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emomanswhore · 2 years

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—♡ —SIMON SAYS . . . ❞

SIMON GHOST RILEY X FEM!READER

✯. !! Synopsis : so you like to play mind games with ghost? goodluck, cause hes got a few tricks of his own to beat these little charades of yours. when he comes home to remind you whos really the expert at games—simon says...your playtime is over

✯. !! WC : 8.3K

✯. !! Tags & CW : explicit content! (18+ mdni) - hard dom!Ghost (he’s rlly mean), bratty! reader, sex tapes, masturbation (male & fem), choking/asphyxiation play, creampie, mating press, squirting, rough sex, spanking, subtle sir kink, size kink/difference, degradation, manhandling, orgasm denial, praise/petname usage, dumbification, dirty talk, (maybe?) prey and predator play, the mask stays ON. <3

✯. !! A/N : first fic and guess what, i wrote with my pussy on this one. hope you enjoy !! lmk what y’all think <33

Maybe this wasn’t your smartest choice in life.

Whether it's the sobering reality of sitting in the after-guilt of praying for negativity, or a complete backfire that could've made things entirely worse—most times, an action made purely from spite and pettiness, never ends up well.

This was one of those times.

Where guilt and the possibility of a backfire merged into one—a single, enormous, dark mass of gut bubbling anxiety.

You were given very, very simple instructions only a few days prior to this moment. And yet, all because your last few messages to your boyfriend were being left unanswered and open on seen, your willingness to take matters into your own hands—to finally get his attention, brought you more than you bargained for.

You had no idea what was truly in store for you once you decided to misbehave and break one of his very simple rules.

You missed your boyfriend, and while he was technically home from work for the week, he still had to go into the city for a few days to handle some business. And of course, for about fifteen minutes at the doorway, you kept fussing at him for leaving when he just got back home.

While it was certainly endearing to see how much you wanted him to stay, this was very important business he had to take care of. So all he could do was offer you a kiss on that pout you put up on your puffed up face. And as usual, you ate up every little crumb of attention despite not showing it.

“Shouldn’t take me that long before I’m comin’ back,” he pauses and looks at you, already knowing that glint in your eyes means that little brain of yours is up to no good.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted by you and have shit go to all hell. Not until business was handled.

He moves in a little bit closer so you can really see the seriousness in his gaze, tilting your chin up a bit to meet eye to eye. “Just keep your manners in mind while I’m away for a bit. I will be back sooner than you think, so that means no funny business out of you.”

You wish you could deny the implication of him saying you don't respect his space while he was out at work. But truth be told, you did want him to stay home for as long as he could. And the mere fact that work was being put over you, made an ugly bile of jealousy creep up your throat.

Luckily, your boyfriend was smart enough for the both of you, so he already knew you’d throw a fit over him choosing work instead of being at home. To take the edge off the situation, he once again pressed a soft kiss to your pouty lips. Like clockwork, you immediately folded from the little gesture of intimacy he gave you and he could feel the pout dropping from your lips instantly.

“But you’re my good girl, aren't you? ‘Yknow how to behave till I see you again don’t you, little miss?”

And weak you were, as you tucked your lips into your mouth and nodded all doe eyed up at him. When he lifted an ashy eyebrow up at the lack of your vocal response, you blink up at him all pretty and promise a, “Yes sir, I understand.”

“Atta girl.” and that's the last thing he rasped, before turning the knob to your front door and exiting in total silence as if he were never even there.

That was two whole days ago.

You really missed him.

That reasoning alone is what you kept telling yourself was enough justification to tease him and send a very lengthy video of you masturbating while he was away from home.

A video you impulsively sent to your boyfriend, Simon Riley, or what most only knew to call him by, Ghost.

A mystery of a man and the textbook definition of an enigma, who only brought more questions than answers everywhere he went. No one knew too much about Ghost, not even what the man’s true identity was underneath the infamous skull balaclava he never left the house without. The very few people in his closest inner circle, or whom he had some sort of mutual trust and respect for, usually asked the same questions when it concerned you:

How did such a recluse man manage to get himself a woman?

Doesn’t it get tiring, trying to figure out what's really going on in his head?

Out of all the men you could’ve been in a relationship with, why choose a man who could possibly never come back home?

Well, it wasn’t an easy start to your relationship with Ghost. Like most people brought up, the man came from years of solitary and preferably worked independently. It took well over six years to get yourself where you are now with him, and there were plenty of times where you two experienced hardships in your relationship. Sometimes his straightforward and blunt attitude really infuriated you, and sometimes your stubbornness and hard-headed tendencies deeply vexed him.

But the two of you learned so much while spending time together and bonding. Eventually you both came to a mutual understanding, that communication and respect was the biggest key to keeping your relationship stable.

Ghost only demanded the utmost respect, and you could live with that as long as he talked to you and vocalized what was really on his mind. Sure, there were still plenty of things he wasn’t quite ready— or ever willing, to voice out loud about himself, but it never wavered the deep adoration and love he had for you.

He trusts you. You know he does when you’ve had late nights that you both lay in bed together, sharing stories and telling each other lame jokes as he gazes softly at you. Everyone knew who Ghost was, but you? You were the only one in the world who knew Simon, and earned all your rights to see just who the man under the mask was.

You are the light of his world, and as much as he hates to indulge into what you call your “Princess treatment”— or what he better calls “Bein’ a proper little rotten brat”, he almost always gave into your ways. It was all harmless fun and playful banter when you went out of your way to make things difficult for Simon. That was fine though, since it always only took one trip to the bedroom to remind you of where your place was.

Hell, you were one insatiable jezebel. You both knew that secretly, this little game of cat and mouse was just another way you kept yourselves entertained for years now.

That’s why you thought almost nothing of it, unlocking your phone as you rested your back against the polished quartz granite of your marble sink countertop. Humming the melody of a song that lowly vibrated out your living room’s speaker, nails making sharp click clicks while you played around with your device to get to the photo gallery app. Well, to a certain little part of your photo gallery that was only for Simon and your eyes.

You always did have an interest in film and photography, and you used that hobby of yours to make a few collections of sex tapes with your man. It was something you both found to be very entertaining and highly stimulating to your sex drives. Sometimes even shooting another movie while an older one played in the background on your TV.

Your leg started bouncing as you traced your bottom lip with your tongue, taking the time to look and reminisce on each and every little thumbnail of the videos. I miss him, you exhaled deeply out your nose, already feeling that heavy ache between your legs as you practically salivate like a dog in heat. Fixating your drooping eyes onto one particular thumbnail of just him— you remembered this, how could you forget?

A hard, grueling day at work, when Simon couldn’t even fake like he was completely nonchalant and able to disassociate from his own need for you. All he wanted was to come home to that pretty little face of yours and show you how much he missed you. So that day he let all shame and pride in his body leave, as he sent his own video for you… in its entirety of ten whole minutes.

Ten whole minutes of his phone’s camera slightly coming in and out of focus, as he sloppily fucked his own hand. Keeping an iron grip on the pounding base, so you could really see how much he wished you were there, without him releasing into his palm too early before he could make his message apparent to you.

"Fuuckk… Fuckin’ christ…" Simon hissed through his teeth, the egg shell skull plate stitched on top of the thick knitted mask slightly muffled his voice. If anything, the loudest thing in the room was the slick wet sounds of his hand roughly working on his shaft, completely coated in the pre-cum that leaked heavily from the flushed and angry tip.

"Fuckin’ need you, princess. Look at what you do to me… fuck— ‘m gonna show you—" He groans deep from his chest, tilting his head back so far that you catch a peak of his exposed thick neck. Dark veins bulging and pulsing through his skin, as he twists his hand tighter on his cock, "Show you what that pretty little pussy deserves. ‘Gonna treat it real fuckin’ good when I get my hands on you."

You felt your panties starting to stick against the twitching lips of your core, now whimpering at just the memory alone of what happened in the rest of that video.

It wasn’t fair.

How could he have so much power over you, to make you literally wet your panties from just the thumbnail of a video?

It's so not fair.

Not when you miss him, and want him so badly— but he still hasn’t come home yet or updated you on where he was. It’s almost like he wasn’t even thinking of you at all. Like he didn’t even miss you-

Wait.

Like in the scene of a child’s cartoon, you swore you heard a ding! And saw the hot flash of a lightbulb pop over your head. Yes. Yes, that's it!

Your fingers worked faster than the better judgment of your self conscious did, as it took you another few scrolls down to get to the most recent solo video that you made. The one you made only a few days before Simon came home. The one he never got the chance to see. And as humble of a person you believed you were, you couldn’t deny how enticing you looked in the thumbnail of the video.

It was perfect, too perfect for the little trick you had up your sleeve.

The camera propped up against the little fort you made out of your pillows, aimed perfectly to capture you lying on your back on the king sized mattress. A pillow— Simon’s pillow, under your lower back to lift your hips up. Just enough for the camera to focus solely on the dripping, wet heat between your widely spread thighs.

Your pussy practically leaking like a faucet, as you drag your ring and middle finger in and out your tight, gummy walls. Fucking yourself so sloppy that juices run out your gushing pussy, trailing down your hole, and all over simon’s pillow.

It’s a mess… from the little puddle you left on his pillow— that’ll surely stain, to your cum sticking like a web in between the tight trap of your messy cunt, and to the garbled whines you let out. A siren’s melody of your sweet voice, whimpering mixes of ‘simon’ , ‘miss you’ and unintelligible words that only make your soft cries all the more enchanting and hypnotic.

Even then as you rewatched the video, you couldn’t help but gaze in awe at how pretty your faces of pure pleasure were, and how good your pussy looked glistening in the low lighting.

Mhm, this’ll do alright. With more click clicks on your phone’s screen, you found yourself glaring down at your last message to Simon— still left as seen.

That was alright though. You could bet a million dollars on this next move of yours, and walk away with full confidence that this current plan is the right move to take. With that being said, you clicked the little plus symbol next to the text message box and scrolled through the attachment options until you found the ‘photos’ selection.

You clicked on your video and made quick work of attaching it to a message you also impulsively typed into the box. Not a single thought ran through your mind in that moment, the pounding of your heart and your pulse thumping in your throat blocking all second guesses. You couldn’t stop now.

Fuck it.

One more click, and the next thing you know… you were staring at the thumbnail of your head thrown back into your pink, plush pillow. Eyes rolled completely into the back of your skull, and fingers dug deep inside your soaked cunt with Simon's pillow mushed underneath your ass. It was saturated so deeply that the formally navy blue pillow took on a deeper, almost black shade.

And what sat at the bottom of your video, was only the icing on your tooth rotting cake.

sent: miss u baby <3 come home now or i’ll keep playing w out u

You must've been stuck so deep in some sort of trance— one that filled you with a sudden dark swirl of unease that curled its way up from your belly and all the way into your throat. This trance kept you still for a moment, until you jumped out of your skin and almost dropped your phone on the kitchen floor from a sharp buzz!

Blinking a few times and putting your hand on your chest to keep your heart from leaping out your body, you refocused your blearing eyes on the open message inbox. Except now, your text moved up a little to make room for the new one that just entered the chat.

Your message— no, your video was marked as seen.

But the message your boyfriend replied with left you feeling very ill from just it's three little words, you thought you were finally looking forward to see:

seen: stay right there.

You swallowed the saliva that sat heavy on your dry tongue. Feeling that familiar thump, and deep ache in your core start to resurface once again.

Maybe today wasn't the day for a silly little game with Simon.

No matter how long you spent your next few hours completing errands around the house, you couldn’t make enough distractions for your mind to stop thinking about what transpired earlier.

As much as you wanted to feel bad that your little video may have caused some trouble for Simon, while he was at work— the bubbling swell of pride inside you, made a cheshire-like grin curl on your face.

It was finally happening.

Damned work or the ‘business’ he had to go settle. You finally got him to look at his phone. To look at you, and without a single doubt in your mind you just knew that thumbnail alone must’ve thrown him off from whatever he was so busy doing.

But now you were the one that was stuck at home, lying in wait for him to come show you what was truly in store for you.

Stay right there.

What did that really mean?

Was it literal? Did he believe that you recorded that video in real time, and expected you to wait for him in that same lewd position ? Or was it a warning for you not to try running away from home, before he could finally make his grand appearance.

You doubted it was the latter, since you never ran from dick. So what could make him think you’d start now?

All you could think about for the rest of your afternoon was just what he was up to, and when he was coming to you. Sitting in the house alone only made your imagination run wilder and wilder.

You couldn’t live like this.

The anticipation was eating you alive. And it took every fiber of will and strength to not send him another one of your videos, so he’d get the message and hurry up. You already gave him enough power from almost coming in your panties from just the memory of him pleasuring himself. You were trying to prove that you always come out on top of these games of yours. And there was no chance you’d submit to the temptation of begging for an answer to his cryptic message.

So you figured the healthiest way to cope and keep your mind off things, was to cook. Not just any meal either— but some of Simon’s favorite dishes that you make for him. Even if you were still a little frustrated by him ignoring you the whole morning, you still wanted to cater to your man. After all the old saying does go, ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’. And your endgame was to have a hot meal ready for him once he comes home, then finally get him to jump your bones after waiting for so long.

It was going to be another night that starts off with Simon showing you how big and bad he is, fucking the brattiness out of you, and ending it off with tender pillow talk. Even just fantasizing of how easy it is to make him drop everything to come running home to you, has your confidence sky rocketing through the roof.

As you prepped your ingredients, you plugged in earbuds and maxed the volume up to the highest it could go. Next to cooking, music was always the best way to stimulate your brain and keep your head full of happy thoughts. The two went perfectly together, and you sang outloud to yourself while concentrating on the strenuous task of slicing cabbage into slivers.

Your music was slowly lowering itself as it came to an end. And just before the volume died down completely and transitioned onto the next song–

You heard it before you could see it.

A set of heavy thump thumps making the floorboards creak and rumble, approaching fast from behind you.

Next thing you knew, a heavy and hot palm wrapped around the back of your neck and practically knocked the wind out of you, with how violently your whole body was whipped around backwards. Before your mind could register the sharp throb of your lower back hitting the edge of the sink, an audible gasp squeaked its way out your throat.

There he was. Simon was home.

The signature skull balaclava and smudged charcoal coating his face under the dim kitchen light, made him all the more terrifying. And with the way he towered over your much smaller form, all you could do was stare up at him as if you were some dumb little deer caught in headlights.

His eyes were casted down so low, so dark, so devoid of emotion that he almost seemed soulless. Here stood the empty husk of the same man who murmured a soft ‘you’re my good girl, aren't you?’ after pressing a slow, honeyed kiss against your lips.

You make a weak attempt to play off how excited you actually were. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing out loud in his presence. Mustering a shaky chuckle, as you tried to ignore the light press his finger tips made against your throat.

“H-hey baby. God, you scared the shit out of me. Y’know you can’t do that to me while I've got this knife in my hand.”

Obviously Simon could care less about your little rambing, his silence spoke the loudest between the two of you.

He continued to apply light pressure, steadily flexing his fingers deeper and deeper into your neck, so he could hear the way your stuttering voice hitched from the slight lack of oxygen. His eyes trailed down to your plush lips, and dragged even further down to shamelessly gaze at the enticing way your cleavage sat in that little lace camisole. You weren’t wearing a bra, and he could make out the perfect outline of your nipples pressing against the fabric of the dainty cloth.

And of course he saw it. The little lift of the corner of your mouth, then the way you crossed and pressed your inner thighs together.

All not-so subtle telltale signs, that you thought this was still some little game that you thought you were the genius mastermind of.

“Anyway, you ruined my surprise for you,” and you still kept your fucking mouth running. “I know you’re probably exhausted, so i started dinn-”

“Only thing you should be starting right now, is makin’ your way upstairs. Get everything you’ve got on, off. ‘Wanna see your ass up and ready for me, by the time i get my shoes off.”

Oh.

Oh. That shut your mouth up, real quick.

The abrupt way he cut you off completely, and the fact that those were the first words he’s said to you all night has you gaping up at him like fish.

He only stares back at you with blank indifference. You can only give him that stupid little look, before you snap out of being stunned and continue to try talking your shit and having some control over him.

“O-oh but i was just—”

“_____” The sudden boom of his baritone voice raising, knocked whatever rest of words you had sitting on your tongue. No princess or sweet girl— just your full name in its entirety, that sounded almost like a curse with how venomously he spat it out.

It was slowly starting to dawn on you, that this was becoming a very dangerous situation you got yourself into.

Your shock must’ve been extremely apparent to Simon, so he let the tension sit thick in the air of the room. Really making you feel the severity of the situation that was transpiring. All you could do was stare up at him, all doe eyed and pull your wobbling bottom lip into your mouth as he took two more steps forward. Somehow you were able to keep some of your courage in check, looking him up in the eye even as his head hung down to glare down at you.

“_____” he finally continued his words, again starting with your name, only in a lower guttural tone. “You are in no position to fuck around with me right now. Only ‘gonna say this to you one more time, before things get worse for you as it is— go upstairs, take off everythin’ you’ve got on and lay on the bed with your ass up. Don’t want another peep out your mouth, ‘less you wanna see what happens when you’ve thoroughly tested my temper. Wouldn’t want that now, would you, sweetheart.”

Simon drummed his fingers against your neck one more time, before he finally released it and watched you let out a soft wheeze of air. He looked over your body one more time before he turned his back to you, the heavy footsteps of his steel toed boots echoed dully in your ear.

Oh. Was that your cue to start making your trip upstairs?

Was that a test to see if you would even attempt to disobey him, when he has clearly had enough out of you for the night?

You loved a challenge. And even as you looked what seemed to be your demise in the eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a warm gush out of your core, come running down the side of your sleep shorts.

One step he took towards the doorway, was another stride you took as you practically hurled yourself up the stairs.

You skipped a few stairs on your way up, feeling your heartbeat hammering in your ear on the mad dash to your bedroom.

Flinging your top off haphazardly in the middle of the hallway, you couldn’t help but look back a few times to see if he was trailing behind you.

The pounding of your feet against the floor, deluded your ratting brain into thinking that it was actually Simon chasing you. The dull creaking of his heavy boots on the floorboards, still echoes in your head.

You nearly knocked the bedroom door off its hinges, with the way that you heedlessly flung it open. Your chest heavily rises and falls as you make quick work of getting rid of your soiled sleep shorts and panties.

Raw adrenaline courses its way through your veins, vibrating all the way from the bottom of your toes to the top of your tingling spine. You made it. You beat him.

Simon could challenge you all he wanted, but he could never beat the tenacity that ran through your whole body. You smile to yourself, thinking you won the battle and proved to him that he had no more control over your mind and what was between your legs–

You were very fast.

But Simon was even faster.

Boots be damned, he could catch up to you in an instant.

You let out a loud shrill shriek from the feeling of two hefty arms wrapping around your middle, and lifting you up into the air. Your world turns upside down— literally and physically, as you find yourself thrown over Simon’s strong bare shoulder, like you were some sort of light weighted object.

“Times up,” You feel the deep timber of his voice, while your body helplessly dangles onto him for dear life. “Told you to have your ass up on the bed, by the time I got my shoes off.”

You kick your feet in objection— but immediately cease your protest and squeal, when his heavy open hand comes down hard on your naked ass cheek.

“Seems like you can’t handle or understand instructions today, can you, honey?”

His taunting coo’s only make you dizzier, after he so carelessly drops you face first onto the bed. Your body bounces lightly off the mattress and you whip your head around to glare up at him.

“I can understand!” you stubbornly argue back, watching him scoff and shake his head. “You cheated, I got here on time but you picked me up before I could do anything.”

Your eyes take in his current appearance– other than the mask he kept on his face, he stood before you in all his mountain of a man glory.

He was so big.

From the wide, broad shoulders that just carried all your weight on it, down to the lean and toned torso, sculpted with hard, rippling abdominal muscles.

You practically whimpered at how big and thick his thighs were. Almost ready to give in and beg him to let you trace your tongue on the rigid V cut of his abs, all the way down to the wisps of the dirty blonde happy trail on his pelvis… and get a taste of what you’ve been craving for the last few days.

His thick cock stood tall in the air, curving up a bit against his stomach from the weight of the heavy, fat, dark tip. There was already a bead of precum running down the side, where a prominent blue vein stood out.

You drool just looking at it. Your mouth waters and jaw starts aching, as if you’re ready to feel that hefty press of the head on your tongue.

Simon knew exactly what you wanted. How could he not know, with the way your eyes grew heavy and your lips slightly parted.

“It's too bad, isn’t it?” he watches your lips part wider, as he uses the tip of his thumb to smear the little bead of precum across the length of the shaft. Fucking tease.

“Could’ve been feedin’ you this dick, and lettin’ you get full off of it. ‘s a damn shame, you act like you don’t know how to do what you’re told. And you keep running that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

You puff your cheeks at him and kiss your teeth, “It’s ‘cus y-”

Before you could even think up an excuse, Simon cracks his open palm on top of your left ass cheek. Your loud gasp is like music to his ears, and he moves in closer to press that same palm down your lower back until you’ve made a perfect arch for him. He kisses his teeth back at you, looking at the drooling lips of your pussy already making your inner thighs wet and sticky.

Spanking isn’t an unfamiliar thing he’s done to you, but to this degree? The force in his hits did so much to you. The hot stinging pain of it makes you wetter by the second.

“Still seems like I’m not makin’ it clear enough for you, _____. Don’t even know how to take yourself upstairs and lay like i told you to. That’s the problem with you,”

He removes his palm from the small of your back. Winding his hand back far, just to bring it down on your right cheek this time. “Spoiled you and that sloppy little cunt of yours rotten. Can’t even get a fuckin’ job done without you fussing at me.”

Simon continues alternating heavy handed smacks on both sides of your ass, not taking a single break between his assault on your cheeks. Talking out loud to himself, as if you weren’t writhing around and whimpering from his merciless punishment.

“Know what happens— stay still, when you wanna act like a desperate little whore? ‘Get treated like one. ‘Wanna act like you can’t sit and wait like a good girl? i’ll bruise this ass so sore that you won’t be able to get out of bed.”

His ruthlessness almost seems endless, and you start to lose track of how many times he’s striked your cheeks.

Your whimpering turns into full on moans, fully turning your face into the sheets to try suppressing the loud sobs you let out.

But Simon pulls your head back by the back of your neck, squeezing the sides of your throat, and giving you an even deeper arch in your lower back. “Can’t hide from this, sweetheart. You’re gonna learn to take what’s given to you, and stop being so fuckin’ greedy all the time”

He finally shows mercy on your bruised and flaming hot cheeks, deciding he’ll let you off with twenty two this time. He should’ve taken you over his knee and made you count the spanks out loud, telling him why you deserved each and every one.

But the truth was, he was almost as desperate as you. Hasn’t even been anywhere near your cunt, but you soak the sheets as if that's the only thing he’s been playing with. His dick bobbed and twitched, at just the thought of your velvety walls wrapping around him.

“S-Simon,” you babble and blink away tears that sit on your lashes. “Please baby, ‘m so close. I need you.”

Again, he kisses his teeth at you before putting his hand in between your drenched inner thighs. Listening to you keen softly, as he uses his thick middle and ring fingers to spread your thick pussy lips open. Watching your hole spasm and clench over nothing. Your little clit sticks out all pretty and swollen, just aching to get some attention.

“And why’s that, baby, hm?” You’re so messy that he’s able to slip in his two fingers, immediately finding that little spot that has you squealing and pushing your ass back for more. He uses his other hand around your throat, squeezing it tight as a silent warning for you to lay still.

“Why should I let you cum, when you’ve been nothin’ but an ungrateful little slut?”

You could cry real tears from him edging you like this. It’s never taken this long for him to make you cum.

All this was so unfamiliar. Simon never dangled your orgasm in your face, and made you wait like this.

It was time to drop the tough girl act, and admit defeat. He won. If it was for the sake of needing this pounding ache in your tummy to be relieved, you’d do anything to prove you deserved it.

“Baby pleeaassee,” You’re unable to hold back the hot tears of frustration from running down your face. “I'm sorry, ‘m so sorry baby. Just please, g-god im sorry.”

You can practically hear the sneer in his next words, your hysterical sobs getting more and more pathetic by the moment—

“God? What’re you saying sorry to him for? God isn’t here to save you, silly girl.”

You feel the hot tip of his cock hovering over your twitching folds. He takes his sweet, leisure time to swipe the head through the sloppy mess of your pussy. Purposely avoiding the neglected little pearl, as he runs the tip up and down on your pussy. Getting it nice and wet before he’s pushing half of himself inside your sensitive, gushing walls.

“But i’ll show you what heaven looks like, since all that’s been on your pretty mind, is gettin’ this little cunt of yours beat raw.”

Simon starts off at a brutal pace, pulling himself all the way out of your tight heat, before slamming all the way in. When he bottoms out inside you, your ass jumps and slaps against his strong thighs, making a sloppy plap. The bed rocks and groans, from the sheer ferocity and force he uses to split open your soaking pussy.

Your voice belts out your throat, coming out as shrill squeals and moans. You go to reach your hand back to push yourself away from the deep strokes he gives you, but he grabs your wrist and pins it behind your back.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You never ran from dick before but this? It was too much. So much that you could hear the loud sloppy squishes of your contracting walls, working and squeezing around his length. The feeling of it all, sending you into hot waves of burning pleasure. Letting him have his way, and fuck you like he detested you.

“Yeah that’s right, don’t fuckin’ move, or speak. Y’hear that? Only thing I wanna hear is how good this slutty cunt talks to me.”

All you can do is lay there and take it. He lets go of your neck, to snatch your arm and pin your other wrist behind your back. His thick forearms flex, the veins in them protruding out his skin as he uses some strength to rock you back and forth by your arms. You fear your arms may pop out the sockets, with the way he uses both of your arms as leverage to keep your body up and ready to meet his deep strokes.

Your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your skull, with the way he fucks his fat cock into the depths of your core. You cry and sob a familiar melody that has Simon gritting his teeth, fucking into you at an even faster roll of his hips.

“Know what this reminds me of,” His voice comes out as a deep rasp. He bows and leans his weight over on top of your poor little body, so he can press your face into the bed. Turning your face to the side, so he could continue murmuring into your ear.

“Makes me think of that little video you sent. Reason why you’ve gotten yourself in so much trouble— ooh, naughty fuckin’ girl. Squeezin’ around me so nice. Y’like knowing I saw you act so sweet on camera for me? I was around my men when you sent it to me. Had to stop what I was doing, so I could see what you wanted from me so badly.”

You could barely understand what he was talking to you about. The deep rumbling of his voice, lulling you into an empty head and going dumb on his dick.

All your fucked out little mind could do was blindly whimper and nod, just trying to focus on how the vein on the underside of his dick rubbed so good against your walls. You were so fucking close, you just needed more.

“L-love you baby, mmm. I’m sorry,” You felt him lift a little off your body, and took the opportunity to turn your head more so you could keep eye contact with him. “Jus’ miss you so much, b-but i promise i won’t bother you. I won’t do it again. Swear baby, I swear.”

He only grunts in response, feeling his cock throb and get squeezed after he knocked the tip into your special little spot. “Only sayin’ all that because you need to cum. I can feel how close you are, princess. You’re gonna have to just wait ‘till I'm done having my fun.”

Despite that leaving his mouth, he grips your hips tightly before pulling all the way out. He shushes you as you let out another hysterical sob, and gets completely off the bed to go move closer to the edge.

Honestly, if he left you alone like this you wouldn’t even mind.

You thought a prayer to god for forgiveness. This abuse on your poor little pussy, was enough to make you ask for repentance. Never again would you make yourself go through this, and you silently begged that Simon would see the light too so you could be forgiven already.

But apparently, god was not on your side today.

You felt his strong hand grab your ankle, and drag you down by the end of the bed. You started to complain until you were roughly turned to lay on your back. Now, you could properly see your boyfriends face— well, mask and the exposed eye portion of the balaclava.

You could see some sweat from his exertion, had ended up smudging off even more of the charcoal on his face. He only stared down at you, before he put both hands on your thighs and pushed them up until your knees squished against your chest.

At this point you could only let him do whatever he wanted to your body. Not a single ounce of fight left in you as he settled between your folded legs, and started speaking to you.

“Remind me again now, sweet girl. Whose pussy is this? Hm?”

You blink once, then twice. Even with the question being asked again, in an even slower way for you to comprehend, you simply couldn’t. Your brain was short circuiting, completely burnt out and purely running on the raw dopamine buzzing in your mind. All it could manage in that moment, was the soft mewl of a mmm that let itself out from the depths of your throat.

Your mind so fuzzy, that the words ‘sweet girl’ coming from him only made you think of times of love and adoration. Times when Simon would make love to you; caressing your body, exploring and marking every single curve and inch, cooing praises into your ear.

That’s it, theres my sweet girl. ‘Look so good takin’ all of me like a champ. Want everyone to see how good i treat my princess, when she fucks me so well. Gonna fill you right up, just how you like it.

Only now, you weren’t being spoiled and made love to like his special girl would.

You were some filthy little whore, and getting the treatment a bitch in heat deserved the most. A dumb one at that, and all Simon could do is chuckle to himself, shaking his head at how sloppy and stupid you looked. Not even the damn mutts in heat at the base, got silly like you were at this moment.

“_____ ,” Simon slapped his open palm twice on the side of your cheek, listening to you whine softly before using the same hand to squeeze the sides of your cheeks until your lips puckered out. “_____ , focus right here— that’s it, right here. Listen to me baby, unless you don’t wanna cum tonight, you’re gonna stop wastin’ my time and talk to me nice.”

