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eddiesxangel · 2 days

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Downhearted | E.M

Cw: reader with bad mental health (depression/anxiety), bestfriend!Eddie x fem!reader, hurt/comfort, smut 18+ Eddie takes care of reader.

2.4k (this was suppose to be a blurb… oops)

Recently, you have been feeling very low, and despite your best efforts, you are struggling to get back to your usual self. However, your best friend Eddie has not given up on you. He has been by your side, trying to uplift your mood and bring back your smile, but nothing seems to work. Eddie has tried everything in his power to help you, from taking you out for lunch to watching funny movies together, but once you are on your own, everything seems to be crashing down on you even harder.

Your friend is worried about you and wants to see you happy again. He understands how challenging it is to deal with mental health issues and how it can affect your life. That's why he has come up with a last-ditch plan to lift your spirits and make you feel better. He hopes that this plan will work and bring a smile to your face once again.

To make things worse, you have been distancing yourself from your friends for weeks now, and you feel terrible about it. You feel like you're letting them down, especially Eddie, who has been there for you through thick and thin. He has come over at least three times a week since your mental health started to deteriorate again, and he has never given up on you.

This isn't the first time your mental health has plummeted, but this time, it's worse than ever before. You don't even have the energy to try and get better, and you feel like everything is falling apart around you. However, Eddie's unwavering support and his last-ditch plan to lift your spirits give you hope that things will get better soon.

Living alone didn’t help. You would go days without talking to someone, and that only made things worse. So Eddie made it his mission to be there for you. You’ve always been there for him; it’s the least he can do.

You haven’t left your bed today or all week. You’ve been on your phone all day but not really doing anything; you’re numb. Not even videos of kittens could make you feel anything.

You’ve been ignoring Eddie's pleas to help you. Text after text, his contact would pop up, but you paid no mind. So when you hear the knock on your door, you groan, knowing it’s him. You want to do anything but get up, but how could you leave your best friend standing out there? The thought made you sick to your stomach. You don’t deserve him. He’s too good to you, and all you do is bring him down with you.

As you sniffle back your tears and your inner demons, you wrap yourself in your blanket and pad your way slowly to the door.

You open it, and Eddie’s smile falls when he sees you. You haven’t looked at yourself in over a week, and you also haven’t showered in over a week. As Eddie takes in your state, a small, heartbroken “sweetheart” leaves his lips.

He felt so guilty for not being able to visit you last week. He’d been working doubles and was exhausted. Today was his first day off in six days, and he was so excited to spend time with you.

Your vision blurs as you see Eddie standing there with a bag of groceries with food, actual nutrition that you've been depriving yourself of, only aiding your demons.

He drops the bag and wraps his arms around your frail frame, and you break.

“I don’t know what's wrong with me?” Your voice cracks. You can’t remember the last time you spoke words aloud.

Your breath is shaky, and you tremble as you feel Eddie’s strong arms wrapped around you.

His familiar smell only calms you a little, but you’re so exhausted you can no longer hold it together.

He coos you and strokes your greasy hair, not caring how dirty it feels. He understands, he knows.

“Come, let’s get you feeling a little better, ok?”

“I can’t,” your voice shakes.

“Yes, I’ll be right here to help, okay?” He cups your face, gently forcing you to look into his eyes.

He walks you to the kitchen table, and he begs you to drink some water and eat the sandwich he brought over for you.

While you eat, you see Eddie unpack the groceries and then go to your room. A few minutes later, he comes out to throw your sheets in the washer and pulls a fresh pair from your linen closet.

You finish eating as much as you can when Eddie returns from making your bed.

Eddie coerced you to the bathroom. He helps you brush your teeth and convinces you to shower, not daring to joke about how you smell. You say you will as long as he stays in there with you.

Washing yourself was too much to do on your own. So he stood on the other side of the curtain, and you just stood there under the hot water, unable to move.

“Sweetheart? You doing okay?”

Your tears are camouflaged, but your gasps aren’t.

“N-no”

“Do… do you want me to help?” He cringes.

You don’t answer, and it worries Eddie. Had he overstepped? You were naked behind the thin material separating you.

Eddie waits for a few more beats; his heart is pounding. But he releases his breath when he sees your hand push the curtain aside to invite him in.

Nothing would be able to prepare him for the sight before his eyes. You had already started but didn’t get far; some soap suds had already been spread across your chest.

He tried hard to ignore how the blood flow immediately started flowing south. This was not the time to get a boner.

You watched how Eddie removed his shirt and pants in a daze. He kept on his boxers, but you could see the small tent forming.

You didn’t even care that you were naked in front of your best friend because you felt nothing.

You just wanted to feel something.

Eddie stepped in with you and pulled the shower curtain closed. It was so intimate; you and Eddie hadn’t been this close in this way before. But you trusted one another, and there was no awkwardness or hesitation once Eddie squeezed the shampoo in his hands and started.

I felt Eddie’s fingers massage your scalp, and it was nice. The last time someone took care of you like this was when you were a child when you were not old enough to do it yourself.

Eddie ensured that everything was rinsed properly, and then he moved on to the conditioner. He made sure to saturate all your hair before he took the loofa and your body wash.

Now this, was where Eddie got a little nervous. He didn’t want to overstep.

As you stood there, almost catatonic, he lifted your arms to get your armpits, then he ran the soap down your arms, across your back and down your legs, avoiding your more intimate areas.

“You think you can help me out, sweetheart?”

You slowly nod your head, and he passes you the saturated loofa.

Eddie watches as you run it across your chest, lifting a breast to get underneath. Eddie tries not to, but he can’t help but feel aroused. He tries to push it away, but the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable.

He knows you trust him; you’re asking him to help you in your darkest hour.

He shifts, trying to avoid your gaze; it’s only making things harder. Literally.

He pushes away those thoughts and makes sure you’re fully rinsed off. He turns off the water for you and goes to get your towel. He’s soaked, but he doesn’t care; your wellbeing will come first, even if he’s sprouting goosebumps along his flesh.

He takes your hand to guide you out of the tub. You feel slightly better, but it’s not enough.

When a thought pops into your head, you don’t care if it’s stupid, so you act on it without giving it any more thought.

You reach out and graze your hand over Eddie’s soaked boxers. They are taught to his skin, not hide anything, and you can see he’s ready and willing to go.

He steps back at the sudden touch.

“Please, Eddie, I need to feel something, anything. I don’t know what else to do” you sobbed.

As you stand there, feeling lost and alone, Eddie's embrace envelops you, pulling you in closer. In this moment, you know that you are not alone and that your friend is there to support you through thick and thin. Eddie's hug is so tight; he needs you to know that he would let nothing in the world hurt you. You close your eyes and breathe in deeply, grateful for your friend's unwavering support.

“Shhhhhh y/n, it’s okay. I have you.” He wraps the fluffy bath towel around your body, keeping you warm.

“Please Eddie”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I won’t let this change anything between us, I swear.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay,” he didn’t know if this was a good idea, but he had to do something to make you feel better; he would do anything for you; he would get the moon for you if there was a way. So he will do this for you.

He surprises you by lifting you up bridal style and carrying you to the bedroom. He's much stronger than you thought as he gently placed you down on your fresh sheets.

“Tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

“I promise, Eddie.” You nod.

Slowly, Eddie leans down to kiss you gently. The mint toothpaste still lingers on your breath. His lips feel so soft; it’s nice to be kissed.it's nice to be kissed by Eddie.

You feel his lips detach from yours, moving across your cheek and lowering your neck. The water from his hair trickled into your skin, making you shiver.

Eddie wanted to know your body, what made you tick, what made you moan, what made you needy with desire. He focused on the side of your neck and was proud when he found a spot that made you whimper.

“That okay, sweetheart?”

“Mmhmmm”

He could feel your chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. He could see he was getting you worked up the way you needed.

His timid fingers spread your legs wider so he could feel you and to Eddie’s surprise, you were still dry. He thought he would feel your slick as he slowly rubbed your pussy, but it wasn’t there.

“I uh- um. I don’t think you’re enjoying this.” he sits back, a bit defeated. This hasn’t happened to him before.

“It’s not you, Eddie; it’s me. I-I want to... You’re doing good; it’s just that sometimes girls need help if they’re like… this…”

“Oh,” Eddie understands, you're still in your head,” Eddie understands, you.

“I have lube and condoms in the nightstand”

Eddie reaches over you to grab it. The crack of the hard plastic lid is so loud in the silent room that you flinch a little.

“Sorry”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Suddenly you’re very aware you’re naked in front of your best friend, but that is brushed to the side when you feel his slippery fingers make contact with your pussy once again.

“Ohhhh,” you breathe in.

Eddie smirks and leans in to kiss you once again. You feel his tongue slick its way past your lips; who knew he was such a good kisser.

Slowly, minute by minute, you’re actually feeling something—pleasure. Eddie brings you back to life with each touch, brush, and kiss.

“Eddie,” you moan as his fingers slip inside you.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“More,” you pant.

You don’t have to tell him twice. He will do anything to make you feel better, which seems to be working. He rips open the condom, and you surprise him by reaching up to cup his balls. He gasps, and a smirk spreads across your face for the first time in weeks.

“I knew there was a little freak you were hiding from me.” Eddie laughs, and he pulls one out of you as well. His heart swells when he hears the sound leave your lips.

“There’s my girl,” so much relief is behind his eyes.

“Hi, Eddie.” You look up at him like he’s given you all the stars in the sky.

“You still want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he brushes your wet hair behind your ear and softly kisses you. It becomes needy quickly, and desperation takes over both of you.

It didn’t matter that you were only best friends, that you weren’t okay, that he was in just as much pain as you were. All that mattered was one another, two physical entities in your own little world. Your mind was completely erased; for a moment, you finally forgot everything weighing down on you.

Eddie continues to kiss you as he guides himself in slowly. You can’t help but take a deep breath as he pushes his way in.

As Eddie entered you, you melted into his touch. Nothing could have made you feel this good. He was consuming every inch of your being. With every brush, every thrust, every nip, kiss and bite, you were coming alive again.

Eddie’s hands travel all along your body, squeezing your breasts, tweaking your nipples, making you twitch and grind up into Eddie’s touch. Your hips are ungulate with his, and your moments become one as you and Eddie perform the perfect dance.

The past picks up faster and faster. Eddie brushes the spot inside you every single time, and you’re crying out his name.

Eddie can’t believe he’s making you feel this good, this wanted. His beautiful best friend was here helping you, holding you, and doing this for you.

“Eddie, please”

“Let go, baby”

The pet name accidentally slipped past his lips and didn’t go unnoticed. It only aided your orgasm to come that much quicker.

A wave of pleasure crashed over you as it washed through your whole body without warning.

Eddie watched as he was the one who made your body quiver, to make your eyes roll back, to have you silently screaming for him. He couldn’t hold on anymore, either. Your cunt clamped down so tightly on his cock he shook as he spilled into the condom.

