was hit him like a freight train and bile rose in his throat. Rain closed his eyes again and hoped the sleep would return to him, so that he didn’t have to face the reality he’s found himself in just yet.

When he was roused from sleep again it was by a warm hand on his bare shoulder, making him gasp softly. “Rainy?”

“Mhm… Droplet? W’time is it?”

“Seven. In the evening,” Dewdrop mumbled, as if he wasn’t too proud of Rain’s achievement in sleeping for around twenty hours. Maybe it would be an achievement if he wouldn't be a water ghoul who can turn off his need to piss for when he sleeps. “Aren’t you hungry? Or dehydrated?”

“No,” Rain told him, simply, and yawned. He was annoyed.

“Still tired?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and snuggled further into his—somehow still cold—sheets. His eyes fluttered close and Rain hoped it would be a message clear enough for Dewdrop to leave him, but the fire ghoul seemed to have different plans. Rain heard him sigh and then felt the mattress next to him dip. He couldn’t have really prepared for the warm body suddenly glued to his side.

“What’r you doin’?” he barely held a growl back when Dewdrop started cuddling in even closer under his arm. Why did Rain feel like… like this? Dewdrop didn’t do anything wrong. Quite the opposite, he was doing his best to help, he didn’t deserve even a playful snarl to be thrown in his direction. If anything, it was Dewdrop who had the right to be bitter, aggressive and angry, not Rain. The fire ghoul went through things so much worse and he didn't act like a royal asshole about it. Not anymore, not towards his packmates.

And Rain? He was bitching around for nothing.

Where did that sudden rage come from? He felt like he despised Dewdrop but… no– no, he loved him. When did he manage to lose that sense of himself?

“Sleeping,” the fire ghoul answered, and Rain didn’t dare open his mouth again, lest he hurt his lover worse than he already did, not even realizing it. He swallowed it down and this time his eyes had to be forced to close, his body had to be forced to relax and sleep had to be begged to take him. Rain didn’t sleep well that night.

In the morning he was the first to wake up, too. He spent the next five or fifty minutes staring down at the ghoul in his arms. That beautiful, kind, pure creature that didn’t deserve any hatred and maltreatment he experienced over the years. The man that Rain gave his heart and soul up for, and begged him to let him do so. The one the water ghoul loved more than anything, both Topside and in the Pits, in his immortal life.

And yet…

And yet Rain couldn’t wait for Dewdrop to wake up, get up and leave.

No, he didn’t want him to leave, that was… it was his worst nightmare. He never wanted to be alone, he was afraid of being alone, of being left behind and forgotten, of not being touched, of not being loved, what–

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Rain wasn’t sure how long it took for Dewdrop to wake up. Wasn’t sure how long he spent drowning in thoughts that weren’t his own. What would they be doing in his head, then?

The fire ghoul got up and left—finally, Rain’s mind provided—claiming it was going to be a busy day for him. Something about post-tour gear maintenance and paperwork related to it. Dewdrop proposed he’d find someone to keep Rain company, but the water ghoul insisted he was fine on his own. It was possibly the biggest lie that had ever escaped his mouth, but Dewdrop left it alone. Left Rain alone.

He promised he’d be back by the end of the day, that he’d come back to spend the night with Rain again. In his mind he both begged Dewdrop to fulfill that promise and to never come near him again.

He wanted to be alone, but the moment the fire ghoul closed the door behind him Rain whimpered and if he had at least a fraction of strength in him, he’d throw himself onto the floor and crawl after Dewdrop and beg him not to leave.

He didn’t, so there Rain was, submerging bit by bit in an ocean of thoughts that he desperately wanted to not be his, to not come true. Why couldn’t he swim?

Another day.

Rain woke up alone and cold. Dewdrop didn’t come back.

His heart hurt, but he couldn’t blame him. He must’ve felt the negativity pouring off of Rain in waves, he must’ve known what was going through his head, he must’ve seen the change in how he held him.

The water ghoul didn’t know the time again. The curtains in his windows were shut, he couldn’t really estimate. It was probably more of an afternoon than a morning, but he didn’t care. He found himself not caring about a lot of things nowadays.

He opened his eyes with a sigh and tried his best to turn over onto his other side without causing himself any pain. He managed relatively well, only groaning a bit, but something set in the corner of his room, that wasn’t there before and wasn’t supposed to be there, caught his eye. A growl rose in his throat as Rain grabbed his phone and furiously found Swiss’ nickname in his contacts.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty, you need anything?” the multi ghoul’s disgustingly sweet voice sounded from the speaker after a few seconds.

“Come here,” Rain snarled and hung up.

He knew Swiss would burst through the door in seconds, scared he might need help. In the short meantime the water ghoul threw his legs over the edge of the bed and got up. He padded over to that offending thing, and leaned against his desk next to it, glaring at it with gaze so fiery it could rival Dewdrop’s own.

“What’s wrong?” Swiss all but ran into the room, not being too careful about the door. He paused in the middle of it, taking in Rain’s fury.

“What the fuck is that?” he spat.

“It’s… uhm, it’s a wheelchair.”

“I can fucking see that!” the water ghoul shouted. Did Swiss think he was stupid? Did he think it was funny? “What is it doing here?”

“I brought it down from the infirmary.” He shrugged, brows furrowed at Rain’s raised voice. So he was right, it was his brilliant idea. “Can be useful.”

Silence fell for a moment, and Swiss thought Rain was thinking it through, that he was trying to be reasonable. But then he lifted his head and the multi ghoul felt like he was about to drown in the depth of anguish in Rain’s eyes. “Get it out.”

“What?”

“Get it out!” he blew up, spit flying from his mouth and tears clinging to his lashes. Before Swiss could make a move to do as he said, Rain snarled and turned to kick the wheelchair. It turned over a few times before ending up on the other side of the room, the multi ghoul’s eyes following it, but his head snapped back to Rain when he heard a thud and a painful moan from him. He put too much weight onto his bad leg when kicking that damned thing and nearly folded in on himself as he went down to the floor.

“Raincloud, Lord Below…” Swiss gasped, coming closer to help the other, but another growl—this time obviously being supposed to be threatening—escaped Rain’s mouth, curved into a pained frown.

“Don’t!” he yelled again. “Don’t fucking touch me, just– just get out.”

“Rain, I don’t–” Swiss tried, reaching a hand out. It hurt him so much, seeing Rain in pain, seeing him so– so miserable and broken. He’d never wished anything in his life as bad as to be able to take it all away from the water ghoul.

“I SAID GET OUT!” Rain still tried to sound relatively collected, act like it was only rage that was consuming him, nothing else. It was a fool's errand, of course, especially in front of Swiss. He could see right through him.

“Do you want Dew?” the multi ghoul asked quietly, not looking at Rain anymore. He let out a pained whimper, as if Swiss had just put a knife through his heart. He took it as a no.

The multi ghoul didn’t see a point in upsetting Rain any further. He nodded—pity pouring off of him—and turned on his heel to leave, shutting the door behind him. Leaving the flipped over wheelchair in the corner of the room.

Only when Rain couldn’t hear Swiss’ footsteps in the distance anymore did he break, tears flowing down his cheeks like waterfalls as he choked on them sobbing, curled up on the floor.

He cried and cried, sickeningly reveling in the pain increasing and enveloping him and the anger swallowing him up, until all he could do was stare at the scratched and dirty hardwood and desperately gasp for breath like a fish pulled out of water. In a way he was, and he began daydreaming about sinking to the bottom of the lake and never coming up again.

He’d miss the music and his pack but… would they miss him?

Dewdrop was spending most of the week following their return from tour busying himself with chores, sleeping with anyone but Rain and crying. Usually into Swiss’ or Mountain’s shoulder.

He didn’t know what to do and he hated it. He hated seeing his partner in pain so much he stopped going to see him at all after two days. He just couldn’t bear it.

What he couldn’t bear even more, though, was the glint in Rain’s eyes and the tension in his body that told Dewdrop he hated him now. He tried so hard to not blame the water ghoul for it—for anything—to understand, to let him feel whatever it was that he was suffocating under in peace… but Dewdrop was always self-conscious, contrary to a popular belief.

He was terrified.

Terrified of Rain leaving him, of becoming a stranger to the man he loved above anything else in the universe. That’s what would kill Dewdrop.

Aether told him it would never happen, that it was physically impossible. He said he saw and felt the bond between Rain and Dewdrop and that it was something unbreakable, even if Lucifer Himself decided to try. He said the water ghoul would come around when his denial and anger would slowly turn to depression, then bargaining and finally to acceptance. Aether told Dewdrop that Rain loved and needed him, even if not right then.

“I need him, too, Aether,” the fire ghoul had said, and left. Aether seemed to not understand, even though he was supposed to be the one who understood everything. It all seemed… fake to Dewdrop.

He promised himself he’d never hate Rain. That no matter what he would do, what would happen, no matter how hard it would be, Dewdrop would be there. He would wait, even if it meant waiting till the damned end of the world. He would wait.

Another day—how many has it been?—of Dewdrop crawling into Swiss’ bed with his body, mind and heart all exhausted. The multi ghoul welcomed him with open arms again, crushing him to his chest, and let him whimper quietly.

“I miss him, Swiss.”

Even though Rain was right there, just behind a wall. Somehow that made it all worse. The fact that he was so close, yet never farther.

“I know, kitten,” Swiss sighed. “I do, too. But it’ll be alright.”

“I– I don’t know what to do.” Even though Dewdrop was saying those words over and over again, like a prayer, over the last few days, he couldn’t seem to get rid of his guilt. He was supposed to be there for Rain no matter what and what was he doing? Hiding in other’s arms because of his fragile feelings when his partner was in pain and alone.

“It’ll be alright,” the multi ghoul whispered, as every time before that. There was nothing else to say.

Then, as usual, after some time, some more whines and some tears Dewdrop fell asleep, Swiss following shortly. Dewdrop loved Swiss and Swiss loved him, they always slept well together, but those nights they both seemed to not get any real rest. Weighted down by the feeling of their lover, their friend, their family rotting.

When they woke up in the morning—Dewdrop first—they talked again. The fire ghoul always got ideas overnight, something he put all the remaining scraps of hope into, and shared them with Swiss, hoping for approval.

“You’re killing yourself over him, you know that?” he usually said instead.

And Dewdrop thought, what if this time it’s a good idea? This time he was sure, actually.

“Swiss, what if– I was planning something and maybe…” he trailed off, tracing his fingertips over the expanse of Swiss’ stomach, “maybe I should do it now, maybe it’d make him understand that I’m here. That I’m… you know, not going anywhere?”

“Let’s hear it,” the multi ghoul said, but there was a tinge of hesitation in his voice already.

“We’re together, technically, but what if… he always wanted to… to do something more human, you know? I planned it, but I’m a fucking coward and…”

Swiss floated away for a moment, not really listening to what Dewdrop was saying anymore. He knew what the plan was, it wasn’t the first time it was mentioned to him. He wasn’t sure it would work. Besides, how was anything supposed to work? What did that even mean? Maybe Dewdrop was right, maybe he should do it. Rain would cause—was causing—a lot of harm but there’s no way he would hurt Dewdrop that bad, if he… no, he wouldn’t, no matter what.

“...could go and–”

“Do it.”

“W– what?” the fire ghoul sputtered. “You like the idea?”

“I’m not sure,” Swiss sighed, nuzzling his face down into Dewdrop’s hair, “but I’m not sure about anything Rain-related right now, and this seems like something that could finally… snap him out of it.”

“Promise me you’re serious,” Dewdrop quietly begged into his neck.

“I just– I just don’t think we can come up with anything better, kitten. We gotta get him back.”

“We gotta get him back,” the fire ghoul agreed. “We gotta get him back.”

Dewdrop didn’t think he had ever been as nervous as now. He wasn’t just nervous, it wasn’t anxiety, it wasn’t stage fright. He was terrified that it wouldn’t change anything. He was terrified that it wouldn’t fix anything.

Still, he was not giving up.

He wanted to do it immediately. The fire ghoul parted with Swiss and ran to his own bedroom to prepare. As much as possible, at least. It wasn’t something one could really prepare for.

Dewdrop took a shower—boiling hot—got dressed in something that wasn’t a stretched out or stolen band t-shirt and bent down by his wardrobe to fish the most important part out. His hands were shaking, and he cursed himself out under his breath.

The fire ghoul shoved it into his pocket and stormed out of his room. Before he blinked he was already by Rain’s and he suddenly lost all the remaining scraps of courage he had.

It was a stupid idea, Rain didn’t need that now, he’d be annoyed, it wouldn’t work, it was a bad moment, he should just–

“I can hear you breathing over there,” the water ghoul’s muffled voice came from behind the door. Dewdrop flinched, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

“C– Can I come in?” he asked, trying to hide the shake in his voice.

“Sure.” He cleared his throat, wiped his hands on his pants and grabbed the handle. Dewdrop slipped inside and nearly stumbled backwards as he got hit with a stench of… pain. Mental and physical anguish were hanging thick in the air and tears suddenly gathering in the fire ghoul’s eyes wasn’t just his body’s defensive response.

There was a mess on the floor, everything one could think of thrown all around the room. Curtains were half shut, barely letting any light inside. Rain was in his bed, sheets crumpled over the lower half of his body as he fidgeted with his own fingers and avoided looking at his partner.

“Rainy, do you–”

“It’s alright,” the water ghoul didn’t let him finish, glancing up briefly as he tried to muster up a reassuring smile. Dewdrop had never seen a thing so fake. “What did you need?”

He managed to forget what he came there for when he took in the ruin Rain was in. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The other wasn’t looking at him and Dewdrop felt as out of place as ever.

“Dew?” Rain said quietly again. The fire ghoul cleared his throat and squeezed his eyelids to banish away the tears of fear.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he whispered and put a hand back into his pocket, fingers wrapping around the item put away in there. “I have a… question for you.” Rain hummed in acknowledgement.

Dewdrop took a shaky step forward, kicking away a crumpled water bottle to make space, and took one last deep breath.

He lowered himself to the floor, kneeling.

Only then did Rain look at him again, “Droplet, what are you–”

“You always talked about how you love human traditions,” the fire ghoul’s voice was quiet but wobbly, as if he was to burst into tears any second. He just might, really. “That you think they’re cute and… and I know it’s not the same with ghouls, but–”

He paused. Rain was looking at him with his brows raised and his expression unreadable. It made Dewdrop even more terrified but he wouldn’t stop now. He pulled out the little box from his pocket. “Rain, I want to marry you. Like a human. Will you? Will you marry me? Will you be my mate?”

The water ghoul’s lips parted, mouth hanging open in shock. And something else. He stammered, eyes wide, “D– Dew, wh– what?”

“I know it’s stupid and cheesy, but I don’t care. Rain, I need you, I love you more than anything, you know that.” It was silent for a few moments and Dewdrop had never felt time go as slow as it did then. His face was burning and his heart was racing so fast he felt it shake his entire body.

Finally, Rain broke the silence, but with… with a scoff. “Really? You’re so desperate to cheer me up, or whatever, that you’re, what, proposing?”

Dewdrop’s ears started ringing, there was suddenly a crushing pressure on his chest and a sting in his eyes. Physical pain all over. He was sure the world was starting to crumble under him. “W– what? No– no, of course it's not like that, Rain–”

“Yeah…” he sighed. “You just suddenly got a dream of being mated to a cripple, sure.”

“Rainy, p– please, don’t–” the fire ghoul was crying now, fat and hot tears running down his cheeks.

“Oh, maybe it’s a charity kinda thing? That’d be fun.”

Dewdrop let out a choked out sob and scrambled to get up, dropping the ring under the bed in the process. Not like it would be needed now, would it?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, throwing himself at the door and pulling it open. He paused, just for a second before he ran out and slammed it shut. “I planned it for months.”

The silence that suddenly surrounded Rain again was soul crushing.

What the fuck did he just do?

Rain had no idea what happened to Dewdrop after he… left. He couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t hear anything, nobody came to talk to him. About this or anything else.

He dared to check his phone, this one time. All he found was a single text message from Swiss. Rain wasn’t hoping to find any words of consolation or assurance, he wasn’t that delusional. He found exactly what he expected.

man I know you’re in pain and all, but you fucked up

He knew he did. The worst he ever has, no doubt. He wished someone would come and yell at him—maybe beat him up, if he was lucky—but that would be mercy he didn’t deserve. What he was doing to himself was worse, anyway.

Rain didn’t think there was any coming back from this.

How could he? He didn’t mean any of it. He knew Dewdrop loved—used to love?—him, they talked about this months ago. He knew what the fire ghoul did was genuine, brought up by nothing but the sickening amounts of love he was harboring for Rain in his broken little heart.

If he knew all that… why did he do what he did?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Everything was the simplest answer. The truth.

There was nothing to be done about it apart from rotting in pain, the misery of loneliness he sentenced himself to on his own and the self hatred for doing so.

It appeared Rain couldn’t cry anymore. He had neither the tears nor the energy. How low he must have fallen, how far away from who he was, that even his beloved water decided to turn her back on him.

So he lay there on the floor surrounded by thrash—he supposed he was fitting in—staring at the cracked ceiling with unseeing eyes, as if his empty gaze could fill the cracks in the ceiling and the hearts of his packmates at the same time.

It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been days. The physical pain was nothing anymore, compared to the self inflicted mental anguish. The dull and somehow simultaneously sharp ache that was spreading in waves through his broken body was rewarding, in a way. Punishing, Rain supposed. He deserved every bad thing that has ever happened to him and that would be to happen to him for just this one horrible mistake.

He didn’t deserve the respite of sleep. When he felt it finally taking him, all he could do was pray to Lucifer to not let him rest.

His prayers weren’t answered. Of course, why would Lucifer side with him? He hurt Dewdrop, the one He had protected so fiercely all his life, the favored one. Rightfully so. Dewdrop deserved the world and Rain did not deserve to be even a grain of sand under the fire ghoul’s feet in that world.

He woke up with a start and a splitting headache to a harsh knocking on his door. It wasn’t asking, it was– “I’m coming in.”

Rain let out a grunt, but made no effort to move from his spot on the dirty floor. Swiss’ scent hit him as the multi ghoul loomed over him. It was a mixture of sadness, anger and… grief, Rain thought. What would he be grieving?

“I brought snacks,” Swiss announced and Rain heard something being dropped onto his bedside table. “I don’t care what excuses you’re cooking up in that head of yours, I’m coming back tomorrow and I better find them eaten.”

With that he turned around on his heel and returned to the door. He paused, though, and the water ghoul heard a sigh.

“He’s not really angry at you, you know?” Swiss said. Silence answered him. “I think it’s physically impossible to be angry at you, he’s just… you know how hard vulnerability is for him. He was planning it for quite some time mostly because he was nervous, and then he finally managed to do it and, well… you know what happened. He just needs a little space. He’ll come back, and he’ll come back soon, because that dumbass can’t live without you. You better be ready when he does. I’ll kick your ass myself if you won’t.”

Rain stayed quiet, trying to not let his mind hang onto Swiss’ words. He failed.

He heard the door opening, but before it was shut the multi ghoul spoke again, “Now get yourself the fuck together.”

Rain expected a deafening silence once Swiss left. Instead all he could hear was the pounding of rain outside, the noise of it pattering against the window. Rain scoffed at the irony of his namesake falling down just as he was falling apart.

He thought maybe he should reunite with it, let it soak into his dehydrated skin and make him feel like himself again. Even if just for a moment.

Rain groaned with pain, sinking his claws into the hardwood floor and rolling around. He bent his arms under his body and pushed himself up. His heart raced, head spun, but soon he was standing.

Swiss was right. Dewdrop would come back, he was too stubborn not too, and the least Rain could do was not hurt him any more than he already did.

He limped to the door, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating mostly from his hip, but hesitated with his hand over the handle. Maybe he should…

The water ghoul looked over his shoulder at his desk where a cane was laying, already covered in dust. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood.

Rain turned around.

“That’s an interesting choice of weather to finally go out,” Rain heard a familiar voice from behind him.

“Well, uhm… a bit ironic, too,” the water ghoul muttered as he turned around, coming face to face with the other. He hasn't seen them in ages.

“You could say so,” Zephyr shrugged. “I’d say it can be symbolic.”

“I need it,” Rain sighed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He gripped his cane’s handle tighter, eyeing the other’s own.

“I understand. Good luck.” The air ghoul winked and took a step to the side, intending to go on about their day.

“Zephyr, how…” Rain took a deep breath. “How did you survive? How are you surviving?”

“I’ve got my pack,” they answered with a soft smile painted on their face. They looked happy. “When I really think about it, they’re all I truly need.”

Dewdrop felt his heart clench when he caught sight of Rain outside through the common room’s window. He wanted to smile and cry and scream, overwhelmed with all the emotions known to man. He couldn’t have known if Rain being out there, in the rain, meant anything, but he didn’t care. Limping through the garden with a cane clutched in one of his hands, Rain was out there.

Dewdrop stormed out of the den, running out into the downpour with no care in the world apart from his ghoul. He ran until he was just behind him, pausing with a heaving chest as the world rumbled all around. “Rainy?”

The fire ghoul could see the deep breath he took when he turned around. Dewdrop didn’t even get a chance to blink before Rain was on him, cold nose pressing into his neck, arms wrapped tightly all around the smaller ghoul.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

“Don’t have to be,” Dewdrop sighed, bringing him even closer. “Don’t have to be.”

Rain truly wailed at that. His knees buckled but the fire ghoul held him up, and it meant more than a thousand words. He’d always hold him up, wouldn’t let him fall. They both knew that.

“F– forgive me… please.”

“I already did, Angelfish,” he said and there was no hesitation in his voice.

“Can– can I… with you… stay with you t– tonight?”

The fire ghoul’s heart clenched tightly. He pressed a kiss to the top of Rain’s head. “Of course you can. Always.”

“But not yet,” he whispered, barely heard over the noise of rain. “Need it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s stay here for a bit.”

So they did, clinging to each other and waiting for the sun to set as rain washed down over them.

When Rain started shivering Dewdrop carried him back inside and to his room, peppering kisses all over his wet face on the way, his heat kicked up to not risk the water ghoul catching a cold. He helped him dry himself and change. It was a quiet process, neither of them having words to spare. They didn’t need them anyway. Not yet, at least.

What they needed for now was each other, and they finally had it again. Rain didn’t protest when Dewdrop patted his bare chest in invitation once they were in his bed. The water ghoul scooted over and glued himself to the other, curling an arm around his waist. Tails and legs tangled together.

They both haven't slept as well as that night for what felt like ages.

A few days had passed since that evening in the rain. Dewdrop has not stepped away from Rain for a moment over those days, always by his side, touching. Support both mental and physical.

Not much changed, really. Barely anything. Rain was still hurting, plagued by the pain his body was subjected to and the one his hurt body caused his mind.

But he smiled again. He took care of himself more. Well, Dewdrop took care of him, mostly, but Rain let him. He wasn’t fighting anymore. It was a slight improval, but an improval nonetheless.

“What do you think about breakfast?” Dewdrop asked as they were laying in bed one morning, lounging lazily and drinking each other in. Rain had the fire ghoul tucked against his side, lithe fingers brushing softly through the golden strands. He was about to open his mouth to agree, but the other spoke again before he could, “With the others?”

While the two of them did come across one or a few of the others over the last couple of days, Rain still hasn’t really talked to anyone. He felt guilty and doubted he’d be able to handle them all at once. But maybe… with Dewdrop…

“I– I, uhm…” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to,” the fire ghoul quickly added. “Just a proposition. We can wait as long as you need to.”

“No, I…” Rain sighed and swallowed thickly. “I want to. I miss them.”

Dewdrop tilted his head, looking up at him with his brows furrowed. “Really? You sure? We don’t ha–”

“I’m sure,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the other’s forehead. “What time is it?”

The fire ghoul turned to take a look at his phone. “Nearly ten. I’ll text them we’ll be coming down, okay?”

“We should get going, then.” Rain started to gather himself up to crawl out of their nest. Once he did and the obligatory dizziness had passed, Dewdrop grabbed his hand, pulling him in between his legs where he sat at the edge of the bed.

“If you’ll feel overwhelmed or simply change your mind, just tell me and we’ll leave, okay? They’ll understand. I just don’t want you to stress out for no reason,” the fire ghoul said, drawing circles on Rain’s hand with his thumb.

“I’ll tell you,” he agreed and with a pull on his finger prompted Dewdrop to stand up and fall into his arms for a hug. He kissed the top of the smaller ghoul’s head before they parted to get dressed.

Soon, they were slowly walking down the corridor to the common room, hand in hand, and the closer they got the faster Rain’s heartbeat was. Still, Dewdrop held onto his hand with an iron grip and wasn’t planning on ever letting go.

“I love you,” he whispered into Rain’s ear as he got onto his tiptoes to kiss the water ghoul’s cheek.

“I love you, too,” he muttered back, just before they walked into the common room.

“Hi, Dew!” Phantom noticed them first, grinning as he realized Rain was there, too. “Hi, Rainy!”

At his, not very subtle, announcement, the rest of the ghouls turned their heads in the pair’s direction. Rain had his head hung and Dewdrop squeezed his hand reassuringly as they padded further into the room. Apart from the initial surprise—a positive one—on the pack’s faces, no fuss was created. They greeted Rain and Dewdrop normally and proceeded to go on about everything as if nothing had ever happened. The water ghoul was overwhelmed, but grateful for this small mercy of not being the center of attention.

Dewdrop kept a hand on his thigh at all times, additionally giving him a warm squeeze to his still aching hip or knee. Breakfast was uneventful, a true blessing. Everyone had their own quiet conversations going on with a giggle rising up over the voices from time to time. Rain kept quiet but he enjoyed the background noise of his pack. Of life.

At some point Phantom truly burst out laughing, nearly choking on his juice. Swiss patted him on the back as he grinned and tried to not laugh himself.

“What’s so funny?” Cumulus asked with her eyebrows raised and a soft smirk.

“Bug finally found the video,” Swiss sighed. A series of snorts sounded out around the table.

“What’s the video?” Aurora asked, the only one clueless as to what was so hilarious.

“The one where he–” Mountain started but Phantom cut him off with more booming laughter and wheezed out words.

“Where he falls off the fucking stage!” he all but yelled. “Like a fucking starfish!”

“Oh, I saw that one,” Aurora giggled.

“Everyone did,” Aether scoffed, returning to his food.

“I know it looked funny.” The multi ghoul folded his arms across his chest and pouted dramatically. “But it was very serious! I was bruised for two weeks!”

Rain felt something in his heart souring, but he focused on his toast and the comforting warmth radiating from Dewdrop.

“Oh, I bet.” Phantom put a hand over his heart, as dramatic as Swiss. “It must’ve been so scary!”

The water ghoul gritted his teeth as the rest of the table laughed at Phantom and Swiss’ little act. Rain tensed up, thousands of words slamming against his brain now. Why did it even set him off? It was nothing, it meant nothing, they were just joking it–

“You’re so brave, Swissy!” Phantom laughed and Rain snapped.

One moment the room was filled with laughter as he sat by the big table, the second it was dead silent as he limped away with a snarl on his lips and stinging tears in his eyes.

“Rain!” Dewdrop called after him. He was so stunned at the water ghoul’s outburst he didn’t follow him right away. “Angelfish, wait–”

He slammed his door shut and locked it as soon as he reached his room, right in Dewdrop’s face. He threw himself onto the bed and curled into a ball, hands pressing into his ears so hard it hurt, to not hear the fire ghoul’s muffled, hurt voice, pleading with him to open the door.

Not this time.

Dewdrop shuffled back to the common room after a few minutes, knowing that lingering at Rain’s door would do no good. He ran a hand down his face with a sigh. Back by the table Swiss was consoling a crying Phantom as the rest pointedly stared at their plates.

“It’s not your fault, Ant,” Dewdrop told him. It really wasn’t. “He’s in a fragile state now, but he knows it was just joking around and not even about him.”

“B– but I–” the quintessence ghoul sniffled.

Dewdrop forced himself to smile softly, reassuringly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled and let himself be pulled closer by Swiss as he wiped off his tears. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as the fire ghoul plopped down onto a couch. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Dewdrop dropped his face into his hands and tried so hard to not just… break. He took a few shaky deep breaths trying to compose himself. He felt the couch dip next to him, then, and Aether’s scent enveloped him as the bigger ghoul wrapped himself around him.

“It’s okay, firefly,” he whispered. “You’ll be alright. Both of you.”

Oh, how bad Dewdrop wanted to believe it.

Rain didn’t sleep well without Dewdrop again. He kept tossing and turning for hours, and even after he did finally manage to fall asleep, he still woke up frequently. That’s why he heard the suspiciously quiet knock on his door in the morning. “‘s open.”

The door squeaked and Cumulus’ fluffy hair came into Rain’s view. “Hi, pearl.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in greeting, pulling the covers higher up over himself.

“How are you feeling?” The ghoulette came closer and closer until she sat at the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep well?”

“‘m fine,” Rain grumbled and shuffled away, not even trying to be discreet, when Cumulus’ hand hovered over his legs under the covers.

“Glad to hear,” she smiled, but the water ghoul wasn’t neither stupid nor blind. “Do you need anything? I can–”

“I said I’m fucking fine,” he growled, snapping his teeth. Cumulus flinched and quickly scrambled off of the bed. Rain could smell her scent souring in real time.

“Oh, uhm… I’m– I’m gonna go then… goodbye, Pearl,” she murmured and stumbled out of the door, still being careful and considerate enough to not slam it. Rain sighed, burying himself under the covers fully. She didn’t deserve it, there was really no reason for him to–

“No, you fucking don’t!” Cirrus yelled, out of nowhere. She, on the other hand, slammed the door so hard it was surprising the frame didn’t splinter. Before Rain could register what was happening the bedding was ripped off of him and it was his turn to flinch. “You’re either going to get yourself the fuck together or we’re going to leave you here to rot in your own misery.”

Her teeth were bared as she stood over him, fuming. “You’re in pain and depressed, we get it, but it’s not our fucking fault. It’s not yours either, but stop making it worse for yourself and us by being a little bitch.”

Cirrus was right, Rain knew she was. He was silent, but he hoped she’d rip him to shreds as she continued to growl and snarl. “Dewdrop didn’t do anything to deserve what you said to him, Phantom didn’t mean anything by what he said and you know it, Swiss was only trying to help because he cares for you.”

“Look at me,” she spat, kicking the bed frame. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, he was a filthy coward. “Cumulus was crying her eyes out feeling sorry for you at night and wanted to simply offer company in the morning. I understand everything, I really do, but that’s fucking enough, Rain.”

He felt like a child, being scolded as he fidgeted with his hands, no power to talk back. Cirrus was right, about everything. Rain hurt everyone, even though all they tried to do was help. He was a monster. He didn’t deserve to as much as live in the same building as his pack, those kind, caring and compassionate ghouls that were nothing like him, the miserable cripple poisoning everyone’s lives.

He’d do everyone a favor if he just… disappeared.

It could’ve been a day or a week again, as Rain continued his rotting. He didn’t have any will, energy or reason to do… anything, really. Once in a while he’d stumble to the bathroom to piss, but how often could that be happening if he didn’t drink anything? That was another thing, he was drying out, not only inside but outside, too. He was a water ghoul, for Satan’s sake.

Rain didn’t see a point anymore. He tried, he thought it was about to get better, he thought it was about to get fixed, he had Dewdrop again and he fucked it all up. Again. He didn’t deserve more chances.

Rain lost.

He flipped over on his bed, groaning at the pain shooting through his body at the movement after so long of being stuck in one position. The water ghouls stared at the ceiling, the moonlight dancing on the flat surface. He longed to feel the peace of it again.

It was cold when Rain woke up again. He didn’t think he had ever been so cold.

Something was wrong, he wasn’t– it wasn’t just cold in his room, he was freezing inside. Heart feeling like a block of ice.

His hands were shaking, his knees ached.

Rain noticed a bass laying next to him. How did it get there?

He tried to reach out for it with a whine, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t move. His body wasn’t listening to him. He was stuck.

“Please,” he whimpered, eyes stinging. He tried one more time.

His fingers twitched, then his wrist, but before he could grab the bass, it was gone. Vanished.

A shuddered sob left his throat and he brought his hand back to his chest, as if it got burned. Why did it… where did it go?

Rain got up, legs wobbly. Pain shot through his entire body, but he didn’t stop. He left his room, he wanted to find someone. He didn’t know why, he avoided them all, after all, but he suddenly needed them.

He walked slowly, holding onto the wall, wincing with every step, his jaw clenched. First door, Swiss’ bedroom. He knocked.

No answer.

Rain swallowed thickly and pressed down on the handle, opening the door with a squeak. He looked into the room but it… it was empty. Completely bare, no furniture, no belongings. No Swiss.

The water ghoul’s heart sank.

He closed the door and moved on to another one. Mountain.

The shaking of his hands was worse now, anxiety rising. Mountain’s room was empty, too. Rain’s heart was racing, fear engulfing him completely. Did they… leave him?

He limped from door to door, finding each and every bedroom in the same state of nakedness. The den has become a wasteland and Rain felt like he had slept right through it.

Tears were flowing down his face, his breathing was shallow and his head was pounding as he stumbled down to the common room. It was empty, too, but there was a piece of paper on the big dining table, covered in dust. Rain didn’t want to read it.

He did, though. He couldn’t not have.

You finally did it, you pushed us all away.

Congratulations, Rain.

You are free.

Rain woke up with a cry on his lips, body covered in sweat.

Did he really wake up?

His body hurt all the same. He was alone all the same.

He supposed that was it. His nightmares finally came true and it was nothing he didn’t deserve. He truly did this to himself.

Rain lifted an arm to move his damp hair out of his face with a sigh. When he dropped it he hit something that was laying next to him on the bed. Something like paper. He grabbed it, brought to his face and tried to see what was on it, squinting in the half-dark room.

A pain sound left his mouth as his heart sank impossibly deeper when he made out the words in Papa’s clean handwriting.

Rain tumbled out of bed, his knees hitting the floor. He scrambled up and with tears adding to the wetness on his face ran out of his room with energy he wasn’t able to find in himself for the last… well, he still wasn’t sure how much time had really passed since the tour had ended.

But now he ran.

