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sokkigarden · 8 months

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dancing with our hands tied (part iii)

jamie tartt x female reader // nsfw 18+ // enemies to lovers // fwb

masterlist // read on ao3

summary: you give jamie head... and a headache.

word count: 3.6k

JAMIE POV LETS GO !! this took forever but IT'S HERE. its full of steam and angst i hope yall like it >:)

༻✧✧✧༺

“Well, I must be dreaming.”

You rolled your eyes as Jamie watched you walk through his front door. These words were nothing new. After leaving his house that first night, adamantly refusing to return, you showed up just a few days later. And Jamie couldn’t complain, though he wasn’t above teasing you a little bit. Your words contradicted your actions more and more as the weeks passed.

Somehow this had become something of a routine. He would cross paths with you at work, say something to get your blood boiling, and wait for you to show up at his front door later that night. Or sometimes, you wouldn’t even make it into the evening, the tension between you breaking midday. Jamie didn’t have to wonder if anyone had ever shagged in the boot room anymore, because he had. His back pressed against the uncomfortable shelves, holding you against him like his anchor, sucking a mark into your neck; you had come undone on his dick only a few moments before Will walked in. You had fumbled an excuse for being in the room with Jamie but Will had seemed highly suspicious as you fled.

That wasn’t the only place either. Jamie had only snickered a little bit after the time you realized you would have to replace the table in the treatment room after you both got a bit too caught up and broke it.

It was just sex. You reminded him constantly that this was just two coworkers that mildly hated each other having sex. Mutual goals and all that. Jamie went along with it. It wasn’t his first time having a no-strings relationship, but if you needed to remind yourself that it was casual, he wasn’t going to stop you.

So it was a bit strange, to see you show up in the middle of the afternoon on a half day off with a question. Unexpected but not unwelcome.

“Can I give you a blowjob?” you asked. “I want to make sure I’m okay at it before my date.”

Jamie nearly stopped breathing at your question, shutting the door behind you, and clicking the lock into place.

“I must really be dreaming.”

You grabbed his hand and walked toward his TV room, promptly shoving him onto the couch. He started to unzip his jeans, but you swatted his hand away, taking over the task yourself. Jamie could barely process what was happening. One moment you were at his doorstep and the next you’re removing his pants like a woman starved.

“If you’re in such a hurry, you coulda asked me at the dog track. We just saw each other,” he said as he lifted his hips to help remove his pants.

Jamie wasn’t used to talking a lot during flings and hookups. Sure, there was some flirting, but it seemed like a big part of your relationship was the banter that fueled the sex. He found himself thinking it made the sex even better. He hadn’t had this much fun with anyone in a while.

Once his jeans were out of the way, you slowly ran your hands back and forth across his thighs, the heat of your fingertips leaving sparks in their wake. The gentle motion went straight to his dick.

“Not after we broke the massage table.” You crouched down between his legs, but he could still see the flush of embarrassment upon your cheeks. “I can’t believe I had to ask Higgins to order another one. I feel like he knew.”

Jamie tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, swallowing his laugh at your predicament. “He couldn’t have.”

You rolled your eyes, clearly not believing him.

“Still, I’m paranoid. No more fucking at work.”

His face morphed into an exaggerated pout, but inside, he was focused on the idea of continuing whatever this was, even if they couldn’t fool around at work. He was nowhere near bored yet, and in the back of his mind, he wished to continue this indefinitely. He’d take whatever you would give him for as long as you did.

Jamie settled into the couch cushions, and watched intently as you bunched your hair into a ponytail. The image was mouth watering but suddenly, something occurred to him.

“Wait, did you say you have a date?” he asked.

“Yeah, Zach finally asked me out.”

Any semblance of a boner was gone as the sentence washed over him like ice water. He didn’t like the pang of alarm that settled in his chest.

“Finally?”

You nodded. “I’ve been dropping hints for like, weeks. He finally asked me to get drinks with him since we had the evening off.”

“Even though you’ve been fuckin’ me?”

Jamie didn’t mean to start interrogating you, but he had a million questions running through his head. He was taken aback, with no time to even process why he was so taken back.

You paused for a moment from palming him through his briefs and looked up at him.

“Yeah, but we’re just having some fun. This isn’t that serious… right?” you asked.

Suddenly it all clicked into place for Jamie. He was never the one to label this as casual. That was you. Only now he was starting to realize maybe he did want it to be serious. You guys had fun in bed, and he found himself looking forward to the parts in his day where you showed up, even outside of the sex. Even if all that occurred was some playful banter and teasing comments.

With a shock of clarity, Jamie realized you were on a different wavelength than he was, and he hadn’t even known it himself. He wanted more than hidden conversations and meaningless sex. He wanted more than just a quick fuck after work with an even quicker goodbye. He wanted you to stay the night and be there in the morning. He wanted to quit sneaking around and he wanted the Richmond facility to know you weren’t on the market.

Especially Zach.

This newfound discovery was lost to him as you slid your hand into his underwear and wrapped your fingers around him. Despite the many times you had fucked, you had yet to give him head. He found himself unable to think about anything else as you stroked him and started pulling down his briefs.

You seemed a bit hesitant as you gave his dick an experimental lick. Every little touch was sending electricity through his veins. He squirmed at the sensation, and his reaction seemed to bolster your confidence.

When you finally took him in your mouth, he whined, his hands digging into the couch cushions. Every inch of his skin felt like he was on fire. His mind was a mess of physical sensations and newly discovered emotions.

As you sucked his dick deeper into your throat, his hips involuntarily thrust upwards.

“Feels good,” he mumbled, “Good girl.”

He felt the vibration of the moan in your throat at his words, which just made him want to say even more. You had drool running down the side of your face, but you didn't let up.

Despite the ponytail you had put your hair into earlier, a few strands were hanging down around your face. As you looked up at him through your eyelashes, Jamie nearly came at the sight. He knew the image would be burned into his mind forever.

He tangled his fingers into your hair, tugging a bit to bring you closer to him. You took as much of him as you could into your mouth and hollowed out your cheeks, using your hand to stroke the base of his dick.

“Fuck,” he panted, “Fuckin’ hell.”

Every sensation was building, and despite not wanting this to end, he came in your mouth all too soon.

When he did, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he let out a groan with your name on his lips. You kept sucking as he came down from his high, and Jamie felt like his soul was about to leave his body from the overstimulation.

His thighs were still twitching slightly as you pulled away. You lingered though, kissing the inside of his thighs as you ran your hands across his legs. The contact was almost too much for him.

He felt his heart skip a beat as you two made eye contact. You squeezed his hips gently, your eyes looking for approval. His mouth hung open as he looked at you.

“So um,” you bit your lip shyly, like you hadn’t just sucked him into oblivion. “Was that good?”

Good was a severe understatement, but Jamie was finding words hard to come by, so he just nodded, hoping his lack of words was proof enough. You let out a nervous laugh, fixing your hair and wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. Jamie wondered if he had ever seen anything so erotic in his life. His mind was blank aside from thoughts of you.

You stood up, breaking his trance, and reminding him of why you were here in the first place. To make sure you were good at giving head so you could go off with some other guy.

Alarm bells went off in his head. He didn’t want to lose you to someone else. He wanted you to stay, just like he had wanted the very first night, so you could wake up tangled in sheets next to him. So he could make you breakfast and coffee and stay in bed with you all day.

The picture was so clear in his mind. He wanted nothing more than that image to be true.

Before you could retreat farther away from him, he reached for your hand.

“Wait wait, let me return the favor,” he said, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. He’d never so badly wanted to beg on his knees for something. “I’ll go down on you, too.

You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“I don’t need any help with that,” you said with a chuckle.

Ignoring your brush off, he pulled you up onto the couch and into his lap. He gently brushed your hair off your shoulder, watching the way you shivered at his light touch. He planted a trail of feathery kisses to the crook between your shoulder and collarbone, before moving on to your neck.

He let his hand roam under the hem of your shirt, drifting his fingertips across your lower back. You let out a sigh as he settled you onto his thigh, feeling a wet patch in your panties as you moved against him.

“I… I really have to go,” you mumbled, but your breathing was off-kilter and Jamie knew his seduction tactics were solid. “I need time to get ready before my date. I don’t wanna be late.”

The word ‘date’ was sending Jamie into a turmoil. He squeezed your ass as you rubbed yourself along his thigh. Your eyes were closed as you lost yourself in the movement.

“Where’s he taking you?” he whispered along the shell of your ear.

You hummed with pleasure, gripping his shoulders. You were putty in his hands.

“We’re meeting for drinks. At Bones and Honey,” you replied. “I’ve never been before— I’m excited.”

Jealousy burned through Jamie. He should be the one taking you there.

He pulled away ever so slightly. He couldn’t help himself from asking the next question.

“Are you planning to do this? With him?”

He immediately hated himself for asking when you pulled back to look at him with narrowed eyes.

“That’s kinda a personal question,” you said.

He gave you a flat look.

“You just sucked my dick.”

You let out a shaky sigh of agreement, “Okay, yeah, maybe. I haven’t done this in a while. Maybe.”

As Jamie processed this new development, he realized you were likely feeling insecure. He felt a guilt-ridden gratification that you came to him seeking comfort and a familiar face. He wanted to be there for you.

His chest ached at the fact that this might all be over soon. Your words turned over and over in his head, the various times you told him this wasn’t anything serious.

Jamie hadn’t felt this defeated in a while. He ran his hands along the length of your torso. If this was the last time, he would’ve taken things slower, memorizes the lines and shapes of your body. He pressed on final kiss to your jaw before finally retreating.

“Well, at least let me walk you out,” he said.

You gave him a funny look, and Jamie wanted to hide in a dark room and never come out. Was a nice gesture like that so unlike him?

You grabbed his jeans from where they had been discarded on the floor and handed them to him. Your hands brushed, and you turned around quickly, looking away as he got dressed.

Jamie walked you to the door, and then out to your car, and he wondered if he was being too clingy. You thanked him as you unlocked your car. But before you got in, you hesitated.

“And um,” you bit your lip, “You’re sure I was alright? You know, at sucking dick?”

Jamie breathed a laugh, wondering how you didn’t understand that you had just made him see through space and time. And that had nothing to do with the feelings bubbling up inside him. You were that good at head.

“I saw God, love. It was way better than good, it was heavenly,” he said, sending you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. Ten out of ten, would nut again.”

You let out a laugh at his words, and your smile left him awestruck.

“Heavenly, huh?” you shook your head at his silliness. “Thanks, Jamie.”

“I should be thanking you.”

You laughed again as you got into your car and started the engine. Jamie couldn’t do anything but watch as you left him behind.

༻✧✧✧༺

It was only after you left that his brain kicked into overdrive and started overthinking everything. Any time that happened, Jamie always ended up doing something stupid.

This time, he’d brought Sam and Dani along.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Jamie to head out for a night at Bones and Honey. It was a trendy place, and many of the Richmond players frequented the establishment.

But it wasn’t everyday that Jamie went to Bones and Honey with the sole purpose of seeing you.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he was being stupid and probably creepy. But before he knew it, he was texting his mates and riding the elevator up to the bar. He ordered himself a beer and tried to focus on the conversation Sam and Dani were having, adding some nods and noises of agreement as his eyes scanned the area.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Isn’t that y/n and Zach from the physio team?”

Jamie spun around to see you and Zach at the other end of the bar. His heart stopped as he saw you in a cute dress with your hair done up. You were laughing at something Zach said as you sipped your drink, and suddenly Jamie felt like an asshole for showing up like this. He was an asshole, plain and simple. Maybe he could get away without you realizing he was here.

“No way, crazy running into you guys!”

Jamie was brought back to the real world upon hearing Zach’s words, who was now walking up to the three football players with you trailing behind him.

You did not look happy to see them.

Jamie. You did not look happy to see Jamie.

“Hi Sam, hi Dani,” you greeted with a forced smile on your face. “Jamie.”

Your smile was bright but your eyes held a hidden fury as you looked at him. No one seemed to notice except him, or maybe they did notice and just wrote it off as part of the weird feud between the two of you.

If only they knew.

Jamie could barely process what was being said around him. He couldn’t stop staring at you, despite knowing how pissed you were.

“Maybe we should all sit together, get some food!” Sam exclaimed, but was quickly shut down by your forceful, “No!”

You softened the word with a smile, but to Jamie it looked a bit like a grimace. You seemed uncomfortable and Jamie felt guilt eat away at his conscience. Who cares if you sucked him off just a few hours ago? It wasn’t any business who you wanted to date or not.

But that didn’t stop the burn of jealousy that settled into his stomach.

Zach explained that the two of you were getting drinks since work was only a half day today, and Jamie couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to make the event seem a lot more casual than you did. Jamie’s mind was torn— half hoping this wasn’t an actual date for his sake, but hoping it was for yours. You looked at Zach with a hopeful gleam, sipping your drink as he talked.

“You look so beautiful tonight, y/n,” Dani said, and Jamie whirled around, feeling betrayed that one of his closest friends would turn on the charm for the girl he liked.

But that’s just it. No one else knew about your secret rendezvous and hookups. As far as everyone else was concerned, you were fair game.

And Jamie hated it.

Why hadn’t he pressed to go on a date sooner? Beg you to stay the night?

In the back of his mind, his insecurities vibrated. He didn’t think he was good enough for someone like you, forever stuck in the friend zone. If you even considered him a friend. He was willing to take any part of you that you would offer.

He watched you blush at the comment, thanking Dani before making eye contact with Jamie. Behind the annoyance, your eyes still sparkled with a bit of nervousness. All he wanted to do was tuck the flyaway strand of hair behind your ear and kiss the daylights out of you.

Take you on a real date with dinner and music and he’d show up with flowers for God’s sake— he’d do everything right. Give you a proper ‘Tartt’ jersey, wave to you on the sidelines during a match, kiss you every time he scored.

But it was all a fantasy. And all he did was stand still, ruining your date with Zach at Bones and Honey.

Zach and Dani moved on to discuss the menu selections and Sam gave Jamie a massive side eye before pulling out his phone and turning away from you and him.

You didn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to rip into Jamie.

“Do you want to explain what you’re doing here?”

Normally cool under pressure, Jamie found himself stuttering out an answer. “I ain’t here for you! Sam and Dani wanted to go out— how was I supposed to know they wanted to come here?”

“You could’ve suggested somewhere else?”

Your eyes didn’t hold the fury from before, now it was a mild annoyance. Jamie relented with a sigh.

“I’ll keep ‘em out of your hair,” he said. “Sorry to ruin your night.”

Your expression softened at his words, and you surrendered as well, offering a slight smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you at work, yeah?”

He nodded before forcing himself to step away, calling Dani and Sam to follow him to the other side of the bar. He found a table and offered to buy some food for their group, which clearly distracted Dani, who went on about the menu choices, the bar itself, and more.

Jamie zoned most of it out, staring at his hands as they traced the sweat on his drink glass.

“The world is such a wonderful place,” Dani said. “What a beautiful coincidence to run into our Richmond members on a night out!”

Sam jostled his shoulder light heartedly. “Come on, Dani, doesn’t it seem like too much of a coincidence?”

He looked directly at Jamie as he said that, raising his eyebrows with an unspoken question.

Jamie fumbled for an answer, scared to give too much away but also desperate to have someone to talk to about this. He hadn’t mentioned sleeping with you to anyone, not even Roy or Keeley. Sometimes he felt like the whole thing was a dream and if he told anyone about it, he would wake up.

His lack of words was enough for Sam though, who nodded in an understanding way. Jamie tried to focus on the food and drinks and pay attention to what Dani and Sam said, but his eyes had a mind of their own, looking over at the bar in the hopes to get a few stolen glances of you.

Finally the crowded bar room cleared a bit and he had a view. And he suddenly wished he’d never looked at all.

You were giggling over something Zach had said, touching his arm playfully while taking a sip of your drink. Jamie’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to watch you be cute on a date with another guy. He didn’t want to wonder why you didn’t take him seriously. He didn’t want to sit here with Dani and Sam as they caught on and teased him about his stupid crush.

“Forget it, I’m going home.”

He was silent as he placed a few bills on the table to cover the food and drinks and got up.