With what little brain fuzzy cells you had left to help you speak, you nodded and spread your thighs wider so he could see your swollen, glistening pussy and untouched clit.

“ ’s all yours, Simon. It all belongs to you, so please help me cum. Pleeasse baby, I-I need it so bad.”

That must’ve been what he wanted to hear.

Simon plunges right back into the heat of your walls that welcome him in with ease. Only with this new change of position, you get filled in even deeper now.

No running. You’re trapped and overwhelmed by the heat that radiates off his body, as he uses his heavy weight to fold you in half and press you deep into the creaking mattress. You can see over your tummy, just what he looked like when he battered the insides of your pussy. You’re forced to watch him dig his cock in and out of you. Hiccuping and sobbing at the sight of a creamy translucent ring made of your cum, completely coating the base of his length.

“That’s right baby,” His heavy balls slap sloppily against your ass. The sounds of your skin clapping together, and his baritone murmuring echo in your ears. “Pussy belongs to me. So you don’t tell me when it’s time to come home and play with it. You wait for me and behave, when I tell you to. Understand?”

You shake your head, not paying attention to a single word he utters. The only thing you can focus on is the way he drops his dick perfectly into the spot you need him the most.

“Ohh fuck- fuck, fuucckk,” You let out strings of curses, your legs already getting numb from being squeezed down so tightly against your tits. Drool fills your mouth and runs down the side of your lips. You can feel the bubbling sensation in your womb of your orgasm approaching. Your babbling gets sloppier and less coherent, as you feel his dick twitch inside of you.

“Fuck yeesss, yes S-Simon. ‘Understand, promise I’ll wait and be— oohh… uhuh, right there, b-be good for you. It’s only for Simon. Whatever Simon says, it’s all for you”

“Shit.. that's it. There’s a good girl,” He groans deep from the bottom of his chest at your words, grabbing you by the throat and pulling your head up off the mattress so he can look into your glossy eyes.

Simon pulls his mask up, just enough to where the top of the cupids-bow of his lips starts. He flicks his tongue over the bottom of his lip, before he leans in to press his mouth against your open one. He swallows the wanton moans that come squeaking out your lips, moving his hand up from gripping your throat to cup your jaw.

“Easy girl,” he mumbles inside the heat of your mouth, feeling your legs start to shake harder now. “Relax, you can take it. Take everythin’ I give to you and let me— shit ‘m close, let me fuckin’ fill you all the way up, princess.”

He reaches between your sweaty bodies to finally give your neglected swollen clit the attention it deserved. He uses the tip of his fat thumb to rub it in circles, grunting when he feels your pussy squeeze around cock. It was as if your body was trying to pull him all the way in, and never let him escape the gushing caverns of your walls.

Simon removed his hand from your jaw, using his now free hand to press down hard on your soft lower belly.

You shake your head in resistance, already knowing how messy you were gonna make this if he continued on like this. He must’ve known what you were thinking, shaking his head back at you and having no regard for your little babbles and sobs for mercy.

“Let it out _____. C’mon, show me what a sweet girl looks like when she knows how to make a mess all over this dick.”

The little band in your core snaps, and you swear you heard a little pop! from deep inside of you.

You both feel it before you see it. Lips practically sealed together, and you both let out guttural groans in each other’s mouths at the feeling of your pussy spraying cum and juices everywhere. You made it real messy, drenching Simon’s stomach and splattering your ecstasy on top of the comforter of the bed.

And at the same time, Simon snatches his lips from yours to let out a long series of curses. You feel his cock twitch violently from the depths of your insides, letting out a soft mewl when you feel the tip painting your walls and shooting out thick ropes of cum.

You nearly black out from the high you get from coming so hard. The whole room seems like it’s spinning, your hearing fades in and out, with static like white noise shrilling into your eardrums. All your senses are heightened, and you feel so overwhelmed by your vision getting blurred and fuzzy, that you decide it’s best to close and rest your eyes.

Apparently you did end up blacking out.

Jolting awake and blinking the blurriness from your eyes, you sit up from your position tucked underneath a new comforter set— you can’t even recall how you managed to make yourself comfortable in bed, or how you wound up in a new pair of clean underwear.

You think you get the answers to your state of confusion, when you see Simon sitting by the edge of the bed with his bare back turned towards you.

Oh, okay. He must’ve cleaned me up and changed the sheets after I fell asleep.

Without turning around and facing you, Simon calls for you and tells you to come closer to where he sat. You huff, begrudgingly pulling yourself from the cozy warmth of the cotton blanket and crawl across the bed to where he was.

“Baby, I’m so hungry” You pout, giving his bare shoulder a soft kiss before you go to roll yourself off the bed. “We should try ordering from that place Soap keeps talking about. I think the menu’s downst—”

“That can wait,” He grabs your wrist and pulls you back onto the bed, it’s so abrupt that you make a squeak of surprise when you tumble back down on your back. “Still got something we have to finish.”

He sees the utterly puzzled look you give him and can tell just how lost you were at this moment. Simon rises from the bed, towering over you and hums at the sight of you looking up at him with wide, expectant doe eyes.

Since this is the first time he’s actually facing you from the front, you notice he holds a sleek, black handheld camcorder. Where did he get that from ?

Again, Simon reads you like an open book and starts explaining just what he was up to.

“On my way home, this little thing here caught my eye and reminded me of something,” He turns it over on its side, inspecting it before he presses his thumb down on the power button to turn it on. “Made me think of how I had to leave from where I was at, and missed a vital proposal for work. Set back my plans, all because of the little video you decided to send to me.”

You gulped, already knowing where this conversation was leading to. You can feel a pounding in your core, your underwear starting to stick to your heat from the little bit of excitement that came gushing out of you.

“Since you do love your little films, you’re gonna make another one just for me. Somethin’ real nice, and a good reminder for what happens when you think about pullin’ another stunt like today.”

Simon pulls down the band of his grey sweatpants, his hard cock springing up and bobbing back and forth before it curls up against his navel. He sneers at how quick you are to roll off the bed, kneeling on the carpet to get on your knees before him.

There was no changing or fixing the insatiable little minx that lived inside your body.

“Now, eyes on me princess,” he aims the camera down at your face, flicking his eyes from your own half lidded ones down to the screen of the camera. “You’re gonna start off with ‘Simon says I’ve been a filthy little slut and been on my worst behavior’. Then, you can show the camera you know how to act like a good girl and apologize.”

You nod your head, already going dumb from the commands he rasps. When he tilts his head down and lifts a brow up, you give him an audible yes sir and rub your inner thighs together in anticipation for what you’re about to do.

“S-simon says–” you pause, dragging your eyes up from the camera and into Simon's own eyes.

You are a good girl. And as a good girl should, you made sure you kept your manners in mind, so he knew how sorry you really were.

“Simon says I've been a filthy lil’ slut, and on my worst behavior,” you lean in close to his cock, looking him in the eye as you plant a slow soft, short kiss on the tip. Greedily licking up the bead of precum that caught onto your lips, feeling the little jump his cock makes against your mouth.

“So ‘m gonna show him I'm a good girl, and apologize like his sweet girl should.”

/tagging\ . . . @touyyes(<3) @noriken @hellavile @munsonsins

#ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty smut

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madebyrolo · 4 months

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Pouge Princess

Rafe Cameron x reader

she/her

Rafe takes an interest in y/n as she’s working in her family’s food truck. Over the years Rafe has came just to see her but she doesn’t know that.

*not proof read or edited

Pt.2

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Y/n was a pouge, she lived on that side of the Island. She wasn’t exactly like how the stereotype describe them. though. She was in a somewhat happy family, kitchen table bills, well mannered and cared about her education. Her parents tried giving her the best they could and they tried to bring themself up and it was working.

Whenever they threw small party’s they would invite almost everyone, they loved their food and the family. Her family owned a small food truck in the figure 8 area. It was a drive but it was a smark marketing move they made. The tourists were a big part and the rich money hungry local families. They never really cooked or did any happy family matter thing. They had maids or butlers to do it and money to burn, so when it would come to their dinner or lunch they bought.

They made the best tacos in the whole island as a lot would say. They grew their own ingredients to make the sals, toppings, fruit. Her uncle working in a butcher shop who helped them buy fresh meat at a discounted price, an aunt who made their homemade juices/water and tortillas. Their whole family helped them with the business like saving up for the food truck and all working togther splitting profits.

Y/n worked some after school and weekend shifts. That was her way of getting her allowance of $30 a week. To a kook they would see that as cruel but for her that seemed reasonable. She saved and saved since she was 13 to buy an old 2000a Honda crv, her parents helped her obviously but she was able to pay for it 70% herself. It wasn’t the prettiest, it had some rust on the ends and it had about 107,349 miles on it but it was perfect for a starter car, and the gas was good. She got it when she was 15 and spent nights cruising and exploring the island with her friend John B, Jj, Pope and Kiara before John B got the Twinkie.

They met in elementary school but they finally formed as a group in junior high. When they hung out it was practically everyday. In school they would have lunch but then go straight to John’s bs house. Jj was the pothead of the group so when he got his money he spent not on weed, lighters, grinders and rolling paper. Sometimes he would ask y/n parents to pick up shifts for when he was running low on money. He wasn’t the smartest with money but “weed was his outlet” she tried not to scold him and let him be him. Pope was the straight A student, he was smarter than anyone she knew including herself. He was wise and had somewhat good judgment. Kiara the born kook yet chose the pouge life, she had a fiery personalit, and was a environmentalist. She was a nice sweet soul although doesn’t make the best decisions. And John b, the group leader. He was wise in his way, street smart and a strong independent. He had some walls up but he was nicest one out of all of them.

Y/n had her little shifts at the food truck weekend mornings and sometimes after school when it was in session. In the summer she would work longer hours due to the higher population and popularity due to the tourist. She didn’t mind, she made good money especially with tips. The older look men would leave $5 minimum and as well the boys around her age. The tourist $5 max because one it’s good food and two she was y/n. It was no lie y/n was pretty, the pouges, kooks and tourist knew it, she did too. She wasnt too cocky but if she knew she could get a bigger tip she would do it. It was sad to see some of the dude actually take it seriously but a hustle a hustle. She had her fans, Topper and Rafe being some of them. Topper loved the food and Rafe loved the view.

Since it was summer time y/n would work in a bathroom suit top and denim shorts, sometimes with a shirt but working in the small metal truck with a girl on 24/7 with the outer banks heat made it hot quick. Sure they had fans but they only did so much. Today was Saturday around 12:30pm, it was the busy and hottest time of day. Luckily Jj picked up a shift today helping her with the grill. They’ve made at least 3pounds of meat already and it hasn’t even hit dinner time. As a duo they make great tips. They older adult thinks he the one actually seasoning and stripping the meat even though it was pre marinated the night before which gives it the taste people like. The younger girls thinking he’s a hot blond boy wearing nothing but a white fitted tank top with his chain dangling when he would reach down giving them their food, tipping way more money then their parents gave them.

It hit 2:00 it was slowly dying down. They were able to turn off 1 grill out of the 3 and able to chill out. They were finally able to talk one on one and kept telling small things they noticed customers do like one kid studdering when they saw jj and an old lady struggling to count out her and the sweetest kid helping. They’re favorite is when the mom yelled at a poor girl for tipping $10 but not cause jj was hot just because she didn’t understand money. They were giggling away when their 2 “favorite” customers showed up.

“Welcome to Sunburn Siesta, what can I get you” y/n asked as she grab her notepad.

“Can I get a 5 carne asada tacos and a watermelon aqua fresca please” Topper said in the most adorable English accent making y/n smile a bit.

“Lemme get 5 shrimp tacos and a coke” Rafe said grabbing his black card out his wallet while staring at the boy at the grill. She takes the card swiping it and handing it back.

“It’ll be out in 5 minutes I’ll call your names.” Y/n tells them. As jj is cooking the meats, y/n heats up the tortillas and prepares the plates. She sets the drinks on the counter letting them know they can grab them.

They boys are good tippers and as much as jj wants to spit in their food he makes sure to make it to perfection. After a couple minutes the plates are ready and she calls their name.

“Topper and Rafe your order is ready!” She shouts placing it on the counter. Topper gets up from the picnic table early excited for his tacos.

“Oh my god y/n these smell and look absolutely delicious.” Topper complimented

“Thank you and enjoy topper” she gave him a genuine smile. Even though the pouges hate him he was by far her favorite costumer. He came for the food and the food only. He never once did a mean thing to y/n, he loves her family cause of the damn tacos.

They sat eating for 30 minutes and every so often y/n would catch Rafes looking at her. She continued taking and making orders switching with Jj so he’s not stuck behind the grill trying to ignoring the daggers she felt from the boy. After an hour they finally got up and Rafe got up to put their tip in the jar. He got at the counter and jj was on the register.

“Rafe what would you like” he said trying to be a good worker.

“Can I get y/n.” He asked sternly.

Y/n heard and came from the grill

“Yes rafe what would you like” she asked

“I just have your tip” he said with a small grin that looked actually meaningful.

“Yea put in the jar” she smiled knowing he’s always done that.

“No this is your tip.” He said getting closer to the girl. Y/n bent down grabbing it with her cleavage obviously being the only thing in Rafe eye sight. She grabs it and noticed it was a $50 bill and her eye lite up.

“Oh Rafe that’s too much..” she said softly to him. He was flustered just from what he saw. He may be the towns playboy but it sure as hell got him nervous knowing they were y/ns.

“Uh yeah no it’s right. You deserve it” he said with cheek a red making embarrassed eye contact.

“Oh Rafe thank you. This is so sweet! Here have a fruit cup for free” she said going over grabbing one of their home grown fruit.

“Thanks y/n” he said with a smile still blushing.

Topper soon comes up putting cash in the tip jar “there you go jj” he said with a playful smirk.

“$6 you really shouldn’t have” he said sarcastically with a hand over his heart.

“The $5 is for y/n, you can take the dollar.” He told him and walked away both rolling their eyes.

“I should get going. Thanks for the food it was great.” Rafe turned to y/n after the other boys interaction.

“Yea, start giving you discounts for now on Cameron.” She waved bye and he started walking away. “You’re my new favorite customer!” She yelled at him from afar.

He turned around and gave her a big wave smiling to himself. Oh boy he was in love.

Y/n fully unrolled the bill about to put it in her purse until she saw a small piece of paper fall out. She pick it up and saw it has writing

“𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 *********

𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦

𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 :)

-𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦”

Y/n put in in her purse smiling and blushing. She stood there thinking about how she was just asked out in a date by the most wanted boy on the side of the island. As a pouge too. Jj snapped her out of thought as she got ready to prepared food for the customers. She was finishing her shift in a happy smiling mood. Jj noticed and didn’t ask but if he did y/n obviously wouldn’t have told him who knows what would happen if he found out she was friends with the enemies.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

pt.2 with the date ?

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #topper thornton #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #soft rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx

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rewritingcanon · 8 months

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i’ve seen relationship therapists and psychologists analyse hermione and ron’s relationship and conclude that they wouldn’t work out in the long run. they’ve argued for hermione to be with harry, krum, even DRACO (don’t understand how a counsellor can vow for canon dramione but alright) as an alternative partner for hermione since ron is “too insecure” to be with her and match her intelligent prowess or what have you.

i seriously don’t understand this sentiment. ron and hermione genuinely seem (almost) perfect to me, maybe not in the movies (a common denominator of people who don’t like romione is that they always cite evidence from the movies, since the films took a lot away from ron’s character and his growth), but definitely in the books.

looking at ron’s insecurities, a lot of people dredge his inferiority complex up to toxic masculinity primarily, when it was more explored how it was an effect of his home life (not gonna argue toxic masculinity wasn’t a factor, they’re teenagers in the 90s written by a pretty misogynistic woman so…). he was the youngest son out of how many children? all of his older brothers were brilliant in some way. bill was an extremely gifted spellcaster, charlie was gifted with magical beasts, percy’s academic score was unmatched, and fred and george (despite their trouble) were entrepreneurial inventor-geniuses. ron, on the other hand, was quite literally born a disappointment to his mother, who conceived him specifically because she wanted a daughter, whilst ginny was born her favourite (though, even then, ginny was gifted at quidditch). ron was mediocre in every sense of the word, and his two best friends were harry (one of the most famous wizards) and hermione (the smartest witch of her age yada yada). and i’ve seen people argue that harry was more welcomed by molly into the weasley household than ron ever was. this isn’t even mentioning the amount of bullshit he copped for being poor (people always downplay the blow to confidence being in poverty can have on a person who is constantly surrounded by people who not only have more, but look down on him for simply being unlucky as to not have what they do).

so yeah, ron was an envious kid, but he was that way not because he was an evil patriarchal conception but because he was lowkey neglected. and even then he was overall an extremely devoted and loyal friend to both harry and hermione, because he did genuinely love them.

there were many moments of ron standing up for hermione that was cut from the films, not as a guy who was romantically interested in her, but as a friend. ron arguing with snape for making hermione cry is one of my fav scenes in the books ru kidding me, and in the movies he AGREED with snape RU KIDDING ME. not to mention how ron was a sobbing violent mess when hermione was getting tortured in the last book, whereas he wasn’t nearly as bothered in the films. and the films cut out harry being a dick to ron about his familial concerns (in dh), so when ron left it seemed like a random dickish move over his jealousy towards harry and hermione’s relationship.

there’s also a million moments where they minimised ron’s usefulness in the books for comedic purposes (forbidden forest with aragog, troll scene, devils snare scene) so ron seems dumber than he is. like, he’s actually smart and a really good spellcaster…. in the books.

so simply by stating this most of the arguments against romione become void. “he’s too stupid/weak for her” simply not true. “he’s a terrible friend who doesn’t stand up for her” also not true. “he’s too insecure to have made a move on her,” yes, but given the context i don’t think people would freak on about ron’s upbringing, i think many would be more understanding, especially considering his growth. even if he wasn’t insecure, hermione is beyond incredible and is bound to make anyone nervous when pursuing her (not an excuse for ron to act like a dick, but it does explain a lot where the movies don’t). “they argue too much” they bump heads, none of the arguments they have are actually super damning, with the exception of ron leaving in deathly hallows.

maybe i’ve covered everything (excluding the abhorrent amount of classism that clouds people’s judgments around how they view ron when harping about how hermione deserves better? hopefully).

now, i know people won’t like me mentioning the cursed child, but i’m going to considering we actually get an insight of their life as a longterm married couple there. a lot of ron stans hated how ron was the only character that wasn’t doing something incredible. harry was head of the aurors, ginny was a famous quidditch player retired to a famous journalist, neville was a hogwarts professor, hermione was quite literally minister on magic. and ron…. ran the joke shop with george.

and i think this was almost the perfect route to go down for ron. because he was average, and was perfectly fine with just being average. hello?? that speaks leagues of growth for his character. he’s supportive of hermione’s work, he grounds her when she gets too caught up in being the literal president of wizarding society, and he still viciously defends her, minister or not. in fact, he’s proud to simply be known as hermione’s husband because he doesn’t feel the need to prove to anyone else his worth. the people he loves most know his worth, hermione never downplays or underestimates him, they are complete equals in the relationship in every single way that matters. they kept ron’s best qualities whilst making him seem more of a healed person. they work so well as a married couple without it seeming like mischaracterisation (not to mention the cursed child literally shows how those two are in love in every reality, so there quite literally can’t be a better partner for hermione or ron according to canon).

so i really don’t understand how professional relationship counsellors can go online and denounce it. probs because they only watched the movies, but it’s 2023 and ron stans should not STILL be fighting for their lives trying to defend him from people who simply don’t consume media with as much depth (which is fine, but one should clarify if they’re talking about the movies because i’ve seen people state they’re talking about the hp BOOKS when it’s simply just…. the films). anyways. romione on top, thanks to coming to my ted talk.

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chipster-321 · 7 months

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Something I loved about Peter Dinklage’s portrayal of Dean Casca’s Highbottom in “A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” was that the whole time up until the reveal I was questioning WHY Highbottom was acting the way he was and whether or not he actually wanted the games to continue or not. I just couldn’t get a read on him one way or another. I couldn’t manage to hate him, but his behavior towards Snow definitely rubbed me the wrong way. But he wasn’t outright doing anything against the rules minus doing his best to not give Snow the Plinth prize even if he won. Something I did not understand until later.

One moment he seemed to want to sabotage any chances of the games becoming more successful and continuing. Like he begrudgingly accepted this “Mentorship” idea thinking none of the students would be able to effectively do so, knowing that the Tributes would never be willing to play nice with their mentors and not willing to help them in anyway. Then not moving to save his games with any new and fresh ideas from the most brilliant and smartest student in the class. But then he was clearly doing drugs so it could just be dismissed as the drugs numbing his emotions and drive. Making it so he just couldn’t give a damn to do anything. And sometimes it appeared he did the games to keep going and improve simply by being the credited creator of the games and not caring about the tributes at all.

Once Coriolanus’s ideas began to succeed and raise interest in the games he became more and more hostile towards him and trying to get him removed and disqualified at every possible chance. He was even obviously gleeful when he did manage to oust him by catching him cheating, the doctor couldn’t save him that time. At that point I was reaching the conclusion he really didn’t care one way or another but just hated Snow for some reason.

And then the reveal. He never WANTED the games to exist. He didn’t mean for them to ever happen, it was just angry drunken rambling during the war that had caused so much suffering and death. Only for his “friend” to take that idea that should have never been taken seriously and considered and bring it into fruition, slapping his name on it and cementing his legacy as the creator of the bloody and cruel Hunger Games. He DID want them to fail and end. And Peter Dinklage’s performance absolutely screamed that the whole time while still remaining ambiguous solely because of the character’s reputation as the creator and his blatant bias against Snow (despite the fact we knew who Snow would become).

He hated Snow because of his father, yes, but his blatant hostility and attempts to sabotage him only really started becoming more than an obvious distaste due to his heritage when Snow started to succeed in reviving the games. He knew he could do it, he saw the route he was choosing, so he tried to stop him.

What a shame he failed.

#spoilers #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #a ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #peter dinklage #dean highbottom #coriolanus snow #president snow #hunger games

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justagalwhowrites · 9 months

Note

Hi again Bestie!

This is for the Enemies to Lovers Angsty Joel ask. I was thinking a new reader with show Canon Joel? But if that’s too much work and it works better with Lavender Joel and doc that’s fine too!!

aaa thank you so much for responding!!

OMG HI BESTIE!

Thank you so much for the ask and for being patient! I hope this fits with what you're looking for. Thank you for reading and reaching out! Love you!!!

(This ask came in from @dundienominee and they're tagged with permission HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!!)

Loathe/Lust

You have every reason to hate Joel fucking Miller. He knows it. It doesn't stop him from coming to you for help.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Legal age gap (reader is 27 and has known Joel since she was 25, Joel is 46.) SMUT :D Canon typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.4k

Spring, 2013

At the end of the world, there were very few constants.

One, you were fucking tired of jerky.

Two, there was never a shortage of people who needed healing.

Three, you hated Joel fucking Miller.

Everything else could shift and change but those things were facts.

Jerky was a staple of every meal because, with QZ food, there was no such thing as fresh. There was often no such thing as enough, either, but fuck were you tired of jerky.

And QZ life wasn’t easy on anybody. People needed a lot of patching up here. You’d come up through FEDRA school, 17 and a junior in high school when the outbreak happened. You were tapped early for your aptitude for biology and taught the very basics for helping to keep people alive. You didn’t know much about the world before, you’d been a teenager when things went to shit, but you knew what they taught you barely qualified as medicine. Still, you did everything you could to help people. It was nice, having purpose in this shitty life.

Then there was Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Joel fucking Miller, drug smuggler. Joel fucking Miller, guy who got your brother mixed up in his stupid illegal activities. Joel fucking Miller, the man who introduced your brother to fucking Marlene. Joel fucking Miller, the person you really blamed for your idiot brother taking off across the country to help the goddamn Fireflies as though there was a single fucking thing people could do to fix this disaster, to bring down FEDRA. Without Joel fucking Miller, Nathan never would have gotten hooked on drugs to begin with, never would have been vulnerable, never would have fallen for Marlene’s bullshit.

If it wasn’t for Joel fucking Miller, you wouldn’t be here, alone.

But you were.

And you hated him for it.

And he knew that you hated him for it.

Which is why it was a hell of a shock when there was a knock on your door late one Thursday night, just before curfew, and Joel was there, grimacing and panting for breath.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you snapped, almost slamming the door on him. He threw his hand out and caught it before you could, his thick fingers closing around the edge of it.

“Not any happier about this than you are, Brat,” he spoke through clenched teeth, using the nickname your brother always called you. The name he’d called you for 22 years before he went across the country because of Joel fucking Miller. “But I don’t exactly got another choice.”

He adjusted his leg so you could see it in the light. A knife was embedded there, right where his femoral artery would be.

“Shit,” you muttered.

“Can’t exactly go to the clinic with this,” he said. “But you’re dumb enough to take that fuckin’ doctor’s oath seriously so…”

“Calling me dumb probably isn’t the smartest move when you want me to save your goddamn life,” you glared at him.

“I ain’t wrong.”

“Fuck you,” you sighed, opening your door wide and stepping out of the way. He limped inside, going for the couch. “Don’t even think about it, asshole. Kitchen table, if I’ve got to clean your blood off my floor I’m not trying to get it out of the fucking carpet.”

He grimaced but obeyed, heading for the table and sitting down heavily in one of your mismatched wooden chairs. You went to collect what you’d need to - hopefully - keep him from fucking dying in your apartment and came back, propping his injured leg up on another chair before pulling a third one up alongside him. You put a towel down below him and took your scissors and cut his jeans, exposing his leg where the knife was sticking out.

“At least you weren’t dumb enough to pull it out,” you muttered, examining the wound. “Know how big the knife is?”

“Big,” Joel said wryly.

You glared at him.

“I meant in inches. Not that you men can judge inches worth a damn…”

“I can,” he said. “And it’s about 8 inches. Trust me, I know.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Alright,” you said, actually meeting his gaze. His eyes were oddly gentle, a softness to them that made your heart ache a little when you looked at him too long. “I’m going to do what I can here and I have my shit set up and ready to go but if this thing shredded your femoral artery, you’re going to bleed out and die in just a few minutes and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m as prepared as I can be for a heavy bleed but if you’re really fucked you’d need someone to take a blood vessel from one part of your body and use it to patch the femoral and it should go without saying that I can’t do that in my fucking kitchen. I could put a tourniquet on you and try to get you to the clinic but…”

“FEDRA would just finish me off,” he nodded. “I get it.”

You paused for a second, looking at him.

“I really will do everything I can,” you said, actually earnestly speaking to him for a change. You felt… bad for him. For Joel fucking Miller. You didn’t like the guy but you didn’t want him dead.

You pulled on gloves.

“Look, Brat, I know this is a win/win for you, alright?” He smirked a little. “Either I owe you or I’m dead and you don’t have to fuckin’ deal with me anymore. Promise I won’t haunt you if I finally got myself killed, OK?”

You nodded and tried to wrap your head around the idea that Joel fucking Miller might be dead at your kitchen table in a few minutes.

“Anything you want me to tell people if…”

“Don’t have much I’m leavin’ behind,” he said, actually serious now. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him be serious before. He sighed. “Been fine with dyin’ for a while. About time it caught up with me. Just tell Tess and Tommy I’m sorry for fuckin’ ‘em over. Sorry to you, too, for draggin’ you into it. Don’t have anyone else.”

You nodded again. Why was Joel making you feel bad for him? Making you think of him like a person instead of some asshole now? When it’d be on you to keep his stupid ass alive?

“Right.”

You cracked your neck and loosened your body up before putting a hand on his bare thigh. His skin was warm and soft, his leg muscled and thick.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” you warned him. “But you need to stay completely still, otherwise something that wasn’t already fucked up might get fucked up. I’ve got to pull the blade out as straight as I can, try to get it to go the same path it went in, OK?”

“OK,” he nodded, his large hands going to the base of his thigh, like he was going to hold himself still. He looked at you again. “Meant what I said. It’s really… it’s alright if it kills me, OK? Don’t want you to feel like shit if it does. Not your fault.”

“Yeah, I’d hardly feel like shit for taking you out, Miller,” you rolled your eyes even though the idea of him dying mad your stomach turn. Maybe it was because it would be on your shoulders and you didn’t want anyone to die because of you. Even Joel fucking Miller, the man you hated more than anyone else. The thought that part of him wanted to die made your chest tight. You took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

You pulled the knife out as quickly as you could while also holding it steady - which, as it happens, wasn’t all that quick. Joel hissed in pain but, to his credit, didn’t move.

There was a fair bit of blood once the blade was freed but it wasn’t a full-blown arterial bleed. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good news, you’re not going to bleed out on my kitchen floor,” you set the knife down and grabbing gauze, putting pressure on the wound. “You missed your femoral artery. I still need to get this bleeding to slow down before I can stitch you up and you’ll need to take it easy for a bit but you’ll be fine.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he smirked a little but still. He looked relieved.

“You’re a constant disappointment so I’m used to it.”

He snorted and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms, watching you hold the gauze to his leg. His bare, strong leg. You swallowed.

“Hear from your brother at all?” He asked.

You looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

“Every now and then.”

“He doin’ OK?”

“Fine, from what I can tell,” you replied. “Doesn’t have anyone giving him a steady stream of fucking drugs which I’m sure helps.”

He shrugged.

“Demand is demand, Brat,” he said. “Don’t blame the supply.”

