#ii bandana | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

belokhvostikova · 3 months

Text

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.”

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported.

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had.

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you.

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together.

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you.

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner.

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought.

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients.

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self.

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!”

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed…

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together.

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything.

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.”

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster.

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance.

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.”

“I’m fine.” You gritted.

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache.

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage.

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors.

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.”

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?”

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.”

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to.

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified.

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.”

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him?

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to.

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite.

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid.

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered.

“You used to.”

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago.

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth.

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality.

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled.

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos.

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running.

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.”

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though.

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.”

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.”

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face.

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana.

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you.

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year.

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours.

And it worked out… surprisingly.

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together.

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie.

Because he changed.

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all.

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat.

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-”

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose.

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body.

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then.

And he hadn’t seen you since.

Until now.

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet.

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you.

But it didn’t have to.

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny.

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you.

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength.

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain.

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating.

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation.

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him.

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance.

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?”

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so.

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again.

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him.

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in.

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation.

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged.

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye.

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.”

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open.

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest.

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness.

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further.

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes.

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.”

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously.

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face.

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood.

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off.

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand.

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you.

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger.

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door.

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.”

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you.

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you.

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them.

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours.

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist.

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of.

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him.

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie.

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit.

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

466 notes · View notes

maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 3 months

Text

The Old Guard AU where the poly!141 are a group of immortals who seemingly cannot die so they travel around for centuries fighting battles, wars, and injustice.

John Price, the eldest of them all, the first known immortal. He cannot entirely remember how old he is or anything of his mortal life. There are memories that he carries of fighting against the Romans in what he believes is present day England. Eventually though everything began to bleed together and he almost gave up hope entirely until one fateful event.

The Battle of Culloden. It is where he meets Simon Riley and Johnny MacTavish.

Simon is a lieutenant for the King, a British red coat, different from the rest if only by the black bandana with the white paint of a skull covering his face. A man who Price encounters before his death. Something about him pulling the immortal to find him upon the battlefield. That is, of course by fate, where Price first meets Johnny MacTavish as well. A proud Scott fighting for independence. Face marked by warpaint, dirt, and blood as he kills Simon with a battle cry upon his lips. And in a moment that Price cannot comprehend being reality in its entirety or flashes of the new immortals being bound to him he witnesses this: Johnny kills Simon. Simon rises and kills Johnny. Over and over the two fight, killing each other and healing, until finally they pause. As if realizing that neither is truly dying they hold each other, both looking up to Price just standing over them. A calm silhouette against the backdrop of brutal battle.

Something telling them that he knows.

Of course, none of them understand that they are bound together until later that night when they dream of the other. Price. Simon. Johnny. Living and dying. Plagued by their personal inflictions and differences. Causing Price to have to hunt the two down. Explaining that they have to all be together. They have a job to do. A greater purpose that goes beyond Johnny not wanting to work with Brits and Simon not wanting to work with anyone. (Not that John would ever admit that in truth...he just didn't want to be alone anymore.)

And by the time they dream of a fourth, the consequences of Culloden is gone from them against the sounds of a world at war.

World War II is where they find Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. Dying from a gunshot wound after freeing a camp of POWs from the Germans. Price, Simon, and Johnny race across no mans land and trenches. Across borderlines and battlegrounds to find him. It takes nearly ten days across foot before they come across Gaz collapsed upon his knees drenched in blood. Surrounded by dead German soldiers. A sob shaking him as Price settles a hand across his shoulder. The three immortals explaining that everything would be alright. That Gaz wasn't alone anymore. He'd never be alone again.

And when that war ended well the wars never end. However, the 141 as Price names them certainly didn't expect to gain another member, but one night upon a cargo train within the middle of the desert, they suddenly gain you.

Your death awakens them from sleep far worse than if the train itself had crashed.

Price watches you die, sees the wound that kills you, the pain and fear flashing across your eyes. Johnny catches a glimpse of your name tag and the features of your face; his hands hazardously sketching you upon a notepad he had stuffed away. Gaz quickly tries describing your environment and clothing. Simon looks upon them all with darkened eyes, his hand grasping his throat, as he announces that he felt you die. A statement that has Price standing as he suddenly realizes where you must be and what had led you to your death.

No more words were needed for them to all agree to find you no matter what.

#asks and request are open #i have a whole au set in my mind palace for this #task force 141 #poly 141 #john price x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john x simon x johnny x gaz x reader #old guard au #cod mwii #reader insert

308 notes · View notes

sheisjoeschateau · 2 months

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART II

ALRIGHT, SECOND PART IS OUT. NOT WAITING. hope u like :)

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader || enemies to lovers trope.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED AND/OR REPOSTED ON HERE OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR PUT INTO ANY AI PROGRAMS. THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MDNI.

An original fanfiction series, written by Misha St. James.

This isn't your first time meeting Steve Harrington.

You know him. And he knows you. Well, maybe. Who knows. You both run in completely different circles in high school.

While there's some very obvious tension amongst the love triangle (Nancy-Steve-Jonathan) you take a second to look over at the group of kids behind King Steve. There's a curly-haired kid wearing a cap, another kid sporting a bandana, and a redheaded girl. They give you sort of awkward waves, which you return with a tight-lipped grin.

"Sorry," Jonathan's suddenly saying. "Uh, you guys, this is umm -"

"Bauman," you interject. "Just...call me Bauman."

Steve is now looking at you, realizing. Recognizing. "Hey," he says. "Wait, aren't you in Click's class?"

You press your lips into a thin line, trying not to be totally off-put by him. And in truth, you weren't really. Steve had seemed less... douchey, since he started dating Nancy. You were grateful for that. No matter how doomed their relationship was, it seemed to help him get rid of his trash friends. God, Tommy H. and Carol and that Nicole girl were just toxic.

"Yeah," you said, reaching out a hand. "Nice to officially meet you."

Steve shook your hand, a bit sheepish. And still distracted with the fact that his girlfriend had shown up with Byers. Why was she with Byers? You felt yourself internally cringing, seeing how oblivious yet aware he was. It actually made you feel bad.

"I'm Dustin!"

You suddenly looked in the direction of a toothy-grinned kid smiling at you, and you couldn't help but grin back. "Hey, Dustin."

Lucas and Max introduced themselves, too. But then, you all heard sound coming from off in the distance. The lab.

So yeah, things took a pretty sharp turn from there. It's all kind of a blur, if you're being honest. Everyone began talking over each other, eventually gathering info as to exactly who you are and why you were here (at least the general just of it). They learned about Murray Bauman, and Steve's face just became more perplexed, the more that Nancy and Jonathan revealed what they had learned...together.

...yikes.

But the kids were also asking you a million questions, very curious about you. Max found you funny, finding you to have more cool-girl energy than Nancy, who just seemed too polished for her to know how to communicate with her.

Eventually, Nancy noticed the power back on at the lab and you all took off in that direction. Steve was arguing a lot with the kid named Dustin. Very brotherly. Low-key motherly. The toll gate wouldn't open, then suddenly it did open, and then next thing you know a car is racing towards you from the lab and it's got Jim Hopper at the steering wheel? He's throwing the door open, demanding all of you to get in.

As you all drive, you end up near the front of the car, squished between Steve and Dustin.

"Bauman."

You look over at Jim, surprised. But he's looking at you in the rearview with all-knowing eyes. "You're Murray's niece."

You nod. "Yeah. Jim Hopper, right?"

Jim reaches back to pat your knee, eyes on the road and still shaken up from whatever the hell they just escaped. "M'sorry, kid. Your uncle's been getting shit from me. I know he sent you. M'really sorry. I'll make it right with him after all this, alright? Promise."

You just nod, knowing there's really no time for any of that right now. Since you got in the car, you haven't even had time to notice how there is a woman (clearly Joyce Byers) in pure distress, along with another kid in tow and the limp body of another child that she's holding. Jonathan is reaching for him, riddled with worry. Is that Will?

Once you all make it back to the Byers residence, it's tense. Really fucking tense. Jonathan is knelt in front of the couch, voicing his regrets out loud as he stares at his brother's limp form. Nancy stands behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. You're on the opposite side of the room, leaned against the wall.

Which is why you notice that behind Hopper, who's yelling into the wall phone, Steve. He looks...devastated. Hurt. Heartbroken.

...fuck, he looks heartbroken.

He walks past you, pinching his nose and sniffing once. He looks like he's really fighting off some emotion, escaping to another room. It makes you think about everything that went down at your uncle's bunker, and how maybe it was funny there...but it isn't here. Not now, seeing that this guy actually has some intense feeling for Nancy Wheeler. Intense love for her. Real love.

...but Nancy doesn't feel that same intense love for him.

...oh god, that's messy.

But all hell is breaking loose before you can linger on that for much longer. Suddenly, you're all devising a plan. It has something to do with dungeons and dragons, and Will being possessed, and getting him in a room that whatever monster is inside of him won't recognize. The you're all deciphering Morse Code, and it's a whirlwind from there.

And then you're all holding weapons, bracing fore an attack...when some young girl walks in. Who you come to learn is the infamous Eleven. Her hair grew back, and she looks ready to join a punk band.

Pretty bitchin' look, you gotta admit.

The kids introduce her to you, and she gives you a shy smile. Then you're all splitting up into groups, and you catch a brief exchange between Nancy and Steve. He's saying something to her about going with Jonathan, and it makes you tense for Nancy. You can't even imagine how she must feel, knowing that he sees it.

And honestly, the way that Steve talks is...so not King Steve. It's uncharacteristically mature. Secure, and assuring. Not that of the teen heartthrob and bad boy you've been going to school with. And when Nancy does go off with Jonathan, you see Harrington's heart shatter into a million pieces with just the look in his eyes.

You feel bad. You suddenly feel really bad.

But also, he had to have seen this coming. Right? Jonathan Byers was a good, decent guy, who'd been there for Nancy all throughout the hell of last year. Steve had come around, finally. But by then, the trauma bond between Byers and Wheeler was irreversible. There's no changing that.

But damn, unrequited love sucks.

You knew was rejection felt like, and you wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even your worst enemy.

Out of guilt, you make some conversation with Steve. Given it's just the two of you with the kids left at the house, needing to wait things out, you both easily make conversation. It's a bit awkward at first, but oddly it finds flow pretty easily. Steve's still got his charm, although it's a little more grounded than before. It isn't forced, or laced with popular-kid attitude. That's refreshing.

As you both end up listening to the kids like the only two parental figures around, then end up having to fight off that psycho new kid at school named Billy Hargrove (who's actually Max's stepbrother?!) and patch up Steve's very beaten and battered face which somehow still looks pretty, annnnd wind up in a tunnel full of creatures (demo dogs? is that what Dustin called them?), then somehow survive all of that shit... you and Steve become pretty bonded, pretty quickly.

And when the worst of it is seemingly over, you end up helping Eleven get ready for the Snowball -- dropping her off with Hopper. He's grateful for your help, and after making amends with your uncle you two have gotten to know each other well, too. He likes you, appreciating your mature sense of self.

Joyce adores you already, being the kind-natured and loving mama-bear that she is.

And El? Well, she loves you. You're like a cool older sister figure of sorts.

You and Steve run into each other when dropping off the kiddos at the Snowball, making conversation about how crazy everything was. You talk about other things, too. Just mundane things, bouncing off each other well. But when Steve notices Nancy inside, he gets that sad puppy-dog look in his eyes again. Then, Jonathan's coming out of the dance with a camera. He clearly was the designated photographer for the night.

And he clearly has captured Nancy Wheeler's heart.

One night, after Jonathan and Nancy have started going steady and you're all on summer break, you're all over at the Henderson's house watching the kids. The adults are there, too, since Mrs. Henderson is out working overnight. Murray is pouring up drinks for the adults and teens, much to Joyce's disapproval. But he just goes about his business, clinking glasses. Hopper honestly looks like he could really use a fucking drink. Or 5.

You, Steve, Nancy and Jonathan all toast, happily. Chatting. Laughing. Making light of things.

...but that ends up being pretty short-lived.

Before you know it, you're in the kitchen helping clean up while Joyce gets the kids in bed and Hopper is on the couch slurring with your uncle. Steve had offered to help you, but Dustin insisted that he come see something in his room before they all went to bed. Nancy has left with Mike and Max, while Lucas is staying the night.

Welp. Jonathan walks in, drunk, telling you thank you.

It's sloppy, and it would be funny except for the fact that he is talking so fucking loud. He's just thanking you, and then Murray, over and over -- "...for meddling with'm love life because now, I'm dating th'most beautifurrrl girl in Hawkins. N'if'it weren't for y'two...I'd still'b pining o'r h-her."

...annnnd then he’s blabbering on about how you let him and Nancy take the bed. “Well’lmost… ha, w-we ended urp…takin’th…couch. Whischhh…you tol’us you’w’d…toHaLLy tAkE’stead.” Then he’s snickering, drunkenly. “Cuz’you toooootally wanted us to doooo itttt. Schhhhhhayin that — m’not the safe one. That’m — I’m the one’th Nannnncy l-loves. Not…S-Steve…”

You just chuckle nervously, giving him a pat on the shoulder. And you just keep washing the dishes when he gives you a tight hug from behind, stumbling a bit and making you almost drop and break one of Mrs. Henderson's very cute plates.

Right on cue, Steve rounds the corner, having heard it.

All of it.

And now that Steve has gotten wind of the fact you played a huge role — along with Murray — on why Nancy left him, he is totally pissed.

In fact, he’s livid.

"Steve," you try, but he just holds up a hand, staring daggers at you.

"Save it, Bauman," he grits. "Save. It."

It causes him to have the utmost disdain towards you, border lining hate. It just festers over time, getting worse.

Something about that makes your stomach flip inside out with a horrible, upset feeling. Your guts feel knotted up, and if the reality of things weren't so bleak, you would laugh at the fact that losing Steve Harrington's friendship (let alone trust) would upset you one day, let alone even happen. You feel bad. You really do. But God, as time goes on... his entire attitude about it is insufferable. He isn't letting up any time soon. Not when you both meet up with the kids (because regardless of the strain between you two, you're both the parents now). It feels like two divorced parents, meeting up to share custody of the chitlins.

The only relationship to which Steve is committed, is the one that he shares with Miss Hatred. And you're her bitch.

...guess there's still some King Steve in him after all.

You knew King Steve. He was an ass. So you know what? Suck it, Harrington. Karma’s a bitch.

As time passes, you begin firing back at him - tired of trying to explain yourself, apologize or play nice. Steve wants to fucking play? Alright then. Game on, Harrington.

There's a whole upside down universe threatening to take over still? All good. Let's still brawl, Harrington.

The kids keep bringing you both around each other, and you're also working at a place inside of the same damn mall as Steve is for the summer? AWESOME.

LET'S GET READY TO FUCKIN RUMBLE.

So yeah, you’re totally involved in the whole mall ordeal with the Russians, bonding you to Steve and Robin, along with Dustin and Erica.

But despite that, Steve still resents you. So there is still rivalry between the two of you. Hot and bothered.

That said, despite his pure disdain towards you...it doesn't change the fact that you actually do begin to see him for the much better human that he is becoming. King Steve has fallen. No doubt. You see that. The way that he loves and cares the kids, especially Dustin. And the way that Steve reacts whenever Robin comes out to you both? He's an angel. Hell, he even fought the soldiers off of you whenever they decided to make you their torture-chamber play-thing. He definitely got mad at them for that one, but he also got mad at you for not going with Dustin and Erica before all of that went down. You both nearly strangled each other when attempting to hold the door shut, yelling at each other to run. Robin had finally joined you both, but still - neither of you budged.

Steve was a good guy. A nice guy, even. Just not to you, unless the moment called for him to be. Which was fine.

…but he’s still annoying. And apparently, he can hold a fucking grudge like no other. He’s a world class champ at that, come to find out. Gold star.

You're onboarded to help Hopper, Murray and Joyce with shutting the gate. It's a no-brainer. Steve looks a little miffed, seeing how the adults trust you like one of them rather than him. Even the way that Jonathan is so cool around you, and Nancy seems shy around you, it just...irks him.

When you manage to help Joyce close the gate, you witness the death of Hopper. And it kills you, along with your uncle. You ache for Joyce, unable to fathom how you'll have to bring it up to El.

But hey, you all manage to destroy the Mind Flayer. And when Billy is killed in the process, you tend to Max like a true older sister. She and Eleven have both come to look up to you as such, and Steve won't deny the fact that you're a saint with these kids. A real fucking saint. And if he's being honest...he's relieved to have a co-parenting partner.

But that is the extent of his gratitude towards you, which is strictly circumstantial. You make things convenient sometimes.

Hopper dying hits all of you hard. And you do everything that you can to help your uncle not drink himself to death. It's the only reason that you don't regularly visit the Wheelers in California. Your uncle is a wreck. Hopper was the only man who truly felt like a friend to your very lonely (by choice) Uncle Murray.

Steve does single you out to ask how you're doing, knowing that witnessing Hopper's death was tragic. But you just tell him that the real concern is your uncle and Joyce, insisting that you will get by. Steve seems hesitant at first, knowing that you're not fine. He might hate you, but he still cares about a party member who got put through hell.

"I'm alive, Steve. So I need to carry on. For everyone's sakes. I'll be alright."

As time goes on...

You and Steve give Robin very conflicting love advice, when it comes to her crush on Vikki.

"VIKKI LIKES BOOBIES."

"Christ, Steve," you're groaning in the backseat. "Stop being such a damn teenage boy."

"I'm almost 20, Bauman," he scowls at you in the rearview mirror.

You make a face, exaggerating feigned apology. "'Scuuuuuse me."

Man, he could not hate you more. Steve is sure of that. You are the worst. Why are you here. You are just the worst. Every time he looks at you, all he sees is Murray Bauman but as a much hotter 19-year-old girl with way more better comebacks and select timing.

AND NO, THAT IS NOT A COMPLIMENT.

!!!!!!!!

Next thing you know, Chrissy Cunningham has been found dead in a trailer that belongs to Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. Who, according to Dustin, is not only still in high school — he’s also friends with them? Yikes. But Dustin swears that he’s not a murderer.

You choose to believe Dustin. Much to Steve’s chagrin. In his mind, any chance that you get to disagree with him, you will gladly fucking take it. He is really committed to you being his enemy.