“Even you can’t convince him to give up touring,” Mountain sighed, running his fingers through Dewdrop’s hair where his head was resting on the other’s chest.

“I know, but Aether–” he sniffled.

“Aether wanted it, it was his idea,” the earth ghoul reminded him. This was the third—or thirteenth—time they were having this exact conversation. Mountain wasn’t annoyed or exasperated by it, no. He just wished he was able to tell Dewdrop something else. “Sunny, too. This is a very different situation, Fire Lily.”

“Fuck, I know, but I– I just can’t see him like this, but I know not playing will be equally bad, Mounty. If not worse. ”

“Yeah… yeah, it will,” he whispered. It was the truth, everyone knew it. Rain and his music was something… it was one. It couldn’t be separated, Rain without music was an empty shell, a ghost. He needed it to survive just as much as he needed water.

Silence that fell after that was soon interrupted by a single vibration of Mountain’s phone. He reached out for it and Dewdrop could hear and feel his heart speeding up under his ear.

“Oh… I– I don’t think any of us will have anything to say about it,” the earth ghoul said.

“What do you mean?” Dewdrop perked up, anxiety rising in him.

Mountain showed him his phone, the band’s group chat open. The single text message from Papa hanging over the bright background was like a knife piercing the skin of Dewdrop’s chest.

Good morning, my dear ghouls. I am sorry for not informing any of you in advance, but I thought it best, considering the… circumstances. I hope you can understand my decision. All of you, please come down to the summoning chamber as soon as you get this. We are about to summon a new ghoul.

“They’re about to summon a ghoul now?” a choked off whimper left Dewdrop’s throat. That would… it would kill Rain.

“Seems like Papa made a choice a while ago,” Mountain grumbled and pulled the shaking fire ghoul closer to his chest, neither of them ready to face the reality. They both hoped the messages that came soon in quick succession after the first wasn’t Papa hurrying them. It was worse.

dew

my office

now

its rain

This made the fire ghoul scramble out of Mountain’s arms and throw himself out of the door without a word. The earth ghoul understood, he slowly climbed out himself and began to get ready. After all, the new ghoul would have to be welcomed no matter the state their pack was currently in.

Papa expected Rain to show signs of life as soon as he would wake up and see the note left on his bed. He knew it wasn’t likely for him to see the message on his phone. What the man didn’t quite expect was how he burst through his office’s door shaking and crying.

“Papa, please–” were his first words, let out in a breathless whine as the water ghoul stood in the door, clutching the handle for dear life. He looked like he was about to collapse.

“I’m sorry, Rain,” Papa sighed, leaning back against the desk and trying to not make the pity show on his unpainted face. “I made my choice.”

“I’m fine, I just need to rest,” Rain pleaded, coming closer on wobbly legs. Papa reached out for him. “I can still tour, I won’t disappoint you any more.”

“You have never disappointed me, not once. I’m removing you from the project for your own good.”

A hurt noise left Rain’s mouth before his knees hit the ground. Before Papa could so much as blink the ghoul crawled over to him and wrapped himself around his legs, begging as if for his life. In a way he was.

“Please… Papa, don’t–” his voice was breaking, barely understandable, “don’t take this away from me.”

“I am sorry, my ghoul,” Papa said, meaning it. It was a hard decision for him, too, he knew how it would impact not only Rain himself but the entire pack, but he was the head of the church now. He was responsible for his ghouls. In the long run, this was the better choice. Lesser evil.

Papa lowered himself to the ground and wrapped his arms around Rain—still babbling out his pleas. He held on tight, letting the ghoul cry into his shoulder. Rain clung to the man as if he was a lifeline, the last remaining scraps of normality in his life.

Not letting his grip falter, Papa dug around for his phone. As clumsy as it was, he managed to send a few quick texts to the chat, hoping that the fire ghoul would be bothered enough to open them and come as soon as possible.

How could’ve he doubted him?

“Rain,” Papa whispered into his ear after what felt like hours. “Dewdrop’s here.”

The water ghoul’s head shot up so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. Through the tear-blurred vision he saw Dewdrop’s silhouette as he stood over the two of them.

“Angelfish,” he sighed and before anything else could leave his lips, Rain threw himself at his feet, wrapping weak arms around his calves and clinging hard as he cried into the fabric of his jeans.

Dewdrop knelt—rather clumsily with how the other was holding him—and buried his fingers in Rain’s hair, bringing him close to his chest. He turned to Papa for a moment, gently asking him for space and the man left with a compassionate smile on his face, closing the door behind him.

“Rain… Rain, look at me. I’m here. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“You– you’ll go away, you’ll l– leave me,” Rain sobbed, clinging to Dewdrop’s shirt with white-knuckled grip, as if he’d really leave if he let go even for a split second.

“Angelfish, I won’t, ever,” the fire ghoul tried but Rain was so far away, spiraling so hard that nothing was getting through to him. Dewdrop was shaking now, too, Rain’s pain and sadness choking him like they’d be his own. Worse. “Please, Rainy, stay with me, I’m not going to leave, I’m not going anywhere.”

“D– Droplet, I– I can’t–” his breathing was nothing but short, choked off gulps of air that he greedily swallowed but spat back out with another wave of tears after a second. Dewdrop frowned, the sound going straight to his bruised and cracked heart.

“Rainy, breathe. Please, breathe for me, please,” he begged him, on the verge of tears himself. He couldn’t cry, there was no point, he just had to– he just had to help Rain. “Please, baby.”

“I– I can’t… can’t D– Dew,” he wheezed out and it made panic flash through Dewdrop. It was too empty, he was… he sounded like he was suffocating and the fire ghoul could do nothing about it. “Dew, I– I’m s– scared.”

“I know, baby, it’s okay, it’ll be alright. Just breathe, please, Rainy.”

“Can’t…” Rain whispered without air, so quiet Dewdrop could barely hear it.

The water ghoul went limp in his arms, fingers letting go of his shirt, head thumping against his collarbone.

“Fuck, fuck, R– Rainy?” Dewdrop’s tears fell as panic rose in his throat like bile. “Rainy, please, wake up. H– hey, hey, Rainy, wake the fuck up, please, I’m begging you. Please…”

But Rain couldn’t hear him.

Rain came to surrounded by warmth. Nothing overwhelming and nothing… dry. He was in the water. He felt his limbs twitch, his chest slowly rise and fall.

“Hi, fish boy,” he heard a whisper and felt a breath on his ear. His brain was slowly catching on, registering his surroundings. Rain was in a bath. Dewdrop was with him, holding the water ghoul between his legs, against his chest. Chin hooked over his shoulder.

Rain tensed, breath hitching, but Dewdrop only tightened his arms around him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll look after you, it’s okay.”

No, no, he didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t take it.

“Rain, stop,” the fire ghoul sighed as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. He must have had. “It’s not true. I love you, let me take care of you.”

“D– don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Rainy… you’re such an idiot,” Dewdrop chuckled. It threw Rain off so much he stopped squirming, mouth nearly agape.

“W– what?”

“Just… just stop fighting everything, okay? It’ll be alright, just stop fighting. Please.”

Rain didn’t know how to answer, but after all the hurt he had caused Dewdrop, the least he could do was to obey. So he did.

“That’s it,” the fire ghoul hummed. “I’ve got you. Relax.”

Rain took a deep breath, letting his eyes fall shut, and tried to follow the simple instruction. He’d be able to if he’d just stop thinking. His thoughts were racing.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Dewdrop murmured, a wave of comforting warmth washing over Rain. He wasn’t sure if it was the fire ghoul’s warmth or just his words. They were like sedatives for him.

“Can you…” he cleared his throat, “please, Droplet, keep talking.”

“Of course, baby.” The water ghoul could hear the soft smile in his voice as Dewdrop traced his warm fingers over the skin of Rain’s stomach under the water. “My pretty, brave boy.”

“‘m not…”

“Hush. You asked me to talk, let me talk,” he scolded him. “You behaved like an ass but you are my pretty and brave boy.”

The fire ghoul nipped at his earlobe playfully. It nearly made Rain smile. “Tried so hard to get rid of me, didn’t ya? It’s not so easy, Angelfish, should’ve known that.”

Rain let his body go slack again, truly relaxing now that everything seemed normal for a moment. If he tried hard enough he’d be able to forget how he hurt, how hard he messed up and how bad he felt about it. Dewdrop continued talking, mumbling soft words into his ear, pressing kisses to his damp skin in between them. Some things were hard to believe, some made him feel warm, some made his heart clench painfully, but Dewdrop continued talking. That’s what mattered. Rain didn’t even realize how much he had missed his voice alone.

He could fall asleep in that bath, cradled in the fire ghoul’s arms. He nearly did, stopped only by Dewdrop shifting, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and a loofah. Rain panicked, heart suddenly in his throat as he grabbed the other’s arm tightly. “Hey, shhh, it’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving, Rainy.”

Dewdrop nudged him to sit up once his initial fear had passed. The tub was huge, they could not only fit in there comfortably together, but also maneuver all they needed to. The fire ghoul smoothed a hand down Rain’s back, soothing him as he wetted and lathered the loofah with gel.

“Can I?” he asked, making sure Rain was okay with what he wanted to do.

He nodded, muttering, “I’m a mess.”

“Well, you have a nose,” Dewdrop chuckled. “I’m not gonna be lying to you.”

He was right, of course. It was hard to not end up a mess without taking care of oneself for weeks and that’s exactly what Rain did.

He smiled, though.

Barely a hint, the corner of his lips raised upwards by quarter of an inch, but it was a smile.

Dewdrop leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Rain’s spine before bringing the sponge to his skin, starting to gently wash him. The water ghoul closed his eyes again and relaxed, finally letting himself be taken care of, letting himself feel all the love the other had for him through his tender touches.

No matter how far Rain would come, one thing would never change and it would be the fact that Dewdrop was simply too good for him. Too good for this world.

“Droplet?” he whispered after some time, when the fire ghoul settled in between his legs to wash his chest.

He smiled up at him sweetly and Rain’s heart swelled. “Hm?”

“Would you…” he swallowed thickly and felt his cheeks heat up. “Is there still a chance for us to… you know?”

“What, Rainy?”

“Mate? Get married?”

There were a few moments of silence, but Dewdrop didn’t stop the light scrubbing. Rain hung his head, now burning with shame. How stupid it was to ask that. “You don't have to say anything, don't have to agree, I just… I need to know if you can still… consider it after all I've done. Just tell me if there's a chance.”

“There's more than a chance, Angelfish,” the fire ghoul looked up at him again. There was no lie in his glowing eyes when he spoke. There was only love.

“R– Really? You still want–”

“Of course I do, idiot,” Dewdrop scoffed. “I can't live without you. And you aren't that bad.”

“Fuck…” Rain felt like an impossible weight was just lifted off of him. His eyes were stinging but at the same time he couldn’t keep his lips from finally forming a full smile, something actually bright and real. “I love you so much, I can't live without you either, I'm so sorry, I was awful and–”

“Stop,” Dewdrop stopped him with a finger over his chapped lips. “It's behind us, it's okay.”

“I love you,” he repeated, breathless.

“I love you, too,” the fire ghoul shook his head with a grin. “Now are we calling the girls to help with the planning or…?”

Rain furrowed his brows in confusion. “W– what?”

“We're getting married aren't we?”

“You want– now?”

“Why wait?” Dewdrop shrugged and Rain could cry. He just might.

“Oh… oh, okay,” he mumbled instead, “yeah. Good point.”

The fire ghoul purred and pressed his lips to Rain’s own and it was another thing he hadn't realized he missed to a point of physical pain until he was given it again. Dewdrop pulled away way too soon, but Rain wouldn’t complain. Not yet, at least. “D’ya wanna get out? Go to bed and rest?”

“Soon,” the water ghoul sighed. The other nodded and rearranged himself in the bathtub, ending up with Rain against his chest again.

Dewdrop kicked up a purr and muttered into his ear, “You’re wearing a dress, right?”

“I am?”

“Are you not?”

Rain sighed with a smile, “I am.”

The tour ended two months ago.

It has been over a month since Rain started to get better. Not physically—nobody knew if that would come—but mentally. It is a road full of bumps and curves and turnarounds, but most of the tears and grief are left behind. Whatever will happen in the future, Rain has his pack. Enlarged now. He has Dewdrop.

And Dewdrop finally has Rain. All of him.

Whatever will happen, they will get through it.

“Hey, Bambi,” Swiss snaps Rain out of his thoughts. “You ready?”

“Nearly, I just–” he grunts, fumbling with the zipper on his side. “Can’t close this thing.”

“Lemme help,” the multi ghoul chuckles as he comes closer and swats Rain’s hands away from the offending zipper. He fixes it quickly and pats him on the shoulder, taking a few steps back to look him over. “Well, well…”

“What?” Rain scoffs with his eyebrows raised, ringed and manicured hands smoothing down the silky fabric of his dress.

“Nothing, I’m just proud of you,” Swiss mutters. “Now let’s go get your man."

End notes: Thank you so much for reading. Like I said at the beginning, this work is very important and special to me, I hope you liked it. I'd really appreciate feedback if you did, whether just a like/reblog or a whole ass essay. It wasn't easy to write and yeah, I'd really appreciate it <3

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #hypnone's disabled ghouls

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burntheedges · 3 months

Text

Maintenance Request: Chapter 9

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 3.4k

a/n: so Joel finally asked you out. now what? thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕 chapter tags/warnings: fluff, banter, flirting, angst, mention of past (bad) relationship, misunderstandings

Chapter 9

Tuesday, October 15 Eighth week of the semester

You saw Joel twice the day after you had lunch. On your way to class in the morning your eyes caught on the angle of his hip from across the quad, and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. You’d just recognized the shape of him from all the way over here without even trying. When you looked back over, you saw that Joel had noticed you, as well. He smiled and waved from his spot next to a crew of landscapers, and you waved back, grinning.

Later that afternoon, you answered a knock at your office door to once again find Joel dropping by with his tool kit. “Heard your window’s stuck, darlin’. You didn’t have to submit a maintenance request, you could’ve just told me.” He winked at you as he walked over to your window.

“I thought we had to go through the system?” You swiveled your chair to watch him as he worked, chin propped in your hand. You’d only put the request in this morning, he got here pretty quick.

“Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

You laughed — nothing about that statement aligned with your experience of university bureaucracy. “I was with my boss when I noticed and she told me to put in the request. But maybe next time I’ll just call my Hot Maintenance Guy instead.” He turned to study you when you said it, taking in your poorly hidden smile and fidgeting fingers. He raised his eyebrows and looked a bit smug.

“Yeah darlin’. Next time just call your guy.” He put a slight emphasis on “your” and winked and it sent heat spiraling down your spine. You sucked in a sharp breath.

Joel couldn’t stick around after he fixed your window, but he did brush his fingertips over your shoulder as he walked by on his way out. Right at the neckline of your top. You shivered and felt the ghost of his fingertips for hours afterwards.

You didn’t realize until much later that you still hadn’t exchanged numbers.

...

Thursday, October 17 Eighth week of the semester

On Thursday, one day before your date, you were walking to your afternoon class when Joel appeared out of nowhere and fell into step beside you. You smiled and greeted him, but he looked worried. “What is it, Joel?”

“I hate to do this, darlin’, but could we reschedule for next week? This is the last thing I want to do, believe me, but we had to move Sarah’s sleepover to next Friday, she’s got a thing at school, some kind of show. Now she’ll be home, and I’ve got to take her to the school on Friday night, and well, I don’t want to miss it.”

You were already nodding. “Joel, of course. Sarah comes first.” You were a little disappointed to have to wait a whole week for your date, but that didn’t mean you didn’t want to go. For Joel, you could wait.

He sighed, clearly relieved. “Thank you. She was feeling pretty guilty too, no matter how much I told her not to.”

You elbowed him. “Tell her it’s ok, from me, alright?”

“I will. You know, next week I know the band that’s playin’, anyway. They’re always a good time.” He held open the door to your building for your class. “Comin’ in, too, darlin’?” You nodded and walked in. As you passed him, he reached out and ever so lightly brushed his fingers against your lower back, turning to go inside with you. You shivered.

“I’ve got class, what are you here for?” you asked, curious. You hadn’t seen him around at this time before.

“Got a new meeting with the graduation folks, we’ll be meeting here every week. Guess I’ll be seein’ you around now on Thursdays.” He smiled and winked at you, and you smiled back.

“Maybe we can have lunch a couple of times next week, since we moved our date.” As the words left your mouth you realized neither of you had actually called it a date, yet. But Joel was already nodding before you could even get nervous.

“Darlin’, I would love nothin’ more.”

You arrived at your classroom, and Joel stopped next to you before you stepped inside. “What time is your meeting over?”

He shifted his weight. “s’just an hour. Probably before you’re done.” You nodded. “Maybe I’ll stick my head in, see what your class is about.” You could tell he was teasing, but he also seemed… interested?

You shrugged. “It’s a big room, I wouldn’t mind.” He gave you the half smile you were pretty sure was already your favorite in response.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you later, gorgeous.” He said that last part lowly in deference to the presence of students passing you — you saw some of your students glance at the two of you as they went into the classroom. He reached out to squeeze your upper arm once before saying goodbye and turning to continue down the corridor, and you smiled.

…

Joel wasn’t prepared to see you teach.

He thought he was — thought he’d started getting more accustomed to your brilliance, to the way you could blow him away with a casual observation about music or by quoting a freaking poem to him over lunch. He knew you were smart. He knew you could charm people (you’d charmed him, after all, without even saying anything), he knew that students liked you and so did your colleagues (Trevor notwithstanding, and no one liked him, anyway). He could imagine you, up in front of a room, holding everyone’s attention.

But watching you actually teach was something else entirely.

You had a poem up on the projector screen, but it was clearly just for reference. You’d written some ideas up on the board, but at the moment he slipped in the door you were listening intently to a student’s comments. He tucked himself into the last row.

Right as he sat down, you started to reply to the student, and Joel wasn’t sure he breathed for the next 15 minutes. Wasn’t sure of much of anything, in fact, except for the way you commanded the room. You were on fire — clearly passionate about the subject, clearly wanting the students to find some way to connect with it, too. Almost dancing around the room as you moved from the board to the podium to standing among the students. Something about the way you read lines of poetry as examples made him feel like he was floating through a poem himself.

It was like listening to music, watching you teach the class. He was fucking mesmerized.

…

It was only as you dismissed everyone that you looked up and found Joel hiding in the back row. You caught his eye and immediately felt your cheeks warm — he was staring you down and the look on his face was intent. There was warmth in his gaze and something that made you squirm in place.

As the final student left the room, Joel stood, and slowly made his way up to the front to stand next to you. Close.

“Well, um, what did you think?” You were nervous — he hadn’t said anything yet, and you knew 20th Century American poetry wasn’t everyone’s thing. Finally, his expression changed.

“Darlin’, you were breathtaking.” Joel’s eyes widened as he reached out to lightly brush his fingertips down your arm, nudging his hand against your own before finally hooking your index fingers together. He stepped closer. “You’re an amazing teacher.”

You felt like you were going to vibrate right out of your shoes, or maybe melt into a puddle on the floor. Maybe both at the same time. “Well, you only saw a few minutes—”

He interrupted you, scoffing. “I saw enough. You’re as brilliant at this as you are at everything else.”

You tightened your finger around his without meaning to. “I— um. Thank you.” You looked up at him, eyes wide and out of breath.

You don’t know what might have happened next — you were standing close, so close to him — because the students started to enter for the next class, slamming the door open as they arrived. You startled and jumped away from Joel, accidentally letting go of his hand in the process.

“Um. Walk me back to my office?” He nodded. As you left the building you realized you were breathing like you’d run a marathon, and couldn’t stop stealing glances at him as you walked.

“Hey, darlin’, before I forget, let me give you my number.” You grinned, glad one of you finally remembered, and handed him your phone. “I realized this morning I didn’t actually have it.”

When you arrived at your building, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. He lingered before pulling away, and the look in his eye as he said goodbye stole your breath away. Again.

…

you (5:07 PM): he snuck into my class (5:08 PM): he said I’m BREATHTAKING

bestie (5:10 PM): jesus (5:11 PM): I mean, he’s right and he should say it, but when are you letting this guy get in your pants (5:11 PM): put you out of your misery already

you (5:12 PM): 🙄 (5:12 PM): our date is postponed until next week

bestie (5:13 PM): noooo

you (5:14 PM): it’s a scheduling thing with his daughter so it’s fine, but ugh

bestie (5:16 PM): at this rate you’re going to jump him in the car before you can even go anywhere

you (5:17 PM): I can control myself

bestie (5:18 PM): sure (5:18 PM): I’ll believe it when I see it

...

Friday, October 18 Eighth week of the semester

On Friday, the original day of your date, you hoped you would run into Joel even though you hadn’t made any official plans with him. You were in a good mood; it was hard not to be, these days. You’d been so wrong about Joel, and thinking back through all of your interactions, it was easy to see he was flirting. Especially since you’d gotten to know him better.

You were heading back to your office from your morning class when you did see Joel, after all — across the quad, standing next to a woman you didn’t recognize. You started to turn to head towards him when she lifted up on the balls of her feet and seemed to press a kiss to his cheek before whispering in his ear. He laughed, hugged her, and then started to walk away.

You were frozen for a minute before a passing student jostled your arm and then you erupted into motion, turning and almost jogging to your office.

Who was that? Did she actually kiss him? They were pretty far away, though.

You didn’t think Joel would ask you out if he was seeing someone else… but you didn’t know him that well. Or did you?

Shit. Who was that?

At that moment you realized Joel had turned down one of the paths heading in your direction and had caught sight of you. But you were passing the head of the path and suddenly you knew you couldn’t see him right then. You needed to think. You started walking even faster and pretended you didn’t notice him coming towards you.

…

By the time you reached the door of your building, Joel had reached the end of the path, and stopped to watch you go. He didn’t know why, but something felt off. He shook his head and decided to text you later.

He did, but you didn’t respond.

…

Some part of you knew, in the moment, that you were maybe overreacting. You texted Beth before you could spiral too far, hoping for a gut check.

bestie (11:17 AM): wait, so she kissed him?

you (11:18 AM): no, just on the cheek. I mean that’s what it looked like anyway

(11:18 AM): I was pretty far away (11:19 AM): it seemed friendly. they hugged

bestie (11:20 AM): but not on the lips

you (11:22 AM): no

bestie (11:24 AM): I mean, friends do that, babe

you (11:25 AM): I know. I know (11:26 AM): I know that (11:26 AM): it’s just (11:27 AM): ugh

bestie (11:29 AM): it’s just Matt

you (11:30 AM): UGH

bestie (11:31 AM): I know you know this, but I’m going to say it anyway (11:32 AM): every guy isn’t like Matt

you(11:33 AM): I know

bestie (11:35 AM): and from what you’ve told me, Joel isn’t anything like Matt at all

you (11:36 AM): no he isn’t

bestie (11:38 AM): he’s already shown you more of his interest and feelings for you than Matt did in 2 years

you (11:38 AM): I know

bestie (11:38 AM): and he’s made it obvious how much he likes you, babe (11:39 AM): I can’t say for sure but it doesn’t seem like he’s the kind of guy who’d flirt with you and ask you out if he had a girlfriend (11:39 AM): and he did introduce you to his daughter. who I assume would know about a girlfriend

(11:40 AM): it doesn’t really go with what we know of him so far

you (11:40 AM): I know that in my mind (11:40 AM): but I don’t feel it

bestie (11:41 AM): well I’ll keep saying it if it helps (11:41 AM): but you should probably talk to Joel

you (11:42 AM): ugh (11:42 AM): I’m afraid if I talk to him now I’m going to react like I’m talking to Matt (11:43 AM): not him

bestie (11:43 AM): well that’s fair. take some time then

you (11:44 AM): yeah (11:52 AM): I’m just going to go home

bestie (11:55 AM): do NOT wallow (11:55 AM): I’ll come after you

you (11:57 AM): I’ll see you in the morning for brunch

bestie (11:59 AM): no wallowing (11:59 AM): or else (11:59 AM): 🔪

you (12:03 PM): you’ve been talking to Ellie too much

…

Joel (1:37 PM): Everything alright darlin? I saw you walking in a real hurry this morning, you looked upset. (1:37 PM): I’m sorry again about our date.

(5:42 PM): Hope you’re having a good start to your weekend.

(6:21 PM): I don’t want to overstep, darlin, but let me know you’re alright.

…

Saturday, October 19 Eighth week of the semester

You spent Friday night distracting yourself — it was difficult, since it was the original night of your date, and you kept wondering who that woman was. You didn’t want to ask, no matter what Beth said, and you didn’t want to seem like a creepy stalker. And what if she was his girlfriend? You knew that was unlikely, but you still didn’t trust yourself to have the conversation with Joel and not the ghost of your ex looming over you. Neither of you deserved that.

On Saturday morning Ellie joined you again for brunch. You were pretty sure Beth told her to come because you were a mess, since last you’d heard she was hanging out with Riley this weekend.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Ellie held her hand out in front of your face like a stop sign and you sighed. Beth was nodding along with her.

“You saw him with some woman across the quad. It was far away, but you think she kissed his cheek and hugged him. And right after that he saw you and his face lit up like an excited puppy like it always does, but you ran away from him like a weirdo. Is that correct?” You buried your face in your hands.

“Look, I don’t like boys, but even I know that’s dumb. She could just be his friend. He wasn’t, like, trying to hide it. And you know I’d fucking fight him if he was.” Ellie punctuated her statement with a long draw on her straw from her almost-empty soda. It was loud.

“I know! I know, ok. I should just ask him and not hide from his texts.” You pressed your hands even harder into your face. “I just… I was so afraid the answer would be the bad one. I just ran away.”

Beth hummed. “Look, we know why you might think that way.” There was a pause, and you knew without looking that Ellie and Beth were making eye contact and making a face about your ex at the same time. Predictable. “But based on what we know there’s no reason to think Joel is like that. Like I told you yesterday, he’s basically a huge nerd for you. Like, a cheesy, head over heels nerd. Can’t get enough of you.”

“How can you even tell?” You sounded miserable, and you knew this was a weak effort at arguing against her point.

Ellie scoffed and started ticking off items on her fingers. “He’s going out of his way to see you. He told you you’re gorgeous. He told his brother about you.” She paused and delivered her next point like it was proof all on its own. “He introduced you to his daughter. Like, you haven’t even introduced him to me. It’s the same thing. It’s a big deal. You wouldn’t introduce some random person to me, and it sounds like he’s not that kind of asshole.” You finally looked up, and Beth was nodding while Ellie gave you the most unimpressed look she’d ever mustered in your presence. It was really something. You both knew she was familiar with “that kind of asshole,” as she put it, so you sighed and nodded.

Her comparison of herself with Sarah, but for you, tugged at your heart and made you want to smother her in a hug. You knew that wouldn’t be welcome in public so you poked her with your spoon instead. She rolled her eyes and tried to hide a smile.

“He said you were breathtaking,” Beth added, and Ellie snorted into her food. “Babe, unless we’re missing something huge, the man is embarrassingly into you, and he wasn’t trying to hide you. You need to talk to him. It’s the only way to be sure.”

“Ok! Ok.” You reached out for your mimosa and took a long swig. “But I think I want to do it in person.”

“Well, if you don’t answer his text I bet you’ll see him first thing Monday morning because he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll probably be camped outside your office door with coffee and a sad face.” Beth gestured at your phone. You sighed. Joel’s last unanswered text was waiting for you.

Joel (6:21 PM): I don’t want to overstep, darlin, but let me know you’re alright.

He’d sent it Friday evening, after his first texts about your almost run-in on the quad. You hadn’t been able to respond to any of them.

“What do I say that won’t open the whole can of worms over text?” You shrugged.

Beth sighed. “Just tell him you had a long day and you want to see him on Monday. Or leave him hanging, but like, you actually like this guy, right?” You nodded.

Ellie nudged you, interjecting, “then yeah, text him back.”

You picked up your phone and clicked on your messaging app. Frowning at the screen, you slowly typed out a response and sent it before you could think about it too hard.

you (11:17 AM): Sorry, I didn’t see this yesterday. I’m fine! I’ll see you Monday

It felt short, off from your normal conversations, but maybe that was ok. You felt off kilter, and weren’t sure how to hide it without lying. And you really didn’t want to explain your whole overreaction and the reason for it over text.

You put your phone down and tried to put it out of your mind. “Let’s talk about something else. I promise to talk to him on Monday, ok? Now I just have to get to Monday without going insane.” Beth nodded and helpfully changed the subject to an update on Tuna Melt Mark, her coworker in the library that consistently brought the worst possible lunch to heat in a microwave and still did it, even when everyone got mad at him, every single time. Ellie was already laughing before she’d even gotten halfway through the story and you finally smiled.

…

a/n: don’t hate me! if you’re like me and the idea of sitting with even a little bit of angst is a lot, feel free to message me about it to ask what happens. happy to hint. but also remember the tags for the whole story are on the main post. :) prev | next

taglist: @jupiter-soups @ilovepedro @auteurdelabre @anoverwhelmingdin @myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123 @joelalorian

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #x reader #joel miller fic #maintenance request fic #JHCGBDM

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wolfjackle-creates · 3 months

Text

Bring Me Home Arc 3 Part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! So last week, we had a tie between Bring Me Home and Answer My Call. The tie breaker didn't come in until Monday after I'd already finished the entire Bring Me Home chapter and half the Answer My Call one.

So y'all will be getting two fic upates today then I'm going to sleep. I'm tired after a full day of work with a call out. XP

If you want a say in next week's update, vote in the poll!

Welcome to Arc 3 of Bring Me Home! 🎉🎉🎉

Story Summary: Danny's parents find out his secret. It doesn't go well. But he's not alone. His friend Tim Drake, better known as Red Robin, and the Young Justice will not let him suffer.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: fanon-typical violence. This is my dissection fic, but I don't think I crossed the line into graphic. Let me know if you disagree.

Arc 1: AO3

Arc 2: First, Last

-----

Danny waved goodbye to Sam and Tucker as he made his way home from school. They had a long weekend and he planned to fall into bed and take a long nap. And then maybe grab some midnight tacos as Phantom for dinner.

He hummed as he thought about how awesome those tacos would taste when reached his home. Still lost in his daydreams, he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Only for electric pain to shoot up his arm. Danny screamed, paralyzed to the spot. He tried to pull his hand back, but something held him in place. He fell to his knees, arm still held out and radiating pain through the rest of his body.

“What? Danny!”

“M-mom?” he forced out between cries. “Hurts!”

He could feel his transformation tugging on his core and he tried to force it back.

“Jack! Quick, it’s Danny!”

“Please,” begged Danny. Even kneeling was getting to be too much. Blackness was threatening the edges of his vision so he closed his eyes. He had to keep from transforming. He had to.

He didn’t even have the breath to scream anymore.

He heard his dad’s voice. There was a flash of light. And then nothing.

---

The first thing Danny was aware of was that everything hurt. His muscles were aching and his right arm was practically numb. The next thing he noticed was that he way lying on something hard. He tried to roll over, only to realize he was strapped down. And not just at his wrists and ankles, but also at his waist and neck.

His eyes flew open in shock and he yelled in panic. Had Vlad gotten him?

“It’s awake, Mads!”

Orange filled his vision as his dad leaned over him.

“D-dad?” asked Danny. He felt his core humming in his chest. His core, not his heart. He twisted his head just enough to see a black jumpsuit.

He was Phantom. His parents knew.

His dad’s face contorted with anger, an expression he’d never once seen there before. “Don’t you dare call me that, impostor! What have you done with my son?”

“Dad, it’s me. I swear. I—I can explain.” He tugged on his restraints, trying to phase through them. Only to scream as the anti-ghost shielding shocked him.

His mom’s steps echoed from out of sight. “You aren’t escaping us that easily, ghost,” she spat the last word. “How long have you been possessing Danny?” She finally came into view, goggles blocking her eyes and her mouth hard.

“I’m not possessing him, I am Danny!”

She sneered. “Jack, now.”

“Release our son!” shouted his father. Then he pulled out a spray can and held down the nozzle.

Danny saw the mist approach him and scrunched his eyes closed as he turned his head to avoid the spray. But of course it was impossible. He whimpered as it settled on him, tiny pinpricks of burning. As he lay there, the feeling grew more and more intense until he couldn’t help but cry out.

And that’s when he breathed it in.

It was all agony, inside and out. The mist settled in his lungs, pure fire trying to melt core.

With a flash of light, he was Danny Fenton again. His heart beat in his chest and his lungs screamed for oxygen. The pain didn’t go away, but it lessened. Danny gasped in deep breaths, his limbs shaking in their restraints as he tried to push through the pain.

“Did it work?” asked his dad.

Fingers brushed his hair off his forehead. “Sweetie? Are you back with us?”

Danny opened his eyes, tears gathering and looked up at the face of his mother.

Her expression turned from hope to hatred so fast he thought he was dreaming. “Green eyes, Jack. The ghost is just trying to trick us.”

“The ghost repellent has never failed before. How are you surviving, ghost?”

Danny screwed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see his parents’ faces. “It’s me, I promise. It’s me. I’m alive. I’m alive.”

“Stop lying!” screamed his mom.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his side, followed by a wave of agony. He felt like he was being electrocuted again. In defense, he transformed back into Phantom—his ghost form was so much more durable.

But the pain only got worse. He screamed. His wail was crawling its way up his throat, only to fizzle out into a wave of electricity when it hit the anti-ghost restraint strapped around his neck.

“Loud, isn’t it?” asked his father.

“Let’s shut it up, Jack,” said his mother.

“No, no please. It’s me, Danny!”

They ignored him, though. The pain stopped just long enough for him to gasp in a few breaths. Then piece of metal was being fixed under his jaw and over his mouth. His head was yanked up so it could be strapped in the back. Danny tried to yell into the muzzle, but it muffled all sound.

After that, he lost track of what they did. So many inventions were taken out, used, and discarded. Anything to destroy the ghost part of him or force him out of his living body.

He wished he could obey. That he could just be their son again and not Phantom. But he’d learned many times over the last three years that it was impossible. He was both Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom and spitting himself apart would only ever lead to destruction.

He didn’t know how many times he was forced into a transformation as his body tried to choose the form more resistant to the torture. It didn’t seem to matter, though, if he was Fenton or Phantom. His parents would check his eyes or use the ghost tracker and then the next wave of pain would wash over him.