His sweaty body collapses on you, and the only thing you can hear is your erratic breaths.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you sniffle, and Eddie quickly pops his head up because you’re crying once again.

“Baby, please don’t cry. I can’t take it anymore.” he holds your face, wiping away your tears with his thumbs.

“No, it's- it's happy tears; you helped me feel something. I thought I was broken. Thank you, Teddie.”

“I’ll always be here for you; I love you, sweetheart."

You didn’t care if he only meant platonically or romantically; he was your person forever and always.

“I love you too.”

Tagging some mooties!: @nailbatanddungeon @taintedcigs @hellfirenacht @littlexdeaths @andvys @rebelfell @xxbimbobunnyxx @rowanswriting @voyeurmunson @asimpforthe80s @mmunson86 @slutty-thevampireslayer @strangerstilinski

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson x depressed reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x best friend reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson angst #bestfriend!eddie munson #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader

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meechlamajor · 2 days

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literally anything for Kate Martin

Kiss and Makeup — Kate Martin x Fem!Reader

In which you and Kate have a heated argument, and you feel conflicted between your morals and feelings.

Warnings: angst (I made Kate into a little bit of a bitch I’m upset with myself for it negl) and fluff!

Author’s note: kudos to @fallofachilles for the prompt idea! + I hope you guys like the new layout I’m trying, despite the simplicity. Consider this a birthday gift from me to you guys, but for my birthday ♡!

You sit on the floor of the off-campus apartment that you share with Kate, pulling everything that Kate had just put into her suitcase out. She quite literally shoved everything in there and there was just no way that she would fit everything she needed in there. You were unsure about how she did this before meeting you.

“Babe,” you huffed. “I keep telling to you to stop waiting until the last moment to pack! You wouldn’t have to rush if you listened.”

“Okay Mom, sorry,” Kate brushed the fly aways out of her face and sat next to you.

You rolled up each item so that you could get the most out of the space in her suitcase.

“Do you have your extra pair of shoes in another bag or something?” You inquired. You’d gone through everything and they hadn’t turned up.

“No baby, they’re in our room,” Kate replied to you, but never got up.

“Go get them!” You widened your eyes, motioning to the bedroom. “Sheesh.”

Kate came back with them in hand, “I thought you were going to get them.”

You swore when you heard that your eye twitched. “Uh— why would I do that? You’re able.”

“Well… you just usually do. It’s a ‘girlfriend’ thing to do,” Kate explained, shrugging.

You chuckled, warmth spreading up the back of your neck and to your face. “So as your girlfriend I’m supposed to baby you and wait on you hand and foot?”

The room becomes tense and your heart beats in your ears. You remain patient though, trying to hear your girlfriend out.

“Well no, but I didn’t ask for you to do any of this,” Kate motions to her clothes on the floor. “It’s our normal routine. What’s the problem?”

You groan, running your hands down your face. “I do it because I want to and because I love you! I don’t have to do any of it— I could literally let you go to the airport and pay a fifty dollar fee because your luggage is overweight, but I don’t!”

Kate shoved her tongue into her cheek and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “I don’t understand what I said wrong! Why disrupt our routine?”

“You sound like such a man,” you curse. “The problem is that I’m realizing that you don’t respect me or even value me! I know that you work so hard, so I do these things to take some of the weight off off your shoulders, and you’re not even the tiniest bit grateful!”

Kate drops her bright pink shoes onto the hardwood floors, the sound echoing through the apartment. Her eyes glance at them and then you. A staring contest goes on for thirty seconds and you chuckle bitterly before rising to your feet.

You strut toward the bedroom, grabbing your backpack.

“What are you doing?” Kate questions you, following you into the room. But, you ignore her as you raid the dresser for clothes.

You shove your clothes into the bag, not giving nearly as much care to your items as you give to Kate’s. Your toiletries lay on top. You swing the bag over your right shoulder, saving your left hand for your keychain.

“Where are you going!?” Kate continues. “You cannot be ignoring me right now. You- come on!”

“Clearly, you’ve gotten too comfortable and you seem to think that I’m your maid or something. I’m leaving and you can have fun spending a week without me.”

You found yourself staying with your friend Karissa for a few days. You almost went to Jada’s dorm, but there was no way that you wouldn’t end up seeing Kate there.

While you stayed with Karissa, you had some time to think. Were you babying Kate? You just thought that she might appreciate what you do for her, but she made it obvious that now it had become more of an expectation of you.

You felt conflicted. You always told yourself that you wouldn’t tolerate disrespect from anyone, including your partner. If you forgave Kate, would you basically be telling her it’s okay, I don’t mind that you disrespected me?

But at the same time, you love Kate and it hurts you to be away from her.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Karissa asked as she joined you on her plush white couch.

“Thinking about Kate,” you say.

“But, that’s literally all the time so what difference does it make?” She jokes, channel surfing.

“The difference is that I haven’t spoken to her in three days because my pride won’t let me,” you sigh. “I don’t want to give in too easy.”

“You don’t have to,” Karissa chimes. “Okay, listen. Forget about whatever lesson you’re trying to teach her, and instead just think about what you want.

Maybe it’s not about you wanting her realizing that she needs you, but it could be more about the fact that she hasn’t shown you much appreciation.”

You nod, “but, I know that she’s busy. It’s hard for her to do that stuff all of the time.”

“You’re making excuses for her now. Sure she’s busy, but aren’t you, too? You balance your classes, a job, and extracurriculars, but you still find time to show Kate how much you love her and do things that she would like, including packing her bags for her before an away game.

It doesn’t have to be elaborate it, but you do deserve to be considered. That’s all I’m saying.”

You don’t reply, but your phone vibrates at your side with a text from the girl you were just speaking of.

KATE: Will you come home, please? We should talk.

You read over the message a few times, thinking about how you might reply. Truth be told, you were tired of being apart and you did just want to go home to your girlfriend.

YOU: I’ll be there in about an hour.

You kept your text short and sweet. It definitely wouldn’t take you an hour to get there, but you wanted to give yourself some leeway.

With your key in hand you unlock the door to the apartment you share with Kate, and sit your bag down on the floor.

It’s eerily quiet, to which you raise your eyebrows. You stalk toward your bedroom, and are met with the sight of those faux tea candles, roses, and what seemed to be a few gifts on the bed.

The room had been decorated with balloons and a big banner that read: I LOVE YOU.

You turned to look for Kate and there she stood in the doorway, a small smile on her face, but you couldn’t move past the look of guilt in her eyes.

“What’s all this for?” You inquire, taking a deep breath.

Kate’s gaze flickers around the room in hesitation, almost like she’s doubtful of something.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to butter you up so that you forgive me, but it’s time that I showed my appreciation for you.

You’re right, I did get too comfortable and I stopped thanking you. The way that I spoke to you was wrong. I love you, and what I did and lack thereof was wrong. The three days without you admittedly were hard, I forgot to do a lot of the things that you took on the responsibility of.

I’m just… sorry for not appreciating and recognizing what you do for me sooner, babe. You take so much of the weight off of my shoulders every single day, and I promise to put forth more effort when it comes to valuing you.”

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest at her words because that’s all that you really wanted. You wanted to know that your efforts didn’t go unnoticed and that they meant something to her.

Without words you bring Kate into a hug, your arms wrapping around her neck and hers around your waist. You speak into her neck, “I won’t say that it’s okay, but I do accept your apology.”

When you both pull away she locks her lips with your own, her hands squeezing at your hips. Her lips taste like mint from the chapstick she wore. The kiss was tender and sweet— it felt different from the last ones you two had shared. There was a promise in it, one that the both of you wouldn’t break.

Your foreheads rest upon one another until Kate backs you into the bed, forcing you to sit down. She joins you at your side.

She glances at the two gift boxes, signaling for you to open them. The wrapping paper was your favorite color. The small details were always so cute to you.

You unwrap box one and open it to find some body care products like body wash and body scrub. Kate always knew how much you enjoyed self-care days. It always made you feel good inside and out.

You opened the body scrub and brought the container to your nose, “oo that’s nice!”

Kate watches as you open the other box with a smile, happy that she could make you smile again.

“Should I run you a bath?” She asks. “We can have ice cream after and watch Love Is Blind.”

“Run us a bath,” you beam. “And don’t be mad, but I watched a few episodes without you.”

Kate got up from the bed, “wouldn’t be the first time, babe.”

#meech la major #meech’s thoughts #iowawcbb #iowa wbb #kate martin x reader #kate martin my beloved #kate martin

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candycandy00 · 3 days

Note

This is my first time really interacting on here, but I really love you work so I just had to request something.💜💜

Character: Nanami

AU Setting: Masquerade ball

Spice Level: NSFW

Mood: Your choice

Kinks: Degradation and size difference

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Non Curse AU. Degradation. Dirty talk. Size difference.

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback at all is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.

The stranger at the open bar is looking at you again. He’s totally your type, with his slicked back blonde hair and impeccably tailored black suit. He’s tall, muscular but not too bulky, and he stands there holding a drink in his large hand as his eyes slide over to you again. He’s wearing a black silk mask that covers the top half of his face, the sort most of the men are wearing at this swanky masquerade ball for bored rich assholes.

You’re just here for the free drinks and food. Your uncle’s tech start up recently hit it big, so he got an invite to this party two weeks ago. “New Money”, they probably called him. But of course his perpetually single ass didn’t have a date, so he invited you to be his plus one. He even bought you a fancy cocktail dress, in shimmery fuchsia with a low neckline and high split up to the hip. You topped it off with a matching lace mask.

When the two of you walked in, your uncle patted your back and jokingly told you to “go nab yourself a rich guy”. You smiled and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray being carried by a server.

That was over an hour ago, and you’ve barely seen your uncle since then. You spotted him a couple of times, chatting with other tech business bigwigs, but otherwise you’ve been on your own. You don’t mind. The food is fabulous and the drinks are plentiful.

Then there’s the handsome stranger who keeps looking your way. You can see his eyes through the holes in his mask, can watch them travel up and down your body as you move across the room. There’s a dance floor where some of the early 20’s folks are dancing, so you head over and put on a little show. You may not be used to fancy places like this, but you go to clubs with your friends every weekend, so you know how to shake your ass to some music.

It worked. The stranger’s full attention is on you, his eyes practically glued to your every move. You wish he would just come over and dance with you, but you suppose he’s too mature for that. He gives off a totally different vibe from the young guys who hang around you at the club.

Feeling emboldened by his hungry gaze, you work your way over to the bar and stand a few feet away from him, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. You fan yourself as if you’re hot after dancing, hoping your perfume drifts over to him.

Within seconds, he moves closer to you, leaning back against the bar casually as he asks, “Who did you come with?”

Are you that obviously out of place? You smile at him. “Who says someone didn’t come with me?” you say teasingly, sipping your fruity drink.

“Just a hunch,” he replies, glancing at you sideways.