And you know what? Fine. You can play. You've been playing.

Eventually, Nancy comes back into the picture.

And honestly? Watching her be all into Steve again? As if she isn't in a relationship with Jonathan still? That pisses you off.

Not because you’re jealous. No, no. Not that.

…yeah no, it’s not that.

Nah, it’s the way this girl just cannot for the life of her figure out what she is feeling. Dear lord, woman. Pick.

Eventually, you comment on this. But not until Eddie Munson is suddenly roped into y’all’s crew and you both strangely hit it off. You share the same taste in music. You both compare concert history, listing off you're favorites and randomly bursting into song. Very scream-o, metal music. Eddie thinks you're the shit, and you make him laugh a lot. He also makes you laugh a lot.

Steve hates that. He really, really hates that.

But not because he is jealous. No, no. It’s not that.

…yeah, it’s definitely not that.

Nah, it’s the way you make friends with someone he isn't a fan of just to spite him. You know he doesn’t like Eddie. You know he feels replaced by Dustin for him. You’re doing this shit on purpose. He knows it. He just knows it.

Regardless, you both stand by each other throughout the whole Vecna ordeal. And Max? She loves you. Trusts you. A lot. You also tell her not to give Steve so much shit. So he’ll give you that.

But that’s all he’s gonna give you. And even that has its limits.

Whenever you all find out that Max is cursed, the first person that Steve finds himself looking at is you. Because you're the co-parent. You've gotta help him know what to do. You feel the exact same way.

You both witness her possession in he graveyard. You both help calm the kids down, and each other. Whenever Max writes letters to each of you, she looks at both you and Steve for a long time. A really long time. It's very uncomfortable.

...then she's finally handing you both a letter, and the look she shoots you both afterwards in really unsettling. Like she knows something.

But what the hell is there to know? That you both can't stand each other? NEWSFLASH: EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT. So joke's on them.

...not Max though. She's in trouble. So she's allowed to know whatever the hell...that she...knows...?

You and Steve both profusely disagree with everyone about the idea of Max becoming the bait. In fact, it's the first time that you both are defending each other to everyone else. Whenever Max argues Steve, you tell her to listen.

"Steve has every right to be worried right now. We all do, Max."

She sighs, knowing that you're right.

And whenever Dustin tries to get quippy with you about stuff, Steve shuts him down real fast.

"Hey. Not cool. Bauman's in the right, check yourself."

Dustin also sighs, knowing that he's right.

Because you both know these kids better than anyone. You helped Mike ease up on Hopper, becoming that one older-sister figure he can actually go to and be normal around. Hell, he even hugs you. Mike never hugs anyone, except El. And Lucas? You and Steve are at every single one of his games, like proud parents. Will calls you whenever he wants to paint, knowing that you enjoy art. You've spent many nights painting with him, and even Steve will join with the other kids. They mostly just finger paint and bicker, but it's still lovely in its own sort of way. And then there's Dustin. The golden child, who both of you wanna hug and strangle at the same time. He is forever putting the two of you in close proximity, secretly loving the tension between the two of you. He figures that it's just because you both wanna be the favorite parent, and Dustin is too fixated on why Steve hasn't started dating Robin to even remotely suspect that you two could be an item.

There's a plan in motion now. It's in full swing, all groups peeling off. There's a new species added to the fucked up realm (the newly coined named for them is demo-bats) and you've somehow saved Steve's ass for the 3rd time. This guy seriously cannot catch a break.

But now, Eddie’s suddenly encouraging Steve to go after Nancy again. And damn, that bugs you. It really motherfuckin’ gets under your skin. Because Eddie doesn’t know the full story about what went down between them. Not even close.

You can't help yourself. You tell Steve this, once Eddie walks up ahead. But of course, Steve is rebuking everything that you are saying.

And then he's telling you that Nancy is different, and -- “actually, things are better.”

But you scoff at that, incredulously. And you're telling him to "wake up and realize that 1) she’s still with lover-boy Byers, and 2) you shouldn’t pine after someone who chose someone else over you."

You mean to say it kindly. Honestly, you try to.

But Steve doesn’t think so. And he’s faster. He’s also cruel.

“Maybe that’s why you broke us up, huh?" Steve is firing back at you with all that he's got now. "Because you’re used to that. Being the second choice. Weren’t you Clark’s best friend? Didn’t he drag you along until he ended up picking Becky? Yeah. Thought I didn’t know that, right? Or how you hung out with some of the basketball guys and never once got asked out by any of them? God, it’s so obvious. Also, it’s pathetic. You clearly hate seeing anyone happy. So hey, guess what? You got your wish: successfully ruining someone else’s happiness. Bingo! Congratulations, you won.”

It hurts. It really does. It fucking hurts.

Still, you do try to reason with him. It’s a little harsh, you’ll admit it. You’re not exactly speaking to him sweetly. But you try.

“All my personal love life issues aside —" you start, bringing your voice down and speaking as level as possible. "...which honestly, I’ve never even had something worth labeling as love — Steve, YOU still deserve to —”

“To suffer,” he cuts you off. “Yeah. I know. And the fact you’ve not had love? That just further proves my point. You admit it and yet you’re still out to get me. Because you’re fucking miserable.”

Alright, you’ve had it.

“I’m miserable?” you ask, ready to fire back. “Steve. You’re the one letting your ex-girlfriend — who didn’t even properly dump you — toy with your brain again into actually thinking she’s gonna pick you this time. She doesn’t deserve that. And you certainly don’t deserve —”

“You deserve nothing.” Steve is seething. Then hissing at you, “You’re bullshit, Bauman. You and your whack job Uncle. You’re both bullshit.”

So you stop. You let it go.

You let Steve Harrington hate you and suffer his own misfortunes. And you pretend that what he said didn’t just shatter your soul into a million tiny pieces. You nod at him, swallowing hard.

“My uncle is twice the man you’ll ever be. King Steve.”

It’s a pathetic last attempt. And your voice feels small, tight. But standing up for your uncle is better than yourself at this point. You walk off, away from him.

And Steve doesn’t tell you to stop. He doesn’t tell you not to walk away. He lets you.

So he doesn’t see you cry alone inside of the upside down version of the Wheelers’ bathroom. He doesn’t see your heart break in two, and he doesn’t see you bite back the sobs sinking your teeth into your palms.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #dustin henderson

254 notes · View notes

jarate-pissman · 3 months

Text

Silly Doodle of TF2 if they were dogs. I wanted their accessories to resemble their human counterparts, but it can be difficult because putting a dog into human clothes is hard to draw.

Scout: A Boston Terrier. A breed known for being lively and happy, it's friendly and open to strangers. Scout as a guard dog would show you where his owners keep the valuables if you give him even a crumb of attention. Also, they can be bug eyed and derpy at times.

Pyro: A Dalmatian. Duh. With a bag on their head that resembles pyro.

Soldier: Solly is an American Pitbull Terrier. The fact that it's a controversial breed makes it an even better fit! ABPTs were used in combat missions in WWI and II. In WWII they appeared often on war propaganda posters. One of the most well known ABPT was named Sgt Stubby in WWI, and he earned himself numerous medals. Stubby is probably the deciding factor. Soldier has an American flag bandana and his food bowl over his eyes. He smells faintly of rotten bbq ribs.

Heavy: An Ovcharka (Caucasian Shepherd) while originally the breed hailed from Georgia, the USSR pushed to have the breed standardized. The huge dog breed was originally bred for guarding purposes, and has a serious and protective nature. Perfect for guarding his medic. He greatly treasures his Sandvich, a stuffed squeaky toy from the bargain bin at the pet store.

Demoman: A one-eyed Scottish terrier with a sturdy body and a manly beard. My personal experience with Scotties as a dog groomer is that they are absolute assholes who are wary of strangers squeezing their ass glands. I'm pretty sure Demo would bite me too if I touched his asshole. Demo has a squeaky bouncy ball that resembles a sticky bomb, one eye, and a hat that looks like a beanie.

Engineer: An American Bulldog. Mainly this was influenced by their stocky body and their friendly personality. Bulldogs are also a very intelligent dog breed that possess high endurance, agility, and strength. American Bulldogs were bred with the intention that they would be a farm dog. I would have gone with the Blue Lacy, but it didn't feel very Engie, despite being the only breed outta Texas. Engineer dog has doggles.

Spy: A french bulldog. Both the French Bull Dog and the Boston Terrier both descended from the Bulldog, so in a way they are related. While a poodle would have fit Spy as well, Frenchies are pretty expensive in their own right, and the cost of their medical bills might as well cost 5 poodles. They're like the luxury bulldog, and I feel like the fact that Spy and Scout's breeds resemble each other makes it better. Since dogs don't usually wear balaclavas, Spy-dog got his face stuck in a pair of red/blu underwear and started wearing them ever since.

Medic: What dog is more demanding, bratty, and sadistic than a Pomeranian? Pomeranians are extroverted, lively, alert, and highly intelligent dogs of German origin. They can be aggressive to humans and dogs to try and prove themselves. They don't seem to realize how small they are, and somehow wind up ruling the house anyways, even if there are other dogs. I can just imagine Medic-dog commanding Heavy-dog, and Heavy-dog going along with whatever he says. Medic has tiny glasses and a stray hair curl.

Sniper: A dingo. Aloof, mysterious, and a bit scrawny for his size, he's an excellent hunter who can brave the scorching bush and all Australia has to offer.

174 notes · View notes

jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 month

Text

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it?

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen PT I & PT II. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

TWO: G & G.

You know that there are those in the world who strike fear into people’s hearts and souls.

But you’ve never seen anyone react to a single human being the way they do the duo that struts into the bar in their leather cowboy boots.

You’ve never seen the saloon so quiet and still before then when the duo steps into the scene. A tumbleweed could blow by with how silent it is.

Everyone’s eyes stay planted on the tall, handsome men oozing with confidence and intimidation standing among the swinging doors, appearing like sexy phantoms in the night.

There stands Geto Suguru, the 6’4 long-haired gunslinger with the perfect, black locks that cascade down his broad shoulders and back, seductive eyes, and skillful hands that he hides behind two riding gloves.

He usually is seen riding a black Bronco that is just as big as him and sporting a black cape with black riding pants, boots, and a low-brim cowboy hat. Black fits him so damn well. The only thing that isn’t black on him is the red vest that is so low-cut that you can see the outline of his pecs.

Beside him is his partner (and lover as it’s rumored) Gojo Satoru, the lean, confident, cocky, blindfolded bandit standing at 6’3 with snow-white hair, a sly smile, leather gloves that hide some skillful and deadly hands, and a blindfold covering his eyes that have never been seen but are said to make a man go cold with fear where he stands.

In contrast to Geto, the white-haired cowboy is doused in colors: a denim jacket that matches his slacks where a star-shaped belt buckle hangs from his crotch; brown boots with spurs; a red bandana wrapped around his neck; and a white cowboy hat sits low on his head. He, too, has his own horse: a brown Bronco that is recognizable from its hooves clicking across the ground.

They are a match made in heaven and hell. Handsome, skillful, and deadly. They are known for their impressive yet terrifying speed when it comes to cocking and shooting their pistols. You’ve heard of them killing all kinds of wanted criminals and even other gunslingers in other counties.

Everyone knows them and so do you.

If a record was playing, the damn thing would be scratching by now with the way the saloon reacts to seeing the gunslingers in the flesh. Whispers begin to rise from the silence, including from Yuki, Mai, and Maki who have wandered over. “Oh, my God,” Mai gasps. “It’s the Gunslingers!”

“What the hell are they doin’ here?” Maki wonders aloud, peering at them from behind her spectacles. “Are they lookin’ for someone? I thought they had been arrested!”

And they did, last year. At some point, the articles of gunslingers, corporation owners, and high rollers found dead with bullets in them and a note from “G & G” left at the scene stopped when they were arrested after that train heist. And you know it has everything to do with their connection to your boss.

“Who cares?” Yuki dreamily sighs as she stares at the gunslingers with heart eyes. “I get to admire them in person now! Aren’t they delicious?”

“Keep it in your pants, Yuki,” Choso grumbles, tugging on a lock of the blonde’s hair as she giggles. “They ain’t even all that.”

“Of course not,” Yuki purrs, making Choso blush. “Not above you, Chosi, but a cowboy hat would do you so well!”

Even you will admit that the “wanted dead or alive” posters don’t do them justice: they are fine as all hell, straight out of a woman’s wet dreams. But they are also outlaws. And you despise outlaws…for personal reasons.

The duo begins to look around the silent saloon, Gojo’s head slowly turning despite his blindfold. When his head turns toward you, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your very lungs. Despite the fabric covering his eyes, you feel as if he sees you. All of you.

Gojo nudges Geto with his elbow before waltzing over to the bar, his boots thudding across the hardwood floor. Geto follows, ignoring the whispers and stares in their wake. The piano has begun to pick up again, but it does nothing to ease the tension swimming in the air. Quickly, you turn to face your drink while the girls scatter to work, leaving you to fend for yourself.

Geto sits on the stool beside you while Gojo takes the one beside him. You feel the air around you become stiff and tense as the cowboys settle into their seats. “So what’s a cowboy gotta do to get a drink round here?” Gojo asks with a smirk. “Can ya help a guy out, miss?”

He gives Shoko a flirty look, not knowing that this girl is gay as hell. “I could damn sure try,” she replies, barely giving him a smile. “What will you fellas have?”

“I’ll take a Long Island iced tea,” Gojo says then laughs. “Just kiddin’! A beer, please.”

Geto takes a moment to examine the shelves of alcohol behind Shoko. He then looks at your pretty drink. “I’ll take what the lady is havin’,” he answers. “Actually, what is that you got there, miss?”

His dark, enchanting eyes meet yours and you ignore the butterflies they invoke inside of you. “Whiskey smash,” you blandly reply.

He hums thoughtfully at the name. “Hm…is it good?” You tick your eyes at him briefly, secretly admiring his features. “If you like your whiskey with some sweetness to it, sure.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. “Oh, I definitely do,” he drawls. “I like sweetness with my everything.”

You swallow hard, so sure you have a cherry pit in your throat. Gojo chuckles from beside his partner, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “Oooh, me too. I’ll third that order, ma’am!” Shoko nods and shoots you a look before wandering off to fix the drinks.

You do your best to keep calm and act normal, sipping your drink and trying to relax. At some point, the silence becomes thicker, prompting one of the gunslingers to speak on it. “Welcomin’ place,” Gojo sniggers. “I feel so at home.”

Geto quietly chuckles from between you and Gojo. “Let’s just settle, Satoru. We won’t be here long.”

‘Settle what?’ you wonder, but you know that they are here for Kento. Shoko comes back with the frothy, red drinks, lowering them in front of the gunslingers.

“Thank you kindly,” Gojo chirps before taking a sip. Geto nods his thanks but doesn’t drink his right away. Instead, he goes into his pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and slides it across the bar to Shoko. “I don’t suppose you know who this guy is,” he says.

You peek down at the paper, finding it to be a “Wanted” poster with your BF and boss looking back at you. Kenzo aka “Valentine” looks much different than when you met him. On the poster, he is clean and shaven, has longer, shaggier hair, and has a distinguished scar on his left eye.

But of course, this is the gunslinger who robbed people blind and just pulled a train heist and massacre in the town of Cherrywood a year before with his crew, Geto, and Gojo. The man who takes his place now is Kenzo, a humble saloon owner who sometimes dabbles in illegal activity to fund his saloon.

Valentine, a criminal on the lamb and your outlaw boyfriend, is known for using his looks, charm, and violence to get what he wants. He is a man who loves money, women, and jewels. As a notorious criminal and outlaw, he has bounced from place to place, county to county, robbing folks and then laying low before starting again.

He was arrested for robbing the Cherrywood regional train and having his crew massacre all of its employees and riders before you met him. Originally, he was given a fifty-year sentence but escaped after serving five weeks just by seducing a male prison guard and then knocking him out to steal the cell keys.

You were hot on his trails when he showed up Blackwater a year later and met you in a whorehouse that you purposely took a job in since he frequented those. He took one look at you and immediately fell in love with you (and your body), proposing you a job at his saloon. “You could be mine,” he told you. “My girl.” You agreed and the rest is history.

“I’ve heard of him, yes,” Shoko replies as she cleans a glass.

“Is it possible you’ve seen him around?” Geto ponders aloud. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but he escaped Cherrywood a year ago after robbin’ a train and massacrin’ everyone in it. He’s wanted in about nine different counties.”

Shoko takes another brief look at the poster before someone flags her down from down at the bar. Saved by the bell. “I can’t say I have seen him, fellas,” she apologetically says. “‘Scuse me.”

She hurries off, leaving you with the two cowboys. “How about you, ma’am?” Geto asks, passing the poster to you. “You recognize this face by any chance?” You look down, studying Valentine’s face.

You have, but first, you need to read these guys. “I’ve seen him in the posters, but not in person. May I ask why you two are here?”

You keep it casual and curious, making sure you don’t sound too suspicious. “We were paid by a private source to track down Valentine for his crimes,” Geto vaguely explains.

“And for personal business,” Gojo adds with a smirk. “You see, we were in, uh…business with Valentine some time ago and never got our cut.”

He doesn’t need to go any more into detail than that. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “We don’t like bein’ played with,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, sending a chill down your spine. “Or when someone’s money is funny, so we came here to exchange words with him.”

‘Words or bullet?’ you want to ask, but you instead bite your tongue and sip your drink.

“We’ve been told he was last seen in this town,” Geto explains. “We figured everyone comes to saloons so why not check here?” He slides the poster away from you, a kind yet flirty smile crossing his beautiful face. “But even if he isn’t, we can still enjoy a drink with a pretty lady.”

You roll your eyes, having heard that line before. “Does that line work with all the girls?” you scoff. Gojo coughs up his whiskey as he laughs, but Geto doesn’t take it to heart. In fact, he chuckles. “I see not with you,” he replies.

“I like that,” Gojo states once he’s recovered, his blindfolded eyes set dead on you. “You’ve gotta be the first person who isn’t scared of us or tryin’ to jump in bed with us.”

You passively shrug, twirling your tongue around the rim of the glass. “I’ve been around gunslingers in my time.”

At this, the duo share a look unbeknownst to you, quite interested in the pretty thing sitting with them at the bar. “Oh, really?” Gojo drawls and you realize your mistake. “Any of these encounters you’d care to share, little lady? I’m quite interested.”