Eventually, however, even his parents ran out of inventions to use.

“This isn’t working, Jackie.”

“What if we can’t force it out, Mads? What next?”

“We’ll cut it out. You know we’ve long hypothesized about the existence of a ghost heart. What better way to test our hypothesis than cutting the parasite out of our own son?”

Danny’s eyes flew open and he tugged with aching muscles, twisting as much as he was able. His muffled protests were ignored just as much as his words had been.

“Where do you think it’s hiding its heart?” asked his dad.

“We’ll use the Fenton Scanner to find the areas of densest ectoplasm concentration and search each of them.”

His mom stalked out of sight and Danny could hear her rummaging through various bins and cabinets looking for the scanner.

His dad, however, stared down at him, eyes hidden behind his goggles and his mouth in an uncharacteristic frown. “If you’re still in there, Danno, we’re gonna get rid of it. We’ll free you, son.”

Danny wanted to tell him he wasn’t trapped, to say again that he was himself, whatever he looked like. But all he could do was whimper and blink away the tears.

Then mom was back, a small scanner in her hand. She pointed it at Danny and he tensed, expecting more pain.

But he felt nothing. Soon enough, the device beeped and she waved over his dad.

“Look at this, sweetie. It’s working better than I expected. Only two main areas of ectoplasm concentration: his brain and his chest.”

“That’s awfully close to his heart, Mads. I don’t know if we can remove it without hurting Danny.”

“If we don’t remove it, he’ll be dead anyway!” Her last word caught on a sob.

Danny was crying in earnest now, too. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. How long would it take anyone to even notice? Jazz was away at college, Tucker had plans with his parents all night, Sam was trying to get along with her parents to get out of a rich-person function later in the month, and he and Tim didn’t have a check-in until Sunday.

Could he survive his parents for two whole days until then?

He forced his eyes open to see his parents hugging. All he wanted was to be between them, caught up in their embrace. But instead he was strapped down to a hard, cold table.

They separated.

“Hold him still, Jack,” said his mom.

So Danny did the opposite. He ignored the ache of his muscles, the way they protested, to twist and yank and move as much as he could.

But his father’s hands were big and he was strong and Danny was tired. When his dad spread his hands over his shoulders and pressed, Danny couldn’t fight back. Above him stood his mom, holding a scalpel that glowed green.

Danny closed his eyes tightly when he saw her lower the blade. He couldn’t watch this. Then agony as it sliced through his skin.

Danny screamed into the muzzle. The pain was so intense that he could focus on nothing else. He didn’t know if his parents were talking to each other. He didn’t know what they were finding inside of him.

Instinct forced him to hide his core, to push it smaller and disguise it. But he knew that nothing would stop his parents forever.

He had no way to judge the passage of time. It felt like an eternity; it felt like a second.

Then the hands on him ripped away suddenly and new shouts, new voices, rang out in the lab.

Danny blinked his eyes open to see Sam and Tucker above him. Sam was paler than he’d ever seen her and Tucker didn’t look any better. He tried to talk to them, but the muzzle still covered his face.

Sam turned her head away and shouted, “Kon!”

A moment later, Superboy was landing next to her, his face grim. Then Danny’s restraints, muzzle included, fell to pieces. He was free.

He pushed himself up, needing to see, only to cry in pain and fall back down when the cuts on his chest protested the movement.

Sam and Tucker shouted at him, told him to stay still. Their words were fuzzy and hard to focus on. Everything was hard to focus on. But in the brief moment of time he’d been able to see more than the ceiling above him, he saw Tim in full Red Robin get up using his staff to keep his parents away.

Tim was here. And the world went black.

-----

I no longer tag, but if you want notifications when I update, check out the Subscription Post.

After about 40k of writing, we're finally back to the scene that started it all! Only now with 4x the number of Young Justice on hand. About three years have passed between Arc 2 and Arc 3, so they've all gotten quite close. There's group chats. So many group chats. Danny's met more members of the Young Justice (and I may write a few of those meetings in the future which is 80% why I decided to make this a series rather than a single work on AO3).

But on the rescue team we've only got Red Robin, Superboy, Wonder Girl, and Impulse.

I'm about a third of the way through with major edits for Arc 2. So I'll probably start cross posting to AO3 quite soon! Main changes are in what Tim tells Bruce about where he is and what he's up to.

#dpxdc #bring me home #now with arc 3!!!#Hope you all are as excited as I am!#dissection fic #vivisection fic #gore #not super graphic #by dp standards at least #but tagging just in case #danny is not having a good time #but his friends weren't gonna let him suffer for too long

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waklman · 11 months

Text

Chatterbox

prompt: bob helps his teacher assistant girlfriend get her mind off work.

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni. fingering, oral (f receiving), slight size kink and dumbification if you squint.

a/n: dont ask me why im releasing one-shots before i even finish chapter one, because i dont know either okay. but anyway, here is a peak at bob and honeybee :).

word count: 2.3k

college au, frat boy au

the after party masterlist.

Bob never had a problem with how chatty you could get.

If there was one thing Bob was grateful for, it was his girlfriend's ability to fill in an awkward silence when needed. The blond was certain he could listen to you talk all day, running that pretty mouth of yours while he sat there nodding attentively. And it was just a plus that you looked so enamoring, eyes glittering in excitement and hands animatedly gesturing as you spoke.

However, Bob did have a problem with how chatty you got about your TA tasks—especially when you were supposed to be forgetting about them for now. The end of the semester always came with a bigger pile of work, but today was a Saturday. Yet, you're still thinking about school.

For once, the rowdy frat house was empty with everyone visiting home for spring break. It was a perfect opportunity for Bob to finally get you out of the grayed out dorm room you trapped yourself in, day in and day out. So, when he made the move to invite you over, he had every intention to ease your stress, hence the dress code of comfy attire only.

But this afternoon, it looks like Bob has to do more than just lay stomach down between the plush of your thighs, glasses set off to the side, letting you mindlessly braid his hair, and mindlessly run your mouth.

“Does he think I have no life?” Your pointed complaints are still ongoing, leaving you ignorant to the subtle movement below you.

While your brewing anger is very much directed at Professor Simpson, it’s currently being spewed towards Bob’s ceiling fan—which can do nothing to argue back—just how you like it. If looks could kill, the mean glare you’re giving the motionless object suspended over his bed would be on living its last day.

The remembrance of your professor’s threatening email to you about getting grades out, completely distracts you from the braid of blond hair in your hands, slowly losing its structure as your boyfriend shifts his weight under you.

Again, you let out an annoyed breath. “Five days of my spring break to grade some last minute assignment he just—conveniently forgot to mention to me?!”

You’re so lost in your story telling that you’re not even registering the hot breath dusting over your exposed tummy, and the gradual rise of your shirt as Bob uses his nose to drag the fabric upwards, ghosting his lips over your navel.

Bob shakes his head against you, mildly entertained by your cluelessness.

“Remind me to never work with the english department again,” you huff, hands now curling into fist at your sides, regretting your decision to assist with that course over the others available to you this semester.

“‘Cause now I have over eighty research papers to check ove–” With a light pull of his teeth, Bob loosens the drawstring of your sweatpants.

The sound of the thick cord coming undone from the knot is muted compared to your tangent, but your ears catch the noise, your stomach feels it, and your mouth clamps shut immediately.

Blinking at the ceiling dumbly, you open your mouth to say his name, but it just snaps shut again.

After a beat of silence, there’s two sets of fingers hooked into the loose band of your sweats next, giving your pants a suggestive tug.

Bob makes sure to keep his patience at bay, wanting to soak in your flustered state, just a bit more. Because, honestly, he would’ve ripped these sweats off you long ago if you weren’t so cute—already so meek and tiny under him.

With your eyes still refusing to meet his very own, you miss him running an intending gaze over the underside of your jaw, and making note of the bead of sweat running down your cheek. While you were the one mostly making him nervous in your relationship, it was a nice change of pace to inflict it back onto you once in a while. You were so obliging too.

Bob lowly hums, eyes dropping to the strappy pink lace sitting on your hip bone, revealed by his slight yank of your sweats. “Honeybee..” he commands your attention. “You gonna let me see these cute little panties you got on for me?”

Bashfully, you lift your butt off the mattress, letting him pull it off your waist. Because, yes, you will let him. Though, you’re sure they’re thoroughly soaked through at this point.

“There’s my good girl,” he sings, deep voice vibrating through his chest, pleased by your obedience.

If you weren’t very aware that his head was currently stationed between your legs, you would’ve clenched your thighs together at his raspy tone.

Finally, you suck in a nervous breath, redirecting your attention down to your boyfriend who’s starting to make his way down your legs—dragging down the thick fabric, leaving wet open mouthed kisses to the flesh of your thighs, to the side of your calves, and finally to your ankle.

Near the foot of the bed, he sits up momentarily to tear your pants off your feet. They go flying into his open closet. “B-Bobby,” your breath shallows at his sudden forwardness.

“What? Nothin’ to complain about anymore?” He quietly teases, a faint smirk playing on his lips, laying back between your ankles.

“Well…I—not really. No it’s just–,” you stammer, rubbing the wet pads of your fingers together.

“That’s what I thought,” he cuts you off.

Keeping his eyes locked onto yours, Bob makes his way back up your naked legs. All you can do is blink at him, arousal sitting heavy at your pulsating core. He almost looks unrecognizable. The baby blue eyes you’re so used to seeing are casted over in a thick, dark, cloud of lust.

With him settled between your thighs, Bob’s eyes snap down to your slick, leaking through the flowery lace pattern in front of him. “So fuckin’ wet for me honey,” he marvels, licking a slow, flat stripe to your covered folds, with a slight pressure against you, coating his tastebuds in your arousal. The tip of his tongue flicks your bud, teasingly, as he moves off.

“Please,” you thoughtlessly whine, heat blooming through your chest.

Without so much of a warning, Bob roughly tears off your panties with one hand, pocketing it for himself.

You raise your voice. “No! That was—” Again, he cuts you off.

In an instant, his front is pressed to yours, pushing you into the mattress, meeting you in a desperate, sloppy kiss. Eyes fluttering close, you return the eagerness, letting him swallow every small noise that sears through your throat. Then, a fuzz takes over your brain, eyes scrunching in pleasure as his knee nudges your exposed clit. The scratchy fabric of his plaid pants drives you on, more than you expected it to.

You can’t help but to buck your hips, chasing the feeling. But the moment you start a steady grind against him, Bob stills you, pressing a firm hand on your hip, ripping his mouth from you at the realization that you’re starting to get yourself off.

At the loss of his knee, a small whine escapes your lips, and your glossy eyes blink open again.

There’s a light threat resting on his tongue, but it immediately dies at the sight of you, pupils shot, underneath him.

Even with the steady hold of your lower half, you’re shaking as you struggle to remain still for him. The pinch of his eyebrows loosen, eyes dropping down to the heave of your chest under his t-shirt. But what finally does it, is the way his hand fully swallows the side of your hip. Experimentally, he stretches his fingers against you, scanning the amount of skin he covers with the move.

Biting your lip nervously, you start to pathetically plead with him again. “I’m sorry. I–I’ll be good. I–Please. Will be so good for you.”

He knows he should’ve held out longer, but for some reason—he’s spurred on to get his hands on you again.

In a matter of seconds, he dips back down, placing bites on your sweaty neck. You’re so sure it’s punishment for trying to ride his knee, because he’s leaving them in spots he knew would be hard to hide.

The hand that was previously keeping you steady, extends down to your swollen folds, forcing a pitched whine from your throat as he toys your clit. “Oh–Ah–F-Fuck,” you moan, clamping one hand around the back of his neck, as the other scrunches the sheet below you.

Dipping his thumb down to your dripping entrance, he collects your slick, before coating your bundle of nerves with it. Then, Bob bites down harshly on your collarbone, continuing to draw tight, uniformed circles as you mewl from the precision.

It’s almost heartless, the way his pointer and middle finger curl into you next, roughly working against your walls that instinctively tighten around him. You're glad no one's home, because you couldn’t be bothered to stifle the shaky moans and mindless string of pleas that falls from your lips, begging him for more. Because it just feels too good. But, even if some of his house-mates were present, you're not too sure if you could stay quiet.

"That good, huh?" He licks over one of the marks he's been littering across your skin.

Bob’s mouth pulls into a pleased smirk against the side of your neck, letting you chase his hand, hips snapping off the mattress as you soak him down to his wrist. With his other hand, Bob’s palm travels up your bunched up shirt, giving your left breast a quick squeeze before rolling the hardened bud between two fingers.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs in your ear, putting more pressure on your swollen clit, working in unison with the unrelenting drag of his fingers inside you. All you can do is blabber, brows knitted in pleasure—too caught up in the building knot in your stomach. “I—I want—” You careen off the mattress again, rolling against his drenched hand.

“What is it?” He clicks his tongue at your incoherent response, fucking his fingers into you harder.

In response, another jumble of unintelligible sentences is pushed out of you. “Want my mouth on that pretty pussy? Is that it?”

The palm under your shirt slips downward, as he removes himself from the crook of your neck, trailing down to your sopping core—all while keeping the bruising pace of his hand against you, eyes glued to the glossy sheen coating his entire forearm. It’s quick, the way he swaps from his thumb to his tongue, suctioning it around your clit, giving it all of his attention.

You’re not even sure you’re breathing anymore. There’s a burn rippling through your lungs as your jaw hangs open in a silent moan, unable to grapple the feeling of him groaning loudly against you.

With your orgasm growing in the pit of your stomach Bob pushes you closer to it, adding a third finger, splitting you open and hitting you at the exact spot that gets your thighs to clench around his head, muffling his ears. With the confirmation that you’re close, his eyes snap shut—lapping at you with such vigor that the intensity finally sends you over the edge.

The orgasm hits like a strong wave, washing over your trembling body as it racks every part of you. You're so sure, you felt your bones shake inside you. Underneath you, Bob slowly removes himself from your sensitive core, sweetly pressing his lips to your inner thigh, murmuring praise with each soft kiss.

You suck in a much-needed breath of air, trying to focus your vision. At the moment, Bob has two ceiling fans overlapping over each other.

“I–I don’t even care about the essays anymore,” you confess. How could you when your boyfriend ate you out like his life depended on it?

Tucking your chin, you curiously look down at him. With your wetness completely coating half his face, leading down to his bobbing Adam’s apple—he lightly laughs. He looks that good, and he has the audacity to laugh, causing your cheeks to heat up—as if you aren’t half naked in front of him.

You’ve always had trouble hiding your fluster when he smiled at you like that—So you’re certain, he can see how it’s affecting you.

“That was my intention, Honeybee,” he rises to sit his knees, gently scooping you into a sitting position.

The oversized tee drops down your upper body as you sit up in front of him. You shouldn’t be—but you’re embarrassed to feel his sticky hand on the small of your back as he holds you up. “I love you, but you gotta give yourself a break. I can listen to you all day, swear it. I just—don’t like seeing you stress yourself out for no reason.”

He kisses your forehead, almost as if he's implanting the reminder there. Bob then gives your back an affectionate rub, prompting your lips to twitch, a tell-tale sign they’re about to wobble next.

Biting down on your bottom lip to stop yourself, you lean forward, wrapping your weak arms around his neck. “I love you so much. Don’t deserve you,” you profess, brows knitted together—hit with the random urge to cry.

The only response you ever got from your incessant ranting were snappy remarks, telling you to shut up or go into another room if you were gonna talk to yourself. But here you are, in the arms of the first person to ever admit that they don’t mind it. On top of that, he even loves you—caring enough to voice his concerns about your habit of rambling, which only resulted in a build up of unwanted anxiety.

Bob softens, pulling you closer to him, petting the top of your head. “You deserve me,” he assures you. “And you deserve a bath too, with me,” he adds on.

You quietly sniffle. “And cuddles.”

“How could I forget,” he scolds himself jokingly, drawing a giggle from you. At that, his mouth breaks out in a smile. “Then you can catch me up on the stuff you were tellin’ me about last week. You haven’t told me what happened after Professor Benjamin was caught with Bradley’s uncle.”

“Oh! Right. So when I walked in on them…” Bob listens intently, coaxing you off his mattress, laughing at your—maybe too detailed—description of what you saw. Once you’re both inside the bathroom, you move onto your opinions and theories next. Bob leans in close to your seated figure on the bathtub ledge, letting you talk into his ear, tuning out the loud bath water shooting out the faucet.

His eyes widen, pulling back in surprise at your theory. “No way!”

“Yes, way!” You burst out in laughter, grabbing onto his shirt as he joins you. He makes sure to cradle your head so it doesn’t hit the sink by the tub. The sound of the running water can barely be heard over the obnoxious cries of laughter that come next.

After the bath, the rest of the day is spent with you playing with his hair as you stream through your gossip, updating your attentive boyfriend on what he missed out on. And he enjoys every second of it.

So, it just stamps it down further, that Bob never had a problem with how chatty you got.

note: thank you for reading, seeing that i'm struggling a bit to put something out for this series, i decided to put this out for now! :) as always, thank you for reading and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @blueoorchid @queen-of-elves @cherrylipgloss-baby @purplevortexx @goosterroose @floralfloyd @doggo-and-goosey @chicomonks @maplesyurp07 @grxcisxhy-wp @anna1523 @laylaskywalker

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #bob x reader #tgm smut #tgm fic #bob floyd au

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jo-harrington · 1 year

Text

Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 2)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Word Count: 8.4k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love, mutual pining, Babysitter Steve, No Upside Down means slightly still King Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, no smut in Part 2 either but the next chapter does get steamy.

Note: Ok big shout out to @ghost-proofbaby for her Steve lessons and just generally being a Steve soundboard. I'm not a Steve girl yet but...idk. And then also to @trashmouth-richie for being so supportive and listening as I ramble on about plot things. I admire you both as writers and love you guys as friends; thank you for your support.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“No, no, no,” Steve whined as he approached the mirror, squishing his face and pinching at his cheeks. “This is a dream. I’m still asleep. Or I’m dead.”

He cleared his throat a few times, slapped it, pinched his Adam's apple. He used every bit of willpower in him to stop the voice that was coming out of his mouth from being Eddie’s voice. It didn't stop that everything else was Eddie's though.

Eddie’s hair. His face. His body.

Steve was in his house—trailer, Steve recalled. It was a trailer. He was wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed.

Steve vaguely recalled the thing he thought last night when Eddie left Family Video.

A curse.

Eddie had put a curse on Steve. Steve had made Eddie pay non-member prices for his stupid video rental and Eddie put a fucking curse on him?!

There was a knock at the door and Steve jumped.

"Everything alright in there Ed?" a hoarse, muffled voice asked.

"Uhhh," Steve tried to come up with some kind of response, but suddenly all of the excuses he could ever come up with eluded him. Every scrap of knowledge he had ever reluctantly learned about Eddie Munson—thwip—gone.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to focus, get in the moment, clear his head. If this was a basketball game or a swim meet, he would never let himself get this worked up.

"I'm fine," he started and then paused.

Eddie's parents weren't around anymore, who did he live with? The kids had mentioned it once or twice, said the guy was nice, a little rough around the edges. Said he let Eddie do whatever he wanted for the most part. His uncle...

"I'm fine Uncle W-wayne," Steve answered.

"Late for school," Wayne sighed. "You skipping again?"

"I--"

Steve didn't know what kind of excuse to come up with. What kind of excuses did Eddie give his uncle? His attendance was abysmal, Steve knew, and on the days he was in class, his attention was barely there. Always scribbling and doodling and cracking jokes when he was called on to answer.

He should have just dropped out the first time he failed, a fact that Steve had mocked him for repeatedly, let alone this second time.

Fuck, but if Steve was stuck in Eddie's body, he couldn't not go to school. He had enough trouble with his high school diploma, let alone without one. Maybe...maybe he could ask Dustin to help with his—

Dustin.

That little brat would be at school. Of course. He and others...they were a part of this little cult...maybe they knew what Eddie did to him? Or they could help him at the very least figure out how to reverse this curse.

"Listen son," Wayne continued. "I know it's hard to do this all over again; I told you that you didn't—"

"No, it's ok," Steve quickly cut him off. "I just slept in...accidentally. I'll go. I'm late but I'll go."

"Alright, whatever you say. I got a fresh pot going for you but I'm gonna get cleaned up and hit the hay alright?"

"Sounds good," Steve replied absentmindedly, staring around the room trying to figure out what, in all of the piles of clothing and junk, he could wear.

"Steve Harrington."

Eddie rummaged through the products in the medicine cabinet. Shampoos and after shaves and hair gels and mousses. Way more interesting and expensive sounding than the bottom shelf stuff he got at Melvald's.

He had to be honest, some of it didn't smell great and he didn't see the appeal. Oh well.

"The name's Harrington, Steve Harrington."

He shuffled through the clothes in the closet and the dressed. A lot of trendy, Sears catalog-looking stuff. Polos and windbreakers and jeans in various shades of blue. All neatly hung and folded, nothing out of place, even the underwear drawer was pristine. Nothing black or ripped or...god forbid a band tee or something like that.

Eddie was gonna have to change that...eventually.

"Hey, uh, have we met before? I'm Steve, Steve Harrington."

After the initial shock of finding that he was, indeed, in Steve's body, a sort-of calmness washed over Eddie. The panic subsided pretty quickly, to be honest; he might have been full of electric, frantic energy that dared to be contained, but he was also very good at improvising and devising a plan thanks to years of DnD.

But what was the plan when you found yourself in someone else's body? There wasn't really a handbook for that but like any good player...he would just have to play the part until the answers were revealed to him. And that meant he would have to become Steve Harrington--know Steve Harrington--in a way that he would have loathed if he wasn't in this situation specifically.

The first step had been checking out what Steve was packing.

Eddie peeled away the tight purple briefs and stared at his dick.

"Alright Harrington, alright," Eddie bobbed his head from side to side in contemplation and then grinned ferally. "Mine's bigger." And with that he adjusted himself back in the underwear and continued on his exploration.

Clothes, shoes, books—or more accurately the lack thereof.

Jesus, how have I failed twice and he graduated?

He dug through drawers, found the stash of dirty magazines under the bed, and then scanned over the calendar neatly pinned above the desk with shifts at Family Video clearly penciled-in in a handwriting that looked way too nice to be Steve's.

Steve would be expected to open the store this morning and Eddie grimaced. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his day, but he had a part to play.

He grabbed the little green and orange vest hanging off the back of the desk chair and threw it on over the trendy striped polo that made him itch—did Steve have some kind of allergy or something? God, his chest and arms were just itchy, and it was driving Eddie nuts.

He headed downstairs, through the immaculate house that he vaguely knew the layout of having dealt at a party Steve held last year, to the kitchen to rummage for some kind of breakfast.

He had already checked upstairs and now again as he walked through; the house was empty. Steve's parents gone for the day.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he opened the fridge and found, among the very neat and plentiful groceries, a brown paper lunch bag with the name "Stevie" written on it with a little heart.

"Great," Eddie scoffed bitterly, the first really sour thought he’d had all morning. "His mommy still makes his lunches."

Eddie thought about the handwriting on the calendar upstairs; it was the same as the lunch bag. Thought about the neatly folded clothes, about the extremely tidy rooms. He knew Steve's mom didn't work; she didn't do much of anything except parade around town flaunting her perfect life.

And she was a real bitch.

She was on the Hawkins Town Council and the PTA. She was the first person to call Hellfire Club a cult when they had originally petitioned for some money from the PTA for shirts a few years back. She had called Eddie a menace too many times to count, periodically to his face if he parked a little too close to the front to her liking at Bradley's.

"And she makes her precious baby boy Stevie tuna salad sandwiches and ants on a log like he's 6," Eddie grumbled as he peeked inside the bag. He couldn't remember the last time someone made his lunch for him.

Well he could...in those early days with Wayne. They were both trying to navigate the new living arrangement after his mom had passed. He wasn't that great at peanut butter and jelly or carrot sticks...but he did teach Eddie that you could put potato chips inside of your sandwich though. Taught him how to make the best of a situation, to take care of himself.

So that's what he was going to do. He was gonna make the best out of this situation and play the part and get through the day. Because things were always good—life was always good—if you were Steve Harrington. And he was Steve Harrington now.

"And Steve Harrington," Eddie pushed past the bitterness and found a little spark of goodness. "Drives a BMW."

"Watch where you're going freak!" Someone grunted at Steve as they rammed their shoulder into his as they passed.

"When did everyone get so damn rude?" Steve grumbled to himself. It was the fifth person who had done that today. Hawkins High really had gone to the pits in the past few months since he graduated.

To be fair, everything had really sucked for him so far that day. He thought, Hawkins High was his stomping ground. Just put on the Harrington charm—despite the rough exterior—and everything would work out.

He was so wrong.

First he had gotten detention for being late to class, apparently for the third day that week—

God, Munson needed to get his act together; no wonder he hadn't graduated yet.

—then when he had tried to schmooze Mrs. Worth, the school secretary, into giving him Dustin's schedule, she laughed. And when he asked if he could have a copy of his own schedule, Eddie's schedule, she had just rolled her eyes and said,

"Trying every trick in the book to get out of classes, Edward. I can't help you unless you help yourself."

"How can I help myself if I don't have a schedule Jeanine?" he snarked, figuring Eddie's own signature shitty attitude would get him somewhere instead.

It only added an extra 15 minutes onto his detention.

Great.

Finally he managed to find the crumbled scrap of a class schedule in Eddie's locker—the only locker without a lock on it although he doubted anyone would want to steal from this absolute cesspit—amongst the piles of incomplete homework and garbage and overdue library books. It took everything in Steve not to rip it to pieces when he saw archaic symbols drawn all over it, no doubt another curse Eddie was waiting to enact on someone.

Steve just went through the motions and still got picked on and berated by every teacher and most of the students. Of course, Eddie fucking deserved everything he got. He was a lazy student and a menace, always causing some kind of trouble. But it made Steve especially grumbly that he would now have to deal with the fallout of Eddie's shit. Despite trying to adapt his own good behavior.

"Just gotta find Henderson and this will all have been some silly dream," Steve muttered to himself all day. And thankfully he had survived until lunch and immediately spotted Dustin and Mike as they sat down at the freaks' usual lunch table.

God he needed to get those kids away from Munson and his cult. Especially now that he knew what they could do.

He quickly crossed the busy cafeteria, uncaring of anyone he bumped into or the sharp words they spat at him.

"Henderson, we need to have a little chat," Steve announced as he reached the table. One of the older kids at the table—Steve tried to recall his name: Gary, Garth, Garrett—perked up at the sight of "Eddie" though and started chatting excitedly.

"Hey we were just talking about Hellfire tonight. I know you won't tell us anything but do we ne—”

"Hellfire's canceled," Steve dismissed coldly.

"What?!" They all started talking over one another.

"You never cancel Hellfire."

"Are you sick?"

"Guys he's dying. Or he's lost his mind."

Steve felt the annoyance bubble up inside of him and he raised his voice.

"It's canceled!" He leveled all of them with a scathing look. "I've got detention. Alright?"

"You always have detention," Mike spoke up, then cowered slightly as Steve glared at him. "Y-you've never canceled before..."

"Tough shit. Maybe next week." Steve turned his attention back to Dustin. "Let's go."

He grabbed Dustin by the arm, hauled him out of his seat, and pulled him out of the cafeteria.

As soon as the heavy double doors clicked shut behind them, Steve fell back against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

"Shit! Eddie!" Dustin's demeanor immediately went from fear to concern. "What's going on?"

"'m not Eddie," Steve groaned.

"What?"

"I'm not Eddie!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands out as if it would reveal who he actually was. "It's Steve, I'm Steve."

"O-ok?"

"I'm Steve and I woke up in Eddie's body and I don't know what's happening and I'm..." He started breathing heavily. "I'm so fucking pissed off and I'm so fucking scared."

"Hey listen man, I know," Dustin began hesitantly. "I know you keep telling us that the weed is not for freshman but if this is supposed to scare me—"

"This isn't to scare you," Steve grumbled, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders so he could pull him closer. "I'm not high. And I'm not Eddie. I'm Steve Harrington."

Dustin blinked at him.

"Ok..." he nodded slowly. "You're Steve Harrington? Tell me something only Steve and I would know."

Steve wracked his brain; there were a lot of things that he and Dustin shared, he was closer to Dustin than all of the other kids. But now, so was Eddie...so what was something that Eddie wouldn't know?

"Last year...last December..."

"Yeah?"

"The Snow Ball?"

"Ok?"

"I helped you with your hair...I told you my secret."

"Which was?"

Steve and Dustin stared each other down for a moment before Steve caved.

"Thefarrahfawcettspray," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"The Farrah Fawcett Spray, alright? I swore you to secrecy, I wouldn't tell anyone else, let alone Eddie Munson." He clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth.

"Son of a bitch!" Dustin hissed. "It really is you."

"I told you so, you little punk."

"What did...I mean..." Dustin clutched the bill of his cap with both hands and exhaled. "How?"

"I was hoping you could help me figure that out," Steve sighed. "And how to undo it."

"I think this is a little beyond my academic ability Steve."

"No, not just because you're smart. Because you hang around Munson. He's the one who did this to me."

"Wh-what?" Steve started talking a mile a minute and Dustin stopped him. "Ok, slow down. I'm gonna need you to start over. If you want me to help you, I need to know everything."

Steve spent the rest of lunch explaining everything to Dustin, from the interaction with Eddie at Family Video to feeling off last night during dinner and then waking up in Eddie's body this morning.

Dustin asked, what seemed to be, random questions. Like if he had remembered brushing his teeth the night before, if he’d had any indigestion, or if there were any scars that he had as Steve that might have appeared on "Eddie's" body instead.

"I wasn't exactly eager to check Eddie's body out," Steve scrunched his nose in dismissal.

"You didn't even take a shower or anything?" Dustin asked.

"I mean, no," Steve shrugged. "But now that I think of it...how am I gonna even be able to take a shower. Ugh, I don't want to touch Eddie's junk."

"Your junk," Dustin reminded him.

"Eddie's body," Steve insisted.

"And you're Eddie for the foreseeable future," Dustin shrugged. The bell signaling the end of the period rang and Dustin sighed. "Listen, I'm gonna skip next period and see if the school library has anything useful. But I'm not hopeful."

"Hey, you shouldn't skip class!" Steve argued.

"It's just Latin."

"Which you're failing."

"Skipping one class while you've literally had your mind transplanted into another body over night seems like the correct choice. I'll see you later." Dustin disappeared amongst the throngs of students and Steve sighed, resigned to go through the motions for the rest of the day.

It was a lot more of the same shit he'd gone through in the morning: getting body checked in the hall, having his books slapped out of his hand, teachers purposefully calling on him thinking he wasn't paying attention—even though he was, thank you very much. Although...considering that Eddie's notebooks were filled with doodles and poetry and shit...it wasn't a far stretch to believe that no, Eddie didn't actually pay any attention in class.

Steve actually had never had any classes with Eddie except for PE, really. And the fact that Eddie got into constant arguments with Coach should have been enough of an indicator of his poor academic performance as it was. But he’d based all of his assumptions on other factors. They hadn’t really interacted short of seeing him roaming the halls, the many few times Steve and his friends had mocked the Hellfire kids, even the one or two times Steve had gone up to Eddie himself to coerce him into dealing at a party.

He had always thought of Eddie as a thorn in everyone's side...but now being Eddie...

The bell rang signaling the end of the day and although Steve knew he had to get to the cafeteria for detention, he still went to find Dustin and see if he had any answers.

It wasn't a long search, Dustin was waiting by Eddie's locker looking...incredibly nervous.

"Anything?" Steve asked.

"The school library isn't well-stocked with occult books," Dustin sighed. "Best I could find was this, Mysteries of the Unknown, which I'm gonna read, I just don't think it's gonna help us out very much."

Steve groaned and covered his face with his hands.

This was just great.

“Listen, I’m gonna level with you this is…kind of outside of my expertise here Steve,” Dustin said hesitantly.

“But what about the cult stuff,” Steve asked, throwing his hands out. “You spend every Friday with Hellfire Club.”

“Playing a board game,” Dustin defended. “One that you could have learned by now if you just—”

“You’re telling me there aren’t any spells or...or something that could do this in your little game?"

"It's Dungeons and Dragons. Not Jumanji."

"...does that game maybe have a spell that—"

"No!"

"Well what about all of this shit Eddie has drawn in his notebooks, huh?" Steve fumbled to flip to one of the pages that had little symbols drawn in the corner. "What is this?"

"Probably something for a campaign. Maybe you should ask Eddie?" Steve froze and Dustin frowned. "You...have talked to Eddie about this right? You didn't just...come to school...without talking to Eddie, did you?"

Steve felt like an idiot. Of course Eddie would be in his body if he was in Eddie's. Eddie didn't just...banish Steve...he put a curse on both of them.

"Dustin Henderson, you are a genius." Steve pressed a kiss to Dustin's head, turned on his heel, and ran towards the door. Detention be damned.

"I'm not a genius, you're just an idiot!"

For all of the fears Eddie had about growing up—finally graduating, deciding if he should take some classes at the community college like the guidance counselor suggested ages ago, having to get a job or really throwing everything he had into making Corroded Coffin successful—he was honestly having a good time working at Family Video.

Steve always seemed a little bored and grumpy every time Eddie had stopped in. But it wasn't that bad if Eddie was being honest.

He'd been a little frantic at first, trying to figure out which key unlocked the door, and how to turn on the computer and open the cash register—thankfully there were little handwritten instructions taped under the keyboard—but once everything was up and running, it was a good time. He got to put a movie on—Star Wars, duh—easily chatted with some of the apparent-regulars who came by to make returns, even processed shipments of some new releases. It was a blast.

Eddie vaguely wondered, whenever he found himself back in his own body, if he should apply for a job here.

The bell above the door rang and Eddie turned, expecting to greet customers, only to be met with a fuming Robin Buckley.

Eddie didn’t know Robin very well, but what he did know he respected, if not outright liked. During his first senior year, she and a group of band nerds had gone up against Corroded Coffin in the last round of the Hawkins High Battle of the Bands. Now, he knew that the whole competition was rigged—Corroded Coffin had gotten second place despite being the best metal band in town—but she was pretty cool to shake their hands after the event was over. Tell them how good they were.