Jamie didn’t look at you again as he walked out.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt smut #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #my works #dwoht fic

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gojoshooter · 1 year

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Your body flaws — that JJK men are obsessed with

Featuring : Itadori Yuuji, Megumi Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro

A/N : Had so much fun writing this one im surprised with my level of fluff tolerance fr.

WARNINGS : body insecurities, mentions of make-out sessions

Itadori Yuji :

your teeth ain't the prettiest

a few of them are crooked, and both your front rows are pointy and sharp

and getting yourself a boyfriend who smiles ridiculously sweet 24/7? yeah you thought that's a great idea

when you told him about your insecurity, he tilted his head to the side asking why you were because that was the part of your charm????

makes you laugh and smile as a way to distract you from the mindset you have

you unconsciously cover your mouth while laughing so sometimes he just pulls your wrists away to a steal a kiss

makes a habit of buying you adorable masks so you can smile comfortably

even if he doesn't get to see it everytime

you earn yourself the nickname "baby tiga" (& you lowkey want him to call you that often)

alternatively if you have an oral fixation along with it he'd ask you to nibble on his fingers or biceps

Megumi Fushiguro :

when he accidentally sees your youtube history about ‘how to get rid of hip dips’ he's like what???

you were sitting right beside him and oh did you want to evaporate into thin air

the half dumbfounded and half offended face he made was laughable, but you start to panic

"y/n, is that something you eat? you don't have to.."

Megumi is just so unpredictable hfdksk

by the time you're done with your explanation, his expression changes into a more serious one

he's okay if you have insecurities maybe he has a couple too

but thinking about yourself so lowly that you hid them all the time he's not okay with that

once back home he researches about the 'hip dips'

texts you, "babe, look"

and sends an article named 'Hip Dips Are Totally Normal, So Focus on These Exercises Instead '

your face blooms into a giddy smile helplessly, he's so cute

after you told him you're fine with him touching you there, he wouldn't hesitate

sacrificing his big fluffy hoodies so you don't need to hide your sides

special attention to your curves while you cuddle

Gojo Satoru :

moles. if there’s one thing you wish you could change, it’s the moles on your face

there's four of them — two on the underside of your left eye, one under the nose and one on your bottom lip

and Gojo thinks he has never seen a prettier face than yours

if you're sleeping he'd trace his fingers gently across them

and if you're making out, he'd enjoy giving little licks to the twin moles under your eyes and tiny bites on the rest two

you'd whine. you think he's about to kiss you, but he would go for the mole on your nose instead

once you mentioned about getting your moles removed, and god he almost JUMPED you

he'd say your moles (or alternatively freckles) look like stars scattered across, making a beautiful constellation on your face

you have quite a few on your other body parts too

and don't be surprised if he has a total count of them

sometimes you feel less insecure and more jealous of your four moles

Toji Fushiguro :

you're not a fan of the stretch marks and scars spread on your limbs

oh but Toji is

once you were on a call with your friend complaining about how Toji might ditch you 'cus of your body when he overhears the conversation

you cut the phone abruptly after realizing his presence and god you had no idea since when was he there

"y/n, you coulda told me right?" he says after a moment with an unreadable expression which he has mastered

the unnerving feeling doesn't go away as you try to lessen the tension with your whiny voice, "Tojiii... i.. i'm sorry. It just annoys me... and- and i'm embarassed."

"No, I thought you were honest with me"

your stuttering words gets saved as he begins again without waiting for a reply "I'm sorry you have to be be embarassed about me"

huh what? WAIT? you're confused asf

"They're bad.. fuck, you're right eh? should've done something about it. I'm getting em removed." he checks his face in the mirror, touching his lip scar which you very much loved.

you just stare at him, frozen, as he turns away from the mirror and reaches your side to lift your chin with two fingers

"then y/n, would you love me more?" there's this sly grin he has on his face, but you think just how that scar makes it better, hotter. "ya won't leave me right?"

it takes you time to process and then you chuckle. that's silly. "Toji, why would I leave you for something so stupid?" he's silly.

"Hmm, so why would I care bout somethin like that baby?" he asks lifting his brows

you finally realize why he did all of this

"god, i love you" you crack a smile, Toji tackled down on the bed

and now you know he loves your scars as much as you love his

enjoys resting his head on your tummy besides your stretch marks

can be very intimate with them too, trapping you on bed, licking the expanse of the marks slowly as his eyes never leaves yours and you're reminded of a predatory beast

A/N : fin♡! hope y'all enjoyed this one ^^ reblogs are always appreciated !

Tags : @luckimoon @maybekoya @lifting @zourryxv @bootylischous @feraltrashenergy @skypesblog @rain-in-the-clouds @acereads @regalillegal @popcorn-and-other-fun-stuff @ventiisoverparty @neitiaquinnpb @firebonbon @badum-tsss @cursedwitchsblog @silentsilverdrop @s1mp9000 @north2445 @sqitlet @th3h0nkz @aqua-marine89 @fermentedbeansinacan @evalynanne @okkotsufav @thickussupreme @mooonglod @203steph @originalgentlemenwinner @bluemuffindonutghost @kannra21 @matchakaii @abbacchi0s @aoitoge @jspenft @hecateria @ummmitstoru @dovahkiinsbitch @alexisblakes01 @selfawarejester

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kittyball23 · 7 months

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Reconciled (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: The brothers have a much-needed talk before proceeding with the rest of the journey

A/N: Follow-up to “By Your Side” with ideas from Fandom_Kingdom_ Girl on AO3 and @pixarchan

__________________________________________

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,” John Dory moaned, wincing in discomfort as Spruce applied the ice pack to the side of his face and held it steadfast.

“Chill, bro,” Spruce said, trying to keep JD’s squirming-self still.

“How can I not chill? That thing’s cold!” the teal Troll whimpered with his teeth chattering. He tried to move away when Spruce pressed it up tighter against him, and the purple Troll rolled his eyes.

“Bro, even my kids act better than this,” he said, and it was true. John Dory was being ten times more squirmy than they ever would be when being aided with an injury.

“Sorry dude, but, ugh, I can’t even believe that happened. He hit me! Hard! And it hurt!” John Dory blurted, and then shook his head in disbelief. “That was so weird!”

“It was a punch, JD, why wouldn’t it hurt?” Clay asked.

“It didn’t hurt before!” John Dory mumbled.

It took a sec to understand where JD was coming from, and when Clay did, he shook his head in disbelief. “Are you talking about when Branch was a baby?”

“Well, yeah, when else?”

“You gotta be kidding me. He was a baby, JD, of course it’s not gonna hurt the same way it does now!” Clay blurted. Did John Dory really not see that?

Spruce disregarded the obliviousness in his older brother. “I’m surprised Branch didn’t clock us either,” he said to Clay, shuddering to remember how difficult it was to get their youngest bro under control when his fists had been wildly flying out at JD.

“Well, you’re lucky he didn’t!” John Dory moaned.

Spruce snorted. “Y’know, it coulda been avoided if you’d just stopped talking. Didn’t you see how triggered he was getting when y’all were arguing? He was literally twitching.”

“No, I didn’t,” JD said.

The purple Troll sighed and looked at Clay. The two of them were thinking the same thing. How long had John Dory been alone that he’d forgotten how to read the most basic of social cues? Well, it didn’t matter now. What had been done was done, and JD was most likely going to have a bruise to show for it.

“Yo, when do you think Branch and Poppy will be back though?” Clay asked. “It’s been a little bit, don’t you think?” He grabbed a few more sticks, nursing the little campfire that he’d made in the meantime. The sky had been an orange-gradated twilight when Branch had stormed off, and it was now turning a deep blue, soon to be black and speckled with stars.

Spruce shrugged. “He could still be blowing off steam. But you know… a lot can happen between a guy and a girl when they’re alone, too.”

Clay narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean,” Spruce answered simply, giving his brother a look.

Clay suddenly understood. “Ugh, no, Spruce! Why you gotta think like that?” He shook himself. “You really think Branch is gonna be up for any frisky business after the way he was fuming?”

“Look, I’m just saying, from personal experience this time,” the purple-haired Troll replied.

Clay didn’t respond. Now THAT is weird, he thought to himself, because even thinking about Branch being old enough to have his own relationship was something he was still trying to wrap his head around. He sighed. I really can’t believe it’s been that long…

The three Trolls let some minutes of silence pass, each one wondering what they should say next, when they heard the sound of someone approaching.

Three sets of eyes flitted over to find Branch and Poppy, silhouetted by the firelight, coming toward them. Branch looked far more relaxed than he’d been previously, but the brothers could tell he still wasn’t feeling a hundred percent. There was tension still lingering in the air, crackling the same way that the flames were.

Even more silence passed, to the point where things began to feel a little discomforting.

“So… um… you good, bro?” Clay asked, in an effort to fill in the space with chatter.

Branch shrugged, not looking Clay or any of the others in the eye. He kept his gaze on the ground, arms crossed and a look of exhaustion on his face.

"We think so," Poppy answered for him. She quietly whispered "C'mon," to Branch, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and guiding him back to the caterbus. She'd just put a her hand on the door when both of them were stopped.

"Hey, guys," Spruce spoke up, causing the pair to turn around. Noticing Branch's apprehension, John Dory shot the purple Troll a look like, Let sleeping dogs lie! But Spruce paid him no mind. He had to say what he wanted to say if they wanted to get this situation under control for good.

“Y’know, it’s sweet and all how you two go off and have your little moment,” he said. “But… I think we should all have our moment, if you catch what I’m saying.” Letting John Dory take hold of the ice pack so he could nurse his own wound, Spruce sat down next to him, and gestured over to Branch and Poppy. “C’mon, guys. I think we need to talk. All of us.” He cut his eyes over at JD and Clay.

John Dory, still recovering from his shock of being attacked, looked like he wanted to disagree, but he didn’t. He said nothing, only pressing the ice pack tighter to his head and scooting a little closer to Spruce for protection should anything else ensue.

Clay looked uncertain, but knew it was best not to voice a disagreement.

Good, Spruce thought. In his family back on Vacay Island, he’d witnessed his children having plenty of arguments before. And as a father he’d learned that it was best to talk things out, before someone did something that they regretted. Like walking away and never looking back.

He breathed out a sigh, glad to see that his youngest brother had not protested in doing as he’d requested, and sitting down alongside his girlfriend. Awkward silence stretched out once again, filled only by shifting and some distant nature sounds.

Spruce clicked his tongue, suddenly second-guessing his idea. "Umm... anybody wanna start?" he asked tentatively.

No answer.

But then...

"Well, um..."

All eyes fell on Branch, who'd spoken barely above a whisper. He looked hesitant, almost scared, but knew he couldn't stay quiet now that he'd started.

"I'm just... just so... confused," he managed. Before he could help himself, Branch felt tears forming in his eyes and falling against his will. Hurriedly he spoke, frustrated, embarrassed, and overwhelmed, the anger he'd previously lashed out with washed over with sadness. "I was confused when you guys left me… I was confused why Grandma had to die, why I couldn’t just get along with others, why I’d turned gray… why I was alone for so long… and then…” - he paused, trying to catch his breath - “Right when I think things are heading in the right direction for me for once… you guys come back…” Branch clenched his fists. “I’m just so confused…” he mumbled again. “I want to know why this is happening now. I want to know, and I want things to make sense. But they just don’t!...” He stopped, letting out an uncharacteristic sob. His shoulders shook and his hands were curled into tight balls, the knuckles whitening. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop crying, and before long he felt a familiar warm hand cover his trembling ones. Branch flinched a little, but relaxed when he saw that it was only his beloved Poppy. It pained him when he looked to see that she too was growing teary herself over the sight of him so broken.

Clay felt a pain in his chest, too. It was difficult seeing Branch like this. He could remember so many times when his pranking buddy had a great big grin on his face, right after they’d pulled a fast one on the others. He didn’t think about stuff too far into the future when he’d been a teen, but the few times he did, he figured that as adults he and Branch would still be up to their tag-team jokey antics. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“Look, Branch, I… I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he started cautiously, “but I can’t sugarcoat it, bro. When we left, we did mean it. Can’t say we didn’t, and I’m not mad at you for being mad at me. But that was because we were each thinking about ourselves. Me? I mean, I was just real angry that everybody was laughing at me that day when we’d failed. That’s why I wanted to quit. But y’know, looking back at it now, all this time later… that wasn’t such a hot move. Even if we failed, and got laughed at, that wasn’t a reason to just give up and leave. And I do mean it when I say that I’m real sorry.” And he was. Clay could never forget how aloof Branch had been on the trip so far. Anytime he, Spruce, or John Dory had tried to spark up some conversation, they’d been given either short, irritated replies or the full cold shoulder. It ate Clay with guilt to know that it was because of them that he’d behaved that way, and this was an apology that was long coming to his youngest brother.

Spruce gave a nod at Clay, impressed by his speech, and was soon inspired to take his own shot at it.

“Imma tell you nothing but the truth here, bro,” he said to Branch. “Yeah, I left. And I left for selfish reasons, not to mention petty…” Spruce glanced down at himself, remembering those “rock-hard abs” that he’d fretted endlessly over as a teen due to thinking it would earn him girls, and seeing how pointless it’d been. He had a loving wife and family without the muscles he thought he’d needed, and he was happy with his appearance now. “I wish I had some more sense when I was that young… but what’s done is done, and we can move on from it. Put it in the past. Say sorry and just carry on from there. And Branch, I really am sorry, too. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you grew up. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better friend to you, or a better brother. And I’m sorry that you got hurt.”

Satisfied with his spiel, Spruce sat back and folded his hands over his lap.

John Dory looked as though something was clicking in his head. Suddenly, the throbbing against his cheek where he'd been nursing the ice pack wasn't bothering him as much as his need to say something to Branch as well (even if it was risking him another sock in the jaw). "Branch,” he sighed, “I guess you could say that I only saw things like black and white. All or nothing. Go big or go home. That's why when the band failed, I left. The way I saw it, it was either 'bro-bros' or 'so-lo.' But now... I mean, I guess it's not so black and white, is it? Turns out there's a whole lotta gray area!"

John Dory thought he was doing pretty good so far, until he saw Branch wince at the mention of 'gray.' He didn't understand why, until he remembered what Branch had said, about having turned gray. He'd heard stories about it when he was a teen, but they were just rumors and fables passed between Trolls. He didn't think it was actually real. But Branch didn't look like he was bluffing at all.

"I-I mean, not literally 'gray,' y'know, but uh... umm... well, you get what I mean, right?" JD stuttered, feeling the throbbing in his cheek again and almost certain he'd have a twin bruise on his other cheek if he didn't make things make sense.

“What I mean is, we’re brothers. And we’re always gonna be brothers. Even if we say things like we never wanna see each other again… which, I know, we did… and even if we fight.” JD added that last part a little nervously, having a bad feeling that he had asked for it.

But Branch didn’t make any advances to JD. He’d sat there, listening, as he had when his other two brothers had taken their turn talking to him. He had calmed from his crying, although he was still sniffling slightly. Branch stared back at JD, and Spruce, and Clay. Poppy's firm hold on his hand felt like the only thing still keeping him rooted to the spot, preventing him from acting on instinct and walking away like he’d wanted to earlier that evening. If he did that, he knew he'd be acting no better than they had when they'd left.

“You know,” Poppy said out loud to them, “I guess I don’t actually know a whole lot about families and stuff as I thought I did. All I’ve ever known is me and my Dad. Then there was Viva and I, and when we met, I mean, we were like besties.” She giggled a little to remember how enthusiastic the pink Putt Putt queen had been, and how sad she was to see her go. “You guys, well… you’re not exactly besties right now… and I don’t even think I can call you friends,” Poppy admitted. “It really confused me at first. You’re brothers - basically pals who can’t ever leave each other! And yet…” She let herself trail off, not finding it necessary to repeat what they already knew. “I can only hope that you guys become a big happy one again,” Poppy continued more quietly. “But I can’t force it to happen. That wouldn’t be fair to you guys, especially since I'm not exactly a part of your family..." She stopped herself, feeling funny about trying to tell them what to do when these were Branch's brothers, not hers. It was their business. She had only a smidgen of the situation in perspective compared to them. Which is why she was surprised at what her boyfriend, who’d found the will to speak again, said.

“You are family, Poppy,” Branch told her, squeezing her fingers a little tighter. "We're all in this together."