You point to your uncle across the room. He’s laughing a little too loudly, being just a tad too clingy to the bear-like man standing next to him. You hope they’re hitting it off. “My uncle didn’t have a date, so I tagged along.”

The stranger smiles faintly. Was that his way of finding out if you’re single? His eyes roam blatantly up and down you again. You hope he’s enjoying the closer look. You certainly are. He’s tall enough to tower over you, and his warm, honey-colored eyes draw you in. He’s the kind of man you want on top of you at the nearest opportunity.

“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, moving even closer to you. He smells expensive.

“The drinks and the food? Yeah. Not sure about the people yet,” you say with a grin.

“Oh? This isn’t your usual crowd?”

You turn your whole body to face him. “Not really. I don’t usually hang around snobby rich jerks. But maybe a few of them are alright.” You say the last part playfully, looking him up and down the way he did you.

His eyes flick down to your chest, as if tracing the dipping neckline, then return to your face. “Perhaps we could talk in one of the private rooms, and you can find out if I’m ‘alright’.”

You feel your heartbeat getting faster as your excitement builds, but you maintain your breezy attitude. “Private rooms? Are we allowed to go in those? The owner of this house might not like that.”

The person throwing this lavish party is also the owner of this ridiculously huge mansion. Your uncle mentioned their name but it didn’t seem important at the time.

The stranger smiles again. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

He holds out his hand, and you take it, trying to keep your breathing steady as he escorts you through the room. He keeps pace with you, probably walking more slowly than he’d prefer, and moves in such a way that it seems like he’s clearing the path for you. Such a gentleman! You really hope he’ll be fucking you like a whore soon.

As the two of you step into a hallway, you notice the marble floors and the walls lined with paintings. “Look at this,” you say. “Who actually needs all this? It’s obnoxious.”

The stranger chuckles. “You really think so?”

You stop to look at a Chinese vase. It probably cost more than your apartment and your car combined. “All this stuff is beautiful, but I heard the owner lives here alone. He has to get lonely in this giant house, right?”

The stranger regards you for a moment, then says, “He probably does. Maybe he even throws these parties just to have some company.”

You think about his answer. “If that’s the case, I feel bad for him.”

The stranger says no more on the topic, instead leading you into what appears to be some sort of dressing room with an enormous walk-in closet. It’s exactly the kind of room you imagine a stupidly rich guy would get dressed in. There are multiple full length mirrors, high quality lighting, and a display case showing off dozens of expensive looking watches.

You turn to look at the stranger as he closes the door behind him. He holds out his large yet elegant hand to you again, and when you take it, he suddenly pulls you close, right up against his body. Oh god, he’s so firm and strong! He leans his face down and kisses your lips, both of you still wearing your masquerade masks. His hands slide across your back, one of them moving down to squeeze your ass.

He pulls away and looks at you, his dark eyes peering into yours. “What would you like me to do?” he asks, his voice low.

You lean in closer to him, pressing yourself to his warm, sturdy form, and whisper, “I want you to wreck me.”

He puts both hands on your shoulders and, not too hard but not too gently, pushes you down to your knees in front of him. He unbuttons his sleek black pants as he says, “Let’s put that annoying little mouth to good use.”

Oh fuck. How does he know exactly what you’re into? Maybe you give off a vibe. You watch with anticipation, licking your lips, as he pulls out his beautiful, massive cock. Is everything about this man as sexy as possible? From the color to the shape to the thick, delectable meatiness, his cock is gorgeous.

You don’t waste any time. You lean forward and run your tongue over it, spreading your saliva around, before wrapping your lips around it. You take him so deep, it feels like he’s halfway down your throat, and you love the fact that there’s going to be a hot pink lipstick stain around the base of his cock.

His hand is in your hair, grip firm but not harsh. “You’re practically swallowing me,” he says. “You must’ve been hungry for cock all night. Is that why you put on that lewd little show for me on the dance floor? So you could end up on your knees for me?”

You look up at his face, your mouth still stuffed full, and mumble a whiny “mmhmm” around his cock. You can see his eyes widen slightly behind the mask, feel his fingers flexing within your strands. You move your head back and forth, fucking him with your throat, fighting back gags, your tongue swirling around him the whole time.

And when he reaches his limit, he pulls your head back and says, “Open wide.”

You’re happy to obey, sticking your tongue halfway out of your mouth to give him a proper place to aim. When his warm cum hits your tongue and lips, you slowly swirl it around your mouth, giving him time to see it pooled inside before swallowing it.

He loosens his tie and then lowers himself to his knees in front of you before unbuttoning his shirt, leaving both it and his jacket on but open. You can see his toned torso, can feel how damp your panties have become. He slides the straps of your dress down, revealing your breasts, and then leans down to take one hard nipple into his mouth. You moan as you dig your fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

The stranger eases you onto your back on the floor, then pushes your shimmering dress up to your waist. It’s the most expensive dress you’ve ever worn, and right now you don’t give a shit it gets dirty. He slides down your lace panties and opens your legs, looking down at your wetness with a somewhat self satisfied smile.

“So wet for me,” he says as his fingers probe your depths. “Such a little slut, getting soaked for a man who’s face you haven’t even seen.”

Ahhh, fuck, his voice turns you on so much! His fingers rubbing circles into your clit are driving you wild. You want him, no you need him inside you!

“Please,” you whine, tugging him closer.

He withdraws his hand and lifts your hips off the floor, pulling your lower half into his lap, his thick cock resting against your needy pussy. “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes, please!” you cry, wiggling in his lap, desperate for some friction.

He has mercy on you, positioning himself at your entrance and then plunging inside. You gasp in pleasure, arching your back as he begins thrusting into you.

“So tight,” he groans, gripping your thighs. “You’re clenching me so hard… so desperate… Fuck, you’re the cheapest whore I’ve ever had! You probably would’ve paid me for this cock!”

“Ahhh! Yes, I’m a whore for you! Please fuck me harder!” you scream, feeling your climax approach as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. When he slams into you one more time, you feel the pleasure wash over you as you cum, moaning and trembling.

He gives a few more pumps, then completely buries himself inside you as he cums, filling you up so well.

You both pant as he pulls out and stands up, buttoning his clothes. He then extends his hand to you again and helps you to your feet. While you straighten your dress and pull your straps back up, he looks at you somewhat sheepishly and says, “I hope I didn’t go too far with my words.”

You blink in surprise, then laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it! I was into it.”

He smiles. “I thought so. I’m glad.”

You open your mouth to respond, but there’s a sudden knock on the door. The stranger walks over and opens it. A man in a server’s uniform is standing in the doorway, looking frazzled.

“There you are, sir! We’ve been looking all over for you!” the server says breathlessly.

“Oh? And what do you need?”

“We’ve run out of champagne! Your guests are getting irritated!”

The stranger pats the server’s back. “Send Ryusuke to buy more immediately. Everything will be fine, I’ll go talk to the guests.”

The server seems to relax. “Thanks, Nanami-san.”

You watch the scene, trying to keep your jaw from dropping. Now you remember the name of the host, the man who owns this huge mansion that you’ve been shit talking all night.

Nanami turns to look at you over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face. “Will you be accompanying me back to the ballroom?”

You smile back at him. “Of course. I might get lost in this stupidly huge house otherwise.”

He takes your hand. “Perhaps if you started visiting on a regular basis, you could learn your way around.”

You walk out the door with him. “That would probably work, Nanami-san.”

#nanami x reader #nanami #nanami smut #kento nanami #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader #candys2kevent

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steveslevis · 3 hours

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i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 1 of 3

summary: it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you weren’t supposed to be your brother’s best friend’s mate, especially when that best friend is the same male who’s acted like you don’t exist for the last two centuries.

warnings: angst, very brief mentions of violence and abuse, azriel is oblivious and reader is angry, not much pining in this part mainly just angsty

A single band of golden thread, stretched from your soul, reaching out into an abyss. There was seemingly no end to the thread, no definite stop, just a shadowy mess that sent the thread into a disarray as it reached for your mate.

Your mate. The male who had spoken maybe a full sentence to you a handful of times in the last few centuries. The male who was best friends with your brother, and acted as if you didn’t even exist.

Even in your younger years in Windhaven, it seemed Azriel didn’t even know you were there. Like you were a ghost, invisible to him in every sense of the word.

Azriel didn’t ever really speak to anyone, though, so it wasn’t like you were an exception, he treated you like most everyone else. But you never had been able to shake the fact that he would nearly sprint out of a room if you were the only one in it, or that he would refuse to look you in the eyes when you spoke at dinner. It was like he couldn’t even stand the thought of being in the same vicinity of you, like he couldn’t stomach talking to you.

And you were now bound to him, for the rest of eternity.

The bond had snapped for you immediately upon seeing the state of Azriel when they returned from Hybern without Feyre, when the entirety of their plan had gone up in flames, with Azriel in the main path of destruction.

Seeing him in so much pain tugged at your heart, nearly ripping it out of your chest when you saw how ruined his wings were. It affected you so much that you ran out of the room when they first arrived, partially because of how much it hurt you to see him like that, and partially because of how distraught the bond snapping into place had immediately made you feel. You couldn’t bear to see your mate in so much pain, and you knew you didn’t trust yourself to be around when they inevitably put him into more pain while healing him.

You kept to yourself for weeks after their arrival, only speaking to Rhysand and your brother when need be.

Rhys was the first one to find out about your dilemma.

He called you into his study weeks later to talk about a mission, one he needed you specifically on for your daemati skills. While he explained the details, he could tell your mind was elsewhere, so much so that you couldn’t even stop him from getting past the pure obsidian wall you’d built up in your mind, the wall you never let anyone break down until that moment.

Rhysand had given you a hesitant look when he stopped explaining the tasks in order to peer into your mind and capture your attention. He didn’t want to pry, only to get your mind focused by scaling his talon down the obsidian wall, which to his surprise collapsed before he could even attempt to breach it. But you nodded when he silently asked to see what had been keeping you so on edge, what had stopped you from helping Madja out with taking care of Azriel when they returned from Hybern, what had stopped you from engaging in conversation at dinner as of late.

A vision of a golden thread shrouded in black and gray shadows was sent to Rhys’ mind, along with a memory of exactly the moment you had been struck with the bond.

“Have you told him?” he implored, though he seemed to already know the answer.

You couldn’t even speak at that point, only shaking your head in response as tears brimmed your eyes when you thought of how fucked up it was to be bonded to someone who’d barely acknowledged you in the hundreds of years you’d known him.

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look then, knowing the feeling of an unrequited bond all too well.

You promised him about a thousand times that you wouldn’t let him find out, that you wouldn’t let the agony and sadness get in the way of the mission. You could prove yourself worthy and able to go on without thinking about how you might never get an accepted bond, you assured him that you could. He was still unsure when he agreed to let you go on the mission, but it was miniscule enough that any lapses in judgment wouldn’t be detrimental, so he agreed.