Of course, her band did a cover of "We Will Rock You" and "We are the Champions." Kind of cheating if you'd asked Eddie...but they did a pretty good job of it. He couldn't fault the student body for choosing that over the alleged Devil Worship music.

However, gone was the bashful Robin in his memory, and instead there she stood seemingly gearing up for a fight, with her sleeves rolled up and teeth gnashing together as she sneered.

"Forget something today dingus?" Robin asked "Steve" through clenched teeth.

"Uhhh," Eddie fumbled. "I don't kn—"

"Me! You forgot to pick me up for school," Robin exclaimed, hands thrown up in the air in exasperation. "You didn't even call? What gives?"

"I, uh," Eddie wracks his brain for an excuse. Because he didn't know he needed to? Because he wasn't actually Steve? "I accidentally overslept."

"And then I was worried about you," Robin rambled, running a hand through her bangs as she went on. "You could have...crashed into a pole, or...or...had a stroke and drove into a ditch."

"I'm sorry," Eddie offered with a half-smile.

"You better be! And your alarm better be set on Monday; I am not walking to school again," Robin grumbled as she headed to the back room to clock in. Eddie sighed in relief as the door shut behind her.

He really did feel bad about not picking her up for school. His friends were used to him skipping or just...sleeping late. If he wasn't at their houses to pick them up by a certain time, they knew they'd have to find another ride. Or just walk.

Gareth's mom was usually nice enough to give them rides on the days when Eddie didn't show.

But Robin...well, shit, Eddie knew Steve and Robin worked together...not only here but at Scoops Ahoy before this but damn, he didn't know Harrington was driving her to school. He must have been really good about picking her up every day if she was mad and worried.

"—and the thing is that I worried all day for nothing." Robin continued as she walked back onto the shop floor. "What if he's dead? What if his parents don't know? I think I failed my algebra test because of you so...just call next time ok?" She stared at him expectantly.

"Ok, I will," Eddie nodded. But Robin just narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms across her chest. "What?"

"What do you mean what?" she asked. "What are you still standing there for? It's almost 4."

"Oh!" Eddie checked his watch. "Is it? I guess...my shift is over right?"

She stared at him with a dumbfounded expression and then slammed her hands on the counter, making him jump.

"This is why you're single, this is why you can't find a girlfriend," she whined. "I don't even feel bad for you anymore. Not when you're screwing it up every step of the way. I really thought you were gonna get it right this time."

What was she talking about?

"How could you forget!?"

And in spectacular timing that Eddie could only have expected in a movie, the clock struck 4, the bell rang as the door opened, and you walked in for your date with Steve.

You were nervous.

Of course you were nervous, this was your third date with Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington. You sort of still didn't believe that he had asked you out.

You didn’t believe you were still going out with him.

It was just a random night that you'd run into Family Video to grab a movie before they closed. How easily he bantered with you, how he made you laugh, how he suggested Sixteen Candles of all movies for your study night with the girls from your classes at the Tri-County Community College.

He had made a joke when he looked up your mom’s membership…if the number on file was up-to-date so he could inform you of new releases…or just to ask you out.

You had giggled so stupidly after you left. He had called that night.

You'd always been sort of afraid of him during school. He was cute, sure, charming when he wanted to be...but he was popular and a jock and kind of a douche. You’d seen him pick on countless nerds.

He was King Steve, The "Hair" Harrington, whose dad owned the car dealership and had even run for Mayor once and was expected to run again. And you...you didn't have confidence issues really, but there wasn't anything really special about you either. You'd always held out hope that your silly high school crush would ask you out, so you never accepted any of the offers you had from any other boys.

But he never ended up asking you out, no matter how many signals you gave him, how much time you spent with him. How you wore the cutest outfits if you knew you’d partner with him in class.

And shy of some random drunken makeouts and one unfortunate hookup at some stupid party to get your first time “out of the way” (according to Julie Williams)…you stayed single.

Now you were out of the dregs of the high school hierarchy, sure, but you never expected Steve to ask you out. You weren't popular by any means...

But neither was Nancy Wheeler before Steve dated her.

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

You couldn't get the name out of your head. Or more accurately, you couldn't get Steve saying her name out of your head. You hadn't even heard of her until they had started dating in your junior year; she was a year younger than you and Steve. Sweet, a little timid maybe. You thought they were cute together, always kind of near each other. Holding hands or kissing or laughing.

Nancy stood in the spotlight with Steve, and they spent enough time for him to become nicer and for her to become more confident. Confident enough to dump him about halfway through your senior year.

Rumors were afloat about King Steve losing his crown. That the new kid Billy Hargrove had taken it when the king was down on his luck. But Billy was an even bigger douchebag and you'd thought...well, Steve was the big man on campus, he would bounce back right? Surely once you graduated at least? He’d find his footing and move on?

And you thought he had. He’d stayed in town, gotten a job, went about his life like it was normal. Still drove around and charmed the town, asking girls out and whatnot. Asking you out.

Imagine your surprise when he mentioned Nancy on your first date. Coffee at that little bakery in the town square; he had ordered for you before you got there and you asked if it was his favorite or something.

"Well Nance always liked it so I figured you might."

And then again at the movies, he'd ordered you a cherry coke and Mike and Ikes. No popcorn.

"Nancy always complained about the kernels getting stuck in her teeth."

You were patient and you tried to be nice. But it created this constant, subconscious comparison to her that hit you every time you saw her around town. And she was always around.

And Steve…tried, he made sure the dates were nice, he called on the phone, asked you about your day, told you about his. You just knew you couldn’t…allow yourself to feel less than, even if Steve didn’t realize he was doing it to you.

So you decided you were gonna end things.

You'd gone to Family Video to tell him as much, to have a nice discussion, before heading to your shift at Benny's. But he was very sweet, unexpectedly so. Promised your third date would be something special. You'd both dress up. He'd take you out to dinner somewhere nice.

"You're gonna love this place," Steve had said, taking your hand in his. "Nance thought it was great when I took her there too."

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

And at that moment you decided to just pull your hand away and tell him "I'm sorry Steve" and "you can’t keep bringing her up, it’s over."

Until you caught sight of Eddie Munson at the corner of your eye.

Your high school crush.

Who was funny and clever and silly and handsome and more. Who was everything you could kind of ever dream of. Who you got into a fight with your best friend over because she thought she had dibs since her brother was his friend. Whose name you scribbled in your notebook and almost died the one time he flipped through to copy your notes.

Who never saw you as more than a classmate.

And you decided...even if you were tired of playing second fiddle to Nancy…you had spent enough time waiting to be noticed by Eddie. All of high school and, you were ashamed to say it, even now after the fact.

You couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t pass upon another boy who actually noticed you just to keep waiting on Eddie.

So you told Steve that his idea was great and you went on your merry way.

You had convinced yourself that it could work out, that you could be Steve’s girlfriend if he asked, if he kissed you at the end of the night. You'd dressed up to go to class today, knowing that you wouldn't have time to change for the date after. Your friends had teased you about your date, about the fluffy tafetta dress you'd chosen, giggled along with you and inflated your confidence.

It was still a little bit of a shock when you walked into Family Video promptly at 4 only to find Robin standing in front of the counter with the most pitying, sympathetic look in her eyes. And Steve still behind it, looking like a deer in the headlights, still dressed in his casual work clothes, hair slightly disheveled.

Not prepared for your date at all.

Did he forget?

You shouldn’t have felt bad, really. You were meeting him after his shift. You knew that you didn’t always look or feel great after work. You should have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Or did he change his mind?

Because he talked the talk yesterday and you fell for it. You let your pride get the better of you and you should have just followed your instinct to end things.

That insidious voice in the back of your mind though…

Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler.

…told you that he realized you weren’t good enough.

"H-hey," you greeted sheepishly. Your throat got tight

“Say hi dumbass,” Robin muttered over her shoulder. “Steve was just telling me how excited he was for your date!”

“Really?”

And then…it felt like Steve was suddenly seeing you for the first time. Because Steve Harrington just had a way about him, right?. That cool, casual exterior. That easiness.

Looking at him now…his eyes were wider and brighter, his smile bigger, eager. It was a version of him that you hadn’t experienced.

Was this maybe what Nancy Wheeler saw when she looked at him…looking at her?

And now he was looking at you this way.

"I...I'm not late am I? Or too early maybe?" you asked, suddenly bashful under his gaze.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “You’re perfect.”

“Gross,” Robin gagged. “Ok get out of here before I vomit.”

Steve practically vaulted over the counter and disappeared into the back for a moment, then situated himself at your side upon his return.

“You ready to go?” He asked eagerly. You raised your eyebrows in question and glanced down at his outfit, still dressed the same, still wearing his Family Video vest even.

“Oh you…” you started and then stopped when his smile got even brighter. “Yeah let’s go.”

You were barely out the door when a familiar van skidded into the parking lot and came to a halt in the spot next to your car. Eddie jumped out of the driver's seat and slammed the door, before pointing at Steve with a manic look in his eyes.

“You!” Eddie shouted. “What did you do? How did you do this!?”

You immediately turned to Steve, whose eyes went wide for a moment before he smiled lazily, almost condescendingly.

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” Steve announced, holding his hands up innocently.

“I know you’re in there Eddie, you son of a bitch,” Eddie grumbled and practically lunged at Steve. Steve jumped a few steps back and you got between the two of them, hoping your presence would put Eddie at ease.

Wait…

Did he call Steve…Eddie? Did he call Steve by…his own name?

Was he high or something? You tried to rationalize it: The anger, the manic look in his eyes, the way his shoulders shook as he breathed heavily. It only made sense.

“Hey look at me,” you said gently. “It’s gonna be ok, you need to take a deep breath and calm down. You’re gonna be ok.”

“Stay out of this honey,” Eddie said through clenched teeth. “This is between me and him.”

“Steve, what’s going on?” You glance back at him for an answer.

“Nothi—” Steve began but Eddie quickly spoke over him.

“He put a curse on me, he put a curse on us,” Eddie heaved.

A curse?

“M-maybe you need a doctor or something,” you tried. “You aren’t making any sense.”

”He doesn’t need a doctor,” Steve called from behind you. “He’s a freak, a criminal. He needs to be locked up.”

Eddie froze and looked between you and Steve, fear suddenly in his eyes.

“Steve are you crazy?!” You turned and hissed at him, but by the time you turned back to Eddie, he was backing away and retreating into the van.

“This isn’t over,” he threatened, pointing at Steve through the window. “You’re gonna fix this.”

“Eddie wait!” The van backed out of its spot and sped back out of the parking lot. You sighed with worry. “Eddie.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve casually put a hand on your shoulder “Don’t worry about him.”

You turned on your heel and slapped his hand off you.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Eddie played the part perfectly...

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

...or so he thought.

While he would never call anyone else a freak, standing and staring at his own face--despite the realization that Steve was in there--it was almost cathartic to yell those things at himself. To get a feel of what everyone else felt when they yelled those things at him. To not be on the receiving end of it for once.

Except you didn't seem to see it that way.

While Eddie had felt like he had hit the jackpot all day, being in Steve's body, he knew that he really came out ahead when you showed up for your date with him. The thought briefly crossed his mind...if he broke your heart as Steve...it might be a better chance for him to ask you out and for you to say yes.

But considering that he might possibly spend the rest of his life as Steve Harrington...having you was too good of a chance to pass up.

He would rather have you as Steve, knowing you would never care for him as Eddie, than lose you altogether.

Except that might be exactly what he had done as you stood there glaring at him.

"W-what?" He asked nervously.

"Are you kidding me right now?" you exclaimed. "He...there was clearly something wrong with him. How could you say those things? How could you call him those names? And then he...he left...what if he gets hurt?"

"What do you care about Eddie Munson?" he scoffed.

"He's my friend!"

Fuck.

Hearing that made his heart ache in his chest. He was a friend. Yeah. Just a friend. Which is why...if he wanted to salvage this, he would have to think quickly.

"I just...you're right," he explained, holding his hands out defensively. "He looked like...there was something wrong. And you were so quick to jump in the way...what if he hurt you?"

"He wouldn't!"

"I was worried."

"He wouldn't have hurt me."

"Listen to me," he soothed and approached you carefully in case you lashed out again. "I...I care about you, honey. I don't want to see you hurt. And Eddie...definitely looked like he was ready to hurt someone. I needed to get him away from you."

You gnawed at your bottom lip for a moment, pulling at your fingers nervously as you contemplated his excuse.

"Alright," you finally nodded. "I understand."

"You do?" he asked.

"Yeah," you sighed. "But please...please don't do that again. Don't call Eddie a freak. He's my friend and he deserves better than that."

Eddie's throat got tight, wanting to scream--

It's me. I'm Eddie. I'm in here.

--instead he took a few steps closer and folded you into a hug. You shook for a second, and god damn did he feel like he was on the verge of shaking too.

He needed a distraction.

"So...how about that date huh?" He questioned after a few moments of savoring the feel of you in his arms. "You ready to go."

"Sure," you pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Where are we going?"

Eddie, of course, had no idea where Steve had planned to take you. His mommy didn't mark dates in his calendar like she did his work schedule. So he simply decided to make something up on the spot. One of his favorite places.

He simply told you it was a surprise and led you to Steve's BMW, opening the door for you like a gentleman should, before he got you both on the way.

His fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel as he drove. He debated asking you questions, but decided against it on the off chance that they were things Steve had already on your first two dates. And the music that Steve had in the car was abysmal and wouldn't do anything to calm Eddie's nerves.

You seemed content to stare out the window as he drove though, still fidgeting with your fingers as the drab scenery passed by once he got onto old highway 77.

A few miles past Starcourt sat "Stoney Creek Adventure Center," boasting a halfway decent arcade and two miniature golf courses. With all of the new amusements in and around Hawkins, it wasn't as busy as it was the few times his mom and Rick had taken him when he was a kid. But it was still pretty lively on a Friday night: some families with younger kids, a couple of teens who snuck into the windmill to get high and make out.

Eddie escorted you out of the car and watched as you stared at the half-faded turf and oversized obstacles.

"So?" he asked, hands on his hips. "What do you think?"

Your hesitation to answer made his throat tight again.

What if this wasn't a Steve Harrington-calibur date?

"Uh..." you paused and looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "This is the place you took Nancy Wheeler? You said...you were taking me someplace she really liked."

Alright, time to make it or break it.

"I just thought you might like something different," he shrugged. "I thought...I've been bringing up Nancy a little too much. I want to enjoy new things. With you."

The way your gaze softened and you smiled at him...yeah, he was really fixing all of Harrington's fuck-ups. Give you everything you deserved.

"Oh, that's...yeah, that's really sweet," you giggled. "I...I didn't want to say anything...I know she was important to you. But I was actually starting to feel like--"

"Hey, listen," he interrupted you, knowing what you were going to say next...feeling a little smug that he was right. "The past is the past. I'm sorry I made you feel like you were playing second fiddle to Nancy."

"You really did," you confirmed.

"But I really like you," Eddie admitted, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders as the words escaped him. Even though the voice he said them with was not his own. "I want you to feel important too. Ok?"

"Ok," you agreed, lips pursed and nose scrunched as you obviously fought a smile.

"Alright then, let's get to putting," he clapped his hands together and started walking towards the arcade to pay for your rounds of golf.

He stopped, however, as you grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't you think I'm a little overdressed?" you asked bashfully, gesturing down at yourself. "You told me we were going someplace nice."

He placed a hand over his heart and acted wounded.

"You're saying mini golf isn't nice?" he whimpered.

"No, it's perfect, I just..." you shrugged. "I don't know, I think...I don't even have a jacket or anything."

"Well tell you what," he said and peeled his Family Video vest from his shoulders. "As long as you don't tell Keith that I made you a temporary employee for the night--that's what this means you know, so don't take it lightly--you can wear my vest."

You didn't fight the smile this time, it beamed brightly in the golden afternoon light. You put the vest on and did a little turn, modeling it for him, looking slightly ridiculous with your fancy dress and the stupid green and orange vest.

What Eddie wouldn't have done right then to have his battle vest instead right then. To make you look like you were his girl and not Steve's.

"Beautiful," he told you truthfully. "Now you ready to lose? I happen to be a mini golf champion."

"In your dreams," you scoffed.

No...not in his dreams anymore...

At the end of the night, well past it getting dark, Steve drove you back to the strip mall parking lot for you to get your car and head home. But it felt no less romantic than it would have been if he was actually dropping you off at home and you were chatting on your porch before you went inside.

“I really did have a great time tonight,” you told him honestly. It felt like a cliché, like something from a tv show. But...despite the rocky start, you did have a great time and it was absolutely nothing you expected from Steve of all people, especially not after those first two dates. After all of the things you had doubted.

You had played both of the miniature golf courses, sat at the little picnic benches and shared a basket of half-soggy fries with ice cream cones--yours strawberry, his a chocolate-vanilla swirl--and chatted about your classes, and then ended the night beating the high score on Space Invaders.

Maybe things were looking up after all. Maybe you were right to give him this last chance.

“It was kind of perfect," you continued. "Thank you.”

“Well, what can I say?” Steve beamed. “I’m full of good ideas, when I’m inspired to have them.”

“And I, um, inspired you?” You asked hesitantly.

“You have no idea,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t even believe what was going on in here even if I told you.” He tapped his forehead a few times.

You reached up and rapped your knuckles on the side of his head the way you would a watermelon to see if it was ripe.

“I dunno, sounds kind of hollow to me—Steve!!” He grabbed you around the middle and started tickling you. You yelped and giggled as his fingers relentlessly tapped and pinched at your sides. “Stop it.”

“Sorry, honey, I told you I was full of ideas,” he pouted playfully but didn’t let up. “You just looked awful ticklish; it inspired me.”

“I can’t,” you laughed. “I can’t breathe.”

“I guess I can stop,” Steve sighed, the tickling letting up for a moment. His hands stilled on your waist as you caught your breath and he inched closer. “I think I’m inspired by something else now, to be completely honest with you.”

And then he did a thing--something he had been doing all night--he was looking at you like he couldn’t really believe you were there with him. His eyes were sparkling and happy. His smile wasn’t the…signature smooth Harrington smile that you’d grown accustomed to the last few dates. It was wider, easier.

“Y-yeah?” You whispered. “What’s that?”

He leaned in closer, rubbed his nose against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and you exhaled softly.

"C-can I," he whispered, soft enough that you could barely hear him. "Can I kiss you, honey?"

"Y-yeah," you agreed just as softly. He hummed but didn't make another move, choosing to continue giving you such soft attention. It made your heart melt.

"You sure?"

"Please," you keened.

He let out a soft chuckle and pressed his lips to yours and you sighed.

If was all of the tender softness you deserved, but never knew in the fast, hormone-and-alcohol driven kisses you had experienced in high school. However few. You were simply surrounded by him.

His touch--his soft lips molding to yours, pressing, and his hands on your waist, pulling--constant and pleading for more but never pushing. His scent that invaded your senses--sharp and citrusy and fresh, like a summer's day. His sounds, that simple...constant little hum as the seconds ticked by.

He was everywhere and everything.

But...

You thought about Eddie earlier that day, the striking, wild look in his eye. So different from the Eddie you were used to, the Eddie you cared about, the Eddie your heart beat for over the past 5 years. You were worried about him, yes, but one thought occupied your mind.

How would Eddie have kissed you?

Your heart stung when Steve pulled away and you blinked back the burning in the back of your eyes.

You couldn't entertain those thoughts, not when Steve was standing right in front of you, after he had just kissed you so perfectly, and looked at you as if you were the only thing that could ever make him happy.

“G’night honey,” he murmured.

“Goodnight,” you whispered guiltily. "Goodnight Steve."

Eddie made it back to the Harrington's house with a big smile on his face.

He could do this forever if he had to.

Live in Steve's body, go to work at Steve's job, drive Steve's car, kiss Steve's girlfriend.

He'd been partially wondering on his drive back to the house--

Between the long, sweet moments of recalling your kiss.

--if this was, perhaps, some kind of karmic reward for all of the shit life had handed to him. A terrible father, a dead mother, a short attention span, and the entire town voicing their opinion that he was some dirty, rotten, trailer park freak. And then on the contrary, Steve--who had been given everything he never asked for and was an ungrateful shit--could have some karma as well.

As he made it up the stairs--the stairs, Eddie still couldn't believe it--to his new bedroom, Eddie thought about Wayne and did feel a little guilt. He definitely suffered just as Eddie did, maybe more so, simply for the fact that he had to put up with Eddie for 10 years and now would have to put up with Steve too. Eddie's stomach turned when he thought of all the things he did just to take something off Wayne's plate. Repairs around the trailer, grocery shopping and "making dinner" (which was usually code for some kind of takeout when he was too lazy to pop some frozen pizza in the oven). Not to mention the extra cash he made dealing...would Steve do those things now that they were stuck like this?

Where was Wayne's karmic reward?

There were so many things Wayne sacrificed for Eddie. And Eddie knew and did everything he could to give back to his uncle, as much as his uncle would let him. Now with this situation with Steve, he had to do a little more to lift what would end up being an additional weight off of his uncle's shoulders.

Maybe...

Maybe "Steve" could convince Mr. Harrington to offer Wayne some better, cushier job at the car dealership? So he wouldn't have to suffer as much as he did at the plant. He definitely deserved more, but this was the first thing Eddie could think of off the top of his head. After a few months it might be a new car, or some...help with a down payment on an actual house...or at the very least, a larger trailer so that he could have his own bedroom instead of that fold-out bed.

Yeah, that was it. He would think about how he would bring it up next time he saw good ol' Pa Harrington...but since the house was still empty almost 14 hours after Steve's parents apparently left for work that morning, it might not be any time soon...

Eddie opened the door to the bedroom--momentarily dismissing his thoughts of Wayne to consider if he should get some posters to cover the pretentious plaid-papered walls--only to find the light on and his own face staring back at him, scowling, as Steve sat propped against the headboard of the bed.

Eddie hesitated in the doorway, stunned.

“I told you this wasn't over, Freak."

Fuck.

Tag List: @luna-munson83 @kaitebugg03 @invaderzia1 @delusionalbabe @secretdryrose @eddiesguitarskills @simplyundeniable98 @imaslutforcuddles @hanobe8

#Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #Eddie munson imagine #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve harrington fic #Steve harrington x reader #Freaky Friday AU

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goldenseresinretriever · 2 months

Text

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 16

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, arguing, sports injuries, smut, some d/s dynamics, dead parents, mentions of major character death, fluff, angst, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: I think some of y’all have been waiting for this one 👀

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

When Bradley wakes up all he can feel is a weight on his chest. It’s holding him down and hey when he tries to take a breath it comes easily. It’s shaky but it comes. He blinks his eyes open and squeezes them shut again. The dim hospital overnight lighting still manages to be harsh when he’s been in the darkness for so long. He eases them open again. He blinks several times as the room comes into focus, the steady beeping of the heart monitor in his ears and the sterile smell of chemicals burning his nose.

He hates hospitals. It reminds him too much of the worst days of his life. When his mom died, it was slow, painfully slow. Days spent in rooms like this, waiting, hoping, praying for a miracle. He used to resent it, everything they went through. For a short time, he even hated his dad, for wanting his mother so badly that he would take her away from Bradley so soon when he still needed her. That changed when he met you. You told him about the way you’d lost your mom, there one moment and gone the next, with no warning, no preparation, no expectation, and he’s never been more thankful for those last few months. He knows it haunts you, not being able to say goodbye, to have that closure, and in a way he understands. He had months to say goodbye but when it finally happened he wasn’t there. He remembers standing in the hospital room that morning, anxiety gnawing at his heart the way it did every morning. He was dressed in his gym clothes, hands gripping the strap of his duffel so tightly that he thought it might tear. His mom always said he underestimated his own strength. He had an away game that day, just a few hours drive from home, but something told him not to go, to stay with her. She, of course, wanted him to go. “Don't worry about me,” she insisted. “I’m not letting you put your life on hold for me. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

She wasn’t. After the game, Bradley had eagerly sought out his phone to call and inform her of their win and instead had come face to face with multiple missed calls from the hospital. His mom was gone. His mom was gone and they wanted to know what he wanted to do next. He had no idea. He was still seventeen, still a child, and he needed his mother. He needed his mom. When he got to the hospital he was prepared to be overwhelmed, to be asked to step up when he was in no state to, but then the doctor informed him that everything had been taken care of, and all the arrangements had been made. He never found out who, but he’s always been eternally grateful.

The Petersons took him in for the last couple of months. He expected the bills to start coming, for the hospital, for the funeral, but they never did. The minute he turned eighteen, he left Virginia Beach, leaving a note for the Petersons, asking that they take care of the house for him. He’d pay. He had plenty of money as the sole recipient of his parents’ inheritance. He ran, like his life depended on it, from his mother’s ghost to his father’s city, hoping to find some piece of them lingering to keep him sane.

Another scent, fainter, but still present, tickles his nose and he thinks it may just be his imagination because the soft scent of peaches shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be able to smell your shampoo in a place like this. Bradley shifts, trying to sit up, reaching down to rub at the pressure in his chest when he realizes what’s causing it and instantly stills, eyes wide in wonder. You’re curled up next to him on the bed, head laid on his chest. It feels too good to be true, to wake up with his face aching and you waiting for him. The dim lighting reflects off the dried tears on your cheek and Bradley’s heart clenched fiercely. He never meant to hurt you, to be the reason you cried. He reaches out a hand tentatively; brushing over your hair gently and you shift in your sleep, nuzzling into his chest and he feels his heart break just a little. He’s missed this, spending the night holding you in his arms. Last night you’d slept in separate beds much to his chagrin but he could tell you were just as upset with your decision as he was so he hadn’t pushed it.

His gaze drifts down your sleeping form. You’re still wearing the powder pink suit you’d worn to the game complete with the blazer and your clothes are rumpled from laying in the bed. Your feet are practically bare, covered only by those barely-there socks you wear with your heels. You’re on top of the blanket rather than underneath and he frowns, knowing you have to be cold. You should have gotten all the way in. He wants to adjust you but he’s afraid of waking you up.

Voices drift into earshot and then the door’s opening and Bradley pretends to be asleep again, not really feeling like talking to anyone but you. Maverick’s voice reaches his ears first and it takes all of his self-control not to stiffen. “Zam? What’s she doing here?”

“Pete, quiet, she’s sleeping.” Dare chides him.

“In Bradley’s bed,” Maverick states flatly. “She can’t be here. We need to wake her up.”

“No.” Bradley sits up slightly, arm curving protectively around you. Maverick and Dare turn to him, surprised. He sets his jaw. “You’re not waking her up.”

“Bradley, it’s highly inappropriate not to mention the fact that you’re injured-

“NO,” Bradley says, firmer this time. “And exactly what’s inappropriate about my girlfriend being in my hospital bed, wearing all of her clothes.” He gives the older man a pointed look as Maverick’s eyes widen.

“Girlfriend…?” He says, clearly surprised. He glances between you and Bradley, slowly processing this new information.

“Yes, Zam’s my girlfriend. It’s all above board and you’d know if you bothered to read the paperwork. That’s how Aunt Dare found out.” Maverick winces. “But you didn’t because you didn’t want to know, because that’s just what you do isn’t it?” Bradley’s words are pure vitriol as he spits them at his godfather. “You just want the title, you don’t want to be involved. That’s why you promised my dad you’d take care of us and then you didn’t. That’s why you married Aunt Dare and then abandoned her. Hell, that’s even what you did with your job! You took the head coach position and then handed it over the second you had a chance to just stand by and be passive. What is it about us, about both of us, that makes you refuse to do ANYTHING?!” He hates the way his voice breaks on the word. “Because it’s not that you’re incapable of showing up either, that much is clear. You have Penny, Amelia, and you showed up for them.” His voice is thick with tears. “So why couldn’t you show up for us?” The tears break free then, running down his cheeks in thick trails. “My dad died for you,” his voice is rough, “My dad died for you and you couldn’t even be bothered to live for us!” He’s shaking now, and he pulls you closer instinctively, needing your strength to steady himself. “And then, when my mom died, you showed up like you had any right to be there like you had any claim to my family.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I lost the only family I’d ever had, and then I had to build another one, and you just had to go and take that too.” He can barely see through the tears but he glares in Maverick’s direction. “You dragged me away from my family here, without ever asking if it’s what I wanted. And for what? Did you think we were going to be some kind of fucked up, patchwork pseudo-family because it’s far too late for that? And the only reason, the ONLY reason I’m alright with that now? Is because of Zam. She’s my family. She’s mine. So I’ll be damned if I let you get in the way of that.” He feels a squeeze and looks down to see you’re awake, tears on your cheeks mirroring his. Your hand on his chest is gripping the hospital gown fiercely while your other hand is laced in his, squeezing gently.

***

The door to the room opens then and Jake strides in and you can hear other members of the team at his heels. He takes one look at the tears on your and Bradley’s faces and the way Bradley’s glaring at Maverick before putting a firm hand on Mav’s shoulder. “Let’s go, Coach, we need to talk.” His voice is firm and cold. He looks over to you and Bradley. “We’ll be outside when you’re ready,” Jake says as he leads Maverick out of the hospital room leaving the two of you with Dare. She smiles gently, coming up to Bradley’s side.

“You gave us a proper scare, you know that?” She says as she reaches a hand up to Bradley’s cheek, cupping it and wiping away his tears with her thumb. He leans into her touch and she smiles faintly.

“Don’t worry Aunt Dare, I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

She smiles down at him before shifting her gaze to you. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she says and steps out.

You squeeze his hand as the door shuts behind her and he moves his gaze down to you. “Hey Honey,” he smiles softly, reaching his free hand to cup your cheek. You lean into his touch, nuzzling his hand.

“Hey Bear,” you whisper back.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, I’m okay.” He says softly, placing a kiss to your temple and you lean into the feel of his lips on your skin.

“I love you.” The words fall from your lips before you can stop them and Bradley stiffens, his lips frozen against your temple. The silence between you is palpable as Bradley digests your confession and you feel your heart start to race as you begin to let the panic inhabit the silence. Bradley pulls away and you almost whine at the loss, curling into yourself at the apparent rejection.

“Honey…” his voice is barely a whisper, “you love me?” You look up then and meet his eyes as fresh tears track down his cheeks. Your heart shatters at the vulnerable expression on his face and you reach up to cup his tear-stained splotchy cheeks.

“I love you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You see the light twinkle in his eyes and he starts to move to close the gap between the two of you before stopping just as his nose brushes yours. Your breath catches in your throat as he swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing before his voice rasps against your lips.

“Honey, can I kiss you?” You whimper in response leaning forward to close the gap between you but he pulls back slightly. “Words, Honey.” He chides gently and you whine softly.

“Please, please kiss me, Bradley. Fuck the rules, I don’t need them anymore, I just need you. I love you.” He moans softly, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer so you’re almost straddling him as he lays back against the pillows.

“And I love you, Honey.” The words turn your insides into molten gold as you preen under his confession, glowing as you bask in the warmth of his love. Bradley Bradshaw loves you.

When he kisses you this time, it’s soft, simple, unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world without your rules to hold him back. It’s new, this sensation of his lips moving lazily and contentedly against yours. You’re hungry for him, you always are, but once again Bradley is showing you the softer sides of love, that love in the quiet. It doesn’t always have to be loud, fiery, burning with a need that threatens to consume you both. It can be soft, a sticky warmth that fills you from your head to your toes like honey on toast, filling in the grooves of your battered hearts. It feels like years have gone by when he nips at your lower lip, asking for entry, and then you’re even warmer as his tongue enters your mouth. You feel like you could melt right here on this hospital bed and you know Bradley can tell because you can feel his smirk against your pliant mouth. When he finally breaks the kiss you blink up at him with hazy eyes, thoroughly winded from the kiss. A thin string of saliva connects your lips and your eyes focus on it as it breaks and you whimper at the sight. Bradley hushes you softly, rough fingers stroking softly at your skin. “Shhh, it’s okay, Honey, I’ve got you.” And he does. You reach a tentative hand to cup his swollen cheek, trying to avoid the tender spots and bruising. Your eyes inadvertently fill with tears at the sight of his battered face. “Honey, I’m okay, I promise I’m okay,” Bradley whispers at the sight of your tears but you just shake your head, chasing away his soothing words.

“No more, Bradley. No more fighting.” The tears are streaming down your cheeks now and you’re so tired of crying. “Push and shove and trip and hook all you want but no more fighting. Please, no more fighting.” He pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers try to wipe your tears as you shake your head against him. “Promise me.” You beg as the tears fall harder. “Promise me, no more fighting.” You see heartbreak in those chocolate eyes and then he nods, pulling you even closer.

“Okay Honey, no more. No more fighting, I promise.” From anyone else, it would feel like an empty promise. He’s a defenseman, it’s his job to fight, but you can see the sincerity in his deep brown eyes as he makes his promise and it settles your raging heart. Your tears taper off and he holds you, just holds you.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay that way, just content to be in each other’s arms, relishing the idea of being alive when a rough thumping comes from the door. “You two better not be fucking in there!” Javy shouts and you bury your face in Bradley’s chest in embarrassment as he calls back.

“Shut up, Machado, it’s the middle of the fucking night!” The door opens then and Javy sticks his head in, a grin on his face before he pushes the door the rest of the way open and strolls in. “Bradshaw! Welcome back to the land of the living!” You roll your eyes, flopping back against Bradley’s pillows while he stays propped up on an elbow. “Your girlfriend is one hell of a trooper, you know that?” He nods in your direction and you raise an eyebrow as Bradley looks down at you curiously. Before either of you can respond, the door swings open again and Jake strides in, walking past Javy and Bradley sits up just in time for Jake’s arms to wrap around him, hugging him tight. You see Bradley’s surprise in the rigidity of his posture and your heart aches.