Poppy smiled softly, touched that he was so confident about their relationship and trusted her on such privy matters between him and his brothers. And his brothers didn't mind either. With the time they'd been able to spend with Poppy, they could see that she loved Branch deeply, and he loved her. Then, Branch looked at his brothers.

"Look," he exhaled, "I'll continue the journey. I'll come and help rescue Floyd. But I need you to see that things are different now. I'm not Baby Branch. I'm just Branch. I'm my own Troll. You guys are too. And it depends on us whether we make that 'different' a good or bad thing." He gauged their expressions, and John Dory, Spruce, and Clay all nodded seriously. Their baby bro was speaking words of an adult, and he was right.

The conversation felt conclusive, and the five Trolls realized that the tension that had been in the air before was no longer present, attempting to hover over them like a dark stormcloud.

This was the first step to a new beginning. A fresh start.

They would start over.

Branch tossed the idea around his head.

Yes, he thought. He liked that.

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #brozone #branch trolls #poppy trolls #broppy #john dory #spruce trolls #clay trolls #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes

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inkblot-inc · 3 months

Text

RCD: NYFW, F2F

Summary: Tensions are a lil high and we get a few answers, but you gotta keep it cordial in a public setting, man; Face to Face AKA Favor to Fault

Pairing: Jeweler!Wanda Maximoff x Metalworker!Reader

[Everything Else From the RCD Universe] [part 1] this is part 2

Warning(s): Still pretty tame in terms of content and themes, but like I said last time, I've never been to fashion week so any inaccuracies about what goes on there. Please do forgive and just feel the fantasy mkay? Mkay.

Note(s): The way I was *this* close to throwing a SZA reference somewhere in this shit- but I didn't! I was soooo close tho. I coulda put the song in the header for this part even, but my brain had other plans😂. Anteeways, I hope you enjoy this one :3

Word Count: Well past 500 actually

ALSO: *squints* I give NO ONE permission to repost or translate my work. Make your own shit

Skitch goes to get a bottle of water to ease their nerves about this whole situation. It's been forever since they've even talked to Natasha and they're beating themselves up a bit for still being affected by her, but they can't help it. They grew up together.

Skitch decides to suck it up and go back over to Wanda while she's still talking with Natasha. There was no reason for Skitch to feel guilty about being with their partner and they were going to enjoy the rest of their night. And maybe they wanted to be a little petty...

When Skitch comes back over and Natasha finally notices them, she also freezes momentarily. The difference between Skitch freezing and Natasha freezing is that her's comes with a paralyzing guilt when Skitch's presence fully registers. Natasha does good at hiding it, too. She was always good at hiding her emotions though.

"Y/n? It's been so long,"

You nod lightly, wringing the half empty water bottle in your hands. "Yeah, it has. Just about seven years yeah?"

Natasha fiddles with the watch on her wrist, "Yeah, a little over seven, actually...I didn't think this would be your scene. Fashion was never really your thing."

You move the bottle into one hand as throw an arm around Wanda's shoulder, rubbing your thumb over the fabric there. "Well, it wouldn't be usually, but I wanted to see another part of what Wanda enjoys. I've had a great time actually."

Wanda notices the change in your demeanor when talking to Natasha. You're usually so open and amicable toward others, but there's a latent heat behind your words when addressing the woman across from you.

Natasha's response comes out a bit awkward as her expression, while not having her usual stoicism, is caught between a smile and a grimace. "Well, that's good. I didn't know you and Y/n knew watch other," Wanda also notices how Natasha doesn't look directly at you for too long, preferring to look almost past you or at Wanda. "Y/n and I went to school together."

You purse your lip slightly as you nod along, "Yeah, for a good minute there yeah. I'll admit I thought you'd go into ballet after graduating college. Shows what I know though, huh?"

Something about that statement makes Natasha almost visibly flinch. If the three of you weren't standing so close, Wanda doubts she would have seen it. "I did do it for a little while, but I found that this is the career I wanted to stick with."

Natasha was almost grateful that her phone pinged in her hand. "Well, that's my cue. maybe we can catch up sometime?"

You nodded noncommittally, "Maybe yeah."

Wanda uses her thumb to shift the rings around on her fingers in a nervous tick as she watches Natasha all but rush to exit the conversation. "Do I have to ask what that was or?"

You leave a kiss on the side of her head in reassurance. "I'll tell you when we get back to our room, Wandy."

Skitch doesn't like messing with Wanda's nerves like that with having her wait, but It's a rather private topic of conversation. And an undoubtedly lengthy one at that...

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bizaar · 1 year

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 10

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 10k

warnings: Angst, some fluff, descriptions of violence, mentions of throwing up, so sorry if I forgot anything!

A.N.: Part ten!! A little later than I had hoped to get it out (you know... life) honestly I think we can all just agree that Jason Carver is a douchebag — if you see typos, no you don’t I posted this while I’m at work lmao

It’s all weirdly fucked in the worst way and Eddie is not sure it’s entirely his fault, despite how you’re certainly endeavoring to make him feel that way, and how his psyche is pulling out all the stops to help.

It had been such a bizarre fight, one he was only semi-conscious of as just as it had last summer, Eddie’s brain clicked off the moment you started in on each other, rendering him useless to defend you from whatever hurtful things his psyche drummed up.

He shouldn’t have said what he said, he knows that… but goddammit if you didn’t break his heart a little saying what you said.

Maybe he was a fool to think you could pick things up where you left off, that things going forward would be okay again… maybe he’d allowed himself to get lost in a flight of fancy that you’d come looking for him out of anything beyond the promise you’d made to Wayne.

Maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself.

At the time, Eddie didn’t know if he was glad you followed him to the back of the boathouse, on account of the black cloud of violent hatred his hurt feelings were endeavoring to stir up in him to muddy his mind. That part of him, the rational part, was only glad that everyone else had taken the hint and left the room because they’d already seen enough, and if you two were going to fight he much preferred not to have an audience.

Only you aren’t that couple, you never fight.

The way Eddie sees it, most things aren’t worth fighting about, but the problem with when you did is that neither of you is willing to back down and let the other win.

You’re both just too damn stubborn.

“So, what, you’re hanging out with Steve now?” Eddie had asked sullenly, cutting off the apology you were trying to make and gesturing to the house.

You recoiled in response, eyebrows jumping up to your hairline, blinking rapidly as you shook your head like it was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard.

For some inexplicable reason, it only made Eddie furious – maybe because the rational part of him knew it was ridiculous but it was an easy irrationality to jump to, a quick way to get angry, and he was angry with you, just not for that reason

“Steve?” You choked, “What are you — Eddie, that’s bullshit. We aren’t even friends,”

“Coulda fooled me,” he sniffed, “‘Cause you two? Oof, gettin’ real heated — lotta tension there … And jumping in to save him like that? From me, no less—”

“Stop that,” you spat, “Don’t be mean over nothing,”

The word struck him like a slap to the face and Eddie had to fight very hard to stay calm.

“Nothing.” He echoed, taking the time to breathe before really reacting because you’d just thrown him away like garbage in front of everyone and now you were calling it nothing?

Talk about bullshit.

The fight went on from there, needless and stupid until you finally threw up your hands and made a harsh, aggravated sound.

“Why are you being such a jerk? I mean why are we even fighting?”

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood in a futile attempt to keep his mouth shut, but just like with everything else in his life, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Well, Princess, it’s like you said, I’m not your fucking boyfriend.” He sniffed, feeling a bit too much like he’d just opened his mouth and breathed in a lung full of water to drown himself, considering the way he knew how much you hated that pet name — Princess.

Your jaw flexed as you clenched your teeth and fought the rush of tears suddenly shining in your eyes and, like coming back to his senses, Eddie could feel himself breaking the surface too late, just like last time.

“… and you don’t love me anymore — silly me, how could I forget,” you spat, and the venom in your tone burned him down to the bone.

Oh, that’s not fair… it’s just not fair…

Despite the deep and penetrating ache swelling behind his lungs and all his hurt feelings, hearing you say it made Eddie’s guts seize and his vision go briefly spotty.

The blame swung around and hit him with enough force to leave him winded, one final blow before the ringing of the bell, and just like that it was over. As suddenly as it had descended, the black cloud of his anger lifted, leaving Eddie alone in that room with you and the ringing echo of what he had just said.

He’d done it again.

It’s not fucking fair.

You turned on your heel and stalked off into the house before he could even try to think of what his next move was — should he defend himself? Apologize?

He didn’t do either, instead, he followed you and called your name only to have it drowned out when you slammed the door and left him standing there, feeling like an asshole with everyone staring at him.

You didn’t speak to each other the rest of the night following the departure of Dustin and the others. Eddie didn’t even see you again until the following day, as you stayed in the room you’d closed yourself in, and he took the couch because you needed your space and he was too ashamed of himself to try and go face what he’d done.

In the morning Eddie was a little braver, and when you finally reemerged, eyes red and swollen – from sleep or crying, he couldn’t rightly tell, he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask – he’d tried a whole host of jokes, and comments to test the waters. He complained about his sore back, gently teased you about sleeping in Rick’s bed, wondered idly if this is what Wayne imagined you’d be doing when he sent you to find him, anything he thought might get a reaction out of you.

None of it garnered any sort of response, save for you gently asking him to leave you alone.

Eddie could hardly believe he’d heard you correctly.

“Are you serious?”

You wouldn’t look at him as you twisted the sleeves of your jacket down over your hands, just like Chrissy had in the hallway only a few days ago – Christ, that felt like years ago now…

His whole life came rushing back to him in a second, and Eddie remembered with a start the conversation he’d had with Ms. Kim – he’s graduating … he needs to tell you that he’s finally graduating … but you won’t look at him.

“I just need some space, okay?" You'd sighed, "You stay on your side of the room and I’ll stay on mine and we’ll leave it at that until we’re both ready to talk about it.”

He was ready to talk now, but much as it hurt to do so, as much as it felt like you were hurtling down the road toward breaking up all over again, Eddie took the hint and left you alone.

It's a miserable day, sitting together in the deafeningly quiet house, weighed down by the miasma of everything you’d said to each other the night before.

By the time the sun sets again, Eddie is crawling out of his skin.

He needs to apologize, beg your forgiveness, but he doesn’t want to make things worse by trying to talk to you before you are ready. So far he’s been smart enough not to push it, but it’s dark now and you haven’t so much as looked at him all day – he can’t stand another minute of this bullshit tension.

He doesn’t care about what you said, he doesn’t care that you hurt his feelings, he just needs to fix what he’s broken so that you can move past it already and try to get back to the good part.

From his spot on the couch, he can see you sitting at the kitchen table, shuffling a deck of cards you’d pulled out of a drawer a few hours earlier – he’d seen you do it and asked if you wanted to play Hearts, but you’d pretended you hadn’t heard him and slunk silently into the other room.

He wishes you would look at him, that he could crack a stupid joke and be certain that you’d level him with that same dour look and pretend you don’t think it’s funny like you always do.

It’s now or never, he supposes.

Eddie swallows hard and fights to bring the words up around the knot in his throat.

“Hey,” He calls.

He feels tender and bruised under the harshness of his voice, ringing strangely against his ears after not speaking all day.

Slowly, you glance over at him. You hold his gaze for a brief moment before looking away again, and Eddie tells himself it’s a good sign. At least you aren’t ignoring him anymore.

He takes it as permission to approach and leaps up from the couch to cross to the kitchen with an odd desperation, practically tip-toeing as he goes like he’s afraid to make too much sound.

When he reaches the table, he lingers at your side, standing idly for a very long moment and anxiously wiping his palms across his jeans as he waits for you to say something.

Silence.

Eddie gestures awkwardly to the chair.

“Can I sit?”

You shrug.

It’s not a no – Not-a-No is a win in Eddie’s books – so he whips back the chair beside you and plants himself in it, realizing too late that maybe the one across from you would have been the safer option, but he’s too committed now to get up and move.

You don’t acknowledge him as he settles, you just keep shuffling those damn cards.

It’s another long moment of watching your hands move before Eddie musters the courage to address the nasty little elephant in the room.

He clears his throat and your hands stutter over the cards.

“... So… about last night,” He starts, “About what I said–”

“I don’t care.” You bite, and Eddie feels his heart seize.

Oh… shit.

Thankfully, before he can drive himself crazy beginning to try and decipher what that could possibly mean, you heave a sigh that carries the weight of the world and finally — finally set the cards down.

“I mean I don’t want to talk about it,” You clarify, folding your hands neatly in front of you and twisting the cheap silver ring you have sitting on your middle finger.

Eddie hadn’t noticed it before, he can’t help but stare at it with a strange and misplaced vehemence before glancing reflexively at the ring with the dark stone sitting on his own hand.

He resists the urge to take your hand and slide the delicate silver band off of your finger to replace it with his own as you continue.

“I’m over it.” You say, shaking your head.

“...Even so–” He insists – he's been quietly practicing his apology all day and he'll be damned if he doesn't get to say it.

You don’t let him finish.

“Look, we both said things we shouldn’t have, but there’s no taking them back and now we’re just going to have to live with it.”

Eddie doesn’t know what that means – just live with what?

All he wants is to bask in the euphoria of you finally talking to him again, but he doesn’t like the jagged edge of what you're saying. It sounds too final, like you’re going to suggest that once this is all over, you should go your separate ways and never speak to each other again.

He doesn’t know if he could handle something like that, even if it would be fair, he thinks it might break him.

“...All I want to say is that I’m sorry.” Eddie says in a rush, tentatively reaching out to trace his index finger along the ridge of your knuckles, “And that I do love you…”

You breathe out hard through your nose and furrow your brow.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” You bite, glaring at him from the corner of your eye, but you don’t flinch out from under his touch, so he uses it as permission to take your hand, in spite of his better judgment.

He turns it over in his, lacings his fingers with yours, and searches for comfort in the familiarity of how his hand dwarfs yours in size.

“I’m sorry…” he says again, and then because he’s been silently rehearsing this speech all day, he can’t help but finish the line, “I love you…”

If things weren’t so heavy, he might have tried to lighten the mood by prompting you to return the feeling.

Now you say it back, he would say, but he doesn’t dare, despite how desperate he is to hear it.

It’s the fourth time he’s told you he loves you in less than twenty-four hours – not that he’s been counting – and he hasn’t been able to keep himself from getting stuck on the fact that you haven’t said it back…

“…I know,” You mumble, hanging your head and picking at a piece of laminate, flaking up from a deep groove in the tabletop.

It hurts more than he’s willing to admit. Part of him wants to brush it off, chalk it up to nothing more than a Star Wars reference – Empire Strikes Back no less, which under normal circumstances would be very fucking cool of you – but another part, smaller if not decidedly louder, is insisting that you’re refusing to tell him you love him because you simply don’t anymore – it makes Eddie feel like his throat is closing up.

That part of him wants to grab you and shake you out of this weird, sad version of the person he inadvertently manufactured – it wants to tell you he loves you until he’s blue in the face and you have to say it back so that he doesn’t keel over and die from the apparent lack of your love…

Eddie doesn't get the opportunity to address it, however, as suddenly there is the sound of an approaching vehicle, drawing your collective attention and cutting the moment short – tires crunching on gravel, the dull roar of an engine pulling closer before cutting out, and the whine and thump of car doors opening and slamming shut.

“Finally,” You sigh, “I was wondering where those guys had gotten to.”

Eddie watches as you push up from the table and breathes out harshly as he tries to swallow the emotion rising in his chest.

It’s not fair that after a full day of radio silence, they would show up now when he’s trying — and failing — to bear his soul to you.

He wants to ask where you stand, if you’ve got any chance at a future after all this, but he’d gone and wasted the whole day trying to muster the courage to say his piece, and now he’s just going to have to wait.

Still, he tells himself that it’s probably better this way. With Dustin and the others here, it will give him something to distract from the gaping question mark that is your relationship and whether you’ll ever want to see him again after this.

Only suddenly Eddie can’t help but wonder why they would pull the car right up to the house after all that talk about laying low, not drawing attention to his whereabouts – that seems… wrong.

You cross the room to the front window just as a cold and creeping foreboding begins to ooze into Eddie’s veins, like the jelly from inside an ice pack – something is not right, and the feeling is only amplified by the little voice quietly but persistently warning Eddie to proceed with caution.