Geto nods, his gaze like molten fire. “I am too.”

You suddenly feel your mouth grow dry and your cheeks become hot. Your body reacts in a way it never has with any man you’ve been with, not even your first love! The way they continue to stare at you, giving you their undivided and unwanted attention, is even worse.

What is wrong with you?

Luckily, your boss comes to the rescue, barreling up to the bar like he wasn’t watching the duo from afar and shaking in his boots.

“Oh, gentlemen!” he shouts, giving them both a hard, eager handshake. “Welcome, welcome! Can I offer you two another drink or a dance free of charge?”

Gojo ignores him like he isn’t even talking, leaving Geto to handle this. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, plastering on a kind smile. “We’re here for some information about him.”

He passes Kenzo the poster and you watch in real time as the color in your boyfriend’s face drains. “Have you seen this guy anywhere?” Geto asks, squinting at him.

Gojo peers at him from under his hat, his stare intense even with the blindfold covering his eyes. Kenzo clears his throat and leans in to whisper to Geto. You pretend to ignore them though you secretly strain to hear. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers. “Even the walls have ears, I’m afraid.”

Geto nods and nudges to Gojo who sighs and downs the rest of his drink. To your shock, Geto puts a hand out to you for a shake. Though hesitantly, you take his hand and feel the room grow hotter than a sauna when he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “It was a pleasure meetin’ you, ma’am,” he softly says. “Hopefully, we’ll cross paths again.”

His eyes gleam as he tips his hat at you, leaving Gojo to follow Kenzo upstairs. Gojo doesn’t follow right away, instead digging into his pocket for some coins and placing them on the bar in front of you. “For your drinks and yours,” he says with a crooked smile. “Have a good night, little miss.”

Then, just like Geto, he leaves as if he didn’t just steal the air you breathe with it. It takes a moment to get your head back, but once you do, you down the rest of your drink and get up from your seat. Shoko catches your eye and gives you a look, her eyes telling you a message:

“Don’t get caught,” she warns you. “And don’t get killed.”

You nod, blowing her a kiss, before following your boss and the duo upstairs.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my fic shit #black writers #jjk smut #cowboy gojo #cowboy geto #satosugu #satoru gojo x black!reader #suguru geto x black!reader #cowboy!au #cowboy!geto #cowboy!gojo #poly smut #poly love

97 notes · View notes

lil-quinnie · 9 months

Text

I know who i want to take me home.

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie x f!bestfriend

part II

warnings: 18+

Summary: That time where Eddie stood up for you and you never left his side again,

You've known Eddie since your 4th grade, when some girls were making fun of you for your dress or something stupid like that. Kids could be mean, that Eddie knew.

He'd been teased ever since he arrived in Hawkins a few years ago. When word got around that the kid's shaved hair was because he had head lice or was arrested, he vowed he'd never take that kind of shit in silence again, and so he did.

Eddie already considered himself the savior of the broken, the beats and the damaged.

From the day he threatened to throw mud on the girls' perfectly pressed clothes, you were never apart, ending that summer afternoon with him pushing you on the swing and you sharing ice cream while Eddie talked about how cool it was to live in a park trailer "There are always kids there to play with, you should go meet more friends" Eddie said in his childish squeal.

You were together when Eddie's father got out of prison and disappeared into the world "he better stay away anyway" Eddie had told you with his eyes on the ground, as he walked you back to your house kicking some rocks by the way. It was the first time you held his hand, giving it some squishes every now and then, you could see Eddie’s dimples every time his eyes landed on your holding hands.

You were together when you got your first guitar, realizing that music wasn't really one of your talents but was certainly one of Eddie's, giving your beloved guitar to your best friend, who trained every day and looked forward every Friday before Hellfire to show you some new music he had taught himself, and it wasn't long before he started showing you the songs he wrote.

“Ok…they are really good men, don’t get me wrong, but you are so in love with her that your song got a little…emotional??” Gareth had told the boy after hearing a new composition, rhythm and lyrics! Eddie froze at his friend's words, as if he had said the most secret words in the world "Dude, relax! It's just a song" he shrugged feigning a normalcy that clearly didn't exist, "yeah, sure...just a song" Gareth was smirking, his tone determined to get under the poor metalhead's skin.Eddie looked at the with no reaction, as if he had been caught doing something illegal, and among all the excuses he came up with at that moment, he said the lyrics weren't all about you, he swore to Gareth. “It’s about Chrissy, you know, the blond unreachable cheerleader who goes to our school?, ring any bell? butthead”. Gareth just rolled his eyes and nodded.

You were together when Eddie decided to grow his hair big! And you always supported him, even when his hair didn't look good at all. "You can wear my bandana if you want, it's very metal" you said and shrugged, handing the bandana to a pre-teen Eddie. You didn't want to admit that those little curls that fell across the boy's face did something to the inside of your stomach, which started to feel tight and hot whenever he was around. You couldn't take the feeling in your chest anymore every time your fingers passed through the boy’s hair, blowing a few strands out of his face whenever he played the guitar or tried unsuccessfully to roll a joint, the feeling was so much so that you decided to give him your bandana, explaining how it would help keep the hair out of his face. Eddie just nodded and listened carefully to everything you said.

As soon as he dropped you off at home and you said your goodbyes, instead of lighting a cigarette and walking to the trailer like he did every other day, he preferred to take the walk holding the bandana tightly inside his jacket pocket as if it were the most precious treasure.

Eddie opened his front door in a hurry and as soon as he heard the lock click, he brought the bandana up to his nose, feeling the heady peach scent of your shampoo.

Eddie spent the rest of the night looking at himself in the mirror, trying to fix his headband in the most "metal" way possible, but he swore to Wayne it wasn't to impress you.

Now, a few years later, you were still there when they first called him a freak, you couldn't quite tell what was going through your best friend's mind.

Eddie was loud, he never stayed quiet when they made mean comments even less when it was one made by an idiot jock. But nothing came out of your best friend's half-open mouth. Eddie knew he had different tastes than most, pop music didn't suit his ear, he could play any kind of games if he wanted, with balls or not, but sports were only for Sunday afternoons when Wayne was off and they could spend some time together, but freak?! “Does she see me like that too?” Eddie's head was sinking into a spiral of shame and fear and you grew agonized by not being able to do anything, in a weak act he looked towards the back of the classroom, looking for you.

You never forgot the look he gave you that day, the sad smile printed on his face, making your face burn with anger "Shut your mouth Jason, do n't you have to kiss your teammates ass or something?" you answered back in the middle of class, making everyone laugh. You got a pass straight to detention and a relieved whispered "thank you" from Eddie.

That was your relationship with Eddie, and even after all these years, nothing has changed! well, almost nothing. Eddie kept swearing and playing his undying love for Chrissy in every new song he played to you, always creating imaginary situations and acting out how he would play for her if he had the chance. Despite the bitter taste of jealousy running down your tongue, there's nowhere else in the world you'd rather be.

Sitting on Eddie's bed while he played a few chords and made some silly rhymes to get you a laugh, as the sun went down and you shared a well-rolled joint by Hawkins' newest drug dealer. At that point, you and Eddie were more than friends and the comfortable “family” feeling took over your relationship, even if something always seemed out of place.

You followed all the corroded coffin shows and saw Eddie flirting with every type of groupie possible, which made you wonder if he had ever thought of you that way.

God! The kid didn't have a specific type, even with the male bartenders at Hideout you'd see him flirt, he flirted with literally anything but you.The boys gathered more and more people to watch their shows, the Hideout got smaller and smaller for their talent and charisma and you couldn't be more proud of your boy's accomplishments. But, "with great talent comes great responsibility", or whatever other nerdy shit you thought Eddie would tell you. That is, if he was on your side in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies that swayed in sync with his electric guitar chords. Still, no matter how pretty, nice, hot or smooth-talking the person Eddie was flirting with was, at the end of the night it was you he always took home, in the second-hand van Wayne got Eddie for his 17th birthday .

“Hey trouble” Eddie hugged you from behind as you got you both beer, you could feel his skin still wet with sweat and the smell of his cheap cologne invaded your nose “EDS” you hugged him tight still jumping with excitement “My god, you…you all did so well today, fuck it was amazing I'm so proud of you I mean the whole band, here” you handed over the bottle of beer and took a sip from yours to avoid saying something that would leave you still more like a fool. "Yeah, it was kind of good right?!"

Eddie was smiling proudly and scratching his head awkwardly as he saw your big bright eyes looking at him the way you were, he toasted you before just taking a sip of his beer "Come on, I'll get you home before it gets too late ” he said, putting his arms around your shoulders and walking with you to the exit. The drive to the parking lot was short and you couldn't answer all the good-byes people gave Eddie and Eddie's girl, you.

It was your first and very last senior year of high school, and finally Eddie was free from hell high school, you miss him there though.

You got your college acceptance letter, your family was in an uproar, lots of hugs and laughter but your heart was so tight, and you didn't know why. You could barely sleep at night thinking about what life would be like in another city, far from your family, your friends and him. You tried to disguise the dark circles under your eyes with a little makeup, thinking that drugstore concealer would hide all the dark aura that enveloped you that morning, but you should have known better.

You went downstairs as soon as you heard the noisy van turn off the engine, instead of waiting for Eddie to come in and have the daily cup of coffee with your mother and complain about your morning attitude, you took the snacks lovingly prepared by your mother, one for each of you and ran out the door, pulling Eddie along the way and dragging him back to the van “I'm late, no coffee today Munson”, you said in a dry tone, making the newly awakened boy just nod “yes ma'am ” he said getting behind the wheel.

The driveway was quiet and safe and you were comfortable until Eddie started peppering you with questions, you were overwhelmed and told your best friend about your leaving in a few weeks in the worst possible way. He didn't take it very well. "Are you going to leave me here, alone in this shithole?" your teary eyes irritated Eddie more than brought him to reality, it was your choice to leave for college, wasn't it?

The morning ended with you slamming the van door as hard as you could and Eddie skipping school and heading to the abandoned bank in the middle of the woods behind the football field. That day you chose to walk home alone rather than answer your friend who, even not entering the school, was waiting for you outside.Days passed and nothing from your best friend showed up, answered your calls or stopped running through the school corridors trying to avoid you like the plague. "He needs space now" was what Nancy repeated to you every time that happened.

The week dragged on without the presence of your best friend. Now on Friday, Nancy and Robin were trying to convince you to go to your last high school party. “Come on baby girl, it's your last high school party! Fuck Eddie if he's such a sucker for not wanting to enjoy every second he has with you” Robin said in a rather mean attempt at convincing you, “not to mention he'll probably be there, parties are always good for…business” Nancy added knowing that this argument would definitely make you go to this party, you needed to see that the metalhead was fine without you, even if it destroyed his soul.

"Fuck it, fuck him! I'm going to that stupid party!" You said in a sigh, Robin threw her arms up as if thanking heaven for your sudden change of decision, and Nancy just chuckled to herself, knowing the real reason for the change.

You made a point of putting on your nicest black dress, which hugged all of your curves that until now you've never felt the need to show off, a pair of combat boots, and whatever jacket Nancy made you pack just in case.

It was so hot, you didn't know if it was the amount of people dancing to the same rhythm inside Steve's living room or if it was just the cheap beer you weren't used to drinking, pushing the slimy liquid down your throat. You searched the entire party for Eddie with no luck, stopping in the kitchen only to talk to Steve who would pull you out of the crowd making fun of your bothered face. At parties like this you usually stayed outside with Eddie while he went about his business, but the sight of your best friend hitting on a cheerleader forced you to make SUCH a sacrifice as drinking such a horrible warm bear. Of course Eddie had seen you, he saw you as soon as you got out of Nancy's car, walking into Steve's house arm in arm with Robin laughing at some weird thing the blonde had said, of course he noticed the flush in your cheeks and as your eyes wandered over the people passing by, his heart ached to realize that he was the one you were looking for, but he remained professional and ended the transaction with the cheerleader who was so drunk that she didn't show her usual disgust at touching on Eddie, on the contrary, she insisted on keeping her hands on him with every word that came out of her mouth.

It was too much for you, you thought, even though you didn't understand where that sore feeling had come from. Staggering through the halls, you managed to find fresh air and took refuge on the pool deck, the muffled music made your thoughts dance around Eddie, you downed the already warm beer in one go throwing the can across the yard of the Harrington mansion, catching the attention of the school's bad boy, Billy, who was finishing rolling a joint still talking to his drug dealer, Eddie.

"Isn't this your little friend, Munson?" Billy asked, both watching you drunken antics, “yeah, yeah it's her'' Eddie didn't let on that your friendship was at a low point in no time, but Billy was always good at reading between the lines “She's fucking hot, now I get it because you hid her behind that shit you like” he said with a smirk on his face, “you wanted her all to yourself, freak?” Billy laughed as he grabbed another bottle of beer and walked towards you, leaving Eddie alone with the cheerleader who accompanied the entire interaction glued to the boy's arm.

Even from afar, doing "business" with Billy and the popular crowd, Eddie wouldn't take his eye off you, following your every move with lost puppy eyes, Eddie's sad eyes accompanied your dress getting up on your thighs more and more, Billy's hands finding your soft skin, stroking and squeezing as you shared the joint. Eddie's big brown eyes burned as he watched the whole scene like a masochist, and it didn't go unnoticed. "she's just my best friend" he replied for the 1,000th time to a drunken cheerleader who tried to get the boy out of his temper that night. She twisted the end of Eddie's hair between her fingers, closing any distance he put between them.

Eddie saw when Billy approached you, he saw when you laughed at some really bad joke making the blond boy stick out his chest in pride, he saw his hands on your thighs and just when he thought his heart couldn't take it anymore, Billy kissed you. Billy tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear like Eddie had dreamed of doing for years, he caressed your rosy cheeks from alcohol and you gave that shy smile that was usually kept just for him, just for Eddie.

"I can make you forget about her'' said the cheerleader next to Eddie's ear, in a not at all drunken tone anymore,”wait…what?” He said while she was pulling Eddie by the hand to one of the Harringtons' empty rooms. Climbing the stairs with the girl, the last thing Eddie saw before entering the room was you walking hand in hand with Billy out of the pool's deck. He didn't know what was going on with him, in all of his high school time, he wanted nothing more than to be locked up with a cheerleader in a dark room, but now he doesn't feel it's the right choice for him.

Eddie was practically thrown into the room and before he said anything, the girl was already on top of him, her lips tasted like cherry and some drink he couldn't recognize. He wanted to be enjoying it as much as the girl who attacked his neck fervently, but he wasn't. He walked to the window lighting up a cigarette and looking out to the parking cars until he saw you and Billy share more kisses, Eddie doesn't feel like being in that party anymore.

The cheerleader still hadn't given up on taking a piece of the boy. hands roaming his pale body until they found the belt buckle, while she unbuttoned it, Eddie watched you through the window. The girl's hands found Eddie's almost erect member, making her mouth water at the size, even though he wasn't 100% hard for her, Eddie was big. The not-so-drunk girl knelt down in front of him, pulling down his boxers until his dick was showing. She didn't wait to put Eddie inside her mouth, moaning as she felt the taste of him taking over her tongue, "you're so big Eddie” she said before going back bobbing her head, sucking every part of the boy's already hard cock. He surrendered to the cheerleader, letting his head fall back as she devoured him, his hand went to the back of the girl's head, forcing her more and more against his cock "I want to see you touch yourself while sucking me, pretty girl” he said through the weak moans, and so did she. Eddie admired for a while the scene he had imagined for years, a cheerleader on her knees for him with her mouth full of his cock, his hips began to push on her mouth in sloppy movements, she moaned loudly while abusing her own clits.

Everything was going well, until Eddie heard her laugh outside.

He watched as Billy's hands traveled to your hips than to the fat of your ass, squeezing and pressing his body against yours, you could feel Billy's hard cock rubbing against your waist, causing you to pull away at the same moment.

Billy's lips on your neck as he pressed you against the car, your face in discomfort, you tried to get rid of the boy's grip without success, pushing and trying to create any kind of space between your body and his, that was enough for Eddie. He pulled the girl who was sucking his dick up, who didn't understand anything, just looked at him with hate!

From the other side Eddie wasn't sure how to get out of this situation so he just said “I'm sorry doll, if it was another time … i'm so sorry” he said pulling up his pants and running down the stairs with his belt still open, straight to your rescue!

Eddie ran outside the house screaming your name, afraid that Billy had already done something to hurt you, Eddie knew how Billy treated his girls, hell! Everyone knew of Billy's fame and yet, he let the situation get to this level.

Seeing you still trying to get out of the blonde's arms "you're hurting me Billy, let go of me!" You said in a voice choked with fear, Eddie's vision went black and his body moved without any direct order from the boy's brain, it was as if he had blacked out for a few moments. When he came back to reality, you were alone leaning against the car and Billy lying on the ground with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go” Eddie grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the party as fast as he could make you walk, escorted by Billy’s menacing screams “Run away Freak, that’s what you’re good at!” or “you can keep that little slut, when you get tired of using her, my turn will come”. Eddie thanked every entity that you were so in shock you couldn't hear the blonde's insults. He helped you into the van and put his jacket around your shoulders “are you ok trouble?” he asked as he put the belt around your body “I missed you” was what came out of your mouth, Eddie chuckled and shook his head in denial “unbelievable” he thought, closing the van door and taking you to the security of your home. It didn't really matter how many people Eddie flirted with or got involved with, at the end of the night, it would always be you he was going to take home, both of you knew that.

The next morning, a big glass of water, some headache pills and a sleeping metalhead were the first things you saw when you opened your eyes, before your head started hurting like a bitch. You took the pill and gently woke your best friend “here, before you get a headache”, Eddie thought it was cute that you thought he needed the same minimum amount of alcohol as you to get sick, but how could he say no if you were standing there in front of him, looking so pretty and trying to take care of him? “Thanks, my head it’s killing me.” He said, taking the pill. Eddie could see Billy's finger prints on his biceps, making his stomach roll in anticipation.

Leading him to bed and closing the curtains, making almost nothing in the room visible.