“Want me to go back in and cut your femoral artery?” You snapped. “Because I can make that happen.”

“Honey, I don’t think you could cut the femoral artery of someone who was tryin’ to kill you if you had the chance,” he smirked. “Not gonna do it to me. You should work on that.”

You just rolled your eyes and changed out the gauze.

“In just a second I’m going to get to stab you over and over with a needle,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Think I’ll see just how close together I can get these stitches. Can’t wait.”

It didn’t take long for the bleeding to slow and you did, indeed, stab Joel fucking Miller 20 times in the leg with a needle.

“There,” you said, looking over your handiwork. “Looks like you’ll live to ruin lives another day.”

“Livin’ the dream,” there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. You set the needle down and took off your gloves before getting up.

“Alright, you’re not going home tonight,” you said, squatting down so your shoulder was tucked into his underarm. “It’s after curfew, anyway, and I’m not about to let you waste all the trouble I just went through by getting picked up by fucking FEDRA. I’m moving you to the couch and going to set you up so that leg is elevated. You can go home in the morning.”

He nodded and shifted in his chair until part of his weight was on you. He was big, bigger than you really realized, his weight more substantial than you’d expected. He was so broad. You hadn’t been close to him before, had never realized it. He sat heavily on the couch and he hefted his injured leg up as you grabbed some towels to stack below his ankle.

“Comfortable?” You asked, hands on your hips.

“Think there might be a pea under one of these cushions…” You flipped him off with a roll of your eyes. He smiled. “I’m good. Thank you. For… well, all of it. Appreciate it.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “I’ll work on that so next time I can finish you off.”

He smirked.

“Whatever you say, Brat.”

You woke up early but Joel was already gone.

You didn’t see him again until he showed up at your door almost a week later, not long after you got home from a shift at the clinic.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” You asked.

“Just you.”

He held out a book and you frowned and took it. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

“What…”

“Saw you had some of her on your bookshelf there,” he nodded toward it. “But didn’t see that one and it’s the only one I’d fuckin’ heard of… Anyway. Thought you’d like it.”

“I do but…” you turned the book over in your hands. It was a nice copy, with a cloth cover and a ribbon bookmark. It would have cost a small fortune on the black market. You looked up at him. “Why are you giving me this?”

He shrugged.

“Saw it, thought of you. Wanted to say thanks for not killin’ me.”

“You really don’t…”

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Brat.”

He left while you were still staring at the book.

It was three months before he was back at your door again. You’d read Pride and Prejudice twice since then, disappearing into the story, reluctantly thankful to Joel fucking Miller for the best escape you’d had from the QZ in years.

This time, it was after curfew and he was clutching his arm, soaking wet as it poured rain outside. You just sighed and wordlessly opened your door.

He came in and sat at your kitchen table while you grabbed towels and gave him one.

“Don’t have a knife lodged in there do you?” You asked, grabbing your stash of medical supplies.

“Not this time,” he dried his face and roughly pressed the towel to his hair. “But it’s a nasty cut that hasn’t stopped bleedin’, think I need stitches.”

“Can you take the shirt off?” You asked, going to the kitchen to wash your hands throughly.

“Think so,” he called after you.

You stopped in your tracks when you turned around. The shirt was off and Joel was… fucking beautiful. His chest and arms and shoulders were broad and sculpted, his stomach a little softer and inviting. You wanted to touch him, not as someone treating him but as someone experiencing him, enjoying him. You shook yourself mentally.

He was Joel fucking Miller. You were not going to get turned on by Joel fucking Miller.

“You just love giving me an excuse to stab you repeatedly don’t you?” You said, sitting in the char beside him and pulling on gloves.

“Figured you’d be bored,” he smirked. “Got a big knife if you want to try to take me out this time…”

He nodded to his belt and you looked down instinctively. He did, indeed, have a large knife strapped to his side. You rolled your eyes.

“Sit still while I do this,” you demanded.

“Yes ma’am.”

You disinfected and cleaned the wound before you started stitching it. You could hear Joel grimacing as you did and you tried to ignore just how good his damn arm looked as you worked on it.

“How’s Nathan?” He asked after a minute. You looked away from his wound to glare at him. “What?”

“He’s not here,” you snapped. “You can’t get him involved in your shit, can’t get him running drugs for you again, can’t get him putting his life on the line to feed his damn addiction, you can’t take advantage of his weakness so you can make more goddamn ration cards! So stop fucking asking!”

He was quiet and you went back to stitching.

“S’not why I ask,” he said after a moment.

“Then why do you?” You kept your eyes on your work this time.

“I’m not the one who got him hooked on that shit, you know,” he said, ignoring your question. You scoffed. “It’s true, I’m not. He was hooked well before I met the guy…”

“And how’d that happen?” You asked, harsher than you really meant to be.

“His dealer was a piece of shit,” Joel said. “Asshole named Robert. He knows who’s most vulnerable, who’s desperate, who he can overcharge and drive into debt. Nathan owed him money. A lot of fuckin’ money. He didn’t have it and Robert wasn’t too happy about that. So… I intervened.”

“Intervened?”

Joel shrugged and you glared at him, needle in your fingers.

“Sorry,” he said. “But… Robert’s an asshole but he’s smart enough to know that I’d fuck up him and his guys. So, I made him back off. But Nathan still needed the drugs so…”

“So he took up with you,” you finished for him, making the last stitch and tying it off. You cut the thread and sat back in your chair.

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel said, titling his arm to look at your work. “Wasn’t tryin’ to get him into trouble. Was tryin’ to keep him out of it. Seemed like a good kid. Didn’t deserve to get killed because some asshole was takin’ advantage.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “But still. You deserved to know. And I do hope your brother’s doin’ OK. I know you think I’m bad news but the Fireflies ain’t exactly the Girl Scouts.”

“Well, nothing is anymore, right?” You took off the gloves and started cleaning up. “Sit tight, I’ll find you a shirt. It’s after curfew because apparently you can’t piss people off at a reasonable time. You can take the couch again.”

“See, Brat, it’s all part of my plan,” he smirked. “Come here too late for you to send me home so I can sleep on your strangely comfortable couch…”

You rolled your eyes and found a shirt your ex-boyfriend had abandoned at your place when you’d broken up. You handed it to him and he went to the couch, not needing your help this time.

“Try not to sleep on the side with the stitches,” you said. “That should go without saying but…”

“But you think I’m an idiot?” He asked, brows raised, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Something like that,” you said, turning to to go bed yourself. But you paused, doubling back. He’d settled back in on the couch, his uninjured arm behind his head. He frowned at you, questioningly. “Thanks. For the book, I mean. Hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice since before the outbreak but it was nice, reading it again. Though I think I’d rather you owe me a favor than get the book…”

“Still owe you the favor,” he said and then looked at the spot on his arm where the stitches were. “Two, now.”

You smiled a little. At Joel fucking Miller.

“Good to know.”

He was gone by morning.

The next time you were able to talk to Nathan via radio, you asked how he’d meet Joel. You asked about Robert.

“Oh yeah,” he said, as though this should have been obvious to you. “Think I owe that guy my life, honestly…”

“He was selling you drugs that could have killed you, Nathan,” you wished he were about 2,000 miles closer so you could grab him and shake him.

“It’s all relative,” he said. “He sure as shit didn’t do to me what Robert did, I’ll say that.”

Joel fucking Miller.

What if your brother was only alive because of Joel fucking Miller?

It was two months before you saw him again.

This time, it was at the clinic. He was sitting in one of the small triage areas, just a curtain around the bed and you sighed when you saw him. He smirked.

“What’d you do now?” You asked, looking down at the chart.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to lie about symptoms so you’ll give me antibiotics to take back to Tommy. Think an injury of his got infected outside. Don’t want anyone lookin’ to closely at it.”

“Jesus, Miller,” you sighed. “Alright, what symptoms do you supposedly have?”

He rattled them off and you nodded along before sighing again.

“Let me get you antibiotics,” you said. “It’s a miracle none of you have fucking died, you realize that.”

“And I’m sure that’s a big disappointment for you,” he smirked.

“Every goddamn day.”

You went to the medicine cupboard and unlocked it, grabbing the pills you needed before closing it again when a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and ripped you around, so fast it made your head spin. You recognized the man standing so close to you that you could smell him. He’d been in the clinic a few times over the last few weeks, always complaining of pain. Everyone turned him away for drug seeking behavior but you could tell, the last time he was here, that he was getting desperate.

“Look you little bitch,” his large hand went for your throat before you had a chance to even fully realize what was happening, your eyes going wide. He thrust you back against the cabinet with a thud, knocking your head against it so hard that you felt your brain rattle in your skull. You dropped the bottle in your hand and it clattered to the ground as you instinctively clawed at his hand. He tightened his grip. “I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried asking. You’re going to give me what I fucking need or I’ll kill you and get it from someone else, understand?”

He squeezed tighter, your vision starting to get spotty. You couldn’t breathe and it’s not like you’d taken a deep breath before diving in the deep end of your parents’ pool. You wouldn’t last long without being able to breathe. Panic flared, acute and sharp, and your body scrambled to fight, to kick and scratch and punch to get a breath but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t letting you go. Your head was getting light and your vision was already narrowing when, suddenly the hand disappeared.

You collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air and looked up to see Joel on top of the man, a knee in his chest as he brought his fist down on his face again and again and again. The man tried to get his hands up to protect his face, then tried to land a hit on Joel but neither worked. Joel was almost eerily quiet as he pummeled the man, grunting with every blow, an almost unhinged look on his face.

“Joel!” You tried to yell for him as you pushed yourself to your hands and knees. Your body felt so weak compared to just a few minutes before. You couldn’t really talk, an unfamiliar, raspy sound the only thing that left you. You tried again, anyway. “Joel!”

You managed to make it to your feet and caught Joel’s elbow as he pulled it back one more time and he stopped, turning to look at you with that mad look on his face but it vanished the second he saw you. He dropped his arms, panting for breath, his eyes running over your face and neck. You pulled him back from the man as a nurse ran over to start examining Joel’s victim.

One of your hands went to your throat, cradling it gently and feeling for damage and you pointed to the pill bottle with the other one.

“Should get out of here,” you managed, though it sounded more like a garbled mess than actual words. But he seemed to understand. He picked up the bottle and gave you a last, lingering look before leaving the clinic.

One of doctors looked you over and said you’d be fine eventually, you just needed to rest. They offered you some pain pills - the same ones Nathan had been hooked on, the same ones the man today had been willing to kill you for - and you turned them down, just trudging home and collapsing on the couch when you got there.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been attacked. It was the end of the world, after all, it had happened a few times before. But it was the first time you had the feeling that you were about to die. Even when you’d been held at knife point for ration cards you’d had the feeling that everything was going to be fine. Yeah, you’d be short on some ration cards that day but you’d be fine.

Not this time.

You tried to relax, drifting in and out of consciousness on your couch, trying not to think of the man with his hand around your throat. The way his fingers had bruised you, the way his palm had crushed into your windpipe. The ruddy tone of his skin, the desperate and angry look in his eyes, the stink of his sweat. It was all there, every time you closed your eyes and relaxed too much it was there.

You’d just drifted off again when there was a knock on your door. You groaned and forced yourself off the couch and opened the door, your hand cradling your throat. You were half expecting it to be a coworker, coming by to check in on you.

Instead, it was Joel.

“Don’t try n’talk if it’s gonna hurt your throat,” he said. You frowned a little at him. He had a canvas bag over one shoulder. “Can I come in?”

“Not going to try and finish the job right?” You asked, voice strained and scratchy.

He rolled his eyes.

“Move, Brat.”

You made a face but stepped aside, anyway. Joel went past you to your kitchen, put the bag on the counter and started rifling through your cabinets. You followed him, frowning.

“What…” your hand was still against your throat, voice raw.

“Will you go sit down?” He gave you a look over his shoulder before going back to sifting through your things. “Jesus Christ…”

You threw your hands up but obeyed, sitting at your kitchen table and watching as Joel finally found what he was looking for. A pot, apparently. He put it on your stove and turned it on before going into the bag and pulling out a jar that he emptied into the pot. He stirred it for a moment before going into your freezer and finding the ice. He put some handfuls into a towel and came to the table, pulling out a chair and moving it so it was right in front of yours. He sat down and was so close to you that his thigh slotted between yours and you just sat there, looking at him, eyes wide.

“Move your hand,” he nodded toward it and you realized you were still holding your neck. You obeyed and he gently took your chin in his large hand - his knuckles cut and bruised - adjusting your head so he could examine your throat. “Damn, Honey, he got you real good.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Hush,” he ordered. “Hold your head still.”

He released your chin and lightly trailed his callused fingers over your throat, his touch lingering over where you knew was probably damaged and bruised. He took the ice in the towel and pressed it delicately to your skin.

“See, you do know how to listen,” he said. “Even does you good every now and then.”

You scoffed but you took the ice bundle from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. He sat back a little, his eyes running over the rest of you, his leg still between yours, the other brushing the outside of your thigh.

“He get you anywhere else?” He asked eventually. You shook your head a little. Joel nodded. “Good.”

“Why are you here?” You asked, voice a little clearer than it had been the last time you spoke.

“You need to eat somethin’,” he said. “And I owed you.”

“Why don’t I get to pick the favors?” You glared at him.

“I’ll still owe ya,” he shook his head a little. “Dyin’ to know what you’d cash it in on.”

“You and me both.”

It didn’t take long for the soup he brought to be done and he poured you a bowl of it. He got you both glasses of beer, also from the bag he’d brought. Your eyes went a little wide at your first bite of soup.

“What?” He frowned.

“This is good,” you said, going back for another bite.

Joel laughed.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not totally useless.”

“How’s your hand?” You asked, looking at his knuckles. He flexed his fingers for a moment.

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Had worse.”

You considered him for a moment. He frowned.

“What.”

“Why’d you do it?”

His frown deepened.

“Do what?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Save me. And beat the shit out of that guy. You hate me. Why’d you do it? Was it just that you didn’t want to lose out on the person who will stitch you up in the middle of the night or…”

“Don’t hate you,” he said, taking a sip of beer.

You scoffed.

“You hate me,” you said, taking another bite of soup. The weirdly good soup. “I know you hate me.”

“How do you know I hate you.”

“Because I hate you,” you said, though you were starting to think that wasn’t true anymore.

“Yeah, noticed that,” he smirked a little.

“You call me brat…”

“Nate called you brat,” he replied. “And you are a brat. Seemed appropriate.”

“You’re never nice to me,” you said. “Well, except right now…”

“You’re never nice to me,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to make your hatin’ me something that wasn’t fun for you, figured I should be mean back.”

“Hating you isn’t for fun you dick,” you glared at him.

“It’s not?” He looked a little amused by it all. “What’s it for then?”

“It’s for ruining my brother’s life!” You dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and set the ice pack down with a little too much force. “For getting him mixed up in your fucking smuggling operation and getting him involved with the fucking Fireflies and making it so he left town and I’m just left here, alone! I’m alone, I have no one and nothing and it’s all your fucking fault!”

You weren’t entirely sure when you started crying but you were. The overwhelming, gasping, choking kind of crying that you had to fight to breathe through. You could feel it in your chest, the pressure of the tears building up behind your eyes, every pain you’d suffered the past year welling up and bursting free at once, all of it directed at Joel.

“Oh, Honey,” he leaned forward and gently took your face in his hand, drying your cheek with his thumb. His legs were on either side of yours. He delicately pulled you against him, your face going to his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you, cradling you securely against his broad body. “I’ve got you, it’s OK…”

You stayed against him like that for a long time. Longer than you wanted to admit to. But it felt nice to be there in Joel’s arms. You didn’t have anyone here, didn’t really have friends outside of work. Your ex-boyfriend had broken things off a few months back and the idea of dating again the QZ sounded hellish so you just hadn’t done it. Joel, in that moment, felt like someone you had. He was someone that made it so you weren’t totally alone.

After a while, you’d calmed a bit, your tears slowing and your breaths coming easier. You kept your face buried in Joel’s shoulder, shifting a little so your nose was pressing against his neck.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you said, voice thick and rough from the tears and your injury. “Why’d you save me?”

He sat back from you ever so slightly, his hands taking you by the shoulders and guiding you back up so you were looking him in the eye. You wiped your nose on the back of your hand.

“You might hate me but I never hated you,” he said, his eyes oddly soft and earnest. “Not once.”

“Joel,” you said quietly. His hand went from your shoulder to your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair. You were suddenly, acutely aware of how little distance there was between the two of you. It seemed like too much.

He slowly, cautiously moved closer to you, his eyes going from your own to your lips and back again but he stopped just short of kissing you. Like he was waiting for you to close the distance, asking your permission.

You gave it.

You pressed your mouth to his and it was delicate at first, your lips brushing his, feather light but electric. Then, Joel’s grip on you got stronger, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. You let out a little moan, an ache growing between your legs.

Joel released your face and his hands traveled to your waist and he adjusted as he pulled you closer so that your legs went around him and you were suddenly in his lap. You could feel his hard length through his jeans and you realized that he hadn’t been joking about knowing the size of the knife. You groaned a little, grinding your hips down against him, and Joel moaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down and around your back, fingers spread wide over you.

“You sure about this?” He asked, peppering kisses along your jawline between words.

“Yes,” you panted, needy. “I want you…”

“Fuck, Honey,” he breathed. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His mouth reached the damaged skin of your throat and he delicately kissed each bruise on your neck, his lips warm and soft. His fingers lightly traced your bruises.

“He still alive?” He pulled back from you enough to look up at you from your position on his lap. You draped your arms over his shoulders and nodded. He frowned. “Shoulda killed him for touchin’ you…”

“Not worth it,” you said, kissing him again, harder this time. His hands moved to your front, unbuttoning your shirt.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his mouth close enough that his lips brushed yours when he spoke. “Promise you, you are.”

He nudged your arms down and slid your shirt off, pulling away from you to look down at your half naked body.

“Fuck, Honey,” he groaned, his large hands coming to your stomach and spreading warm and wide against you, moving over you, skimming over your skin with his rough fingers. He pulled you tight to him as his hands went for your bra clasp, unhooking it as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. He took it off, too, his hands finding your breasts, cradling them in his large palms, his thick thumbs brushing your nipples. “Jesus Christ, got no right lookin’ this fuckin’ good…”

He kissed over the swell of flesh before he found your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, licking the tip with his tongue, making you moan, your back arching into him. He did the same to your other breast, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your back like he couldn’t get you close enough. When he released you, he looked up at you, panting and desperate.

“Lemme take you to bed,” his hands slipped down your back to your hips, pulling you down firmly against his hard cock. “Need inside you…”

You just nodded quickly and his hands moved to your ass, holding onto you from below as he stood with you in his arms. You let out a little yelp as he did before he carried you down the hall to your bedroom.

He lay you down so gently on the bed it was almost shocking, kissing you deeply as he did. You fumbled with his shirt until it was unbuttoned and you could slide it off his broad shoulders and cast it aside. Joel moved to your jeans, unbuttoning them and hooking his fingers around them and your panties, pulling them down your body together, crawling back and kissing down your body as he did.

“Oh Honey,” he said once your pants were on the floor and he was kneeling between your thighs. He was looking down at your dripping slit. He spread your legs a little wider, opening the core of you to his gaze, before he ran a single finger over your folds. He left it against your clit, giving it the gentlest pressure. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You achin’ for me?”

“Fuck, yes,” you were practically squirming below him, your whole body raw and needy, the heat in you burning. “Please Joel…”

“Gonna make you come first, Honey,” his finger started working in slow circles, the pressure growing. “Make sure you’re ready for me. Get this pussy so fuckin’ wet for me.”

He sank a thick finger inside you, moving his thumb to your clit, and he moaned as you whimpered at his touch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” the hand not working your pussy went to your lower stomach, his fingers spread out wide against your skin. “Jesus Christ, you feel incredible, fuckin’ incredible and that’s just my finger, fuck…”

He worked you harder and you rocked your hips against him, your hands going to your breasts and holding them, squeezing them.

“Holy shit,” he moaned at the sight. “Fuck, need you to come Honey, need you to come for me so I can get inside you, come on baby.” He added another finger and hooked them up into the softest part of your core, making your breath catch in your throat. You started tightening around him, the heat in you growing. “There she is, can feel it, come on Honey, come all over my fingers, you can do it. Come for me, don’t make me beg for it, baby, need you too fuckin’ bad…”

You came, gasping his name when you did, your hold on your breasts relaxing as your whole body throbbed with your release.

“Fuck, there we go,” he worked you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. “Doin’ so good coming on these fingers Honey, getting yourself all ready for my cock. Gonna take such good care of you, baby, promise I will.”

Your body went slack and he smiled and almost devilish smile, sliding his fingers from your body and sucking them clean before he opened his pants and took them off. He climbed between your legs, crawling up your pliant form, kissing a trail up your body until his lips were on yours and you could feel his thick length brushing your dripping core.

“What if I want you to?” You panted, your hands running over his bare back.

“Want me to what?” He asked.

“Beg for it.”

He smiled a little.

“Please Honey,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Please, let me inside you. I’m past fuckin’ want you, baby, I’m past needing you. I swear not havin’ you is gonna fuckin’ kill me. I will beg you all damn night if you want, I’ll beg you all damn year if it’ll make you give yourself to me.”

You laughed softly, your fingers twisting in his hair as you pulled him closer.

“Guess you should fuck me then,” you smiled before you kissed him.

He felt as desperate and needy as he sounded, his thick head catching on your entrance before he pushed into you in one long, firm stroke. You gasped at the stretch of him, feeling every inch of his cock as he opened you to him, the tip of him finding a place inside you that you didn’t think anyone had reached before. You were so exquisitely full it was like your body had been holding space for him your whole life. It was something entirely new, so good you were almost happy the world ended just so you could find a feeling like this. You looked up at him, your eyes wide, wondering if he felt it too.

“Fuck,” he panted, holding himself within you as your body adjusted to taking him, his eyes searching yours. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never… fuck, Honey, I ain’t gonna last long, you feel too good, too goddamn good.”

“Joel,” you breathed. It was all you could think to say, every thought that wasn’t him gone from your head. Your pussy was already starting to tighten around him, just from the feel of his cock inside you. “Fuck, please…”

“You already about to come baby?” He asked as he started to move inside you, slow and heavy at first. You moaned and nodded quickly. He thrust into you, hard and firm. “Fuck, fuck, not gonna last when you come, can I come in you, need to come inside you, fuck Honey I need to come inside you.”

You just nodded again even though you weren’t on birth control and you sure as fuck didn’t know what was happening between the two of you outside of this bed and the fact that you knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. It couldn’t be, not when he felt this good, like he’d been made to fuck you and you’d been made to take him into yourself. You wanted him to leave part of himself inside you, plant it deep so you could feel him there all warm and wet tomorrow.

With your nod, he started fucking you - really fucking you. His cock was so deep when he pushed into you you could feel the thick weight of him pressing up against your skin, like you’d be able to see him inside your body if there was enough space between the two of you to look. He pulled back almost totally, leaving just his head inside your grasping hole before fucking back into you, every stroke hard and desperate and your nails sank into his back as your hips rose up to meet his on every thrust. You never wanted him to leave your body, wanted him to make a home deep inside you so you could always be this full, this complete. His body worked your clit and your pussy got tighter and tighter around him, your head swimming with the pressure of it all, your body so needy it felt like you might burst.

“Want to come with you,” you whimpered. “Please, come for me Joel, I’m so fucking close, want you to come deep inside me, please…”

“Fuck Honey,” his thrusts stuttered and he groaned. “Gonna fill you up so good, leave this pussy so fuckin’ full of me, fill you up again and again…”

He thrust deep, so deep it almost hurt and you felt him start to pulse inside you. Your hands went to his lower back, pressing him impossibly deeper and you cried out as you came around him, your channel milking his cock, throbbing around him until there was nothing left inside him to give to you.

He collapsed on you as you went limp below him and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he panted for breath. He stayed inside you as his cock softened and you could feel him leaking out of you.

“Holy shit,” he said eventually, kissing your throat and then your chin and then your lips. He kissed you deeper as he slid out of you and lap beside you. You hesitated for a moment but he reached over and pulled you on top of him, so your head was on his chest and your legs were nestled between his own. His cock was wet against your skin and you liked it, the reminder that he’d just been inside of you. “Fuck, Honey…”

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. His hand went to your back, tracing up and down your spine.

“Still hate me?” You could hear Joel fucking Miller’s cocky smile on his voice.

“I will if you never fuck me again,” you kissed his chest.

He laughed.

“Don’t gotta worry about that. Even though you still found a way to be a brat during the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had.”

You smirked.

“Would it be the best sex you’ve ever had if I didn’t?”

“Guess not,” he said. “S’it OK if I stay the night? Think we got some shit to talk through but I ain’t got it in me to do it tonight.”

“If you insist,” you teased, pressing yourself a little tighter to him. He held you a little closer. “Night, asshole.”

You said it the way you’d say baby or love. You meant it that way, too.

He laughed a little.

“Night, Brat.”

His voice was soft, like it was when he called you honey. Something told you he meant it that way, too.

#joel miller x female reader #fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #enemies to lovers

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lieutenant-teach · 3 months

Text

Being a pro-Jedi fan is super hard.

Stumbled upon a scientific paper ‘The Psychgeist of Pop Culture’ (2024) about ‘The Mandalorian’ and ‘The Book of Boba Fett’ series. It’s divided into many smaller research by various PhDs. The Boba chapters are actually very good.

And then there’s ‘Fatherhood and male emotions’ chapter. About Jedi. About attachment. The authors Keely Diebold and Meghan Sander, PhDs, are claimed as Jedi fans.

Good start. / s Bad enough Din Djarin is called ‘Djarin’ as a name throughout the whole paper (my own pet peeve about the dick move of Favreau and Filoni in the end of Season 3 which is a decision to criticize in itself). Of course, Obi-Wan wasn’t a ‘good father figure’ as claimed by Lucas himself. Neither was Bail Organa. /s

Yeah. Hypocrisy. Hey, ‘Jedi fans authors’, have you actually watched the movies? Sigh. Seriously, ‘the intergalactic therapists’ who were trying to help Anakin to cope with his emotions so much, working with ‘cognitive therapy’ – they suppressed emotions. I just… don’t have any coherent thoughts about that bullshit on the screencap. And – now we defend Palpatine. Just great.

By the way, rewatching Indiana Jones movies, I paid special attention to the moments when someone of the team is left behind and the main characters continue chasing the enemies (just like in the mentioned scene in AOTC). And it’s never presented as ‘left behind and forgotten, heroes don’t care about them’.

What is evident to me is that this all is a piece of banthashit. Mandos with the suppression of emotions – I agree. Jedi? When one of their main proverbs ‘feel, don’t think’?

‘His own interpretation’? It’s not! Why did the authors decide that’s what happened? The point is that Anakin is taught ‘compassion, which … [is] unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life. … we are encouraged to love’ by the Jedi, but acts in the way he wants regardless. Screams in the plush Grogu How do people manage to watch obvious in messaging children films with their ass holes?

Frankly, I suspect that these ‘Jedi-fans’ authors just don’t understand and didn’t even try to explore the meaning of ‘attachment’ in Star Wars – it’s not ‘a deep and enduring emotional bond that connects one person to another’, it’s ‘selfishness’. They never tried to google Lucas’s interviews, but only used books about child rearing. This is why we have all this crap in a ‘scientific paper’. I firmly believe that @david-talks-sw, @writerbuddha, @kanansdume, @antianakin, @smhalltheurlsaretaken and other fans could write a whole paper about Jedi and attachments – and this would be real in-depth analysis of the Jedi and Star Wars.

And a rotten cherry on the top of this shitcake I noticed just before publishing – using ScreenRant as a reference not the smartest move, really.

Now how can a reader trust your judgment if you use fucking ScreenRant as a proof? Ah, no, they cannot (see this whole post).

#star wars #jedi #pro jedi #attachment issues #the mandalorian #star wars prequels

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lexosaurus · 1 year

Text

Phic Phight: how to make a deal with the devil

For @kinglazrus

Title: how to make a deal with the devil WC: 2814 CW: corpse au Summary: In which Dash goes trail running only to find Phantom hovering over the dead body of his classmate.

[ao3]

****

“What do you want?” Phant—Fenton(?)’s eyes bore straight into Dash, his expression dark. Meanwhile, Dash was too busy flickering his attention between the pissed-off ghost and the…

…

“Well?” Phantom folded his arms.

“Uh…what?” Dash asked.

“What do you want? A lifetime of free passes to beat me up? Me to do your homework for the next month? What is it?”

“Um…” He tried to peel his eyes away from the gruesome sight before him, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop seeing the protruding bones, decaying flesh, holes, wrinkles, burns.

Jesus fuck.

And Phantom—Fenton, it was Fenton—towered above him, his simmering aura murky despite its bright glow, his eyes blistering into Dash’s skull.

He…wanted something? From Dash?

But why?

Dash was never the smartest person in class. He never got the best grades, he never knew all the answers. So maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to understand, or maybe it was a little fucked up that there was a dead, decaying corpse between them and Fenton-Phantom didn’t seem the least bit phased by it.

“I’m sorry, I—uh—what the fuck?”

Phantom slapped his hand to his forehead. “I’m asking what you want in exchange for keeping your mouth shut.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. So, you know, just name your price.”

Dash swallowed thickly, his nose burning from the smell. He finally tore his eyes away from the corpse to see Phantom bristle, crossing his arms once again. Dash was sure that if the ghost had legs at the moment, he’d be tapping his foot with impatience.