“You gave us a right scare back there, Bradshaw. I’m glad you’re okay.” He pulls back and gives Bradley a tired smile before turning to you, ruffling your hair gently. “I told you he’d be okay, yeah?” You nod, the exhaustion of the day threatening to hit you all over again. “You don’t have to worry about Maverick,” he says then, quieter, his green eyes steely. “I told him to leave. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you but the last thing we need is him making your condition any worse.” Bradley nods, a silent thanks passing between him and his captain. Jake turns back to you then, giving you a firm look that makes you want to disappear. “I thought I told you we’d go to the hospital after the press event.” You feel shame heat your cheeks. “This is a team, a family. We don’t leave anyone out to dry, and we definitely don’t sneak off without telling anyone.” He sighs at your chagrined expression. “But I know why you did it, and I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I’d been in your position.” He smiles fondly down at you. “I’m happy for you, for both of you.” He turns to Bradley then. “Take care of her, and if you ever hit her again, so help me God, I’ll put you in the hospital myself next time.” A shiver runs down your spine at Jake’s threat. Bradley simply meets his steely gaze with his own.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He states evenly. “I would never hurt her intentionally.” The door opens again and Mickey and Lucas rush in, tripping over each other like a pair of eager puppies to get to you and Bradley. Lucas hands you a bottle of water as Mickey throws his arms around Bradley’s neck before piling on top of Mickey to hug Bradley too. Bradley awkwardly returns the double hug as Jake chuckles and you sip the water with a soft smile on your face. The door opens again and the rest of the team filters in, followed by Alex and Wyatt. They pile onto Bradley, and your heart warms at the sight of what you’re sure is going to be a new beginning.

***

It’s been a week since Bradley left for home from Philadelphia. You’ve spent the last week corralling the rest of the team through games in Detroit and Ottowa. You’re anxious to be home and reunited with your boyfriend. Against Bradley’s wishes, he’d been sent home after being discharged from the hospital when his brain scans came back negative, Bugs in tow. Dr. Bates had flown in to take her place on the bench while Bugs would serve as Bradley’s live-in physician for the next week at both Jake’s and your insistence. You needed to ensure that Bradley took things easy instead of showing up to the rink to practice. You’d wanted so badly to be the one to go home with him but there was no one to take your place so you’d stayed. Now, sitting next to Bradley’s empty seat as you stare out the window of the Dogfighters’s jet, you’re counting the minutes until you’re home with Bradley. You’ve tried to call and text as much as possible but it’s not the same as being next to him in person. You miss being in his arms and you’re craving his touch more than you care to admit.

“Someone’s antsy,” Javy remarks as he tosses himself into Bradley’s seat.

“It’s been a week,” you whine and he chuckles.

“You’re lucky the two of you work together or else you’d never make it as a hockey WAG.” He teases and you groan.

“I know, I just, I almost lost him. And now I haven’t seen him for a week and I know he’s fine. He tells me as much every day and so does Bugs, but it’s not the same as seeing it for myself, you know?” He nods, deep in thought.

“Remind me to never get a girlfriend,” he muses and you scowl at him.

“After I remind you to stop sleeping around,” you give him a pointed look and he shrugs, a smirk pulling on his lips as he settles back in the seat.

“It’s not my fault women love me,” he points out and you roll your eyes.

“No, but it is your fault how much you love them,” you point out and he frowns, considering your logic before standing back up and heading to his seat, shaking his head. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you chirp back and he rolls his eyes.

***

You’re almost trembling with anticipation as you ride the elevator up to Bradley’s apartment. Tony had greeted you warmly, informing you that Mr. Bradshaw was doing well and probably missing you which would explain his grumpy mood. You smile to yourself despite your nerves, turning the fob in your hands over and over. Bradley had given it to you the day he offered to cook for you whenever you wanted, but you have yet to use it. You aren’t sure what to expect. Bugs said she’d started leaving Bradley to his own devices and you’d told her to go home and be with Jake since you’d be with Bradley. When the doors slide open, you swallow hard, collecting your wits as you cross the hallway to Bradley’s door, torn between just ringing the buzzer and letting yourself in. You steel yourself as you pass the fob in front of the sensor and the lock clicks open and you swallow again as you turn the knob and let yourself in. Your heels click on the hardwood as you enter and suddenly you’re struck with worry once again. What if Bradley isn’t home? You hadn’t even considered texting him to let him know you were on your way, assuming he knew when to expect you. You’re lingering in the entryway when you hear a voice call out from the living room.

“Honey, is that you?” You feel relief blossom in your chest and barely take a moment to toe-off your heels before rushing towards his voice. You’re half running and half sliding across the hardwood when you turn the corner and collide firmly with Bradley’s chest with an oomph. “Careful, careful, you okay, Honey?” He asks but you’ve got your arms around him now and your face buried in his chest, inhaling the scent of him deeply and he seems to understand as he wraps you in his arms and you relax against him.

“Missed you, Bear,” you murmur against his chest as he buries his face in your hair.

“I missed you too, Honey.” He says softly, pulling back a bit and smoothing your hair back into place. “Welcome home,” he says with a smile and you pull back to smile at him.

“I love you,” you say before leaning up to kiss him sweetly as he pats the back of your thighs gently and you jump, letting him lift you into his arms. He carries you to the couch and sits down, you in his lap before kissing you again.

“I love you too,” he murmurs against his lips. He pulls back to look you over like he’s reminding himself of what you look like after being apart and you do the same. His face has healed for the most part except for a scabbed-over gash at his hairline from his fall. You reach a hand up and trace the raised skin and he presses a kiss to your wrist. “Honey, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

“It’ll scar,” you say and he shrugs.

“It won’t be my first, and probably won’t be my last.” His hands find your hips and run soothing circles there as you run your fingers along his cheeks and nose which had been swollen and bruised the last time you saw them. He watches your face carefully as you inspect him, gauging your reaction. You lean in then, ghosting your lips over the scab and then his cheeks and nose, before reaching his lips, kissing him again, but deeper this time. He pulls you closer and you feel his cock hardening in his jeans and let out a soft whine.

“Honey, did you wear this dress again on purpose?” Bradley asks as he pulls away from your lips even as you chase them. You look down at your outfit and your cheeks heat as you realize what you’re wearing. The last time you’d worn the baby blue suit dress was the night you and Bradley had hooked up in Denver. You look back at Bradley shyly, shaking your head.

“It’s just one of my favorites,”

“Well, I think it’s my favorite too,” he says, reaching a finger to brush against the sheer sleeves and you shiver at the feel of his touch through the mesh. When he looks back at you his eyes are full of pure desire and you feel heat run through your entire body, your skin heating with a fire that’s stoked with every circle that his fingers make on your hips.

“Bradley,” it escapes you in a shaky breath and you watch darkness dance in his eyes, slowly but surely swallowing his whisky irises.

“Tell me what you need, Honey, use your words.” He says, regarding you with such love that you find the words quicker than you expected.

“Need you, Bradley, need you now.” You whine and he pulls you closer and you gasp, pressed up against every inch of him and you grind down on his hardening cock instinctively.

“Where are your manners, Honey?” He chides gently and you pout at him.

“Please Bradley, need you, Bear.” He lets his hands dance lower and run over your thighs past the edge of your skirt and he frowns at the feeling of your tights. He leaves them be momentarily to lift your chin with a knuckle so you’re looking him in the eye.

“You going to be a good girl and let me take care of you tonight?” He asks, and however much love is in his tone you hear the firmness in it too. You nod before he raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, Bradley,” you murmur and he smiles, running his thumb over your lower lip.

“Good girl,” he says and you preen under the praise. “First things first, we need to set down some ground rules. Are you familiar with the color system, Honey?” You nod before responding.

“Yes, Bradley.”

“I want to make sure you’re always comfortable because if you’re not enjoying this, then I’m not either,” he assures you and you feel your heart clench at his sweet words. “You feel uncomfortable at all, you tell me yellow. And if you want me to stop, you tell me red. I don’t ever want you to feel like you shouldn’t. You say the word and we stop, okay?”

“Okay, I trust you, Bradley.” You say and he smiles at you, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Now, let’s get these tights off, shall we?” You push off of his lap and reach to pull them down but he tuts, stopping your hands with his. “Pull up your skirt for me, pretty girl.” He says and your cheeks heat as you move your hands to hold up the skirt of your dress, exposing your lower body to him and he slides his hands to your exposed hips, slipping his hands into the waistband of your tights and drawing them down your legs, eyes never leaving yours as your breath catches at the intensity of his gaze, doing your best not to squirm as you step out of the tights and he discards them You’re left in a pair of lacy blue panties and you know his eyes are zeroed in on the damp patch on them. You gasp as he runs a knuckle over the center of your panties, catching on your clit through the damp material. “All this just for me?” He asks and you nod before gasping as Bradley tweaks the bud through the thin material.

“Yes, Bradley, all for you.” You moan and he hooks a finger in the band, guiding the panties down your legs, you step out of them and he brings the soaked fabric up to his nose, inhaling deeply before sticking out his tongue, licking a broad stripe across the soaked crotch, collecting your slick, his eyes never leaving yours. You whimper as he lets out a groan of appreciation.

“Sweet as honey, sweeter even.” He remarks and you whine. He holds out the soiled panties and you feel your cheeks heat as he asks, “You want a taste, pretty girl?” You squirm slightly and you must take a little too long to respond because he asks. “Color, Honey?”

“Green,” you reassure him and he relaxes, arching an eyebrow as he looks between the panties and you and you lean in then and he holds them up to your lips as your tongue darts out, licking tentatively at the fabric. You tasted yourself on his lips that night, and you consider the musky taste for a moment before you’re focused on the look of pride in his eyes and suddenly it’s all you can focus on.

“Good girl,” he praises and you feel the shy smile creep across your lips as he smiles back at you. He considers you for a moment before he asks, “Have you ever ridden a thigh before, Honey?” Your brows pull together in a frown as you shake your head voicing your inexperience a moment later and he gives you a proud nod at your remembering to verbally reply. “Come here, he says and he guides you to stand on either side of his thigh. He shifts his hands to your hips, easing you down and you gasp at the sensation as your bare core comes into contact with the rough denim of his jeans. He gives his knee an experimental bounce and you let out a wanton moan at the delicious friction, crying out his name. He smirks, a mixture of pride and confidence. You grind down on this thigh experimentally. “That’s it, good girl,” he praises and you repeat the action, gasping at the pressure. He urges you to continue, guiding your arms around his neck and bouncing his knee every now and then to add to the pressure, and you feel the coil in your belly begin to tighten. He reaches to undo the belt around your waist then and you let him, and he slowly undoes the buttons and you’re back in that hotel room in Denver again, feeling his hands on you for the first time all over again.

“Bradley, Bradley I’m close,” you warn him, grinding against him desperately and he bounces his knee more, urging you closer to the edge.

“Come on baby, let go for me,” he urges and you feel the rubber band in your core snap as you cum all over his thigh with a sharp cry, leaning forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck as you shamelessly hump his leg as he bounces it, working you through your high. You blink up at him when you come down, a bleary smile on your face as he smiles down at you. “Feeling good, Honey?” He asks, humor lacing his tone and you nod,

“Feeling very good,” He kisses your temple gently before his arms are around you, easing you off his thigh and into his arms before he carries you gently from the living room to his bedroom. Once again he lays you down on the sheets with an intimate reverence that makes your head spin as you reach up to pull him down for a kiss, hand sneaking under his shirt, petting at his abs running a finger idly up and down his happy trail until he pulls away and strips off the shirt, his sun-kissed skin on full display. Your eyes travel down and your cheeks heat as you take in the prominent wet spot on his jeans from your previous activities and he follows your eyes, smirking at you.

“Admiring your hard work, pretty girl?” He asks and you avert your eyes, cheeks heating even more in embarrassment. “Time for me to put in some work of my own I think,” he says and you look back at him just in time to see him sink to his knees at the foot of the bed, pulling you by your ankles until you’re almost hanging off the edge, sliding his large hands up your bare legs, parting your thighs for him and you sigh in anticipation of what you know is coming next.

When Bradley’s mouth meets your lower lips, you go boneless against the bed as Bradley once again dives into you like a man starved, his tongue and lips licking and sucking with reckless abandon as his hands hold you down and open for him, his personal tasting menu. You think you’ve felt it all, that you can’t feel anything better than Bradley’s mouth on you when he pushes a thick finger past your entrance as he suckles at your clit and you scream at the overwhelming feelings of pleasure. Bradley pulls away then and you cry out again, suffering whiplash at the sudden loss and he pumps his finger in you gently, as if understanding the sensations you must be feeling. “Color, Honey?”

You chant “green,” like it’s a prayer. He chuckles softly and then his mouth is on you again and you’re actively fighting against his strong hands, trying to close your thighs whether to keep him there or push him away you’re not sure. The pleasure is overwhelming and when he presses a second finger into you, scissoring them, stretching you open, you come suddenly with a scream. He keeps up his ministrations through your high and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until he’s kissing the tears from your cheeks as he keeps working his fingers in you. He’s praising you, the words falling from his lips like ambrosia and honey on your ears but you’re so far gone that you can’t respond. You’re shaking, actively shaking, and then your body arches off the bed slightly as a third, smaller climax rocks through you and you watch Bradley’s eyes widen before he starts slowing his fingers, careful not to completely deprive you all at once. He slides a finger under your chin, turning you to meet his eyes, and studies you carefully as he asks again, “Color, Honey?” You whimper and he tightens his grip on your chin, grounding you, focussing your attention on him and his words. “Come on Honey, give me a color.” You hear it then, the tiniest twinge of fear, of guilt, and you feel a wave of love wash over you as you answer, breathlessly.

“Yellow,” and you feel him slow down even more before he finally removes his fingers from your core as you squirm with overstimulation.

“Good girl, you did so good for me, I’m so proud of you,” he praises and you feel like you’re glowing under his sweet words. “I love you so much, Honey, you did so well.” Your eyes move down to where Bradley’s painfully hard in his jeans.

“What about you?” You ask and you don’t recognize your voice. He shakes his head and your brows furrow in confusion.

“No, Honey, we’re done for the night,” Bradley says, brushing sweat-slicked strands of hair away from your brow.

You frown at him then, “But I want you, I need you, Bear please,” you ask and he regards you carefully.

“I’m sorry baby, I pushed too hard too fast, you need to rest.” You can tell he’s struggling to tell you no and you shake your head.

“I’m okay, Bradley, it, it was a lot, yes, and I need a second to breathe and maybe some water, but I still want you. I need you, please.” He considers your words carefully, checking over you and assessing where your body is at before nodding slowly.

“Okay, Honey, let me get you that water and we’ll reassess okay?” You nod, smiling at him. He kisses you sweetly before leaving for the kitchen.

When he comes back, he guides the straw in the glass of water to your lips and you’re touched by his thoughtfulness, gulping down the water greedily as his other hand strokes your hair gently. “I’m ready now,” you say as he puts the glass down and he chuckles.

“Yeah, Honey?” You nod enthusiastically and he pinches your cheek gently. “Well, how could I deny my perfect girl?” You preen again and he smiles, pushing up to stand at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them and his underwear down in one motion, his painfully hard cock slapping against his abs and you feel your mouth water at the sight. He starts back towards you but you feel a wave of boldness wash over you and you push up onto your knees, crawling across the bed to sit at the end, gazing up at Bradley coyly. He raises an eyebrow as he comes up to you, cock bouncing as he cups your cheek, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek. “What are you thinking about, pretty girl?” He muses and your eyes sparkle with mischief as your tongue darts out from between your lips, kitten licking the head of his cock as your eyes are locked with his, your lips twisting into a playful smile. He lets out a surprised groan and your heart swells with pride at being able to elicit such a reaction from him. You regretted not being able to take care of him last time and you’d be damned if you let him get away without your tasting him this time.

“Honey, you don’t have to-”

You cut him off, “And if I want to?” He looks down at you like you’re his whole world, shaking his head in awe.

“You know I could never tell you no when you want something, Honey.” He says and you beam up at him, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his cock before taking it into your mouth. You pull back long enough to spit into your palms before reaching your hands up to coat the parts of him that your mouth can’t take quite yet and fight the urge to smirk as Bradley watches you reverently. He’s so good at taking care of you and now? Now it’s your turn to take care of him. Originally you’d wanted him in your pussy but now you can’t imagine finishing this night any other way. Bradley’s hand that’s not cupping your cheek reaches down to undo the clasp of your bra, freeing your breasts and they bounce as you hungrily slide your mouth along his cock. It’s been a while since you sucked a cock and even then no man you’ve ever been is as big as Bradley and you know from last time that you need to take this slowly. Unfortunately, the noises escaping your boyfriend and your own ego have you wanting to bring him to his knees so you relax your throat, feeling his thickness making your jaw ache as you try your best to get him all the way into your mouth. Bradley curses loudly at your ministrations and the hand on your cheek slides to your neck, gripping your hair tightly, doing his best to hold himself back from thrusting into your mouth. Unfortunately for him, that’s not what you have in mind at all so you reach up, covering your hand with his, pushing slightly and he forces his eyes open to gaze down at you in awe.

“Honey…” he warns you, “I don’t think you want that. I could hurt y-” You cut him off by pushing again, harder and gagging on his cock as it scrapes the back of your throat and tears cloud your vision, spit leaking past your stretched lips. “FUCK, Honey,” His voice is a warning but you give him a firm look before he sighs, the action shaky. “If you want me to stop, tap on my thigh, okay?” He says, voice trembling slightly and you try to nod but you can’t, not really. Bradhley releases a heavy breath before his other hand guiding one of your hands to grip his muscular thigh and lacing the other with his. The hand on the back of your head moves to hold you tightly and then Bradley Bradshaw unleashes himself.

While Bradley’s introduced you to many new experiences during your short time together, sucking dick is something you’re more than comfortable doing, and yet you can’t remember it ever being as good as it is in that moment as Bradley cradles your head and fucks your face. Your face is a mess of saliva and tears as you let him take you but you don’t feel like you usually do. You don’t feel like an object that’s being used for him to chase his own pleasure. No, you feel powerful, capable of making your boyfriend as good as he makes you feel and you find your legs spreading, lowering your bare pussy to the surface of the bed and you hump the sheets with a wanton desperacy mirroring that of the man above you. Your poor clit is overstimulated and raw, the swollen bud rubbing roughly against the fabric and in no time you’re close to the edge, trying your best to focus on getting Bradley there as well. You feel him twitch in his throat and then he’s cumming down your throat as your thighs shake as you tip over the edge with him, rubbing yourself shamelessly against the covers as you ride out your high. Bradley slips his cock out of your mouth with a pop and if he wasn’t holding you, you’re sure you would collapse.

“Oh, Honey,” he coos and you blink up at him blearily as he takes the hand that’s laced in yours to cup your cheek. “Poor girl, you got desperate didn’t you,” he says gently as he guides you onto your back, revealing the damp spot on the covers where you finished. “Stay right there, pretty girl, I’ll be right back.” You’re not sure you could move if you wanted to and you feel like you’re floating as you wait for Bradley to come back. The straw is pressed against your lips again as a damp cloth wipes up your drool and tears gently as you drink. Bradley places it to the side before another, warmer, cloth swipes between your legs and you whine out at the sensitivity and he hushes you gently, easing up the pressure of his swipes as he cleans up the mess of your cum on your core and thighs. He praises you the whole time, talking you through what he’s doing, explaining the importance of aftercare, yet another new experience for the day.

You’re thoroughly exhausted when he finishes and you know you should let Bradley change the sheets but you reach out for him instead and he lets you pull him close as he scoots the two of you up the bed, pulling the sheets back for the two of you. Your naked bodies press into each other and the intimacy of the skin-to-skin contact makes your heart swell.

“I love you, Bear. Thank you for always taking care of me,” you whisper, head on his chest and he tightens his arms around you, protectively.

“I love you too, Honey, thank you for letting me take care of you,” He says back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and you let sleep take you, finally home, in every sense of the word.

A/N: Ahhh!!! That was a long chapter and chocked full of excitement but I hope you enjoyed it!! Have a good weekend, everyone!!!

#you catch more bees with honey // sdd #ycmbwh // sdd #san diego dogfighters #san diego dogfighters au #san diego dogfighters hockey au #top gun maverick hockey au #tgm hockey au #top gun Maverick #TGM #top gun #Bradley Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #no use of y/n

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Text

DEVIL BIRDS (VII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VIII ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader.

WORDCOUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: Various crimes & illegal activity, paranoia, angst, mentions of death, trauma, inner turmoil, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You supposed that grabbing a hat would have saved you from having to worry about being seen, but you’d been too caught up in trying to sneak out as quickly as possible. Jacket flapping, your legs move fast over the open field of your estate, sprinting through the garden beds and past the thick copse with its willow trees and pond. The pathways were overgrown and you nearly trip over upturned pieces of rock.

But you can’t stop giggling.

Your face pulls in a fast smile, eyes alight with eagerness. You feel like you have a purpose for the first time in years.

“Alright,” you whisper under your breath as you chart your course to the town. Maybe you could even catch Hector closing up and snag a coffee off of him. “Museum. Dad’s old office.”

At your steady pace, you enter the beginnings of the businesses as the streetlights slip over you like water, bathing you in the glow as your breath puffs out. The air was cold, and you keep your jacket tight to your form as your shoes travel forward, slowing.

In your pocket, you twiddle your coin and wonder if you should have snooped in Gaz’s things for your penknife, lips thinning at the idea.

You were stubborn, but not stupid; you knew this wasn’t a good idea.

But…it’s too late for that now.

Shadows grew long as your eyes darted to open alleyways to the dull wind, glee dimming the longer you walk alone. After a moment you peek behind your form and nearly forget that Kyle wasn’t there with a flinch in your step.

Have you really…grown used to having him follow you around?

Why did it feel so threatening when he wasn’t there?

Your body tenses as a bottle across the street falls from the sidewalk to the asphalt with a clattering ping, rolling in the way that glass does as you watch. Clearing your throat, you continue on as your heart spreads blood throughout your veins.

“Keep it together, you’re fine,” you hiss to yourself, not liking this new way of thinking. Sure you were considered a recluse—didn’t enjoy being out more than you had to in loud places—but…hell. You can’t start relying on Gaz for comfort.

But he saved you. Your mind slashes to the shooting in the park and you sigh as you get closer to Hec’s shop.

Kyle had been kind to you, he gave pieces of himself like leaves from a tree to try and make you soften to him. The watch and the story, the stitches that still live in your hand. Soft words. Your gut bunches in your abdomen.

You weren’t one to push past hurts—you lived with them, carried them like a parcel of goods at a picnic. The gun, the kidnapping, the…darkness of it all. If the Sergeant was capable of all of that, well, you weren’t sure it was in your best interests to allow him to carve a piece of your soul out with his bright smiles and amused smirks.

Soon the rest of the One-Four-One would be done with their missions overseas hunting down Yaromir Osipov and Mala Kham and it would all be over. You could go back to living in your mansion, alone, with the lack of lights and the sub-par meals. The ghosts. The covered furniture and the dead memories. You press the coin deeply into your palm.

…Why didn’t you like that thought?

Hector’s place came up as you stew in your confusion, seeing the low lights spilling out over the empty streets. You hum before pushing open the door, hearing the call from the back kitchen.

“One minute!” That Jersey accent is the same as it always is. Your body takes you to the counter, shuffling out your wallet and tossing bills to the wood before sneaking a ten into the tip jar. Everything for a moment slips away until only coffee and baked goods remain. “Christ, you folks don’t sleep, do ya?”

Hector comes out from the back, pausing before locking onto your blank face.

“Holy shit!”’ He laughs brightly. “Hey there, Kid! It’s been a bit, how’s it all going? I’ll admit I got a little worried when you stopped showing up.”

“School’s been tough,” you lie easily, shifting a smile to your lips. The man gets going on your drink immediately as you explain. “Thought I’d go on a walk and stop by. I’m heading into the city.”

Hector stills momentarily, fingers twitching as he pours your drink into a cup. His throat hums out slowly, “The city? Ain’t it too late for all of that? What’re you going there for?”

“Just,” you pick up your addiction and let the warmth seep into you. What was the harm in telling him, after all? Hector was the closest thing to a friend you could have right now. “Wanna head by the museum. Feeling sentimental, I guess.”

You almost hated how easy it was to lie to everyone.

“Ah,” the man nods and you stare at his neck before blinking at the sound of the phone ringing. “Shit,” Hector darts, and you had seen his heart dashing in his breast. “That’s me, Kid. Gotta take this.”

He slips a hand into his pocket and disappears back from where he came from.

“See you,” but Hector’s already gone and you sigh out, “...later.”

You turn on your heels and leave, something akin to confusion in your chest. Strange, not even a goodbye. If Hector was one thing, it was usually casual.

“Whatever.”

The train ride is silent as you sit in the back, stiff in your seat and not enjoying the eerie silence at all; sipping on your drink. Every time you look across to the emptiness you’re stuck with a great bout of unease but every time tell yourself that this was the only way to get answers. Your father’s office had to have answers, even as small as a single word.

There just…needed to be something. There had to be.

When you step off into the station and lightly jog away, you pep yourself up with this thought as you drop your empty cup into the trash.

If you find information about your dad and his dealings, maybe Kyle won’t go absolutely ballistic if he finds out you left. You almost cringe at the thought of his tight jaw and clipped words; his silent broodiness wasn’t in your control. That was what terrified you.

Like a cat you slinked along the streets, recalling the route you took so often when you were younger—the bookstore across the road, the Irish bar you’d have to pass as you slide left. Skyscrapers and planted trees, fast cars with their lights on. It was all familiar, and in that fact, you took the smallest comfort.

Despite it all, there were still remnants of a time long passed. There were still pieces, and the museum was the biggest piece of them all.

Your eyes dig into the dark and blackened building with its white pillars; two sets of stairs leading up and up. It’s wider than it is tall and set apart from all other buildings or stores like a sentinel of history. The parking lot is bare besides a handful of cars far out into the open area of plotted greenery, and your vision seeps like water from one place to another. Your father’s old workplace is large and imposing—a giant of cream stones.

After a minute or two of hesitation, you take the long walk around the museum to the back across its nine acres, climbing up a chain-link fence.

Now was really when the anxiety snuck in.

Fingers shaking, you know there are exactly five night guards on duty; had even met a few before the accident. The problem was getting in with the front door locked and sneaking into the employee-only section. Obviously, this amounted to breaking and entering except for the simple fact that…

“Shit,” you let the rare curse growl out of you, staring at the steady blinking light inside of one of the many back windows.

Cameras.

When had they added those in this section? Your mind jumps from one thought to the next, straining.

“Okay, okay,” you calm yourself and rub your neck. “Think.” Blinking, your gaze slows itself on the maintenance ladder leading to the roof, eyes slowly widening. Perhaps with all of these horrendous ideas you’re cooking up like five-star meals, you might end up killing yourself before anyone else can. “Save everyone else the trouble, at least,” you grumble under your breath.

Your foot hits the first rung when you slowly stride over and you take a breath, hands sweaty as they quiver before you grab the metal. At the side, the bright sign burns into your retinas like looking directly into the sun. It was embarrassing, really.

“NO TRESPASSING: VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.” Red and white mock you in their color scheme.

“Kyle is going to lock me in the storage closet,” your mouth mutters, but you only shake your head and push upward with the thought process of everything you’d done so far wasn’t worth giving up on.

Surprisingly, you had less reservations about all of this illegal activity than you rightly should have—a sort of distance from it. As if everything was being seen through the lens of a photographer spreading linen over his equipment before snapping that picture. Already in your head, you were counting the charges that could be levied against you with a blank face.

Trespassing.

Your hands and feet take you higher, the steady creak of your weight on the old metal.

Breaking and entering.

Breath puffing out, you get to the top after a tall vertical climb, pulling yourself over the edge and slapping to the roof of the left side of the museum. Flat concrete holds the bodies of roof ventilation turbines, AC units, and electrical equipment all shades of gray and sun-bleached yellow. Flopping on your belly, you scoot forward until you’re able to shove with your arms up from the roof.

“...Burglary,” you huff out, frowning. But was it really stealing if it belonged to your dad?

Kyle’s crossed arms and his tight lips slash through your head like the pissed-off angel on your shoulder.

“Shut up,” you growl out to his image, stalking forward to figure out your next plan of action. “If I wanted your opinion I would have asked.”

After a minute or two of snooping, your only option came in the form of a ventilation shaft jutting out of the museum; a monster of silver metal and roaming sections like a large snake. You blink at it and play with the coin in your pocket, tapping a foot.

The problem was the grate.

Twiddling your fingers in your pockets, you bite at your lip and furrow your brows, knowing how much time you’d already lost. At most, you could stay here maybe twenty minutes before you had to rush back to the mansion.

Is that enough time? After all, you didn’t even know what you were looking for.

Taking out your coin, you roll it over your knuckles while glaring at the grate—eyes burning into the small ‘+’ of the Combination Head screws set into the four, shining, corners. Above, the moon was letting your shadow lay long over the roof.

Halting your fiddling, you get the spark of an idea while you catch your coin, the things blue and bronze color subdued in the darkness. Looking down at it in your bandaged palm—dried blood stuck in the old gauze—you run a thumb over the engravings and slowly look back to the screws.

“Maybe,” your voice whispers out. Flipping the metal object, you walk and slot the side of your precious coin into the head of the top right screw, jimmying it in with a growing smirk as it sits in a straight line.

Jiggling it, the small fastening of the grate squeaks before its body gets slowly twisted to the side by your tight-knuckled grip, skin thin as it struggles to turn. A small noise of victory leaves you when the rust under the bond flakes off, the screw now quickly moving outward for you.

You didn’t want to blow your own horn quite yet, but this was going smoother than you could have hoped for.

When all remaining screws were on the roof and your coin was back in your pocket, you were staring at the gaping wound that is the entrance to the ventilation shaft. For the first time in the night, you wondered about the consequences of acting like this. Your father had preached honestly when he was alive—telling you that the best thing a person could be was true.

The phone in your pocket was like a brick as your heart stampeded.

“C’mon.” He speaks blankly, whatever sly teasing and amusement from earlier today completely gone. “Exfil point is a block away—we need to move.”

You can’t do much more than follow, your head screaming at you.

“B-but what about…” Wanting to ask about the people who are back in the park, not quite understanding the horror yet.

Sensing this, Kyle knows it’s better to respond briefly.

“They’re dead.” You flinch at the truth, hearing the bitter reality settle in coupled with the man’s bluntness.

Dead. Row, the others, your father. “But if I find the answers,” you try to steady yourself, leaning closer to the inky duct. “Maybe all of this can go away. No one else has to die. I have to…” You push forward, “I have to do this.”

Gaz’s words had touched you in the kitchen. His willingness to speak to you. No one else ever bothered. He’d be more than angry—furious with this, but how could you explain that this was so much more to you than a price on your head? You felt he already knew, truthfully, but you’d never been good at listening much less looking into his eyes to see if he’s being genuine.

There was a piece of you that had wanted to glance up at him while you were against the island, just a swift peek. You’d shut it down just as quickly as it had come, but, still.

The thought had been there.

Knees hitting the metal, you crawl far into the vent, enclosed on all sides except forward and backward. Not once did you think about how you’d get back out as you start taking the twists and turns of the chilled metal square, on a mission in your own right. Taking shallow breaths, you pull and slide your shoulders through, getting to the first dip and slipping down as your hands squeak.

“Woah,” you hissed to nothing, your voice bouncing off and echoing back to your ears. “Christ.”

Your form clanks along, trying to be as quiet as a mouse but only being successful if that mouse was being rapidly slammed against a wall. Along the way, you would have to make decisions about which way to go—right or left—and you would have to imagine yourself walking around the museum as if you were inside it.

Paleontology down there, your head is bent to the left and you huff and feel sweat dribble down your forehead. I need to be near Botany.

You take the right with a bit of worry set into your veins. What if you got lost in here? Would they find your body years later? You shiver and grimace.

“Nothing will go wrong—!” Your voice cuts out as you plummet down a decline, face ricocheting off the metal with enough force to rattle your brain. You groan long and low in your throat as blood fills your nose. “...One thing can go wrong…” Your sleeve presses into your nostrils as you shuffle on slower and steadier.

You were never making it back to your estate on time.

It’s fifteen minutes of bumbling and cursing, to your mother’s horror, before you turn to a thick grate at a dead end. Across your position, you’re able to make out a plaque on the far wall by straining your eyes through the darkness; you lock on the white letters of the self-designated ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ area.

Your bloody lower face peels back in a breathless smile as you pant.

Hands pressing into the ventilation grate, you prod with all of your strength and bite into your lip as you do; lungs tight with exertion. Just as you start to feel a small movement in the metal, whistling hits your ears.

Immediately stopping, you hold your breath and lock your eyes on the slowly walking form of one of the security guards. A great frozen feeling overcomes your bones—nearly the same that had hit you when you’d been behind that garbage can with Gaz in the park. You stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed, heart in your ears.

The guard was clothed in white and black, keys at his belt jangling and a flashlight in his hands as he spreads a tune. Large and bald, he paused across the way and turned his head in your direction. You tense and stifle a sharp inhale, ducking just the slightest bit back.

But he doesn’t bother looking into the vent while he takes out a tissue from his pocket and proceeds to blow his nose as you watch, flinching at every loud snort.

“Gah,” the guard rubs at his nose, “...gettin’ too old for this. Should be back at home already. Need to have Jerry give me that raise…”

Tossing the used tissue into an adjacent trash can, the man moves on with a bend to his spine, showing his fatigue as his free hand rubs at the back of his neck.

You put your fingers over your mouth, blinking incredulously as he turns a corner out of sight—whistles tune getting smaller and smaller.

“I’m going to have a heart attack,” you grunt, waiting a minute more before taking a deep breath and placing your shaking grip back into the grate. “Kyle, you should have tried to make me stay home harder.”

Your digging words hit no one, and you gasp as the vent cover pops off with a slide of metal. You snatch a hand to grab it, panicked, but the thing fully slips from your fingers as your heart gets stuck in your throat.

The sound when it hits the bench right under and then finally slams to the floor is enough to make you get bile in the back of your throat.

It echoes over the museum like you had just chucked a glass bottle at a man’s head in the middle of High Mass—louder than a thunderclap. The silence that follows after is just as violent.

It’s like you count the seconds as your hands extend from the dark square, face lacking blood and chin loose.

Did that…what just…

When the quick, hard, footsteps start running back in your direction, you’re scrambling out of the vent faster than you can think about your limbs moving. Feet slipping and hands latching onto the edge of the opening with a thinning of your pupils as you shove yourself out.

You land on the bench and clatter to the ground just like the vent but quickly recover against the roving pain on account of pure adrenaline.