You laid your aching body next to your best friend, the familiar smell of weed and cigarettes made you feel at home, Eddie feeling your body relax pulled you close to him, finally laying spoon with you, after all those years laying together, this was the first he spooning you and the feeling was so warm and comfortable…

"I'm sorry trouble" "shh eddie, it's too early for this" turning over in bed, coming face to face with your best friend, you could feel Eddie's uneven breathing on your cheeks. You buried your face in your best friend's chest, closing your eyes as he pressed you against his body "I love you eddie" you whispered almost inaudibly, not for him.

Eddie paid attention to every word that came out of his mouth and this time was no different. The difference came in how the heat rose through his body, he could hear his heart beating so hard against his ribcage that he was afraid to wake you up. He didn't go back to sleep that morning, nor did he move until you woke up. He also didn't say he heard you or that he loved you too, he just lay there enjoying every second he had before you left.

Now, 5 years later, many corroded coffin tours and phone conversations, here was Eddie again, where all his paths always led, you. Eddie got a few days off before the new tour started, in 5 years the band did great, opening shows for bands that Eddie dreamed of one day watching the show from the front row, but at that time, he opened the show for his favorite bands. They were destined for success, he was and you always knew it. Now with an audience of their own, Corroded Coffin were one of the most prestigious metal bands in the scene, traveling on extensive tours around the world and always returning to the warmth of their embrace.

"Did you really like it Eddie? I mean, it's no palace but" you shrugged, holding the contract in both hands as the late afternoon light streamed in through the apartment's large windows.

Eddie had never seen you look so beautiful, he thought ."I love it" he said with that crooked smile that has affected you since... forever,

"it suits you dear and it's close to the school where you work, I mean, having the best of both worlds, right?" you bit your bottom lip trying to contain the happiness. The contract was duly signed and delivered to the real estate agent on the same day. The apartment was perfect, just a little chilly at night, "my feet are cold" you texted Eddie every night before you fell asleep, the lack of your response didn't make Eddie mad or worried, he knew you just passed out in the warm of your bed with furry socks trying to keep your feet warm. The mental image Eddie created in his head of you in your hibernating state made him smile every time.

In the middle of winter Eddie came to visit you, with a big box in his hands, you could see that the man was exhausted from all the shows an shit. You never imagined that he would visit you! Your plush pajamas and your fluffy socks say so...for Eddie, your prettier version.

Sitting on the couch, Eddie opened the box and took out a black kitten "It's Sir Bartlomeow" he said with a trembling voice trying to contain his laughter "Since I'm going to be away all winter, this little guy here” bart meowed in response, as if agreeing with the man's statement, making you both laugh “will be the new one in charge of keeping the helpless damsel's feet warmed" you chuckled and thanked him for the unusual gift, instantly falling in love with the kitten and more and more with your best friend.

Two weeks, it had been two weeks since Eddie had gone on his European tour, texting between shows and the countless parties a rockstar needed to attend. Eddie loved the star life, the craziness of the roads and the crowds of people screaming his name, waiting for him, but nights like this, all he could do was miss you. "Hey trouble, I hope you’re ok, is Sir Bart treating you well? I hope so…, I miss you, you know... I can't wait to watch shrek 2 with my favorite person, I have to go , see you in two weeks...yeah?!, bye sweetheart" said the message that lit up your cell phone screen as you laughed at your kitty vet's unfunny jokes, making your heart hurt a little.

It was the first Friday since he'd been away and the usual movie night with his girlfriends turned into a conversation about his frustrated love life.

"I know Nance, I should have replied to Eddie's damn text but what was I going to say?" you said to Nancy over a glass of your favorite rose wine "I miss you too, in fact I miss you every time you haven't been around me since... forever" you downed the glass in agony as Nancy laughed along with Robin. "I mean" Robin began, causing you to roll your eyes in displeasure. "It’s Eddie!, Rockstar or not, he's been in love with you since high school, come on!" earning an elbow from Nancy "ouch babe" Robin whispered.

"It's not like he's not in the arms of some super model right now" your tone was low as you took in every detail of that magazine cover, throwing it on the coffee table allowing the girls to see the gigantic picture of YOUR best friend almost swallowing the face of a very beautiful woman. "But what about the vet, he seemed nice" Nancy offered with an empathetic smile on her lips.Turning the cover of the magazine over, you shrugged “yeah, maybe I'll accept his invitation to dinner, who knows?”.

A/N: Thank you so much @squidscottjeans for all the patience and tips <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #modern!eddie #best friends to lovers #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie my love #eddie munson fanfic

174 notes · View notes

morgysfics · 8 months

Text

Kenneth Sean Carson x afab reader

Better than ice cream.

(Part II)

One shot smut.

After rumours spread online about Barbieland, you, a curious human, were hellbent on finding a way there, only for you to befriend Ken… and he has curiosities about the real outside world himself.

You glance over at the fireplace that was still barely lit under the plasma TV that hung above the mantel. The short yet fake flames brought some comfort to you; like this place had a warmth you couldn't put into words. A warmth you hadn't felt in your own world of reality in a long while.

"What're you thinkin' about, Y/N?" Ken asked, noticing your silence.

"This place… I know you know it has its differences to the outside world but…" you seemed to trail off a little, like you were trying to understand what you wanted to say. Your brows furrowed softly before you turned to Ken. He was looking at you, his bright blonde head tilted a little as if to try to read your facial expressions clearer – you did think it was cute every time he did that. Like a puppy.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know all the differences," Ken replied, his brows raising a little. "I mean– Okay, I may have got some stuff from your place a little mixed up, but that's cool now. We're good. This place, Barbieland, if I can't find my place here, then…"

"You're Ken," you spoke up again, your eyes dancing between his blue ones. "You can find your place wherever you want to. If you ever want to come back to the outside world, try one more time, I'd be glad to try to show you how it really is."

"You'd… You'd do that? Seriously? Thank you, Y/N," he seemed to cough a little, trying to man himself up somewhat. "Thanks."

You offered him a smile and a small laugh before going to turn away, Ken's voice perked your ears again.

"D'you think… maybe, you could tell me some now? If I ever decide I wanna go, I can," his blue eyes shifted away for a moment before he moved a little closer to you, his head doing that tilt thing again, "get it a bit more. I won't be so lost."

"Oh, wow," you muttered softly. "Right now? I… I dunno where to start."

"Do people still fall in love the same way they do here?"

You blink in surprise at his question. His first question. You knew you shouldn't have been shocked, it's Ken. He's gonna wanna know how to get a girl if he truly wanted to. But you knew that he didn't need that. …Even if you were feeling something towards him recently.

"There's a million ways to fall in love, Ken," you replied, your smile pulled back slightly. "Everyone here feels like it's an obligation a little, though. You don't have to fall in love to still feel something. To feel connected to another person."

"I can make friends real easily," Ken explained confidently, fixing the navy bandana on his head. "Obligation… So, it's kinda true then, you don't have to fall in love?"

"It's your life anywhere, Ken." You hummed softly before speaking up again, "Like I said, in the human world, we have… so many ways to feel and express." You pause for a moment, your brows raising when you realise where this conversation might lead. "You have your plastic… and we have– we have more than plastic."

Ken was quiet when you finished speaking, like he was trying to put your words together like puzzle pieces in his brain. When he glanced to his own hands, his brows furrowed before turning back to you. "Well, you humans have, like, blood and stuff."

You let out a small giggle, your hand covering your mouth when you did. Oh, he was charming. "Well, that is true! What I'm trying to say is… uh… Actually, I don't know." You brush off your words, trying to find something else but your mind was a little in the gutter. You shake your head, like you were trying to mop away the dirt.

"Ah, you don't know?! Come oooon, I was so listenin' to all that." Ken groaned a little, throwing his hand out in frustration slightly. "So, if you don't gotta fall in love, then, like… The feelin', those feelings you get when you do, how do you…"

"Replace them?"

Ken nodded.

"Hm," you hummed a little, bringing your hand to your chin as you leaned forward slightly, your elbow on your knees against your chest. "Lots of ways to fulfil that joyment. A career. Family… A hobby. Sex. Friends. Eating good food."

"That's a lot," Ken mumbled, his deep voice soft a little as he spoke. "So, all of that we can do here, besides the food thing and the… Wait, what was the other thing?"

Oh no.

"Uh," you mutter a little before clearing your throat. "Sex?"

"I heard that word a lot back in the outside world," Ken spoke up again. "Always kinda… thrown about everywhere so I couldn't get, like, a definition for it, y'know?"

"Yeah, well, uh…" you fumble your words a little, feeling your cheeks flush a small shade of pink as you try to find something to reply with. "It's how babies are made."

"Oh. …Wait, so, how?"

"I– I don't think I'm the right person for this conversation," you replied quickly, turning away from him as he looked to you.

"You're actin' real weird," Ken chuckled a little, his brows raising on his forehead. "What ya actin' all weird for?"

"K… Ken," you mustered up enough confidence to turn back to him, though, Ken's brows seemed to raise that little more when he realised the expression on your face. "You know the physical differences between people in Barbieland and people in my land, right?"

"Oh, like…" Ken chuckled before shaking his head. "I'm not like the other Kens if that's what you're talkin' about. I have all the bits."

You stare at him for a moment, confused but you feel your face flush even more, your eyes widening in surprise. Before you even could notice, your hands slapped on your face and turned away from him again. "That's not what I…!"

"That's what you meant, right? Y/N?" he asked, somehow his voice seemed somewhat naïve to what just came out of his mouth before. "What's that gotta do with the sex thing?"

Your hands then slowly dragged down your face a little, exposing your eyes as you looked from the fireplace to Ken. "You… don't know?"

Ken shook his head before giving you a "well, then tell me" look.

"Kenneth!" you groaned before shoving him a little. "You did not just say you have all the bits and not even know what that suggests!"

"Woah, woah, handsy! What's with the shovin'?!" Ken groaned before he noticed you were laughing to yourself, his lips stayed apart slightly after he stopped speaking; admiring your smile for a moment.

"You're lucky you're so charming, it's actually ridiculous," you laugh again, covering your mouth a little. "You should watch what you say about that stuff around humans. You'll give off the wrong idea."

"And what idea would that be?" he asked, almost an annoyed tone lingered in his voice like he wanted you to just lay it all out for him. "Don't go all quiet on me now."

You shook your head, still laughing a little before you sighed. I guess someone had to tell him. Guess it was gonna be you. "O– Okay, I'll say this once." You felt your hand rub the nape of your neck a little before bringing it back to your lap." The parts people don't have in Barbieland… In the outside world, people… um, smush them together. To make babies or…" Your eyes drift away from him a little, an almost smirk laying on your lips. "To just have fun."

"You put your genitals together to make babies."

"And just for fun."

Ken's pretty much perfect lips stayed parted for a moment, like he was trying to understand what you were saying. "Why would you do that for fun? Sounds uncomfortable."

You tried to hide the ever growing playful expression on your face but it was proving to be difficult. "It's not. It's hard to explain but… it feels nice."

"It feels nice? I guess that's why there are so many humans about out there," Ken countered.

You shrugged a little before turning away from him again. "It's something I feel bad that you all miss out on here. Romance is one thing but… To me, it'd feel incomplete."

"It must feel real nice to compare it to everything else you listed."

When you looked to Ken, you noticed his blue eyes on you instantly. He didn't take them off of you, even for a moment, like he was a detective; trying to pull at your every word and expression.

"Y– Yeah, I guess so…"

"Show me."

Your eyes widened, still looking into his. He was giving you such an innocent yet sincere look – a serious expression laying so firmly on his face. "I–"

"I know, I don't… have… But just, tell me. Show me what else I'm missin'. If it feels so good and it doesn't exist here, maybe I'll feel just as good when I feel it outside. In the real world." Ken's voice was so raw; like every word that slipped his lips sounded genuine. He meant everything he ever said and in this moment, more than ever. Like you were the world he was missing at his fingertips.

You felt your heart race a little faster in your chest, you couldn't help but bring your knees to your chest slightly. "It feels like… like craving an ice cream on a hot day but the ice cream truck just gets pulled away every moment you get closer until… It suddenly stops. You get the ice cream and that first lick…"

"And?"

You smile to yourself, closing your eyes as your brows curled up a little. "It's wonderful, Ken."

You feel a small silence linger between the two of you which caused your eyes to shoot open again and you quickly looked away.

"I wanna feel it," Ken spoke out bluntly. He looked down at himself, like he knew what was missing but couldn't reach for any ice cream of his own. "What about… yours…?"

Yours. When that word left Ken's lips, you felt your face redden and your thighs seemed to clench together tighter. "M…ine?"

"It's touchin', right? That makes it feel good?"

You simply nodded to him, though you wanted to keep your attention off of his handsome face, so he wouldn't see how flustered yours was.

"Y/N," his voice fell a little, lower and almost into a whisper, "show me."

You felt your toes curl in your socks, your heart racing that little bit faster in your chest as you turned fully away from him now, looking behind you before slowly glancing back to him. "People will hear, Ken."

"No one can hear us, Y/N. It's just us."

You remained quiet, the feeling of your heart throb in your ears and between your thighs only grew faster and more intense as he spoke.

Before you could part your lips to finally speak, you watched Ken raise his hand and ghost it over the side of your face, his fingers barely in your hair. "Kiss me."

Your eyes flickered a few times before your lips parted, your own attention being drawn to his. You wanted to stay in the right headspace; to help Ken figure himself out but… with his offer, how could you say no?

You leaned forward and before you could even comprehend the situation you'd ended yourself up in, you felt the pressure of Ken's lips against yours, and my god, did it make you melt.

Your kiss only lasted for a moment before you both pulled away, your eyes flickered up to his blue hues looking down at you with a half lidded expression. "I didn't know you could…" you muttered, your lips still so close to his.

Ken smiled, almost smirking, down at you. "Kiss so good?" he cooed.

You nodded to him before pushing your skirt between your legs. You squirmed on the carpet the two of you were sitting on together, feeling your own non-barbie parts ache for something. Anything. Someone. Him. "I can show you… If you promise to not let anyone hear."

Those words alone were enough to cause Ken to chuckle a little. "I promise."

"A– And I'll promise if you think it… looks good enough, I'll…"

"I'd like that," he replied. "Promise kept, Y/N."

"Okay…" You sucked in your bottom lip a little, your teeth biting down on the flesh. You watched as Ken's eyes drifted to your hand between your thighs, pulling on the fabric of your little skirt. Your own attention was now there too; even if you had trouble building up the courage to move your hand. You wanted to show him. You really did. "T– This is embarrassing, y'know… S– So you owe me."

"Don't be embarrassed," Ken spoke softly, his body so close to yours now.

With your hand clenching at the hem of your skirt, you finally managed to pull it up a little, revealing your black panties with a pink ribbon at the lacy band.

"Woah," he muttered, his voice sinking a little, his eyes not leaving that pretty sight between your legs. "Okay…"

Your eyes glanced over to Ken beside you once more, his own eyes on your panties before you push your middle finger down the fabric that laid so tightly and beautifully over your clit – the pad of your finger pressed between the folds and your lips parted instantly; a small hum escaping from behind them when you quickly attempted to hide your moan.

Ken's attention was on your movements completely, watching as your finger circled your clit over your panties, your other hand still clenched so tightly on the hem of your skirt.

"Mmm…" another soft muffled moan purred behind your closed lips as you close your eyes, your finger not letting up on the pressure, the fabric of your panties causing friction on your clit. "K– Ken…"

The blonde man's eyes quickly drifted up from your hand to your face, his blue hues narrowing at the expressions you were making. He'd never seen someone look so… entranced. "Y/N…?"

"Want… you," you barely mouthed, your voice soft and meek. "Please…"

"To touch you?" Ken asked, like he wanted you to say it for yourself. He wasn't going to do anything without your consent at all.

"Mhm…" you hummed a yes to him, even though, in a less dazed state you'd know that wouldn't be enough for Ken Carson.

Ken's gaze searched your body like a pirate would a treasure map, almost like he was looking for the x. His eyes stopped on your face once again before slowly reaching his hand out to yours that was now flexing on Ken's shaggy carpet. "Y/N, use your words."

Your eyes flutter open just enough to look to him before nodding again, your other hand dancing along your clit not wavering at all. "Yes… Please. I want you to make me feel good."

With his attention flickering from your eyes to your lips, Ken brought his other hand to your jaw, his fingers in your hair as he brought you closer to him – your lips meeting each other one again, this time, though, you felt him deepen that kiss from before. His lips moved across yours in a way you wouldn't have guessed from him at all. Ken was full of surprises.

When his lips parted yours with a huff of hot breath escaping from the both of you, Ken whispered against your reddened lips, "Let's go somewhere more comfortable."

When you brought your body closer to him, you felt his hand wrap around yours, bringing you to your feet before pulling you across the room; you could barely make out a smirk spurred across his face through your almost half–dazed state.

He pulled you closer to him before his hands found your hips and lifted you up a little, pressing your body down onto the black silk sheets of his mattress. Your eyes glanced out of the window that looked out into Barbieland – Ken was right, it was quiet. You only assumed everyone else was at the beach. But not this Ken. You looked up at him, watching as he moved closer to you – you had more plans for this Ken right now than beach.

"It's not fair," you muttered as he was almost on top of you now.

"What?" he asked, his voice low and almost to a whisper.

"That you make me feel this way."

Ken chuckled, his brows raising slightly, "Good?"

"Good," you echoed his words before pulling him into another kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth now. Maybe that surprised him but you weren't so sure, especially when he offered the same luxury. He seemed to be confident in what he was doing.

You pulled on his blue shirt to which he understood and practically ripped it off, discarding it elsewhere in the room.

"Fuck," your voice fluttered that word as it left your lips. You remembered he didn't have… what else you wanted but after this, I'm sure he'd like to have some experience of this ice cream himself.

"It's hot when you swear."

"It'd be hotter if you did."

Ken's brows shot up a little out of curiosity, that half smirk laying ever so confidentially on his face, "That fuckin' so?"

"Ken–!"

Before you could continue, you suddenly felt Ken's fingers slip under the lace of your panties which made you squirm under him instantly. You watched his eyes fall from yours to where his hand was, like he was trying to figure out what you were doing before over your panties. "It's wet here," he muttered. "What's all that about?"

You whimpered as his index and middle finger slipped over your clit before roaming further down, his digits lapping up everything he'd never felt before.

"Really wet," he whispered, his lips staying parted.

"Ken, that feels…!" You felt a moan pour from your lips now, your head falling into the pillow behind you. "S– So good…!"