He just…he didn’t understand. Why was Fenton’s corpse here when he was standing—floating—before him? How was this possible?

And how the fuck was Phantom really Fenton?

“Are you dead?” The words stumbled out of Dash’s mouth before he could stop himself, and his face instantly flushed in regret.

Phantom’s eyebrows pulled in, and his lips thinned. Dash watched as one of his gloved hands tightened its grip on his arm.

Shit, shit. Was that rude? Wasn’t it a cardinal sin to ask a ghost about their death?

But then the fear zapped through him and disappeared once again. Because really, truly, he was just confused. He didn’t get how this was possible, how Danny Fenturd, the loser who he had been picking on since the sixth grade, was the town hero.

Well, they did look sort of alike. Now that Dash had seen the transformation with his own eyes, he had mentally slapped himself for not spotting their similarities earlier. Even if the whole Phantom is a ghost and the glowing aura had made things a bit fuzzier.

But their face shape, general height, and haircut were where those similarities ended. Because everything else was drastically different. So different, in fact, that Dash was still reeling at how the fuck this confident, angry ghost with his shoulders back and threatening aura spilling from his pores could be the same weakling who ran from Dash at every minor thing.

Seriously, what the fuck?

“Well?” He found himself pressing. “Are you?”

Phantom took a long, deep breath like he was about to lecture a group of children. “I’m not explaining myself to you.”

Dash blinked.

Of all the answers, that hadn’t been one of them.

Especially since…

Dash pointed to the corpse on the ground. “I think you have to.”

He wasn’t sure exactly where he was getting the balls to pry from, but Fenton-Phantom didn’t look particularly surprised.

But instead of responding, Phantom posed a question of his own. “What the hell were you even doing out here?”

“Training,” Dash said simply.

Which hadn’t even been a lie. These hiking trails were some of the best around for conditioning running.

And that one line also seemed to slice through the last of the spell in Dash’s mind. The ice melted in his body, and he felt like he could move again, and then the questions poured out of him in a tsunami. “Seriously, what the fuck, Fenton? Why the fuck do you have a corpse of yourself here? How are you Phantom?”

“Why do you think I have a corpse of myself here? For fun?”

“This isn’t fucking funny. Are you really dead? Have you been disguising yourself as a human all this time?”

“I’m not actually dead. I’m half dead. That body is only half of me.”

Dash was no expert, but it certainly looked and smelled like the full thing.

“It was my parent’s portal accident. I was inside when it turned on, and it killed me and brought me back to life. But not all of me made it.”

Jesus. That didn’t sound better than what Dash had been thinking. He tried to picture his soul ripping from his body, but refusing to let go, still clinging onto the scraps. It sounded horrific.

Was that even possible? Was Fenton just delusional?

“Why the hell did you take it from the ground?” Dash said instead.

“I didn’t! The stupid rainstorm flooded this area and eroded a bunch of dirt. I guess I didn’t bury it deep enough the first time so now I’m fixing it.”

Fixing…it…?

What the HELL was there to fix?

“You mean you’re not going to tell the police?”

Dash could have sworn the temperature dropped several degrees. But maybe that was just the chill from Phantom’s now-blazing aura which seemed to dim the world around it.

“We’re not talking to the police.”

It was a statement. A threat.

…Oh.

Dash understood the question from before.“What do you want?”

What Dash wanted was to dial 911, but that was supposedly no longer an option. Still, he couldn’t help but run his big, dumb mouth as he said, “What will you do if I report this?”

Because he knew he’d done a lot of stupid things—a lot of stupid things—but being complicit in covering up a dead body?

Jesus Christ.

And now his mind was reeling once again.

He could picture it. The day the police found the body. Forensics running DNA analysis just like they did in the crime shows and extracting a single strand of Dash’s blond hair. They’d pull him into the interrogation room, and a mustached man wearing sunglasses would interrogate him for hours as if Dash were the murderer, citing reports of Dash wailing on Fenton in class, saying that he had the motive and the evidence to lock him up for life. Dash would have no choice but break down and tell them the truth, that he’d been running in the woods, he stumbled across Phantom bent over the dead body, that he’d screamed and had tried to run away but Phantom was quicker, he cornered Dash not even five steps into his attempted escape, and he’d transformed into a living copy of that same corpse rotting in the ground to try to prove that he wasn’t dead.

Would the police even believe a crazy story like that?

Either way, Dash would be fucked. He would either be locked away for murder, or he’d be locked away in aiding a cover-up. And that was something he couldn’t do.

No.

No way.

No matter how much he loved Phantom…his hero…

Shit. Fucking shit.

“Well? What will it take?” Fenton-Phantom said

“Fenton, I—”

“I will do your homework for the rest of the school year.”

The offer was tempting, Dash had to admit it. But it wasn’t like Fenton’s grades were much higher than Dash’s at the moment.

“No, that’s—Fenton, I’m serious.”

“And so am I.” Phantom’s stare was dead-on. “Do you know what the government will do to me? If you report this?”

Dash shivered. Had it always been this cold under the shade?

“Ghosts aren’t citizens of the United States, Dash. They’re not human. They’re not given the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It doesn’t matter if I have a heartbeat and a pulse when I also have a ghost core. Do you understand? They will kidnap me and I will become the government’s personal lab rat for the rest of my life.”

Nausea swept through him, and his fingers felt numb despite their obvious trembling.

And Phantom was slowly creeping closer across the path. A trail of frost followed the dirt under him, and static seemed to crackle in the air.

“Do you know what branch the Guys in White fall under? The Department of Defense. You know, like the military. You really want the military to have unlimited access to a level seven ectoplasmic creature’s core? One whose powers could easily level an entire city block?”

Had Fenton always been like this? Threatening? Fierce? Was the scared, aloof idiot that Dash had seen every day in school just a persona that he’d been wearing?

“Ghosts are highly manipulative creatures,” Dr. Maddie Fenton read off a paper. She stood in front of the class dressed in her signature teel hazmat suit, a whiteboard with GHOST 101 written in large letters splayed behind her. “They will do anything to satisfy their ghosty obsessions. They’ll play any role, and they will sweet talk, argue, challenge—whatever they need to do in order to fulfill that obsession. They are semi-sentient, true, but they are not sapient. They do not have the same brain functionality that you or I do. They cannot truly learn, grow, or feel empathy to others. They can fake it, they can express a whole range of human emotions, but at the end of the day they are nothing but imprints of ecto-electricity.”

But no…he had never really believed that, did he?

He always loved Phantom. Looked up to him. He couldn’t…he wouldn’t…

“What about Phantom?” Dash asked, too impatient to raise his hand. “More powerful ones are different, right? So what about Phantom?”

“Power doesn’t lead to sapience. It doesn’t necessarily mean wisdom, the ability to learn and grow. Ghosts can only act on their impulses, and their impulses tell them to do whatever it is that will satisfy their core. They’re a bit like mosquitos, just ones that can talk,” Dr. Fenton responded.

“I don’t know, Phantom clearly loves me!” Paulina said. “He saved me from a ghost last week, it was so romantic! He even remembered my name!”

“Because interacting with the younger generation benefits him. He wants to be seen as the town hero, so he will do whatever it takes to get there.”

But now, that can’t be right. Phantom wasn’t like that, he was different. He was telling the truth about being a half-ghost! Even though that was impossible….No, he wasn’t just faking it to manipulate Dash. He was different. He was a hero.

“So let’s make a deal, Dash. What do you want in exchange for keeping this quiet?”

He wouldn’t lie to everyone about this. He was telling the truth. He wasn’t manipulating anyone.

“Um…” Dash felt his brain short-circuiting.

God, was that…burnt lime coming from the corpse? Why did it smell like that?

He felt his eyes prickle, and he blinked away any shininess that was threatening to appear. He couldn’t let Fenton-Phantom see his emotions, could let the ghost-not-ghost(?) see the cracks within him.

But not because he believed Dr. Fenton—even though she had a PhD in ecto-biology and certainly knew more about ectology than Dash—but it was because he needed to look tough! It wasn’t…just in case.

“How about this? I’ll never tell a single soul about your bad habit of wailing on the nerds, and I’ll offer to be your free stress-reducing punching bag for the rest of high school. In exchange, this stays between us. Deal?”

This was wrong. No, Dash couldn’t make this deal.

This was so so fucked up.

He didn’t know what happened. He didn’t know the full story. All he knew was what was in front of him, and that was the dead body of his (former?) classmate, and his ghost hovering above it with the typical goofy, carefree expression swapped for something far more dangerous.

“Okay,” he breathed, his tongue barely moving. “Okay. Deal.”

Fenton-Phantom uncrossed his arms to extend a hand out to Dash, who only hesitated for a moment before meeting him halfway.

He suppressed the shutter as his body was plunged into a freezer at the contact.

But he’s still half-alive…right?

“Good.” The carefree smile was back on Fenton-Phantom’s face, the tension in his jaw melting away its sharp angles and his blazing aura reducing to something more shimmery, more heroic. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to put my half-corpse back into the ground.”

Dash couldn’t stumble away quick enough, and despite the lactic-acid beginning to build in his legs, he found himself all but sprinting away once he was sure he was out of Phantom’s eyeline.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Dash had made a deal with Phantom. He had made a deal with a ghost.

No, a hero.

Phantom was a hero.

But he didn’t look like a hero when Dash saw him. He looked stressed, his green eyes were too shifty. And even when he’d transformed to Fenton to “prove” that he was still alive, for the first time, he didn’t really seem that alive. Dash could still feel the hints of the chill, he could still see the way Fenton’s teeth looked a little too sharp and the tips of his ears were a little too narrow and his skin just looked a little too olive-green.

God, how had he been so stupid? How had he not seen it before?

How had no one noticed?

Was Phantom just really that good at fooling everyone? Had he put the town under a spell?

Dash reached the edge of the forest and bent down, panting. He hadn’t even realized how much his throat was screaming for more air.

Fuck.

He fumbled in his pockets and ripped his phone out.

He had just made a deal with Phantom about hiding a dead corpse.

Dash was many things, but this?

He pressed the ringing phone to his ear. His heart pounded in his chest, and every ring felt like a century.

But then the other line clicked on, and relief washed over him as he heard the famous, “911, what’s your emergency?”

“I just found a dead body.” Cold plunged through Dash as he realized what had happened all over again. “I found Phantom hovering over a dead body. I think…I think it was his.”

There was a pause on the other line.

“What is your location?”

“I’m at Rosemary Park. It was about a half-mile in from the parking lot, right off of the diamond path. I…I think Phantom was burying the body again. It, god, it was Danny Fenton. Fenton is Phantom. He’s dead.”

“Okay, please stay calm. Emergency services have been dispatched to your location. What is your name?”

“No, I can’t stay here. Phantom will kill me if he knows I called.”

“Sir, did he see you?”

“Yeah. He would know it’s me.”

“Please stay on the line. Can you get to a safe location?”

“I…” Dash felt the world tip, and he forced it to righten. “I can get to my car. I’m sorry, I need to get to my car. I need to go.”

Dash hung up, despite the protesting on the other end.

He needed to get out of here.

He ripped open the door to his car, threw himself inside, jammed the key into the lock, and all but floored it away. It only took a few minutes down the highway before he began to hear the sirens in the distance.

Shit, fucking shit.

If Phantom wasn’t caught…

He swerved to the first exit.

If Phantom found out that Dash tattled, he would kill Dash, and no one would know what happened because no one would know that Dash was the one who called.

So Dash needed help.

He needed people to know who he was.

He needed protection.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“It’s me again. The one who just called in Phantom’s body. Uh, Dash Baxter. I’m…coming into the station. I think he’ll try to kill me if he gets away.”

“Alright. What station are you driving to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you currently?”

“I just pulled off of exit fourteen.”

“There is a police station about two miles from you. Do you know where the Verizon building is?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“There’s a station right next to it. Can I transfer you to their building?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, please hold,” the voice said.

The silence was deafening.

And then a voice appeared in his ear once again. And Dash could have shuttered in relief because it meant he was going to be okay.

Sorry, Fenton. But I had to.

I had to.

****

[read more of my writing]

#danny phantom #phicc #phic phight 2023 #my writing #corpse au #angst

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featherandferns · 1 year

Note

JJ smut with prompt 19 plsss

19. Make me.

Hi lovely! Sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience! This is a little short but I hope you like it <3

Content warnings: sexual content

storeroom - prompt 19

“You’re such an asshole!” you seethe at JJ.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, petty to the max. “And you aren’t?”

“Why can’t you take your job seriously?” you hiss. “They’re actually paying a decent wage and folks here are paying a lotta money for a decent meal, and you’re slacking on the job.”

“You’re not my fucking manager, okay?” JJ snarls, stalking towards you. “You don’t getta tell me what to do and what not to do. You’re a waitress, alright? So you better pucker up princess and pull the stick from out of your ass.”

“Watch your fucking mouth blondie,” you spit.

You square up to him as if you could lay him out in a second on the storeroom floor. Clearly sending the two of you to top up on supplies for the function tomorrow, after hours, wasn’t the smartest move from your supervisor.

JJ Maybank was a dickhead. He seemed to know which buttons to push with you to have you foaming at the mouth and blowing steam out your ears. He seemed to enjoy pushing them too. Did so until you were at your breaking point with him and his stupid face.

“What? You want me to stop putting you in your place?”

“I want you to stop talking full-stop, so I can get maybe a moment of peace in this Goddamn restaurant,” you bite back.

JJ smirks, cold and cruel. “Oh yeah? Make me, princess.”

You glower at his face. His stupid, handsome, gorgeous face.

You can’t say why, or when, or even how, but you and JJ are suddenly kissing. He seems taken aback, stumbling forward, pushing your back against the precariously balanced boxes of napkins and tea lights. Pulling back, eyes wide and mouth somewhat agape in shock, you and JJ regard each other a moment. Eyes flicking over features; breathing heavy and disjointed. There’s a moment where you both seem to debate whether or not this is the right thing; debate saying this out loud; then simultaneously agree on one common thought. Fuck it. You’d always thought JJ was kind of attractive. Well, more than kind of, but there was no way in hell you’d ever tell him so.

The make-out that follows is filthy and messy and confusing. JJ ends up with his back against the wall with you pressing against him. You both groan as his hard-on rocks against your crotch.

“This is a bad idea,” JJ says. His hand creeps under your shirt, messing to undo your bra.

“Definitely,” you pant. Your eyes are fixated on his lips and you can’t help but kiss him again, sinking your teeth leisurely into his lower lip for just a second.

“Fuck,” JJ groans. He yanks your shirt over your head and you shuck off your unfastened bra. Impatient, JJ palms at your breasts. The fact that both of you are on the clock, in the restaurant’s storeroom seems to be of no concern to either of you. “We should probably stop.”

“Probably,” you mumble. You unzip the fly of his work pants (they’re so fucking tight on him it’s almost criminal how good they make him look) and slip a hand hastily into his boxers. JJ stammers out a moan as you rub at his erection. Something shoots through you, be it attraction or hate. The two lay on a thin line.

“I don’t even like you,” JJ stammers.

You look up at him with that. Hooded eyes and swollen lips, he’s rosy cheeked and overtly horny. Squeezing at the head, making him moan, you can’t help but smirk.

“You sure about that, blondie?”

JJ stares down at you. His white button-up is still fastened and it’s unfair. You want to see him – all of him. Nobody should be allowed to be this attractive and this much of an asshole. The world is full of cruelties.

You continue working him with your hand, grinning malevolently when you feel him throb under your hold, already getting close. Men are so fucking simple.

JJ sighs. There’s a twitch of a grin to his lips, mirroring yours, and there’s this thrilling, terrifying thought that comes to your mind as he takes you in, like a predator observing its prey.

He’s going to wreck me.

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj drabble #jj maybank drabble #jj x reader drabble #jj maybank x reader drabble #drabbles #prompts #19 #obx #obx drabbles #outer banks #outer banks drabbles #obx fic #outer banks fic

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harlowsbby · 2 years

Text

Heated part 2

“You told them you don’t know who she is?! Are you insane Jack what in the actual hell is wrong with you.” Neelam barked at Jack the minute he told her as to why you couldn’t get into the club.

He felt bad he felt like an asshole he knew what he did wasn’t the smartest move and he knew you’d hate him forever because of it but he felt like you’d understand why he did what he did.

“What was I suppose to do Neelam? She wore leggings and a crop top to the club obviously they weren’t going to let her inside.”

“That’s not the point Jack at all she’s your girlfriend your fucking girlfriend and she’s in a whole different country she’s never been in hell that none of us been in. Do you understand how dangerous that is or do you just simply not care about that either.”

Jack sighed and closed his eyes, the face you made when he said he never even met you now haunted him you looked so hurt and betrayed he was suppose to comfort you and love on you and protect you but he did the total opposite of that.

“What am I suppose to do Neelam? I have to perform in like five minutes I can��t just leave.” Neelam shook her head at Jack and leaned back in her seat shrugging her shoulders at him.

“If you really loved her like you say you do you’d be running after her right now, no amount of money should be worth the loss of Y/N you’ll never ever find a girl like her again.”

Neelam was right Jack couldn’t lose you because you kept him grounded you were the only thing he looked forward into seeing after long months of tour and losing you is something he wouldn’t do.

“You’re right can you please just tell the owner I’m really really sorry.” Neelam smiled and nodded and watched Jack leave the club, she could only hope you’d forgive him.

“Please pick up please baby girl.” Jack’s been walking all over Australia trying to find you, the driver offered to drive him around but Jack denied he knew just driving around a bunch of buildings wasn’t going to be the same as being on foot and being able to actually look for you.

He’s called you about ten or maybe even twenty times in the pass thirty minutes and you still haven’t answered his calls he was starting to worry and get more concerned by the minute.

After a few more minutes of searching it started pouring down with rain he decided to head back towards the hotel and was hoping and praying that’s where you were because he couldn’t come to turns if something seriously happened to you.

Once inside the hotel room it was pitch black he bit his lip before turning on the closes light that was next to him and he sighed in relief when he saw your sleeping form under the silk blanket and sheets.

Taking off his shoes quietly he made his way towards you care not to be wake you but when he got closer he noticed you were wide awake, eyes starting blankly at the wall across from you he noticed a few dried tear stains on your cheeks and how red/pink your lips were they always got that way whenever you cried you’d tend to bite your lips.

“Baby?” His lip quivered as he pulled back the blanket slightly revealing your face a bit more you turned around and looked at him blankly no emotion whatsoever ran through your face and it honestly scared Jack.

“Yes Jack?”

“Are you okay baby? I’m sorry for what I did at the club I really didn’t mean it I should’ve never told them I didn’t know you I just I fuck I just did-.”

“Didn’t wanna ruin your reputation. I understand Jack I completely understand that all the money and fame and how people view you is way more important then I’ll ever be.” You gave him a tight lip smile sending chills down his spine, hearing you say that made him honestly feel like a monster.

“Baby I’m sorry please.”

“Jack I’m tired of hearing your bullshit apologizes you left me alone all because I wore leggings and ancrop top to the club appearance that would only last twenty minutes at that. You told that man that you didn’t know who I was, you felt me alone on the streets of Australia and having to find my way back to the hotel.”

You were beyond upset you were hurt and embarrassed it was one thing about keeping your relationship a secret for so long but Jack acting like he didn’t know you crossed the line for you, if this was going to be the result of being in a secret relationship with him then this wasn’t what you wanted.

“I’m sorry baby I am I shouldn’t have done that to you or put you in that situation it was so wrong of me and I know things might not ever be the same and I’m sorry Y/N.”

You weren’t really sure what to do in this moment you loved Jack with your entire heart and soul but being kept a secret just didn’t slide with you anymore.

“I’m sorry Jack but I just can’t do this anymore.” Whimpering you hugged yourself as the tears started flowing again, this isn’t how you wanted this to be at all but after tonight you just simply couldn’t be with someone like this anymore.

“I understand, I’ll always love you Y/N.”

“I’ll always love you too Jack.”

( a few months later )

“Y/N come on the club opens at ten which means we have to be there in literally ten minutes let’s go.” Your friend Tati yelled from the end of your steps in your house, doing a twirl or two at yourself in the mirror you smiled in approval of your outfit before dashing downstairs.

“I’m done I’m done now you can stop complaining.” Tati rolled her eyes but followed you towards your car, the two of you got invited to this new club that was opening up in Atlanta called Peaches and Cream the two of you settled on black leather skirts and a black leather one piece paired with some black heels.

“Who’s the rapper that’s performing tonight? Isn’t is Jack.” Tati asked as the two of you pulled up to the club luckily it was just barely a few minutes from your house.

“Sadly yes but I promise I’m not fazed by him anymore at all I grew and learned from that situation and I promise I’m in a way better space Tati.” Tati smiled as she rubbed your back, the minute you got back home from Australia she was at the airport waiting for you with open arms she helped you get over your heartbreak and now you were a successful Atlanta influencer and you couldn’t be happier.

“I’m happy you’re going better baby I know how much you went through but let’s drop that situation because tonight we’re celebrating you and your first little brand deal.” You both squealed before going inside the club you both sat in vip where all the other girls that were partners with pretty little thing sat at.

“Y/N’s here tonight did you know that.” Jack’s been stressed all day because from your recent Instagram stories you were set to make an appearance at the club tonight because of your brand deal with pretty little thing and he was nervous he hadn’t spoke to you since that night in Australia.

“Okay what does that have to do with you? I thought the two of you ended in good terms.” Urban asked as he stuffed his face with some fries.

“We did I guess but anytime I reached out she’d leave me on seen so I’m not sure if we are.”

“Well we don’t have the time to talk about this because they need you on stage now Jack.” Neelam told him and guided him to the entrance of the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen give it up for the one and only Jack Harlow!!” The DJ at the club screamed and all the girls screamed as Jack made his way onto the stage. You weren’t going to lie he looked damn good he had on an all black leather top with cargo pants of course and some black and white new balance shoes

Jack was on his song lil secret everyone in your guys friend circle knew that song was about you he was looking up above the crowd and that’s when he noticed you, your eyes widened as the two of you made eye contact and the way he wasn’t breaking it was for sure going to be in the blogs the following day.

“I told my therapist about you she always takes your side, I know you sick of being my little secret cause you confident that we soulmates.” He sang into the mic one last time before the song ended the crowd cheered for him one last time before he disappeared again backstage.

“Well that’ll have the blogs talking tomorrow.”

“Tell me about it.” You mumbled and went to stirring your drink around in your glass that you were no longer interested in.

After the club settled down a bit from Jack’s performance everyone just danced and drank and had a good time together that was until a certain somebody made their way to your vip section.

“Oh my gosh that’s Jack Harlow.” One of the girls whispered yelled to everyone at the table looking up there stood Jack and Urban and a few of his friends at the entrance of your vip section.

“Hello ladies if you don’t mind can I come in?” You we’re going to say no but a few of the other girls said they could come in, Urban and the other quickly become close with the other girls.

“I think it’s time we go home.” You told Tati and she nodded before taking your hand and guiding you through the club.

“I’ll be right back Urb.” Urban nodded not really paying much attention to Jack as he was too occupied with his newly found friend.

“Y/N hey Y/N wait up.” You heard Jack’s Kentucky accent yell from the club you mentally cursed yourself for wearing these heels that prevented you from running faster enough.

Before you could get into the suv he grabbed your wrist firmly but not too hard.

“Can we talk?”

“What is there to talk about Jack we’ve been over and done with I have nothing left to say.” You spat at him and went to go into the suv but his grip wasn’t budging.

“What’s wrong with you? Every time I message you I don’t get a text back I thought everything was cool between us.” His blue eyes widened with concern and regret and you so badly wanted to melt and jump into his arms but you couldn’t go back to that you just couldn’t.

“We’re done Jack please I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Let me come with you pleas-.” Jack was cut off by your security guard coming over.

“Ms. Y/N do you know this guy?” Earl your security asked you, looking Jack over you sighed you missed him you truly did you missed all the late nights with each other all the memories the two of you had you just missed him in general but he broke your trust but most importantly he broke your heart.

“Never seen him in my life.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n

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nerves-nebula · 1 year

Note

Tw: blood, intrusive thoughts (cannibalism), Leo being Leo

It had been a normal day.

Mikey hummed to himself. He plucked up a button from the pillow he’d piled his material on, carefully sewing it on as a second eye to the Leo doll he was making, wondering what he should do with it.

He already had an assortment of toys modeled after his family for… reasons, and this one was turning out to be a pretty shoddy one. There wasn’t really any point in keeping it. A large part of him wanted to quit now and burn it, instead of wasting more materials on it. But he’d already gotten this far into it…

And he’d used buttons. It was so hard to come by those. He wondered if he should take them out, and save them for something else. But he was almost done, and it would bother him for ages if he just undid his-

Bits of fabric and stuffing flew all over the floor by Mikey, snapping him out of his internal argument.

Leo brushed the last clinging threads off the pillow, scattering more of Mikey’s stuff on the floor.

It was a normal day.

This was normal.

He knew the smartest thing to do would be to pick up his belongings, and maybe leave the room entirely.

And yet.

Mikey couldn’t just choke down that grating sensation as Leo held his pillow and threw it on the floor.

“Give me back my pillow Leo.” Mikey tried, attempting to keep his irritation out of his voice.

“You weren’t using it.” Leo dismissed, dropping himself down on it.

Mikey took a breath, “Yes I was. You just threw all my things off of it.”

“You weren’t using it as a pillow.” Leo grabbed one of the game controller, half ignoring him.

“Leo, it’s my pillow.” His brother ignored him, and Mikey fumed, “Leo!”

Said turtle groaned, “what?”

“It’s my pillow, I was using it!”

Leo rolled his eyes. “You were just putting garbage on it.”

A small part of Mikey seethed at having his art be seen as trash, but he’d long since grown used to those sorts of callous comments. The part of him that was supposed to tamp down how angry it made him when people touched his stuff, seemed to be taking a rain check though.

“Why do you care what I’m using my pillow for?” Mikey challenged.

“I don’t! But I’m clearly using it right now. Jeez, Mikey, just drop it, I’m trying to play my game.”

“You took my pillow!” Mikey complained, gritting his teeth. How was he able to sit there and act like Mikey was annoying him, like Leo hadn’t just come over and immediately upturned what he was working on? “Just use one of your own, you have more than me!”

“Im not putting one of my pillows on the floor!” Leo squawked indignantly, paying more attention to the screen in front of him than Mikey.

Sometimes Mikey wondered if Leo legitimately didn’t hear how awful most of the things he said were. He had to be doing it purpose, surely.

So why did Mikey have to just deal with it? Why did any of them have to just let Leo do whatever he wanted?

And perhaps it wasn’t such a normal day, because on a normal day Mikey would have been less tense, less emotional. On a normal day the thought of someone moving his things, touching his things, might have caused discomfort, rather than crackling frustration, the almost itching under his skin of violation that he felt then.

On a normal day, Mikey wouldn’t have pulled the pillow right out from under his brother.

Leo flopped of with a startled yelp, as Mikey held the pillow tight. Leo sat up, and as soon as he’d processed what just happened, he’d gotten up trying to snatch the item back.

“What’s your problem?” Leo hissed, as Mikey jumped back, meeting his glare with equal force.

“It’s my pillow, why do you get to take it?”

“You’re such a greedy, childish- argh!” Leo cut himself off with a frustrated snarl as he kept failing to catch Mikey. “God forbid I want to relax for one moment. I’m the only one that actually deserves it considering, unlike you, I take training seriously. But of course you feel the need to bother the second I sit down.”

“Stop that!” Mikey started, flinching as Leo’s movements grew harsher, “Stop acting like you didn’t do anything wrong.” He couldn’t help but flail a little as he dodged; As Leo grew more agitated, and as Mikey calmed down, he realized he’d gotten himself into a dangerous situation.

The way this was going, Leo was going to start actually attacking him, and Mikey couldn’t win that fight. Even if he just let Leo have the pillow, there was no way he would be nice about it at this point.

So, Mikey made his second bad decision of the day.

Leo lunged, missing him by a hair, and Mikey swept his feet out from under him.

Leo fell back, and Mikey didn’t get to see his face, as much a the part of him that wasn’t scared out of his mind by the hole he’d dug himself into wished he could, because he was out the room’s entrance before Leo had hit the floor.

oOo

Leo seethed.

He didn’t know how long he’d been looking for Mikey. His brother had picked a fight with him out of nowhere, then he immediately ran off, because he’d obviously known he’d loose.

Only, Mikey hadn’t lost yet. Leo needed to find Mikey. But he couldn’t.

It felt as bad as actually loosing to him, if such a thing were possible. Mikey was weak, undisciplined. And yet, he’d knocked Leo on his ass and had gotten away with it.

Leo grit his teeth, wanting nothing more than to punch something. Someone. Specifically Mikey who still hadn’t found.

There weren’t that many places for the younger boy to hide. He shouldn’t have been able to avoid Leo this easily.

(Was he really so weak that he couldn’t keep up with Mikey?)

He passed the living room for maybe the fifth time, and stopped. Mikey’s mess was cleaned up, all the scraps of garbage put into a neat pile next to the tv.

Donnie sat in front of the tv, the ugly toy Mikey had been fiddling with, in his lap. He was wrapped up in his blanket with a game controller in his hands.

oOo

Raph had felt distracted today. He’d only just gotten Donnie out of bed.

The younger had been having an off day, and Raph hadn’t checked up on him since that morning. Raph had given Donnie the rest of his breakfast after Leo had taken his upon noticing Donnie had only been picking at the meal.