“Shit, shit, fuck!” Your mouth snarls, vulgar curses slipping out as you snatch the grate into your arms and push through the Authorized Personnel door with a loud shoulder shove. Darting to the side of the opened door, you slip behind it into the corner; mind running a mile-a-minute. Think!

Running would only make it worse, the guard would hear you and follow after. You look down at the metal in your hands as a shout rings just feet away—panting breath and the jingle-jangle of keys.

“Who's out there?! Show yourself!” Your lips thin, thinking over those possible changes again and adding in another.

…Battery.

When the guard walks through the door and takes a few steps in, wildly flashing his light back and forth, you slowly raise the vent grate in your hands. Taking a small, shaky breath, you tighten your grip and whack the man in the back of the head.

He falls with a large thump, body hitting the ground as you stand above him with wide eyes and a guilty conscience, bones rattling in your flesh.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” he’s groaning, stunned, as you swiftly place the grate on the wall and run back past him. “It’s nothing personal, really. I…you're going to be fine—a…a bruise, that’s it.”

Dashing down the hallway, you leave him behind, but only after you steal his keys and begin to read each name tag on the walls, searching for the familiar title of your father at lightspeed.

Theft.

“I’m such an idiot!” Quietly barking out, you take a left and skid to a stop finding the exact door you needed to get into—the one at the very end as well as the largest and most fancy looking. You could have easily picked the lock with a stray bobby pin and a stick from one of the fake plants outside in the hallway, but now with the keys…

You push through the hundreds on the chain, palms sweaty and breath not slowing down. You’re muttering to yourself in a frenzied state, feet trading weight.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, hurry up!” You find MD carved into the metal and stick the key into the door, twisting and hurrying through. Closing the door behind you loudly, you let your body pant as you hold it shut, palms to the grain; it’s a second before your forehead meets the barrier and you groan lowly.

Rubbing at your scalp, you stand up straight and turn to the room.

Except there is a suspicious lack of boxes along the carpeted floor.

“What!?” You yell, before you slap a hand to your mouth. “What?” Your lowered, repeated, question is strained and aggressive, but in reality, you should have expected this. It had been three years, after all. Maybe you had yet to realize the entire world hadn’t stopped just because yours had.

Jogging over to the computer, you slide the keyboard out from inside the desk and tap the spacebar to wake it up, growling to yourself. You knew they had kept your father’s things, but you didn’t know where they put them—you were supposed to have picked them up during the first year but…well, you know how that year went.

You grimace and shake your head, restraining yourself from touching your coin.

If you could hack into the CIA database, this was a piece of cake; it took no more than a minute, already looking at the wallpaper of a woman named Lorena Bennett with her pet cockatoo on her shoulder. Immediately you head to the emails.

“Okay, Bennett,” you say, “I need…” Typing in your father's name into the word search, you come upon one of the first emails from only a month after he’d died, eyes slipping from one word to another. “Here.”

Dear Mrs. Bennett,

Due to the unfortunate passing of our prior Museum Director, you’ll find the office assigned to you still filled with his belongings. If you would be willing, please pack up what few personal belongings he had and send them down to Eastern storage—his daughter will be here to pick them up at a later date.

Thank you, and I wish you well on your first day,

Member of the Board, Mr. Shaw

“Eastern storage,” you huff, fingers twitching over the keys as you nod rapidly. “Alright, okay. I can do that.” You couldn’t do that.

Sweating, you close out the email and power down the computer, putting it all back where it was. Was it wrong for you to want Kyle here with you? You could do with his steadfast patience at this point. Might even applaud him for putting up with you for this long if he could take point on this.

For doing far more stressful things for a living, you were sure this was easy as cake for him. If anything that pushed you on. Leaving and locking the office, you carefully step over the unconscious guard and utter another apology, watching his back rise and fall with his lungs like a balloon.

Sneaking through the halls, you pass displays and stay close to the walls, listening with strained ears as your breath seems to be the loudest thing in the museum. Rubbing at your sore nose, you make your way across multiple sections of the building, knowing every turn as if you’d lived here forever.

“Now,” your father’s voice guides you along and you almost feel his hand on your shoulder as you slip behind a case full of ancient cat furs in the Mammalogy section. A second guard's flashlight slips above you and you crawl on the floor as she passes. “If you ever lose sight of me, I’ll head right to the place between Mammalogy and the Bone Hall. Just follow the arrows and I’ll be waiting for you, alright? I’ll always find you, Little Love.”

You steady your breathing and slink around another display, heart constricted at the sudden need to hear your father’s voice again. You’d forgotten it after all of this time—the way he would reassure you was only a series of words without flow; a knowledge of the memory but mixed with the desperation to truly feel it. It was just…empty.

Getting out of Mammalogy, you lock eyes on the direction map placed on the wall as the stolen keys sit in your pocket, muffled metal clinking against the coin. Looking at it, you’re hit with a wave of sadness, brows going downturned, and a rueful frown coming to your lips.

“Guess not, Old Man.” You mutter to a ghost, shaking your head and pulse spiking when the female guard resets her path and begins to come back. Your body dashes away into memories and shadows with nothing more than a harsh sigh.

—

You stand at the bottom of the long staircase, breathing heavily and staring at the double doors of the museum storage room, grimacing but internally celebrating that you’ve gotten to where you need to go. There were multiple close calls with security, plus the unconscious man near the offices that you had to go back to.

But here, now, you finally were able to get somewhere.

Inserting the needed key into the door, you push through one and find rows upon rows of Archival storage boxes and cupboards all in pure white and gray. Blinking, you let the door close behind you as you huff out a scoff.

“I swear if these aren't in alphabetical order…” Your dim eyes go from one to another, but you grunt and go to find the labeled letters on the sides of the cupboards, the temperature dropping multiple digits to help the items preserve better.

Fingers twitching over the boxes, you slide them along as you read, muttering to yourself. A few moments into your search, the familiar name of your dad comes into view and you smile softly.

“Here we are.” Hand reaching out, you peel the object out and place it on the floor, taking a deep breath before popping the top and gazing inside.

There were two visible objects—a laptop and a journal.

Intrigued, your hands delve inside and take out the black leather journal with careful hands, feeling the bulk of crinkled, written-in pages. As you hold it up and tilt it over, something falls out and clatters to the ground; the clink of plastic making your eyes widen in surprise.

“And what do we have here?” A USB stick meets your bandaged flesh as you pick it up, sutures under your skin raw and tight. You pay no mind to the second pulse in your flesh and stare intently at the navy blue tone of the small object. “USB stick…? What were you doing in there?”

Your face goes curious, head tilting as you move the stick around in your hand. With a hum and a serious edge to your brows, you hide the object in your jacket’s pocket and quickly take up the remainder of the belongings. Putting the box back where it was, you high-tail it back out the door, lock it, and dash up the stairs.

This had to have everything you needed in it—a full laptop that with any luck was still intact, a journal, and a USB stick. The stick alone could give you swathes of information, and the journal…you hold back a yell of victory.

Your dad was sure to have something in all of this mentioning the donations and the moniker. The documents with the same date and printed red ink. There was something there; on the cusp of a great discovery like an anthropologist on a dig site. A pressure in the back of your mind—incessant ringing.

Something.

Getting back was easier now that you knew the places to avoid, and as you slip the keys back onto the unconscious guard's belt, you take back up the grate in one arm. Going back, you stand atop the bench below the vent, huffing as you shove your father’s things up first.

“What would Gaz do?” Your voice questions, hearing the long groaning from the downed security behind you. Sighing, you leave the grate on the bench, climbing back up with your muscles straining. It’s a slow crawl back to a section where you can actually turn your body around and at that point, you’re annoyed with the tightness of the vents.

But you do it, regardless, dangling your arms out of the square to twiddle your fingers above the grate before you finally claw it back up and twist it around, flesh pinched as you handle the long slats to manhandle it back into position with a defining pop of steel. Like a kangaroo, you slip the journal and laptop into your jacket, zipping it up and letting the objects hang as you shuffle backward—able to turn back around one more time as you begin retracing your steps.

You’re sure you're going to be sore tomorrow from all of this activity.

“If,” you bonk your head and hiss, glaring at the ceiling as you climb upward. “If Gaz lets me live that long. I’ll be lucky if he even makes me dinner anymore.”

There’s a part of you that realizes the effects of what this might bring. A small portion of unease and…fear. But there were things that you had to do alone, and this was one of them. It was your father that had been wronged, and it fell on you to finish this story, for ill or for better.

When you finally make it to the roof, you heave a breath of fresh air, basking in the open land. The grate screws back on easily with the help of your coin and hiking your father’s items higher in your grip, you speed to the ladder.

Even without checking your phone, you know you have missed calls—missed messages that number in the hundreds. It was far past midnight; you were stupid to think you’d be back on time.

“At least let me come up with a good excuse before I see him.” But still, you’re filled with a sense of elated accomplishment, your body quivering with adrenaline and happiness as your mouth opens in quick chuckles. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I did it! I’d like to see him hold a grudge against this.” Feet moving quickly, you get to the top of the ladder and bend down, smiling wide and cheeks pulled back with glee.

You looked over the edge of the roof, irises sparkling like gems as your throat holds giggles and puffs of excited breaths. Only you don’t lock into the ground feet below.

Instead, brown eyes like tree bark glare up into yours with hidden fury.

And then the black vehicles pull up with a screech of tires.

TAGS:

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lexosaurus · 5 months

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Twelve Hours: Chapter 1

Part 1 of 5 of my fic for Ecto Implosion, the DP reverse mini-bang (artists go first, writers go second).

I was SUPER lucky to get @tytach's incredible art to write my fic off of. Their art lines up with Chapter 5 of this fic, and I'm so excited to get there so everyone can see it because ahhhhhh it's so so soooo good!

read on: [ao3]

[see all chapters]

Characters: Danny Fenton, Harriet Chin, GIW (mentioned a lot) Tags: Identity Reveal, Flashbacks, Runaway Danny Fenton, Angst WC: 1788 Summary: When the GIW revealed Danny to the world, the only thing he could do was run. Run and run and run until he escaped to Chicago, trying desperately to disappear. Too bad it didn't work.

****

Warm light washed over the room, draping his figure in its yellows and oranges. From the monitors, Danny could see how the olive undertones in his skin seemed to be at home in the welcoming backlight. Still, it didn’t stop the sweat from trickling down his neck as the halo of lights slow-roasted him from every angle.

It was to humanize him, reporter Harriet Chin had explained from her seat, watching as a sound engineer fastened the lapel microphone to his shirt. They wanted to make him feel like anyone’s next-door neighbor. Not a scary ghost, just a victim of an unfortunate legal system.

An unfortunate legal system, Danny had internally repeated, fighting the urge to rub the raised lines under his button-up shirt. That was one way to put it.

But right now, he just felt hot, and he didn’t much like heat. He could feel his body reacting in kind, burning deep from the fried nerves fighting to repair themselves inside him. Just as they had been doing for the past…

…how long?

“Here,” Harriet Chin said, her words ripping through his discomfort. She turned the tablet around to face him.

Too keenly aware of the cameras surrounding him and the lapel mic recording his every breath, he fitted as neutral of an expression on his face as he could as he looked down at the screen.

A face he knew too well stared back at him. It was a man, his senior, with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His strong nose sloped downward at the point, and his forehead was smooth, blending impeccably into his bald scalp. In one ear was a hooked earpiece with a curly wire jutting out from behind.

Old school, of course. Danny remembered when the wire went out of fashion for the new Bluetooth earpieces.

Very little changed in there, after all.

Harriet hit play, and the man began speaking. “Our goal was to uncover who the kid had been. If we could understand that, then we would know his human past, what makes him tick, and most importantly, why he became the ghost he is today.”

The camera cut to an older woman with pale skin and poofy gold hair that curled up at the end. Deep lines creased her face, and pale pink lipstick brushed her lips, adding an almost hint of youth to her wise demeanor.

“And what did you find? In that conquest?” the woman asked.

The camera cut back to the square-jawed man. He sat there in a moment of what was supposed to be read as contemplative silence, though Danny knew just how rehearsed it was in reality. Then after his onerous pause, he sighed, shook his head, and said, “What we found was something so disturbing, it made us question our own reality.”

Danny felt his jaw set. He could have mouthed along to the following words; they were so deeply carved into the trunk of his memories. But he suppressed the urge, just as he suppressed the way his pulse quickened and the prickling heat on his skin intensified.

But he remembered. By god, he remembered. He didn’t even need to close his eyes to be brought back to that moment, back to that day.

Harriet paused the video, but Danny didn’t take his eyes off the screen. Off the man—no, off Operative O.

****

12:00:00

Danny tugged on his hood, hoping it covered the bulk of his hair. Under the table, his leg bounced, his anxiety refusing to let his body obey his pleas to act natural, just act natural.

He didn’t know where he was, not exactly. He hadn’t been paying attention to the road signs as he flew. More than likely, he wouldn’t have been able to read them anyway—not with the world so blurry around him.

All he knew was that he was far away from Amity Park. And hopefully, he was deep enough into the rural country to become completely unrecognizable.

But of course, no one would recognize him here. The only houses around were so run down that Danny would be shocked if any of their residents owned cable. Sure, the diner had a few small televisions on, but the few scraggly patrons around either had their noses shoved into their newspapers, or their eyes were keyed onto the fuzzy television playing today’s football game. No one cared about him, the tired, skinny-looking kid.

“You decided yet?” a voice above him said, nearly sending him flying from his booth.

Danny balled his clammy fingers into a fist and tried to awkwardly smooth out the menu paper he’d crinkled.

Act natural, act natural.

He risked a glance up to see a pale, stocky woman with bright red curls tied loosely into a bun. The blue apron tied around her waist sported ketchup stains that Danny was sure were at least a week old.

But he could hardly judge, with how he must have looked to all of them.

On the other television mounted on the wall behind her, the silent commercial break ended to reveal the top of a news segment.

His mouth dried. Should he make a break for it? Surely, they would run the Anti-Ecto laws segment at the top, wouldn’t they? But if they got a national news station here, wouldn’t that mean the employees and regulars of this diner would be able to recognize him?

He must have frozen for too long because the woman's disinterested face was beginning to morph in a way that Danny didn’t like.

He blurted out, “Uh, are you still serving breakfast?”

“We serve breakfast all day, hun,” she said.

He knew that. It was at the top of the menu. Great, now she probably thought he was strange and illiterate.

Wonderful.

The familiarity of his internal sarcastic quips managed to shave off just enough stress for Danny to give what he hoped wasn’t a grimace as he said, “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes, thanks.”

She nodded at him, then turned back into the kitchen. Danny tracked her eyes, but she hadn’t looked up at the news.

Not that his face was on it. Yet.

Maybe he should leave. Not even risk it. Focus on finding somewhere to sleep tonight.

But no, he was safe. No one was looking at the news. The goddamn football game was on. Nobody cared about some stupid Anti-Ecto laws or the stupid Guys in White.

“Sacked!” one of the men huddled on the stool in front of the football television shouted.

Another, bigger man joined in the groans with, “He shoulda run!”

“It’s the offense. They’re all shit,” the first man said. Danny wondered if his wiry, overgrown mustache itched or if he’d simply gotten used to it. “Not a single goddamn person open! Shit, I’m tellin’ ya!”

“S’why he shoulda just run instead of lookin’ for an open guy,” the bigger man said.

They could have been speaking ancient Ghost Speak for all Danny knew, but so long as their attention was focused on that television and not the other, muted one, then Danny would be okay.

The woman rounded the counter again, this time holding a tray with a plastic cup full of water and a coffee. She set both down in front of Danny, who reached for the coffee with greedy hands. It burned at his touch, but he was too thankful to care.

“Figured you might want it,” the woman said. “With you traveling and all.”

Danny must have flinched because she immediately amended, “It’s just that I don’t recognize your face, is all. I don’t mean to pry into personal business.”

“Oh—I—” Danny swallowed. What was his rehearsed cover, again? “I’m going to see my cousin.”

She peered down at him, her eyes narrowing. “Your cousin’s out here?”

Behind her, the TV playing the news began their headline report, and Danny’s stomach plummeted to the floor.

Act natural.

His adrenaline was quickly taking over, and he had almost forgotten the question before he blurted out, “Chicago.”

However, her suspicion didn’t melt off her face like Danny envisioned it would. “Hm, okay.”

“I just got hungry,” Danny said.

The TV was now showing his face. Both of his faces.

Maybe she noticed how all the blood seemed to drain from his cheeks, or the way he kept glancing behind her, because she started to tilt her head back when Danny blurted out, “And, you know, diners in the middle of nowhere always have the best food.”

The screen cut, replacing his faces with the faces of Operative O and a reporter. Her lips were moving, but the black captions appeared a few seconds later. “What was your goal with all of this?”

“Are you trying to butter me up?” the waitress asked.

Danny ripped his eyes from the screen. For a second, he forgot again what they were talking about. Then he remembered he was trying to stall until the segment ended, and nerves hit him like a tropical storm all over again.

“Only for the free coffee,” he answered.

“Free coffee, huh? Well, I think I can bargain for that just this one time. It’s not often we get visitors, you know.”

Her voice may have been sugar, but Danny could still see how her eyes swept over him, pausing over every scruff in his hoodie.

Ancients, he must have looked like a right mess.

He glanced back at the screen to see Operative O saying, “What we found was something so disturbing, it made us question our own reality.”

What they found…about him? What a bunch of psychopaths.

Psychopaths that can end you, he reminded himself.

But he didn’t need that kind of optimism right now, so he tried to focus back on the waitress, but what were they talking about again? Something about…coffee?

“We discovered a ghost who had taken the body of a dead child and was using him like a doll. And no one knew. Not family, not friends. No one.”

Danny’s eyes bore craters in the TV. Though no sound was playing, Operative O’s tone was powerful, and nothing if not crystal clear.

And the message was cruel.

The screen cut back to Danny. Both of Danny, with Operative O’s lingering captions stamped below. And the real Danny, the one who was sitting in the booth, stood.

What else was there to do, anyway? After Operative O had told the whole world that Phantom was an evil ghost using a dead kid like a meat puppet for its own sick satisfaction?

“I just realized I forgot my wallet,” Danny muttered uselessly. He slipped past the waitress, and she let him go.

After all, she’d turned around. She’d seen the screen.

****

#danny phantom #ectoimplosion2023 #phicc #dp fanfic #twelve hours #guys in white #violence cw #identity reveal

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b33zlebubz · 11 days

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RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER EIGHT

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | 18+ MDNI | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, fluff angst & eventual smut, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment, flashbacks “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past." CHAPTER CW: IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT ((not from simon))

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14TH 2016 NORWAY, 1400 HOURS

"You're movin' too much, still."

"You are quite literally breathing down my neck. Kinda hard not to."

"Yeah, well, get used to it, love. 'Cause at this point you're always gonna have someone looming over you."

You huff, unamused, and it clouds out in front of your face as you squint through the scope of an unloaded rifle. Gloved hands grip the machine as you focus the scope on a point far-off at the other end of the course.

Four hours you've been out here, now, running a sniping simulation. The rest of your squad was split up in pairs across the vast landscape. You were left as the odd one out and, seeing as Walker had originally planned to just stick you carelessly in with another group, Simon volunteered to partner with you instead. Keep things equal. Which basically—as your superior—meant he had an excuse to sit back and smoke while you did all the work.

The exercise was simple; climb the mountain, find your post, sit and keep watch for flags until the next team tags you out. A sniping exercise as well as a strength and conditioning one.

You both made quick work of the mountain, ice picks cracking against the ice. Simon never really considered himself the competitive type, partially because he never needed to be and partially because there was no point—he's worked hard to ensure he's always the biggest guy in the room. Today, though, something in your growing annoyance as he yelled down keep up, sergeant or watch your footing every time you lagged behind stirred something in you, which in turn stirred something in him. It quickly became something of a race.

When his pick slipped and you finally surpassed him as he skidded down a few meters, he heard your laugh for the first time against the wind. For some reason, it made him smile, too.

"I hate sniper duty," you grumble. "Don't know how you do it—sit in the snow for hours."

"Same way I put up with your whiny ass."

"And what's that?"

"Patience."

You roll your eyes, but your lip quirks up into a smile nonetheless. A sight he's grown more accustomed to over the course of the past couple days of training and conversation. He's helped you out in little ways, stopping by the shooting range to offer some constructive criticism as you practiced, offering dietary and training advice to get your strength up, sticking his neck out for you when he could around Walker…among other things. As it would turn out, you were good company. Whiny, maybe—but good company, nonetheless.

You were improving, too. Temperament and strength-wise. How much of it is due to his company rather than his guidance, though, he isn't sure.

"You're not funny," you retort.

"You complained the whole way up the mountain, love."

You huff and shoot him a look. "Did I get it done?"

"Affirmative."

"And did I beat you while doing it?"

He shrugs. "More or less."

"Then you should watch your mouth, Lieutenant."

His eyebrows raise, amused. "Is that a threat I hear?"

"It's a promise to beat you again sliding back down the mountain, sir."

He imagines you throwing yourself down the snow in order to beat your own speed record, and he chuckles a little at the thought. "I'd like to see you try, Angel."

You smile, gaze focused through the scope. You've spotted three flags already, and you spot two more as another hour passes. The team that's supposed to take your place is getting closer, Ghost thinks it'll be twenty minutes before they rendezvous, and you both make your way back for the day.

"Ghost."

"Angel," he exhales another cloud of smoke and vapor when you speak, breaking the comfortable silence that's washed over you both.

You maneuver awkwardly to position your hand behind you, opening and closing your fist a few times.

"Hand me one of those," you say, your breathing puffing out into the freezing air. "And my lighter."

He shakes his head with an amused smirk. "You're supposed to be focusing."

"Can't focus if my hands are shaking."

"And what if this is a real scenario? You're not gonna have cigarettes in a life-or-death situation, sergeant."

"Yeah, well, you do," you flex your hand again. "So gimme."

He figures you're the only Sergeant on base he'd let order him around, but he doesn't let that thought take root in his mind. Instead, he shifts closer so that he's lying on his stomach next to you in the snow.

"Keep still," he tells you, plucking a cigarette from his pack. "You miss a flag Walker won't let me hear the end of it."

You seem slightly surprised, but you don't say anything as he slots himself next to you. He offers you the cigarette as you keep your gaze in the scope, and you use your free hand to slot it between your lips before he lights it. You inhale slowly, and he watches your lips as you do so; watches the tips of your fingers through the clipped tips of the gloves he gave you and watches you exhale. When he looks up, you're already looking at him. He's close enough to see where snow clings to your lashes.

A beat passes where you both just stare at each other. Simon finds he can't read your expression. Then, you shake your head and clear your throat, which in turn snaps him out of his daze, before you take another drag and lock your focus in once more.

"Another flag," you say, your brow furrowed. "At your twelve o' clock. About four kilometers out."

Simon shifts, putting some space between you both as he clears his throat because fuck. What the hell was that?

"Copy that."

You're quiet for the rest of the exercise, only speaking whenever you spot another flag. For some reason, Simon still finds himself fixed on the cigarette in your hand as you work.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14TH 2016 NORWAY, 1800 HOURS

Whenever both return to the base, there's a lot of whispering. He doesn't notice, at first, too busy sorting equipment and putting it away. You don't notice the lingering stares or the hushed voices either; or you're just pointedly ignoring them. Sorting through your own gear nearby, you're quiet, and you're done and ready before he's even folded his snowsuit. Nevertheless, Simon doesn't pay much mind to the name being whispered around until he can put the face to it.

Roger's Back.

Now, if there is one thing Simon isn't—it's humble. After years of hard work he's managed to pack on an impressive amount of muscle, taking him from a lanky, malnourished teen to the legend he was now. Not since Roba has he ever had an issue taking down anyone with the same experience, or sometimes more, than him. He's made sure of that and intends to keep things that way.

That is, until Simon happens to lift his head and peer down the hall towards someone he, for once, doesn't have to look down to meet the gaze of.

He's massive, is Simon's first thought. The same height as him, he wagers the bloke might be the only lower-ranked soldier here who actually matches his strength enough to maybe have the upper hand in a fight.

Simon's second thought is that bloody hell.

There's a long scratch across the man's cheek and the remains of a bruise around that of an eyepatch. There's a still-healing gash on the side of his head, scar tissue fresh and thick on the temple of a shaved head, flesh stretched inward from staples freshly removed.

Ah. Roger. The sergeant who's skull you cracked against the edge of a bar.

The man approaches you from behind and Simon stops in his tracks just down the hall, eyes flitting over to watch the scene unfold in the corner of his eye.

Keeping his face hidden had its cons, sure. Maybe he did nearly suffocate himself every time he sweat his ass off in the desert. Maybe underwater tasks were difficult and maybe he had to jump through all kinds of hoops to avoid getting his picture taken. In hiding his own emotions, however, he's become quite good at reading the body language of others.

And you're uncomfortable. Tense. Ready to bite at a moment's notice.

You stand rigid still as you sense his presence, your back to the man as he approaches lazily to stand behind you. Some words are exchanged. You, biting retorts that just barely count as professional and him…standing too close for comfort.

You hold your ground. You don't punch first—just like Simon told you. He watches the man's lips move, reads the threat that crosses his lips. Still, you hold your ground as Simon's fists clench and he realizes what's happening—why you punched first. Why you're struggling and why you put your training on halt for leave.

Next time, the man says. Next time, you're not getting away so easily, bird.

Simon watches you think about it. He watches your hands ball into fists, watches your eyes narrow and your nose scrunch with disgust. But you don't move, no—you don't shrink away in fear and you don't immediately go for the kill. You stand your ground just as Simon told you to.

You do so until the man looks away first, sauntering off. Simon watches you let out one breath, then another, before you grab your pack in a shaking hand and sling it over your shoulder. His eyes linger on you as you quickly leave the room, barely noticing how Roger approaches him to introduce himself.

It's not until the door shuts behind you that Simon grabs the young Sergeant by the front of his shirt and slams him against the wall. Roger lets out a startled yelp.

"You lay another finger on her," he snarls. "And I'll fuckin' cut it off, Sergeant, you copy?"

Roger's eyes are wide. The breath knocked from his lungs, he's panting, and his mouth opens and shuts again in shock.

"I said do you copy?"

"Yes—yes, sir. Copy and check."

Satisfied that his warning is taken seriously, Simon turns him loose with a hissed, "piss off."

Roger stumbles. Disoriented, he continues down the hallway, and Simon is still seething as his boots carry him down a wrong turn to Walker's office.

He doesn't walk out until your safety is guaranteed.

#simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #cod ghost #simon riley

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bubuslutty · 11 months

Text

Day 6: you wanna be the Queencard?

this is part 6, all parts

pairing: angel/demon!fem reader x 141

word count: 2.5k

tags: fluff, poor attempt at humour (help), no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warnings: none

summary: Price notices changes + Angel invites Soap to hang out <3

a/n: special thanks to my first ever beta reader @whore4dilfs! Feedback means lots to me and gives me boosts of motivation <3

Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed this chapter/serie, means lots 💖

the title of this part is taken from this song.

Price wasn't stupid. He has eyes and can notice when people slowly start to change.

Since they have moved into the little home in London for work under Laswell’s watchful eyes, their new neighbour has been nothing but a pleasant surprise. At first, it was fun you know? Oh look, we have a hot neighbour and she’s nice! Angel would sometimes be talked about when they were having dinner, the men casually talking about how her cat almost ruined her flowers and she shouted at her. Or how last Saturday she almost tripped and fell face first when taking out the trash, or how she gets her laundry from the garden wearing nothing but a stupid t-shirt and pair of underwear.

Price is a gentleman, he tries his best not to stare, not to let his eyes linger on her when she’s out and about or greets him when he’s smoking in the garden. But she’s so fucking pretty, it’s frustrating at this point, how she manages to make his breath stutter every time he sees her. She could be wearing an old Minnie Mouse t-shirt, a pair of shorts and yellow Crocs with gardening gloves, dirty and sweating under the sun and digging up weeds and Price would always get caught staring at her, his cigar forgotten between his fingers.

He feels like a teenager all over again. He’s not a virgin for fuck sake. And he had his fair share of hookups here and there along with (failed) relationships. But he still catches himself staring at her lips when she’s laughing at something Soap said, throwing her head back and screeching with laughter. And she seems to not mind his men’s antics, either.

She doesn’t ask about their scars, doesn’t comment on Ghost's clothing choices or how he wears a mask 24/7 and never asks why she should call him Ghost either. She never asked them intrusive questions, not even when they were comfortable, bellies full of wine and warm under the sun on random afternoons. Angel hasn’t made any of his men or himself uncomfortable, not even once, and that’s terrifying because it’s so easy to get comfortable and open with her. It makes him want to talk about things he only keeps to himself. She makes him want to sit and ramble about what he’d do once he’s old and retired, maybe he’ll buy a boat, or a house up north, or move to Spain or to Morocco.

One fine Tuesday, Price was sitting on the sofa, scrolling on his phone while Gaz was curled up next to him, reading a random webcomic on his phone when their doorbell rang.

Gaz frowned, looking up at Price, "Are we expecting someone, today?"

"No." Price shook his head.

"I'll get it!" Soap exclaimed, skipping 3 steps and jumping down the stairs, wearing a tank top and a pair of comfortable shorts with little dog-printed socks. Initially, Soap thought it must be one of his packages that came earlier than expected, but once he opened the door he realised it wasn't the mailman but their hot neighbour.

And she was absolutely soaked from head to toe, it was raining so hard outside that Soap accidentally got rain inside their house, wetting the floor under his feet

"I locked myself out. Can I please come in until the rain stops?" Angel asked, embarrassed and hair sticking to her neck and face.

"Holy shit, yeah, of course!" Soap quickly moved to the side, allowing her to step inside their warm house and locked the door behind her.

Angel stood there awkwardly, her clothes sticking to her skin as she shivered and looked at Soap with her wet eyelashes clumped together.

"What the hell happened to you?" Price said as soon as he saw her, sitting up properly.

"Got rained on, and uhm, I locked myself out," Angel said, squirming with embarrassment, her hands clutching the ends of her short skirt.

"Jesus…" He sighed and stood up, "Gaz, get her something to change into, and Soap, give her a towel and show her to the bathroom."

"You don't have to!" Angel quickly said, still dripping water next to their door, refusing to take a step in any direction.

Price gave her an unimpressed look, "Really? You're dripping water all over the floor and you'll get sick."

Angel pursed her lips and watched Price walk to the kitchen, turning on the kettle and preparing ginger tea for her.

Soap brought her a big towel, to wrap herself into and get to the bathroom, where Gaz handed her the smallest t-shirt he could find, a zip-up hoodie and a pair of shorts.

"I tried my best, I know none of this will fit but yeah-" Gaz mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and Angel smiled, shivering under the towel.

"Thank you, Gaz."

"No worries." He smiled and left her to change and dry up in the bathroom.

"Oh yeah," He stopped in his tracks and walked up to the bathroom's door, knocking twice, "Take a hot shower, you'll get warmer that way!"

"Okay!" Angel said behind the door, wrestling with her wet skirt to pull it down.

"Are you sure I need all of this?..." Angel asked, blowing on the mug containing the tea Price made her.

"Angel, shut up." Price sighed, sitting next to her on the sofa.

Angel was wrapped in a giant fluffy blanket, wearing military-grade warm socks, with a warm water bottle placed behind her back and a big mug of tea in her hands.

"Damn, alright…" Angel rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea, feeling it warm her body from the inside out.

Gaz sat down next to Price, curling up next to him and this time grabbing the remote control, looking for something to put in as background noise.

Soap also came back down, but with Ghost this time, literally dragging him by the sleeve and making him sit down, curling next to him and throwing a leg over one of his ridiculously thick and strong thighs.

Angel noticed all of this but didn't say anything.

"So, how did ya lock yourself out?" Soap finally asked.

"I was rushing and forgot my keys," Angel said, already annoyed at how she would need to call someone to unlock her door for her.

"Went somewhere special? You looked nice." Soap said, making her smile.

"Yeah, I went for coffee with a friend. And I bought a new ring!" She said and stuck out her hand to show him.

Soap's eyes immediately sparkled with interest at the ring she showed him. Ghost glanced at him and at the silver ring she was showing him, and knew Johnny liked jewellery, especially silver.

Soap grabbed her hand and he leaned forward, "That's beautiful, where did you get it from?"

The ring was silver with small pink and purple rocks on it, forming a little skull, obviously mimicking the tag on Kuromi's collar.

"This store is 20 minutes away from here by train! They have so many things and almost everything is unisex! I'll send you the address if you want?" Angel said, excited to be sharing something she found with him.

"I dinnae have your number though?" Soap realised.

"Oh yeah," Angel was confused, with the number of times they've spoken and hung out, how come they don't have each other's numbers already?

"Alright, give me your number and I'll add you to our group chat so you can save their numbers as well, okay?" Soap said, taking out his phone and handing it to her.

Angel typed in her number and saved her contact under 'Angel 👹'

When she handed him back his phone he snorted, "What type of emoji is that?"

"It's a demon!" She said with a grin and he laughed, shrugging it off.

The conversation was light and easy, they talked about random mundane things until Angel’s attention was stolen by the TV, she stared at the big screen with her mouth open and forgot to finish her sentence.

She snorted, and Gaz tilted his side to the side, “What’s up?”

“That’s you, John.” Angel pointed at the screen, where a big brown bear was napping under a tree on its back. Gaz and Soap started giggling like school girls at Price’s expression. Ghost on the other hand let out a small snort and pulled at the strings of his hoodie, trying to hide himself from his captain.

Price leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees and squinting at the screen like an old man, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s literally exactly how you nap in the garden sometimes, and it’s cute!” Angel said, still laughing at his face.

“That’s not true, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about, the sun must’ve messed up with your head.” He said, shrugging and refusing to meet her eyes.

“John, stop playing, it’s you!” Angel whined, shaking his arm and making Gaz laugh harder.

“If I’m that bear, you’re that one.” He said, pointing at the TV. Angel glanced at the TV and saw a small cub falling on its face and getting a mouthful of dirt. She gasped at his audacity, “No, I’m not!”

“I have seen you almost trip outside when taking out the trash, 3 times already.” Price teased her, looking at her with a small smirk.

“And you laugh at a lady instead of preserving her reputation? How dare you, John!” Angel said with a hand on her chest and falling back on Soap with a hand against her forehead.