When the first of the flashlight beams cross the window, Eddie feels his heart drop into his stomach and ricochet right back up into his throat. He chokes on it.

Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

“What the hell are they doing?” You ask no one in particular, inching toward the window to steal a peek through the shuttered blinds.

“Sweetheart, don’t—” Eddie starts, jumping up from the table to reach out and try and grab you, but then your body goes rigid and you rocket backward, colliding bodily with him.

There’s that trilling alarm once again, screaming run! Only this time you’re there to back it up, which is highly disturbing.

“It’s not them.” You gasp, curling your fingers into his jacket sleeve as you twist around to face him.

Of course, that’s exactly what he was worried about, but being right doesn’t do anything to alleviate the way Eddie’s body is attempting to send him into cardiac arrest.

“Shit —”

You take him by the hand and pull him through to the living room as the shining of the flashlights intensifies through the kitchen window. You move as quickly and quietly as you can, slipping through the inner door and back out into the boathouse which has suddenly become that much worse by darkness and imperceivable danger.

Eddie had foolishly hoped he wouldn’t have to go back out here, what with the spiders and the lingering atmosphere of your fight, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and any creepy crawly creature is suddenly much more palatable to whoever it was you’d seen out the window.

You shut the door behind you with a loud thump, and he holds his breath as he can only imagine the sound must have rung out through the house like a gunshot.

He didn’t see you grab the walkie-talkie, but suddenly you’re holding the big clunky device out to him and imploring Eddie to take it.

He doesn’t need to be told what to do with it as he switches over to channel two and presses the button on the side.

“Dustin, come in Dustin— are you there?” No response, just loud, screaming static. “Hello?”

Of course, it is absolutely fucking typical of his luck that no one would be on the other line. What else did he expect?

You’ve got your ear pressed to the inner door, listening for any apparent signs of movement inside the house, which is extremely unnerving.

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper

You don’t answer, electing instead to put a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart —” you shush him harshly, and he turns his frustration with it back on the radio “Dustin, do you copy? It’s me, Eddie — remember me? Pick up, pick up, somebody pick the fuck up!”

Nothing but static.

Eddie can feel himself breaking into a cold sweat as he watches you move from the door to one of the tiny windows, peering carefully out into the darkness. He strains to listen for any sort of movement – in the house, outside of the house – thinking back to the blinding terror he’d experienced in the moments before he’d discovered you skulking around outside the day before.

For a long moment, there is nothing but the whirring white noise of the walkie-talkie and a very tiny part of Eddie starts to wonder if maybe they’d gone, whoever they were. That part of him, foolish as it is, hopes that maybe you jumped the gun on panicking and it’s just Wayne out there, coming to meet up with you.

Somehow Eddie can’t imagine he’ll get so lucky twice.

“Sweetheart—” He starts, hoping to circle back to the looming question of just who the fuck it was you saw out there, but you drop from the window and steal a glance back toward him before he can get the words out.

“It’s Jason Carver.” You say flatly.

Eddie feels his blood run cold.

“Shit —”

Surely this has got to be some kind of sick joke the Universe is playing on him, some kind of karmic justice for all that thinking about corrupting Chrissy just to spite Jason.

“Hey, Dustin, it would be really great if you would pick up because we’re in serious need of help here!” He hisses into the radio.

Static.

He is so fucking stupid, and he is so, so fucked… and now he’s pulled you into this, and no one is coming to help.

“Dustin? Fuck— anyone! Please!”

Nothing.

In a fit of desperate frustration, before he realizes what he’s doing, Eddie swears harshly and whips the walkie-talkie to the side. He regrets it immediately as it collides with a heavy tackle box and sends it and its contents scattering to the floor with a thunderous crash.

Eddie exchanges a wide-eyed look with you and for a moment it is all either of you can do but hold your breath.

There are muffled voices then, sending you skipping across the creaky floor back toward him.

“Please tell me you’ve got a plan,” Eddie says in a quiet rush, feeling ever so slightly dizzy from the blood pounding in his ears as you come together in a huddle, “Because we’ve gotta get the fuck out of here right now.”

He watches you think, biting your lip then like you’re frantically wracking your brain for solutions. Then your brow smooths and your eyes go wide as something like a lightbulb going on flashes across your face.

“...Not both of us,” you say slowly, “...just you.”

He thinks he must not have heard you correctly because that sounds an awful lot like you’re suggesting he leave you behind.

“What?” He stammers.

You jerk your head toward the space behind Eddie, and he turns to see the boat launch, the moon shining on the black water behind him. He feels a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach.

Surely, you must be joking.

“Get in the boat.” You say, “Make a run for it. I’ll try to buy you some time.”

Yeah… that’s what he thought you meant.

“…What are you nuts?” Eddie practically shouts, whipping back around to gawp at you – he drops his tone when you put a frantic finger to your lips, imploring him once again to shut the fuck up.

When he fails to act, you push past him to begin untethering the dinghy. Eddie follows, doing absolutely nothing to help and everything to try and make you see reason.

“You’re just gonna go out there and… and what? Talk to those guys? Just act totally casual and pretend like you haven’t seen me?”

“Yes.” You insist, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world as you unwind the last bit of rope anchoring the boat to the post.

It drops to the water below with a thunderous splash and makes Eddie feel sick.

“No —” He says, fervently shaking his head, “No, no way, this is crazy – Babe, they’re crazy. They’ll tear you apart!”

“We don’t have a lot of options here, Eddie.” You argue, taking him by the shoulders to twist him around so that he is facing the boat.

This is so crazy, he hates every part of this stupid plan.

“We have at least one other option –” he insists, “We both get in this boat and get the hell out of here!”

Eddie takes an involuntary step forward when you give him a gentle shove and suddenly he’s standing with one foot in the hull and one foot on the deck.

“Look – see the motor?” You say, pointing, “It’s pull to start, just like a lawnmower.”

He turns to look, dutifully, but barely gives himself the chance to register what he’s supposed to be looking at – the motor? Fuck the motor – before he turns back and says your name, begging you to reconsider.

“Please tell me this is a big stupid joke and you’re about to tell me the real plan.”

You aren’t listening to him anymore, your attention is fixed on the outer door where the sounds of voices are growing steadily louder.

You are very quickly running out of time here.

“Go,” You say, dismissing him with a wave that feels entirely too flippant for the gravity of what you’re suggesting – what, just leave? Without you?

Fuck that.

Before he’s realized he even moved, Eddie is grabbing at you, pulling at the sleeve of your jacket to try to coax you down into the boat with him.

“Come on,” He says, “We can go. Let’s just go.”

You tug against him, but he refuses to release you.

“We won’t make it if we both try to go.” You say, and he hates how rational you sound, “I’ll be right behind you, I promise – just go.”

As you turn to leave, Eddie snatches your hand up and holds you firmly to the spot – he’s so sorry he ever picked a fight with you because this has got to be some bizarre way of punishing him for saying all those things, trying to push you away a second time.

He can’t imagine what else it could be considering you’re not that stupid to go risking your life for him like this – he’s suddenly so afraid that if he lets you go out there, he’ll never see you again.

He’s losing you again, watching you slip away with you standing there right in front of him.

“Baby, please — please, just come with me —”

You jerk your hand out of his grasp and whirl around.

“Will you get the fuck out of here already?” You hiss, raising your voice as much as you dare.

Eddie’s heart is in his throat, throbbing, and swelling and threatening to choke him, and he’s halfway to panicking that if he leaves you behind something terrible is going to happen, and it’s going to be his fault.

He can’t let you go out there and face Jason and the Argonauts on your own, but you won’t listen, no matter how he pleads with you.

You’re really going to do this. Oh, Jesus fuck, you’re going to get yourself killed. For what? For him? No, no no no please no.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” Eddie chokes, getting caught on the jagged edge of his breathing and fisting his hand in the front of his shirt as the pervasive skittering of panic begins to wash over him – it always hits him in the worst moments…

“Eddie, I’m not leaving you.” You insist, staring back at him with wide-eyed desperation, “I’m trying to save your goddamn life.”

Of course, some part of him knows that, but it’s still shocking to hear you say it, like the clanging of a bell.

He’d been so caught up in the rush of having you back and the concept of losing you again so soon that he’d completely forgotten that this isn’t about your relationship — Eddie remembers too late that he is in danger. Real danger. He’s still that animal caught in a trap, and suddenly he’s lingered too long. The hunters are closing in and there is a very good chance that they will kill him if they catch him.

The crunch of gravel beneath approaching footsteps reaches you and Eddie stands paralyzed, helpless to stop you as you rush to the door.

You latch the flimsy lock – some good that will do if those fuckers decide to kick the door in.

This is wrong, this is all so wrong. He’s not safe, and you’re here which means you’re not safe and he can’t let you go but if he stays he’s going to die. He doesn’t know what to do, and it has him frozen to the spot.

Eddie doesn’t know when he took that second step back, but suddenly he’s standing in the boat and you’re kneeling on the deck above him and you’ve never felt so far from him as you do now.

Your hands come down to bracket Eddie’s face and you force him to look at you – you have to say his name twice before it makes it through the haze of his panic.

“Eddie – you have to go, now.” You plead, and he can’t help but shake his head, like a petulant child – he’s got to run, but he won’t leave you, and you’re very clearly hell-bent on staying — somehow he knows there is nothing he can do to change your mind, and it makes him feel like he’s about to come apart at the seams.

“Please go,”

“Not without you,” he argues, hands coming up to grip your wrists.

“Eddie–”

“No, Man – I’m not gonna leave you here!”

You stare at him, brows pinched tight over your eyes as you search his face for the answer to an unknowable question.

The faintest hint of something he can’t make out flashes across your features and you make a harsh sound of aggravation before pushing forward to slant your lips over his in a hard, frantic kiss. It’s startling, in a brightly euphoric sort of way, but it is a rushed thing that is over before it’s even really begun.

Still, it does the job of breathing a little rationality back into Eddie’s shaking form.

There is no time for sentiment, but when you pull away it is only to press your forehead tightly against his.

“Why do you have to be so goddamn chivalrous all the time?” you grind out, and in spite of everything it pulls a short burst of airy, relieved laughter out from Eddie’s lungs. His head is swimming from the kiss, from the sudden and inappropriate levity of the moment, and how desperately he loves you — only he realizes too late you weren’t being funny.

You breathe out harshly in a way that is more of a sob than a sigh and the sound is disturbing enough to startle Eddie into a strange clarity.

“Eddie… please just go.” you whimper, fighting a losing battle against the tears collecting on your lashes, “I can’t – I can’t lose you again.”

Hearing you say it causes his heart to thump solidly in his chest, and suddenly there’s no arguing with you. You’re not calm, you’re scared, scared enough that you’re willing to risk life and limb to make sure he gets away because you don’t want to lose him — it’s the closest thing to I Love You he’s heard since August, and he decides in an instant it’s enough.

Now he has to go.

Eddie can hear Jason’s voice barking orders right outside the door, and he feels you bristle under him.

It’s now or never. Move or die, Man.

“You’ll be right behind me, right?” He prompts, failing to suppress the anxiety spiking in his midsection when you nod against him

It’s not enough, he needs to see your eyes when you say it — he puts a hand on your neck at the base of your skull and pulls you back to make you look at him, really look at him.

“Yes? You promise?”

“I promise.” You breathe, red-faced and sniffling.

“Okay… okay… get out of here.”

You push up in a flash and bolt to the inner door shared by the boat house and the house proper, and Eddie stands in the boat, turning in useless circles and fumbling with anything else he thinks he needs to do to escape. Any kind of proper nautical procedure flies right over his head – he doesn’t know boats, he barely knows cars except for how to hotwire them, and he’d gained that knowledge against his will.

You don’t know anything about cars or boats, but he wishes you were coming with him.

He can’t shake the feeling that this is about to go horribly, terribly wrong, because as much as he hates to admit it, you have never made the best plans.

You’ll be right behind him, you promised, but suddenly, there is an old familiar voice screaming at Eddie to call out to you, the same one that had implored him to call out to his mother the last time he saw her.

Just in case, it tells him, and the suggestion of it seizes his heart in a cold panic.

“Hey!” He bites, perhaps a little too loud, whipping around to look at you where you’ve paused at the door, hovering just over the threshold, “I swear to God, if I don’t see you in two minutes I’m coming right back for you, you hear?”

You nod breathlessly, then disappear back into the house. Eddie stands listening, stretching what borrowed time he still has to the nanosecond until he can hear the faintest sound of your voice calling out to the interlopers. It is met by their own shouting, and the sound of receding footsteps as your challenge is met with a chase.

Another wave of paralyzing fear threatens to wash over Eddie, but he shakes it off with a harsh exhale and twists around to become acquainted with the motor.

Pull to start, you’d said, just like a lawnmower … Eddie’s never mowed a lawn in his goddamn life. He thinks he hears a desperate shout, but he brushes it off.

He tells himself that you’re fast and you’re smart, smarter than any of those meathead jocks, you know what you’re doing, even if he doesn’t know if he really believes it himself.

You’re fine, you’re going to be fine.

He does his best to steady the rock of the boat as he takes one, two, three steadying breaths, then rips back on the rope with everything he’s got.

The engine roars to life.

+++

It was a bad plan from the start, you’re big enough to admit that, but you never in your wildest imagination thought it would take the turn it did.

The fingers of your right hand are broken – bent and twisted up out of shape like Patrick McKinney’s body, lying at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, and the pain is bad.

Worse than anything you have ever experienced, worse even than the time you’d foolishly let Dustin get behind the wheel of your Toyota and he proceeded to back the car over your foot.

That idea had been just as stupid as the thought that you could just lead Jason and the others away from Eddie with no trouble.

Worse than the pain is the image burned into the back of your eyelids. You can’t stop seeing it every time you close your eyes, can’t stop hearing the way Patrick’s bones snapped, the wet smack of his body hitting the water as he dropped.

It makes you feel like you’re going to be sick.

The memory combined with the throbbing pain in your hand is too much, and before you have time to realize what’s about to happen, you double over to empty your stomach contents into the underbrush creeping up around your ankles.

You’re so glad you didn’t eat those Spaghetti-o’s.

You cough and spit, and then miserably kick at a pile of leaves to cover the mess before twisting away from it. You’re exhausted, you’re cold, and you’re starting to think you’ll never feel anything but pain and fear ever again.

You’d walked all night through the woods, and Eddie spent half as much time walking as he did turning around to make sure you were still there, like Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the underworld.

Only you didn’t fade away under his gaze, you were there every time he turned back to look at you, dutifully trudging along after him, cradling your hand against your body and offering only the briefest hints that you heard him when he asked for the hundredth time if you were alright.

You’re really not, but you couldn’t seem to answer him, no matter how many times he asked.

Your jaw had wired itself shut and your brain had deflated in your skull to the point that you were really only even vaguely aware of everything around you. The pain in your hand shooting up the length of your arm, the dull throbbing of the bruise you were sure was forming over your eye, the crunch crunch crunch of Eddie’s footsteps as he led you on through the woods.

Sometime after the sun had risen, you reached the clearing, and Eddie set you down on the big flat rock that you’re currently perched on, promising he’d be right back before disappearing through the trees beyond.

You don’t know how long ago that was, you don’t even know where you are in relation to the lake, to town, to anything, you only know that you should have just gotten in the boat with Eddie and made a run for it, but you didn’t, and you paid dearly for that spectacularly bad decision.

You don’t know why you thought you could outrun Jason and the others, except that you’d fooled yourself into believing it for Eddie’s sake.

You needed him to run, but he wasn’t about to leave you behind, the big dumb chivalrous idiot that he is, so you made a promise you weren’t optimistic about keeping – you told him you’d be right behind him.

You suppose you were, though not in the capacity you’d imagined.

You went out to face the tigers, and you ran when Jason and Patrick chased you – that was the extent of your plan.

Get them to chase you, find a way to give them the slip, and then go find Eddie on the other side of the lake.

Lots of moving parts, lots of variables, and lots of ways it could go wrong, and you’d very conveniently forgotten how your plans always seem to go wrong.

Maybe you thought you could reason with the basketball team. You’d been the herald of their celebrations not even forty-eight hours earlier, after all, maybe they trusted you enough that you could simply send them on their way with a false lead and a phony promise of honesty.