Then he had forgotten to make himself lunch, focused on preparing everyone else’s food. He hadn’t noticed until later that Donnie had never come to eat, and had thus, only just gotten him out of his room.

He had also been trying to find Mikey, to no avail, having wanted to talk to his about the massive mess of crafting supplies he’d left out. Frustrating as it was, Raph let it go pretty quickly. Mikey probably hadn’t done it on purpose, he just tended to forget things.

Mostly, he’d stopped looking, so he didn’t run into Leo again. He had been stalking around, throwing some sort of fit, and Raph had better things to do than get caught up in that.

He entered the kitchen, wanting to get started on dinner, when Mikey burst out from one of the cabinets, and started rambling at him.

Raph admittedly, didn’t catch the first few seconds of whatever Mikey was telling him, struck with the sudden, visceral image of biting Mikey, tearing off one of the hands that flapped in front of his face, incessantly.

He felt abruptly sick, and took a slow drag of breath, doing his best to look like he was listening, as he waited for the image to quiet in his mind.

“-But all I wanted was my pillow back, and now he’s going to hurt me if he finds me, and it’s been like an hour, but he hasn’t stopped looking for me, and I don’t know what to do!”

Raph pulled apart what he’d caught. Mikey was probably talking about Leo; that made sense. And they were fighting over a pillow? Or at least Leo was mad about a pillow, because of course he was…

“Yeah, if he’s still going, Leo’s probably gonna pissy for a while. Just keep giving him space, and he’ll cool off eventually.” Raph sighed, “Help me make di-“

He stopped his request short, he and Mikey turning to the entrance. as Leo’s muffled yelling grew loud enough to hear.

An exasperated exhaustion only one of his brother’s could cause washed over Raph at the sound. He closed his eyes, but didn’t bother trying gather some vestige of patience, “Damnit Leo.”

oOo

“Move, I want to play.” Leo said, nudging Donnie with his leg. Leo had been going to use the console, before Mikey had decided to be a brat. Where did Donnie get off just using stuff without checking if Leo had been in the middle of using it? He’d clearly been doing something, looking for Mikey, and the thought hadn’t even occurred to his younger brother somehow.

Why did his brothers have to be so selfish all the time?

Donnie turned to look up at him from his seat, glancing back at the screen for a second as though Leo wasn’t even talking to him!

“But I was-“ Donnie started, annoyingly. Could he not just listen to the people around him for once?

“Shut up! God, why do you have to be so damn needy all the time? Pulling all your mopey, pathetic bullshit. Do you ever get tired of taking up everyone’s attention? Wasting everyone’s time?”

“…”

Suddenly, Donnie wasn’t meeting Leo’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure what Donnie’s expression was, but it soothed that prickling thing in his brain that had been downright painful since Mikey had attacked him.

Donnie staggered to his feet, and began backing up, Mikey’s stupid doll hitting the floor. “I’m sorry. nobody was here. I didn’t think-” he mumbled. God that was grating.

As Donnie tried to leave a flare of something like panic spiked under his irritation, and had him grabbing his brother’s arm, and yanking him back.

“Stop whining!” He demanded, cutting off Donnie’s murmurs. “You know, the least you could do is stay out of everyone’s way. Instead you drag yourself all over the house, begging for attention!”

Donnie didn’t fight like Raph might have. He didn’t snap or grumble like Mikey would have. He just cringed in on himself in a way that was as satisfying as it was infuriating.

“You’re so weak, it’s disgusting.” Leo snapped.

A hand gripped his wrist, forcing him to let go of Donnie. Leo startled, tearing himself from the grasp.

“What are you doing?” Raph asked tiredly.

Leo didn’t answer. If Raph actually paid attention, he’d see Donnie had being aggravating on purpose, but Leo didn’t trust Raph would. He was always coddling him and Mikey…

If he’d been calmer he would have seen Raph coming. That didn’t change that he hadn’t noticed him though. If that had been an enemy.

“You can’t grab people out of nowhere, like that!” Leo hissed, failing to sooth himself over the oversight.

“You,” Raph intoned, “can’t harass Donnie, because you’re in a bad mood.”

Leo rolled his eyes. Of course that’s how he’d twist it.

“Leo, I’m serious.” He continued, voice rising.

“Im not in a ‘bad mood’,” he scoffed, “Donnie was being all whiny and sulky. You’re always hovering over him, but you never acknowledge it when he acts like this.” He complained, shoving Raph back.

Raph growled, and well, if ever there was an indicator to fight, that was surely it.

His older brother barely blocked Leo’s kick, and as they fight Leo can’t help but loose his former tenseness. Fighting Raph was much more satisfying, than trying to get Donnie stop being awful.

Donnie was hardly his responsibility, and he never fought back; there’s wasn’t much to gain in beating Donnie. (That’s not to say he didn’t still do it, because Donnie was easy, and awful, and hard to ignore when he was right there.)

Leo realized, suddenly, that Donnie was gone. He’d probably ran off as soon as Raph had picked this fight. Coward.

As the fight drags on, it loops right back around to making Leo annoyed again. Raph didn’t even seem to be taking the fight seriously, hardly a thought behind his eyes as moved.

Then Leo noticed his dad watching them from the room’s entrance.

How long had he been there? Did he see Leo was losing? He couldn’t loose to Raph in front of dad! Why was he even here?

Of course he was here, Leo mentally scolded himself. Their dad was going to use the tv tonight. He’d forgotten with how abysmally today had been going.

Raph didn’t seem to have noticed before him at least. It was an empty comfort when Leo still wasn’t winning.

Leo tried compose himself, and end the fight.

oOo

Raph was stressed. He was tired.

He had stopped paying attention since Leo had attacked him, which wasn’t the smartest time to zone out, but considering he hadn’t lost yet, it worked out fine.

God he was sore. And he still had to make dinner.

Raph wasn’t quite aware enough to process Leo’s snarl of frustration as he caught his swing. Nor did he doesn’t fully register the sharp thwack of Leo elbowing him in the mouth.

For the record, Raph was not thinking.

Later, there will still be guilt, yes, horror even, but he will rationalize it had been reflexive. He had been hungry. He had been dazed. It wasn’t a conscious choice he’d made, so much as it had been his body acting on its own.

In that moment, however, there was only the quick squelch-crunch of Leo’s elbow, and the bracing taste of blood in Raph’s mouth.

Only Raph, frozen with the hazy afterimage of those last seconds of the fight playing in his head like the memory of a dream.

oOo

Splinter had sighed to himself as he’d come upon his sons roughhousing.

He had been watching in the doorway waiting for them to calm down, and get out of the way, so he could watch his show, but they were growing more annoying by the second.

Leonardo was taking far too long to win. They weren’t even in training; this wasn’t even a real spar. It was rather disappointing.

Although, Splinter supposed, Red was being far too rough for a play fight.

Then, Red had bitten Leonardo.

“Ow!” His successor yelled. The boy stared down at the bleeding wound, as Splinter moved over to check the injury himself. “You fucking bit me.” He said, stunned.

Splinter tsked. Not knowing his own strength was one thing, but this. He let go of Leonardo’s arm, and he cradled it close, staring up at him. Splinter would need to make sure it wasn’t infected before he wrapped it…

“I-“ Red began, quietly.

Splinter’s head snapped, so he was leveling a glare at Red that cut him off. His teeth were stained with Leonardo’s blood.

“I knew to expect undisciplined behavior from you, Red.” He started, contempt dripping from his voice, “But this.” He grabbed Red’s arm, yanking him forward, and dragging him along. He was shaking, Splinter noticed absently. “If you are going to behave like an animal, you are going to be treated like an animal.” He scolded.

He hadn’t had to put anyone besides Orange in the corner for a while. He didn’t think he’d ever had to put Red here for anything beside picking fights with Leonardo.

Splinter fastened the chain cuff onto Red’s ankle, glad that he at least hadn’t thrown a fit about the punishment like Orange usually did. Instead he curled in on himself.

Splinter rolled his eyes. If Red truly felt bad about what he’d done to Leonardo, he wouldn’t have done it.

He made his way back, returning to Leonardo’s side, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Come my son, Let us treat this.”

He nodded, none of the wincing and whining the youngest two were prone to, as he clutched his arm.

As Splinter moved, pulling his son along, he took note of Orange, able to hear his skulking down the hall.

“Orange.” He called, causing Leonardo to stiffen slightly against him, and the child in question, to stumble as he ran into the entrance.

“Yeah dad,” he said, fidgeting irritatingly.

Splinter turned his attention back to Leonardo, leaving with the boy as he spoke, “Make sure dinner is taken care of,” he waved back, gesturing to the state of the room, “and clean up this mess.”

In the entrance, Splinter paused, his foot bumping against some stuffed toy. He picked it up, sure it was Orange’s.

Really, if he was going to leave these things laying around he didn’t deserve them. He left with the toy in hand, Leonardo quietly trailing after him.

oOo

Mikey knew wasn’t going to see that toy again. He shouldn’t have cared, he’d forgotten about it all day, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t make new ones.

…It sucked though.

The entire living room was a mess from the fight, his art supplies now even more scattered than they had been.

Mikey wasn’t sure what had happened after Raph had left the kitchen. He hadn’t been able to hear much of anything clear.

He was curious about whatever Raph had done to make a bloody mess of Leo’s arm. He kind of hoped Raph finally broke his arm back. That was probably something he should have felt bad about thinking, but to be fair, Leo had been especially terrible today.

Whatever, Raph had done, it seemed to make Leo forget he’d been mad at Mikey. At least for now.

Whatever. He had no idea what Raph had been going to make for dinner, but he could probably manage.

oOo

Donnie was not coming out of his room, which left Mikey eating alone with his two least favorite people, so that was fun.

And then his dad complained his cooking was worse than Raph’s, and also didn’t let him give any dinner to Raph, because he was still in trouble.

Leo didn’t get in trouble for any of the past day, and Mikey found himself paying no attention to the food in front of him, instead riding out an imagined scenario where Leo and Splinter apologized, rather continuing to be the absolute worst.

there is. SO MUCH TO GO OVER HERE. first of all congratulations on getting their characterization SO GOOD. Leo's selfishness, Donnie's timid nature, Raphs overall TIREDNESS and Mikey's frustration AUGHAGHUH!!!! THANK YOU.

I read this while in bed and there were SO MANY parts that had me kicking my legs, the way Leo can't stand Donnie's meekness and lashes out at him. The way Leo can't really see things from other people's perspectives,

the way Splinter calls the others by their colors even in his own thoughts- OUGAHGDSHG!! And the ending where Mikey has to sit there with the people he hates the MOST and listen to them bitch so he just retreats into his imagination- I feel like I've been teleported back in time, oguahgaghunag.

I like your Leo Bullying Donnie scene especially, it's really reminiscent of something that's about to happen in the comics haha so I'm glad the Vibes i put out are getting across.

“If you are going to behave like an animal, you are going to be treated like an animal.”

FUCKING OWWWWWWWW OWW OW OWWW!!! i could pick out the lines i loved here all day but that'd make this already long ask even longer so just know that i am eating this fanfic. i am consuming it into my SOUL. fasjfsadmf.

#nnstuff #ask #fanfic #tmnt fanfic #teenage mutant neglected turtles #neglected art #<- it gets the art tag cause i consider writing art #long post #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie #tmnt raph #tmnt splinter #tmnt mikey #neglected fic

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inaflashimagine · 2 years

Text

true soma

pairing: eddie munson x g/n reader (though f!reader at the end/smut)

summary: as part of your writing business, you wrote eddie munson's english essay for $20. the problem was, you got caught by the loving ms. o'donnell. the only way to escape expulsion for plagiarism? becoming an english tutor for eddie 'the freak' munson.

word count: 14.5k (help)

warnings: includes the classic stressors and existential crises that come with being a high school senior applying to college, swearing, few substance use references and lots of book references (and a discussion) by two nerds. nsfw part at the end: oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (oops), hypocritical, inexperienced reader making fun of their inexperienced boyfriend, mentions of handcuffs(?)

a/n: I come out of a year-long writing hiatus on this blog only to write my longest one-shot ever...for a 3d character! At the end of the day, Eddie Munson is a dorky metalhead that leads a group of equally-dorky (but endearing) nerds, so I hope that somewhat came through.

“Please see me after class.”

There was never a time you’d like to hear those words, but receiving them from a frowning Ms. O’Donnell just after the first two weeks of your senior year of high school was less than ideal.

You deluded your anxious self into thinking that your AP Lit teacher wanted to share some information with you regarding college applications. Or that the reason you were the only student who wasn’t handed back their essay on the making of John Proctor as a tragic hero in The Crucible was due to its poignant, publication-worthy analysis that moved its grader to tears.

All those (ir)rationalizations were immediately thrown out the window upon seeing a certain, eccentric person rush into a classroom that everyone but you had now left.

“Ms. O’Donnell! How are you on this fine day?” His growing smile only seemed to further aggravate the visibly annoyed recipient of the question. And when he nodded and offered a wide grin your way, your blood ran cold.

Because you knew what was about to occur was far from fine.

“It could be much worse, Mr. Munson, even if it is only ten in the morning.”

When Ms. O’Donnell retrieved two essays from a thick stack of papers, sweat began to form on your forehead as she scolded, “Though I’m afraid the same could not be said for the two of you.”

“And why’s that?” speculated an oblivious Eddie as you seriously contemplated if the man who flunked high school twice was acting stupid or that genuinely dumb. “Aren’t I next to the smartest nerd in Hawkins? President of the Honor Society? It can’t be that serious.”

“Well, Mr. Munson, that statement provides further evidence of why you would hire said student to write your English essay.”

The smile on Eddie’s face immediately swiped off his face, much like the way you felt the ground give way beneath you as a silently fuming Ms. O’Donnell aggressively returned your respective papers.

Only the pages in your trembling hands did not thoroughly discuss the flaws and adulterous sins of John Proctor but provided a horrible retelling of the adventures of Huckleberry Finn in an essay that was intentionally written to barely deserve a C-.

And the most damning part: the paper was purported to be written by “Edward Munson”.

“Oh, I see what’s wrong, Ms. O’Donnell,” Eddie dared to say, a lackadaisical smirk on his face as he pointed to the main title on the cover page he was holding. You swore you saw him (poorly) wink at you before he blathered, “It’s a classic switch-a-roo, a simple mistake. Who is John Proctor? You should give this to him, the dude must be sweating about his grade.”

Ms. O’Donnell’s eye twitched as yours widened. “Mr. Munson, plagiarism is not some silly joke and can result in suspension or expulsion for the both of you.” Knowing she wouldn’t get any answers from him, her stern expression now faced you. “Care to explain why he turned in your AP Lit essay while you gave me his Academic English Lit paper?”

Yet no explanation, or even lie, would get you out of this sticky situation. The truth was simple, really: you charged Eddie “The Freak” Munson $10–plus a $10 rush fee deposit–to write a shitty three-page paper on Huck Finn.

“You want it to get a C?” you remembered asking him, confusion evident on your face as you scrutinized the energetic man before you.

How dare he approach your lunch table in broad daylight while he incessantly poked at the hole in his distressed jeans, occasionally munched on a pretzel, and made such a preposterous request?

“Did anyone ever tell you how my business actually works?”

His amused grin offended you even more, if that were possible. “‘It’s an A or you don’t pay’, got it loud and clear. But from one entrepreneur to another, it’s not the, uh, best branding–”

“–Excuse me?”

“C’mon, look at me”–he jutted two wagging thumbs toward himself while he looked at you and your baffled friends, wild, brown eyes way too happy over his self-deprecating comment–“do I look like someone who would suddenly write an A+ paper in a course I’ve failed twice?”

After a few solid seconds, you sighed and resigned to his request, before clarifying to the fist-pumping man, “Forcing me to downgrade my writing in less than twenty-four hours will be subjected to expedited service fees.”

Besides, you needed extra money to get a new typewriter, based on the alarming number of essays you were cranking out on your current worn one. At this rate, you’d be able to get one of those fancy computers.

Eddie barked out a jubilant laugh at that, lips curving upward as he said, “I’m only letting you rob me because that’s a clever charge I might start using in my business.”

You wondered if he still thought you were a clever entrepreneur or the ‘smartest nerd in Hawkins’ as you blankly stared at a scowling Ms. O’Donnell, feeling too stupefied to conjure some fantastical story–or excuse, in this case–that the Dungeon Master was accustomed to doing on a daily basis.

Because there was no way you were going to explain that your sleep deprived brain must’ve given Eddie the wrong paper right before classes started. That your tired mind–consumed with worry about the biology exam you had next period–forgot to double check the content of the writing in your hands before accidentally adding the wrong paper to the growing pile of essays at the end of your English class.

Of course, he should’ve also checked the essay you had given him. Any of your other customers would at least perform a cursory glance before handing you the money. Still, you had to shoulder some of the blame for having been unusually careless at an activity that required the utmost discretion and vigilance.

But you’d never admit a mistake like that.

“Please don’t report us,” you blurted out instead, ignoring Munson’s incredulous “Christ!” and exasperation aimed toward your implicit confession.

Ms. O’Donnell pursed her lips, disapproving eyes considering your nervous figure and Eddie’s cursing one. You closed your eyes, clenched hands anxiously awaiting the verdict that would throw out all of the work you put in for four years.

Snatching the two papers she had returned earlier, she acquiesced, “I guess submitting that plagiarism report would be more painful than grading these papers and having to teach Mr. Munson for yet another year.”

Right before you and Eddie could exhale a sigh of relief and utter an endless stream of thank you’s, Ms. O’Donnell raised one finger as if to silence the both of you. “But I have one binding condition, aside from the fact that you’ll never commit plagiarism again.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll do anything,” you pleaded while a weary Eddie muttered, “Well, shit.”

You realized you should’ve bit back your words after hearing the worst stipulation proposed in the history of Hawkins, and possibly all of mankind.

“You must tutor Mr. Munson in English for the rest of the year.”

“You’re late,” you sighed dejectedly, glaring daggers at the smiling culprit banging his black lunchbox on the library table, “again.”

“My bad, a…transaction took a bit longer than I was expecting.” He pulled out the chair across from you, ignoring the librarian’s admonishment of his not-so-quiet voice. Rather, his gaze solely remained on you, the puppy-like excitement on his face just begging you to ask for more details.

Instead of taking the bait, you pressed, “Where’s your copy of Frankenstein? You didn’t even bring a pencil.”

Eddie actually pouted at you before murmuring a phrase that sounded eerily close to ‘party pooper’. “I don’t even need the book, it was an easy read so I remember most of it. And I, uh, may have lost the pencil you gave me.”

You’re not sure what your bemused “Huh?” was a response to, but it’s enough to get him talking about the book with a passion you’d only seen whenever he rambled about the current campaign he was running for his club.

“Look, there’s never shame in running away from your problems, but Victor’s reason for running is the shameful part. Abandoning your creation because he looks like a freak? The scientist is the true monster, if you know what I mean.”

Eddie, folded arms on the table, inched closer to you, adding in a fervent tone, “But the best part? The creature saying, ‘I will be with you on your wedding night.’ Very metal thing to do.”

Though you tried your best to conceal your surprised smile, your face betrayed you.

It had only been a month since Ms. O’Donnell forced this arrangement on the both of you, and the first two weeks had been an absolute disaster. It was a good day when Eddie actually showed up to your thrice weekly one-hour sessions at the typically empty library. But once Ms. O’Donnell threatened to take away his club privileges if he received one more F on a homework assignment, a reluctant Munson began arriving five to ten minutes late, muttering how English was the bane of his existence.

The remaining fifty minutes would then be spent on trying to pull a restless Munson back into the world of the books you were trying to analyze. Sitting still was a foreign concept to him. Only three things seemed to occupy his mind at all times: Hellfire, his B.C. Rich Warlock, and “running away from shitty Hawkins High”. It was in those instances that you were convinced that nothing substantial ever came out of his brain, or his blabbering mouth.

But in moments like these, where Eddie enjoyed discussing the mandatory literature as much as he loved shredding his guitar or annoying the jocks, you realized his head offered more than just a placeholder for his untamed hair.

Eddie Munson wasn’t a dumb dork, he was just a lazy one.

And you could definitely work with that.

“You know what? You’re actually right for once.” Sliding a loose leaf paper to a bewildered and blinking Eddie, you handed him a pencil and suggested, “So why don’t you write all of that down?”

–

“Dude! DUDE!”

Completely unaware that you were the dude in question, you closed your locker door only to startle upon finding a psyched Eddie beaming at you.

“I have a name, you know.”

“Never said you didn’t,” he quipped, now deciding to say your last name while you rolled your eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You pulled your calculus textbook closer to your chest, increasingly cognizant of the stares you two were getting from nearby students.

Aside from the teacher who decided to punish you in the first place, only three other people knew about the tutoring ordeal. To explain why you’d be absent for at least three hours a week after school, you kept your two friends, Maggie and Christopher, and the other editor-in-chief of the Weekly Streak, Nancy Wheeler, in the loop.

And while you didn’t think you were someone who concerned themselves with popularity and image at Hawkins High, you shuddered at the rumors already formulating in everyone’s head.

Spreading gossip that tried to piece together why a straight-A student would be talking to a drug dealer like Eddie “The Freak” Munson.

If Eddie noticed your stiffened shoulders and nervous glances he didn’t mention it, instead raising a piece of paper as he smugly said, “Just look at this.”

The first thing you saw was the big, red ‘C-’–a grade that occasionally appeared in your nightmares–on a Frankenstein pop quiz.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, taking the quiz from him to scan his sloppily written answers, temporarily forgetting all worries as a triumphant Eddie grinned at your widening eyes. In fact, you were shocked to find yourself agreeing with Ms. O’Donnell’s ‘Not Bad!’ comment underneath the grade. “You passed!”

“Hell yeah I did! Told you it was an easy read.”

“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, there.”

It took a surprising amount of self restraint to not laugh at Eddie feigning hurt as he gripped his chest. “Must you wound me so? Don’t you torture me enough?”

“Apparently not, since your ego got so inflated with just one passing grade.” To soften the blow, you offered a small smile. “But this is progress. How about we call off today’s session, to celebrate?”

Eddie perked up at that. “Seriously?”

You shrugged before handing him back the quiz, avoiding any brushing of fingers in such a public setting. Even though most students seemed to have returned to their own conversations and tasks, it didn’t hurt to be careful.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll have free time for once. If Ms. O’Donnell asks I'll just say I tutored you during our study period.”

“Hey, maybe we should say that more often.”

Just as you’re ready to reject his idea, Eddie claimed, “I’m kidding, sheesh!” before returning your smile, appreciation evident in his eyes. “But, uh, thanks. I owe you one.”

“I’ll remember that,” you muttered at his retreating figure, confused at the new wave of emotions replacing the jangled nerves wracking your body a few minutes ago.

Because there was no rational explanation as to why you were sad about canceling a tutoring session with Hawkin’s most pathetic dork.

None at all.

–

“They said you were trying to get stoned with the freak.”

Maggie’s appalled tone made you cackle, covering your mouth with your hand when her eyebrows narrowed, as if waiting for your side of the story.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe that rumor, I’d never get high in the middle of a school day,” you sighed, shifting your gaze to which drink you should choose from the convenience store. “Especially since I almost got expelled for breaking another school rule just two months ago. I think I learned my lesson.”

“The thing is, I don’t know what to believe in lately.” Maggie called for your name, exasperated when you opened the fridge door to grab a Coke instead of paying attention to her. “You barely hang out with us anymore.”

“Not true!” supplied your savior Christopher, who popped in from the snacks aisle and wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulder. “You’re just upset we missed your pom-poms routine last week.”

“It’s called cheerleading, dumbass,” retorted Maggie, crossing her arms as she glared back at you. “And Chris was obviously playing on the football field, but you promised you would go.”

You winced, guilt evident in your next words. “I’m sorry, Mag, but you know I was busy with tutoring and the early action deadline. Since I mailed the application, I’ll see you next time.”

“That doesn’t matter, you’re going to tonight’s party with us!” Chris placed your brown fedora hat on his head before lifting his arm to give you a noogie, much to your chagrin. “Gotta make sure you know how to let loose before heading off to YALE!”

“Chris, stop!” you choked out, though relief washed over you after seeing his antics got Maggie to laugh.

Once you got your accessory back from Chris, you quietly added, “I won’t hear from them ‘til December. And I doubt a school filled with that many nerds party a lot, even on Halloween.”

He grinned, blue eyes swimming with a mirth that seamlessly fit the Danny Zuko costume he was wearing. “Your words, not mine. I’m gonna get some cigs, anyone coming?”

“Wait, Jason told us to get a six-pack, don’t forget!” Maggie dragged Chris further down to the alcohol section, her teased, blond curls bouncing with each step as you wondered how she effortlessly moved in those leather pants.

“I’m gonna pay for my stuff,” you told them, preferring to let your friends play out their lives as Danny Zuko and Sandy Olson. (And before they started arguing on which brand to get.)

Deciding to wait for them outside, you leaned against the brick wall of the 7-Eleven, taking a sip of your drink…

“Freddy Kruger?”

…before promptly spitting it out after hearing a familiar voice.

“Eddie, what the hell?” you shouted, miffed by his loud cackling as you tried to assess the damage on your red and green striped sweater.

He stood up from his doubled-over figure, pretending to wipe away a stray tear. “I thought I was supposed to be spooked.”

“I left my glove in Chris’s car, but my nails are just as deadly, you long-haired freak!”

“Sureeee, I’ll lock the door to my van before I leave.”

“I’ll get you long before then.”

Eddie’s lips curved upwards at the baseless threat. His eyes did a quick once-over, clearly amused. “Last time I checked, Kruger was supposed to be ugly and scary. This might be the first assignment you’ve ever failed.”

You felt your face warm, unsure how to process those words. Was that a compliment? An insult?

Both?

Not wanting to reveal your short-circuiting, you countered, “And what are you supposed to be? At least I’m somewhat creative.”

As if on cue, Eddie dug around the pockets of his leather jacket and put on circular shades, animatedly raising both of his arms to show off his rings and black-painted fingernails while he bellowed, “Ozzy, of course!”

Although you rolled your eyes, you couldn’t help but softly chuckle, deeming his costume as “Very metal” before he asked why you’re dressed up.

“No offense, but you don’t seem like the going-out type. And on a Thursday night?” He covered his gaping mouth with his hand, gasping, “How scandalous!”

Shrugging, you leaned back against the wall, looking at the man next to you. “I don’t go out as much as Maggie and Chris, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to do it once in a while.”

“Respect, no judgment here. And Halloween’s a classic.”

“Right?” you agreed, smiling with Eddie. “But I’m kinda bummed that as you grow up, you trade in king-sized candy bars for cheap beer.”

Eddie lowered his shades as you saw him grab more items from his seemingly infinitely large pockets. “Hey, I know you’re the one who’s teaching me English Lit, but I thought I taught you about forced conforming.”

Just as you were about to ask what the hell he was ranting about, Eddie grabbed your hand and placed a long, rectangular bar on your palm.

Trying your best to ignore his warm touch that made your chest constrict, you laughed at the Snickers bar in front of you as you snorted out a thanks.

“It’s nothing,” he casually dismissed, right before you swiftly snuff out the recently lit cigarette he just placed in his mouth.

Aghast, he pouted, “That’s how you repay me? You monster!”

“The real monster is lung cancer, you dork, it’s for your own good.” As consolation, you gave him your Coke can, “which might also cause cancer, but at least it’s not lung cancer.”

Eddie laughed, though you weren’t able to hear his jest over Maggie’s yelling of your name.

“Sorry, gotta go.” Brushing off your pants, you slowly began to walk your friends who finally found you and urged you to hurry up.

Yet that didn’t feel right.

Inhaling sharply, you quickly turned around and mustered the courage to ask, “Why don’t you come to the party tonight?”

You wish you were able to see his eyes, covered by those ridiculous shades. But his dramatic head tilt spoke enough. “Me? Going to Jason’s party to hang out with the popular kids? Sounds like it goes against my own personal Munson doctrine.”

“But you’d be hanging out with me. I swear I’m a bit more fun than them, at least enough to be an exception to your little principles.”

“I don’t need any assurance on that,” he said, an almost sad-like smile on his face. “Maybe I’ll stop by after my gig.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You gave a small wave before running toward Chris and Maggie, the latter instantly questioning why you were talking to Freaky Munson as soon as Chris drove out of the gas station.

“That’s not Eddie, that’s Ozzy,” you replied, unwrapping the Snickers bar and taking a bite out of it to hide your smirk.

“Who?” Her nose wrinkled, as if trying to sift through the pages of the student yearbook in her head. “Is he a senior?”

Chris chuckled knowingly as you cheekily answered, “Yeah, he’s coming to the party tonight.”

You wished the lie didn’t include that part, hating the sinking feeling in your stomach when Ozzy was nowhere to be found in Jason’s crowded house.

–

“I freaking love this book,” was a phrase you never thought you’d hear come out of Eddie’s mouth. “But Ms. O’Donnell assigning an essay right before Thanksgiving is pure evil.”

You snickered, way too entertained at the sight of Eddie repeatedly banging his head against his copy of Brave New World. “If you love it so much, then writing five pages on it shouldn't be too bad.”

He lifted his head to look at you, tangled hair masking the disbelief painted across his face. “I’m 95% certain you and Ms. O’Donnell are Mustapha Mond, trying to restrict my free will and deprive me of true happiness.”

Though you’d never outright tell him this, hearing his absurd, embellished statements made these tutoring sessions feel less like a chore and more like hanging out with a friend.