And you proved yourself, just like you said you would. You proved yourself over and over again with Rhysand’s missions, building up your mental shields stronger than they ever had been before. So strong, that the High Lord himself had a hard time cracking through them.

You became a shell of what you were before seeing your mate in that near-death state, but you didn’t care. You needed to distract yourself in any way, shape or form that you could in order to forget about him, to forget that he’d never even taken a second glance in your direction.

It got to the point where you became so shut off from reality that even Cassian, your brother known for paying no mind to female emotions, started to notice.

You caught Cassian giving you inquisitive stares a handful of times during training and at dinners when your attitude was exceptionally reserved and demure, but never thought he would actually say anything to you.

That was until he finally snapped, on the first dinner with Feyre back in Velaris, which just so happened to be the first dinner that Azriel joined in the weeks after Hybern.

You nearly fell out of your seat when you saw him in all his glory. There he was, standing at the end of the table, as beautiful as ever. He was almost fully healed, aside from a few scars littered over the membrane of his wings.

Excited chatter filled the room as he entered, everyone falling into their rightful place in the Inner Circle, along with the newest members, Nesta and Elain. Though you were one of the longest standing members of Rhysand’s Inner Circle, you felt the most out of place in that moment.

The wine you’d been sipping churned in your stomach as you eyed the shadowsinger, who was sitting quietly across the table from you. You couldn’t handle it, knowing that he was your mate and he had no clue. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him finding out, of him potentially rejecting the bond.

After a moment of silently wallowing in your self pity, you felt that familiar talon scrape along your mental shield. Rhys was requesting access to your mind, likely to give you some insight about this unrequited feeling based on his own experience.

You rejected his request instead of letting him in, shooting him a quick glance before standing up abruptly, quietly excusing yourself with the reasoning that you weren’t feeling well.

You rushed up the stairs, toward your bedroom all the while feeling like you were drowning. You needed air, fresh air, now. It was in that moment that you thanked the Cauldron for Rhysand putting you in the bedroom with a large balcony, one perfect for moments like this.

Little did you know, your brother had stalked up the stairs behind you, worried after seeing the panic-stricken look on your face before bolting from the room.

You didn’t bother to close your bedroom door behind you, leaving Cassian the perfect opportunity to come in to check on you. You were out on the balcony in an instant, nearly gasping for air as the cool night breeze hit your face.

“Hey,” Cassian called behind you, standing awkwardly in the middle of your bedroom. “You alright?”

“I don’t want to talk right now, Cass.” you retort quickly, shooting a glare in his direction before leaning over the metal railing as he furrows his brow. “I obviously don’t feel great at the moment.”

“Yeah, no shit. But that doesn’t warrant you snapping at me when all I’m doing is coming to check on you,” he presses, taking a step onto the balcony to stand by you. “It doesn’t warrant you ignoring me for fucking weeks now.”

“What do you want me to say, Cassian?” you snap, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I—I don’t really know what kind of explanation you need from me, I just haven’t been in a talking mood these last few weeks.”

“Oh, bullshit.” he says, shaking his head at you. “I see you chatting with Rhys and Mor all the fucking time. You’re only shutting me out. What the fuck did I do?”

You take a moment to look up at your brother, finally seeing the hurt sketched across his features as he pleads with you, trying desperately to get through to you.

“You didn’t do anything.” you sigh, letting your guard down as you realize how much you’d hurt your twin in the last few weeks. “I—I just am going through some shit right now.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow as a relieved but hesitant smile passes over his face. “I’m always here to lend an ear.”

“Are you sure?” you say, voice cracking as you internally accept that you’re about to change everything in Cassian’s life with four simple words.

“Positive.” Cassian says, smile still on his face as he grips your shoulder to reassure you.

“Azriel is my mate.” you say bluntly, watching in silent terror as your brother’s face falls and so does his hand from your shoulder. “And he has no idea.”

——————————————————————

That was almost two years ago.

Cassian took the news quite well, and became your biggest supporter when it came to dealing with the hardships of an unrequited mating bond. Even as he dealt with his own unrequited bond for a short amount of time, he still made sure to make it known that he still cared for and understood the pain you were going through.

And now that the war against Hybern had been won, you could focus all your energy into training and missions Rhys would send you on.

Rhysand knew you preferred to be sent on solo missions, that you worked better alone without anyone disrupting your focus. But, there were some missions that couldn’t be done alone.

“You–This is a joke, right?” you say with a laugh, narrowing your eyes at the High Lord who sat across the desk in his office, raising his eyebrow at you as you laugh. “I work alone, Rhys.”

“I know you work best alone, but sometimes I can’t send you alone,” Rhys starts, giving you a sharp glare as you start to stand from your chair, “I can’t send you alone, not on this one.”

“Why?” you pressed, pushing off the arms of your chair to move closer to the desk. “You haven’t even told me what I’m doing or where I’ll be going yet, so why should I even agree to it without knowing?”

The look the High Lord was giving you made you uneasy, turning your stomach in knots, but you persisted. You needed him to stop treating you like you were made of glass, like you would break, like you hadn’t been training with Cassian since you could stand.

“I’m not a child anymore, Rhys.” you snapped, hands balling into fists as they pressed against the oak of his large desk. “I can handle whatever it is, without Azriel babysitting me.”

“I really don’t know–”

“Are you trying to torture me?” you interject, a pained expression crossing over your face, one of betrayal at the feeling of one of your longest friends trying to put you in such an uncomfortable position when he knows exactly what you’ve been dealing with over the last two years. “Are you trying to make me suffer, do you want me to –”

“I need you to go to Windhaven.” Rhys finally commanded, voice wavering slightly as he brought up the place you once called home, the place he knew would send you regressing into a lesser version of yourself. “I need you to go there, with Azriel.”

The mention of Windhaven sent a shiver down your spine, wings twitching in fear as you thought about the horrors you endured in your final years at the camp. Your sharp gaze flickered for a split second, mind running back to that cabin, to the flash of wings and clawing hands, to the male who did irreparable damage to your soul, to the moment you swore you’d never let a male hurt you again. With a shake of your head, you block the thoughts out, pressing that black obsidian wall back up to prevent yourself from breaking.

“I’ll be fine on my own.” you say, putting your stern persona back into place, trying to make it seem as though you’re unbothered.

“I need to send him with you, someone needs to watch your back.” he insists while shaking his head as his gaze softens, trying to get you to break from your hardened facade.

“What about Cass?” you retort, shaking your head.

“He’ll be in Spring, he’s got business with Tamlin and Eris to attend to for me.” he quickly replies, shaking his own head. “Please, I need you to do this.”

“I–I can’t.”

“Is the thought of being alone with me for two days that bad?” a voice comes from behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

Your mate, just the person you didn’t want to see right now.

You whip around quickly at the sound of his voice, brow furrowed as you see him standing in the doorway. It takes everything in you not to sigh at the sight of him, at how damn good he looked, just standing there. You cursed yourself internally, wishing you could think about anything else besides how much you pined for him. Still, you had an image to uphold, an image of distaste for the beautiful shadowsinger standing in front of you.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, shadowsinger.” you snap, shooting a glare in his direction that sends a pang of guilt running down the one-sided bond.

“I’m sorry?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you, his face the poster child for cool composure as your rage boils in front of him.

“You can barely stand to be in the same room for me for more than five minutes,” you state, crossing your arms matter-of-factly. “You quite literally leave any space in the house when I’m the only other person around.”

The thought of your mate, the one who was supposed to be at your side for all of eternity, leaving the room any time you entered made your blood boil and chest ache. You ached for him, you ached to feel his touch, to be loved by him. But he didn’t care about you, didn’t care if you lived or died.

Seeing the anger in your eyes made Azriel stop in his tracks, something unfamiliar tugging at his heart as you seethed. There was a gnawing feeling in his chest as he thought about the last five hundred years, how he never paid you any mind.

The truth was, he avoided you with every bit of willpower he had in order to restrain himself. He couldn’t be around you for more than a few moments without your overpowering scent filling his nose feeding his desire to tear you apart. Every time he was with you alone, he wanted to tear down any walls that he had and just have at you, to have you as his. He wanted you carnally, he wanted all of you, all of the time.

But that wasn’t the kind of male he was. He would never do such a thing to Cassian, his best friend. He couldn’t let himself have you just to fulfill his deepest desires, you deserved so much more than to be some one night fling. You deserved to be loved and cared for, to be protected at all costs.

So he had ignored you, for almost five fucking centuries, because he thought he couldn’t give you what you deserved. He pushed out any thought he had about you, pushed away the urge to pursue you in any way, and pushed you away in the process. He knew you well from watching from afar, but to you it seemed as though you were the last thought in his mind, when in reality, you were the only thought in his mind at all times.

“That’s not–” Azriel started, but the words fell on his lips as he watched your own pull into a frown, an expression that was much more broken than the anger that had crossed over your face when he snuck in.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought, you prick.” you said weakly, finally letting your emotions get the better of you. As tears pricked your eyes, you turned to Rhys once more. “I will not be going anywhere with him. I will be going by myself, or not at all. I am strong enough to do this on my own and I’m tired of being treated like a child in this court.”

Rhys only stared at you as you stalked towards the desk once again, watching as your hands shook with pain. He showed no change in emotion as you spoke, fully in High Lord mode instead of the Rhysand you knew and loved.

“I will be in my room, packing. When you’re done being a stubborn male and realize that I can do whatever the hell it is you need me to do, I’ll be waiting for further instructions.” you state, trying to choke back the tears that are threatening to flow onto the wood in front of your hands.

The High Lord nods firmly in response, and you turn on your heels. Azriel is still standing in the doorway, but you don’t dare to look at him. You push past the shadowsinger, swiping your cheeks hastily as tears fall down them. As you pass, your wing brushes his in the lightest of touches. You swallow a gasp as they touch, a shockwave flowing through your wing and going straight to your heart.

Azriel turns to gaze at you with wide eyes and you immediately know he felt it too. He felt the shock, the electricity between your wings, but not in the way you did. Not down the one-sided, golden bond that stretched toward him.

Confusion spread over his face as he looked at you, but you turned away and rushed towards your room before he could fully process what happened.

The rest of your afternoon was spent alone in your room, laying on your bed for most of the night as you stared up at the ceiling. You cursed yourself internally over and over again, wishing there were some way to change everything, some way to make you forget that you even had a mate.

Over and over again, you told yourself how you weren’t worthy of the immeasurable love that came with a mate, how you would never be good enough for Azriel.

It had always been like that for you, though. The feeling of inadequacy was a daily occurrence for you, it wasn’t a secret. Cassian knew it, and so did Rhysand, so you’re sure Azriel did too. You worked day in and day out trying to prove that you were worthy to your brother and the High Lord and everyone around you, regardless of the pain you put yourself in.