Then again, you’re good enough friends with Lucas that you had no doubt in your mind he would have vouched for you, had he been with them. He wasn’t, of course, because that’s just typical of your rotten luck.

You ran when they chased you, and they caught you because you foolishly hadn’t accounted for the fact that they would split up in their search for Eddie. It was Jason and Patrick lurking outside of the boathouse, and it was Andy, the fucking skeezeball, who’d caught you coming out of the house and held you by your hair until Jason could catch up.

“Where’s your freak boyfriend?” He taunted you as you thrashed under the grip of his sneering toady.

You didn’t have time to answer, as the roar of the dinghy’s engine cut the air and answered for you — well what do you know… he’s right there.

Jesus Christ, you really didn’t think this one through.

You did, however, take the opportunity of their distraction to escape, bracing one foot in the gravel and kicking out hard with the other. Your foot collided with Jason’s stomach and forced you backward into Andy, who toppled over backward with a surprised grunt and pulled you down with him.

Escaping his clutches was as easy as slipping out of your jacket, and once you were free, you scrambled to your feet and made a break for the shore.

You knew well enough that you hadn’t bought Eddie enough time to put any kind of distance between himself and the shore, but then again he’d only given you two minutes to throw these guys off the scent, so really, bad plan all around.

Still, you thought maybe if you could reach the water you could swim for it, get out to the boat and to safety — no such luck.

You’ve always been fast, but you’ve never been a star basketball player running purely on rage, adrenaline, and the blind determination to catch the girlfriend of the guy who apparently killed your girlfriend.

Vengeance is one hell of a motivator.

Jason was on you in an instant, tackling you and wrestling you to the ground – you managed to slip from his grasp if only briefly, but you cried out in strangled protest when he seized you by your ankle and wrenched you right back.

The sound echoed across the lake like a skipping stone, alerting you to the fact that it was suddenly much too quiet over the water — you could no longer hear the boat’s motor running, but you could hear the faint trilling of Eddie trying to reason with the piece of shit. Your heart seized with the realization that he was now stranded out on the water, and you twisted and thrashed in an attempt to claw your way to freedom.

That’s when Jason’s foot came down on your hand. There was nothing you could do to stifle the scream that tore itself out of you when you felt the bones in your fingers snap, giving way and folding beneath the force of all his weight pressed into his stupid sneaker.

He was saying something to you, monologuing about Chrissy you’re sure, or maybe about what he was going to do to Eddie when he caught him, but you could hardly hear him over your own pitiful sobbing.

How had this gone so, so terribly wrong so goddamn fast?

Then that same stupid fucking sneaker came down to collide with your midsection, driving the breath from your lungs with a harsh gasp and a fit of coughing.

You rolled onto your back, trying simultaneously to shield your abdomen and cradle your ruined hand as Jason straddled you in the sand and held you pinned. You thrashed beneath him, kicking and screaming and fighting for an escape until your good hand came free, then you thrust the heel of your palm up into his face and dug your nails in, scratching deeply where you could find purchase across his skin.

He seized you roughly by the front of your shirt – Eddie’s shirt – and jerked you forward. And then he hit you, a hard crack to your brow that sent stars skittering across your vision as your head snapped back into the dirt.

Your mouth filled with the tang of blood as your teeth snapped closed on the tip of your tongue and you made a harsh, pitiful sound. Somewhere in the distance, you thought you could hear Eddie shouting your name, kicking up a wild, desperate fuss, but your ears were ringing too loud to hear any of it.

You could hardly believe any of that had just happened. You could almost dismiss the whole breaking your fingers thing, but he’d punched you in the face.

Jason Carver punched you in your goddamn fucking face and you’re pretty sure you’ll never get over that.

You don’t even think Billy Hargrove, the equal opportunity motherfucker that he was, would have sunk so low as to sock a girl in the face like that, but apparently, Jason Carver would – some upstanding fella he turned out to be, truly one of Hawkin’s finest.

Strange to think that getting punched in the face and having your fingers stomped into oblivion wasn’t even the worst thing that happened in the time it took to flee Rick’s place and find you sitting on this rock in the middle of the woods.

Your clothes have not dried yet, and you sit shivering where Eddie left you, feeling the chill and the horror of what you’d witnessed seep into your bones.

Much of what happened after is a blur, you don’t know how you finally managed to get away from Jason, you only know the shock of the cold water when you finally hit the lake was enough to stop your head from spinning enough to force some clarity to the front of your mind.

You remember swimming, you remember Eddie pulling you up into the boat, and you remember him grabbing you and trying to shield you from what was happening.

“Jesus Christ – don’t look–!”

You remember thinking his voice sounded strange, high, and panicked like that, and when you looked Patrick McKinney was fifteen feet up in the air, rigid and trembling – you’re gonna think I’m crazy, she started fucking floating…

You choked on a strangled scream when the first of his bones snapped up out of place, and you staggered back a step, instantly forgetting that you were not standing on solid ground. You weren’t even really aware of your body moving, jerking backward in alarm, but then you collided with Eddie, the boat listed, and you were in the water again.

The dream was bad enough, but dreams are dreams. Dreams are bullshit, what happened to Patrick was all too real, and somehow you know you’re never going to stop hearing the sound of his bones breaking.

A ruckus draws your attention to the copse of trees standing ahead of you on the other side of the clearing. Your head snaps up in alarm, and you hold your breath, bracing yourself for the gold and greens of the Hawkins Tigers catching up to you, but it’s only Eddie who comes crashing back into the little hollow that has become your temporary haven.

You force a harsh sigh of relief out through your chattering teeth and watch him lope across the clearing toward you.

He has a new walkie-talkie strung around his body and a white plastic case swinging in his hand – you realize with a start that you don’t know how long he’s been gone. It could have been fifteen minutes, it could have been two hours.

You don’t care, you’re only so desperately glad he’s back.

Eddie skids to a halt and drops to his knees in front of you.

“Hey,” He says breathlessly, discarding his new items and reaching out to grab you and rub his hands up and down the length of your arms, trying to create some kind of friction against the way you’re shivering, “Sorry that took so long, how are we doing? Are you good? …talk to me, Baby.”

You shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut, because how are you supposed to be okay after something like that?

“I threw up,” You say honestly, breathing hard against the way his touch jostles you and makes your arm throb.

Under normal circumstances, you might be ever so slightly embarrassed about admitting that, but the only thing you can manage to think about is how badly your fingers fucking hurt.

“That’s okay,” Eddie hums, “Hey— I’ll tell you a secret. I did too. After Chrissy…?” He trails off under the harshness of your gaze.

It doesn’t make you feel any better, you don’t want to talk about Chrissy anymore.

Almost as if he can read your thoughts, Eddie drops the subject quick and releases you. He turns his attention to the little white case, flipping the lid open then to reveal a host of standard first aid equipment — bandaids, burn cream, gauze.

“Where’d you get that?” You manage to grind out through your clenched, chattering teeth.

Eddie dismisses the question with a quick shake of his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, but you are worried about it. You know Eddie to be a lot of things, but discreet has never been one of them. You watch him carefully as he sifts through the little case.

“Did you steal it?” you press.

He flinches and hesitates, glancing warily at you like he’s afraid to admit it.

“...Construction site,” he says after a moment, and you feel your stomach bottom out. “Nobody’s gonna miss it.”

But of course, that’s not the point. He’s perhaps the most wanted person in Roane County by now, and he’d gone off on his own for the indiscernible amount of time it took to find the walkie-talkie and the first aid kit. Someone could have seen him.

“Eddie…”

“We need it more than they do.” He mumbles.

You can’t argue with that sentiment, as much as you hate to admit it.

“Okay, let me see,” Eddie says once he finally finishes taking inventory of the first aid kit. He reaches for your ruined hand, and his brows come together over his eyes when you hesitate. “Let me see it, Baby.”

It takes you the better part of half a minute, but you finally relent and peel your arm from where you’ve had it pressed to your body. The movement alone is enough to send a lancing pain surging through your broken digits, but when you feel the pressure of his fingers on the throbbing flesh, as gentle as you’re sure he’s trying to be, you flinch involuntarily away from him and draw a sharp intake of breath – fucking shit that hurts.

He releases you quicker than if he’d put his hand on a burning stove and makes a distraught sound in the back of his throat.

“Christ — okay, it’s okay.” He says immediately, breathing out a shaky sigh to try and steady himself, you can’t be sure if he's saying it for your benefit or for his own.

By the time you went in and out of the water and finally got to the shore on the other end of the lake, Eddie had been a wreck — of course, you hadn’t accounted for that in getting stuck out in the doldrums like he had, he’d been forced to sit helplessly in the boat and watch Jason kick the shit out of you.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s apologized to you since you crawled out of the water.

It takes all of your willpower to resist the overpowering urge to jerk your hand back, as you know that the movement of doing so is going to hurt just as much as his tender probing does.

You whine out a pathetic noise as he turns your hand over, pressing down on the palm of your hand with his thumb to try and assess the damage.

“Shh, I know,” Eddie assures you gently, “I know it hurts.”

You swallow hard against the sentiment and watch him in an attempt to try and gauge his reaction.

It’s not good. You knew that from the moment it happened, but part of you hopes that maybe it is not as bad as it seems.

Somehow you are having a very hard time trying to convince yourself of that.

Your ring and smallest finger are bent and twisted out of shape where Jason crushed them under the heel of his shoe, the purpling bruise is spread across the length of your hand, stretching up nearly all the way to your wrist.

It throbs unbearably under even the faintest ghost of Eddie’s touch.

It takes him a long time to react, and when he does, he makes a strange lilting sound in the hollow of his throat, an uneven, shaky thing he hums out as he tilts his head.

“Oh, it’s not so bad.” He lies, and based on the way his tone does not match his words, you know it must be for your benefit because it actually is that bad— he clicks his tongue, dark eyes flicking up to regard you with a wry smile that he has trouble holding, “Look at you. Such a baby, making all this fuss over nothing.”

You know he’s joking, trying to lighten the mood, but the only problem there is you don’t think it’s funny in the slightest. There’s not a lot that is funny about what happened over the last few hours, despite the way something deep inside your psyche is imploring you to try and lighten the mood.

You can’t muster the effort, so you just sit there and try to breathe against the pervasive ache that lances up the length of your arm with every throbbing beat of your pulse.

A moment of heady silence bleeds between you as Eddie finishes his assessment of your broken hand.

“Okay.” he finally says, “So d’you want the good news or bad news first?”

You don’t have to think to answer.

“Good news,” you force yourself to say. “Always.”

Eddie breathes out an airy laugh and tries to bite back the smile quirking up his lips as he shakes his head, sending his shaggy curls dancing across his shoulders where they are still damp at the ends.

“Good news, huh?” He hums, then, “Okay, yes ma’am. The good news is it looks like that fucker only really got these two little guys on the end here,”

Eddie reaches for your fingers like he means to tug on them, but stops short as he thinks better of it and shows you his instead, waggling his ring and pinky finger at you.

He holds your gaze when you glance up at him and waits for you to acknowledge him.

You give a curt nod.

“Good girl.” He says, “Now the not-so-fun part – the bad news is … I’ve gotta set ‘em.” He hesitates a moment before continuing, “…it’s gonna hurt, Babe. I’m so sorry”

Your heart leaps up into your throat as suddenly he’s got your twisted fingers pinched delicately between his own.

“No, don’t — please don’t!” you gasp, seizing him by the wrist with your good hand and trying to jerk the wounded one away.

Eddie holds you to the spot and levels you with a deeply apologetic look.

“I can’t fix you up with ‘em bent like that.” He insists, but you shake your head.

“Eddie—”

You don’t know what it was you planned to say, how you planned to reason with him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to say it.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart, it’ll be over real quick. I promise,” then, strangely, he perks up ever so slightly. “Hey – I’m a child of abuse, remember? I know what I’m doing.”

It’s yet another joke that doesn’t land.

“That’s not funny.” you snap.

Eddie offers you a lopsided shrug.

“It’s a little funny.”

You breathe out hard and feel a hot and burning panic welling up in your chest. It already hurts so badly, you can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like when he tugs them back into place.

You won’t dare ask what his exact qualifications are, how many times he’s done this before – you don’t want that kind of context, but you’re smart enough to know it isn’t going to be like it is in the movies.

A harsh tug followed by a loud click, and a manly grunt, then miraculously you're healed? Not a chance in hell.

“I don’t think I can do this.” You whimper, leaning reflexively into Eddie’s touch when his hand comes up to cup your cheek.

“Sure you can,” he says gently, “Come on, Babygirl, you’re way tougher than me — we'll go on three, okay?”

“Eddie, please…” you whine, “Let’s just wait, let’s just…” you trail off.

Just what? Just find a hospital? Sure, just go waltzing in with Eddie in tow and try to explain what happened to a doctor. There’s no good option here, it’s all so fucked.

“I ever tell you about my pet raccoon?” Eddie says suddenly.

It leaves your ears ringing. You feel your brows come together over your eyes as you gape stupidly at him.

“…What?”

“Yeah … I’ve made some stupid decisions in my day, but that one … well, it’s up there. Gotta be top three at least.”

You don’t answer right away, though only because you don’t expressly know what to say. You can’t say you’re exactly shocked, it’s a very Eddie thing to say, it’s only just that you cannot possibly fathom what has possessed him to break into a story about a childhood pet.

“What has this got to do with anything?”

“Shh, just listen, it’s important,” He says, “So, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a pet – this was before I went to live with Wayne, so it’s not like we didn’t have the room. The old house had a backyard and everything, it wasn’t exactly what you might call nice, but it was a legitimate house, y’know? So every year, all I asked for was a pet. Christmas, birthdays, it’s all I wanted. I was obsessed with it, but my old man didn’t like dogs and my mom was allergic to cats, so no dice in that department. Then one day, I get it in my head that if I can’t have a cat or a dog, I’ll just have to go and get myself some other kind of pet… so I’m like nine or ten, and somehow, I managed to lure this big fat raccoon into the yard and trap him under a milk crate – I know, hey I was a kid, I didn’t know any better–”

“Still don’t,” you can’t stop yourself from saying.

Eddie pulls a face.

“Hush – so I get him in the house, and I’m so proud of myself. I run my ass down to Benny’s where my mom worked, just like, so excited to tell her, show her how clever I was rigging that trap, right? The whole way home I’m hyping it up, I’ve got this big surprise and I won’t tell her what it is because I want her to see first hand. Only problem is that raccoons – they’re smart little fuckers, right? Getting out of traps is like their bread and butter, and this guy… man, this guy was crazy. Like, certifiably. He got out and he just went ape shit. We get home and the place is trashed, curtains are torn down, scratches all over the couch, pillows are ripped to shreds. My mom starts to freak out, so I panic and go looking everywhere for him like I’m gonna find him and fix it, right? I end up cornering him in the kitchen, you know, like an idiot, and what does this fucker do? He bites me–”

Without warning, Eddie jerks your fingers straight and they snap back into place with a loud click that you feel more than hear.

“Oh, fUCKING—SHIT!” You gasp and cry out, slumping forward to press your face against his shoulder.

For half a moment it is all you can do to suppress the urge to be sick as spots and colors explode across your vision.

The agonized sounds you make are muffled by the layers of denim and leather as Eddie rubs wide circles into your back and whispers reassuring, sweet nothings into your hair, punctuated by a litany of soft kisses.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart —I know — you did so good — try to breathe.”

You do, sucking greedily on a deep inhale and shouting out your pain and frustration and alarm and everything else you’re currently feeling.

“What happened to three!?” You wail, rocking back to level Eddie with a tense, incredulous glare.

He pulls a face that is almost halfway apologetic.

“You’re right, that’s on me.”

He reaches for your hand again, and you are reluctant to give it to him, for obvious reasons, until you see the ball of gauze in his hand. You relent, and watch him make quick work of binding your fingers, individually at first and then together.

It takes a long moment for the worst of the pain to fade back to the dull ache, and even longer for the urge to punch Eddie in his stupid, handsome face to go away. You won’t do it, especially considering the outrage you still feel over the fact that Jason punched you.

“So what happened after?” you sniff in an attempt to try and distract yourself – Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, “What was so important about the raccoon?”

You watch as he goes through a strange journey of several emotions flashing across his face all at once - realization, chagrin, and humor even, and you feel your stomach sink as you can guess what it is he is about to say.