Friend. Pairing that word with Eddie Munson felt like an abstract mathematical concept your confused mind was trying to comprehend; you doubt it would sound less foreign if you were to actually say it to him.

But there was no doubt that these sessions were a lot more fun than in the beginning of the year. When Eddie realized that he would be granted five (more like ten) minutes of non-academic chatting in exchange for five minutes of work, he tried putting effort in his brainstorming or writing. He might even work a bit harder when it was a sci-fi or fantasy book, the only two genres he truly liked.

And talking with him oddly felt natural.

He let you vent about the pressure you felt from your parents to be the perfect student and child, despite the fact that they were hardly home. In turn, he disclosed his own current gripes. (“Tell me about it, my uncle keeps on fussing about me making a mess and using up all the hot water. You know, I should get a place of my own.”)

And he heard your fears on how all the money you saved from odd jobs and your writing services wouldn’t be enough for college, since your well-off parents decided that bestowing such a financial responsibility to you ‘builds character’. (“Not cool for your parents to do. What’s the point of being rich then? College is a scam, anyway. And you want to go to law school? You really like school, don’t you?”)

He sympathized with your complaints on Maggie’s inability to confess her crush to Chris... (“I’m afraid Sinclair is slowly turning to the dark side, he mentioned something about joining the basketball team.” A pause. “You wouldn’t want to be his Hellfire sub this Thursday, by any chance? No? Well, uh, that’s unfortunate. Your loss, really.”)

…Or listened to your frustration about Nancy choosing Fred Benson over George Davis as the Managing Editor for the Weekly Streak. (“Wheeler did what? I’m sorry, but I have no freaking clue what you’re talking about.”)

And you actually enjoyed the constant mindless spats with him; whether it’d be better to be a book nerd or a D&D nerd (you obviously won that argument); how vapid the jocks were (you loved Chris and some of his football friends, but basketball captain Jason was definitely an example of all brawn but no brain); or which alien movie was the best (he claimed that Ripley’s badassery was one of best highlights in Alien while you swore by the perfect mix of intelligent characters and the right amount of horror in The Thing).

Ironically enough, your favorite parts always revolved around book discussions. Though these tutoring sessions were required by Ms. O’Donnell, it was surprisingly fun to hear Eddie’s opinions. They weren’t like the contrived contributions you had heard countless times from your classmates during discussions and presentations. Sure, they were far from articulate, but what genuine, spontaneous thought was?

With each idea you felt like you were getting to know more about Eddie and his perspective on life, an outlook so different from others that you continued to be intrigued.

“Well, I’m not sure if Mustapha Mond is the best comparison, considering that the World State would shock their babies if they even touched a book,” you responded. “If anything, I feel like I relate more to Helmholtz’s struggle to express his intense feelings in a society devoid of such emotion.”

Leaning your head against your palm, you smirked as you imagined the gears furiously turning in Eddie’s head.

“Ah, so you agree that there’s no free will in their society?” he spoke after a solid minute, finger extended toward you as if in a ‘gotcha’ moment. “If you don’t fit in or conform to your stupid caste, you’re either forced to leave or you end up dying like good ol’ Johnny boy because you’re so miserable. You call that happy?”

“Free will and happiness aren’t always linked, though. Because of soma, most of society was happy with their position–”

“Because they were ignorant. Does that make them truly happy?”

“Well, how would you define happiness?”

Eddie scoffed as if you were asking him what color the sky was. “The freedom to be yourself and not care what others think. Why, you think differently?”

You mulled the question in your head, before concluding, “I’m not sure. I just know when I’m happy, I’m not in pain and everything feels stable around me.”

“That sounds like you’re content, which isn’t happiness,” Eddie countered. His intense gaze made you uneasy, brown eyes indecipherable. “Don’t you want more than that?”

“Of course I do,” you said, rather defensively, “but we’re not getting that in Hawkins.”

“And you think you’ll get it at that pretentious college with students that are worse than the rich douchebags in this town?”

“Yes, because Yale,” you corrected, “has one of the best English departments in the country. I would be able to take so many courses in creative writing! Hawkins has the Hawkins Post. ”

Eddie scratched his head, suspicious eyes narrowed as he questioned, “I thought you wanted to major in Political Science?”

You faltered for a second, astonished he even remembered that. Did he see through your facade?

“R-right, that’s what I meant. I doubt law schools would care, anyway. I’d still meet teachers and friends who’d respect and support my dream of being a lawyer.”

“But why do you still care so much about what others think? To conform to their mindset?” he pressed on, irritation starting to gnaw at you.

“Because, unlike you”–you rose from your seat, packing up your things as you averted his gaze and furiously whispered–“there’s people that I care about. God forbid I want to be normal and make my friends and parents happy. Your method of running away just creates more problems!”

“Oh, so you think I’m some evil freak?” He stood in your way, preventing you from leaving the library. Of course, the librarian wasn’t at her desk to intervene.

So you stared straight at him, jaw set as your hands tightly gripped the straps of your backpack. “You want the truth, Munson?”

He crossed his arms before having the audacity to roll his eyes at you. “The floor is yours! Clearly you think you’re smarter than me.”

“That’s not true,” you shot back, pressing a finger against his chest, “but what’s true is that you think the whole world is out to get you, when there’s people who care about you. Gareth, Jeff, Mike, Dustin.”

You gulped, closing your eyes and dropping your hand from his chest as you whispered, “Me.” Opening your eyes, you looked at his dumbfounded expression as you finished, “People do care for you. But you’re too eager about running away to realize and admit it, you coward.”

Right before his stunned self could say anything, you violently blinked away your blurry vision and asked, “There, are you happy with that answer, Munson?”

At least the one thing you were thankful for this Thanksgiving break was that you wouldn’t need to see him anytime soon.

–

“–and Chrissy’s upset that Jason’s been so focused on preparing for the season, he even held a practice today, on Thanksgiving!…I’m speaking to the void, aren’t I?”

You regained the loosening grip on your phone, a surprised “Hm?” leaving you while you sat up from your bed and untangled yourself from the telephone coils.

“What has been going on with you? Are we fighting?”

“Mag, what, why do you think that?”

“Because I tell you my whole life story, and you say one word. One word!”

“No–”

“See what I mean? If you’re angry at me, we can work it–”

“Mags, the only thing you need to be working on is telling Christopher Perkins that you’ve been in love with him for the past three years.”

“Oh, don’t bring that into this! That is low, even for you!”

But hearing her light chuckle across the line showed she wasn’t upset at your daily reminder to get her act together. You laughed, too, before sighing at your own hypocrisy.

A whisper, almost too soft to hear it. “It’s the college stuff, isn’t it? You’re stressed about that?”

“More like I’m having a mid-life crisis at the ripe age of eighteen,” you complained, puffing your cheeks frustratedly as you stared at the ceiling.

How would you even begin to tell her that Eddie’s words a few days ago still rattled you? That his disappointed face–as if he had realized his gut instinct was right, and that you were no different from the popular kids of Hawkins High–was seared into your mind?

You questioned every single choice you made, pondered the motives behind your greatest ambitions.

Did you actually want to be a lawyer? Or were you enticed by the prestige and financial security that came from such a title?

And why were you so hellbent on pleasing others? Why did the respect of your friends and family seem to matter more than your wellbeing?

Just as you felt yourself begin to spiral, Maggie’s concerned voice now a distant buzz in the background, two loud knocks made you jump from your bed.

“Shit!” you cursed, heart hammering out of your chest as you locked onto Eddie Munson’s sheepish eyes behind your window.

“Maggie,” you breathed, hoping she didn’t detect your shaky voice, “Maggie, dinner’s ready, I gotta go. Can’t miss my dad’s cranberry sauce. Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Wait a–”

Hanging up, you rushed to your window to open it, harshly whispering, “You have a lot of nerve showing up after all you said–”

“Can we have this conversation inside, I’m freezing!”

You let Eddie crawl his way to your bedroom floor, your body still fuming as you murmured, “That’s what you get for wearing a leather jacket, you dumb metalhead.”

Your anger then increased when a revelation dawned on you.

“How do you even know where I live? Were you stalking me?”

“What, no!” he whispered back as he stood less than a foot from you, just as annoyed. “The movies make this seem a lot easier than it is. But Mike Wheeler was nice enough to tell me you’re neighbors, unlike a certain person I know.”

“When would that ever be relevant information, you creep?”

“Stop calling me a–”

You covered his mouth with one hand, using your other to make a ‘shh’ gesture.

When he made a confused sound, you simply mouthed the word ‘dad’ to Eddie. His comically-widened eyes would’ve calmed your heightened nerves if it weren’t for your name being called by a person whose ascending footsteps grew louder each second.

“Hide,” you urged as Eddie dove straight into your closet while you ran to sit against the headboard of your bed, trying to appear as collected as possible.

“Hey, dad.” You looked up from the book you were supposedly reading, smiling at the confused man who just opened your bedroom door. “Something wrong?”

“I dunno, you tell me. Why’d you scream bloody murder?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I got off the phone with Maggie and I accidentally stubbed my toe trying to grab this book to read. I’m fine, really.”

You caught his glance toward your open window and mentally cursed at your mistake.

“I didn’t know your room was hot enough to crack that open.”

“It just felt a bit stuffy in here,” you weakly supplied, tugging at the collar of your wool sweater while you cleared your throat that felt drier than sandpaper. “Maybe I should’ve worn less layers.”

“Right…I’m going back to the turkey, should be done in an hour.” He pursed his lips, before gravely adding, “If anyone breaks in, just holler again. I’ll bring out the shotguns in the living room.”

Sighing after the bedroom door shut, you felt your frustration toward Eddie slowly chip away as he shyly peeked his head out of your closet, a mixture of fear, concern, and skepticism in his eyes as he asked, “Shotguns? Plural? In your living room?”

“You’re safe,” you assured him as he began to look around your room, “but why the hell are you here?”

“You have a lot of books,” he muttered instead, eyes continuously flitting to a new growing pile out of the many haphazardly distributed in your room. “Like, a lot of them.”

“Munson…”

He noisily peered at the cassettes next to the Walkman that laid on your desk. “Big Fleetwood Mac fan. No surprise there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

It was almost as if he knew his teasing grin would dissipate some of your anger. “What do you think it means?”

That you had better taste in music than he did. The snarky reply never left your mouth, though you could vividly imagine his over-the-top response that would’ve followed—how his affronted gasp would be paired with him banging the library table in false indignation, desperately trying (for the umpteenth time) to convince you to listen to Judas Priest.

But you two weren’t at the library, and this was no time for banter.

“Eddie…”

“I know, I know, I’ll stop skirting around, just gimme a minute.” As if to give you space, he opted to sit in your desk chair.

After an awkward silence of averted glances and hand wringing, Eddie prefaced, “I’m sorry for the shit I said on Monday. It was crazy and unnecessary. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It was crazy, and it hurt.” You played with the sleeve of your sweater, unsure of where to start yourself. “But I was also mean, and I’m sorry for that. At least you were right about a few things.”

His knitted eyebrows displayed his lack of understanding. “Right about what?”

“I don’t know what I want to do in my life,” you confided, laughing at the instantaneous relief you felt after sharing the haunting thought aloud.

You brought your knees to your chest, sending Eddie a quivering smile. “I’ve spent eighteen years of my life constantly pleasing everyone around me, thinking I’d be a burden if I did otherwise. Constantly afraid of failing, not meeting their expectations.”

“You haven’t failed them.”

“But I’ve failed myself.”

Eddie shook his head, standing from his seat before balking at the empty spot in your bed. When you nodded, he quietly sat across from you, his face the most solemn you’d ever seen him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I made you think you had to have all of life”—he gesticulated wildly, large, brown orbs matching the madness—“figured out. But no one knows what the fuck they’re doing. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. So if someone tries to plan out every single part of your life, fuck them! What authority do they have?”

“And you don’t need to take life advice from a dude who has flunked high school twice…” Eddie nervously twisted the ring on his index finger before giving you a genuine grin. “…but you have time to get it all sorted out. Hey, maybe you’ll get some help from that fancy ass school that will definitely accept you because they’d be stupid not to. And even if they don’t, I know whatever you do will be a hell of a lot better than what most people in this town accomplish.”

You blinked at Eddie, once, two, three times. You then offered the smallest of smiles, not confident that your tightening chest and the lump in your throat would allow you to say anything.

So you hugged him instead, an admittedly awkward embrace with your arms around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder. But the odd combination of pine, cigarettes, and cheap cologne consumed all your senses, your overactive brain forgetting everything else as it now focused on one thing.

One person.

“You need to stop smoking,” was the first thing you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, voice muffled as you directly spoke into his vest.

Soft, fluffy hair tickled your cheek while you felt the deep laughter reverberating from his chest.

The arm around your waist briefly tightened. “Maybe that’ll be my New Year’s resolution.”

“No, your first resolution should be to finally graduate.”

“‘86 will be my year, I feel it in my bones.”

“Didn’t you say that with ‘85 literally two months ago?”

“I was full of shit back then. That was before I got my first C- in Ms. O’Donnell’s.” He gingerly lifted your head from his shoulder, cupping your chin as he said, “Which was thanks to you, by the way.”

“Not true. Since you actually wrote it.”

His wide grin fell a bit, and you worried you crossed yet another line.

His next words only increased your anxiety.

“If I ask you something, will you be totally straight with me?”

You gulped at the abrupt shift, heartbeat erratic. “Depends on the question.”

He continued anyway.

“The other day, you said you cared for me. Did you mean that?” Those brown orbs imploringly scoured every inch of your face, hoping to find a sign that’d appear before your verbal answer.

He didn’t need to.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice so quiet he would’ve missed it if you weren’t mere inches away. “I meant it.”

His eyes softened, glancing at your lips before returning your gaze.

Sharply inhaling, you began to close the gap, feeling your lips brush against his—

Before jumping for the second time today, releasing a startled gasp at the shrill sound of your ringing telephone.

“You should get that,” Eddie croaked, voice suddenly hoarse.

When he got up, you panicked. “I’ll get it later. Stay here, I can sneak you some dinner.”

He cleared his throat, fingers and eyes increasingly interested in fixing the pins on his vest. “Uh, I don’t know. I usually spend Turkey Day with my uncle. Chinese food, shitty beer, you get the gist.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Your forced, tight-lipped smile made your cheeks ache. “Have fun.”

You hated the growing distance between you two. Hated how the incessant ringing punctured the now stifling air.

He nodded and scratched the back of his head, an uncharacteristically speechless Eddie Munson unsure of what to say.

Bidding for an awkward “See ya later,” he exited your window, not privy to the spectacle of you screaming into your pillow.

When the phone continued to ring, it was impossible to conceal your pure frustration when answering the call.

“Somebody better be dead or dying…”

“I told Chris!” Maggie exclaimed, who sounded very much alive. “And we’re going on a date tomorrow!”

Groaning loudly, you collapsed against your bed, Maggie’s bubbly voice fading into the background once again as you were on the verge of yet another spiral.

—

“You like him, don’t you?”

“Who?”

The way Maggie half-growled your name confirmed you weren’t going to get out of this. “You know who I’m talking about.”

Taking a bite of your sandwich, you looked at a wary Chris. “Do you know who she’s talking about?”

“I’m actually gonna get more tater tots,” he decided slowly, furtive glances sent toward the both of you before he practically ran to the lunch line.

“Don’t play dumb,” Maggie persisted, “not when I just saw you smiling at Eddie freaking Munson.”

“I mean, what he said was kinda funny. And true.” Jason’s comically peeved face after Eddie asked if the basketball captain’s singular brain cell still functioned now reappeared in your head.

“No one laughs at his ‘jokes’ unless you’re one of his lackeys.”

Your lips soured into a shape that was far from a smile. “So you’re saying I’m not just dumb, but I’m also a lackey?”

“I’m saying you have a crush on the weirdest person in this school!”

The deafening silence that ensued was the nail in the coffin, but your next words truly sealed your fate.

“He’s not that weird.”

Maggie sighed, your brain unable to comprehend the simultaneous, paradoxical look of understanding and pity in her eyes. “You’re in deep, aren’t you?”

She wasn’t the first one to tell you that. After all, you’d read plenty of Austen and Brontë novels to know the reason behind your dysfunction.

It wasn’t that you were embarrassed to have feelings for Eddie Munson. You were mortified that–

“It’s that obvious?”

Especially after what had (almost) happened on Thanksgiving. Those few minutes were all it took to open Pandora’s Box, releasing a disconcerting cloud of emotions that controlled your thoughts every second of every day.

Which explained why each tutoring session for the past three weeks had been absolute torture. A switch flipped inside you, heightened senses observing the smallest of details.

The multitude of shirts with names of heavy metal bands you’d never knew existed.

The demon puppet tattoo on his forearm, which neighbored six tiny bats. (And you swore you once caught a glimpse of black ink peeking from his shirt, right underneath his collarbone.)

That slight furrow to his brow whenever he began an essay or homework assignment, which was quite similar to his ‘I’m on a writing roll’ look but also completely different. Or how he rolled up his sleeves whenever he was psyched, but mindlessly twirled the ring on his index finger when he was processing something.

Yet you also noticed the strange change in your dynamic. You initially attributed it to midterms stress, despite knowing Eddie’s lack of concern for exams, or school in general. One second you’d catch him staring at you, as if wanting to tell you something. Then he’d quickly raise the wall, attempting to diffuse the charged tension with some cringe-inducing joke.

It drove you crazy.

“Uh, considering that you’re currently looking his way,” Maggie interrupted your thoughts, “I’d say, yeah, pretty obvious.”

As if he heard, Eddie’s eyes briefly locked with yours before his chortling friends seized his attention.

He drove you crazy.

“What do you see in him?”

His talent to tell terrible dad jokes. Some signs of intelligence. Way too much confidence.

Kindness.

“Why do you even care? You’d hate whatever I’d say.”

Maggie shook her head, placing her hand over yours. “I’m just concerned for you. He’s dangerous. And what would others think? Your parents? It’s social suicide!”

“If you’re worried about that last part, then let me make things easier for you. Goodbye, Maggie.” Getting up, you ignored her pleas to come back as you rushed to one of your safest spaces at Hawkins High.

Only to find someone else sniffling at the Weekly Streak’s editor-in-chief workspace.

“Nancy, are you crying?” You frowned, forgetting the reason why you were here as you gently questioned, “Wait, did you hear from Emerson?”

“Huh? No, not yet, I just think I caught a cold–”

“Is it Jonathan? I’ll kick his ass if he–”

“No!” she shouted, wincing at how loud she sounded before she laughed to herself and sent an appreciative smile your way. “I mean, everything’s fine with us. He’s actually visiting soon, for Christmas. But I appreciate your concern.”

“Oh, that’s great! I’m so happy for you, Nance!” you exclaimed, your wobbly grin and teary eyes indicating otherwise.

Grabbing a few tissues, Nancy rushed to your side while she gave a reassuring squeeze of your shoulder. “Did you hear back from Yale?”

“Nah, I’m in the same boat as you,” you grumbled at remembering yet another lurking stressor.

“Then whose ass do I need to kick?”

“Let me write a list,” you deadpanned, though Nancy found it far from funny.

“I’m just so stressed, and tired.” Throwing out your used tissues, you leaned against the desk and sighed, “So, so tired.”

“Midterms?”

You barked out the ugliest laugh. “I wish! That’s easier to understand than Eddie Munson.”

Mentally cursing at your blunder, you rushed to fix the mistake. “Like, how many times do I have to tell him that Frankenstein is the scientist, not the monster?”

“Right,” said an unconvinced Nancy, her eyebrow raised as she innocently added, “So is that why you tutored him on Thanksgiving?”

Everything in your body ceased to function, save for your dry mouth that tried to ask her–

“How?” she said, the wry twist to her lips showed she was enjoying this too much. “I was going to keep it a secret, but it’s not everyday you see a man spending over half an hour climbing a tiny tree and spending even longer getting down from it.”

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, tears pricking your eyes while your body shook from uncontrollable laughter. “He is such a loser.”

Unsure of how to soothe you, Nancy enveloped you into a tight hug. “Mike agrees. I don’t know what happened to the two of you that night but ever since then he’s been in a weird mood. Something about making a campaign much harder?”

“Stop lying, Wheeler.”

Breaking the hug, she firmly placed her hands on your shoulder as she forced you to look at her. “You think I like hearing my little brother constantly complain about Dragons and Dungeons?”

“It’s Dungeons and Dragons,” you corrected meekly, afraid that those words would be your last.

Nancy’s eye twitched as her grip on your shoulder tightened to an almost painful degree. “Please know that I say this because you’re my friend, but if you don’t tell him how you feel, then Eddie’s not the only loser in this story.”

–

“Today’s the big day!” exclaimed Mr. Benson, the mailman excitedly waving the envelope like it was a golden ticket.

You wanted to hurl. Figuratively and literally.

Nancy’s gift of friendship not only included an absolutely inspiring and vaguely threatening pep talk, but she threw in a bonus side of germs that left you bedridden with a cold the entire weekend.

Still feeling somewhat weak on Monday, you unexpectedly convinced your parents to let you take a sick day, knowing that at worst you’d be missing lectures dedicated to reviewing for your midterms.

Now every step toward Mr. Benson was tinged with regret in deciding to stay home, not ready to read the either exciting or crushing news.

His gloved hands gave it to you as he sent you a wink. “I dropped off Nancy’s as well. Fred told me he’s already prepared the article to make the announcement.”

“You’re both too sweet, Mr. Benson,” you lied through your chattering teeth, not sure if the trembling was due to your nerves or the frigid weather. But there was no doubt that the Nancy-obsessed nerd wrote only one name on that headline, and it certainly wasn’t yours.

“Good luck!” he bid as he moved to the next home, allowing you to scuffle directly across to the Wheeler mailbox.

“NANCY!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, attempting to reign in the coughing fit you were about to go into. “NANCY, GET YOUR ASS OUTSIDE OR I’M OPENING YOUR EMERSON LETTER! Oh, hi, Mrs. Wheeler!”

The younger Wheeler appeared not a moment later, sharing an anxious glance before tearing open the envelope you gave her.

Though there was no reason to be nervous for her in the first place, finding yourself jumping alongside her mom and hugging Nancy before she even screamed, “I GOT IN!”

And you probably would’ve continued celebrating were it not for her stabilizing your dizzy body and looking you dead in the eyes.

“Wait, you need to open yours! Should we call your parents?”

The unopened letter stuffed inside the pocket of your puffer jacket suddenly weighed like a ton of bricks.

Even if it was good news, you wouldn’t be able to do this by yourself.

Which is why you shook your head at a puzzled Nancy, her bewilderment increasing with your next request.

“Do you think I could borrow Mike’s bike for a bit?”

–

“Fucking hell!”

About halfway into your freezing joyride, the burning sensation in your lungs painfully reminded you of your sheer stupidity in declining Nancy’s offer to give you a ride in her heated car. (You also made a mental note to take your driver’s exam before graduation.)

You had no idea what you were doing. Quite frankly, you hoped the bike ride would clear your head and make it easier for you to choose your next course of action.

But the closer you got to your destination meant the farther you were from turning back.

So you peddled even harder, whizzing by the sign to the Forest Hills Trailer Park as you spent your last burst of energy. It wasn’t until you spotted a certain battered van that you felt your tired body buzz in anticipation.

Because maybe there was a slim chance your plan wouldn’t fall apart.

Or at least that’s what you told yourself as you knocked on the door to the trailer before you.

When no one responded, you took a deep breath before you pleaded, “Munson, please. I know you have early release on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Deciding whether to knock again or head back home, the choice was made for you as the door finally opened.

“I’m not the Munson you’re looking for,” drawled a middle-aged man who was right in his deduction.

“Mr. Munson! Nice to meet you!” you squealed, wishing you could crawl into a corner as you began profusely apologizing to the man who was probably resting after a graveyard shift.

“No need, about to head out to grab some food anyway.” He studied you for a moment, as if piecing together a puzzle. “You’re his tutor, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” you laughed, surprised that he knew his nephew had one in the first place.

“You did, just now.” He lit his cigarette, exhaling smoke the other way before facing you again. “I thought the boy was coverin’ his tracks whenever he talked about goin’ to the library to see his uptight tutor. Good to know it wasn’t a lie.”

“How…nice.” You weren’t sure what irked you more: Eddie Munson calling you uptight or his uncle being able to immediately identify you through that descriptor.

“My nephew uses all our hot water washin’ that hair of his. But he should be done showerin’ soon, feel free to stay warm inside.”

It was a nicer welcome than the one you received from the younger Munson, who clutched his chest and screamed “JESUS H. CHRIST!” when he walked out of the bathroom and saw you.

A joke was on the tip of your tongue, ready to poke fun at the intimidating metalhead cowering in fear. But you felt yourself freeze when he hesitantly said your name, oddly shy with all of his attention on you.

Having a crush was so unnerving.

He slowly approached the couch you currently sat on before harshly rubbing his eyes, still not believing what he was seeing.

“Stop acting as I’m some ghost, you dork.”

No response, just a suspicious glint. He broke the uncomfortable silence when he poked at your shoulder, yelped, and realized you were, in fact, telling him the truth and casually in his home.

“I have so many questions.”

“Nice to see you too, Eddie.”

“And you, uh, look and sound like shit,” he continued, a line that would’ve made you slap him if it weren’t for the concern in his voice. “So Ms. O’Donnell wasn’t lying about you being sick. Do you want water or something?”

“Well, at least I don’t have a hole in my shirt,” you lamely pointed out, hoping he didn’t catch your eyes lingering on his biceps. This was the first time you’d seen him wear a short sleeve t-shirt–Iron Maiden merch, no surprise there–and holy shit, was that a new tattoo?

“And water would be great,” you whispered, trying to swallow the new lump in your throat as you exercised great strength to stop admiring his inked arms in that tiny, black shirt. “I hate feeling this thirsty.”

“I’m only ignoring the slander because you’re sick. Even Gollum has seen better days than you.”

“I have no idea who or what a Gollum is, but I’m still offended.”

His face split into a wolfish grin, mischievous eyes twinkling as he half-sang, “What you don’t know won’t hurt you!”

As he went to the kitchen to fill a glass with water, you then caught his perplexed expression from the counter. “But speaking of being lost as hell, how’d you even get here?”

“Address or vehicle wise?”

“Uh, both, I guess?”

He plopped himself on the opposite side of the couch after handing you the cup, your fingers grazing his ring-cladded ones for what seemed like a second too long. Not trying to dwell on how touch-starved you were, you threw your head back and downed the water in one swoop, ignoring Eddie’s sarcastic, “Lemme pour myself a vodka shot, too.”

“Nancy gave me the address and I may have borrowed Mike’s bike.”

“How did that answer everything but nothing?”

Then a beat later. “Hold on, you biked all the way here in the freezing cold while having a cold? Are you insane?”

“Mike’s odometer said it was only seven miles.” You winced at Eddie’s high-pitched repetition of the number.

“Man, so maybe you wouldn’t design the most intelligent character in the Dungeon…”

“Hardy har har. I didn’t come all this way to play in your little campaign.”

“Care to share the real reason why you’re here, then?”

You laughed–of course Eddie would ask the most important question last rather than first.

Fishing out the item from the pocket of your jacket, you answered by showing him the envelope.

“Well, shit.” He whistled and gently grabbed the wrinkled paper when you nodded for him to take it.

“Shit, indeed.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit into one when he saw the envelope was still sealed. “Why haven’t you opened it yet?”

“I can’t,” you replied honestly, hands fidgeting as you felt the nausea return. “I’ve been waiting so long for this, but I’m fucking terrified.”

“So you’re never gonna open it?”

“Maybe”–you smiled sheepishly, your next jumbled words sounding more like a question than a statement–“that’s because I want you to open it?”

“Me?” he squeaked out, eyes wide.

“And read it, too.”

“Are you sure this cold didn't also, I dunno, fry your brain?”

“Even if it did, you know how stressed I was about applying to schools. Am.” You pointed at the envelope. “You helped me even though you hate talking about college. Hell, you probably saw that side of me more than anyone else.”

“That can’t be true–”

“It is,” you interjected, grabbing one of his hands to squeeze it, hoping your face showed your sincerity. “I don’t want to open it alone, but the idea of reading the letter for the first time with my parents feels even worse.”

“I’m still not getting how I would make things better.”

“Because you wouldn’t judge me, Eddie.” Not when he’s been so supportive.

When he’s been there for you every. Single. Time.

“I’d be stupid to judge you.” He squeezed your hand back, though his softened eyes still held that hesitancy. “But are you sure about this?”

“100%.”

“Yeah, but, are you really that sure?”

“Hey, remember when I canceled tutoring because you passed your Frankenstein quiz? And you said you owed something to your ridiculously hot and smart tutor?”

He rolled his eyes but you still caught the slight twitch of his lips. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Well, I’m cashing in that favor now.”

Even if the dynamic between the two of you felt different after Thanksgiving, his excited grin and brightened eyes toward you never changed.

And the sweet way he said your name, tone hushed, as if in awe. How easily it rolled off his tongue as he softly told you, “You’re something else, you know that?”

It was in that split second you felt incredibly tempted to ask him for another favor.

But you shook your head and laughed, trying to shake away any of those thoughts before you half-glared at him. “You’re one to talk. But please, please, read the letter, or the suspense will literally kill me.”

“Impatient, are we? But I will say, it’s quite thick.” Giving your hand one last reassuring squeeze before he let go, Eddie began breaking the envelope seal. “They wouldn’t waste more than a page on a rejected student, right?”