"Yeah?" Ken's baby blues shifted back up to your face, watching your expression become one of pure bliss. "Shit, those faces ya makin'... It really feel that good?"

You felt Ken's middle finger circle your now swollen clit before pushing down along your slit, the wet noises from your cunt echoing in the room. "Y– Yes! Mmm! F– Fuck…!" you whimpered, clenching the sheets of the bed under you.

Before Ken could say anything else, he suddenly felt his middle finger slip inside you. When he opened his mouth to ask what just happened, instead a different kind of moan blessed his ears – one he hadn't heard yet. "Well, that must mean somethin' real good," he thought.

With that now in mind, he ran his index finger around your clit once more before slipping his middle into your slick pussy. The more he pushed further, the more you moaned and whimpered under him. "It's so wet and hot," he mumbled, his face falling a little closer to yours, feeling your body heat just that much warmer on him. "This feels awesome…"

"M– Move…" you whined, your hips jerking against him. "Pleaseplease…"

Something inside him made him want to egg you on more for some reason. Like, how far he could push you to beg even more. "Please what?" he asked, the tone in his voice was ever so teasing now. He was in for a fun game and he was gonna play hard ball.

You bit your bottom lip for a moment, turning your head to the side as you squeezed your eyes closed. "Ken… Ken, please." When his finger flicked around inside you, like he was testing you, another moan left your parted lips. "Want you~"

Ken's eyes drifted up your body, watching your squirm and wiggle under him. This was an ice cream flavour he definitely needed to try. "I'll give you all of me, baby." he pushed another finger inside you, his eyes on you as your head tilted back into the pillow. "All of me when we get outta this place too."

With those words, he pulled his fingers out of you before running your own slick up to your clit; oh, how he was enjoying watching you moan and whine much like a needy animal. If he knew whatever you were feeling felt this good, he'd left Barbieland with you much sooner.

He pushed his fingers into your cunt again, curling them around inside; like he wanted to feel every part of you. Be where you feel most euphoric. And, oh, how did you feel it. The way he slowly moved his digits in and out of you was making you see stars – especially when you were in those stars fantasising about how his cock would feel inside you too. New territory. Again. How fun.

"This what you wanted, Y/N?" he purred, his face ever so close to yours, his eyes dancing over your lewd expression. "Wanted this Ken to finger fuck you?"

You gasped, throwing your hands over your face; looking through your fingers up at the blonde doll in front of you. How he seemed to be all about your needs in that moment, the way the movements of his fingers curling in and out of you didn't waver. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you were in deep trouble with this. "Mhm…" you mumbled, soft moans still escaping your peachy lips. "I'm… I'm gonna…"

You saw Ken's brows raise a little, his head tilted further down slightly to bring himself closer to you. "Gonna what? Tell me…"

"Ken–" you felt your hand quickly wrap around his forearm, your other to the bedsheets when his fingers begin moving faster against your tight cunt; feeling yourself getting wetter and closer to climaxing. "Ice-cream…!"

Ken's blue eyes flickered a little as his attention stayed on your face. "...Sounds tasty." He brought his thumb to your clit with his fingers still pumping inside you; grazing your sensitive nub with the pad of his thumb as he watched you twirl your hips more and more as you drew closer.

"F– Fuck! Ken…!"

That hot tied knot that ached in your core finally lifted, feeling yourself let go as you came around Ken's fingers. "Ah!" you gasped and whined as Ken pulled his fingers out with a wet pop sound, your pussy fluttering and twitching around nothing as you jolted your thighs up into him.

Ken was quiet for a moment, looming over you as he watched your breathing fasten in your chest, your hips trying to push down onto him. "You look so pretty like this, Y/N," he almost growled those words as he looked down at you. He reached his hand out and grabbed your chin, pulling your face down to look him in the eyes. "I don't wanna forget the look on your face right now."

"K…en…" you mumbled through sharp breaths.

"Tonight, you n' me… We do this the whole way, right?" he asked, his eyes glued to yours. "I still wanna touch you like this." He brought his hand back to your pussy, his index and middle fingers stroking up and along your wet slick which only caused you to whimper again, your brows curling up in delight. "There it is. My pretty girl.

Let's get that ice cream together."

#mfic.txt #chara: kenneth sean carson #genre: smut #media: barbie #ryan gosling!ken

241 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 2 months

Text

The Seer pt II

Summary: Hunter’s not quite sure what to make of the fake psychic who’s dragged him into this actual nightmare. But he does know that he’s not about to leave her to deal with it on her own.

Pairing: Pre Hunter x F!Reader

Word Count: 1009

Warnings: Discussions of Order 66

Prompt: "Are you mad at me? It's okay if you are. I mad at me, too."

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I finally decided to write another part to this, and it's probably going to be slow burn Hunter x reader, if I can keep it up, lol. The next part will be them running from the spirits again.

The first time Hunter met her, it was because of Phee. Phee dragged him and his brothers to her shop, and honestly, Hunter didn’t think much of her at the time.

He thought that she had a cute face, even though it was covered in make-up. And he thought that she had a nice voice, when she wasn’t adding that wispy flare to it.

But that was it.

The scent of the shop gave him a migraine, so he kept his distance. Plus, Omega was a little wary around her, so Hunter was careful to make sure that his youngest sibling wouldn’t have to spend time with her.

He can’t help but wonder if all of that was a facade to make people want to avoid her.

Hunter had been genuinely surprised to hear that she changed the incense that she used, simply because it gave him a migraine. It made no sense. It wasn’t as though they were friends, after all.

Surprised…and touched.

People don’t do things simply to make his life easier. At least, not in his experience.

Still, if he had known that becoming friendly with her was going to lead to this…he would have stayed away.

“Hunter? Are you awake?” Her voice is quiet, and for a moment, Hunter considers pretending that he’s still asleep.

But he’s not that much of an asshole.

“Yeah.” He says quietly, “I’m awake. Why are you awake?”

He hears movement and he turns his head to see her sitting up, the thin blanket that he managed to grab from the marauder pooling around her thighs, “It’s cold.” She replies quietly.

Hunter sits up and looks at her closely. She’s shivering, though it’s not that cold. In fact, he’s totally comfortable without a blanket. “Because of the spirits?” He asks.

“Probably,” She pulls the blanket up over her shoulders, trying to stop the shivering, “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault.”

She ducks her head, “For getting you involved.” She pushes her hair behind her ears, only for it to fall back in her face. Her hair tie broke earlier when one of the spirits got too close.

Hunter sighs heavily, and pulls his bandana off, “Here, use this to tie your hair out of your face.”

“...but it’s yours.”

“And I’m letting you use it. Don’t question it.”

“I…right. Sorry.” She quickly fashions it into a headband, and uses it to push the hair out of her face.

Hunter nods once, and lays back down, folding his arms under his head, “You should get some rest. I doubt those spirits are going to give up, so we’ll be running in the morning.”

“...right.”

He tilts his head slightly, there’s something uneasy in her scent, and Hunter frowns. “What’s wrong?”

She’s quiet for a moment, “Are you mad at me?”

Hunter immediately sits back up, “What?”

“It’s okay if you are!” She adds quickly, her eyes wide, “I…I’m mad at myself, too.”

“I’m not mad at you, copikla.” Hunter corrects with a frown, “Why would you think that?” The familiar mando’a word falls from his lips with ease and he internally cringes, please don’t let her know enough Mando’a to know what it means.

Even in the dim light, he’s able to see her brows furrow and her lips moved as she mimicked the word, though she doesn’t seem too inclined to rip his head off or ask him what it means, so Hunter’s happy to take the win.

“It’s…dumb.” She says slowly.

“Tell me anyway.”

She makes a face, “The spirits…they’re very chatty-”

“Wait, wait, wait. You can understand them?” Hunter slides closer to her, “What are they saying? All I hear is static.”

“All sorts of things,” She replies with a small frown, “None of it is nice-”

“Come on, copikla.” Hunter prods, “Give me something to work with.”

“They say it’s my fault!” She blurts, “They say…they say I could have saved them, and that it’s my fault that they’re dead. They say that I wanted them dead and I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“Hey! Hey, hey.” Hunter reaches out and cups her face, “The Purge wasn’t your fault.” Because what else could she mean, “And of course you didn’t want them dead.”

“But…they’re right. I could have saved them-”

“No. No, you couldn’t have.”

She stares at him, her eyes wide, and Hunter leans in to press his forehead against hers, forcing her to keep eye contact with him.

“Palpatine was going to see the Jedi murdered no matter what. If it wasn’t the clones it was going to be something else.” Hunter tightens his hold on her cheeks, “What happened, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have prevented it from happening. No one could have.”

She presses her hands over his, “...I miss them.”

“I know.” Hunter’s voice is soft, “Did you ever give yourself the chance to mourn them?”

She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry.”

She closes her eyes, “Yeah, well…Palpatine killed all of my people…but he’s doing the same to all of yours. So, I’m sorry too.”

Hunter feels a sharp pang, he had never been close to many of the regs. But they were still his brothers, weren’t they? “Well, there’s nothing to do about it, is there?”

“...yeah. I guess.”

Hunter lightly releases her, before he presses a light kiss to her forehead, and then he pulls away. She presses her hand against her forehead and stares at him, wide eyed, “I’m not mad at you.” Hunter says, “And I’m not going to let these spirits kill you. There will be no more dead jedi. Not on my watch.”

Something in her gaze softens, “...thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now. Come here. You can share my body heat until the sun rises.”

She regards him silently for a moment, and then she nods. She shifts so that she’s pressed against his side, and Hunter folds his arms around her, “Good night, copikla.”

“What does that even mean?” She mumbles against his chest.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing bad.”

#star wars #tbb #star wars au #tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

54 notes · View notes

genderfluid-pirhana-plant · 3 months

Text

mario & luigi headcanons #2

mario has several nicknames for luigi! including: lou, weegee, weegie, and weeg. luigi, after the mr. L fiasco, continues to call mario “mr. jumpsallthetime” as an inside joke.

back home in brooklyn, there’s an alley full of cats near the bros’ apartment complex. as kids, they visited the cats often to bring them food and company, and still visit them when they can as adults.

they match socks just for the sillies! for example, luigi’s candy cane socks match mario’s green polka dot socks. they also have several matching outfits. if the outfit lacks their lucky caps, they instead wear something else to indicate who’s who. for example, mario wears a red bandana and luigi wears a green one (hint hint for an upcoming post >:]])

one day, luigi wanted to go for a walk with mario, but it was storming outside. mario said it wouldn’t be a good idea, since one of them could slip and get hurt. luigi, wanting to prove there’s no danger, goes outside into the front yard and stands firm. “see!? itsa fine—“ BAM! lightning strikes luigi. don’t worry, he was fine! but after that, he could conduct electricity and create small tornadoes. that’s where he got his weather powers from. mario, however, just keeps a fire flower under his hat.

mario likes little trinkets! he collects hair clips, backpack charms, pins, jewelry, earrings, stuff like that. he also recycles stuff to make trinkets, like turning bottle caps into pins for his toolbox. he doesn’t like things going undecorated. “it lacks the owner’s touch,” he says. he also makes pins for his overalls, and makes pins for luigi on request. for overalls, mario usually makes pronoun pins, since his pronouns change often (genderfluid).

mario has a walkman he carries with him, just in case sounds get too overwhelming. it’s in his toolbox, the one luigi carries in the movie. after the events of the movie, the walkman was lost! but eventually, some toads found it and returned it to the bros. the walkman is also decorated of course! he painted it yellow. he didn’t get one in yellow, he wanted to decorate it entirely on his own.

luigi, like mario, is also an artist! he likes photography, and has a big board above his bed for all his favorite photos. he also enjoys gardening, and tending to the pirhana plant he named audrey II. he’s a theater kid, so he loves being on stage and building set pieces. he only got a lead role once, but he nailed it!

#mario bros #super mario bros #the super mario bros movie #mario movie #super mario #mario and luigi #the super mario bros #super mario brothers #mario headcanons #headcanons

38 notes · View notes

eboyloser · 3 months

Text

my TTS/VAT7K headcanons part I | Varian

- He/Him transmasc

- Tangled universe equivalent to Indian and German. (Ulla is German, Quirin is Indian and Italian)

- He can speak Coronan (German), The in-universe equivalent to Hindi, Saporian, Ingvarrian (Russian), and short bits of other languages like Latin. Despite his Grandma being Italian (look at my Quirin Headcanon’s) he never learned it fluently since his dad never spoke it to him but he did try and pick it up. One day when V was like 12 he just decided he wanted to learn as many languages as possible.

- Invented most modern cleaning supplies (hoover/vacuum, hand held hoover/vacuum, those special mops, etc) after the science expo to help Cass out

- Quirin taught him how to use a bow and throwing daggers, whenever Varian isn’t reading or doing experiments he is probably practicing his aim. (this is why he’s so good w throwing goo bombs and hitting on target).

- Quirin didn’t speak about the brotherhood but he did raise Varian with some of its culture, (bedtime stories, recipes, superstitions)

- Varian and Quirin speak mostly Coronan at home but will sometimes speak in Hindi (the in-universe equivalent)

- When Varian is frustrated he will sometimes exclaim in Hindi since no one else knows what he’s saying and he can curse all he wants. also he shit talks people in Hindi (he gets in trouble if Quirin hears him).

- Came out as trans at like 7 after cutting all his hair off in the bathroom sink. Quirin has better things to worry about than his kids gender so he is fine with Varian being himself

- although he hates Andrew and the Saporians, he still keeps the bandana with him. He mostly uses it to keep his hair tied back when doing experiments.

Part II

#tangled the series #varian #tts varian #varian tts #vat7k

33 notes · View notes

magnoliabutters · 9 months

Text

• STAY A WHILE •

pairing: kas!vamp eddie munson x (she/her) reader

summary: an unexpected guest tends to put a kink into things…

warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; canon divergence, enemies to lovers trope, season 4 spoilers; first half is straight up porn, previous series parts mentioned, internal dialogue, hardcore vamp shower sex, blood, gore, y/n count: 2, fluffy fluff, trauma responses & bonding, physical fighting, (unprotected) p in v, grief, violence, etc.

word count: ~8.6k

reblogs & thoughtsies are so appreciated pweaze 👹

• stories of eddie munson • season two • previous part •

note: this is for you, anonymous ♥️✨some influence from true blood & other vamp media, i ain’t gonna lie! also here are some smut resources I used to up my game; instead of & this spencer reid edit (so fahking hot).

thank you to @nackrosor for taking the time to beta read this part! you and your thoughts are so so appreciated and you truly helped make this part 10x better. ii think we make a great duo and i am very thankful. my loves, please check her out - her stories and, particularly, her smut is to die for...

Ten minutes. Ten minutes have passed. Ten minutes have passed and the water remains heated. You find it baffling. A shower surprisingly still warm to the touch. It feels good, better than you had imagined. Just like how his arms are still wrapped so tightly around you. Tightening with every second that passes. It feels good, better than you had imagined.

Ten minutes have passed and his arms are still hot to the touch. He hasn’t moved his forehead from your shoulder. His breath still a light breeze against your back. Your cheek rests upon his temple, digging deeper into the comforting embrace. His hair smells of honey. It’s soft, softer than you remember.

“Kas,” you coo. Kas’ head immediately perks up, but his arms continue to grip around you. “Why does your hair smell like honey?” you ask with all sincerity. He smiles as he returns to his rest. You can hear the soft laughter before a slow inhale. “You know, I’m not really sure.” He finds the topic random, but enjoyable. He wouldn't expect anything different from you. He would do anything, any thing to help you feel better.

You look over your shoulder, pinning your chin against your muscle. He pulls away naturally. Your eyes rake over that gentle face, pausing at each feature - taking him in. “Did you find a conditioner out there or something?” you ask but a laugh interrupts you. An unspoken understanding of how odd the conversation topic is and yet, it’s better than talking about your new-found reality.

Kas huffs, truly thinking about the concept. “No,” he shakes his head. “I was more focused on food than my hair to be honest.” You gasp, making him jump. He chuckles at his startled reaction. “How could anything come before your hair?” you inquire. His smile matches yours as he places a kiss upon your shoulder blade. Your eyes close as his lips press gently onto your skin. You soak in the sensation as though it may be your last.

“Okay, maybe I found some gel somewhere,” he admits with a tilt of his head. His front teeth biting into his lower lip. You turn your head back to the faucets, leaning further back into his chest. “For the bandana, right?” you mutter. “Yeah, for the bandana.” He adjusts his hands, but pulls you in closer as you rest between his legs. The water now rushes against your stomach.

Kas tucks his chin into the nape of your neck. He places a peck on your skin before nuzzling in some more. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks hesitantly. You let the words float, contemplating a response. You note how your chest feels more open, that you can actually breathe. Your head feels centered and balanced, no longer light.

You could talk about it, if you wanted to. And yet, “Talk about what?” He lets out a breathy laugh as he hugs you tighter. Each squeeze gives you an ounce of your life back, an ounce of control. “Nothing, darlin’,” he says with another light kiss. You center your breathing, taking a deep exhale as you lean further into his embrace.

You stop - you feel something. It's not physical. It's not sweet. Your eyes closed and your heart opened, enough where you were startled awake again. You find comfort in him, in his hold. This time, fully aware, that these arms are not Eddie's. This chest is not his, nor these kisses. What you are loving, appreciating in this moment - these are Kas' actions. Kas is opening your heart...

“Should we-we should probably stand,” you suggest. Your hands reach the lipping of the tub. You push up as his arms fall to his side without retaliation. Kas follows behind with eyes to the shower’s floor. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbles as he steps out. His soaked black jeans limit his movements almost comically.

You reach for his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it. The action not tethered to your conscious, but here you are having to explain it. His eyes land on your grip and then trace up your arm and to your face. “You can stay,” you whisper. His eyes slightly light up as he takes in a breath. “I-I need help getting my back,” you quickly lie. A smile pulls to his right side as he nods. “Of course.”

Kas leans onto his other leg, still being drenched by the water, but you quickly stop him. “Those must hurt. You should take them off,” you suggest. Your eyes lift to his. Innocence fills them, and that same innocence he sees. He likes this side of you. He nods before taking off his jeans and boxers. You could see where the denim had irritated his iridescent skin. With a deep breath, you quickly raise your eyes. "A-and your bandana too."

Something changed between you both. Why fight it?