“Nothing,” he says honestly, and shrugs. “I needed to distract you,”

You aren’t sure if it’s the lingering effect of having your fingers pulled back into place or the bell-clanging shock of his response, but your ears are ringing again.

You could kill him.

“You’re the fucking worst—!” You shout, shoving him hard enough to knock him from his knees onto his ass. You regret the decision immediately as you remember your broken fingers and yelp as they light up in white-hot pain.

Eddie is laughing as he tries and fails to catch himself.

“It worked didn’t it?”

You ignore him in favor of stoking the fires of your indignation because as much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. He’d held you enraptured in the palm of his hand with that stupid story, and you hate that you’d let your guard down like that.

Then again, this is Eddie, isn’t that what you’re meant to do with him?

He watches you, groping aimlessly in the dirt, digging up handfuls of leaves and tossing them to the wayside as he waits for some kind of reaction you are unwilling to give him.

“If it makes you feel any better, that story ends with me getting a rabies shot.” He hums.

“It doesn’t.” You snap, but immediately regret it when he gives you a weak smile. You breathe out hard through your nose and chew at your lower lip, “...Was she mad? Your mom?”

Eddie huffs out an uneven breath and shrugs.

“Yeah, she was fucking pissed.” He says, casting his eyes down to his sneakers and smiling to himself in a way that feels secretive, “Only time I was ever in real trouble with her.”

Suddenly, inexplicably, you feel like you’re intruding on the moment. You are not oblivious to what it means, the fact that he shared that memory of his mother with you. You’d have to be living underneath a rock to miss the size of that gesture.

It hits you like a bolt of lightning – Skull Rock, not too far from your old house, and almost guaranteed to be abandoned in the middle of the day like this. It's the perfect place to hide.

“...I know where we should go.” You say suddenly. “Where we might be safe? For a little while at least…”

Eddie glances up at you with those big, dark eyes and nods to himself after a moment. He stands, brushing the detritus from his knees and backside, and offers you his hand.

You give him your left – the good one – and let him pull you to your feet.

“Lead the way, M’lady.” He says, still holding tight to your hand.

You stare down at the point of connection, then look back up at Eddie and feel a sudden and overwhelming rush of affection for him. All that fighting, the stupid way you’d ignored him all day – what did any of it mean in the face of everything happening here? Considering all the time you'd spent without him, missing him, what is the point of fighting about who said what when you’re together?

You surprise yourself by pushing forward then, closing what little distance there is between you with two short steps and wrapping your arms around his neck. You can’t help the sigh of relief you breathe when he pulls you tightly against him without a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay.” Eddie says immediately, stopping you before you can clarify what it is you are in fact sorry for, “It doesn’t matter,”

The sentiment makes your chest hurt.

“It does though…” You insist, stepping back so you can meet his gaze. “It matters to me,”

He purses his lips into a tight, horizontal line like he really has to think about it, then nods.

“Okay …” He hums, “No more splitting up though, okay? I know you’re out here being all brave and shit, trying to save me, but no more hero stuff. Together is better.”

You nod, and he gives you a very pointed look.

“Let me hear you say it,” Eddie prompts, and you nod again.

“Together is better.” You repeat, dutifully.

“Good girl,” He says. He adjusts the strap of the walkie-talkie across his shoulders and nods to you, “Let’s go.”

Taglist: @harrys-titties, @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs, @thicksexxualtensionaltension, @ganseysgff, @scoopsr0bininn, @pbs-theundeadmaggot, @audhd-dragonautagonaut, @clilxlxx, @alexandriaemily200, @averagestudent03, @but-vanessa, @cosmictime45, @timelordfreya, @forever-war, @munsonzzgf, @chervbs, @irisabrams, @mopeymopeymouse, @violetsandroses8

#cruel summer #cruel summer fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things #i think i need to take a bit of a hiatus after this just because life is NOT slowing down and not even in the good fun way you guys #also I need to figure out how to get from here to there lmao

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sublimecatgalaxy · 2 years

Note

Give us a jealous Daryl, pleaseee? 🥹

Yes...you guys are giving me such inspiration lately. Takes place season 10 when Negan is out and about in the world.

My legs ache as I lift on my tippy-toes, trying my best to hang the sheets up on the line without any help from anyone else. Daryl told me that some kids broke the stool that I typically use to hang clothes and that I would have to fair well on my own without it and, being me, I told him that I would be fine, that I could reach no problem.

But I can't reach the damn line.

With a huff, I ball the sheets up in my hands as I stare upwards at the clothes line, wondering how in the world I'm going to figure this out without calling for someone else, who is probably working much harder than me, to help me do my assigned job.

It's not my fault they broke the stool.

"Would you by any chance need some help with that?" My hair whips in the wind as I turn on my heel, Negan standing about ten feet away with me with a bashful smile on his lips. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you." He holds his hands up in surrender, cautiously stepping towards me as I break a smile.

He had been trying to readjust back into an actual society after being a prisoner for some years and, before that, a complete sociopath. I wasn't around for the actual horror and terrible acts that he committed, only hearing stories from Daryl about his time as a prisoner at the Sanctuary. It made me mad, it still does. But the Negan that did all of those things is not the same Negan who was crying on the cell floor, begging to die so he could be with his wife. Along with that, I know that he's been getting a lot of shit from the kids and the council, but he did save Judith and Daryl's dog.

That has to count for something.

"Yeah I do need help." I snort, but I quickly look around, my brows pulling together. "Are you sure, though? I wouldn't want you to get in trouble or anything..."

"Hey, who knows. Maybe I'll be on even better terms by helping Dixon's girl, huh?" He laughs, taking the sheet from me as he simply hangs it up on the line above us. I watch with a smile, running a hand over my sweaty forehead as he picks up the next blanket from the basket.

"Aye!" Oh no. Daryl quickly approaches us, his hand shoving me behind him as he glares at Negan, chest heaving with fury. My hand immediately tugs on the back of his shirt, trying to get his attention but he's too blinded by anger and concern. "Why're you talkin' to her?" He seethes, turning to look at me with concerned eyes but I just shake my head.

"I couldn't reach the line, D, he was helping. I'm okay, it's all good." I offer with a small laugh, trying my best to reassure him and break the tension as much as I can but he just stands his ground, turning back to Negan with conviction in his eyes. Negan visibly takes a step down, holding his hands up once more with a disappointed smile. "It's okay, seriously. Thank you, Negan, for helping." I move around Daryl to take a step in between them, putting some distance between Daryl's wrath and Negan's 'kicked puppy' energy.

With a small nod, Negan just turns around on his heel, making his way away from us as I look to meet Daryl's eyes with a disappointed sigh. My hands lift to rest on my hips as my brows raise, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"Don't like 'im. You know that." He mutters, his eyes avoiding mine as I reach up to cup his cheeks in my hands. He huffs childishly as I tilt my head at him, forcing him to look down at me.

"Play nice." I whisper, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as he takes a deep breath, his hands reaching out to rest on my hips. "He saved Dog and Judith. And he saved me from falling flat on my face trying to hang those sheets." I giggle, forcing a smile from him as he nods, the corner of his lips ticking up.

"Coulda come and got me." He shrugs, his cheeks blushing gently as I grin, realizing that this wasn't because it was Negan but because someone else was helping me that wasn't him. "Next time, you come 'n get me, alright?" He offers as I lean up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering a bit as he relaxes into me.

"I'll make sure to come get you next time I need a knight in shining armor."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy

#daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dea #the walking dead fic

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 2 years

Text

Beside You (Ron Speirs x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: Ron Speirs x Female!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

For @brassknucklespeirs (Happy birthday, lovely!! I hope you like this💖 )

A/N: Me, using a Marianas Trench song for a ficlet? You’re damn right lol 😆

When your tears are spent

On your last pretense

And your tired eyes refuse to close

And sleep in your defense

You didn’t let yourself cry until you were alone, Ron knew that much, so when he saw you disappear into the stillness of the frigid Bastogne night, he knew exactly where you were headed.

The days of ruthless shelling by the Germans had felled several trees in the nearby area, splintering them to bits…all except one, which lay across the snow a good 8-10 feet away from the rows of foxholes, tucked away behind a steep embankment, away from view.

It was the perfect place to seek refuge for a brief second and as the company’s only combat nurse, God, did you need it. Try as he might, Doc Roe couldn’t be everywhere at once and that was where you came in.

From your first day with Easy, you’d made it your mission to get to know every single trooper so that even in the heat of battle, when someone screamed “Medic!”, you could recognize their voice in an instant and get there. You would talk to them as you treated them, about anything they wanted: their families, their hometowns, sports teams, films, whatever they needed to keep them focused and awake. These men were trusting you with their lives and you would not let them down. You were friendly, hardworking, and dedicated to your field and your company; you never let gunfire or explosions hinder you. If you were needed, you were there.

It was your warm and selfless nature that had first caught the eye of the infamous Ronald Speirs. You captivated him. How could someone so generous, so full of life, be here, in a place like this? You were an angel trapped in Hell but it didn't dim your shine, not even for a moment. You would give the shirt off your back to anyone who needed it, always the first to lend a hand and the last to quit at the day's end.

Your vitality and generosity meant that you made friends easily, something that the withdrawn and mysterious Ron so envied. Like a magnet, people just gravitated towards you, happy to bask in your energetic glow, and Ron would watch quietly from the sidelines with a goofy smile on his face like a smitten schoolboy. You were like human sunshine, a balm to his hardened & war-torn soul.

When it's in your spine

Like you've walked for miles

And the only thing you want is just to

Be still for a while

But Bastogne…Bastogne was a whole different beast, even for someone as dynamic and exuberant as you. The conditions were abysmal, supplies almost nonexistent, and tensions running sky-high.

Most of the men you treated were lovely and appreciative of your care, but some… some weren’t.

You'd first heard the mutterings after the deaths of two Replacements. One had been shot by a sniper that no one had spotted in time and the other had taken the brunt of a particularly nasty firefight. Campbell and Ulrich were both good kids and in both cases, you had done your best with what little you had but it just wasn’t enough. The wounds were too severe and you didn't have the equipment needed to perform a surgery that risky nor could you do it by yourself, on the battlefield of all places. All you could do was kneel beside them, hands bathed in blood, and whisper broken apologies for not being able to do more as they passed.

Eugene, all too familiar with this sort of loss, told you that you needed to forgive yourself.

“There was nothin’ more you coulda done for 'em, cher,” he said as he handed you half of a bandage he'd scavenged.

But in your heart, you just couldn’t believe that and neither could some of the boys.

Roy Cobb had been especially close with Campbell and he had no qualms about telling the newest replacements and anyone else who would listen exactly what he thought had killed his friend and it wasn't the sniper's bullet.

"What killed him was her damn incompetence," he'd announced, deliberately loud enough for you to hear. "She should've let Roe or Spina treat him, then maybe he would've survived."

"Nobody wanted her here in the first place either," a mortarman named Lombardi added. "They should've given us a third medic instead of some nurse!"

Doc Spina was way out of earshot but your friend Eugene, who had been nearby, had already begun to argue in your defense when you had marched over to the disgruntled group.

These were men you had treated in the past, you realized as your tormented fury began to build. You'd risked your life to save these ungrateful assholes and you knew damn well that the moment they needed you on the battlefield, you'd have to do it again. and again. and again.

Cobb shot you a dirty look and muttered something involving the word “useless” and that was all it took. Heart pounding in your ears, you hauled off and punched him so hard that his nose began gushing blood, but the damage had already been done.

Speirs had heard the commotion from his foxhole and seeing you storm off, tears of frustration and hurt pricking your beautiful eyes, sent an icy rage coursing through his veins that surprised even him.

Who the fuck hurt you like that?

He was going to find out.

The wrath blazing like hellfire in his eyes as he stalked over was enough to make even grown men cower and the guilty parties quailed under his gaze. Ron dragged each one by the collar behind the nearest tree trunk, pinning them one by one with his forearm across their throats before they could blink.

“From now on, you will treat (Y/N) with the utmost respect,” he intoned, his voice eerily calm as he applied just enough pressure on their throats to make them cough. “You will treat her as if she were me. And if I ever get wind that you’re mouthing off at her or otherwise mistreating her again, so help me God, there won't be enough left of you to mail home in a cigarette pack. Is that clear?”

"Y-Yes sir," they'd gasped out and grudgingly, he let them dart back to their foxholes one by one like mice.

He had more important things to worry about.

And if your heart wears thin

I will hold you up

And I will hide you

When it gets too much

I'll be right beside you

Seeing you cry tore Ron's heart in two. You were sitting on that felled tree just behind the embankment, hunched over, face buried in your hands as your shoulders shook with silent sobs.

You were so overcome by your own anguish that you didn’t even hear him approach. Instead, he appeared beside you like a sudden dark spectre against the white snow, making you jump.

“Holy shit,” you yelped, hurrying to brush the tears from your cheeks. “Damn it, Sparky, warn a girl next time, will ya?”

Ron stood awkwardly beside you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and you swore you could see a small flush of pink creeping up his cheeks and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Sorry,” he replied with a sheepish smile. “I forget I do that sometimes. I just…I was… I wanted to see if you were okay.”

He cursed inwardly.

What a stupid thing to say, Ron, he berated himself. She’s crying. Does she look “okay” to you?

You tried to return the smile but only succeeded in a wan grimace.

“I’m not okay yet but I will be.”

You sighed sadly and gestured to the red cross armband on your arm.

Overwhelmed or not, you were needed.

“I have to be.”

“(Y/N)…May I…Er, if you don’t mind, that is…?” Unable to quite get the words out, he just nodded to the empty spot beside you, earning him a genuine smile from you that filled his chest with warmth.

“Absolutely,” you replied with a small sniffle, lightly patting the place next to you on the log and effectively putting him out of his tongue-tied misery. “I’d like that a lot.”

When you're overwhelmed

And you've lost your breath

And the space between the things you know is blurring nonetheless

You hadn't exactly intended on telling Ron your whole life story but before you knew it, it all came tumbling out: how you'd grown up, what had inspired you to become a nurse, how much you loved what you did but hated what it did to you, and Speirs listened quietly, hanging onto your every word.

But when you admitted the toll it took on you to know how little a difference you were making, he balked.

“No difference?” He repeated, his hazel eyes wide with shock. “Are you kidding? Do you…Is this because of what those assholes back there said?”

You sniffled again with a deflated shrug.

“Assholes or not, I think they made their feelings pretty clear. It'd probably be better for everyone if I just put in for a transfer.”

When you try to speak

But you make no sound

And the words you want are out of reach

But they've never been so loud

Your words echoed in Speirs' head like enemy gunfire.

Transfer…Transfer...Transfer…

Ron felt like you'd just slapped him clear across the face. Come to think of it, he would've preferred it if you had. It would've certainly hurt less than the realization that he would lose you before he'd ever even told you how he felt.

He'd never been any good at romance. To be honest, he'd never really tried. Girls back home flocked to him like flies to honey but he'd just felt uncomfortable with the attention and tried to set them up with his buddies instead, all of whom were dying for a date.

Ronald Speirs was a man of action; communication was not his strong suit, which was one of the myriad of reasons he admired you.

You, who somehow effortlessly made friends wherever you went.

You, whose smile spread warmth on even the coldest winter day.

You, whose kindness made everyone that spoke to you feel not only heard but understood.

You who brought the light of springtime to his ever-present darkness, like Persephone to Hades.

He had never understood why you had made it your mission to befriend him since Day 1 when everyone else avoided him like the Plague but he was glad you did. His intimidating gaze and badass reputation didn’t scare you one bit and you had assured him with your usual friendliness that it would take more than some rumors to scare you away.

He couldn’t let you slip away now.

Trust in me, trust in me

Don't pull away

Just trust in me, trust in me

Taking a shaky breath and exhaling, the tiny clouds curled up into the frosty air in spirals as you stood up. After smoothing some of the ice off your clothes, you gave Ron one last, small smile.

“Thanks for listening,” you said earnestly before remarking with a self-deprecating laugh, “I promise not to be so depressing next time.”

You had just turned to leave when an invisible force compelled him to reach out and grasp your hand at the last second.

“Wait…Please.”