“Ah shit, I can’t watch this.” You shut your eyes, hearing Eddie unfold the letter as he cleared his throat and read the greeting in a neutral voice.

He dropped that tone quickly upon reading the first two sentences, the dramatic shift providing such whiplash that it took your brain a solid minute to fully register the words.

“Welcome to Yale College! It is with the greatest enthusiasm that I write to congratulate you on your admission to the Class of 1990.”

Tears welled up in your opened eyes, but you could still see Eddie’s toothy grin as he made you stand and jump with him.

“Oh my god, Eddie, the rest of the letter!” Yet your gaze only fixated on the elated man in front of you rather than the paper on the couch.

“Screw the rest of the letter! YOU GOT IN!”

Your excited shouts and laughter joined his as he began twirling you around and almost knocked down a lamp in the process, only stopping when both your voices became shot.

“Fuck,” you coughed out, laying on the couch as you barely caught your breath and blankly stared at the paper in your hand. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Well, you better start. And we gotta keep celebrating.” Pacing throughout the living room, each finger ticked off an option from the endless list of activities you could choose from. “–a movie, or stuffing our faces at a diner, you name it. What are we doing next?”

“Mmm, how ‘bout a nap?” you yawned, an instant wave of exhaustion washing over you.

“Huh? Christ, I forgot you’re sick.” Kneeling in front of you, Eddie warned, “Don’t you fall asleep on me.”

“Your hand feels nice,” you pleasantly sighed at the cool touch of his hand on your burning forehead, further confirming his suspicions of a fever.

Consciousness was becoming increasingly harder to tap into, but faintly hearing Eddie say the word “home” briefly jolted you back to reality.

Your heart lurched when you realized he was carrying you, senses overwhelmed by the familiar scent of pine and cheap cologne mixing with a minty fragrance coming from his recently-washed hair.

“No, wait!” You weakly grabbed onto his shirt, whining, “I still wanna celebrate!”

“Next time,” he assured you. “I promise.”

It was the last thing you remember hearing, the calming smell of mint lulling you to sleep.

–

“Are you sure you don’t want to stop by, even for a few minutes? Mrs. Henderson made these cute Christmas cookies. Well, they’re shaped like cats so maybe they’re not that festive, but they’re still really good.”

“Nance, I’m fine, really. I’m used to the parentals working in the ER on Christmas, saving and healing the Santas that have fallen off their roofs.”

Holding the phone closer to your ear as you shifted on your bed, you could make out the faint laughter in the background and what sounded like Dustin recruiting someone for the Hellfire Club.

Laughing at the antics, you teased, “Sounds like you got a full house anyway. How’re you and lover boy?”

“We actually got into a stupid fight about him applying to Emerson.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Nancy sighed, “We made dinner a bit awkward for everyone. But it’ll be fine, I think. How’s your lover boy doing?”

“Don’t call him that,” you huffed, face instantly burning.

Besides, the last time you saw Eddie Munson was when you knocked out on his couch. Nancy thought otherwise, especially after last Monday evening, when she answered the ringing doorbell to the Wheeler residence and saw your calmly sleeping figure in his arms.

Despite her interrogation, Eddie only told Nancy that you were worn out from your biking escapade and that he left Mike’s bike in the driveway. After giving you and your decision letter to Nancy (“Don’t lose that, Wheeler.”), he apparently ran back to his van and drove away in his typical maniacal fashion.

It didn’t help that you missed another day of school, spending the entire time sweating out your fever. Considering you didn’t recall any of this, and Nancy’s journalistic abilities in telling this story seemed compromised, you had hoped to talk to Eddie the day you finally returned to Hawkins High.

Only to miss his chaos in the unusually quieter cafeteria, freshman and even seniors stressed about midterms and getting last-minute Secret Santa gifts. When Gareth–shocked to see you approach him and the others during lunchtime–had told you that Eddie was sick, you doubted that the metalhead wanted any visitors.

So you resigned to the horrible timing and focused on taking your exams for the rest of the week, immensely grateful for the start of winter break the following Monday.

“Nothing’s going on between us, I swear.”

“Mhmmm.” Hearing more indiscrete voices, Nancy giggled before saying, “Oh, how nice! Mike just said you could borrow his bike again if you wanna pay someone a visit. Maybe Christmas miracles do exist.”

How were you getting clowned by a fifteen-year-old?

“You’re both insufferable.”

“I’m just fulfilling my duty as a journalist and being honest.”

“But I told you the truth–he’s not interested!”

“Then why is he climbing the tree next to your bedroom window, again?”

You hung up the phone and ran before your body could tell you to stop, opening the window as your face was hit with the bitter air and disbelief.

“Eddie!” you half-whispered, startling the man as he almost lost his grip. “What are you doing?!”

And of course he still had that leather jacket on.

“Christ, you’re not supposed to see this!” he panted, his frosty breath revealing how cold it was. “Gimme a few more minutes.”

Despite anticipating the oncoming headache, you couldn’t control the amused laughter that escaped you. “You dork, you’re lucky there’s no snow. Just go through the front door. My parents aren’t here.”

You swore you heard a “Oh, thank god” before flying down the stairs and opening the door for him.

“Hi,” he greeted–shooting you a stiff wave and a lopsided smile–as if he hadn’t failed in climbing your tree a few seconds ago.

“Hi,” you returned shyly, that tightness in your chest re-emerging. Quickly picking away the twigs in that ridiculously soft hair and trying to act as if it was no big deal, you let Eddie inside.

“Um, are you feeling better?” you asked as you led him upstairs, hoping you sounded more nonchalant than what you currently felt.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, considering you, uh, passed out in my arms?”

You flipped him the bird before opening your bedroom door, scoffing, “I didn’t forget everything that happened that day. If I remember correctly, you promised to celebrate my acceptance with me.”

Letting Eddie sit next to you on your bed brought a sense of déjà vu that was getting harder to dispel with each passing second.

“You’re totally right. Which is why I brought you something. It was gonna be a Fleetwood Mac poster, but I didn’t have the strength to buy it in public.” He shuddered at the name, a gesture that made you roll your eyes.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered playfully, accepting the weirdly heavy plastic bag from Radioshack that he gave you, a sheepish look on his face as he nervously scratched the back of his head.

“I was gonna gift-wrap it but then realized that A) I don’t have anything to actually wrap the gift with and B) I had no time because I had to make-up my midterms two days ago.” Eyes widening as if he forgot something, he grinned and added, “Oh, speaking of that, I’m preeetyyy sure I bombed Ms. O’Donnell’s exam so I guess you’re still my tutor. Sorry.”

You pretended to shake your head disapprovingly–even if you tried, you couldn’t be mad, secretly happy to hear his rambling again. “You don’t sound sorry.”

“That’s because I feel more sorry for myself. Spending more time with you?” He fake gagged, his hands pretending to clutch his throat as he stuck his tongue out. “Ugh, a fate worse than death. I’d rather head to Mordor.”

“I’ll hit you and your obscure references with whatever is in this bag,” you teased, opening it as you peered inside. “What even is in this–”

You fell silent as you took out the boxed set of books, eyes scanning over the different titles written by J.R.R. Tolkien while your coy smile grew..

“You know, when I said I wanted to read The Lord of the Rings, I didn’t mean you had to get me the whole trilogy.”

In fact, you were planning on getting a library copy soon, in search of a new series to read. (And to finally understand whatever the hell Eddie kept on mentioning these past five months.)

“The books are actually mine,” Eddie said quietly, hands fidgeting as he nervously looked at your face to gauge your reaction. “I also threw in The Hobbit, which you should read first because it sets the stage for everything but is quick to finish. And if you ever get confused look at my notes. Not to toot my own horn, but they’re pretty damn good. Sometimes even funny.”

“Holy shit,” you breathed, shocked by the myriad highlights and annotations across hundreds of pages.

In August, if someone had told you Eddie Munson read and enjoyed a series that was over a thousand pages long, you would’ve outright laughed at them.

Now, you could easily imagine him excitedly flipping through each page, listening to Megadeth and Dio in the background as he hunched over his messy desk and scribbled his endless thoughts, wondering how he could incorporate some elements to his next D&D campaign.

It was an endearing picture, one that calmed your frantic heartbeats as you were reminded of how you two weren’t so different.

“Are you sure you wanna give these to me?” you asked, gazing into the warmest, brown eyes that belonged to Hawkin’s allegedly most dangerous teenager.

His cheeky grin already provided his thoughts. “I’ve read these books so many times I can probably quote it back to you. And I know once you finish these bad boys you’ll want to join Hellfire, so it’s a no-brainer, really.”

“Only when hell freezes over, pun very much intended,” you taunted, about to thank him for the gift until a smug Eddie placed a finger on your lip and whipped out another item underneath his jacket.

Unlike the boxed set, this one was wrapped in newspaper, his intent touching you enough that you didn’t even think about poking holes at his white lie from earlier or at his shoddy craftsmanship.

“I will say, that horrible pun made me consider whether I wanted to give this to you, but since I’m an incredibly nice person”–he gently placed the rectangular gift on your lap–“I got you this, too.”

Your forehead tilted in confusion and uncertainty, but you nodded and began opening the present.

“A journal,” you whispered in awe, admiring the intricate tree designed on the cover while your fingers appreciated the feel of your initials engraved in the corner of the authentic leather.

“Thought you would need something to write on for all those college creative writing courses you keep on talking about.” He shrugged impassively, but there was no way to hide the genuine gratitude in his eyes, the sincerity that followed shortly after.

“And I want to thank you for all your help. And for not hating me because people think I’m a freak. You’re cool in general, but I guess not being a douche makes you a pretty good person, too.”

The number of times Eddie Munson had left you unsure of what to say were more than you’d like to admit. But this was the first time he rendered you speechless, brain unable to think of an action that would show how much his words affected you.

How much Eddie meant to you.

So you kissed him, ignoring the weird angle or the way your teeth clicked after pulling his W.A.S.P. shirt a bit too roughly. Ignoring his slightly chapped lips and the fact that you ate sour cream and onion chips not one hour ago.

You kissed him, press after press of his lips against yours, climbing into his lap as your fingers got lost in his hair.

He kissed you, one of his hands grabbing one side of your face while the other rested on your hip. Your head felt light, but you didn’t want to stop, enjoying the delightful warmth in your chest, addicted to the way his lips seemed to melt into yours.

Eddie was the first to break it off, allowing for your panting figures to breathe for just a few seconds before he instantly regretted the separation and dove back in, these soft and sweet kisses feeling more raw and open than before.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, hot breath tickling your face, “I wanted to do that for so long.”

You slowly leaned back, one hand against his chest as you smirked at the sight of his flushed cheeks and shiny, swollen lips. “I thought spending more time with me was a ‘fate worse than death.’”

Laughing, he pecked the tip of your nose before caressing your cheek, affectionate, brown orbs crinkling as he clarified, “You heard me wrong, sweetheart. Spending time without you is worse than death.”

“Ha, smooth!” you teased, amused as you raised an eyebrow. “And whipping out the pet names already? We didn’t even say what we are, you dork.”

Clearing his throat dramatically, he bowed his head as he finally asked the question.

“Would you do me the honor of being your boyfriend?”

Lifting his chin, you smiled into the kiss, hoping that was a good enough answer.

–

“Edward, slow down!” you screeched over the loud music, reaching for the roof handle of the van.

Eddie’s chances of receiving his diploma from Principal Higgins this May were getting slimmer by the day, but based on the current speed an extremely excited Munson was driving, that chance was falling to zero for you, too.

The speedometer only lowered a sliver as Eddie scrunched his nose at the use of his first name. “Sorry, babe, but I’m still psyched after that show! We had a solid turnout.”

You recently started going to Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday gigs at the Hideout, and while they weren’t the best band in the world, you only had to watch a few shows before confirming that Eddie was a damn good guitarist. You’d even argue that seeing one show was sufficient to draw the same conclusion, but you could just picture Eddie’s shit-eating grin and constant bragging to his bandmates if you actually said those words aloud.

Proudly smiling at him, you grabbed his free hand and kissed the back of it. “The band’s best show yet. Told you people dig Fleetwood Mac covers.”

“Not as much as I dig you~” he sang giddily, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he slowed down to turn into Forest Hills.

“Ugh, stop being corny, Munson,” you laughed, affectionately squeezing his hand. Some of Eddie’s funniest moments came from the rush that followed after a performance, the man’s hyperactive brain rambling and continuously throwing out whatever joke or vague reference to see what would stick.

The nights after concerts were also when he was practically bouncing off the walls, itching to release his pent-up energy.

Which explained why he was already peeling off your coat while trying to open the front door to his place. Why he tossed his own leather jacket aside and immediately placed you against the kitchen counter, knocking down a few items as he buried his face into your neck, hands dangerously inching up your thighs.

“Ed,” you mumbled, sighing pleasantly at the soft bite on a sensitive spot as your legs instinctively wrapped around him. “Why do we never go to your bed first?”

He raised his head, a mischievous look in his eyes as he roughly kissed you. Lips grazing the shell of your ear, he whispered, “But where’s the fun in that?”

A few tugs to his hair convinced him to follow your directions, shared laughter filling his bedroom as he gently threw you onto his bed. He wasted no time taking off his sweaty shirt and removing your top before leaning into you, the cold, metal rings on his calloused fingers trailing up to your bra and sending goosebumps all over.

His lips ghosted yours before he breathed out, “You’re so pretty.”

The comment made you smile and arch into him, his tongue entering your mouth right after you gasped at him unhooking your bra.

He kissed you slowly, relishing your whimpers as he toyed with your nipples and shamelessly grinded against you, head too hazy with lust to care about the rough fabric of his jeans against yours.

Closing your eyes, you let his hungry lips taste every inch of you, committing your skin to memory. For the first time ever you were grateful that the March weather was still cold enough for you to wear a turtleneck, the only way you were going to be able to hide the marks he so generously left on your shoulders and exposed neck. The loud, wet sounds of him gently sucking on the soft fat of your breasts caused you to press your thighs together, frustrated at how soaked your panties were getting.

“Eddie,” you urged, breathless, fingers tangled in his hair as you guided him upward, foreheads meeting tenderly. You felt the low groan rumble from his chest as you told him, “I want more.”

You and Eddie weren’t necessarily walking into uncharted territory. After two months into your relationship, your intense make out sessions and roaming hands prompted a conversation about boundaries and sex.

Though neither of you were virgins (“Harrington?” Eddie asked you, his eyes practically falling out of their sockets. “As in rich boy, drives-a-BMW Steve Harrington? I’m competing against him?”), the two of you weren’t the most experienced. (“Oh yeah, I’ve been around…” Eddie started smugly, your unrelenting stare getting him to feebly rectify, “...uh, with two women.”)

You both agreed to take your time, not wanting to rush things. Truthfully, you felt it improved communication between the two of you, Eddie quickly listening and learning about your needs. What you disliked and liked. What turned you off and what moves made you want to jump his bones.

The latter now a feeling that you were experiencing, your chest filling with a greedy desire as the discomfort in your legs increased.

“Please, Eddie,” you pleaded against his lips, rolling your hips into his and enjoying the low moan you riled out of him. “I want you so bad. I need you.”

“Are you sure?” he questioned, bumping noses and placing a light kiss on your forehead when you confidently responded with, “I’m ready.”

“But–”

He instantly froze when you said that, hands that were ready to lower your pants now firmly planted on your waist. “It’s okay to say no, now or later. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Fuck, that was sexy, biting your lip at his words. Smiling softly, you reassured, “I’m definitely ready. But no handcuffs.”

The tip of Eddie’s ears matched his bright, blushing cheeks. “You saw those?” he whispered, his sideway glance toward his wardrobe incriminating himself.

Rolling your eyes, you ran a soothing hand over his chest as you teased, “It’s the first thing I saw in this messy ass room. We can use it some other time, but not tonight.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining, at all.” He worked quickly on discarding your pants, giving you a chaste peck before starting a trail of open-mouthed kisses on parts of you he neglected before. “Just the thought of using them is hot enough for me.”

“You kinky bastard!” you joked, body tingling with excitement when he tugged off your panties and part your legs even further, but not before tightly snapping the waistband against your skin.

“But I’m your kinky bastard.” That comment and a sloppy kiss on your inner thigh drove you mad, not even thinking it was possible for the wetness between your clenched legs to continue growing.

It hurt to swallow your moan, your eyes refusing to leave his as you impatiently challenged, “Then do your magic, Dungeon Master.”

The only warning was the flat of his tongue teasingly gliding between your parted folds, a shiver traveling up your spine at the sight of his shiny lips when he sighed, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His tongue continued to thrust straight into your leaking cunt, slow flicks become more assured as he found a rhythm that drew out your loudest moans and the most forceful hair pulling. The heat of his mouth closing around your core made you dizzy, hips bucking from the touch as you brought him further down to that tiny bundle of nerves.

“S-shit,” you stuttered upon feeling two fingers inside you, writhing helplessly into the bedsheets as he continued sucking your clit like a starved man. The curve of his digits hit a deep spot that made your eyes roll back, breaths becoming shallower as the searing knot in your stomach tightened.

“Eddie,” you whined, aching walls clutching his pumping fingers, “I wanna—”

“Cum, baby,” he encouraged, and you almost did.

But your eyes flew open, animated hands directing Eddie upward and shakily unbuckling his belt as you begged, “Want you inside, wanna ride you. Now.”

His hooded eyes widened while nodding enthusiastically, flipping you to the top and helping you lower his jeans and boxers before he cursed under his breath. “Shit, where are the condoms?”

“No time, just pull out” you stammered, fingernails digging into his biceps as you spared a second to ogle at his considerable length, the tip glistening with precum. Hard. Ready. Waiting.

For you.

You lifted your hips and sank down, immediately keeling over and whimpering at the way his cock buried into you. Your shaking body alternated between going up and down and rocking back and forth, moaning at how good it felt.

How good he felt.

“That’s it,” Eddie grunted, one hand steadying and holding yours while the other ran up and down your flushed body, mesmerized by the sight of your bouncing tits and the cute mewls that left your pretty little mouth. Stars clouded your vision as Eddie quickened the pace and slammed into your hips, the friction of his thick cock against your walls a sensation you both continued hunting after.

The incoherent babbling began as soon as he rubbed your clit with his ring, the cool steel bringing a new wave of pleasure that washed over your burning body.

“‘M gonna cum,” you managed to cry out, his name and curses tumbling from your lips as you felt a tense coil wound inside you.

You let go, eyes shut in bliss as a white, hot burst of pleasure flooded your veins, your numb mind drowning in a newfound sense of euphoria. Eddie felt himself teetering on the edge of an orgasm, chest puffing in pride and eyes darkening at your fucked-out face as he chased his own climax.

Flipping positions again, the bed creaked with every thrust as you sunk further into the mattress, the sounds of slapping skin became louder than both of your groans combined. Eddie swallowed your moan by clumsily capturing your lips into a kiss, the faint taste of your arousal on his tongue.

“Christ, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered into your ear, voice so low you barely caught it.

You laughed, your insides doing somersaults as his palm arched your back toward him. The new angle allowed his twitching cock to slip deeper inside your spasming walls as you held his gaze, watching his pants become heavier and rhythm more erratic.

Eddie quickly pulled out after, your body already missing the fullness as he painted your stomach in warm, white lines.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he stood on his knees, voice thick and jaw dropped. His heaving chest displayed all the tattoos scattered across his pale skin, entrusting you with a secret only you had access to. His sweaty bangs clung to his forehead while the rest of his tangled hair stuck out in wild directions, framing his face like a halo. Hypnotized, you drank the stunning sight before you as he grabbed some tissues from his desk and gently cleaned you up.

Eddie Munson was absolutely breathtaking.

And you were so done for.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, breaking your reverie as he laughed at your dumbfounded reaction. He collapsed next to you, letting your head snuggle into his chest as he lightly stroked your arm. “Or did I fuck you too hard?”

You snorted, playing with the tattoo underneath his collarbone before kissing it. “Mmm, no. I was thinking about how you, Eddie Munson, one of the most disorganized people to exist on this earth, found tissues in less than a minute but forgot where his condoms were. Good to know you masturbate more than actually get around.”

“How funny,” he drawled, pinching your waist playfully and raising a shriek out of you as he tried tickling you. “My biggest supporter quickly turns into my worst enemy. Was the sex that bad?”

Looking up, you pinned him with a cheeky grin before nestling your face into the base of his neck, gifting multiple butterfly kisses into the sensitive skin as a peace offering. “No complaints from me. It was amazing.”

“Would you say it was mind-blowing?”

You shrugged casually, amused lips curving upward while you twirled a strand of his hair. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Perhaps even better than sex with, I dunno, a popular douchebag?”

“Eddie!” you guffawed, unable to control your laughter.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he pouted, feigning hurt that you thought so.

“So I’ll answer seriously,” you said, pecking him before resting your chin on your hands that laid comfortably on his chest. “Who am I currently with?”

He rolled his eyes but you saw the slight twist of his mouth, felt his soothing hand drawing patterns on your back. “Fine, I guess, you proved your point, my fair lady.”

“Damn right I did. You’re lucky I’m still with you after I found out who Gollum was.”

“Oh, not again,” he whined dramatically, “everyone looks like Gollum when they’re sick!”

“Except?” you pressed, head turned to the side as you listened to his calmly beating heart.

“Except for my insanely hot and intelligent girlfriend…”

Satisfied with the amendment, you hummed loudly, briefly noting his heartbeat quicken.

“...who I happen to love.”

Your finger stopped re-tracing the tattoo on his chest, wondering if you heard that correctly.

Slowly raising your head, you searched his anxious, brown eyes and cautiously asked, “Did you say what I think you said?”

“What, that you’re hot and intelligent?” he nervously returned.

“No, the ‘L’ word,” you encouraged quietly, a hand caressing his cheek.

“Lesbians?”

“Eddie,” you slightly scowled, not enjoying how the fluttering in your stomach was about to turn into nausea. “The other ‘L’ word.”

The next beat of silence was the longest in your life, his warm eyes meeting yours before he muttered, “You got this, Munson.”

He cradled your face with the utmost care, thumb tenderly stroking your cheek while he said three little words.

“I love you.”

His fond smile was contagious, the joyous laughter spilling from your lips music to his ears.

Though nothing sounded better than you saying–

“I love you too.”

The kiss felt sweeter than ever, lifting you to a place you weren’t sure you’d ever reach.

This moment. This person. He was the true happiness you dreamt of.

His eyes lit up with a pure brightness when you told him that, both of you smiling goofily at one another while cherishing that rare, comfortable silence that few lovers had the privilege of experiencing.

“Not to disturb the peace or anything…” Eddie muttered after a few minutes, struggling to stay awake in your intertwined arms.

“Huh, that’s a new goal for you.”

“...but since we’re on the topic of happiness,” he rambled on, “it would make your boyfriend immensely happy if you were to participate in his D&D campaign. It’s never too late to fight the Cult of Vecna.”

“You have guts, I’ll give you that.”

“So is that a yes?”

Chuckling as you closed your eyes, you relaxed further into his embrace while mumbling, “Mmm, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. If it makes my boyfriend happy.”

You heard his fist pump swoosh the air, Eddie kissing the top of your head before he exclaimed, “The happiest man on earth! I knew ‘86 was my year.”

Smiling into your sleep, you couldn’t help but agree with the dork.

a/n: if you read this long ass fic then you're automatically my friend. i might write more parts featuring this pairing, i might not. i tried to write g/n smut but failed spectacularly so that's the next goal on my list. would love comments, feedback, or the opportunity to talk about eddie munson's shaggy hair and/or s4 pt. 2 theories. much love

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #Eddie Munson

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3pirouette · 11 months

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Fic: The Paradox of an Old Man (1/1)

Title: The Paradox of an Old Man

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: General MCU through Endgame, No Indy Spoilers

Disclaimer: They're not mine :)

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Summary: Indiana Jones may be nearly immortal, but one of the perks is that he’s lived long enough to see a few things, including finding a close friend again many times over.

A/N: So, even though I have this as a series, some of these stories DO contradict themselves. Basically, I just love playing with this idea of Indy and Steve and Peggy all knowing one another and I’m not going to go too nuts with the details, because the stories are what they are.

This one plays with the idea of Steve and Indy finding one another in the future more than once, and how that affects them both. There’s a larger story in here, but I seem to have a hard time grasping at it. For now- here’s the lighthearted side.

This if for Steggy Week 2k23 (Day 1: Headcanons and Meta - Thank you @steggyfanevents ) and also for @captainjimothycarter , whose unending love for this ridiculous universe only makes me want to write it more.

~*~

2012

Indiana Jones looked near the same as he had 70 years before, and it stunned Steve to his core.

“You were expecting an old man, weren’t you?” Jones stepped back, opening his door wide and sweeping his arm out. He smiled, just a little, as Steve moved past him into his home. “I guess we both got a surprise here.”

Steve turned, shoving his hands in his pockets, nodding. “When Fury told me you were alive…”

“No one knows why,” he threw his hands up, shrugging, before tipping his head and leading Steve into the living room. It was small and lived in, with books and tiny treasures covering every surface. Jones stacked the papers and folders on the coffee table and shoved them in a drawer next to the well-worn couch. “Though a few SHIELD scientists seem to think it has something to do with this cup I drank from…”

“A cup?” Steve looked up, confused, as he sat.

“Cup, chalice of Christ…” He shrugged and grumbled, moving to the small kitchen and pulling two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. “We couldn’t ever find it again to test it, so…” He rolled his eyes as he handed the Steve the bottle, “They think.”

Steve nodded, pulling the cap off his bottle and tapping his against Indy’s. “To old friends.”

He laughed, short and hearty. “To old friends, who both look like they did in 1945.” He took a long drink, sitting in the arm chair across from Steve. “Fury didn’t tell me what happened, just that you were back.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I know the first half,” he muttered, “how’d you survive?”

Steve smiled. “Well, they think…”

~*~

1954

“People are noticing,” Peggy started, folding her hands in front of her.

The gray in Peggy’s hair slipped simply into her chignon, a small streak of something he’d never known.

His dad had lost his hair young, and he couldn’t remember his father without gray in the hair he had left and in his beard. Indiana Jones hadn’t seen a change in his hair, except for the length, in as long as he could remember.

“Nary a wrinkle in twenty years? Yeah, they should.” Jones sat across from her in her office, shaking his head. “What are we going to do about it?”

Peggy sighed. It wasn’t easy to have to have this talk with him. He was a friend. A confidant. He was one fo the smartest men that consulted for SHIELD and sure as hell one of the few that took her leadership seriously. “The current school of thought includes special effects make-up and prosthetics.”

Indy laughed, standing. He paced the room, wringing his hands. “You’re gonna dye my hair gray?”

“Among other things.” She watched him like a tiger in a cage, heart in her throat. “That keeps you here, with us.” She looked down at her desk, tapping her nails on it gently. “The other options are much more-“

“Much more ‘run and hide’ every ten years?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He turned to her, shaking his head. “If it was anyone but you, Peg, telling me this-“

“You’d have laughed your way out the door by now, I know.” She stood, moving to his side. “Please, I need you to understand. Questions have been raised that we can’t ignore anymore.”

“Everyone in SHIELD has seen a lot more weird shit than a guy that doesn’t age.” He paced away from her, needing the distance. “You’re telling me you can hide the Ark of the Covenant in your yearly reports but I’m a problem?”

“You’re not a problem!” Peggy paused and amended herself, shrugging. “Most of the time.” He smiled at that, and she was happy for the moment of levity. “But this is a problem. One we can stave off for a bit but…”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have given you a hard time.” He stepped over and sat back in the chair heavily. “Truth is, people outside of here are starting to notice, too.” He looked up. “So maybe we should talk about the options.”

Peggy sat on the edge of her desk, a little calmer, and a little sadder, knowing this meant an ending was coming. “Let’s do it over dinner, shall we?”

Indy smiled slyly.

~*~

2012

Steve sat back on the sofa, beer warming on the table. “It’s good to know she had you,” he muttered. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but-“

Indy cut him off with a nod. “I see her when I can.” He looked down at his hands. “She has more bad days now than good ones.”

Steve sighed, rubbing his suddenly sweaty hands on his thighs. “I’m uh-“ he cleared his throat, hiding his emotion. “I’m just glad she had a good life.”

Jone’s eyebrows rose. “She told ya about it?”

Steve took a long swing of beer, hiding the time he needed to compose himself. “No, uh, not so much.” He sniffed and took another shorter drink. “She told me mostly about her time with the SSR and SHIELD, but she did tell me she had a family- showed me pictures of her kids and grandkids.”

Jones paused, asking when he couldn’t wait anymore. “Her husband?”

Steve shook his head, looking at the floor. “No, no. It was still- is still-“ he stopped and looked up, eyes a little haunted. “She had a lot more time to get over me than I did to get over her.”

“Still not over her,” Jones commented, drinking from his own beer.

Steve just shook his head. “How do you get over a girl like that?”

Indy stood, taking Steve’s nearly empty bottle from his hands. “Well, if you don’t want to know anything about him, I can respect that.” He slipped both bottles into one hand then let his palm sit on Steve’s shoulder for a minute before heading back into the kitchen.

~*~

2023

When the door opened, Steve was confronted with a man who hadn’t aged a day. Indiana Jones looked exactly the same, with the exception of his mouth hanging agape in surprise, as he had for nearly the last hundred years.

Steve smiled, wrinkles shifting around his face, glad he was able to surprise his friend. “You weren’t expecting an old man, were you?”