Rhysand knew you too well, and knew that you were all too serious about going on the mission by yourself, or at least without Azriel. After you left his office, he’d tried to speak to Cassian about accompanying you, but it was of no use, he was preoccupied. He didn’t want you to go by yourself, he knew you’d be scared just by being in Windhaven again, but he also knew that you being the one to go on this mission was the only hope.

Your untraceable daemati skills were an impeccable weapon that couldn’t be replaced by Azriel’s shadows or Cassian’s brute force. Even the High Lord himself didn’t have daemati powers as stealthful as yours, so you were the best option when it came to figuring out who was trying to rebel.

After much contemplation, Rhys eventually sent a concise and firm message to your mind.

I need you in Windhaven by dinner tonight, Devlon will be expecting you to be there. There are a few Illyrians that I need you to check in on while you’re there, Cass told me there are talks of rebellion led by Cormac and Bavlard. he explained, you should only need to be there for tonight to gather enough information, but plan to stay until tomorrow evening in case we need more intel. You’ll stay in the cabin as usual, I’ll be in contact regularly to check on you, since you’ll be on your own this time.

The last sentence had a smile flickering on your lips, happy that Rhysand was finally taking you seriously as a member of his Inner Circle and trusting you enough to send you on missions by yourself. Luckily, you were already packed so it didn’t take much for you to get ready to go.

In less than an hour, you were dressed in your fighting leathers and on the balcony of your room. You waste no time in flying from the house, large wings spreading for the first time in what feels like forever as you make for the sky.

The breeze against your skin makes you sigh with joy, trying to enjoy the twinge of happiness that flying gives you as you make your way towards the place you once called home, the place you now call hell.

taglist: @paleidiot @tothestarsandwhateverend @impossibelle

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel angst #azriel x you

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tinyundercover · 2 days

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pepper & felix

part eleven

the aftermath of last night word count: 2.5k

Felix stared at the ceiling, vaguely aware of the alarm beeping on his nightstand.

It was grating to his ears. Internally, he knew that he needed to get ready for class, but the events of last night simply refused to leave his mind. Stressful memories weighed down on him like a rock, leaving him motionless in his bed.

Pepper is my soulmate.

The voice in his mind and the borrower in his walls were the same person. It was comforting to finally have an explanation for his strange feelings towards Pepper, and why he always felt so drawn to him… but at the same time, it was hard not to feel absolutely terrified.

A month ago, he didn’t even know that borrowers existed. Worry fluttered around Felix’s chest as he wondered how they would possibly further their relationship, considering their vast size difference and the uncomfortable power imbalance between them. He had only held Pepper a few times, and he had been wracked with anxiety every single time. Now, he wasn’t just putting the life of a borrower in his hands, but his soulmate’s.

…And what was he supposed to tell his friends and family?

Felix sighed heavily, drawing his blanket further to him. Part of him wished he had stayed at Alice’s place yesterday to explain everything to her, but he hadn’t wanted to keep the borrowers there any longer. Today, he would have to talk to Alice alone and explain the situation without putting Pepper and his sister in more danger.

A sleepy, familiar voice suddenly floated into his mind, disrupting his thoughts. “Your alarm is going off.”

Felix sat up abruptly, finally registering the consistent beeping that filled the room. With a flush he leaned over, shutting off his alarm, then brought his hands to his chest. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

“About me, I hope,” Pepper said sleepily. A second later he added, “Basil says hi.”

It took a moment for Felix to register who “Basil” was. He drummed his fingers over his chest, curious, wondering if Pepper had meant to share his sister’s name or if it had slipped out by accident.

His lips twitched into a smile. “Tell her I said hi.”

“Mhmmm.”

Pepper’s voice had already drifted off into exhaustion. A warm feeling swirled around Felix’s chest, and as he got out of he bed, he tried to remain quiet for his small, sleeping guests.

——

Sunlight filtered through the window, dappling the floor of the hallway in yellow. Felix waited against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, checking his phone every few minutes.

Alice had agreed to meet him here, but as time stretched on, Felix was beginning to doubt her. His stomach twisted in a mixture of fear and guilt, and he prayed that Alice would at least be willing to listen. They had been friends for almost three years. He wanted more than anything to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Hey.”

Felix glanced up, heart skipping a beat when he caught sight of Alice approaching. Her expression was empty, but Felix couldn’t help but notice the tightness of her hand around the strap of her bookbag.

“Alice,” Felix said in relief, straightening up. “Hi.”

She stopped a few feet away and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. Her blue eyes danced over his form before meeting his gaze again. She said nothing, clearly expecting him to talk first.

“Did you tell anyone about them?” Felix asked before he could stop himself.

Dark lashes blinked. “...Why would I do that?” Alice responded after a moment, tilting her head. Felix still couldn’t read her emotions. “No one would believe me.”

Relief rushed into Felix’s chest, and he exhaled, nodding. “Good. Thank you. They’re not supposed to—”

“What the hell happened last night?” Alice cut him off, exasperation seeping into her tone. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

Felix immediately faltered. He supposed that was a fair reaction, but he still wasn’t prepared for her sudden frustration. “It’s— it’s a lot to explain.”

Alice raised her eyebrows.

“They’re just people,” Felix clarified, fiddling his thumbs and frowning. “But… a lot smaller. They’re not, like, dangerous or anything. Just people.”

“Well, obviously,” Alice pointed out. “I just want to know what they were doing in your apartment.”

Felix found himself at a loss for words. How much was he allowed to share with Alice without putting the existence of borrowers in any more danger?

“They’re my friends,” he said slowly.

Alice stared for a moment, eyebrows lifting. “You’re… actually friends with them?”

Felix frowned and nodded, and Alice crossed her arms, brow furrowing again. “Oh. When they said they were your friends, I… I thought they were lying. It’s not like you’ve ever told anyone about them.” She peered closer at Felix, eyes icy. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or Breanna? Owen?”

Warmth spread through Felix’s chest, a bit flustered to hear that the borrowers had referred to themselves as his friends. He then hardened his expression as he processed Alice’s other words, the warmth fading. “They’re a secret,” he pointed out. “Humans aren’t supposed to know about them because when they do they put them in jars.”

The anger entered his voice without meaning to. Alice stepped back, hurt etched in her expression. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know– talk to them?”

“I tried to!” Alice exclaimed. “They just freaked out!”

“Alice,” Felix exhaled, momentarily pressing his fingertips to his temples, “they’re three inches tall. Just think about what we look like to them. Of course they would freak out– they were probably scared of you.”

“I barely touched them.”

Felix blinked, processing her words. Heat filled his chest, hot and angry. “Are you serious?”

“I mean– I put them in my pocket for a second, and then I put them in that jar, but that’s–”

“You hurt them!” Felix retorted before he could stop himself. Alice jumped. “Didn’t you see the bruise on Ba– on that girl’s face?”

Silence stretched between them for several seconds. Alice’s face fell, blinking rapidly. “That was an accident. She fell when she was in the jar.”

“That you put them in,” Felix objected, features sharp.

Alice stared at him, lips slightly parted, brow furrowed. Felix could sense the frustration floating off of her, and guilt instinctively crept its way into his chest past his own anger. He hadn’t meant for this to turn into an accusation.

It was hard for him to truly believe that Alice would intentionally harm either borrower beyond repair. As difficult as Alice was being, Felix understood that she was just confused about last night’s events. He couldn’t exactly blame her for acting irrationally towards the borrowers when she didn’t even know that they existed until twelve hours ago. (It’s not like his first interaction with Pepper had gone smoothly, either.)

Alice tended to maintain a tough, closed-off persona, which Felix usually found admirable. Unfortunately, Alice’s attitude meant that strangers tended to think she was cold-hearted– so Felix couldn’t even imagine how a borrower might perceive her, with every one of her actions amplified tenfold. Honestly, if Felix was three inches tall, he would be positively terrified of her.

Felix took a deep breath, focusing on Alice again. “Just… just please don’t tell anyone about them,” he said finally. “That’s all. I’m sorry you got mixed up in this.”

Alice said nothing.

—

“But did she say sorry?” Pepper demanded.

The borrower had his palms pressed to the back of his neck, pacing back and forth across the counter, mindful of the large knife being wielded only a foot away. Felix was chopping tomatoes on a cutting board, and although his eyes were focused on the knife, he was paying attention to what Pepper was saying.

“I think she feels bad,” Felix responded after a moment, brow furrowing.

“She should feel bad,” Pepper grumbled. “She could have killed us.” The memories of being shaken around a jar flashed through his mind, and he instinctively dropped his hands to hug himself, shuddering at the distant feeling of his joints slamming into solid glass.

Felix spared him a glance, eyes searching his small form, before turning back to the cutting board. “Ah… is your sister doing okay?” His voice was light.

Pepper stopped pacing and peered up at Felix. “She’s okay. She’s been sleeping all day, actually, but she’s overdue for some rest.” A miserable thought entered his mind, and he frowned, registering for the first time this evening that he was holding a conversation with a giant. “You know, yesterday was the first time she’s ever been seen by a human.”

Worry crossed Felix’s face. “Oh. That… that must have been awful.”

“It was.” Pepper nodded dejectedly, unable to sugarcoat it if he tried. “I mean, I was terrified, and I actually have experience with humans.” He gestured vaguely to Felix, who had abandoned the cutting board and was now giving Pepper his full attention. “But it was all new for her. It had to be so… overwhelming.”

The borrower sighed, gaze wandering to Felix’s hand, which was resting on the handle of the massive knife. “Being grabbed is not fun.” He shuddered at the memories of being trapped in an unrelenting grip, arms painfully pressed into his ribs. “You’re— you’re completely helpless, and when you’re against someone so much bigger than you it’s terrifying. It’s— it’s just…”

He trailed off at Felix’s wide-eyed expression. A twinge of guilt entered Pepper’s chest at the memory of their first meeting, and he shifted on his feet. “I’m really lucky that you’re nice,” Pepper added as an afterthought. Felix said nothing.

Felix remained quiet for the remainder of the cooking process, occasionally nodding or humming in response to Pepper’s rambling. Part of Pepper felt guilty for insulting Felix’s friend over and over again, but in his defense, she had literally kidnapped him.

In all honesty, it was just nice to spend some time with Felix alone.

“What are you making?” Pepper asked finally. Felix had moved further down the corner to where the stove was, turning the heat on. The occasional click or clang of Felix’s cooking equipment made Pepper a little dizzy, but he ignored it.

“Pasta,” Felix replied, holding up an uncooked piece of rigatoni before dropping it into a large pot. A flush crossed Felix’s face suddenly. “I, um, I thought these pieces might be easier for you to take home with you.”

Something fluttered in Pepper’s chest, warm and surprised. A small part of him— his defensive, primal instinct— hissed at him for taking handouts from a human.

But at the same time, it was a nice feeling to be considered in something as insignificant as dinner.

“Thank you,” Pepper said breathlessly.