'Cause I'm just trying to keep it together

Because I could do worse and you could do better

The silence was deafening. You stared at Ron, too stunned to speak, and he stared right back, the green and gold flecks in his hazel eyes catching the moonlight.

Had it been any other time, you might’ve found it almost funny to see the infamous “Killer” Speirs at a loss for words just from holding your hand but right now…Right now, you could feel a tornado of butterflies in your stomach and you could tell that he was feeling them too.

“(Y/N), I…” he started before cutting himself off with a shake of his head. “Look, I’m no good at this and I’m sure you’ve probably got someone special writing you from back home already but…”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously with his free hand and you tilt your head, silently, as you watch him.

You’ve never seen him this anxious before, not even in battle.

Truthfully, you didn’t know a man like Ronald Speirs could get anxious. If the roar of gunfire and artillery didn’t faze him, you had thought nothing could.

“If you’re serious about transferring out, then you should at least know that you’ve made a big difference here, to the men…and to me…”

He cleared his throat stiffly.

“Especially to me.”

Your eyes must’ve been the size of dinner plates.

Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

“You are without a doubt, the bravest…the most dynamic…the most selfless woman I know,” he continued as his hazel eyes locked intensely with your (E/C) ones.

“Everything about you…You’re just amazing to me. And I know you don’t feel appreciated and with how things have gone lately, I don’t blame you one bit but damn it, (Y/N), you have to understand that you are vital to this company, not just for what you do but for who you are. We need you here.”

Ron took a shaky breath, exhaling into the frigid night air, before saying quietly, “I need you here.”

I will stay (right beside you)

Nobody will break you

He started to say more but before he could, you dropped his hand and launched yourself at him, knocking the breath out of him as your lips met for the first time. He gently took you into his embrace, causing both your hearts to race, the both of you smiling against each other’s lips. But in your eagerness to deepen the kiss, your teeth clashed slightly against his, sending you into a fit of giggles when you pulled away seconds later.

“Are you…Will you stay?” Ron asked tentatively, still holding you as if you were made of glass. “Please?”

At first, you were tempted to jokingly mull it over but the fear in his golden-green eyes immediately banished the thought from your mind.

This was Ronald “Killer” Speirs. This was a man who had stared Death in the face without blinking, a man whose ferocity and resolve on the battlefield were practically legendary, a man who could take a life with the same ease as one swats a fly…and yet, here he was before you, putting his whole heart in your hands, a heart most people didn’t even know he had.

“Of course I’ll stay,” you reassured him, the moonlight dancing in your eyes as you gazed into his. “As long as you'll be mine, that is.”

Ron gingerly cupped your face in his hands, the silky smoothness of his soft baritone voice making your heart skip a beat.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured as another slow smile spread across his face. “I’ve always been yours.”

And if your heart wears thin

I will hold you up

And I will hide you

When it gets too much

I'll be right beside you

Nobody will break you

#So this is my first ever oneshot & I hope it's okay 😅😅#soft!speirs #Ronald Speirs #Ron Speirs x reader #Ronald Speirs x Reader #Band of Brothers #Speirs x reader #Band of Brothers oneshots #Band of Brothers x Reader #HBO War #oneshots #Band of Brothers fandom #Ron Speirs oneshot

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multifairyus · 1 year

Text

Missing Fluff Moments in Volition

Like…the intimacy Briana and Selwyn share in that sliver of time they have together post Mesmer reveal, root sharing and firefly kiss but before the Regents arrive? I just think Tracy really coulda given them a week or at least a day or two in Volition post kiss like damn 😭 ik YA pacing has to be breakneck and also we have to let Nick have a chance in book three but like…can they get a BREAK?? imagine what those extra days of no lies, no secrets between them…

I can clearly see them making sweet, tender love to each other and also can see them jumping each other’s bones…and that is a different post entirely. But outside of sheer sexuality like just CONSIDER:

• Bree sharing Sel’s bed before sunrise ands she needs to get back to the main house? Looking him in the eyes and telling him she trusts he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to do? Sel unsure if he’s on the precipice of Demonia or the closest to humanity he’s ever been. Experiencing and acting on emotions he’s had so long…he is self loathing, touch starved, and deeply, deeply devoted my heart can’t take this—

• Another sparring match… The banter, the teasing? I for one want Bree to unexpectedly pin Sel down with Arthur’s strength. Yeah. YEAH.

• Bree seeing Sel’s relationship to aether post root sharing change you cannot tell me she wasn’t gazing at him lovingly while his head was titled back looking at his firework aether show. Magic signature scents/magical attunement to each other convo part 2??

• I’m still waiting for Sel being able to play the violin (that’s canon right? Did I hallucinate that?) to come into play. I feel like Aunt Lu has a fiddle somewhere and is probably off the grid as far as entertainment goes…prehaps a campfire concert? Or a private one for Bree? (Side note: Valec challenging Sel to a silly fiddle off to “The Devil went Down to Georgia” a la Guitar Hero 3? Someone PLEASE write that crack I will pay you—)

• Generally experimenting with aether—idk what exactly but just non lethal things. Can they just make cute shit together? Root sharing is in a similar vein but I’m sorry that escalates so fast my man is literally drunk off of her and she can feel his gaze intensify—I…I can’t even think of something fluffy it’s just—SCREAMS INTERNALLY

• Our beloved homosexual supporting cast, William and Alice, talking shit and theorizing over the dinner table when their friends keep disappearing oh my god they’re not even subtle about it?? Frankly I want a POV of them just WITNESSING the tension between them. During fights is the most interesting but also quiet moments of rest and healing

Demonia’s Descent has a sultry vibes fosho but had to have some manipulative, possessive energy folded in for the ✨theme✨. It’s musical genres are alt/rock/pop/synth which I think lines up too.

But like…I need the devotion and admiration energy. I need some R&B/neo soul/jazzy vibes…Maxwell, Sade, H.E.R., Xavier Omär…i stand ten toes down in my selections but there aren’t many black artists in Demonia’s Descent…I’m this👌🏾 freaking close to curating a Volition Brelwyn playlist oh my god oh my god oh my god—Update: I did it >:D

#the legendborn cycle #legendborn #bloodmarked #volition #fluff #god why can’t they be happy for more than 3 hours at a time #intimacy #imagines #breesel #selbree #brelwyn #bree matthews #Selwyn Kane #otp playlist #playlist

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shallowseeker · 9 months

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Oh, my GOD, Cas. Dean was so stupidly worried about you, you dumbass. (12x17-12x19)

After 12x12 Stuck in the Middle (with You), wherein Cas experienced his worst nightmare (watching his human family die while they fought to protect him), dude freaked out and bailed his ass to Heaven. And Dean...

Here, have a long-ass super-post of all the worried Dean moments I snipped out from the episodes:

///

In 12x17 The British Invasion, Dean's anxiety is amping up, and he's visibly and verbally disappointed when Cas isn't at the hunting rendezvous.

From the episode transcript: Dean is on the phone, listening to a message. Cas [voicemail]: This is my voicemail. Make your voice a mail. Dean [into phone]: Come on, Cas. I've called you three times now. Will you call me back? We've got a line on Dagon. We need your help.

///

They get into the Impala and drive to the junkyard where Sam, Eileen, Mick and Renny are waiting. It is now night-time. Dean: This everyone? Sam: Yeah. Still no word from Cas. Dean: Right. Great.

///

Dean enters the library. Sam is sitting at the table looking at his laptop. Dean: Mornin'. Sam: Mornin'. Hey, you, uh, you hear anything from Cas yet? Dean: Mm. No. Still MIA. Sam: You think he's all right? Dean: I don't know. [Looking around worriedly]

Notably, in the script, Cas was perhaps actively lying to Dean, saying he's working on "getting here," and saying he's "half a day out." In the episode, they adjusted it to better explain Cas's absence, crank up Dean's worry, and ramp up the tension (a good change).

///

In 12x18 The Memory Remains episode (and script) Dean is pacing the hallways and stress-cleaning his guns:

From the script: DEAN: Come on... CAS (voicemail): This is my voicemail, make your voice a mail. DEAN (on the beep): Okay, screw this. I've been calling for days, Cas, I-- we found Dagon, and we got our asses handed to us, even though we had the Colt. (then) Really coulda used some backup, but-- guess you were too busy ignoring my damn calls, right? He hangs up. Equal parts worried and pissed. *** SAM: Any luck with Cas? DEAN: Still AWOL. SAM: Okay, so let's find him. DEAN: Already tried. The GPS on his phone's switched off-- and there's nothing in the system about a weird dude in a trenchcoat getting arrested... or turning up dead, so... He's worried. They both are. SAM: Dean, it's Cas-- this isn't the first time he's dropped off the map, and whatever's happening, he'll be fine. He always is. On Dean, wanting to believe that.

Hello! CAS SWITCHED OFF HIS GPS SO DEAN COULDN'T EVEN TRACK HIS LAST KNOWN LOCATION (the playground entrance to Heaven, no doubt). Dean is now beside himself with worry, calling to mind the looming threat of the cosmic consequences from Billie. He fears that Cas is dead.

///

And from the episode transcipt: At the bunker, Dean is still trying to reach Castiel on the phone and leaves him yet another message. DEAN: Come on. Cas, it's me. I've been trying to get ahold of you for days. I don't know what's going on, but we got a line on Dagon...And we got our asses handed to us, even with the Colt. So...Could really use the backup. Call me back. *** SAM: So no luck with Cas, huh? DEAN: Yeah, still AWOL. SAM: All right, so let's find him. DEAN: I've been trying, Sam. The GPS on his phone is turned off, and there's nothing in the system about some weird guy in a trench coat getting arrested or turning up dead. SAM: Right. Dean, it's Cas. I mean, this isn't the first time he's dropped off the map, you know? And whatever's happening, he'll be fine. He always is. DEAN: Yeah. Dean is unconvinced and continues cleaning his guns.

Also, aw. Sam may not always understand WHY, but when it comes to Cas, he handles Dean clumsily-but-trying-to-be-gentle, same as he and Bobby did way back in season 6. When it comes to Cas, Sam knows that Dean is pretty, erm, combustible.

///

In 12x19 The Future (and script), Dean is so angry and incredibly hurt about being ignored. Then, Cas tries to return the damn Led Zeppelin mixtape.

The mixtape looks very new, and given the events of 12x12 Stuck in the Middle (with You), it is very likely an item that Dean gifted specifically to try and feel out Cas's "I love you, I love all of you." Unfortunately, here, it feels like rejection. Dean takes it in stride.

From the episode transcipt: (Bunker Door opens) SAM: Cas. CAS: Hello. SAM: Hey. You're all right. Um – Where have you been? DEAN: Let me rephrase that for Sam. Where the hell have you been? And why have you ignored our phone calls? CAS: Where I was, the – the reception was, uh, poor. DEAN: No bars? No bars. That's his excuse. Wow. CAS: I was in Heaven. I was working with the angels. When I saw Dagon had captured Kelly, I-I thought they could help. SAM: And? CAS: Nothing. SAM: Well, at least you're back. We're glad you're back. DEAN: Really? No, I'm sorry. Okay, 'cause while you were striking out in Heaven, we had a shot at Dagon, and we lost. CAS: I know. I received your messages. DEAN: Oh, you did – you did receive the messages? Okay, that's good. CAS: Dean. DEAN: So not only were you ditching us, but you were also ignoring us? That's great. 'Cause we really could've used the backup. But, uh, you were too busy with, um (Clicks tongue) What was it? Nothing? CAS: Dean, I – DEAN: What the hell is wrong with you, man? You know, whatever. That's-- (chuckles painfully) Yeah. Welcome back. (walks away) SAM: Dean, y—

So, Dean senses (rightfully, mind you) that Cas is being secretive. Cas got his messages, and he didn't call him back while he was on the road or anything. And all that time, Dean though Cas was dead. I'd be pretty mad, too. Dean softens quickly and tries to express his desire for Cas keeping in contact:

(Dean on laptop in his room) (Knock on door) (Door opens) CAS: Sorry, Dean. Um I just wanted to return this. (hands Dean a cassette) DEAN: (woodenly, without looking at Cas. He extends the tape): It's a gift. You keep those. CAS: Oh. DEAN: Cas, you can't – (breaks) With everything that's going on, you can't just go dark like that. We didn't know what happened to you. We were worried. That's not okay. CAS: Well, I didn't mean to add to your distress.

The thing about this scene is...Cas knows the mixtape represents something emotional, and he knows that Dean's distressed. So, here he comes, and he plays on Dean's emotions to get him to lower his guard. It's...hm. Dishonest.

But later in the episode, because Dean knows Cas is doing all this tomfoolery to protect them, he forgives Cas remarkably easily. He even resolves to try to get on the same page as Cas, to "not let him walk away again."

CAS: I – Dean, I just keep failing. Again and again. When you were taken, I searched for months and I couldn't find you. And then Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. And I just wanted I needed to come back here with a win for you. For myself. DEAN: You think you're the only one rolling snake eyes here? Me and Sam, we had her. We had Kelly and we lost her. CAS: And if you find her again? DEAN: Sam's working on it. Of course, he's hell-bent on finding something that doesn't mean killing her or her kid. CAS: Right. And if he doesn't find something? If you run out of time, could either of you kill an innocent? DEAN: We will find a better way. CAS: You mean, we? DEAN: Yes, dumbass.

Dean's distress is even more apparent in the 12x19 script draft:

From the script (above): BANG! THE DOOR OPENS. Sam and Dean look up to see--CASTIEL. He pauses-- regards them sheepishly-- CAS: Hello. Sam and Dean are stunned. They haven't seen Cas since "Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell," when he left for Heaven without telling them. (Aside//He also disabled his GPS before he even left for Heaven, or they'd have known where he went!) SAM: Uh, hey Cas. (then) Where've you been? DEAN: Let me rephrase that for Sam-- "where the HELL have you been?" (then) Why didn't you return our calls? CAS: Where I was-- the reception was...poor. DEAN: No bars? That's your excuse? On Cas. A beat, then-- CAS: I've...I've been in Heaven. And that brings Sam and Dean up short. CAS: I was working with the angels. They're looking for Kelly Kline, too. The boys trade a look. SAM: And? Push in on Cas, a loaded beat. He shakes his head. CAS: Nothing. He seems ashamed. We'll realize later: Cas is lying. He does in fact have an active plan with the angels-- but one he must keep secret from the boys for now. Sam catches the dejection in Cas's voice, softens. SAM: We're just glad you're back. But Dean's not satisfied. DEAN: (to Sam) Really? (to Cas) Well, while your were striking out in Heaven, we got a shot at Dagon. CAS: I know-- I received your messages. DEAN: Ah. So you ditched us and you're been icing us out-- great. Cas looks away-- DEAN: Just saying, it would’ve been nice to have some back up-- you, like a super strong dude, in a trenchcoat. (dripping disdain) But hey, you were busy, you know-- with all that nothing.

Knowing the root of the issue--that Dean's emotional and "distressed," Cas doesn't even wait that long to go after him. Plus, Dean flashes the Colt, so Cas follows him to his room with the intent of acquiring it. Cas knows he's probably about to hurt Dean's feelings again, but for Dean's safety, it's worth the risk.

///

From the script (above): SAM: Dean-- But Dean ignores him-- stepping forward-- to Cas-- DEAN: Seriously-- what the Hell's wrong with you? On Cas. Not sure how to answer that. A beat then-- Dean turns-- grabs the Colt-- DEAN: Whatever. Welcome home.

Okay, so I'm sensing a SPNwin Millie parallel here, that no matter how mad they are at each other, no matter how mad Dean is at Cas, Dean is scripted to tell Cas WELCOME HOME. Gahhhhh!