Kas stands before you, completely bare as you are for him. Your eyes travel from his lips, to the nervous swallow of his adam’s apple, to his collar bone. Your body craves his skin, craves a bite and a kiss against those bones. You revel over Eddie’s tattoos. The spider that you aimed for any time you fell asleep on his chest. The light brown happy trail that leads to his finely groomed bush. Your heart races at the sight of his cock. You try not to let your emotions show, but you take in a sharp breath through your nostrils.

You missed his body. You have missed it every second since that night.

As you finally make your way back up to his eyes, you realize he has been watching you the entire time. A smile thick upon his face. Despite your blush, you grab hold of the soap and lather your hands. "You coming?" He softly chuckles as he takes a step into the tub. He faces you, awaiting your love. “Turn,” you instruct while guiding his body to turn around. You were not yet ready for any head on act.

Kas watches you through the corner of his eye while you massage his back. You recognize the little beauty marks you like to trace here and there. There was always one to mirror the other. A pair of beauty marks on his left shoulder blade. One at his mid-back, a mark on either side of his spine. But your hands stop at the rough surface of his lower back. The scars you do not remember. The scars that are not his. They are Kas’ scars.

Despite its healing, the wound remains pink with ripples of dark red. It rips around his waist and to his stomach. You have seen it, this huge break in his skin, but you haven’t been able to study it. To really see the pain that caused and followed the injury. You are careful to touch it, careful not to hurt him. He has been through so much.

You lower your hands onto his butt cheeks without hesitation. Kas lets out a sheepish giggle as he steps forward, as though he didn’t expect it. His reaction catches you off guard, leaving you with confusion and a chuckle. “You ticklish?” you ask as you grip against his cheeks again. He yelps as he presses his palms upon the tiled wall. You laugh alongside him. Did you find his weakness? His ass? “I just didn’t see that coming,” he murmurs out of breath. “I’ll move on I guess,” you lead as you tauntingly giggle. You crouch as your hands fall to his thighs and down to his calves. He drops a harsh breath as his finger taps against his outer thigh.

As you raise, your hand trails up his soft body. Your fingers light upon his skin as you trace them up to the crook of his neck. You step aside to allow the hot water to splash against his pinking back. Your hand still travels his body, slowly making its way to his devilish jawline. A fingertip lands at his chin, guiding his face back towards you. The smile has now disappeared. He peers down at you with a flat lip. His eyes scream for your attention, but you are stuck glaring down on his cock standing straight as ever. “So predictable,” you murmur as you step forward. His dick now resting at your hip as your finger brushes a curled lock behind his ear.

Your eyes return to his, expecting his sex gaze that usually ends with a leaned in kiss, but you are left surprised. His brows are perplexed as he places space between you two. No sex in his eyes. He looks at you as though he was finally able to see you, to examine you just as you had with him. His finger brushes against your right ribs which rips a wince from your lips. You turn down to see a purple, yellow bruise beneath your breast thickly spread across your side. His eyes turn to the side of your face.

His finger guides your chin to the right as he observes the harsh red line wrapping your neck. It is almost as though his attention pulled your own. The unfortunate act that now has you feeling every ounce of pain within your body. With a shift of your weight, you can feel all your joints screaming and on fire.

“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Kas mutters as he reaches for the soap. He rubs it across your chest, desperate not to make eye contact with you. His eyes are down like those of a child who’s done wrong. He lathers the soap across your skin gently. He pays special attention to the beaten parts of you. However, you could barely notice his level of care. Your gaze had deadened, blurred to all hell, once reminded of your injuries. Somehow, you find comfort in knowing that your pain matches his. That you two are tethered together. Your bodies telling the story of your combined tragedy.

He breaks your train of thought with five simple words. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says flatly. His touch still delicate on your body. This time you purposefully seek out his eyes, ducking down to find them. Once met and he could not longer hide, you can see the tears welling within them. You can stare into his brown, red flaked eyes without worry. Your hand instinctually floats to his cheek. Your thumb caresses him and he leans deeper into your palm. The silence feels comfortable, natural, enjoyable between you two, as though you have done this for years.

You lean into him with eyes closed. He watches you like a deer in headlights. Your lips lightly land upon his, a soft kiss that causes electricity to fire throughout both your bodies. The sweetness distinct as you open your mouth and take his tongue in. Its strong force thick upon yours. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and closer into you. He crashes even harder against you. His hands gripping onto your hips before wrapping around your mid back.

Kas pins you on the cool tiled wall. Your fingers dig into his back. He quickly tucks his hand beneath your thigh, hiking your foot up and onto the tub’s ledge. His moans reverberate upon your lips and you pull him deeper and deeper. Your fingernails digging into his skin. Both of your breaths hot, fast, and harsh.

“Kas,” you whimper as his kisses travel down your chin and onto your neck. Your hips rut against his throbbing cock. He moans above your skin as he grinds opposing your force. The water rushes between you two with such pleasure. Your hand reaches for him, tightening your fingers around his girth. A thumb brushing across the threshold of his tip. You bite into his bottom lip as he breathes heavily against you. He pulls back into a smile, ripping away and leaving blood in both your mouths.

You rush your movements, taking the sight of him in. Those furrowing brows. Those fluttering eyelids. That hanging mouth and rising chin as he feels every bit of bliss from your touch. You swear this breathing halts. He struggles to speak, inevitably licking his lips and forgetting his words. God, how you enjoyed turning this strong man into a puddle! His forehead presses against yours.

Kas' forehead presses against yours lazily. “Fuck, y/n,” he exasperates. You hastily pull away, almost throwing yourself against the wall. He stares back at you with widening eyes. His hands falling from your body just to raise slowly, in case he did something he shouldn't have. But he didn't do anything, it's the name. Your name that has suddenly become unfamiliar. A name to reference a life lived and a life lost. The name of a girl who only knew innocence and barely met love. A girl who died when her soulmate passed away saving the town and avenging the death of a friend.

A girl who no longer exists.

“Just-,” you start, unclear of where the sentence may end. “D-don’t call me that. Not anymore.” His head tilts as he attempts to place a comforting hand at your side, but you push his arm aside, refusing his coddling. His eyes fall again, taking a deep swallow as they do. “What should I call you?” he asks in a whisper.

Your brows pull, tight and furrowed. The question is perplexing. You have just realized that you no longer identify with yourself and now, what? You have to come up with a name? You shake your head, hoping to erase the memories like an etch-n-sketch. “Just keep calling me ‘darlin,’” you whisper. "You're good at that."

Kas hesitantly raises his hand to your cheek. At first, you dodge him with a quivering lip, but he decides to press forward, landing his palm upon your cheek. “Yes, darlin’,” he murmurs as he meets your gaze. He understood what was happening without another word needing to be said. You nod along exhaustingly. Your hand meeting his hip and trailing up towards his neck.

You pull him roughly against your mouth, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible. His tongue adamantly slides past your lips as your nails dig into him once again. His hand presses against your hip, pushing you harshly against the wall. You could feel his body tensing atop you. You cannot think of a better place to be.

Both bodies move with grace. Kas lifts you with strong hands at your ass while your leg curls behind his. His cock at your entrance as he slowly lowers your waist onto him. His breath on your face as you mewl from the euphoric sensation. He thrusts firmly, causing gasps to drop from your lips. His girth reaches all your crooks and crannies. He fills you up and you are dying for more.

Your back slides up and down against the wall. Your wet hair snarls together. He buries himself in you. Deep, dark thrusts that make you want to scream with pleasure. He heaves against you, struggling to sustain the kisses on your neck as your tightening walls pull his attention. His hot breath upon your skin leaves you aching, aching for something more. Something you don’t yet know.

“God, fuck,” Kas grumbles against you. His ruts become harder and harder. "You feel so g-good." Your nails dig deeper, ripping up his back without care. Eyes beginning to roll as he quickens. Moans fall from your lips as you press the crown of your head upon the wall. Your neck extends as you do.

A seething breath rips from Kas, halting his movement. He still holds you close against him, tightly wound as he’s stiff within you. “I-I,” he whispers as he pulls from your neck. His eyes turn up to the ceiling as he lets out a shaking exhale. You study him. How his mouth hangs open. How his body stills, tenses, and pulls away.

“No,” you plead as you bring him closer. He keeps his head away, trying so hard to keep his eyes up despite your strong pull. You loosen your grip at his efforts. “Help me understand,” you whisper. “I just need a second,” he answers quickly, finally closing his eyes. He takes another chilling and shaken breath. “It’s hard not to,” he mumbles. “Not to what?” Your eyes seek for the answer.

Kas slowly opens his eyes and leads his gaze towards your neck. He takes a deep breath before shutting his eyes and kissing the exposed, sensitive skin. You understood as soon as you felt his touch. He wants it. He wants you, but not in a way that anyone has wanted you before. “Do it,” you whisper, tilting your head to the right. Not a second thought runs through your mind. He raises from your neck, proud of himself before reacting to your words with worry.

“Come on,” you urge softly. He shakes his head with a stiff lip. Why is he making this harder on you? On him? With a huff, you pull him closer once more. Your hips simultaneously grinding upon him. The friction explodes between you two. You both moan into each other's mouths, dying from absolute pleasure. His eyes shutting tight before roughly opening back to yours. "Tell me what you want," he says sternly. "I want a reason to give it to you so badly."

A gasp escapes you in response to his abrupt demand. It forces you to finally acknowledge the burning desire to be consumed by him in a way that truthfully scares you to your core. “Bite me, Kas.” He stares into you, almost into your soul, to determine whether or not you are serious. And without a second passing, he pulls your hips harshly upon himself. He sends rough and quick thrusts, burying himself within, that roll your eyes to the back of your head.

As soon as your eyelids close, Kas sinks his sharpened teeth into your neck. You let out a gasp filled moan. The pain excruciating but it quickly subsides. You can feel the dense, warm liquid trailing down your chest. He rams harder and harder with each bite. His mouth and tongue delightful against your sensitive skin.

You could not imagine his touch feeling any better and yet the added light headed sensation pushes you closer and closer to exploding and reaching the high you desperately crave. “Oh god,” you choke out as your fingers rake through his hair. Your bodies bounce off of one another. A devilish and wet smacking echoing within the room. The now cold water feeling refreshing.

He pulls up for air, inhaling deeply, as he lays his love drunk eyes upon you. Blood drips from the sides of his mouth and the tip of his nose. It's crimson flows in tandem with the water and spirals its way down the drain. Naturally, you attempt to turn around, trying to offer what you consider is the best of yourself. “No.” He stops you with gentle hands at your waist. “I want to see you. All of you.”

Innocently, Kas brings a thumb to his fang, pricking it ever so lightly. He offers it to you while sustaining slow, powerful ruts that make your knees buckle. You open your mouth without delay. He places the finger at the curl of your tongue. You wrap your lips around him as you suck in his intoxicating blood.

With a hiss, he murmurs, “Take it like a good girl.” He slams his hips against you, and you swear you will have more bruises by the end of this shower. The euphoric feeling drops your head in the clouds, desperate for its never ending status but sadly, your body can only take so much. “Fuck,” you purr. “I’m gonna…”

“Wait, darlin’,” Kas hushes. “Almost - I’m almost…” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust and …. You feel his body tense against you. Incoherent words mumbling out as he curls into you, his head on your neck yet again, but “darlin’” comes out clear as day. You love the idea of his seed within you. The pulsing feeling pushes you to reach your high right alongside him, dissolving into pleasure. It sends shockwaves throughout your body, making you weak as you cling onto him with sinful screams.

Pornographic sounds leave both your lips as you collapse into each other. Both bodies slide down until they fall onto the tub floor. They land where they began, holding each other underneath the streaming water. Heaving breaths escape you both as you lean onto one another for support.

Five minutes. Five minutes have passed. Five minutes have passed and you rest against his chest, lying between his thighs as the water crashes upon you both. At one point, he had placed his still bleeding thumb against your bite marks. They have since healed. The water washing away the evidence. It washes away the transgression.

“Darlin’,” Kas whispers just before kissing your forehead. “I know, we should probably get up,” you mutter. You rest your weight on your hand as you raise from his hold. He watches you with adoration in his eyes. If his pupils could switch shapes, they would be pure hearts. You would be lying if you didn’t think the same of yourself. Something changed here in this shower. What if things go back to normal once you leave?

Kas stands beside you. He places gentle hands at your hips, guiding you up and ensuring you’ve gained your balance. He steps out of the shower, breaking the seal before you could stop him. You watch him with eyes of wonder, waiting for him to revert to the asshole he was.

But he extends his hand to you. You take it curiously. He grabs hold of a hanging towel and wraps it around your shivering body. He rubs his hands up your back, trying to keep you warm. “Thank you,” you say. He smiles as he reaches for the other towel. He wraps it around his waist and quickly returns his hands to your back, rubbing as he does.

“I’m feeling like a nap,” Kas grumbles as he guides you out of the bathroom. You hum in excitement at the idea of sleep. You forgot how much you needed it. The reminder hits you like an 18 wheeler.

Entering the bedroom, you’re reminded of the disastrous sight before you. “I don’t think I can sleep in Reefer Rick’s sheets,” you shudder at the thought. “Hold on,” he says as he determinedly walks to the bed. He rips off the cheetah print and the stained checkered duvet. He drops them onto the ground and begins to dig into the dressers.

“Ahah,” he exclaims as he shakes a roll of burgundy sheets your way. “You get that end?” you suggest with a laugh. He nods and shakes out the fitted sheet. You grab hold of your side, tucking it under the corners of the mattress.

Kas lands atop of the bed in celebration of clean sheets, but immediately begins to roll like a wave. “What the hell?” he mumbles with his arms spread out. You laugh as you land a hand against the bed. “It’s a water bed, Kas,” you giggle. “The fuck?” he asks, struggling to sit up like a cat stuck in water.

You lay down, grabbing the pillows and stripping their sheets. “Can you grab me the pillow covers?” you ask as you point towards the dresser. He nods as he fumbles out of the bed. You burst into laughter watching him drop onto the floor. “I’m good!” He reaches into the drawer and throws the cases your way.

As you switch them out, you peer outside the sliding door to the patio. The purpled, deep mist still thick on the water. “Do you think that fog will ever let up?” you ask as you pat his pillow down. “Let me see,” he says as he struggles to open the door. It clearly hasn’t been used in some time.

Kas walks out, carefully stepping upon the rotten wood. He takes in a deep breath as he looks out into the fog. You stifle your giggle, trying to understand what he was doing. He turns around with absolute confidence, nodding his head hastily. He closes the door and dives back onto the water bed.

You smirk, working on your own pillow case. “Well?” you ask with a chuckle. He peers up at you, his neck all twisted, as he rests on the mattress. “Darlin’, I have no idea.” You laugh alongside him. He reaches for you, guiding you beside him as he rests his head upon your chest. Your fingers naturally run through his hair, tracing little circles on his temple.

“You know, I might just be alright dying here with you in Reefer Rick’s bedroom,” Kas murmurs as he digs deeper into your embrace. “You know, I might not be cool with you dying,” you say with a bit of awe. He smiles, but remains curled against your breast. “I actually want you to stay for a while,” you mutter under your breath. Embarrassment fills your cheeks with hot red. His hand tucks underneath your hip, pulling you closer. “Always,” he replies.

You fall asleep, tight within his arms. His light snoring is music to your ears. His warmth and weight on your chest is the best weighted blanket you could ask for. Sleep with Kas is easy. You feel safe with him by your side.

A series of crescendoing knocks echoes from downstairs.

You jump at the sound, instantly putting Kas in defensive mode. Both of you startled from your 45-minute sleep. "Did someone see us?" you ask with panic in your voice. The words come out automatically. His eyes squint with furrowing brows. He slowly shakes his head as he pushes up from the mattress. "I don't think so," he whispers as he makes his way to the dresser one again. His hands plunge into the drawer until they find a pair of black cotton shorts, something Eddie would never wear. He slugs them on before walking out the door with determination.

You rest hiding in your sheets, wondering if you should stand. A few silent seconds pass and you roll yourself off the water bed. You look into the still opened drawer. You can see where his hand brushed through all the rolled clothing, unfolding it. A large graphic tee decorated by MTV's logo catches your eye. It flows over your head and shoulders without difficulty. You have grown quite fond of oversized shirts in the last few weeks.

As you raise a pair of jeans atop your hips to see if they would fit, you hear a loud bang downstairs. Your heart drops as your palms grow sweaty. You were halfway down the staircase before you realized you were running. The noises never stopped. It sounded muffled, like items being tossed to the ground. You didn't start rushing until you heard glass crash.

The sight before you left your body frozen. Kas had someone pinned against the wall. His palms pressed heavily against the intruder's inner wrists. Glass shards are trickled throughout the carpet. The living room was quite the mess before, the only difference being the now escalating altercation in its midst.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Kas yells. He raises the intruder's arm just to slam it back against the wall. You could barely see the person beneath him, but you try your best to grab a glimpse. "I-I-I," you hear stuttering falling from the smaller individual. Your hands' grip tightens against the banister.

Kas growls aloud as he pulls against the person's arm and drops them onto the floor behind him. He slowly turns around with a stone cold face you only recognize from the night prior. His eyes red, red once again, as he yells down at the intruder. "Tell me!" He gradually lands onto a knee beside the person's waist. His tightening knuckles gripping harshly at his collar.

Your eyes drop to the, now identifiable, boy as Kas straddles him. The curly brunette hair almost matched Kas', just a shade lighter. He is smaller, much smaller in stature and overall size. He cries, begging for him to stop. You hate yourself for not rushing to his aid but you are glued to the steps. Your body does not even give you the option.

As his head fell back onto the burnt orange carpet, the boy's baseball cap drops on the floor. You find yourself entranced by it, by its color. Kas lands a hard punch against his cheek when you finally make your way onto the carpet. You feel as though you were in a trance, as though the violence before you was just a blur in the background. All you wanted was to hold that cap, to take a better look. There was something about it. Something you didn't understand. Something that drew you to it.

You bend down to reach for it. The boy raises his hands, begging Kas to stop, but another punch lands against his face. The cap's hard visor rests between your two fingers. It's bright turquoise blue eerily familiar. As you turn it your way, you read "Thinking Cap" aloud. Finally, it makes sense and the whole world returns to its high definition.