“That is not a way to treat a proper lady, John. Apologise!” Soap said, lower lip dramatically wobbling and cradling her head in his arms.

“I’ll think about it.” Price chuckled at their antics and Gaz gasped, “Oh my days, you’re actually the worst.”

“And yet, you still love me.” Price sighed.

“Unfortunately.” Gaz rolled his eyes and placed a kiss on the Captain’s temple before standing up and walking to the kitchen, to get himself a snack.

“I think your clothes should be dry now,” Soap said, opening the tumble dryer’s door and watching Angel bend down to inspect her clothes.

“They are, thanks.” She grabbed the clothes and placed them on top of the dryer, closing the door with one hand.

Soap watched Angel fold her clothes in a neat pile and her skirt caught his attention. It was a pretty short brown pleated skirt, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to run his hand on the soft fabric. Angel stopped and stared at Soap’s entranced and focused face.

“Nice, isn’t it?” She smiled and he snapped back into reality, retrieving his hand to himself.

“What fabric is that?” He asked and Angel just stared at him, “I actually don’t know…”

“Wait, maybe it says on the tag inside.” She exclaimed and quickly grabbed the skirt, flipping it inside out and frowning, when it was nowhere to be seen, “Oh shit, I must’ve removed it and forgot, sorry Soap.”

If there’s one thing Soap can tell you he likes about the woman, is that she dresses well. Her personal style is so cool and unique to him, every time she’s about to leave for work, he stops and admires her choice of clothes for the day. At first, it embarrassed him, how much he enjoys clothes and colours and fashion, but then it took years of working through internalised self-hatred for him to enjoy ‘womanly’ things without feeling like utter shit about it in the comfort of his own room. Thanks, Dad for the trauma <3

“If you want, I can try to figure out where I bought it from and buy you one? So we can match?” Angel asked, grinning and holding the skirt up in her hands.

Soap’s eyes widened a bit and he quickly spluttered, “No, you dinnae have to! Please, don’t bother.”

“You don’t like the skirt?” Angel’s smile fell.

“No, I do! It's just you dinnae have to bother buying me one, It won’t suit me.” He said, laughing and scratching his arm, no humour behind his laugh, if anything it was tainted with embarrassment and a hint of shame.

Angel’s eyes softened, “Soap, what makes you think it won’t suit you? Have you seen your thighs and tiny -excuse my language- slutty waist?”

Soap blushed bright red and barked out a laugh, “What the shite, Angel?!”

“It’s true! Don’t tell me Ghost has never told you this before?” Angel asked, tilting her head to the side.

Soap took a sharp inhale through his nose and slammed the door of the kitchen shut, “What makes you think he-”

“The man’s practically obsessed with your thighs, every time you sit next to him his hands glue themselves to them, especially when you’re wearing shorts. And I don’t even blame him, you have killer thighs. In my opinion, it’s a crime you have to wear trousers-” Angel said, waving her hands and the skirt around, and Soap almost died and closed her mouth with his palm before he could stop himself.

“Alright!”

“Hmm??” Angel hummed behind his palm, eyes wide.

“You want to buy me a skirt? Okay, just- just don’t–” Soap said, letting out a shaky breath and slowly removing his hand from her mouth.

Angel blinked up at him with big shiny eyes, feeling the borrowed shorts slowly slide down her hips. “Are you free next Wednesday?” She asked and quickly reached down the tie the short’s strings tighter to stop them from sliding down.

“Yeah, why?”

“Let’s play dress up at mine,” Angel said, grinning up at Soap.

“You want to-”

“Let’s hang out, and I’ll show you my jewellery collection,” Angel added with a small smirk, raising her brows.

Soap gaped at her like a fish, his mouth agape, and groaned, throwing his head back, “Fine, At what time?”

“How about 3 in the afternoon?”

“I’ll bring snacks.” Soap nodded, feeling an odd soup of excitement and anxiety brew in his stomach.

“Perfect, see you then, Soap.” Angel winked and grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragging him down to place a kiss on his cheek and happily skipped out of the kitchen.

“PRICE, CAN YOU UNLOCK MY DOOR NOW, PLEASE?” He heard Angel call out in the living room and leaned against the tumble dryer, glancing down at his thighs in his shorts. He chuckled and shrugged, “I do have killer thighs.”

Outside in front of Angel’s front door, Price was squatting in front of the lock, picking at it with some tool Angel has never seen before she gasped when a small click was heard and Price pulled the doorknob down, opening it.

Price stood up and turned to her, “Here we go, now go look for those keys, to make sure they’re actually inside.”

Angel raised a brow, “Should I be worried you can unlock my doors?...”

“No, why? Are you hiding something?” Price asked, with a hand on his hip, wearing a small smirk.

“Of course not.”

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @loveyhoneydovey @cutiecusp @pinkwigonmytv @mandythemint @itsberrydreemurstuff @tapioca-marzipan @fruitymoonbeams-blog @poohkie90 @chaoticevilbakugo @anubis-reed @thefairybird @skytacvia @marytvirgin @cynicalmnm @maechanexe @t0jis-worm @1800imgay @4ndjelij4 @multitargaryen @lilpothoscuttings @mysticalpandabear @silviafantin15 @marvel-ness @bobastayhigh @originalsimp @h-leighh @gxldyjess @msdrpreist @whore4dilfs

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fanficwriterlover · 10 months

Text

Undercover

18+ Readers Only

As you guys have voted, this is another series I'll be working on...this one will have a different approach and I want to blossom this relationship with Ghost through harsh trails. We'll see where it'll take us. Don't worry will still work on Safe With A Ghost.

Enjoy ! Thanks for Supporting !

Chapter 1: Last Time

Summary: You're an undercover CIA, your job has always been to extract information from your targets to report back to Laswell. This time, things are different you'll be working with a team called 141, yet everything seemed to fall apart, you've become compromised and endangered. Now you have to have a babysitter to keep you safe, yet, it turns to something else~

Expectations: blood,shooting,cursing,intensity moments,flirting, indication of nudity, slight arousal, and more

Call sign: N/A

══════ ⋆Undercover Masterlist⋆ ══════

════════ ⋆Chapter 2⋆ ═════════

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sighing out, being undercover was hard work, it was never ending. You were always on the move with your next target and constantly dressed differently. This time, you were an assistant which, you've had to portray for months now. Least until Laswell's team got enough of what they needed to take action. That's right, you were the guinea pig they threw into a den of lions to chase after. Some times it'd take you a day to win over your target others took months. It was hard, you couldn't know from one day to the next. One slip up and you could have a bullet in your head. Recently your "boss" had moved into his other mansion feeling his enemies getting under his skin. He was growing agitated now, he couldn't for the life of him figure out how his enemies were getting information. Little did he know his "dorogoy" translation for sweetheart was the heart of the betrayal.

He cursed on the phone slamming his fist down on the table obviously not happy that his warehouse was found by Laswell's team. You of course leaked it out, as his personal assistant you had full access to everything. You eyed him seeing the big man look through the window. He spoke Russian through gritted teeth to whoever was on the other end "vam luchshe ispravit' eto seychas! Mne nuzhno, chtoby eta posylka byla otpravlena zavtra! Sdelay eto !" ( You better fix this now ! I need that shipment sent out tomorrow! Make it happen !) Luckily, you were a multilingual, and understood a variety of languages which gave you the upper hand to infiltrate and go uncover.

He slammed the phone onto the table nearly breaking it as you took the chance standing up walking over to him, speaking in a seductive low voice touching his arm "Gluboko vzdokhnite, lyubov' moya, ya uveren, chto zavtra oni sdelayut eto. chto-nibud', chto ya mogu sdelat', chtoby oblegchit' vashi problemy?" (Deep breaths, my love, I'm sure they'll get it done for tomorrow. anything I can do to ease your troubles ?) He seemed to be composing himself shaking his head. "Net. Ne nuzhno volnovat'sya iz-za chego-to podobnogo, moya dorogaya. Pochemu by tebe ne kupit' mne chego-nibud' v toy bulochnoy." (No. Don't need you stressing over something like this my dear. Why don't you go get me some thing at that bakery shop.) Giving a warm smile. "Of course !" You make your way out of his large office grabbing your coat and leaving his large mansion. It was too fancy for your taste, but all his estates were that way and you’ve lived in almost luxury for 7 months so far. You stride out the door, body guards every where as you take a deep breath, it was cold outside as always as you made your way to the bakery.

Once you felt out of sight you pulled out your phone and called Laswell, "I got something." You can hear Laswell sounding ready to log into the computer and record the phone call. You waited until she told you to speak. "Tonight, his men have to make up a new shipment, he's set on getting it out tomorrow to whoever." Laswell then asked "He hasn't told you who though" you huff "No...that's one thing he hasn't opened up to me about. And Laswell...I think he's catching on. You need to get this done now. My neck is on the line" you bit your lip. It was true, you were the only other person present in the room that would share information to the enemies, he's obviously going to figure it out soon. "I know, hang tight. I'll send a team to extract you. We have things to go over anyways, right now he's not our priority. Until then-" you frowned walking a bit making a right, for a while you felt someone was following you "I think I've already been caught on...." You began panting softly speed walking Laswell hearing this "I'm going to be sending two of my guys to your location. Stay alive until then. ETA extraction team be there at best 2 hours" you cursed under your breath speaking through gritted teeth "I may not be alive by then Laswell." She takes a breath from the line "Then guess you fight like hell" you walked yourself into an alley way the two men were definitely behind you as you put Laswell on hold."Excuse me for a moment" , looking at the men smiling "Good morning gentlemen, to what do I owe this encounter?" They both strided towards you but you were faster grabbing one of the man's arms kneeing him in the chest and grabbing his gun shooting his head. The other one reaching for his, drawing it. You use the man's limp body as a shield taking the shots as you aim his gun to the other man shooting him. Just like that, dead. You pick up your phone "Sorry about that Laswell, where do I rendezvous again ?"

A Couple Hours Later

You were in a jet flying back to base where you'd meet Laswell and her new team, for the first time. You've only heard a little bit about the team otherwise you didn't know what to expect. You had changed into your casual attire, it was tight jeans, boots that reached below your knees and a shirt that only one sleeve went over of your shoulders. You wore one sleeve to mask your other arm, your nails manicured and hair hanged down over your shoulder showing your natural hair color. It's been a long time since you've been back in your home turf. It always felt like you were always on the move dressing differently from head to toe.

When you finally landed you stepped down the stairs however you weren't greeted by Laswell, instead you saw 7 men all seeming to wait for your arrival. You then noticed the laptop on the stand with Laswell on the screen as you knew what this meant. Approaching the laptop you look at the screen seeing her serious face before smiling and nodding her head "Glad to see you still kept your head" you mumble softly "Barely, no thanks to you" she smiled slightly "I know you just got back-" you raised your hand "If you expect me to already go back in the field again you must be joking ?" Giving you an apologetic look as a man with a cup hat walked forward holding his vest "Unfortunately we are not lass, Kate says your the best. And quite frankly we need your skills lass." You wanted to scream, you just got home. You've nearly lost your head twice and already you want to be sent out like a guinea pig. Gritting your teeth "And you are ?" Cocking a brow at him almost glaring. "Captain John Price, I lead the team 141." You studied him for a moment scanning at the men behind him. Before looking back at the screen. "Last one, I mean it, I need a break Laswell" nodding her head "I agree" you frown crossing your arm "I'm going to need more assurance than you agreeing with me Kate" the words came out sharp but you couldn't be blamed, you were rightfully to be pissed. "I promise this will be your last one." You studied her, huffing hands on your hips "Alright, who now ?"

Laswell went on to speak with the Captain shifting the camera view for Laswell to see the interaction "Need you to meet whose going to help with this mission. Los Vaqueros, this is their leader; Colonel Alejandro Vargas and his Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra" you raised a brow before speaking "Los vaqueros eh? México ? que parte ?" Reaching to shake Alejandro hand he was shocked and surprised smiling before responding "Crecí en Las Almas mi amiga, ¿hablas español?" Smiling at his remark "Sí, estudié todos los idiomas para moverme." He laughs softly "Debo decir que estoy impresionada!" You then shake his Sergeant Majors hand nodding your head. Next you were in front of two other men, both wearing UK flags. "Sargent Kyle "Gaz" Garrick and Sargent Johnny Soap McTavish" shaking both their hands Soap seemed a lot more excited to greet you as he spoke with a rough Scottish accent "Nice to meet you lass, you're quite the deal if Laswell hand picked ya" you laugh softly "So I'm told." Next was a person you didn't see before. He blended into the shadows was almost daunting from his size and aura. Laswell spoke "And that is Lieutenant Ghost." You nodded your head as he did the same. Flipping your head in Laswell's direction, "Okay....what do you want me to do"

After the Briefing with Los Vaqueros & 141

You were in your bunker putting on some makeup, was more natural looking and a glue on wig (honestly you hated wearing wigs but was essential to look different) it was blonde of course, they will be of course going back to Russia. You grumbled annoyed you just got back from that place and now you have to go back to find some guy named Gusev. This annoyed you apparently the man was selling illegal weapons and they want to know why. However, you had a feeling they knew more than they shared, it felt like you were out of the loop, just told to get whatever information you can and return. Apparently in two nights, he'll be meeting someone to give some information, a deal so to speak. Whatever was in his briefcase they wanted to know. Your job of course, is to get information out of the man within a night, take the briefcase and bring it to HQ. Sounds almost impossible, but you'll make it happen. This will be different though, you'll be watched over by 141 and Los Vaqueros. You frowned, Los Vaqueros patrolled in Mexico, so why exactly were they involved ? What do they gain from joining 141 ? And why was a team necessary to make 141. All of it confused you. People sell illegal weapons all the time, that's normal but for British,Mexican, and American to work together simply to track down some smuggler, it made you wonder what exactly you'll hear from Gusev that Laswell was withholding. You put in some green eye lenses to look completely different, sometimes you didn't even know who you were. Once ready putting on a dress with heels. Was a tight black dress that hugged around your body with not straps. You walked out of your bunker, the clicking of your heels can be heard through the halls as you made your way to the team.

Captain Price had the laptop up again, obviously talking to Laswell as you made your way closer, everyone else was talking amongst each other. It was the man with the skull balaclava noticing you first, his eyes scanned you from head to toe. You didn't let it bother you though, you were used to having eyes on you. Apparently was enough to make the Scottish man notice with his gaping mouth. You ignored it though approaching the Captain who looked like he was holding stuff for you, he handed you some IDs as Laswell spoke through the screen "You'll be a hooker this time" you raised a brow frowning at her "Really?" Kate laughs a little "Apparently Gusev is known for going to some strip clubs" if you thought your brow were high they went higher "You've got to be joking !" you blinked "I'm afraid not y/n, you'll find what you need in your bags. Ghost and Soap will be inside with you the whole time. With Price, Gaz and the Los Vaqueros guarding the exits and entrances."

You mumbled to yourself "Great....." with that Price spoke up "Alright team, let's move out." He then said a few words to Laswell, which you were able to catch her last words before "Take care of her John " was what you heard before boarding the craft. Finding a spot where the man known as Ghost sat across from you, with of course Soap next to you and Colonel Alejandro. Everyone else sat around. This was going to be a long flight you thought to yourself. Already Soap was asking you a bunch of questions, he seemed almost enamored to finally speak with a women, as you thought Poor guy, he must not go out a lot with women. His voice disrupting your train of thought "Where you from by the way ? You sound American." you nod your head "Spot on, I grew up in Kentucky." His eyes lit up "Country girl ?" You laugh a little covering your mouth "Something like that yes, my parents own property I used to ride horses. Well, kinda still own one but yeah" This really intrigued him, but Alejandro chimed in "Ah, a lass with good taste, no wonder. ¿Eres una vaquera tú mismo?" You smirk at him, he was handsome, he had a nice chisel face and slick hair "Sinceramente, no soy un estilo vaquero, monto al estilo inglés." He nodded his head "Ah, impresionante mi querida, seguro que eres talentosa." smiling from the compliment "gracias" yet this time Ghost caught your attention "How long you've been working undercover ?" The question seemed to surprise everyone as they looked in his direction My god, his presence could be obvious from his size and demeanor yet I forgot he was there. Guess he'd blend in well in the club. "Let's see- give or take maybe....6 years ?" His eyes narrowed in on you almost finding it hard to believe "Awfully young then aren't you ?" Your cheeks were red as you smirked a bit "I am old enough to be in the field, I assure you Lieutenant, I know how to do my job. I've never failed at getting what I want." He huffs "As long as you ain't a burden on my ass. Last thing we need is dead weight" Price looked his way "Ghost, none of that, Laswell and y/n, have worked together for years at the CIA, I trust Kate's judgement therefore I trust her." Price gave you a sympathetic smile "Sorry lass, don't let him intimidate you" you smile back "Not at all sir"

Arrival Somewhere in Russia

Getting off the plane, you were escorted by Ghost and Soap, to take you to a hotel to spend the night. You work at the club (already been given the job after the owner scanned your body from head to toe) Ghost and Soap, got jobs as bodyguards for the club, which the owner seemed delighted because apparently it's known for fights. You're to pretend to be a 21 year old, that gave you an eye roll. Your objective, find the target, seduce him, get the briefcase that contains plans that is needed. Apparently he's supposed to do a trade with someone. Ghost and Soap will stand in proximity to the best of their ability, if it all goes south they'll extract you immediately.

Getting a room card turned out to be more problematic than you thought though, the hotel had only two available rooms, therefore it meant someone would have to share since of course as the concierge said "The room for Mr and Mrs. Jones." You were about to say that must be wrong yet Ghost spoke up "Yeah, that'd be me and my new wife" clearly not trying to make a scene you went along with it. Feeling Ghost lay a hand on your waist. You knew it was for show but his hands were big on your waist, it sent a shiver up your core making you blush deeply. The concierge seemed delighted "Ah newlyweds! Here's your room then." Taking the keys Ghost and you walked side by side, well more like, he pulled you away from the desk with the press of his hand on your hips. Glancing back at Soap, you can see he was pouting about not thinking quick enough to be your fake husband. At the same time, you were somewhat relieved, you felt Ghost would be less obnoxious. And quite frankly less perverted. You hit the elevator button waiting for the doors to slide open as Soap eventually caught up as you all stepped in silently.

Ghost looked at the ceiling of the elevator obviously making sure their was no cameras as he spoke "Johnny, stop pouting" you looked toward Johnny seeing his arms crossed glaring at Ghost "It's not fair LT, besides you didn't even give y/n a chance to decide her husband." You laugh and blush a bit, Ghost looking down at you "Beggers can't be choosers." He says gruffly as you look at him as if he was encouraging you to say something as you look at Johnny who seemed to be fuming "C'mon Johnny, don't be like that. I tell you what- if we survive this mission, next time I need a fake husband I'll ask you" you gave a smirk. He beamed up "Aye, hear that LT, already should be expecting a divorce soon" Ghost snorted, the elevator door dinged as you stepped out walking to the room you'd be staying in. Unlocking it. Wishing Johnny a good night as you and Ghost went into your shared room. It was spacious, rose petals, fragrance smells, soothing lights, just perfect to set the mood...if you were an actual couple.

You look up at Ghost seeing his annoyed stare as he grumbled "Fuckin hell" you laugh softly, holding your stomach as you couldn't help it "Already regretting Lieutenant?" You walk into the room setting down your bag near the bed brushing off the petals. Ghost stood against the wall as you looked at him "You know "husband" if you plan to watch me undress that would ruin the element of surprise." You giggle seeing him become uncomfortable clearing his throat "Don't get any ideas lass, I don't plan on watching" you cock your brow zipping down your dress "Yet you're still staring." He looks immediately away heading into the large bathroom "Hurry up and fuckin change." You giggle seeing him rush into the bathroom shutting the door. You began undressing out of the dress into some shorts and loose shirt. Having to make do, with the dresser and your own mirror to remove your makeup, hair, and lenses. When finished you called out "Alright hubby, you can come out now" you can already hear him grumbling stepping out obviously not thrilled with the new pet name. He was still wearing his mask but in a shirt and sweatpants, cocking your brow at him sightly "You sleep with your mask on too ?" He groans rolling his eyes "You ask a lot of questions" you stand up sitting onto your bed "And yet you dodge every question. You are an unknown book, that I'm dying to read" he snorts "Poetic, don't get your hopes up lovie, best to stay curious and never know."

His eyes lingered on yours then moving down to your shirt, realizing you weren't wearing a bra as he adverted his eyes cursing in his mind. You pulled him out of his mind "Well we should rest. Big day tomorrow. Goodnight hubby" he grunts sitting in the sofa chair, you look at him and scuff "Ghost, there's plenty of room on this god for sake king size bed. Get in now !" Your eyes were sharp, he almost would've taken that as an order with your sharp tone as he grumbled feeling like he'd regret this. Laying on the other side, his back towards you before going to sleep. You lay awake for what seemed like forever unable to close your eyes. You could feel his warm body at the other side of the bed. Hearing his heavy breathing as you lay in silence. You turn to look at his back seeing him breathe. Your curiosity from what's under the mask as you wonder who he was and what he looked like. There was so many questions running through your head you didn't even realize until he spoke "Go to sleep, or I'll knock you out myself" with that you gave a huff but smiling softly, you finally close your eyes and mumble "Shut up..." he gave a low chuckle it surprised you but it made you smile falling into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for Reading !

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

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Through The Ashes | Chapter Two

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): mentions of drowning, minor injuries.

A/N: I have mixed feeling about this chapter. I don't know if I like it or not lmao... | Word Count: 3.1k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter // requests | ao3 | playlist

No Way Out

“You can do better than that.” His voice taunts you as you attempt to knock him over with your punches. A smug smirk forms on Soap’s face as he keeps dodging your best attempts to one-up him.

Sweat poured down your face. This back-and-forth tussle had gone on for over ten minutes, and Soap wasn’t going to let you off easily. Over your first few weeks, you could tell he was beginning to enjoy you being there, and it felt as if you were finally fitting in with them. At least most of them.

You kept swinging, only managing to get a few solid hits on the gloves he was holding up.

“Time out,” you say breathlessly, holding onto your thighs as you try to get your bearings.

“Giving up already?” Soap taunted sarcastically, taking the boxing gloves off and going off to the side to take a drink. You simply shake your head, giving him an eye roll as your reply. He could bounce off the walls for days and still not be tired.

Just as you began to calm your breathing, the sound of a throat clearing made you whip your head around.

It’s exactly who you thought it was. The man who has uttered about fifty words to you over the course of two weeks.

“You’re blocking the weights.” Ghost states in his typical dry inflection. You swiftly step off to the side, moving out of his way.

He grabs a few weights and moves to his own section, acting as if he’s not still watching you, but he hasn’t stopped since the day you got there.

You were about to exit the gym when, to your surprise, he spoke again. “Those were some pathetic punches earlier. Not going to knock anyone out with those,” somehow he managed to sound even more judgemental than he usually did.

You let out a scoff and turned around to face him, watching as he lifted the weights in his hands effortlessly. “Isn’t that the point of training? To… train?” It comes out more quick-tempered than you wanted, but if he can get away with it so can you.

He rolls his eyes without even rolling them. “Not if you don’t improve your form.”

“Alright,” you place a hand on your hip, letting him get whatever amusement out of this conversation he thought he was. “Are you offering a training session?”

“Only if you listen to what I say.” He finishes his rep and sets the weight down, standing square in front of you, raising his palms. Unlike Soap, he didn’t even bother with the boxing gloves.

“Now raise your fists. When you punch, twist your body with the momentum.” He says, waiting patiently for your first jab.

You wind yourself up with a deep breath and slug his palms. He has little to no reaction, and he looks disappointed. “Use your weight, otherwise you’re just slapping the enemy.” His tone has a hint of impatience now.

You give one more, this time using his advice. Of course, he isn’t phased by them yet. “Better...”

That’s all you needed to hear. That’s the closest to praise you’re going to get from someone like him. “I passed the test?” You tilt your head, letting a grin spread across your face.

Ghost furrows his brows, distorting the balaclava fabric above his eyes. “Alright, keep your knickers on.” He says in annoyance, before returning to his weight-lifting.

—

Everyone is deep into reading the work material in front of them, when the door slams open, and Price steps in front of everyone. It was the first time you’d seen such a stern expression on his face.

“I want everyone to be focused. This might be one of the most dangerous missions we’ve attempted yet.” You felt like your stomach dropped to your feet at his words, matching the look on everyone else’s faces as their attention snapped to Price.

“We’ve received word from one of our sources. The reason we aren’t picking up anything useful with the bugs is because we’ve been looking above ground.” He begins passing out intel folders, one for everyone.

You peel the cover back, seeing a map of some sort of maze. Confusion reads on your face and the others around you.

Then it occurs to you why this was so dangerous. It wasn’t a maze. It was a tunnel system. Gallons and gallons of unpredictable water, rushing down tunnels that may have no exit for miles. How were you supposed to find anything useful in a place like that?

“I want you all to study this layout as best as you can. It is to be believed, they’re using the water tunnels to keep off our radar.”

—

The wetsuit wasn’t very comfortable. But the awful part was that your comfort was the least of your concerns right now.

“Follow your instincts. Look for anything suspicious. There’s no guarantee this will lead to anything.” You hear Price’s voice in your ear as he prepares the team.

“If you hear the water coming, hold onto something. If you can’t do that… Hold your breath.”

Price’s words chill you to your core. Every bone in your body was screaming for you to turn around and run back home, but that wasn’t the job. You had no choice.

Complete the mission, or die trying. No take-backs. No running away.

The 141 stood outside the tunnel. Even the moonlight couldn’t illuminate the inside of it. With hesitation, you followed behind them in formation, rifles drawn and ready. You turned around and took one more good look at the glimmer before each advancement further consumed the light more and more.

After a few feet, everyone flipped their night-vision headset down, switching it on. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the saturation of the green as you stumbled a bit, relying only on the sounds of their feet to guide you.

Water trickled down the walls. The smell of rust and mildew made your nose crinkle in disgust. The tunnel seemed to be endless. How could this tunnel system be connected to El Sin Nombre?

“Anything up ahead?” You asked Ghost, who was leading the formation. He answers with a soft negative. As you proceed further down the tunnels, they widened and had more disorienting turns. This was the part on paper that looked like a maze.

It was obvious there wasn’t a living soul down there aside from you and your squadmates. You examine the patterns of the turns around you, or lack thereof. You noticed the turns that had vents instead of dead-end walls, others looked like crawl spaces that led somewhere.

You spoke up, “It’s like a puzzle. The grates open, water floods here, stopping it from flowing somewhere else. What does that have to do with a cartel?”

Some of them mutter in agreement, and the others just keep following. Even if your theory was correct, everyone here was out of their depth, and there was nothing out of the ordinary.

“The walls are getting taller.” Soap comments, and you noticed it too.

You reach a bigger space, which is like an intersection the tunnels all connect to. A meeting point in the middle. The walls had to be at least ten feet tall by now. Deep down you wondered if this was just a piece of intel that leads nowhere.

“There’s nothing here, Cap,” Soap says into his earpiece, his voice echoing along the tunnels as he speaks.

“Make sure of it.” Price’s voice chirps back through the static. “Then, get the hell out of there.”

All of you turned to retrace your steps, finding this underground exploration completely useless.

The sound of the tunnels groaning halted any movements. All eyes darted around, but you could hear a needle drop. It got more ferocious, and within seconds, you were scrambling to get out of there.

“Everyone out now!” Ghost’s voice boomed, reverberating even harsher after.

—

Burning. That’s the sensation you remember in your lungs as the water went over your head. Thrashing around, smacking into one another as the gallons of it rushed through the tunnels, forcing you to follow the way of them.

You felt the arms of one of your teammates, but couldn’t remember who. You must’ve grabbed them out of instinct before you had time to process it.

Each time your head poked above the water, you choked on it more and more. The woosh of the rushing water drowned out any sounds around you. It was mere seconds before the pressure of the water drove you underneath repeatedly, each time you lost a little more stamina to resist it.

The speed of the water smacked you into someone's gear, knocking you out cold.

—

A deep wheeze let out of you when you opened your eyes. Looking around you, you were separated from your team. If there was a team left. You were on the bank of a small river, gripping onto the ground below you. You must’ve washed up where one of the tunnels runs off to.

As you continued to gasp for air, you coughed a few times, spilling out some of the water that was trapped in your lungs.

With a grunt, you forced yourself to your feet. Every muscle in your body was exhausted from fighting against the currents. As you wiped the mud from your hands onto your suit, you scanned the area around you. No sign of your squadmates anywhere, dead silence.

You pressed the button on your mic, but none of your words were making it through. Shit, no signal.

You groaned in frustration and began schlepping downstream, hoping you would see a helicopter or military vehicle you could use to contact Price. So far, you were out of luck.

You continued walking along the water, keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of life around you.

It felt like an endless walk, your wetsuit squishing the mud with each step. Every sound of the surrounding wilderness was muffled by the water still trapped in your ears, making it even more difficult to get your bearings.

Suddenly, you feel a set of hands grabbing your shoulders. The muffled voice is finally audible when the person is close enough to you. “Did you find the others?” You jerked around, seeing Gaz’s wide eyes meet yours. He looks about as beat up as you did.

It took you a few seconds but you eventually shook your head at his question. You rattle your head in an attempt to unclog your ears, which gives a bit of relief.

“I washed up by that river. Haven’t seen anyone else since.”

“Let’s keep walking,” Gaz responds, keeping his head as you both continue to comb the area.

—

Gaz hands you the binoculars he had around his neck, one of the only pieces of equipment he still had.

“I think I see something.” You say, seeing some movement in the distance.

Gaz almost leaves you in his dust as he eagerly runs towards the movement.

“God Damn thing!” It was a voice you recognized. It was Soap. He throws the walkie-talkie he had in his hands with all his force. The thing practically shatters when it hits the ground. You’re just glad that you managed to find another person. But deep down, you had a sick feeling about where Ghost could be. What if he drowned? Or he’s stuck in the tunnels somewhere?

“We lost everything in there too, Soap,” Gaz says, attempting to calm the other man. “We’ll find something. There’s gotta be a radio around here somewhere, or a vehicle… We need to contact Price.”

—

The three of you began to find your way back to the tunnels. There was no way any of you were leaving Ghost behind. If he had gotten out of them unscathed, he would’ve followed the water and regrouped by now. You had a sick feeling in your stomach about this. He could already be a goner, and you all would be too late.

You approached an entrance into the tunnels, a different one than where you entered them before. It was a shot in the dark searching them, but Ghost would do the same for any one of his colleagues.

You silently patrolled the tunnels, keeping a tight formation, listening for any signs of life.

“Hold on,” you held up your hand, leaning your head in the direction of the sound you heard. “There’s something…” You didn’t bother to wait for the two behind you as you sprinted around corners, shouting out Ghost’s name - hoping that it really was him.

The groans grew louder as your footsteps slowed so you could listen better. When you peered around a corner, you saw him. Your heart skipped a beat, and you got this feeling of accomplishment. Like if you hadn’t found him, you’d be failing someone who wouldn’t hesitate to search the ends of the Earth for you.

“Ghost…” You muttered, rushing over to him. “I need help over here!” You exclaimed, calling the other two to your location. The two of them rush over in an instant, examining him before they hoisted him up, supporting his weight between the two of them.

You took their gear so they could focus on Ghost and get him outside. They set him down in the grass. He was worse off than all of you combined. His arm was busted up, though he was attempting to brush off the attention.

“I’m alright.” His cold tone is back, even after a near-death experience.

Soap gives him a glare and finds some bandage in the backpack, using it as a makeshift sling for Ghost’s arm.

“Price will have helicopters sweeping this area soon, I know he will. We won’t be out here long,” Soap speaks into the humid air, attempting to calm everyone’s shot nerves.

You kneel next to one another in the damp grass, looking around and listening for any signs of the helicopters. You glanced over at Ghost, who you could tell was struggling to keep himself upright. You noticed a slice by his rib, which cut through the fabric of his wetsuit.

“You’re bleeding.” You say quietly, motioning at the blood coming from his abdomen. He merely murmurs inaudible disapproval, managing to brush off the attention even in his most vulnerable moments.

You ignored his stubbornness and peeled back the torn fabric of his suit, seeing a large slice along his upper stomach. You rifled through the small first aid kit and poured some disinfectant on the gash. He stifled a moan, but you could tell this wasn’t his first time with an injury like this - and probably won’t be the last. With the remaining bandage, you wrapped it around his tender abdomen, hoping that would keep the area clean until the helicopters arrived.

Several minutes of waiting passed. The chopper blades woke you all out of your positions in the grass. Soap and Gaz rose to their feet immediately, waving down the chopper. Ghost stood up on his own, using his remaining strength to get up with one arm.

You felt a relief like you never have. Waiting for the chopper began to feel like an eternity, and you were just glad to get out of this hellhole.

—

“I’m glad you’re all standing.” Price greeted the group when they arrived back, giving each of them a scan as they walked past him. “Go get checked out in medical and get some rest.” He followed each of your movements with his eyes. You could tell he was concerned, wondering what happened back there. He must’ve lost contact with all of you pretty quickly.

Aside from a mild concussion and some scrapes and bruises, you felt lucky to still be standing on your own two feet. The other two had similar injuries from the mission, and they were resting away in their own quarters, probably savoring the few hours of relaxation they would get out of this cooldown.

—

It was the middle of the night. You strolled into the kitchenette, not expecting anyone to be awake after such a hellacious day it was. The figure sitting at the table made you jump slightly, though he didn’t look phased. He’s sitting there, no lights on in the kitchen. A bottle of Scotch is sitting on the table in front of him, and by the looks of it, he’s made quite a dent.

“You’re not supposed to drink when you’re on those painkillers.” Your tone wasn’t even judgmental. It was more of an acceptance that he was going to do these things regardless. He didn’t care about himself. That’s just the way he was.

He scoffed and took another sip, looking straight ahead of him.

“How’s the arm?” You question as you stand next to the table, looking into his eyes for a few seconds, before you both break away from the stare, almost in unison.

He nods, “It’s alright. Nothing I can’t handle.” His tone is almost cocky for a second. You wonder if he does that on purpose. But why?