Indy stepped forward, hugging his friend. “You’re confusing this old man, now, Rogers.”

“You know well enough, Jones,” Steve pulled back, moving past him and into he home where he felt comfortable as he’d been there many, many times in his life. “I couldn’t remember the exact date-“

“Have to get you a date book with the big print now,” Jones joked, closing the door.

Steve pointed at him, only half smiling at the joke. “So I probably waited a little too long.”

“Saw your young self for the first time last week,” Jones said gently, sitting in his armchair. “You drank all my beer.”

Steve smiled, moving into the kitchen and helping himself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He held it up but Jones shook his head. “And ate all your food, as I recall.”

“Damn near all of it,” Indy grumbled good natured.

Steve leaned against the counter, fiddling with the water.

Jones waited patiently for the questions to come, he knew there would be questions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He smiled. “Because you didn’t know. Because I wasn’t sure if that was how time worked. If it was a paradox that would somehow fix itself or, well, I’m sure you can guess. A million reasons, really.” He spread his hands out. “Every culture has myths about time travel, and none of them tell us what to do with the possibility of paradoxes. I didn’t think it was a good idea to mess with it.”

Steve nodded. “Fair.”

“Better be,” he smiled crookedly, “It’s the only answer I got.”

He slipped to the couch, sipping from his water. “You know, for the longest time, I thought you were the one that married Peg.”

Jones did a double take. “What?”

“You never talked about it, neither did she.” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t find anything on it, anywhere.”

“Because we were hiding you from yourself, buddy.”

“I know that now,” Steve smiled up at him, “but back then- or now- hard to get a grip on tense with this.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I was convinced that you’d married her.”

Jones leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He took a long, slow breath, and then looked Steve in the eye. “To tell you the truth, I thought about asking her out more than once. There was a gap in there before you showed up…”

Steve leaned back, unbothered. “I wouldn’t have blamed either of you.”

“Gorgeous, smart, quick-“ He sighed, shaking his head. “But she was always yours, and I knew I made the right decision to stay her friend when you showed back up.”

The men smiled at each other. “Still, thanks for looking out for her before I got there.”

“Glad to have done it. She’s my friend, too.”

~*~

1954

“Steve!” Peggy called, unlocking the door. “We’ve got one more for dinner!”

Steve appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, apron slung around his hips and toddler upside down in his arms, smiling when he saw Jones move into the house behind Peggy. “Great.” He walked over, depositing his son in Jones’ only slightly surprised arms. “He’s all yours.”

Steve pecked Peggy on the lips before turning back to the kitchen, Jones tickling the toddler as he squirmed in his grasp, giggling. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

“What’s on the menu?” Jones asked, righting the boy in his arms and tossing him nearly to the ceiling to hear him giggle.

“Roasted chicken!” Steve called from the kitchen. “Maybe potatoes. They’re…”

A pot crashed and Peggy, Indy, and the boy paused, looking towards the empty doorway.

Steve peeked around the edge of the doorframe, apron dripping wet. “Uh- no potatoes.”

Indy huffed, passing Peggy her baby boy and pulled his hat off. “How are you one of the greatest soldiers the word has ever seen and yet incompetent int he kitchen?”

“I’m not completely incompetent,” Steve’s voice drifted as the two men disappeared.

“No, Just mostly,” Jones jabbed, moving back through the space Peggy could see to pull an apron from their cupboard and then stack a new set of potatoes in his arms. “How did you mess up boiling potatoes? Aren’t you Irish?”

“”Well, I-“

Indy was zipping through Peggy’s line of sight, and she smiled as she watched Steve trail behind him like a lost puppy. “And you grew up in Brooklyn, in the Great Depression?”

Steve paused, flopping his hands out to the sides. “Like we had money for potatoes.”

“Just… focus on the chicken before you burn the damn thing,” Jones ordered, before leaning out, smiling at Peggy. “There will be potatoes.”

Peggy just laughed, cuddling her boy to her chest.

“Oh, goodness,” she muttered, shaking ehr head, before calling back out. “I’ll be in my office, then. Don’t burn the place down please.”

Their voices, in chorus, answered her as she moved down the hall. “I won’t!” The unspoken part, full of levity, was that neither man could really be sure if the other wouldn’t, though.

Peggy wouldn’t have it any other way.

#Steggyweek23 #Steggy fic #steggyfanevents #3P’s Fic #Indiana Jones crossover

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trash-king18 · 11 months

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m pt. 15

so sorry for the unexpected delay on this pt. my wifis been out for days🥲

cw: more fighting, angry fcking, unprotected (please dear lord wrap it before u tap it) injections, accidental injury, little bit of 🩸not much

————

you weren’t sure what happened now. he didn’t seem cold towards you anymore and you were still annoyed but you’d beaten most of the anger out on a fake dummy for four weeks. it’s not like you could just smile at each other or start a friendly conversation in the halls, that would be even weirder. the only thing that was considered normal for you two was fighting. so you decided that’s what you’d have to do. it maybe wasn’t the smartest, your ribs were mostly healed but still not entirely 100 percent. and interrupting his work to pick a fight was never a good choice. you didn’t even know what you’d fight about but knowing him, something would come up within about 30 seconds of you entering the space.

besides if he got too angry you still needed to test the new sedative serum.

you walked into his office without knocking, office being a loose term. it was a seemingly endless dark room of webs connecting the different universes and a platform with screens. perfect place for brooding.

you know he can tell you’re there but he doesn’t acknowledge your presence.

“got a minute?”

“nope.”

“can you.. find one”

“busy.”

“seriously o’hara i just need a second.”

“what is it”

“will you at least come down from there”

no answer

“fine never mind it can wait”

you hear him web down behind you

“what is it”

you turn back around

“i-“

“don’t waste my time”

“well-“

“oh great so you come in here and bother me and you don’t even know why”

“you know if you weren’t such a brooding baby people might feel inclined to actually listen to you”

you wait. you weren’t sure how he’d react to you making fun of after everything

he looks like he’s going to yell but instead he just says

“i’ll make a note of that”

“Oh por el amor de Dios o’hara will you just yell at me”

for gods sake/for the love of god

“what?”

“just yell at me, make fun of me, something this is stupid”

“you ~want~ me to yell at you”

“yes!”

“no.”

“wh-since when don’t you want to yell at me”

“i could believe me, i have plenty i could yell at you for.. but i have more important things to deal with”

“and those are”

“not doing this”

“too late”

he turns back around and steps towards you

“what the hell are you doing”

“talking”

“no. you’re trying to piss me off why”

“nothing i just.. ”

he groans “whatever. did you have something to say or not”

you stutter

“or did you just come in here with the intent of starting another pointless fight”

“no- i”

he’s standing over you now

“all the times you yell at me for getting mad and now here you are you—“

“i what”

he doesn’t answer but his expression has changed. suddenly he reaches for your face and you just watch his hand

“what are you-“

“shut up”

he places his hand on the side of your face and you don’t pull away.

he starts to lean down to your face. he pauses before your lips his breath is warm and when you still don’t move he presses one rough kiss to you before pulling back.

you just stand, eyes slightly closed before you feel him pick you up and walk you over to an empty unused table. he sets you down and bends you over it harshly. you can feel him slightly hard pressed against your ass.

your voice is quiet “o’hara what are you doing”

he doesn’t answer he just starts tugging your pants down around your legs and you hear him taking his suit off.

you try to turn to look but he pushes your chin forward again. you don’t stop him as his hands find purchase on your hips and feel him press against the entrance.

“o’hara-“

he leans down into your ear and growls “miguel” and that’s all he says before he pushes into you not giving you a second to adjust before he starts stroking in and out. it’s rough and it hurts but you don’t want to stop him.

the pace is bruising and you’re quickly out of breath as your side starts to ache. besides a few quite grunts he’s completely silent.

your hand comes down to grab your side to keep it from banging against the table but the pain starts to sharpen and you call out weakly.

“miguel.”

he doesn’t answer

“miguel fuck please you’re hurting me”

he glances to your hand and all he does is groan angrily before flipping you onto your back and resuming the same pace.

it’s more intimate now but he refuses to look at you. he just stares at the slight bulge in your stomach.

once the pain subsides you start to feel yourself pulsing around him. you don’t ask him to slow down you just put your head back and let yourselves fuck the anger out.

after a while you start to feel a release build and you start moaning his name softly.

you can feel him resisting you even as he pumps into you over and over but your body is exhausted and you lean to grab his back for support.

he uses one arm to wrap around your waist and push into even deeper while the other comes up and grabs your neck.

you can still breath but there’s pressure.

he still won’t look at you but you can tell he’s also close and his thrusts start to get sloppy. you finish together breathlessly and a string of curses leaves his mouth as he cums. he holds you for just one second his touch seeming to soften before pulling away and immediately moving to clean up and pull his suit back up.

you pull your clothes back on and just stare at him. he still hasn’t said a word.

you stand there waiting.

“what”

“that’s it?”

“what else is there”

“i don’t know.. an apology maybe”

“you could’ve stopped me”

“not for that”

“than what” he snaps

“following me, being a jerk, being irresponsible..”

he pinches the bridge of his nose “no puedo más no puedo mas”

“…invading my privacy-”

“when did i-“

“-acting like a jealous boyfriend with marcus”

he stops “that’s not- i was not- well what about you huh?”

“me!?”

“accusing me of- of-“

“was i wrong!?”

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO BRING IT UP!”

his voice is filled with hurt, angrier than you’d ever heard him. you’re sure everyone in the whole building could hear

you knew he was right too, even if it was true, you shouldn’t have mentioned his past. he lost his wife, his daughter. they may have never been his to begin with but the trauma was real, and so was his guilt. you knew that, and you understood it more than you wanted anyone to know. you both threw yourselves into work after, trying to make up for what you’d done.

but the difference was you still had family, the boys and crystal. you could never know how it felt to truly lose everything.

“miguel i- i’m sorry”

“just-“ his voice sounds like it might actually break but he clears his throat

“out. just get out.”

“miguel..”

“OUT”

he swings back up to his platform

you leave and go straight home since it’s already late. you consider calling crystal or even going home to see her but before you can decide anything lyla pops up in your living room

“Y/N we need you back here now”

“why what happened”

“It’s bad”

“ how bad” you start to worry

“well… someone let an anomaly escape and he kinda..

“lyla, what happened”

he’s going on a rampage, he’s shut himself in his office but he’s already broken all his computers”

you hear crashing in the background

“shit i’ll be right there”

you speed back and run up. you grab the new injection and then race to his office

“somebody needs to break down the door”

jess “you can’t go in there right now”

“i have to”

gwen “what are you gonna do, no offense y/n but you don’t even have powers”

“just get the door open”

it takes three of them they eventually get it open

“everybody just go home. me and lyla will take care of this”

“we can’t just let you-“

“go. now just trust me”

they finally agree and then you carefully step in the room dodging pieces of computer screen.

“HEY! knock it off!”

he doesn’t even seem to hear you.

“MIGUEL. IF YOU DONT STOP THROWING SHIT RIGHT NOW I WILL ACTUALLY SHOOT YOU”

he doesn’t stop, and you fire a warning shot into the ceiling

he whips around and looks at you

you point the gun loosely in his direction but not where you’d hit him, you didn’t plan to shoot him but you thought you might have to

he jumps down and stalks over. his eyes are deep red and his claws are out. he’s practically snarling

“you look like a feral dog, knock it off”

“don’t speak to me”

“fine. we won’t talk but you’re gonna sit your ass down and stop breaking everything”

“oh will i?”

he reaches for a strand of your hair and wraps it around his finger

“don’t touch me miguel”

“i thought you liked how i touched you, you were practically begging for me earlier”

his claw cuts into your skin on accident when you try to pull away

“get off”

he goes to grab your wrist but before he can you stab the needle into his side and push down. he staggers backwards. the injection hits him full force and you can see the discomfort as it courses through his blood.

the color drains from his face, and he sways slightly.

you step toward him hesitantly

“miguel..

he looks up at you and all the anger is gone, he looks guilty and exhausted

you step closer and gently remove the needle. he meets your eyes and tries to say something before he crumples in front of you sinking to his knees.

he reaches out for you and you step back, slightly nervous which just makes him look more upset

“i- i’m sorry, y/n”

you put your hand on his shoulder and he leans forward. his claws are gone and his hands come up to your lower back pulling you to him for a hug of sorts and he presses his forehead to your stomach

“i’m sorry cariño, i didn’t mean it, i’m so sorry”

you just stay like that, his breathing slowly steadying

he repeats the same thing over and over.

“i didn’t mean it”

————

taglist:

@urmotherswhor3 @kirke-is-my-name @rexxesgirl @simp4miguell @urmomisafinewoman @dammittjanet @cheezit-luv3rr @miggyyyyohara

#across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #atsv #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara smut

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silvfyre-writings · 3 months

Text

Take their names out of your mouth (BSD Fanfic)

I return with bramran!! I always have so much fun writing hurt/comfort fics, and this one is no different. I also have a personal goal of having bramran reach 30 fics by the end of the year, so let's see how that goes :D

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Ranpo’s day starts off fine.

He goes to work, he solves cases, he gets praised; it’s the same as every other day, and yet there is a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that just sits there… waiting. What for, he doesn’t know—well, it’s more that he doesn’t care, since if it was truly important, then the feeling would be at the forefront of his mind. So, he forgets about it.

Until lunch.

The moment he goes down to the café below the Agency, and sits in one of the booths, a sickeningly sweet sundae in front of him, it all goes downhill. He manages to enjoy just four bites of his sundae before his mood flips, because that’s when two officers that he’d worked with earlier in the week, walk into the café, talking shit about him.

Now, Ranpo isn’t one to let other’s words get to him. Not since the day Fukuzawa picked him up and told him that he was special. There wasn’t much point in his opinion, since it’s already been long established that he’s the smartest in the room, and that everyone else is just stupid, which includes the useless words that often spill out of their mouths. But there were times, like right now, where the words seemed specifically designed to hurt him, and it was always when people thought they were alone.

Ranpo’s used to people insulting him right in his face, gets a rise out of returning the favour to whoever speaks them, but he gets frustrated when people do it when they think he’s not around, because it’s not a game then, and Ranpo can’t defend himself.

Not to mention that the words are always crueller, more truthful, when people think you can’t hear them.

He says nothing as the officers walk up to the counter to place their order, and ducks his head when they move to sit at the booth behind him. It’s unintentional on their part, but in Ranpo’s mind that doesn’t matter; it’s not like the café is busy at this hour, and it’s not as if it’s hidden knowledge that the Agency is just a few floors up. Either these two are waiting for a superior that’s gone up the stairs, or they’re hoping that he’ll come down them.

Well, the jokes on them, since he’s already here, and openly eavesdropping on them.

“What’s Edogawa’s deal anyway?” One of the officer’s say, contempt in their voice as they speak to their companion. “What right does he have to come trouncing over our crime scene?”

“He’s been doing it for twelve or so years apparently.” The other officer says, less upset than their companion, but still annoyed. “Yasui-san let him get away with it for so long, and now Minoura-san’s doing the same. Our bosses seriously need to get a backbone—”

Ranpo narrows his eyes. Yasui and Minoura both have plenty of backbone, having stood up to him many times in the past when they’d believed him to be wrong—he’d eventually proven that he was right though, but that wasn’t the point.

“—otherwise we’ll never be respected.”

“We aren’t respected anyway. Edogawa’s made it quite clear that we’re nothing but a speck of dirt on his shoe.” Comes the bitter response. “Clearly his parents never bothered to teach him respect.”

In an instant Ranpo freezes, spoonful of ice cream stopping just in front of his mouth. The wound that was the loss of his parents tearing open like it’d never healed in the first place. Across the room, he sees Lucy look at him in concern that is bridled by anger, silently asking if he wants her to step in and chase these people out. Ranpo tightens his grip on his spoon and shakes his head. This is a battle he’s more than capable of dealing with; it’s not as if people haven’t tried to use his parents—or lack thereof—against him before. He’s an adult now, not some wayward teenager, that knows his worth and has people that care about him. The opinion of some dissatisfied officers is nothing to him, he’ll let them finish their complaining and then—

“He’s an orphan apparently. They probably died before they could.”

And then—

A humourless chuckle, followed by the sound of utensils. “What’s the bet they orchestrated that accident themselves just to get away from their asshole kid?”

And then—

“Hey!” Lucy intervened then, rushing out from behind the counter and storming over, arms crossed, and a furious scowl on her face. “I don’t know what your problem is, but we don’t tolerate that kind of talk here. So get out before I throw you out.” Silence follows her words which gives her the opportunity to turn towards him. “Ranpo-san, can I get something for you?” Do you want me to call the Agency down?

And then Ranpo smiles. He stands, eyes flicking from Lucy towards the officer’s whose faces have turned ashen. One of them opens their mouth to say something—no doubt an apology they don’t even mean in the first place—but Ranpo cuts them off before the first syllable can leave their mouth. “No thanks. I’m just about to leave.” It’s fine, I’ve got it handled.

“Edogawa—”

“Enjoy your meal officers. I do hope that I’ll see you on the next case Minoura-kun calls me out for.” The words are empty, and Ranpo can see the realisation and fear in their eyes as they figure out that he fully intends on telling Minoura what they’ve said about him, and that depending on how courteous Minoura is, their jobs may be on the line.

Not that Ranpo cares. They should’ve been more aware of their surroundings before they started running their mouths.

He drops some money onto the table before he leaves. It’s rude, he knows that, but right now he just needs to leave. The atmosphere of the café is stifling, threatening to suffocate him, and that feeling he’s had since morning has made itself known. Overwhelmed. Something that happens frequently, yet never recognises because the build-up is always different. And yet, the triggers always seem to be the same; someone saying something that he disagrees with, that sets him off in an instant.

His parents is one such trigger.

Once upon a time, when he’d first begun to live with Fukuzawa, they’d argued. It was bound to happen considering their differences in personality, and the shift in dynamic that they’d both still been getting used to at the time. Buttons were pressed, barbs were thrown, and it was the first time that Ranpo’s parents had been dragged into the conversation to make a negative point. He still remembered that moment clearly; the words leaving Fukuzawa’s mouth, the way the older man stiffened the moment he realised what he’d said, and Ranpo’s world coming to a screeching halt.

Fukuzawa, of course, apologised immediately, and they managed to talk it out—otherwise Ranpo wouldn’t have stayed with the man—but it still didn’t change that the words were said in the first place. What mattered was what happened afterwards, and after that argument, Ranpo’s parents were never brought up when emotions were high.

And now they’d been brought up again, by strangers, who had no right to speculate about their deaths—the deaths that were proven to have been an accident.

And still, Ranpo can’t stop himself from jumping from zero to a hundred the moment they get brought up.

He leaves the café behind, and instead of going upstairs to the Agency, he leaves the building entirely. The world around him sounds like it’s underwater, and his vision is swimming, even though he knows there’s nothing physically wrong with him. It’s like he’s stepped out of his body, moving on autopilot to a destination he doesn’t know. And he just lets it happen. He doesn’t try to fight it, even though he knows he should. He doesn’t try to think, to understand, what just happened, and he completely ignores the emotions his mind is trying to make him feel.

Despair, anger, fear; he squashes them into a ball and locks them away in the corner of his mind.

Right now, Edogawa Ranpo feels nothing, and that is just fine by him.

He’s not sure how long he walks for, nor is he sure where he’s gone, but what breaks him out of his stupor is the whistle of a train. He jerks, stumbling over his feet, and colliding with a stranger that shoves him away with a look of disgust. The touch burns, it truly burns, hot and heavy where the brief contact had occurred. Someone else brushes past him, and that touch burns too. Ranpo wraps his arm around himself, suddenly overwhelmed for a different reason now as the world filters back in.

The noise of the station. The brightness of the lights. The compressed feeling of the air.

It’s all too much for him, his knees give out and he collapses to the floor. He covers his face with his hands and presses it against the ground, uncaring that it’s a dirty station floor. He just wants the world to stop right now, and this is the best way he can—by pretending that it simply doesn’t exist.

It doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t. Just because he stops, doesn’t mean that everyone around him is going to do the same. Around him he can hear whispers; a child points at him and asks his parent what the strange man is doing—hush now, just ignore him. It reminds him of his parents, when they would take the time to explain things that he didn’t understand until he could. It makes him miss them even more than he already does, and his heart aches, along with the rest of his body.

He thinks he hears someone ask if he’s okay—or it might be if he needs help, he doesn’t know—but he can’t hear them clearly over the roaring in his ears, over the cacophony the station provides.

Ranpo wants to scream, he wants to tear his hair out, but all he can do is lay against the dirty station floor and just shut down.

There’s a cold touch against his face, but before he can panic, the world goes silent, and a heavy weight presses on his back.

And Ranpo feels like he can breathe again.

After a moment, he raises his head, and finds himself staring into the crimson eyes of his vampiric lover. Bram stares at him, concerned, even as the rest of his face is in its usual monotone look—it’s the eyes, always the eyes—and Ranpo feels Bram’s nails against the back of his scalp. The touch is gentle, soothing, because the older is more than aware of how to handle Ranpo when he’s at his worst, which is why Bram doesn’t say anything as Ranpo tries to pull himself together.

Only, his body chooses then to completely betray him, because he feels tears well up in his eyes and spill down his cheeks. How embarrassing, he thinks, to be breaking down in the middle of a train station during rush hour, but before he can hide away from the world again, Bram presses his hands firmer against his ears, which also prevents Ranpo from lowering his head, and leans forward to press a kiss against his forehead.

The gesture calms Ranpo. He can feel his heartbeat slowing, his airway clearing—he hadn’t even been aware of his panicked breathing, that’s how out of it he was—and soon, he feels like he can face the world again, even as the first wave of exhaustion hits him. He moves to sit up, and Bram follows him, hands not once leaving their place in blocking out the sounds of the world. The weight on his back slips, but is quickly readjusted, and that’s when Ranpo realizes that it’s Bram’s coat that’s resting around his shoulders. But considering that the vampire’s hands are currently occupied, he’s not sure who it is that’s also witnessing him crumble apart.

He receives an answer when Aya steps into view, keeping a respectful distance as she observes quietly. Her face is openly concerned, and she shifts from side to side, wanting to help, but knowing him well enough to keep her distance. And Ranpo appreciates it. His words fail him when he tries to say as such, so he gives the girl what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Aya returns it, which makes him think he succeeded.

“Ranpo.” Bram’s voice is muffled, but he’s kneeling close enough that Ranpo can still hear his words. He looks up into those eyes of crimson, blinking slowly—tiredly. “Can you cover your ears so we can get you out of here?”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Ranpo’s mind, and when they do, he nods, and brings his hands up to replace Bram’s own. For a split second, in the moment where Bram moves his hands, and Ranpo covers his own ears, the sounds of the station flood his senses and threaten to overwhelm him, but soon enough, the sounds become muffled again, and Ranpo finds himself focusing on the warmth that is Bram’s body as the older man swings Ranpo up into his arms, coat and all.

Ranpo keeps his eyes closed as Bram walks; normally he’d be embarrassed at being carried in public, but he’s already long passed that, so he instead focuses on the gentle motions that lull him into further calmness. This is where Bram’s absurd height comes in handy; the extra inches somehow allow the vampire to move smoothly—he’s also sure it’s just centuries of practice, but Ranpo likes to imagine it’s the height. Longer legs and all that.

After that, Ranpo loses time. He opens his eyes after what he thinks is a few minutes to find that they’ve left the station entirely now, and that they’re in a park that’s thankfully devoid of other people. Bram stops in front of a park bench, and glances down at him before moving to set him on his feet. Ranpo allows it, but still clings to the other with one hand as he sits. He doesn’t want to let go and risk Bram leaving him too—an unreasonable thought, but Ranpo’s never been the most rational person after a meltdown.

Almost as if he can read Ranpo’s mind, Bram sits beside him, and reaches to grab at the hand that’s clutching his shirt with one of his own, gently pulling it away and lacing their fingers together. Bram studies him carefully before he turns to Aya. “I wish to speak with Ranpo alone. Will you be alright to continue to the Agency on your own?”

“Of course I will be.” Aya exclaims, hands on her hips. It’s an act; Ranpo can see the stress on her face, not at going on alone, but for him. Turns out Kunikida was right when he said that the girl was empathetic to everyone she knew, regardless of closeness. Ranpo blinks as her eyes fall on him. “Hope you feel better soon, Ranpo-san. I’ll tell the others you’re with Bra-chan.”

The words get lodged in his throat again, so Ranpo simply inclines his head in response. Aya skips off in the next second, leaving him alone with Bram, and it’s the most at peace he’s felt since the incident in the café.

Bram runs a thumb over the back of Ranpo’s knuckles soothingly. “Are you able to talk yet?”

Ranpo shakes his head. He’s calmer now than before, but it still feels like there’s something trapping his words within him, locking them within a cage that’s gotten lodged in his throat. Even after swallowing, the feeling doesn’t go away.

“That’s okay.” Bram says, squeezing his hand this time. “I can take you back to your dorm?”

He nods this time, and tightens his grip on his lover’s hand.

“Of course I will stay with you.” Bram stands and tugs Ranpo upright. With his free hand, he adjusts the coat around Ranpo’s shoulders again, and then they set off for the Agency dorms, where Ranpo can curl up underneath his futon and hide from the world, but this time, not lose himself entirely.

Today has certainly been a day.

The moment that the door shuts behind him, Ranpo drops Bram’s hand and strides towards his bedroom, ripping off his clothes as he goes, leaving them scattered about. Normally his clothes bring him comfort, the loose material doing wonders to stop his senses from overloading, but now, they suffocate him. He’s almost certain that it’s just him, and not actually the clothes, considering the suffocating feeling only eases off marginally once he’s naked, but if he tells himself enough that it helps, he’s sure that he’ll believe it eventually.

It’s the better option when the other is him tearing at his skin to try and get rid of it.

Behind him, he can hear Bram moving about, can hear him picking up the clothes that Ranpo discards, and ignores it in favour of his futon. He practically dives into it, drawing the blankets up and over his head until there’s nothing but darkness and his own shaky breathing. He’s pathetic, truly pathetic, to be hiding from the world like this. Earlier, he claimed to himself that he was an adult, that could handle things in an adult manner, but here he is, breaking into pieces like he used to when he was a teenager lost in the world.

“You are allowed to break, Ranpo. There’s no shame in how you handle things.”

The words echo in his mind, words from over a decade ago that he’s clung to for so long in moments like these. The reminder helps him to believe that he’s not overreacting, and that this is just how he was built to handle things. He remembers being told once, that what others see as an overreaction, is simply just him responding to a situation in the way his mind was programmed to. Everyone is different, that voice continues to say. Where one may cry, another may not. Being shamed for your reaction is wrong.

Ranpo repeats those words in his mind, and jumps when light invades his cocoon. A protest that dies as fast as it forms, half-heartedly falls from his lips as warm arms envelop him, pulling him against a chest with a steadily beating heart. He turns his head to press an ear closer to it, until all he can hear his that heartbeat. As he listens, he relaxes, and when the first drag of nails through his hair comes, he relaxes even more.

“I have you.” Bram murmurs, the words reverberating beneath Ranpo’s ear. They bring tears to his eyes that he refuses to let fall. But of course, that fails when Bram repeats his words. “I have you.”

The first sob comes as expected, so do the first lot of tears. What isn’t expected is the wail that he lets out, all the words that have been trapped inside him escaping in that one cry.

And then Ranpo breaks.

Bram holds him close, humming soothingly into the crown of his head, and running one hand through his hair. The other is wrapped around his shoulders, a reassuring weight. It’s a relief to have Bram there, Ranpo finds, as he cries and throws his fists against that firm chest. The vampire isn’t spooked by him breaking, nor does he mock or call him a fool for being unable to control himself when his emotions take the reins. All his love ever does is hold him close and accept it. He soothes, he holds, as one does when the one you care about his hurting, but he always goes at the pace that Ranpo sets, no matter how long it might go on for.

This time, it’s just a few minutes, probably due to him having broken at the train station earlier, and Ranpo sniffs, croaking out a quiet I’m sorry.

“No need to apologise.” Bram says, not once letting up in his ministrations. He does loosen his grip though, allowing Ranpo to shift so they can be eye level without Ranpo needing to crane his neck.

Ranpo closes his eyes and sniffs again. He feels the lingering tears be brushed away, and decides that he owes Bram an explanation, a small one, a summary. “Some officers were being assholes when they thought I couldn’t hear them.”

Bram hums. “Aren’t they usually?”

He’s not wrong, but still, Ranpo corrects him. “They brought up my parents. In a not nice way.”

The hand in his hair stills, and the atmosphere turns icy. There is pure venom in Bram’s voice as he speaks. “How dare they.”

New tears form in Ranpo’s eyes, and he shuffles forward to press his face into the crook of Bram’s neck. Bram immediately wraps his arms around him protectively. The other’s anger is reassuring, and he knows that if it weren’t for his poor emotional state, that Bram would be flying out the door to hunt down and, well, he’s not quite sure what Bram would do actually; it could be anywhere from scaring to eviscerating, and Ranpo finds himself entertaining both options.

“Will you be okay?” Bram asks after a moment.

Will you be okay, not are you okay. God, Ranpo loves this man.

“I will be.” He says. “But not right now.”

Ranpo feels lips against his temple, the words that follow, whispered into his ear. “That is fine. Take your time, love, I am not going anywhere.”

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #hurt/comfort #comfort #bramran #bram stoker #edgar allan poe #writing #fanfic

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