As Felix stirred a wooden spoon into the pot, Pepper began his trek along the counter. Felix had moved the cutting board away after he had scraped the diced tomatoes into a pan, opening up Pepper’s path towards the stovetop.

As he approached, the heat from the humming stove was startling. Pepper had watched Felix cook for a year, but he had always been hidden away in the walls. This was the closest he had ever been to the stove while it was on.

A small gap, about half an inch long, was nestled between the edge of the gray countertop and the smooth white surface of the stove. On the burner closest to Pepper was a wide black pan, and although Pepper couldn’t see the pasta sauce within it, he could certainly smell it. Past the pan was a tall pot, bubbling with water.

The cooking process had become surprisingly loud in the last few minutes. Unable to quell his curiosity, Pepper stood up on his toes at the edge of the gap, trying to peer into the pan which contained the pasta sauce.

Felix caught his eye, and although Pepper trusted his own instincts, Felix certainly didn’t.

“Wh— hey,” Pepper objected, suppressing a flinch as Felix’s large hand suddenly approached. Alarm bells rang in his mind, and on instinct he dropped back into his heels.

Felix hadn’t touched him all day, hadn’t even tried. The last thing Pepper had expected at this moment was for Felix to grab him, especially after what happened last night.

But Felix didn’t grab him. The human barely even looked at him, blue gaze distractedly shifting from the small borrower back to the stovetop. Pepper blinked in surprise as the back of Felix’s knuckles bumped into his chest, slightly curled inward, gently nudging the borrower away from the stove. Pepper’s small hands landed on Felix’s forefinger for stability.

“Careful,” Felix murmured, withdrawing his hand and turning his attention fully back to the boiling pot of water.

Pepper blinked. His own hands floated in the air, empty and useless. He hadn’t expected the gentle touch from Felix, nor had he expected it to vanish seconds later, feeling strangely empty.

So much power resided within Felix’s hand. Pepper had felt the sheer force radiating from those fingers, each one surpassing him in height, and inwardly he knew that Felix could have done anything he wanted. Felix could have snatched Pepper up or swatted him away without even batting an eye, but the knuckles against Pepper’s chest had been soft, careful, gentle.

Felix was humming to himself, clearly not aware of how significant his action had appeared to Pepper. The borrower stared up at him, heart fluttering, suddenly in awe of the calculated way Felix was moving his hands around as he cooked.

It’s not like Pepper had actually been in danger. As a borrower, he knew better than to stand at the edge of the counter without paying close attention to where he placed his feet.

Still, as he stared up at his soulmate, he felt incredibly touched.

——

The empty jar was still sitting on Alice’s counter, sticking out like a sore thumb. She hadn’t touched it since last night.

It was hard not to stare at it. She leaned against the wall opposite to the counter, a glass of water in hand, the room silent aside from the faint hum of the kitchen light.

She couldn’t sleep.

She hadn’t been able to sleep last night, either, not since Felix had left her apartment with two tiny people in hand.

The jar seemed to taunt Alice. It was on its side, left there after Felix had tipped it to free the tiny people inside. If Alice looked closely, she could see the smattering of tiny handprints on the glass, each one smaller than her fingernail, and she could only wonder what the tiny people were doing now.

Her phone was in her hand before she could think about it, her thumb hovering over Felix’s contact, and she briefly thought back to how it had felt to hold two entire people in a fist. Her nose scrunched, and she stared down at her phone’s glowing screen, unable to move a muscle.

With a heavy breath she finally turned her phone off and slipped it into her pocket.

She’ll see Felix tomorrow at their first rehearsal, anyway.

------

tysm for reading!! <3

@smallsday @compact-katrina @satethesatelite @taters169 @entomolog-t @gtzel @gt-newbie @da3dm

#pepper & felix #g/t #g/t writing

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eddies-house · 2 days

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

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Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.

A senseless daydream.

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it. Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape. This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place. It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt. Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life. And last week he was suddenly dead. It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie. All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor. Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s. Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste. Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.

Whatever you wanted.

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke. His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you. He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him. He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place. Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick. He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible. Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible. And for what? For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions. Pathetic, he knew. But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man. Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything. He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come. A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind. And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver. The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him. He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better. It was a lie. He never had the flu. He didn’t feel better. He wanted to die. And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive. Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon. His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones. There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did. A flaw in the system. And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?

Several.

He thought to himself.

You could have gone to school, shown up.

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no. So. Many. Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death. He couldn’t stop making excuses. Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse. For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together. Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had. It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision. He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid. Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed. And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues. Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies. Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum. Dancing in the living room. Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees. Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin. Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense. Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer. That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised. Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights. Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in. Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home. Only he rarely did. Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time. Years and years of push back. A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.

“My dad has a ton of jobs.” He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.

The kids would snicker. Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness. And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day. Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them. Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature. At least that’s how dad described it. It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse. They called his dad a drunk. They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged. “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie. Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time. Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt. And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up. Closure in some kind of fucked up way. Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with. Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes. Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability. No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door. He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it. This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions. He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world. They shouldn’t have to worry about me. With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana. A life he’d always longed for anyway.

Be careful what you wish for.

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away. “One slip up…” They had said. It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him. Literally anyone. As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.

Cause he was nothing if not a problem. First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.

“Eddie?!”

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry. The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.” His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime. “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear. Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen. With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made. You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” You soothe.

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose. A wordless commitment. Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere. You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure. Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had. Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at. He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house. Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred. If either spoke it would make it real. Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him. There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind. Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip. It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him. In the standard of fight or flight, he froze. Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together. His croaking voice made that hard. But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability. And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime. Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him. Maybe that was dare you even think it, love. But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions. Conclusions you backtracked on immediately. It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–” A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.” His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior. “I shouldn’t–” There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath. “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn. Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet. Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.

“How’d you know?” He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.

“Wayne called me.” You sigh. “Said he got my number from Steve. Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?” At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it. “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in. Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.” You assure, taking care to relax your features. “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out. He wanted me to check in. I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.” You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again. You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick. The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor. There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better. You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again. It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words. When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage. In his eyes.

“But I will be. Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses. Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble. A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.” You demand.

“No, Bambi. Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key. Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself. And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses. His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness. Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in. He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!” Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow. “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down. I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it. My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.” Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze. A plea. “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in. I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal. It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him. The room turned colder, more vacant. Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart? His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall. The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended. Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness. Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what? Stormed off? Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat. He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other. And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness. The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut. An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.” You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth. “And I did. You didn’t say how long or—or where to go. But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake. Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips. Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you. Your boy.

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense. Bambi and Eddie. There is not one without the other, not anymore. Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”

It just fell from his tongue. A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious? Is that what you’re gonna ask?” He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping. Not because you’re afraid, no, never. You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts. “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.

“Bad.” He reiterates. “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.” Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip. “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it. And I’ll run with it. Far. Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.”

“I’m a pathetic man. Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.” You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.” He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow! Jesus fuck.” Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek. “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of. Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.

“Can you…can you do that again?” He whispers. Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck. His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest wet dreams.

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail. And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.

“Like that, baby?” You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.” A whisper that tells you everything. “I-I never—no one’s ever—“ He tries to warn you.

“What?” You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe. “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”

“Just my hand.” Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap. Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his. Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.

“We can stop.” You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.” His voice shakes, chest heaving. “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him. But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable. Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.” You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him. “Let me take care of you.”

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles. You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you. His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far. His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.” You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.” He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria. “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.

“Please, baby. Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.

“You bought condoms? Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!” You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back. You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?” You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care. Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed. You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you. Purely Eddie. Woodsy and minty. A tad smoky. And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room. And then it plays. A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love. A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.

“Well alright, cowboy.” You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.

“Shut up.” He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.

��C’mere.” You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you. “Wanna see you.”

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach. Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago. The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined. While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side. Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him. Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants. Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet. But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side. His eyes grow, lips parted in awe. And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control. And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval. That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it. Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red. Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.” While grinding into nothing, poor boy. “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands. You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth. Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps. Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair.

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot. Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned. Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone. The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom. The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm. Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting. The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds. Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what. Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime. Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm. His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted. You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark. All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you. He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless. Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit. Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”. That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close. Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart. Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.

It could help though. And that’s all that mattered. If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing. If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree. Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar. Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works. Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did. Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste. Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes. While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet. Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity. Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips. A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth. It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?” He laughs, voice husky with sleep.

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created. Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow. He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”

Eddie just stared.

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!” You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you. When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse. I just didn’t. I’m sorry.” His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck. And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you. I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.” You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table. Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you. Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute. He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing.

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I. Love. You.” You enunciate each word with a peck. “Point blank. No exceptions. You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man? We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records. A huge stack of them. All genres. Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal. It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling. That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?” You scoff. “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school. You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach. He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.

And he was blushing.

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me. I picked some out that I knew you’d like. Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them. Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him. Like Pandora’s box or something. Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper. A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold. His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper. It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head. Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture. At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said.

“No fucking way.” He smiles, half laughs. Then repeats himself. Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around. Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table. The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other. Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between. His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three. Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled. Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere. You miss it. But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything. Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi. Makes small talk with mom and grandma. Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day. No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her. He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang. Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual. Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background. Something about a broken sled. Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either. This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on. Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default. She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially. Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house. Beautiful in the summertime. Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays. One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #smoke signals #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie Munson series #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic

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lily-fics-11 · 2 days

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Maybe I Just Like Seeing You Fired Up (Ellie Williams, TLOU)

This is my first time writing Ellie so I hope you like it. Lmk what you think:)

Inspired by a prompt by @remy-lupin

CW: Not beta read, profanities, sexual undertones, mention of injury, pet names

You rarely got assigned to patrol with Ellie, which was no coincidence. The two of you have a tendency to butt heads. You by no means hate, or even dislike her, you just operate in different ways. Your social circles didn’t overlap, she was a little younger than you. So the only time you had ever spent with her was on patrol, where disagreements were consistent. It only got worse over time. After many others had observed your bickering, the two of you stopped being scheduled together.

Unfortunately, a few minor injuries had been sustained when an unexpected storm rolled in during a scouting trip yesterday. You hadn’t been there, and neither had Ellie. You were more than willing to pick up the extra shift that they asked you to.

After emerging into a clearing from some densely packed trees, you look over at Ellie. Her toned arms are crossed and you can tell by the look on her face that she is also pondering what move to make. You run a hand through your hair in frustration, knowing that this would most likely cause the first of many disagreements.

Ellie is the first to share her thoughts. “That hill looks pretty rocky, we should probably dismount and check how stable the terrain is before trying to take the horses over it.”

Not what you were thinking, but you had been begged to play nice.

You nod at her, “we can do that.”

“Oh really?” Ellie asks smugly.

You dismount your horse and straighten up your posture. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m just surprised.” Ellie snickers.

You put your hands on your hips. “This shouldn’t take more than a few hours, and we are both adults. I’m sure we can manage to cooperate knowing we shouldn’t have to do this again any time soon.”

Ellie hops off her horse. “I actually agree with you for once.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way.”