Dean bails to his room, taking the Colt with him. Of Sam and Cas. Cas, torn... LATER... Dean's on his laptop, trying to bury himself in the Kelly Kline search. A knock on the door. He ignores it. After a beat, Cas steps in. Awkwardly-- CAS: Dean-- I'm sorry. Dean doesn't even look up. A long, awkward beat, then Cas places a MIXED TAPE on Dean's dresser. CAS: I--wanted to return this. We see a homemade label: "Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx." Dean still doesn't look up. Cas moves for the door-- DEAN: That was a gift. To keep. CAS: Oh. Dean turns to Cas-- softening a bit-- DEAN: Cas, you can't-- with everything that's going on, you can't just go dark. For weeks. (off Cas's look) We were worried, okay? On Cas. He's still cagey, keeping the weight of a (yet to be revealed) secret. Attempting to make peace... CAS: It wasn't my intention to add to your distress, I... On Cas, desperate to make things clear to Dean-- but he can't reveal too much. So he tells his emotional truth. CAS: Dean, I keep...failing. Again and again. When you and Sam were taken, I search for months-- I couldn't find you, Kelly escaped, on my watch-- and I couldn't find her. (beat) I just wanted-- needed to come back with a win. For you. For myself. And Dean gets that. DEAN: Look-- you're not the only one rolling snake eyes here. Me and Sam, we just had Kelly-- we lost her, too. CAS: And if you do find her...do you really think you can kill a pregnant women? Dean looks away-- the idea of doing that...it's his nightmare. And Cas notices. A beat, then-- Dean shakes his head, so wanting to believe... DEAN: Not gonna have to. We'll find a better way. CAS: We? DEAN: Yeah. We. (then) You ever think the reason we keep striking out is 'cause we're all off in our own corners? I mean-- when has that ever worked, right?

///

Later in the episode, it's clear that Cas isn't working with Heaven for his reputation. And Dean's mad about Cas lying and not communicating, sure, but he isn't really that mad about the theft of the Colt:

CAS: I...I wanted to keep you out of this-- to keep you safe. ***

(Dean working on Castiel's truck) (Dog barking in distance) SAM: How did this happen? DEAN: (Scoffs) What? The lying? The Heaven plan? Or the fact that I'm working on this stupid truck? SAM: No, I mean, what's wrong with Cas? DEAN: Well, he hasn't exactly had a banner year. I mean, think about it. Between Lucifer (Blows air) killing Billie, Ramiel, everything's been blowing up in his face. And he's so desperate for a win right now, he can't even see straight. (gestures to truck) Go ahead and give it a try. (Sam climbs in truck)

///

And later, Dean gets to watch his nightmare scenario play out— the thing he's been freaking out about all season since Billie warned of the cosmic consequences. Cas's impending death.

From above: WHAM! Cas falls to the group-- eyes glazed, face a bloody mash. Beaten. Dagon looks to Kelly-- DAGON: Look at him, your-- (with a sneer) Angelic defender. Heh. You really thought he could save you? This sad, fluttering, aimless little moth? Dagon reaches down, grabbing the front of Cas's shirt-- he tries to fight, but he's too weak, as-- Dagon hoists Cas up. His feet dangling in the air.

From above: And as Sam, Dean, and Kelly stare-- oh fucking no-- the bullet drops to the grass. Dagon looks to Dean-- DAGON: Cool, right? Before Dean can respond, the camera whips right-- and Dagon is behind him! Sam notices-- point-- SAM: Dean! Dean spins-- and Dagon grabs the colt with one hand, and strike with the other. Snapping a fist into Dean's elbow--BREAKING HIS ARM! With a sickening SNAP! Dean drops to the ground-- in AGONY-- leaving Dagon holding the Colt-- DAGON: Yeah...time to take this little bitch off the board. And the Colt goes lava-hot red in her hand. Sizzling-- On Dean. Can't believe what he's seeing-- DEAN: No! But it's too late. The Colt melts in Dagon's hand. Barrel and cylinder collapsing-- Camera moves to Cas, injured on the ground looking around-- At Kelly, helpless and cowering--- At Sam, injured by the bench-- At Dean, hurt and one his knees, in front of Dagon-- His worst nightmare-- everyone he tried to protect in pain and mortal danger. Dagon tosses what's left of the colt away.

From above: Dagon charges up her glowing, angel-smiting fist and swings-- SAM: Cas! DEAN: No! Cas stares death in the eye. Then-- GOLD LIGHT pulses up Kelly's arm (the same gold as Kelly's eyes in Act 2), rushing through Cas's arm-- we zoom into Cas's eyes--

///

And after Jack defeats Dagon, and Cas avoids death, it's still...strange. Gentle. Scary? Cas heals Dean but he seems serene, as if he's in a trance.

Sam and Dean stare at Cas-- Dean cradling his broken arm. He swaps a glance with Sam-- both in awe of Cas, but also shaken by his display of power.

///

In the last moment, we see Dean make up his mind. Dean decides that yeah, he's fighting FOR Cas. He's not going to let him walk away.

From above: He turns away-- Dean grabs Cas's arm-- DEAN: Cas, no-- whatever that thing did to you-- we're not gonna just let you walk away. Not again. (then, emotional) That's not happening. CAS: Yes. It is. It has to.

Because the unfortunate reality is...Dean can't stop him.

#spn scripts #dean/cas #spn 12x17 #spn 12x18 #spn 12x19 #spn the future #spn the british invasion #spn the memory remains #jack kline #kelly kline #dean/cas stuff

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totaldrama-showdowns · 1 month

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Round 1 Match 1

Propaganda

Heather v Leshawna: The og

Do i need to say it

Arguably the og td rivalry and what a rivalry it is

literally the start of it all. the rivalry of all rivalries even.

the girls are fighting!!!!! they coulda been bffs

NO DUH... it's the first biggest rivalry of our beloved TV show so of COURSEEE i am going to submit them!! look at them insulting each other, pushing each other off cliffs, beating each other up, gazing into each other's eyes, longing to feel the other's lips with her own- oh i said too much. anyways VOTE LESHEATHER BEST RIVALRY 2024

Her throwing Heather off the cliff is iconic

LESHEATHER SWEEP FIRE EMOJI TIMES THREE

gay as fuck to constantly fight someone and then give them your wig as a parting gift

They genuinely had one of the best rivalries in Gen 1. In Action when they came to an agreement was good as well! (THEY SHOULD HAVE STAYED ALLIANCE MEMBERS AT THE VERY LEAST)

Unfortunately tdwt forgot that these two sort of became friends in tda

IDK they are just the more iconic.

This is so iconic honestly!! ONE of the better rivals. (Glad they got along during Action though..)

They’re just so awesome. Two absolute powerhouse queens pitted against each other OMGG dude I love them. Leshawna giving Heather a beta version of her hair loss and so many other moments they had so much beef in all of the main gen1 seasons!! Also the sheer tension idk man maybe (definitely) they should kiss

Emma v Chase: TEAR HIM APART!!!!!!

I think it’s funny when Emma messes with him lol their dynamic was actually so funny idc

#total drama #poll #favorite rivalry showdown #heather td #leshawna td #emma td #chase td

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pasukiyo · 2 years

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ALL THE RIGHT PLACES arvin russell x f!reader — angst, smut 2130 words

“i just wish i could forget.”

his calloused hands palmed at her forearms as if to grasp onto what little bit of anchor he had left. her fingers wove through his tendrils of dark umber, the opposite soothing over the back of his denim jacket, lips ghosting over his swollen cheeks, skin sticky with the remnants of salty tears. her shoulder was warm, damp with the diamonds falling from his sockets, her back cool against the car door behind her.

raindrops pounded against the roof of his car, mother nature’s cacophony intruding into their shared moment, not contributing to the easing of his mind. he held her closer, tightened his grip around her as if to hold her together, as if he were afraid she’d fall apart if he let her slip away from his clutches--

-- just like his little lenora.

“i know darling, i know.”

he loved her voice. he loved her ability to soothe and serenade him with nothing but a few words. her soft voice was like a symphony, a sweet song of a siren. it was enough to lull him into slumber, enough to ease the tension within his head.

but even now, even though that sweet, sweet voice of hers whispered such gentle words into his ear, he knew that nothing she could ever even think to say would ever bring his little sister back. nothing.

she knew this. she knew it all too well.

which was why she decided to hold him even tighter.

“if i had known what that damn preacher had been up to in the first place, she wouldn’t have ever done the thing she did,” he murmured into her skin, fingernails scratching at the fabric of her dress, squeezing her even tighter than before. her palm reached for his cheeks, pulling away just enough to peer into murky irises, an expression she hadn’t seen upon arvin’s face much.

she loathed it. she wished to never see him like this again.

“there weren’t no way you coulda changed her way of mind,” she whispered, the pads of her thumbs mapping out the trails of his tears, wiping them away, allowing him to relax into her touch. his fingers locked around her wrist to keep her hands in place, afraid to lose the feeling of her skin on his. “you did everything you coulda ever possibly done for little lenora.”

“and it wasn’t enough.”

arvin slumped against the back of the car seat, eyes cowering to the floorboard below their feet, fingernails picking at the denim of his blue jeans. she watched him, watched as he went numb before her very own eyes. she wasn’t sure if it was even better this way, for him to feel nothing at all.

nevertheless, she shook her head, her hand reaching for his as she scooted closer to him, her lips enveloping his. this time, she didn’t plan to let go.

his hand reached for the back of her neck, holding her in place, fingers pressing dots into her skin. he made certain that she would never let go.

the feeling of losing something frightened arvin. whether it was something as minor as a pen or as major as his beloved little sister, he treated it all just the same. he couldn’t afford to lose anything else, he couldn’t afford to lose her, anyone but the girl whose lips were moulded into his.

he didn’t want this feeling to go away. he didn’t want the feeling of being encased in her warm haven to ever leave, he didn’t want the feeling of his lips against someone special to go away. he won’t allow it, he can’t allow it, he would never be able to live with himself if he did.

her soft whimpers against his lips made his belly feel warm, the flame that she had ignited deep within him raging, growing stronger and stronger until it enveloped him completely. he couldn’t stand it any longer, all he needed was more. he wanted to be selfish, he wanted to love her with reckless abandon, to break her over and over again just so he could be the one to pick up her broken pieces, to be the one to put her back together over and over again.

“please darling,” he husked as her kisses trailed down the side of his face, the tip of his tongue tracing his jawline, her hands gripping the sleeves of his jacket. his eyelids fluttered themselves closed, chest heaving into hers and for a moment, he was calm— his mind had been erased so that nothing remained but the idea of her. his heart pounded recklessly, his cheeks searing with scarlet flame, fingernails etching crescent moons into her upper arms. “need to feel you, need more of you.”

he pulled her into his lap, either one of her legs straddling his hips, his fingers working at the buttons of her dress, slipping the thin material down her shoulders until it looked at their thighs. their lips were one, their lips were refusing to let go. her hands were slow but eager, his denim jacket being pulled down his arms by the hands he treasured so damn much. he reached for them, reached for the feeling of her soft hands, the ones that would tangle themselves up in his hair, the ones that would soothe over his skin whenever he needed it the most, that would hold him, hold him even when knowing that his own were as sinful as the devil himself.

her hands touched all the right places, every sweet spot of his body, every sensitive part of his skin, everywhere he needed warmth. she was always there, she would always be there. she wouldn’t ever leave him, not for a million years, not even for all the riches the world had to offer.

he knew this. he believed this.

he didn’t want to believe in anything else.

his hands found her breasts, calloused palms rubbing over her erect nipples, his jaw hanging open as her hips ground against his, adding the extra friction he craved so bad. their skin stuck together due to their sweat, flesh sticky with salty liquid. her soft mewls permeated his car, his hands gripping at her hips, thrusting into them to match her tempo.

“arv,” she moaned into his lips, the tip of her tongue prodding against his, beckoning for entrance. saliva bridged the soft patty of flesh inside of their mouths together as they pulled away for a brief second, working at discarding their bodies of their undergarments.

he watched as she pulled her panties away from her throbbing cunt, pretty pink folds glistening just for him, the cloth pooling at her ankles before she tugged them off completely. he shifted around underneath her, thumbs curling around the hem of his jeans to tug them along with his underwear down. she stood up to allow this, her lips curving up into a small smile as their irises locked once more, and this time, their gaze would never be broken.

the tips of his middle and forefinger traced a line over the outskirts of her arousal, gathering her sweet nectar onto his digits. she shuddered at this, fingers tugging at the roots of hair at his scalp as her jaw quivered at the feeling. his name emitted from her lips whilst he teased her entrance, massaging her folds, lips locking onto the sweet spot of her neck.

“shit, arv!” she exclaimed once his fingers had sunken in, her gaze locked on his warm, warmer than ever. her fingernails burrowed into the flesh of his shoulder, her opposite hand working at his hardened cock, his teeth pinching his bottom lip. threads of curses spewed from either of their lips, his digits pumping in and out of her dripping cunt, preparing her for his cock.

“i love when you call my name like that,” he murmured into her skin, fingers prying away from her pussy, wrapping around his erect length instead. his teeth sunk into the flesh of his inner cheek whilst she steadied herself, lips teasing at his, peppering chaste kisses onto his flesh. “makes me feel like i’m worth somethin’.”

she pondered this, mind doing its best to decipher what he would have possibly meant by this. she didn’t have much time to in the moment, and she didn’t particularly want to. this moment wasn’t about her after all, it was about him, about treasuring him for what he was really worth, about picking up his scraps. she wouldn’t allow herself to be selfish right now, she couldn’t.

“you can have me, arv,” she purred into his ear, hand hovering over his as he pumped himself, his ravines of deep umber swimming through her own, forehead leaning into his. “you can have my everything, now and forever.”

she always knew the right thing to say. this was another thing he admired about her, he loved that she knew exactly what to say and when to say it. she always came in at the right time, all the time.

arvin palmed her ass, teeth etching their mark onto her shoulders, guiding her hips down onto his. she mewled into his skin, his name emitting from her lips, her lewd noises imbuing the vehicle. the rain pounded even harder against the roof of the car, a veil on each window.

it was solely them, them in their own little haven. he liked it this way, even if it could only be for just a little bit. he relished it, he never wanted to let this moment go.

he hissed at the feeling of her cunt enveloping his cock, his head throwing itself backwards, neck craning over the top of the seat. his fingertips pressed into her hips, her fingernails scratching marks along the mountains of his shoulders.

“oh fuck,” he cursed, sucking in air between the crevices of his teeth. her body quaked above him, bones rattling and muscles spasming at the feeling of being filled up so well, fingernails making their territory known all across his skin as if he were her canvas. arvin’s hand made its ascent up the side of her body, fingertips tracing each and every curve along the way up to her tresses, massaging her scalp all whilst tugging on her roots. “always feel so damn good. so damn pretty.”

she didn’t want this moment to end. it was perfect— just her and him and the rain. she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave him, his car, never.

his cock hit places within her that had never been reached by anyone before, made her feel things she knew she’d only feel with arvin. she tugged him in closer, arms wrapped around his neck, his lips pressing eager kisses onto her breasts. fog joined the raindrops on the car windows, sweat beading down either of their faces.

“i love you,” arvin purred into her chest, head throwing back once more, his high nothing but a mere few strokes away. her legs trembled over his thighs, her cries permeating the small car, hips bouncing up and down in the rhythm of his thrusts. her lips curved upwards at this however, palm caressing his cheek as she prepared herself for climax. “fuck! i love you so much, darling. ain’t ever gonna stop lovin’ you.”

“never, arvin,” she panted, his hands gripping onto her hips, slamming her onto his cock one last final time. their heads lolled backwards, mouths peeling open for the proof of their climax to emit, bodies twitching against the other’s. “i ain’t ever gonna leave you. you don’t have nothing to worry about, honey.”

his hand reached for the back of her neck, pulling her in closer, lips moulding together, becoming one like he’d always dream about. he loved this, loved the connection they had whether it be physical or mental. he loved that she loved him no matter what he had ever done or will ever do.

he felt accepted.

she knew that even this moment was temporary. nothing, not even this, would be able to amount to the pain that arvin would feel in the morning. all the pleasure in the world would never stop grief. no matter how much time she’d spend with him, no matter how much time she’d love him, he’ll always still miss his little lenora.

and it was okay. she would never try and stop her lover from missing his own little sister. all she could do was try her best to halt the pain at least momentarily, to keep him occupied, to keep him at least temporarily happy. she would do this all the time, and she— at least— hoped that it was enough for him.

and it was.

a/n; this is something i wrote like two years ago for my old private writing instagram account but felt like sharing it publicly <3 hope you all enjoy! and sorry for any grammatical errors, like i said, i wrote like like two years ago lol (ps, you and arvin have southern accents in that so have fun imagining that lol)

#tom holland #arvin russel smut #arvin russell #arvin x reader #the devil all the time #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel x you #arvin russel x y/n

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