Your raising eyes land upon Dustin Henderson and his bleeding, bruised face. Kas pulls him up by his collar just to plunge his sharp fangs into his neck. "Stop!" you scream as you lunge towards Kas. Your hands press harshly against his chest, pushing him off Dustin's body. Dustin gasps as he quickly applies pressure upon his wound. He inches away, fueled by adrenaline, but is still too weak to crawl.

As he stumbles back, Kas' eyes look through you. There was no emotion. No recognition. He was purely in a kill mode and nothing will pull him out of it. He reaches for Dustin once again, but you step in his way. "Stop," you lead. Your hands slowly raising. "We can talk about this." His gaze is stuck upon the cowering body behind you. "Do you know who that is?" he asks with a chilling tone.

You are forced to remember the stories of Dustin's betrayal. You try your best to keep in mind that you may not have had a reliable source, but those stories still make you sick to your stomach. "I know," you whisper under your breath. Kas scoffs, taking a step forward. "Then there's nothing to talk about."

You place your hand upon his chest - a simple gesture that you hope he will respect. He turns to look at you, this time with a look of disgust. Those red eyes pulling him further and further from the Kas that you have come to know. "Move," he demands with a chilling, deep voice. Your eyes begin to well as fear strikes your chest. Despite stifling your sobs, you shake your head in refusal. He pulls his eyes from you, scoffing as he peers down at Dustin.

With an abrupt movement, Kas pushes you out of the way with his hand. Your body crashes harshly against the glass display, cracking it behind you. You fall to your hands and knees against the shards thick within the carpet's fabric. Your blood rushing between your fingers. A whimper escapes you as you pull out the biggest pieces, but all you can hear is Dustin's breathless pleads. "Stop, Eddie, this isn't you." His voice quivers, terrified by the bloodied, murderous sight before him.

You wince at the sound of his name, knowing it would just cause more pain. Kas winds up a kick before digging it into Dustin's ribcage. An animalistic yell falling from his lips. You can hear sobs as the boy crumbles into himself. "Please," he whispers. The words almost as painful as the microscopic shards in your palm.

Despite the glass, you pick yourself up. Harsh exhales as you push off the ground. You know this isn’t Kas. Not the man who held you in the rolling hills, and certainly not the man who you’ve come to care for. No, this is a boy who only knows pain, loneliness, and abandonment. The boy with red eyes, who only comes out when brutally faced with memories of the past.

Your body moves independently, no longer connected with your consciousness. There is no guilt or second guessing. You need to protect Dustin, not for him or Kas, but for Eddie. You do this for Eddie Munson.

Your fingers wrap around a lamp post resting on a side table beside the filthy couch. You yank it from its place, pulling out its plug recklessly. With a single swing, you crash the lamp against the base of Kas’ spine. He falls down immediately, knocked out. His face flat and smushed against the floor across from Dustin’s. You still see his chest rising and falling. You hate the relief you feel from the sight.

“Dustin,” you whisper as you fall on your knees beside him. He is hurt, badly. You rush to apply pressure against the bite. You can feel his pulse beneath your finger tips. It’s strong. It gives you hope. He grumbles as you tilt him onto his back. “Dustin,” you plead. “Talk to me.” He lets out another sob, one that shakes you to your core. He turns back onto his side, reaching out for Kas’ unconscious body. “Eddie,” he cries softly.

You are hit like a tidal wave filled with emotions. Dustin’s cries have mirrored your own. You are terrified to think of what he will soon learn. How reality will hit him - hit him harder than Kas did.

“He’s okay,” you soothe. Your worried eyes peer back at Kas. His hair thrush against his face. His arms cross upon his chest as he sleeps off the hit. “Y/n?” he asks through sobs. His eye quickly swelling, only leaving him with his right. You take a deep breath, trying to stay in the moment with him.

“Yeah,” you let out with an exhale. In this context, your name feels right. "You found him," Dustin whispers with a hint of a bloodied smile. A breathy chuckle falls between you both. "He found me," you utter. His hand weakly falls from his neck. "He always said he would..." he trails off.

You drop your eyes to your hands. The pressure isn’t enough. It wasn't enough with his hand. You needed more, more than this. You can’t split your attention. He needs help. “Dustin, I need you to keep your hand right here,” you say, grabbing his hand and placing it firmly on his neck. He struggles to remain conscious but manages to keep pressure where needed.

Quickly, you crawl over to Kas. You carefully raise his head and place it within your lap. “Kas,” you whisper as your hand taps against his cheek. Your fingers push back strands of dark locks from his face. “Kas, you gotta wake up.” Another tap and his eyelids lightly flutter. Excitement and relief pour over you as you look back at Dustin. You just might be able to save him.

His lazy eyes open and land upon your face. His chocolate irises warm your soul. A small smile appears on those delicate lips. The man you know is back. You hold your hand to his cheek, leaning down towards him with your own beaming grin. “Hey darlin’,” he whispers but winces at the sudden pain on the base of his skull. “Hi Kas,” you murmur.

Kas’ eyes light up at the sound of your voice. Slowly, you watch his memory return. A twitch of his brow and his breathing increases. He attempts to sit up but you hold him down with a hand to his chest. “Kas,” you say softly. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” You can feel his heart racing beneath your palm. His jaw clenches as he slowly nods.

You smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Dustin,” you say but he immediately pushes against your hand. With a quick inhale, you continue, “Dustin is here. I know what he did to you,” you whisper. “But we need answers. We need to know his side of things.” The reality is that Kas only knows what Vecna told him, as far as you know, and you both have already caught the skinless fuck in a lie. You need to know exactly what happened to Eddie. You deserve to know.

Kas takes in sharp breaths through his nostrils. You try to calm him by brushing your hand through his curls. “What do you need me to do?” he asks reluctantly. He struggles to hold on to his anger when you provide him with the comfort and love he has been craving since he woke up in this hellhole. “Give him your blood, like you did for me.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he pushes up from the ground. He sits up beside you, keeping his eyes upon yours. “If he’s anything like you, he’s going to pass out for days with how much he needs,” he mutters with annoyance. “Good,” you offer. “It’ll give us some time to talk.”

He shakes his head as he finally pulls from your gaze. He bites into his wrist as though he was being asked to complete the biggest chore. He quickly grabs your palms and squeezes his hand into a fist above them. Drops fall and you whisper your gratitude while spreading the blood upon your cuts. He then crawls over to press his inner arm against Dustin’s mouth. As soon as blood touches his tongue, Dustin begins to reach for Kas. He holds his arm tight at his mouth, sucking more and more.

Kas finally rips his arm from Dustin’s grasp. His limp body falls backwards without another word said. Kas stands and walks up the stairs without looking back towards you. You rush to the boy’s side, quickly checking his neck. It had already healed over. The swollen eye slowly returns to its normal state. He finally looks like the boy you always saw seated beside Eddie at the Hellfire table.

With a smile, you reach onto the couch to retrieve a pillow and blanket. You place it under Dustin’s head and carefully tuck his body in. You are too scared to move him, but thankful he fell far from the glass. He needs rest to recover. You just wish that Kas’ blood healed mental wounds too.

You rush upstairs, wanting nothing more than to talk to Kas. You are worried, concerned. There is like a flick to him, some switch that gets triggered any time he is met with someone from Eddie’s past. When those red eyes appear, you have learned that Eddie nor Kas is present. It's a trauma response, a different personality - you don’t know. You just know that the man with red eyes is dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

As you walk into the bedroom’s doorway, you find Kas staring out into the mist again. You stand beside him, just before the sliding door. Your arms crossed over your chest. “He’s alive,” he mutters. You nod, knowing better than to try to make eye contact with him right now. “Thank you.”

He turns to you. You immediately note the tears in his eyes. “I saved him for you,” he whispers. You give him a reassuring nod, placing your palm at his cheek. “I know, Kas. Thank you.” He leans into your palm with brows furrowed. “You know what he did to me,” he painfully whispers as his eyes fall. “He left you,” you answer, raising his face back towards you. “But why? We don’t know why.”

Kas pulls away, rushing back to his side of the bed. “Why should I care?” he yells. You follow behind him but continue to respect his space. “Because you don't know the whole story. That asshole might've spun you a bullshit tale, telling you he left you on purpose,” you start. He shakes his head, whispering “no” on repeat as he paces in the room. “What if he had to leave?" You brush a hand through your hair. You truly hope that the reasoning falls along those lines or else you might actually be an accessory to murder.

"You don't remember anything?” you ask with sincerity. “I don’t remember!” he yells as he kicks the dresser. The wood snaps and breaks into shrapnel across the floor. You gasp at the sound, covering your mouth with your hand, but slowly you lower it. His face is pained. His fingers tapping against his head as his mental state crumbles before you. It hurts to see him like this.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur. You slowly approach his pacing rhythm. Your moves are hesitant and careful, knowing that any wrong touch could trigger his upset. Only a step away and you can feel the heat resonating off of his skin. He whispers to himself as his fingers tug onto the roots of his hair.

Your hand reaches for his bicep. Slowly, desperately slow as you trail your palm up to the back of his neck. You guide his forehead to your chest as you wrap your arms around him. His hands crash around your waist as he falls into your embrace. “I don’t want to remember,” he whispers against you.

Your hand pushes through Kas’ hair, shushing him as he cries soft sobs into your chest. You take a quick breath and clear your throat, trying to gather your thoughts through these intense emotions. “You don’t have to remember, baby,” you soothe. “You don’t have to remember. It's going to be okay."

You guide his head away from you so that you can hold his gaze. His eyes red and swollen from crying. You brush his tears away with your thumb. “You are safe. Here with me," you start. "But you have to let go of that anger and think for yourself.” He pulls away from you, sniffling as he does. “You almost killed him and you don’t even know why, Kas,” you plead. He throws his hand up, scoffing. "I've killed worse for less."

You aren't sure if he intended to upset or shock you with this statement. Regardless, you have decided to no longer accept the dangerous and disastrous emotions that a skinless chicken, Vecna, has decided for Kas. If he doesn't want to remember, that's his choice but he certainly doesn't get to act based off of emotions that a psychopath thinks he should have.

You grab his hand and pull him to a sit on the mattress. You recognize how lucky you are that he’s even allowing you to touch him, but you move confident and unbothered. “I understand not wanting to remember the bad stuff, trust me,” you mutter. “And that kid… if his actions lead to him not coming home, I-I would have no issues leaving him alone with you down there, but the fact is, he mattered.” You point to the boy through the floorboards, seething with your tears. “He mattered to Eddie and that is why we need to hear his side of things.”

As soon as you say his name, Kas’ head perks up again. His face turns into that familiar disgust as his lips pull and he begins a low growl. “Oh, don't start with that shit," you spit out. "Eddie talked about that boy like he was his fucking prodigy! He mattered.” He rolls his eyes, sucking his tongue against his teeth. “Why should I care who mattered to him?” he asks with revulsion.

“You care about me, don’t you?” you yell out hastily. You are caught off guard with the amount of vulnerability you threw to the wind. You accidentally put yourself in harm’s way, leaving yourself open for an attack. In this, you recognize that Kas can hurt you. He has the ability to hurt you to your core, something you did not expect or could have wanted. You are terrified of this situation, knowing how careless he truly could be with your heart. He could simply say "no" and your whole world would crumble.

Kas’ finger makes its way to your chin, raising it to his eye line. “Of course I care about you,” he murmurs. A twitch of a smile escapes you. You push away your happiness to finish your point, dropping the smile as quickly as it appeared. “Dustin mattered. Eddie wouldn't just care like that about anyone,” you say. “The why matters to me too.”

He takes in a breath, unintentionally pulling back and placing distance between you two. He slowly nods, showing his understanding. He may not like it, but he understands. It is just like that moment, when he could have let Vecna kill you. Eddie saved you that night, not Kas, and yet you'll never know.

“What do you need me to do?” Kas asks as he reaches for your hand. You gladly intertwine your fingers and bring both hands to your chest. “Let him tell his side. No more fighting. Just talking,” you plead. Your brows raise as you beg him to accept. He nods again, still not happy about the situation. “We’ll listen, and then I'll decide what to do with him,” he mutters. He pulls back his hand and stands, making his way to the door's threshold.

You turn, calling him back to you. “Kas.” Both your eyes meet in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. He leans against the doorframe. His body still and gorgeous. God, you wish you could take a picture of this moment. A keepsake to always remember his beauty. “I care about you too. You matter to me. I need you to know that,” you state plainly.

Kas pushes off the doorframe to walk your way. His hands are tangled in your hair before you feel him crash against your lips. A kiss so passionate you feel lightheaded, as if you could see the stars through the ceiling. He pulls away at just the right moment, leaving you dying for more, whimpering for his return. His lips only inches away when he whispers, “I love you too” just before walking out of the room.

As soon as he leaves, your eyes widen to an unmeasurable size. He loves you too? Your heart stills at the thought of him loving you. A hopeful feeling that raises your chest, but also makes you forget to breathe. It is a complicated feeling, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. Although, it's nothing compared to the panic you feel when you attempt to analyze the "too" part. Does he think you were telling him that you loved him? No, you were just telling him that you cared - that he meant something to you. Fuck, what if he's right. What if there is a "too?"

You quickly stand, shaking your head. A simple "nope" falls from your lips as you steadily make your way out the bedroom. This is not the time, nor the place to analyze your feelings. You make your way down the stairs with wide opened ears. Silence. You peer around the bannister and note that Kas sits upon the couch facing Dustin's unconscious body. He stares, not a blink to be seen.

Breaking his gaze, you purposefully walk before him while on your way to the kitchen. You happily feel his eyes upon you as you open one of the cabinets. Food will probably be difficult to find, but maybe you could find something edible. You reach up on your tippy toes to see the top shelf, fully aware that your oversized shirt raises up to your waist and exposes your panties. As you land back onto your heels, you look over your shoulder to catch his adoration. He coughs and quickly turns back to Dustin. You giggle, shaking your head.

Making your way to the fridge, you finally land upon an incomplete pack of Eddie's favorite brand of beer. Despite your crouch, you drop your head and take a deep breath. Tears well in your eyes but you blink, hoping they will disappear. With a deep breath, you stop to appreciate the sight. Eddie was here. He touched these beers and he touched this very fridge. "I miss you," you whisper to yourself. "Things may look a little weird from where you are, but I'm still crazy about you, baby. I will see you again."

With a sniffle, you reach for two bottles of beer - leaving three left for Eddie to finish somehow. You stand, slowly closing the door as you take slow inhales. You walk back towards the living room with both beers hanging between your fingers. Kas' eyes light up, a smile shortly follows. You sway the bottles, dancing as you do. "Oh yeah, darlin'," he encourages with a clap and a seated dance himself.

You hand him one, crashing beside him on the couch. Almost habitual, his hand reaches for your beer. He twists off the cap just as Eddie used to and hands it back to you. You take a sip without a second thought. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, leaning back into the cushions. His arm wraps around your shoulders as you burrow into his chest.

As your eyes land upon the black screen of the TV, just beside Dustin's sleeping body, you hum to yourself. "Wanna see what's on?" you ask, peering up at him. Kas shrugs while taking another sip. You reach for the remote on the table and click the on button. Two men appear on the screen wearing white opened suits and brightly covered undershirts. "Oh, Miami Vice," you call out. "Have you seen it before?"

When you turn back to him, his chin is tucked within his neck. He watches the two men in disgust as he takes a swig of his beer. You laugh uncontrollably at the sight, landing a hand at his chest. "They look like douches, but they're pretty cool - fighting crime and shit," you share. "Let's watch five minutes of it and if you don't like it, we can change the channel?" He huffs, nodding at the idea. "I'll be counting down the minutes," he mutters.

And there you two sit for the next fourteen hours watching Miami Vice. Kas is completely invested in Detective Crockett and Tubb's storyline. He almost didn't want to leave to get food with you, but he managed to pull away from the TV to hide in the shadows while you were in the store and walk you back to Rick's. You decided to clean up the shards, which then turned into the entire living room, during a few commercial breaks. However around hour ten, you struggled to keep your eyes open and fell asleep on Kas' chest. It didn't help that he was running his fingers through your hair as you cuddled upon his spider tattoo.

Dustin still sleeps soundlessly upon the ground, tucked in his blanket and pillow. Kas has steadily relaxed within his presence. You have even caught a small smile when Dustin stretches out within his slumber. The world finally seems alright. You are beyond thankful for this quick break from your new reality. This is the only pure happy thing that has happened since Eddie passed. You will enjoy every second.

note: what'd you think? what's gonna happen next? are they in love, or are they just stuck in some twisted vecna love triangle? is kas eddie or is eddie kas? and who's this red eyed demon and how do we feel about 'em? sooooo many questions & more parts to come...

next part • the spider queen •

comment or reblog to join the taglist! [join our kas cult]

taglist: @babeyglo, @dotslabyrinth, @wheaty-melon, @mattymurdocksbitch, @sammararaven, @onlyfengs22, @perle1990, @ms1oftheboys, @ghosttownwherenoonegoes, @tayhar811, @bbyhargrove, @hiscrimsonangel, @ali-r3n, @secretdryrose, @stranger-messenger, @ohmeg, @username7430, @seatnights, & @bit-of-a-timelord

• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •

49 notes · View notes

ateez-himari · 6 months

Text

THE FACT MUSIC AWARDS (231010)

NEW TWITTER UPDATE

[NEW UPLOAD FROM YUNHO]

ATEEZ(에이티즈) @ATEEZofficial

[#윤호] Had such a good performance that the little tiger felt sleepy on the way home ㅋㅋㅋㅋ #ATEEZ #애이티즈

Translated from Korean by Google

6:15pm. · 10 Oct 23 · 1.3M Views 9.54K Reposts 763 Quotes 9.6K Likes

mikah @himaswife Replying to @ATEEZofficial Stop even the sun loves her, look at how perfect the light is 😭she looks so lost after waking up I can't

mochiuki @littlehirangie Replying to @ATEEZofficial i just saw this and now her randomly bursting into Yunho's room and biting him during his pop live is finally explained XD he sacrificed himself to gift us these pictures

catty @channiescatterpillar Replying to @ATEEZofficial idek how to explain it she just looks so fluffy...the tiger makes so much sense 🥹

cheongdam pepper @33khj Replying to @ATEEZofficial so sleepy she didn't even change out of her red carpet clothes sleep well our Hima❤️

NEW TOKTOQ UPDATE

Check out this new post by 히마리

히마리: My precious Tiny did you enjoy Mingi oppa's little show on the way to the award stage? ㅋㅋㅋ It was my idea...I was supposed to do it too but got embarrassed (ㅇㅅㅇ) I stole this emoji from Sannie oppa btw doesn't it look really cool? I also stole Mingi oppa's rings...they look pretty cool on me. Horangi Punch!