The two of you approach the bottom of the hill. The incline is mild, so if the rocks aren’t loose, the trek over could actually save some time. The two of you start to kick and pull at rocks.

At the same time that you say “I’m not so sure about this,” Ellie declares “seems alright to me.” She’s always been a risk taker.

You look over at Ellie and roll your eyes which causes her to sigh. “So much for getting along,” she mumbles.

“Come on Ellie, the rocks are stable right at the bottom but there are a few loose ones as you go higher up and for all we know it could get worse.”

“Fine, give me a second to test that theory,” Ellie tells you, sounding a little annoyed as she starts to climb a little higher.

“Ellie, that's not a good idea. The last thing we need is another injury.”

She gives you a sarcastic smile. “Don’t you worry about me, darlin’, I’ll be careful.”

“Why do you always feel the need to challenge me?” you scoff, head tilted to one side, taking a step towards her. To Ellie that was a challenge, igniting a fire in her emerald eyes. She moves forwards slowly, until your faces are mere inches apart, with a cocky grin on her face. “Maybe I just like seeing you fired up.”

That was not at all what you expected so you retreat a few steps to try and recollect yourself. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire. Her statement was far more personal than anything either of you had ever said to each other, aside from the small talk before you realized that you clashed. From very early on things had been strictly business. Her mischievous eyes roll playfully. “Oh come on, I know you’re smarter than that.”

“Quit fucking around Ellie.” You check the time on your watch, getting impatient.

“I think we should clear the air,” she suggests with urgency.

“Of what?” You question, gesturing to the space around you.

Ellie mimics you, which you do not appreciate. “This tension that we have. I know we don't see eye to eye, but I think there is more to it. How else would a little stubbornness escalate to keeping us separated all the time?” Your eyes wander around, looking for where she got the audacity.

Ellie is still trying to prove her point. “Like I said, I don’t think that’s it.”

You put your hands up in the air. “I’m out of guesses here.”

“Everyone knows you like girls,” Ellie smirks, “I think you like me.”

“Oh really? I like girls so I must like you, is that it? Fuck off.” You turn away, back towards your horse but Ellie grabs your arm. You try to free yourself from her grip but it’s useless. You look at her over your shoulder.

“Alright, maybe I’m projecting, but I’ve seen the way you look at me.” She says bluntly.

You would be lying if you denied how attractive Ellie is. That her smile is endearing and you like how her eyes sparkle when she gets excited about something. You may have even had a bit of a crush on her before you met. But then you actually spoke to her. There was friction and there was another girl pursuing you, so you dropped it.

“But the only reason I’ve noticed is because I’m always looking at you,” Ellie admits, eyes softening as she bites the lips you've tried not to pay attention to. “Ellie, we don't have time for this.”

“Fine, I can wait. I’ll even make a deal with you. We do this your way, and we finish this conversation later.”

Standing on Ellie’s front porch, you hesitate to knock. This was bound to be awkward, like the rest of patrol had been. She had relinquished control and allowed you to call the shots. At least if she had challenged every call you made like she usually does it would not have been silent.

When Ellie opens the door she bites back a smile and lets you in. You follow her into the living room and sit down on her couch. You nervously try to get comfortable. Despite achieving physical comfort, you are anxious as hell. There are a lot of different ways this could go and most of them were bad. But when a girl like Ellie Williams notices you, that’s not something you can just ignore. And when a girl that looks like Ellie Williams asks you to do something, how could you ever say no?

Ellie sits with her legs spread, her elbows resting on her knees. At first she looked down at the floor, even though you were expecting her to talk first.

“So…” you say, trying to find a train of thought.

Ellie’s glances over at you, looking a little lost at first. But after searching your eyes for a moment you can see her focus on you. “I’m sorry. I invited you here. How was the rest of your day?”

“Nothing special. Just spent some time outside reading.”

“Did you eat something? If not, I can make you something.” You really aren’t used to seeing this softer side of Ellie. Her shit eating grin had seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. But her smile is sweet, her eyes are soft, and her cheeks are flushed pink.

You know you are failing to hide your smile. “That’s actually very sweet of you, thank you, but I had dinner already.”

Ellie elbows playfully, “don’t sound so surprised.” You have to take a deep breath as you try and figure out how you feel about the physical contact.

Failing to look her in the eyes, you tell her that “you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, Williams.”

Ellie gasps dramatically. “Really? I would describe myself as a radiant beam of light. Maybe if you gave me a chance you would know that.”

You rest your chin on your hand, ready to listen. “Then let me get to know you. I came here to talk, so let’s talk.”

“One night at the bar I saw you when you came in and I did a bit of a double take. That older girl, I can’t remember her name, but she works across the way at that little shop with her family. She had her arm around you.” Ellie is referring to your ex-girlfriend. A few years older than you, so a fair bit older than Ellie.

You nervously play with your hair. “We aren’t together anymore, things just… didn't work out.”

“Oh I know.”

“You do?”

Ellie smiles and looks down at her converse. “I haven’t always, but I’ve been paying attention to you. It’s not that I had never looked at you before, I’d just never really seen you. It wasn’t until I saw you with another girl that I noticed all the little things. The way even plain colors bring out your eyes, the shadows that dim lighting create on your face. When you smile… your whole face lights up. And the way you laugh? You always scrunch up your nose and tuck your hair behind your ear. After that night my eyes always seemed to find you, in every room. I looked forward to seeing you when we still got put on shifts together, but I didn’t know how to act around you so I just ended up pissing you off and we both know how that ended. After that I had to settle for seeing you during briefs when we were working at the same time, before we got sent off our separate ways. If I got lucky I would see you when we happened to be in the same place in town at the same time. At first I thought I was crazy, until I realized you were actually looking back. You would glance over your shoulder or peek out of the corner of your eye, and smile when you looked away.”

“I guess I knew that I looked at you sometimes. But all those things that you noticed about me… I had no idea that you did. I had always assumed you never thought twice about me.”

Ellie looks deeply into your eyes when she tells you “I spend more time thinking about you then I care to admit. Ever since I found out about your breakup I’ve been wanting to talk to you. So when they told me I was going to be assigned someone different today, I asked for it to be you.

“You could have just talked to me.”

“How was I supposed to know that? You don’t like me. And you are intimidating. You aren’t just any girl. You are smart and strong-willed and passionate.”

The compliment takes you by surprise so you are unsure of how to respond to it. “It’s not that I don’t like you, I just disagree with you most of the time.”

Ellie bites her lip. “So what do you like about me?”

Unprepared for this question you mumble “um, your tattoo?”

Ellie crossed her arms, “I meant about my personality. But fine, we can start there. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that you like it. Do you have any?”

“Yeah, vines, up the side of my ribcage. Do you want to see?”

“It’s on your… you’d have to take off your…” the panic in her eyes was obvious.

You stand and slide your shirt up, just enough to show the entire tattoo. Ellie’s eyes widen and her jaw slightly drops.

“That's…”

“Hot? That’s what people usually tell me.”

“Got a bit of an ego there, don't ya. But yeah, actually. Like really hot.”

“You can touch it, if you want,” offering it up because you feel a bit mischievous.

Ellie purses her mouth as she traces her index finger over the vine, starting just above your hip bone and going all the way to the base of your breast. Her long fingers almost graze over the edge of your bra but she quickly pulls away.

You sit back down, much closer to Ellie than you had been before. Your eyes flicker between the way she is staring at you and the smile she’s failing to hide. Ellie slowly leans forwards until your noses are about to touch. You close your eyes, expecting her to kiss you, but you feel her tuck your hair behind your ear instead. She grazes her fingertips over your neck as she slides her hand around the back of it so she can pull you in. Her other arm, which feels as strong as it looks, wraps around your waist. Ellie kisses you gently at first, allowing the two of you to fall in sync with each other. But her hand creeps up and her fingers tangle in your hair. Her kisses are growing hungrier for you. You can’t get enough of her either so your hands wander over her body. One of your hands grips her upper thigh and she moans into your mouth.

Ellie pulls away from you and smirks before laying you on your back with great care. Her tenderness continues to surprise you, so you expect her to continue kissing you roughly.

Instead, she takes a moment to look over you with her dazzling green eyes. “You are… so beautiful.”

You don’t want to ruin the moment, but you can’t help but ask “is that why you bothered me, like a little kid does when they have a crush?”

Ellie’s soft disposition doesn’t falter, even for a moment. “I guess so. Never seen a girl like you in real life before. Had no idea what to do.”

Your breath hitches. This steamy encounter and that’s what gets you? Just goes to show how you had truly misjudged Ellie Williams.

“I… uh…” you are really at a loss for words.

Ellie leans in, her lips almost touch your ear. You can feel her warm breath when she whispers “you don’t have to say anything pretty girl.” She starts placing soft kisses on your neck and you moan a little. You feel her chuckle against your skin, clearly pleased with herself.

After leaving you wanting more, Ellie’s face hovers over yours and she tilts your head up by your chin and places one, seemingly shy, kiss on your lips before sitting back on her knees.

“We should stop.” Ellie sighs.

“Why?” You question, longing for more of her.

“I want to do this the right way. I respect you too much not to. I want to take you out on a date. Get to know you. I want you to know the real me. I’m really hoping something could happen between us, I don’t want to jeopardize that. That is if you are willing to give me, us, a chance.”

You sit up and cup her cheek in your hand. “Alright Williams. I’ll go home now, and you can come to my place tomorrow at 7 and pick me up for our first date.”

Ellie giggles, something you didn’t think you’d ever see her do. “Promise this will be the best date of your life.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #the last of us ellie #tlou ellie #ellie x you

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c4ttheart · 1 day

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zuko x fem!reader, angst, 1.6k wc (whoopsi)

supposed to be a gn reader but i put that they went to the royal fire academy for girls ; also timeline makes no sense LMFAO sorry ab that

summary : he says he loves you. that’s not fair, that’s not something best friends should say to each other. but his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours.