You give a soft chuckle, knowing he’s probably been through worse. You grab a glass from the cabinet and pour yourself some of the whiskey as well, eating your words. You both sit in silence for a while, sipping on your drinks, but obviously, he’s ahead of you by a few. The burn in your stomach soothes the aches your body was still experiencing.

After a bit of sitting there, he slides the bottle your way and leans back in his chair, stretching his back.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t ogling him. The skin peaked through when his shirt rode up. The way you could see his toned core and the waistband of his sweatpants showed off his v-line. Hopefully, he was too drunk to notice. That was your only crutch to lean on if you were caught.

Without a word, he went to bed, leaving you to feel prudish all by yourself.

—

After a few minutes of sitting alone in the kitchen you stumble to bed. Memories of the distressing mission flooded your head. You remember the feeling of your hands gripping onto someone, and then blackness. Something about it felt like you already knew the answers, your brain just didn’t put all the pieces together yet.

“I got you.” The tender phrase echoed through your ears over and over, making you sit up in your bed.

It was his voice. Ghost. It had to be Ghost.

He’s typically a great swimmer, one of the best trained on the team. He would’ve had time to move to cover, but he didn’t.

You didn’t grab him as you fought the waves, he grabbed you. You thought maybe you were thinking about it all too deeply.

It was a bold theory, but you began to wonder if that’s how he hurt his arm - blocking your body from the violent water.

TAGLIST - @neoarchipelago

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #ghost mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty

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lionlena · 5 months

Text

Dancing With Your Ghost (JavierPeñaxreader) Epilogue

A/N:

Ok, so that's the end of this story. I started writing it almost 7 months ago, not really knowing where it would lead me and having the idea until chapter 6… Along the way, I abandoned this story for Joel… But sooner or later, my heart always missed Javi 🥺 I would like to thank you all for your comments and likes. Everyone who read this series enjoyed it. I hope you'll be happy with the ending🥰

Epilogue

Since Javier found out you were pregnant, theoretically nothing has changed. He still loved you madly, he still cared for you, you still spent magical Sundays, and he still worked hard on building the house.

On the other hand, everything has changed. Javier worked even harder and at the same time spent every free moment with you. Even if it meant driving half an hour into town just to spend twenty minutes of your lunch break with you, he did it. And of course, he couldn't keep his hands off you. And he fulfilled all your desires without blinking an eye, including sexual ones. You suddenly discovered that pregnant women can be very horny, but that was no problem for Javier. If he had to, he would fall on his knees in front of you every evening and listen to your moans with pleasure.

You also noticed that the bigger your belly was, the prouder Javier was. When you were walking through the city streets or sitting in a restaurant, he would always put his hand on your belly and look around with a cocky smile as if to say, 'Look this is my work. Thanks to me, her belly is swelling.'

It made you laugh, but at the same time, you didn't want to take away his joy. After all, he deserved it for what a wonderful man he was to you, for supporting you every step of the way and going with you to all your doctor's appointments. Thanks to this, you felt confident and your fears about your child's health decreased significantly. Everything was going perfectly.

When you were seven months pregnant, the construction of your house was officially completed. With a wide smile, Javier led you into your beautiful living room. And even though you had been there many times before, somehow knowing that everything was over filled you with delight and you looked at everything as if you were seeing it for the first time.

"Everything is amazing." You said with emotion in your voice.

Javier kissed you passionately while tenderly stroking your belly.

"It's all for you, my little ghost, and for our baby."

Then suddenly Javier knelt down on one knee in front of you and pulled out a small box from his pocket that contained an engagement ring. You were speechless at that moment.

"Y/N, you are the most wonderful person I have ever met in my life. You taught me that love is more than a physical connection, it is a connection of souls. You gave me peace and warmth that warms my heart. Please be my wife. Be Mrs. Peña. Let's have a little wedding next week."

You looked at him in shock and quickly said, "No."

Javier looked at you surprised, maybe even sad. "No?" he repeated quietly.

Seeing the fear in his eyes, you knew you had to fix the situation quickly. "No... I mean yes, but no."

This didn't help at all. Javier was still kneeling in front of you, now on both knees and tilted his head to the side, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. "Yes, but no?" He asked confused.

You took a deep breath and gently stroked his hair. "I want to marry you." You said calmly, and the sadness instantly disappeared from his face. "But not next week."

Javier smiled coquettishly. "What are you doing next week?"

You huffed and pointed to your belly. "I'm carrying your baby, in a week, in two... basically for the next two months."

He laughed softly and kissed your belly sweetly. "And? I still don't see the problem. One little extra guest isn't a problem."

You groaned in annoyance. "Javi, I don't want to get married with a huge belly... I don't want to be ugly and fat in my wedding photos."

Javier immediately tightened his grip around your waist, gently squeezing your ass and still kissing your belly.

"Mi amor, hermosa, cariño, how can you say such terrible things about my future wife? You are beautiful, the most wonderful, and I can't wait to see that beautiful belly in a white dress... Oh, believe me... This makes me get hard..."

You gasped in surprise as his hands squeezed your ass tighter.

"Javier..."

"I'm telling the truth." He kissed your stomach and looked down at you. "But I will understand and respect any decision you make. We can even have a big wedding next year if you want."

And suddenly, as usual, all your fears disappeared.

"Actually…" You started quietly. "You're right. I want a small, modest wedding and I want our baby to be born with your surname."

Javier smiled widely and gently placed the ring on your finger. Then he stood up and looked at you with eyes shining with joy.

“Y/N, I dreamed of this moment.”

He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, but it was a different kiss. It wasn't a passionate, hot kiss... Or hungry or longing... It was something completely different. It was a kiss filled with love and gratitude. Your heart was beating like crazy and suddenly you felt your baby move. You placed Javier's hand on your pregnant belly and he chuckled.

"Someone here is as excited as Daddy." You purred against his lips and he kissed you lovingly once again.

A week later, you and Javier were married in the meadow behind your house. You were wearing a plain white dress that fit your pregnant belly really nicely. You wore a wreath of white flowers on your head. It was surprising, but you felt like a princess. Everything seemed wonderful and so peaceful. You said 'yes' surrounded by your loved ones and friends, and then you all had fun together until late.

That night, Javier took you to your bedroom and made love to you in such a gentle and caring way as he had never done before. And he wasn't just doing it because of your pregnancy. He really wanted to prove to you that he will be the best husband in the world.

Two months later, after almost ten hours of labor, your son, José Peña, was born. You were tired after giving birth, but happy as you held your healthy baby in your arms. And for the first time, you saw former DEA agent Javier Peña cry like a little baby. When he took your newborn son for the first time and looked at this little miracle created with his help, so tiny that he could hold José with one hand, he just cried. And he wasn't even ashamed of it. He hugged his son to his chest and kissed his little head, whispering sweet words. It was a sight that melted your heart and you were sure that Javi would be the best dad in the world.

...

You woke up one night and Javier wasn't next to you. You felt anxious for a moment but quickly calmed down. You started listening to see if José was crying, but you didn't hear anything. Still, you decided to get up and look into his crib. However, your son and husband were nowhere to be found. Your heart started beating a little faster. Common sense told you that nothing had happened. Maybe José couldn't sleep, and Javier took him for a short car ride. It was something that quickly calmed your three-month-old baby. But Javi never did it alone. You quickly went out of the house to the terrace to check if there was a car outside and that's when you saw them.

Javier sat on a rocking bench with his son safely placed in his strong arms. For a moment, you wanted to be angry at him and tell him that he shouldn't scare you like that, but... It was such a sweet and adorable sight that it melted your heart.

However, you noticed that something was bothering Javier. He didn't take his eyes off his son's sleeping face. You carefully sat down on the bench next to him and touched his arm.

"Mi amor? What happened? José couldn't sleep?"

Javi still didn't take his eyes off the baby. He gently touched his son's chubby cheek with his finger.

"He was crying, but as soon as I changed his diaper he fell asleep, but I... I couldn't put him down in the cradle..."

You smiled and nodded. You knew this feeling very well. You yourself have held your baby in your arms many times after he fell asleep. However, Javier's next words surprised you.

"I felt a sudden fear. I was afraid to put him down... I was afraid that as soon as I let him out of my arms, something bad would happen to him."

You sighed and gently stroked his cheek.

"Javi, what's going on?"

Javier finally looked away from his son and looked at you. He smiled sadly.

"I don't know, cariño... The cocky, arrogant, and malicious DEA agent suddenly became soft and scared."

You giggled quietly. "You're still cocky and devilishly handsome."

Your comment made Javier laugh softly. You always knew how to cheer him up. He carefully placed your son on his chest, holding him with only one arm. So that he can wrap his free hand around you and pull you to his side. He kissed your forehead and whispered:

"I wonder if I've made the world a safer place for our son. Catching Escobar, and taking down the Cali Cartel, does it all matter? The world is still dangerous. Maybe retiring was a mistake. There are so many things that could hurt him. So many bad things, bad people. Now he's still tiny... For now, I can really wrap my arms around him and protect him, but then what...

You smiled at him understandingly. Javier always had a tendency to get lost in thought. Often unnecessary.

"Javi, darling. The world is dangerous, and we are not able to protect our baby from everything. This is the pain and fear of all parents. In a few months, our son will start walking and he will surely trip over a stone more than once. You want to remove all the stones from the area?"

Javi looked at you with determination. "If necessary."

You rolled your eyes.

"You know it's impossible, but you know what is possible? Our comfort. We will wipe his tears, bandage his hurt knee, and assure him that we are with him. And this is how we will keep him safe. At every stage of his life we will love him and accept him and thanks to this, he will know that he can always come to us and ask us for help.

Javier looked at you with eyes full of boundless love.

"You are very smart, hermosa."

You giggled quietly. "I learned a thing or two about life by being a ghost."

Javier laughed softly. Then he kissed you on the forehead and then your son. He looked at you with those puppy eyes of his.

"Can we sit here for a while? I don't want to put him in the crib just yet."

You nodded and snuggled into his warm, strong body. You looked at your son's calm face and realized that he felt exactly the same as you. That Javier Peña would do literally anything, even burn down the entire world, to keep you safe, happy, and loved. You closed your eyes and whispered, "We can stay here until morning."

You felt Javier hug you tighter and rest his chin on your head. You no longer needed words. Everything was perfect, right in that moment, when he held in his arms the two people he loved and needed most in the world.

...

Six years later, you still felt the same peace and security when you were in your husband's arms. You've had harder times, but you've always been in this together. You didn't hide anything from each other, you didn't fight each other. You loved each other.

Your son was healthy and growing quickly. From a baby, he became a small, charming boy who loved life. He was cute and feisty like his Daddy, but he was also calm like you... And he wasn't the only one.

Four years after your wedding, your little girl, Maya Peña, was born. And if you thought José was like his dad, then... Your little girl looked like a little copy of her daddy. Her eyes were identical.

And currently, she was looking at you with those sweet brown puppy eyes that were tearful and very tired. She put her thumb in her mouth and hiccuped. Her cheeks were red and the hairs on her forehead were wet.

"Oh my little one, you really need a nap."

"Papi…" She whined indistinctly and you already knew you had no choice.

You've been trying to put her down for a nap for the past forty minutes, but she's only gotten more grumpy and cranky. There was no other option. You must have to used a secret weapon. You took her in your arms and left the house, heading towards the horse paddock.

Your son was just sitting on a little white pony and looked very happy. His grandfather Chucho held the reins and Javi secured his son, but you knew that your little boy could handle it even on his own. So you walked up to the fence and waved your hand. Javi immediately said something to his son. You could only guess that he was asking him to hold on tight and be careful.

When he got closer to you and your daughter, he immediately noticed what the problem was and without asking, he reached out his hands, taking Maya away from you. His two-year-old daughter immediately snuggled into his chest and let out a few grumpy purrs. Javi chuckled and kissed her head.

"Someone here is tired but doesn't want to go to sleep?" He asked, knowing the answer perfectly well. "It's okay. Daddy can handle it."

He smiled at you and kissed your forehead, whispering. "I love you."

You smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Even after all these years, he still took every opportunity to make sure you knew how much he loved you.

"I'll go to José." You said and kissed your daughter on the head before Javier took her towards the house.

When your son saw you, he smiled broadly. Chucho gave you a friendly smile too.

"Is everything okay with the little princess?" he asked with concern.

You immediately felt your heart melt. Your children not only had a wonderful, loving, and caring father, but also a wonderful grandfather who always spoiled them and cared for them.

You nodded and moved closer to your son, placing your hand on his back.

"Yes, the heat today is just bothering her. But I'm sure Javier's magic will work on her and she'll be asleep soon."

Your son giggled (in the same way as his daddy) and asked, "Papi can do magic?"

You smiled widely and touched his sweet cheek.

"Yes, it always puts you and your little sister to sleep in minutes."

Your son eagerly nodded and added: "And he can turn ghosts into people!"

You laughed. This was your son's favorite story. Of course, Javier told your story in the form of a fairy tale, omitting the tragic moments and changing a few things. And of course, only you and Javi knew that it wasn't just a made-up story at all.

Half an hour later, your son finished riding the pony and, together with his grandfather, took the pony to the meadow so that the animal could enjoy the fresh grass and rest.

You came back home, quietly entered the living room and your heart beat faster.

Javier lay on the couch and slept with his baby girl, who was dozing comfortably on his broad chest. You saw them both calm and finally resting. You looked at them, enchanted, for a moment. Then you went to the kitchen and started preparing lemonade. You were sure that soon your son and his grandfather would come home, and then your daughter and Javi would wake up. And you all need a sip of refreshing, cool lemonade. Soon your quiet home will once again be filled with the joyful screams of children and the laughter of their father. And as always, Javier will grab your hips whenever he gets the chance, kiss your neck and whisper some dirty words in your ear, because some things never change.

And your love for the man who danced with your ghost will never change.

...

MASTERLIST

Part I

Part XII

Taglist: @aestheticangel612 , @kittenlittle24 , @hxpburn76 , @creedslove , @ranahx , @yyiikes , @fuglyputa24 , @picketniffler

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena and you #javier is so sweet #soft!javier #narcos fanfiction #fanfiction #dancing with your ghost #hurt/comfort #pregnant!reader #daddy!javier #javier pena is papi #happy ending

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wolfjackle-creates · 4 months

Text

Ghost!Robin Arc 2 Part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! Ghost!Robin was the clear winner of last week's poll. Check out this week's poll if you want a say in what gets posted next. For any newer followers who aren't aware, the entire dinner scene has been written. I'm still working on getting it cross posted to AO3, though. That's going to be my next focus (once I finish editing the last chapter of The Two Ghost Motel, my EctoImplosion fic).

Story Summary: Jazz and Jason have been dating for a while. Long enough that it's time to meet the families. So a dinner at Wayne Manor is set up. Danny took great pains to manage all his Ghost King responsibilities so nothing ghostly would interrupt the meal.

But he wasn't expecting to see the ghost of the dead Robin hanging off Jason's shoulders.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

-----

Jason stared at the ceiling and counted his breaths. Next to him, Jazz’s breathing evened out as she slipped into sleep. Every time he let his mind wander, he saw the ghost grinning back at him. Signing with Bruce and Dick. Hugging Alfred.

Trying to take back his place in the family.

And of course everyone responded well to him! Bruce always hated the ways he’d changed since his death. And the ghost looked to be everything Jason had once been. Green shaded his vision and he grit his teeth.

A glance at Jazz, her face soft in sleep, made him let out a quiet breath and ease his way out of bed. A light in the living room proved he wasn’t the only one awake and, for a moment, rage burned hot in his chest. Why did Jazz’s brother have to come to Gotham and fuck everything up?

But he pushed that thought away. Danny hadn’t broken anything. Just revealed that Jason was even more broken than they had thought.

He stepped into the light and froze again when he saw the ghost sitting in front of Danny. The two looked over at him, silent.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he grunted.

Danny huffed a laugh. “It’s a lot. Especially if you haven’t grown up around this stuff.”

Jason glanced back at the ghost and felt the pits rumble under his skin once more. They hadn’t been this active in years. Not since well before he’d met Jazz.

But there was a ghost who looked like him, was him if Danny was to believed, and he was trying to take over Jason’s spot in the family.

He let out an angry huff of air.

Only for the ghost to roll his eyes and sign for him to get over himself.

Jason was throwing a punch before he was even aware, only to almost fall on his face when his hand passed right through the figure. Who decided to point and laugh at him.

Jason scowled and made his way to the window. “I’m going out. I’ll be back eventually.”

“That… might not be a good idea.”

He paused, one foot on the window frame, and asked, “Why the fuck not?”

“It’s just… Robin’s tied to you. He can’t be too far from you and with the power I gave him, I don’t think he can turn invisible again yet.”

Jason growled and pulled himself back from the window and slammed it shut. He glared at the ghost. “Why the fuck do you have to come in and ruin my life now, just when things are starting to work out?”

The ghost, of course, glared back and signed that Jason had ruined his existence first by pushing their family away. All the while, he was making angry-sounding chirps and trills that had Jason bristling even more.

Then Danny was between them, holding out his arms. It felt like something was pushing down on his anger, trying to ease the pits away. He tensed, not trusting the feeling even as he couldn’t help but give in.

“Okay,” said Danny. “Clearly there’s more strong feelings going on here than I first expected. So, um, should I start explaining what I suspect now or should we wait for Jazz to wake up?”

Jason sat on the edge of an armchair, still tense, and waved him on. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Danny nodded. “So I’m no doctor. We’ll have to go to the yetis for real answers, but I can start with the basics.”

“Yetis?” Jason couldn’t help but ask.

Danny blushed. It tinted his skin green. He’d blushed red earlier, what did the change mean? “The yetis of the Far Frozen,” said Danny. “They’re the doctors I mentioned earlier. Their leader is named Frostbite and he’s been helping me out since, like, six months or something after I died. They’re the experts in part-dead, part-living biology simply by taking care of me. I don’t even think the fruitloop knows as much as them, no matter how much he likes to pretend.”

Jason closed his eyes and took a breath. Sometimes talking to people not trained in giving reports by Batman was a test of patience. He decided to let the fruitloop comment go. It didn’t sound like it’d be relevant to what he wanted to know—at least not yet. Maybe he could find out more and get a second opinion after meeting these Yetis. “So not only will you be taking me to another dimension, you’ll be taking me to a place called the Far Frozen where I’ll be looked at by yetis.”

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, basically. Jazz mentioned you liked to read. If you like, I could take you to the Ghost Writer’s lair after. He’s got a library that contains every book ever written and many that never got published. I’m not allowed in it after an incident the year I died, but he likes Jazz so I’m sure he’d let you in if you promised not to damage any of his books.”

Now Jason was staring for an entirely different reason. There was a place like that? That he could just go to?

A questioning trill made his attention snap back to the ghost and he tensed again.

“Yeah, Robin,” said Danny. “You, too, of course. Can’t bring Jason somewhere and not you, after all! Especially since you’ll both have to be present for the medical examination.”

Jason grit his teeth and forced himself to not flinch at Danny’s use of the name “Robin.” He refused to take his gaze away from Jazz’s brother and ignored the sounds the ghost was making. “When will we go?” asked Jason.

“Soon as Jazz wakes up, if you want. No reason not to. And there’s a few things I’ll have to do in the Realms anyway. I was expecting to be away a single night, not however long this”—he gestured between Jason and the ghost—“will take.”

“But they can fix me, right?” asked Jason. He needed the answer to be yes. That ghost couldn’t be allowed to ruin the fragile peace he’d established with his family or the life he wanted to start with Jazz.

To his frustration, Danny just shrugged. “I’m not a doctor, Jason. I don’t know what they’ll find when they examine you. But they’ll know more than anyone else in either this dimension or the Realms.”

“But you have suspicions.”

“I do.” Danny took a breath. “Remember the sensor? Actually, let me just pull it up now.” He rummaged through his bag and pulled it out.

Jason made an annoyed grunt at the delay, but didn’t say anything as the seconds dragged on while Danny turned it on.

After what felt like ages but was really less than a minute, Danny moved closer so Jason could see the screen.

“See, here’s me.” Danny pointed to a bright orange blob on the screen. “And that’s you, he pointed to a mostly purple blob, half as bright as Danny. But mixed through the purple were shoots of orange and blue. The three shades turned mostly orange as they extended from his body to a mostly blue shape. But orange and purple twined as inextricably through the ghost as it did through Jason. Danny pointed to the blue. “And that’s Robin. You’re mostly purple which means you’re liminal. And a brighter purple than I’ve ever seen outside of Jazz and my closest friends. Robin is mostly blue which marks him as an unknown ghost. I’ll be updating the system soon so he shows up as a friendly, known ghost. But what’s interesting is this part between you. You’re connected by ectoplasm that most closely mimics halfa ecto. And there’s currently only three known halfas in existence.”

“You think we’re a halfa, like you.”

“Either that or you have the potential to be a halfa. But, really, we’ll need to go to Frostbite to know for sure.”

“I just want him gone.” Jay would argue to a second grave that it wasn’t a whine, but he was glad none of his siblings were here. Or Jazz.

The ghost let out a series of angry trills and signed at him. Which Jason easily ignored by simply closing his eyes and cradling his face in his hands as he worked on forcing back the pits.

“I don’t think it’s going to work that way, I’m afraid,” said Danny, echoing Jason’s worst fears.

-----

Jason is having A Time™️. Will it get better?

I've finally gotten around to making a Subscription Post for this fic, so this will be the last update I do the tag list for. Especially since it's been so long since I've updated, I feel kinda bad tagging all of you! But if you still want update notifications, please check out the subscription post.

Tag List Part 1:

@addie-lover-of-stories @justwannabecat @gin2212 @amercurio @regonold @overtherose @readerzj @sjrose1216 @echoednonny @deeterzz @blu-lilac @number-one-jew @rowanaway-fromthisbs @vythika96 @tired-yet-awaken @themirrorghost @emeraldcorpral @all-mights-asscheeks @darkhinauniverse @blep-23 @phandomhyperfixationblog @larkcoe1 @thegatorsgoose @job-ross-the-second @britcision @lenacraft @bubblemixer @androgynouslordofescapism @purefrickingspite @leftmiraclechaos @lizisipancardo @starlight-sparks @miraculousandmore @gildedphoenix @sometimesthingsfallapart @letmesayfuxk @phoenixcatch7 @skulld3mort-1fan @abaowo @dhampir-princess @idkmrpianoman @sarina-elais @ballzfrog-blog @undead-essence @spookytragedyshark @flyingpansaurus @akintoabitch @marivictal @8-29pm @justreadingthefanfics @happybear135 @kisatamao @spoopyspoony @adorablechaos @sara0055 @screamingtofillthevoid

#dpxdc #anger management ship #jason todd #danny fenton #ghost!robin #jason feels like things are falling out of control #just when he finally managed to get himself settled #and happy #so he is not having a good time #what will frostbite think of his situation?

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 months

Text

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 14: Hastings

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 2.5k

Masterpost Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Sophie awoke to find it mercifully still dark outside. Despite the thrilling events of the evening, she must have dozed off, lulled into comfort within Benedict’s arms. Her body wanted to stay wrapped in the soft blankets against his warm skin, but her mind knew better. She needed to be in her quarters when the rest of the house woke up to prevent any suspicion. What exactly her role was now in the house and what exactly she would say to Benedict the next day, she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t sleep in his room and cause outright scandal. He breathed softly beside her, his face serene as he slept. God, how she loved this man. Loved his beauty, loved his body, loved how gentle he had been with her.

She placed a soft kiss on his forehead and slid out of the bed as carefully as she could. She couldn’t help but notice the traces of their activities on the sheets and told herself that she must be sure to intercept and launder them herself. She dressed in silence and snuck noiselessly back to her room, undetected.

Once in her own bed she found herself grinning uncontrollably, feeling like an entirely new woman. She supposed she had grown more now, having romped with a man that she loved even though she had preserved her maidenhood. It had been overwhelming but perfect. Strange, but so wonderfully fulfilling. The ghost of Benedict’s kiss, of his body, still pressed upon her skin like a memory. It made her giddy, nearly dizzy with joy. A corner of her mind whispered that she was wanton, a loose woman, the mistress that she had sworn she would never be. But she quieted it with justifications. She wouldn’t let him ‘keep her’ in the traditional sense of a mistress. She would maintain her independence with work and simply enjoy her time with him, just as Genevieve did with her gentlemen friends. The thought gave her pause, remembering that Benedict had been just such a companion to the modiste. Sophie wondered what they had gotten up to together, but knew that her free spirited friend was unlikely to harbor any jealousy toward her for entangling with an old flame, if their paths ever crossed again at all. In truth, Sophie was grateful for Gen’s assessment of Benedict’s character, which had always made her more inclined to trust him.

Whatever she had with Benedict now, it was a gift she could give herself after a lifetime of toil. To be as close as she could with the man she loved at least for a brief time, until his heart was committed to a suitable wife.

She had wanted him for so long, so very long. He was everything to her and now that she knew he wanted her too, she could not refuse him, she didn’t want to refuse him. She had this time, however long or short it might be, to enjoy all of him. Or his body and attentions at least, if she didn’t have his heart. Maybe it would be enough to sustain her in the future after he married and moved on. Maybe it would eventually satiate the gnawing need she felt for him at all times. Maybe her time with him would educate her in knowing what to look for in a husband when they inevitably parted ways to find spouses among their own class.

As for children, she trusted that Benedict would not make her fall pregnant. Thanks to him, she now understood enough of the process to avoid such an outcome. She also knew that a woman’s courses were integral and, though she would never tell anyone, she hadn’t had hers in over a year. Not since she had left the Cowpers and lost so much weight. Without them, she felt certain that it was even more difficult to achieve.

Now that she had known the private acts between a man and a woman, had seen and felt all of Benedict’s body, all of her concerns felt like trifles. All she wanted was more. More of him, more of his touch, more of his moans. She was an awful, sinful woman, she supposed. But right now she didn’t care. The memories of their encounter, its sounds, sights and sensations washed over her again, a blissful smile playing across her lips as she sank quickly into sleep.

She was awoken by an uncharacteristic hum of noise outside her door. Voices were shouting down the corridor, doors were slamming, and pots were clanging so loudly she could hear them all the way from the kitchen. She half wondered if the house was on fire. Blearily, she rose from bed, straightened herself and leaned out into the hall.

She was nearly bowled over by Lizzie scurrying past with a mounded basket of vegetables. The maid skidded to a stop and they looked at each other in alarm.

“Lizzie! What’s going on?” Sophie asked.

“The Duke and Duchess are due to arrive any moment.” Came the breathless reply.

Sophie’s mind reeled. “Who?”

Lizzie’s eyes were wide. “The Duke and Duchess of Hastings.” Her tone was of someone stating the obvious. When Sophie continued to stare at her in confusion, she clarified further. “The former Miss Daphne Bridgerton.”

“Oh.” Sophie uttered, taken aback.

Lizzie cocked her head. “You should speak to Mrs. Wiggin, we have plenty that needs doing.” Then she rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

___

Benedict grinned when he awoke, the memories of the night still fresh in his mind. He rolled over, arms outstretched, only to find himself alone. He looked around the room but Sophie was nowhere to be found. His senses kicked in and told him she was smart enough not to be caught in his bed when the household woke up, but a small part of him also feared that maybe she had run off, feeling differently about the night’s events than he had.

He dressed quickly and marched out of his room to find her. He didn’t have to search at all because he immediately saw her at the foot of the stairs, walking up with a laundry basket in her arms.

He practically sprinted down to meet her. “Sophie! What are you doing?”

She looked at him with a blaze of annoyance and hissed. “You failed to tell me that your sister would be arriving today!”

“Oh!” He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, chastising himself. With everything happening between them, he had forgotten entirely. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes and looked at her apologetically. “She is coming early to help prepare the house for the ball.”

Sophie rolled her eyes and stomped further up the stairs with urgency. “They will be here at any moment!”

Benedict followed her, scrambling back up the steps until they reached the second floor hall. “Still, what are you doing?” She looked at him with utter exasperation. “I’m helping! What am I supposed to do? Sit around and behave like a guest?”

Benedict couldn't help a smirk from tugging at the corner of his lips. Sophie was adorable when she was flustered. "We should talk." He said quietly, laying a hand on her arm.

She glanced about the hall, but they were safely alone. She softened, "Yes, we'll find the time."

Benedict leaned in, magnetized toward her lips and captured them with his own, thanking her for the night before. It was all Sophie could do not to moan under his kiss, she craved him so much. He pulled back and they smiled at each other, eyes alight. Breaking through the moment, the unmistakable sound of neighing horses and crunching carriage wheels drifted from outside. They both pulled apart and looked around. There was still no one in sight, but they sensed the danger of their discovery rising.

He took a last look at Sophie, not sure when they would find their next moment alone. “I must leave. And you have one task while I go. You will hold onto this feeling, and you will stay looking like this, just like this, until I see you again. Because it breaks my heart to see any other expression on your face.”

“You won’t be able to see me,” she pointed out.

He touched her chin and shot her his lopsided grin. “I’ll know.”

And then, when her eyes were full of that enchanting combination of shock and adoration, he swept in to peck her again and then dashed off down the stairs.

Sophie practically swatted him away, the mad aristocrat who wanted to steal kisses with a maid out in the open. But she couldn't stop herself from beaming like a fool as she went on about her work.

___

Benedict was well aware that he was not dressed formally enough to greet the Duke and Duchess as was customary as their host, but he also found that he didn't care. They were family after all, and both knew him well enough to know that abiding by etiquette was one of his lesser concerns. So, a bit disheveled and still lost in his heady thoughts of Sophie, he descended the front steps of Aubrey Hall to greet his sister and her family in the cool morning sunshine.

He watched as Daphne descended from her elegant carriage dressed in a lavender velvet cloak, taking her husband's extended hand. In her other arm she cradled their third child and first daughter, Caroline. Together, the couple turned and helped their two small sons hop to the ground, both outfitted in smart burgundy outfits.

"Sister!" Benedict smiled widely. "Welcome."

She turned her brilliant blue gaze upon him and smiled back, "Benedict, lovely to see you."

They kissed each other on the cheek with a small embrace before he turned to the Duke.

"Hastings," he said with a smile and a nod.

"Bridgerton," Simon's reply was characteristically cool, but warmth lit his eyes.

Benedict then turned to his nephews and niece, looking down upon them in their mother's arms and gathered around her skirt. "Hello there, all of you!"

Daphne's second son, named Barnaby according to the family's alphabetical tradition, smiled up at him and outstretched his chubby fingers. "Uncle Benny," he squeaked, "Up, up!" Though he loved all of his siblings’ children dearly, Benedict supposed he had the softest spot for Barnaby Basset, sharing initials and birth order as they did, and he happily lifted the boy onto his shoulders.

Holding onto the little knees, he looked down at his eldest nephew Augie. "Alright then, lead the charge, everyone inside."

Augie, a gentleman to the last, took his mother's free hand and led her up the steps and into the house with the rest of the retinue in tow. The additional carriages behind them began to unload with luggage and servants. The entire air of Aubrey Hall changed when visitors or family were in residence, anyone more than just himself and a handful of servants, Benedict thought. It became a large, bustling estate, full of noise and people and goings-on, rather than the quiet and intimate hideaway it had seemed to be only the night before. He was grateful to see family. It stirred a familiar warmth within his chest that he had been without for a rather long time, he realized. But he also couldn't help longing to be alone with Sophie in Aubrey Hall, or anywhere really. As much as he loved to see his sister and her family, their arrival felt like something of an intrusion, as unfair as he knew that was.

They were quickly settled into the morning room with tea, scones and cakes, the staff of Aubrey Hall bolstered by the staff brought from Clyvedon. The two boys immediately fell to playing with toys while the adults watched from the sofas, Daphne holding small Caroline on her knee.

She turned to Benedict. "How are you feeling, brother? Mother wrote that you were here convalescing. It seems you had something of an incident while out visiting…the Cavenders, was it?"

God, there was so much his family didn't know. The last he had written to them, he had notified that he would be staying at Aubrey Hall to recover from a cold caught on the way home from Cavender's party, and that he had hired a nurse to assist him. Not a lie, especially at the time the letter was written, immediately upon his arrival. How things had progressed since then was known only to him and Sophie of course, and it felt like an age had passed since the innocent days of seeing her as a helpful nursemaid.

"Yes, I am fully recovered." He smiled at his sister. "Feeling much better."

Daphne looked at him in that exacting way only she could. "I should say so. You look very well indeed."

Benedict didn't know the extent of what she could read in his face, so he changed the subject. "Oh, and our sisters are forbidden from marrying anyone who attended the Cavender party, is that understood?" He bit into a scone. "A nest of drunks and scoundrels, the lot of them."

Simon leaned over from his seat with a smirk. "I could have told you that."

Benedict grinned in acknowledgement, then turned back to his sister. "The Cavenders aren’t invited to the house, are they?"

"No, I don’t believe so." She shook her head.

"Good,” Benedict said bluntly, “and they never shall be."

Daphne knew better than to probe any further. She truly didn't care to know what sort of behavior would lead both her formerly rakish husband and her wild bohemian brother to think poorly of a man. Tactfully, she changed the subject while sipping her tea. "So what have you been doing to occupy your time?"

Benedict didn't meet her eyes but waved his hand around blithely. "Reading, sleeping. Sketching."

Daphne settled her teacup. "Sketching again? That sounds promising." She gave him a gentle smile.

She had already been married and out of London when Benedict served his stint at the Royal Academy. He also hadn't told her the reason he had left so unceremoniously, which was his discovery that their brother had bought his seat rather than allowing him to earn it on merit. Though he supposed Eloise had probably written to her about it. Nevertheless, Daphne had always been supportive of his passion for art. Particularly after she had met the Duke, her appreciation for landscapes had notably increased and she always had encouraging words for Benedict when she saw him at work with his sketchbook or easel.

“Yes,” he mused. “I suppose I have some newfound inspiration.”

He immediately regretted his reply, fearing that they would probe him as to the source but fortunately Simon cut in with a wry smile.

“Or is that just a ruse for hiding mallets and absconding with a new ball?” He leaned forward and arched a brow at his brother-in-law.

Benedict grinned back at him. Hastings was at last catching on to the family traditions, namely that of underhanded manipulation in the run up to their impending pall mall game. Benedict wouldn’t tell him that he had managed to retrieve his ball from the lake. He would save that surprise for the playing field. It seemed he would be safeguarding many secrets while his family were in residence.

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