Check out this comment from 홍중

홍중: Sorry everyone we had a team dinner and I think she drank a little too much😅 I'll put her to bed now.

New POP notification from 홍중

홍중: Please don't worry Tiny she's sleeping now but in my bed so I have to take the couch ㅠㅠ

Performance Highlights

I) During the introduction two men can be seen fussing over a wanted poster depicting Himari's face until she walks in between them, each of the guns in her hands pointed at their heads.

II) In the interlude she pushes through the crowd of dancers to take her place in between Hongjoong and Yeosang, a bandana in her hand separating the two before her voice rings through the backing track saying "하나, 둘,셋...draw", dropping the cloth just in time for the men to draw their weapons.

III) When everyone gets back into position for Mingi's verse she leans a forearm on the rapper's shoulder, a pepper positioned in between her lips that he takes out to bring to his own mouth as she sings "지금부터 fly" before exiting the stage with a wink to the camera.

Winning Speech

"This is your win too Atiny so I hope you feel just as honored and excited as we do! We were able to work hard in part because all of you were there cheering us on so please stay with us for the very long journey that's still to come. To our parents who are watching from somewhere...we won!"

#ateez 9th member #ateez au #ateez extra member #ateez female member #ateez imagines #kpop oc

32 notes · View notes

jazzthatonewriterchick · 21 days

Text

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Writer's Note:

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen PT I & PT II. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

FOUR: SHE A TYRANT.

You pause, wondering if you heard Gojo correctly or if Valentine smoked you after all. “Come again?” you ask.

Your eyes switch like ping pong balls between the handsome strangers, wondering who will make the first move. Geto bites back a laugh while Gojo cackles to himself. “We said,” he repeats, humor in his tone which pisses you off, “we are here for you.”

You pause, processing their confusing words. “For what?” you bark. “To kill me? Have your way with me? ‘Cause I don’t roll like that, especially with outlaws.” Gojo shoots Geto a look, winking at him. “We know,” he chuckles. “You kill ‘em dead instead…which I’m kinda curious about. Why is that you–”

“That’s none of your business!” you snap. He puts his hands up higher.

“How do y’all even know where I was?” you demand, more upset than anything about your secret identity being exposed. You thought you were more careful! You’ve kept your face hidden behind a bandana for years as the Femme Fatale, never coming out of it unless you’re alone or no one knows who you are. You thought you were safe in Blackwater.

“It ain’t hard to ask around,” Geto explains. “We blew into Blackwater after a couple of folks in the next town over said they saw you headin’ South. Since this is close by, we figured if you weren’t here, you’d at least be seen here.” He gives you a smile, sweet despite the situation at hand. “How lucky were we to have found you?” he chortles.

You keep the gun trained on them, cocking it. “Seriously?!” Gojo scoffs, glaring at you. “After we already put down our guns, you still wanna kill us?!”

“I don’t trust outlaws,” you growl. “I’ve been waitin’ for y’all to come here to get Valentine, so I can finally cross y’all off my hit list…but I need some questions answered first.”

You watch the duo give you a questionable look. “I wanna know where Benji The Bandit is,” you say, your voice steely and cool. “Ya’ll work for him, correct?”

The duo share a troubling look with each other at the mention of their boss and the eviliest man in the wild, wild West. He robs the rich and the poor; decimates towns and villages; has killed dozens. Legend says that he can show up in a town only once and scare its civilians into silence which is why the law has been chasing him for nearly two decades now. Nobody will ever give up Benji the Bandit’s whereabouts unless they have a death wish.

“We did to work for him,” Geto answers, correcting you much to your dismay. “We did his dirty work for two years until he gave us a mission that we had to refuse.”

You cock your head to the side, curious. “And what was that?” But the duo stays silent on that and you sigh, exasperated. “Fine, don’t tell me that, but at least me where he is.”

“We’re just as clueless as you, doll,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve been lookin’ for him for three years since we left him, but you know Benji: if he don’t wanna be found, he won’t be. Now may we ask you some questions?”

“No,” you hiss, pissed that you didn’t get what you wanted. “I don’t wanna find out why y’all are here for me. Frankly, I don’t care and now you two definitely have to go if you know who I am.”

Even through his blindfold, you can see Gojo roll his eyes. “Drama queen,” he mutters. “We won’t tell anyone.”

You squint at them, sizing them up. “How can I be so sure?” you ask suspiciously. “How do I know that if I let my guard down now, y’all won’t put a bullet in me where I stand?”

Geto frowns at you, possibly wondering why you’re so difficult. “We wouldn’t do that,” he says, actually sounding offended. “But since you mentioned us takin’ you off guard…”

His foot only moves an inch across the carpet, but it slides across the hardwood floors anyway and takes you with it. With a shriek, you trip backwards and lose the grip on your gun, causing it to fly out of your hand. You manage to catch yourself with one hand balancing you and turn so your on one knee, staring up at Geto who bends down to pick up your gun. “Hey!” you bark.

He smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming underneath his cowboy hat. “Now that’s takin’ off guard, little lady,” he chuckles. “Just wanted to get the gun from you. It was startin’ to scare my ‘Tarou.” He looks back at Gojo with a smiling that way too intimate and personal to be platonic.

Flushing at the realization, you gape at them. “Wait,” you pause. “Are you two–”

“Together?” Gojo finishes with a smirk. “I’m afraid the rumors are true, doll: the famous gunslingers ride more than just horses. But you won’t tell anyone, will ya?” He gives you a wink.

You stand up with a grunt, angered at the subject being changed and being embarrassed by Geto’s move. “Listen, I don’t care about y’all’s love life,” you scoff. “Just gimme back my gun!”

Geto twirls your gun around his gloved fingers, his gaze teasing. “And if I do, are you gonna blow our heads off?” he asks. He and Gojo keep their eyes on you, sizing you up the way you do them, watching you to see what your next move will be. You have to be careful, so you shake your head.

But the long-haired outlaw isn’t buying it. “How can we be so sure?” he retorts. Gritting your teeth, you go to snatch it from him, but he holds it up out of your reach. “Ah-ah…I asked you a question.”

“I said give me back my goddamn gun!” you snap before kicking Geto straight in the balls. His pretty face screws up in pain and he grunts, dropping your gun as he cups himself and hunches in agony. You race to pick up the pistol, but Gojo’s foot sends it shooting across the floor to the other side of the room.

You glare at him, seeing red like a bull. “Oooh, she’s feisty,” he cackles, taking off his hat and letting it fall to the floor. “I like that. Just be careful, little miss. I happen to like what ya just kicked.” Geto groans as he rolls onto his side, still cupping his balls. You’d laugh if you weren’t so pissed off.

You stand before Gojo with your fists tightly palled up and your feet in a fighter’s stance like a boxer. “Goin’ against me?” you bitterly laugh. “I’d like to see you two try.”

You take the first punch at Gojo, but he blocks it with his hand as if he saw it coming a mile away. You take another; he blocks it again. Frustrated, you decide to switch it up and go for a kick at his head, but he ducks.

His next move is something you count on him doing: he yanks on your ankle, sending you careening backwards onto the floor. This time, you can’t catch yourself and fall onto your ass. You have no time to focus on the sharp pain shooting up into your behind because the outlaw quickly gets on top to straddle you.

“Usually, I don’t do this with girls I just met,” he chuckles, “but I think you’re an exception, little miss.”

“Bite me,” you growl before wrapping your legs tightly around his neck and squeezing your thighs around it. Using all the strength in your core, you bring yourself up to headbutt him with the top of your skull. You release him and with a gasp, Gojo falls backwards into the couch, clutching his head.

Quickly, you get up and head to the door to escape, but two strong arms wrapping around your midsection stop you. With a yelp, you’re shoved into the wall by Geto, pinned between him and the wall. “Get offa me!” you cry out, wriggling around to try and break free. But that becomes futile when you suddenly feel Geto begin to pin your arms behind your back, sending sparks of pain shooting into your body.

“No!” you cry out, near tears. “Stop!”

“Then calm the fuck down,” he demands, his voice firm in your ear. Though you do stop, you turn your head slightly to look back at him, seeing the warning in his eyes. “Or what?” you spit defiantly.

A terrifying (yet thrilling) fire alights behind Geto’s dark eyes just at the same time as Gojo comes to assess your restricted state. “Oooh, she’s a brat,” he chuckles despite just receving a nasty headbutt. “Now I really wanna keep her, Sugu.” He tugs his pink bottom lip between his white teeth.

“Chill, Satoru,” Geto firmly says, his eyes still trained on you. “We won’t hurt you, but if you’re okay with bein’ pinned against the wall, then by all means, sugar, we’ll get the whip.”

Gojo gives you a sly grin, his long, thick, black leather whip in his hand now. At the thought of being tied up and completely at their mercy, you let yourself go slack in Geto’s hold.

“Okay, okay, I’m calm! I promise!” You take a deep breath and relax yourself, much to your dismay and irritation. You don’t like listening to anyone, especially grown ass men, when you’re a grown ass woman.

But in this situation, you’ll have to. Satisfied, Geto releases you and you begin to rub the kinks out of your arms from his iron grip, turning to face them as you do. The duo gives you your space now, stepping to the other side of the room. A sudden knock at the door makes you jump. “Y/N!” Todo yells. “Everythin’ okay in there?”

“We’ll come in if you aren’t!” Mai calls through the door. “We’ll call the sheriff!”

“Mai, you idiot, don’t let them know that!” Maki criticizes. You look at the duo standing before, wondering if you should say yes. Finally, you call to the others, “It’s alright, y’all. We just dropped some drinks up here.”

The two still stand there, never getting their guns or taking a step near you. They leave the ball completely in your court. “Explain,” you demand, crossing your arms.

“We didn’t come to fight you,” Geto explains and the corner of his lips lift slightly, “though that was quite entertainin’. We came to offer you a proposition: you team up with us. Help us take out these other baddies.”

You raise your brows at them, stunned. After putting up that fuss, they still want you on their team? ‘They must want this pussy bad,’ you think.

“Plus, you’ll need us for protection,” Geto adds. “It’s only a matter of time till people find out who you are, especially when Valentine gets arrested. You think he’s gon’ keep quiet about your identity just ‘cause you shot him in the ear?” Your world once again crumbles when you realize that he could be right.

“Shit!” you hiss, pinching the bridge of your nose as a headache begins to thump-thump-thumb against your head. “Shit, shit, this ruins everything! I had a plan!”

“Well, whatever that plan is, we can still help you achieve it,” Gojo replies, “but you’d have to come with us. We’re not gonna go into detail now since I’m sure people are listenin’,” ––he nods at the door––”but with our skills and brains combined, we could be unstoppable!”

You look between the two, assessing their faces for something––a glint in their eye; a twitch of their mouths––to give them away. But you see nothing. “What’s in this for me?” you ask suspiciously. Geto looks like he was waiting for you to ask that question. “We can go into all of that if you agree,” he tells you.

They actually look like they want you to say yes to this and to your shock, you want to. You’re curious as to why they want you in the first place out of so many other people dying to even get their attention. But you can’t. You have a plan that you’ve been putting together for years now.

“No,” you laugh. “Sorry, fellas, but I work alone. I always have and always will. Plus, I’ve been runnin’ from the law for years now and they haven’t caught up to me yet.”

They look like they were expecting that answer. Gojo sulks while Geto gives you an understanding nod. “Can’t bash the confidence,” he says, “but if you ever think differently…”

He takes a moment to take something out of his pocket––a piece of paper––and takes a pen from the nightstand next to the bed. He scribbles something down before passing it to you. “Pay us a visit,” he finishes. “We leave tomorrow.”

You read the message in your hands, seeing a number and an address to a motel: 1211 at the Corner of Maplewood, Rm 201 - G &G.

Geto then moves to pick up his weapons, straighten himself up, and walk back over to you. His eyes on you longer than necessary as he watches you read the note, looking gobsmacked. “Think about it,” he whispers. “We hope to see you again, little lady.” He takes your hand and gives it a light kiss before walking off to the door.

Gojo gives you a wink and a tip of his hat as he follows his partner to the door. “Bye for now, doll,” he says. When Geto opens it, Todo, Shoko, Yuki, and the Zenin sisters stand in the threshold, wide-eyed and definitely eavesdropping.

“Ladies,” Gojo greets as he follows Geto out the door. “Y’all might wanna dial for y’all’s sheriff. I don’t think this establishment needs a wanted criminal as a boss.” He nods down at Valentine’s unconscious body before heading off, disappearing down the stairs.

You are immediately bombarded with questions as your coworkers rush you, but you can’t say anything. You’re too busy staring at the note, so much that you begin to memorize the hotel room number.

*******

That night, the Blackwater saloon closes early and Valentine is arrested.

As soon as Gojo and Geto leave as quickly and as quietly as they’d come, Choso calls the Blackwater sheriff who riles up his posse and quickly come on their horses, one of them dragging a steel box behind it to transport Valentine to prison.

The entire saloon erupts in whispers and shocked stares as they watch two officers drag Valentine’s body down the steps, his wrists cuffed.

For the next hour, the entire saloon is questioned––you, the bartenders, the dancers, the guards, and even the customers––about what happened tonight.

You tell the sheriff about Geto and Gojo’s arrival to find Valentine and Valentine forcing you onto the Gunslingers, but you don’t tell them anything about anything other than that. The sheriff doesn’t seem suspicious of you, only thanks you for your time and apologizes for this “huge mess”.

Later, you retreat to one of the empty bedrooms to watch Valentine be tossed into the back of the steel cart. As you watch from the window, Geto’s warning continues to haunt you. You can’t help but wonder if he’s right.

Will Valentine expose you to the law? Will you be arrested? That makes your want to flee even more tempting. Just leave without telling anyone where you are headed.

But what about Shoko and the others? What would you tell them? You look down at the note clutched in your palm, reading the hotel number over and over again. Can you really trust these guys?

The door to the bedroom opens and you quickly hide the note in your bosom just as Shoko comes. “Jeez, what a mess,” she sighs, hands on her hips. “This is gonna be the talk of the town for a week. I just spoke to Maki and she’s gonna be takin’ over the saloon till we get a new manager.”

“Why doesn’t she just manage it herself?” you ask. Shoko just gives you a look and you laugh, knowing damn well that Maki would cuss so many people out that she’d never be able to handle a managerial job.

“Came up to tell ya that the saloon is closing for tonight,” Shoko says, giving you a tender look. “We can head home.”

You nod, giving her a smile. “Thanks. I’ll change my clothes and say bye to the others then.”

Silently, you walk past Shoko and she lets you, watching you go. You can tell she is worried about you and wants to ask what happened tonight, but she doesn’t want you to feel attacked or cornered. But you also know that she’ll ask you later when you’re both home.

After saying goodnight to the saloon employees and pretending to vomit when Yuki giggles about going home with Choso tonight, you change into a simple, pink dress, pack your things, and walk home with Shoko to your shared home only four blocks from work.

When you moved to Blackwater five months ago, you bunked with Shoko in a 500 square foot room that you renovated into an apartment with a kitchen, a small lounging area, a bathroom, and two twin beds.

You couldn’t be happier to have such a great roomie and friend, but you know it can’t last forever. This is the thought you’ve had in your head for months now any time you acted as if you were “normal”, going with your coworkers to happy hour at another bar or gossiping with Shoko by the candlelight at home. And you can sense that Shoko feels the same way as you take the short route home together.

The dirt roads are quiet, the many stores, boutiques, and establishments closed for the night, and the street lamps surrounded with buzzing insects attracted to the brightness and alight with flames that light your way as you walk side by side. The night is warm, but not sticky and you can tell that rain is in the forecast judging by the smell. You’re originally from the South, so you know these things.

Shoko is concerningly quiet, something that is unlike her. You wait for her to ask the golden question, but she instead stays silent, looking ahead. “Alright,” you sigh. “Go on and ask.” she looks at you questionably. “Hm?” she asks.

You give her a long look, raising an eyebrow. “You wanna ask me about the Gunslingers, so go ahead! Ask me!”

But she doesn’t, probably because she figures that you need your privacy and that you have your reasons for keeping things from her…which you do. “We didn’t have sex,” you say. “And they didn’t force themselves on me if that’s what you’re worried about. They didn’t even really want Valentine.”

Shoko finally looks at you as she takes out a cigarette and lights it with a match stick. The end of the cigarette butt glows bright red, reminding you of a firefly in the darkness. “So what did they want?” she asks, confused.

You bite your lip, battling internally with yourself. You know that Shoko wouldn’t go running to the law if you tell her who you really are, but the life you live has taught you to never trust ANYONE. But even so, you can tell her some of the truth.

“Me,” you softly whisper.

Shoko stops walking and stares at you in awe, the cigarette dangling from her lips. “They asked me to come with them, Shoko,” you explain. “To join them and help them catch other wanted outlaws.”

She continues to stare at you as if trying to pull back the layers of your skin and bones and peer inside of you. You away to a nearby street lamp, watching the flame flicker in the gaslamp.

“Well, why don’t you?” she asks. You look back to her, shocked. She shrugs, puffing on her cigarette. “They may be able to help you get to Willow Springs like you always wanted.” She gives you a reassuring smile, probably to make you feel better about not telling her the entire truth.

At the mention of your dream, you feel an overwhelming sense of need come over you. You want that so badly: a life in Willow Springs, known for its quietness, away from the wild West and danger. Just a quiet life with a cabin by a waterfall and your own farm, ditching the Fatale Femme identity for good.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I don’t even know if I can trust ‘em.”

Shoko once again shrugs and takes a final puff on her cigarette before tossing it down and crushing it under her heel. “Well, you’ve got plenty of time to think about it, but I personally think you should do it. Throw caution to the wind and let ‘em take you away from here.”

She stares you down with her eyes, intense yet caring. “There ain’t nothin’ here for you, honey, and that’s the truth.” Then she walks off towards your apartment, leaving you standing there stunned but knowing that you’ll eventually catch up.

Something in you tells you that her words mean more than she lets on and they follow you all the way home and into your dreams that night.

39 notes · View notes