"zuko" you breathe out, "you’re back."

he furrows his brows when he hears you approach. he notices the hint of surprise in your voice, and somehow, he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing.

a mumbled "yeah" in response leaves his lips, and you smile. you quirk your lips upward as if he had never left. as if the last time he saw you wasn’t three years ago.

you want to ask him more, hold his hand and drag him through the gardens or sneak out into the city buying things you would never even need. but he turns away, leaving you to stand there in the middle of a palace that isn’t yours. zuko did not return with the avatar. zuko returned with blood on his hands, the price to pay for the victory of your kingdom. but that doesn’t feel right. that is not the zuko you know. then again, they really aren’t that different, three year gap or not, as they soak in the glory of what they have done.

why does he think it’s an honourable thing to have caused the demise of a city ? all that for what, the privilege of bathing in warm water and gold again ?

he ignores you throughout the month that he is here. you thought you were best friends, but apparently his stay at sea made him forget. one could say you’re not on the same footing anymore, since he is promised to the throne.

and it’s fine, you are fine, you can deal with whatever temper tantrum he is having, or the fact that he doesn’t have time for you. you don’t know what he went through, so you try to be fair. but then mai comes into the picture, and all of a sudden you’re fourteen crying on the floor of your dorm at the royal fire academy for girls because word is out that prince zuko has lost his agni kai. and you didn’t even have the time to say goodbye.

it’s not like you were dating. but he can’t just do whatever he’s doing. you waited for him to come back. every day. you still referred to him as your best friend and fed the turtle ducks in his absence. and he just waltzs back into your life and breaks your heart again.

mai is a sweet girl. she’s only a year younger than you. you know she’s a good student. but she doesn’t deserve to replace you. she doesn’t know his favourite colour and why it’s his favourite. she doesn’t know half of the things about him that complete your personality.

maybe that’s how you find yourself thumping on zuko’s door. it’s probably three in the morning, and you’re tired with red rims under yours eyes. he opens the door after some time, with messy hair and his room lit with candlelight. when was the last time you saw him ? he looks so real, so close and you are so, so grateful that he is here and that he is him, that you break down. what was once fury is replaced with desolation as he looks at you funny in front of the door that leads to his quarters.

"i uhm, thought you were at the academy." he mumbles awkwardly. the opening is only wide enough for you to see his face. why is he hiding ? what is this conversation topic ? when have you become such a stranger ? his favourite colour is blue. so is yours.

you sniffle. "it’s the middle of summer."

"oh."

he nods and moves to shut you off again. your tears run thicker against your cheeks.

"you can’t close the door zuko. you told me you loved me. you can’t keep on turning your back on the problems that require something else than military attention."

you don’t even know how you manage to speak the words correctly, considering the hiccups and the sniffles and the ugly crocodile tears. you don’t know how you manage to speak so correctly considering the state of your heart.

he scoffs. "you’re the one that left me."

"i did not leave you, zuko. i chose to stay." you laugh and croak out.

"that’s the same fucking thing." he whispers under his breath, his eyes rolling every time you blink water from your eyes.

it’s okay. you know he still loves you, somewhere inside. deep deep down, you know he does. it’s not wishful thinking, because his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours. blue like the waves back in ember island, blue like the water the turtle ducks swim in, blue like the sky in which he wishes he could soar. blue like the flames he never got.

"you can leave now, y’know ? " he speaks again, every single drop of formality run dry on his lips when he sees you. is that a good thing ?

and yellow used to be your favourite colour. not his, yours. yellow like the sun, yellow like the small buttercups, yellow like the jewellery your mother would wear. yellow like his eyes. and then all of a sudden, zuko came along, and yellow morphed into blue. what he liked, you liked. what he did, you did. what he said, you said. somewhere along the way you forgot yourself in the name of love. and all that for what ?

"i-i don’t understand, zuko." you hiccup. you try to remember the warmth of the yellow sun but all you can focus on is the harsh yellow in his eyes. it looks much less appealing than blue.

"god, what more is there to understand ? people move on, (name). maybe it’s time you do the same. grow up a bit, and maybe you’ll get a real personality."

you gasp.

"oh and, it’s prince zuko to you."

this horrible feeling settles in your stomach. like needles, piercing over and over again. or a dam being broken by a tidal wave. you do not feel good. and he is dressed in red, like his curtains, like his door, like the walls and floors and windows and carpets and when you finally reach the gardens you have never felt so nauseous watching the fountain blue.

when you glance up, you realise the sky is red too.

your tears are all dried up now. you should go home, probably. but the sun is rising and the last thing you want to do is let your parents know you snuck out, that you’re not at all at the friend’s house you were supposed to be at. you’re seventeen, yet you are still so reliant on your parents. you should take control of your life, you think, but you still have a favourite colour and you still like the same guy than when you were a child. maybe zuko is right, you should grow up.

best friends should never be able to love each other. it ruins lives, love. you think it would have been best if zuko had never loved you at all. but his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours, because your personality is completely attached to his. maybe you loved him too before you even knew it.

you watch people get up and about from the tower you’re in. you don’t know which one it is, just that it is high off ground. when a bird squeaks, you bang your head against the wall. messenger hawks scare you.

something falls besides you, and it sounds light. a key, sitting still and yellow on the middle of the paved floor. it’s an ordinary key, yet it looks too unused to be one leading to the bird cages. you nervously look around, with puffy eyes and dried cheeks, because you should not be doing this but god, do you need something to get your mind off zuko.

fuck him and his little girlfriend. fuck him and his petty ways, fuck him and his fancy baths, fuck him and his golden eyes. he should have told you if he hated you. if he didn’t wish to be best friends anymore. you would have taken it easier than now. but he just vanished, and when he came back, he wasn’t himself anymore. maybe he lost himself like the people of ba sing se lost their lives because of him.

you spot some sort of square locker imbedded in the wall. it looks quite private but the key fits when you insert it, and when you turn it the door silently opens. then something falls on your face. it’s small and not very heavy. looks like a messy envelope when you pick it up. you open it subconsciously, like it was meant to find you somehow. maybe it was, because your heart drops when you read who it is addressed to. you skip the contents only for what you thought were your dry eyes pour again.

inside the box, is a year worth of letters. they’re all from zuko. and they’re all sealed with blue wax.

you don’t speak with zuko the following week, but rumours spread fast and all of a sudden the whole country knows he’s gone. it’s alright. you didn’t get to say goodbye the first time, so why would you now ? when you go back to your dorm at the academy the next day, pretty petunia flowers sit on your bed, sealed with a blue ribbon. you clench your jaw.

it is quite a feeble gift, but it is better than nothing at all. you keep them in a vase on the windowsill, even when you learn they mean resentment, because his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours.

it always will be.

i like read iver this once to make sure some sentences made sense that is it

this was supposed to b fluff but uh,,,,,

#anime x reader #atla zuko #atla #atla x reader #atla x you #atla x y/n #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko x reader #avatar zuko #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #zuko #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbenber netflix #avatar 2009 #avatar live action

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noosayog · 24 hours

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004 logical

✧ wc: 2.5k

✧ warnings/content: oikawa toru x reader, no gendered pronouns used but lease lmk if I missed any! sfw, angst to fluff, another breaking up making up fic, long distance relationship

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

“I don’t think this is working out.”

When Oikawa hears those words, marred by phone static, he drops the remote from his left hand and his fork from his right.

“Baby,” he says cautiously, disoriented. “It’s just a few more days.”

There’s a moment of silence. Oikawa picks up the phone and presses it to his ear.

“It’s not just that,” you say quietly. “How much longer are we going to do this – not seeing each other, missing calls, postponing flights? Even when we’re talking, we’re not fully focused on each other.”

“That’s not true,” he immediately protests.

“Yes, it is. Were you not just watching a game and eating right before this?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not fully focused on you.”

“Yes, Toru. It does.”

He has so much to say, yet none of it seems to come out. Nothing seems appropriate.

You sigh again. “Just… stay, Toru. Stay there. You don’t have to fly back to Japan for me. I know volleyball’s important for you.”

When he says nothing, you go on. “But I hate the way this makes me feel. Like I’m asking you to give up what you love to fly across the globe just to see me for a few days.”

“You’re not. I want to-”

“Toru.”

His mouth clamps shut.

“Last time you came back to Japan, you missed a last-minute practice match with that coach you’ve been wanting to work with. Last time I came to you, I spent 2 of the 4 days I was there alone because you had another last minute volleyball thing. Even when we invest the time to see each other, we’re not really… there.”

Oikawa knows; he knows.

“So let’s just… not.”

He knows, but that doesn’t mean he wants to… not.

“Just hold on a couple more days, okay?” he asks, trying his hardest not to beg and whimper. “Just a couple of days, and I’ll be back in Japan and we can talk, figure something out.”

“Toru…”

“Please, wait for me.”

“I don’t know if I have that in me anymore.”

The coldness of your words seize his chest.

Hearing nothing more from him, you sign off with finality, “Good bye, Toru.”

And the line cuts off.

–

Today is Friday, the beginning of the 3-day long exchange scrimmages with the visiting Brazilian and Chilean pro teams. Duffle bag tossed on the floor by his feet, Oikawa flops on the couch, downing the remainder of his protein shake. The bright screen of his laptop stares back at him, email confirmation of his flight change there to reprimand him, remind him.

Your Flight AE344 to Haneda International Airport for Thursday, February 8th has been canceled.

You’re booked for Flight AE267 to Haneda International Airport for Monday, February 12th! See you soon!

After you had hung up, he gave you a call back. You didn’t answer. He tried again an hour later, then 2, then 12. He had listened to the line ring, for exactly 20 seconds, 8 rings, before banishing him to your unset-up voicemail.

Shutting the laptop screen, he picks up his duffle and is out the door. After all, if he didn’t show up to the scrimmage, what would this have all been for?

–

Friday night arrives, and despite how tired he is, physically from all the exercise and mentally from all the socialization with the visiting players, you wander through his mind. He supposes this is hardly surprising, given you’ve always been his place of rest, regardless of the physical distance, sheer kilometers between the two of you.

Almost afraid to look, he checks his phone and immense disappointment and an increasingly familiar emptiness fill his chest when he sees nothing from you.

He tries your phone again. It rings, rings, and rings and there’s no reward, your voice waiting at the other end.

He showers, eats a quick dinner, and meal preps for Saturday’s scrimmage. Busying himself works momentarily, but at 9PM, his phone alarm goes off, reminding him that it’s time to call you. For the past year, his routine has been talking on the phone with you every night at 9PM. No matter where he is, at a bar with teammates, at dinner with friends, or late night practice, he always takes at least 10 minutes to talk to you.

When the two of you first established this, the agreed upon time was 10PM for him, 10AM for you. The two of you used to compete to see who could call who first. The first night, you called the exact second the clock struck 10. So the next night, Oikawa called at 9:59. Then the following night, you called at 9:58. And it went on until the two of you begrudgingly came to a truce that you’d alternate nights.

And tonight is your night.

Five minutes after 9, Oikawa knows the call isn’t coming.

–

Late Friday night – or technically early Saturday morning – Oikawa lays awake in bed wondering how the hell it all went down the way it did. It hasn’t even been a full year since the two of you started to do long-distance. And he’s still confused. He’s confused because he thought the two of you were doing the best you could be. He’s confused because he’s never even thought about the possibility of not being with you.

He twists over to lay on his side, facing his phone screen, open at your contact. His thumbs hover over your name for the nth time that night, only for him to flop back on his back, turning now to the other side, your side. It hits him then that he can’t even remember the feeling of you in that bed, the last time you kissed. If he had known that would be the last time, he would've savored it all the more. He’d burn the memory into his nerves, just so he could remember the feeling. Volleyball was all muscle memory; he never thought he’d need to commit you as well.

Before he knows it, morning arrives. He starts to get ready.

He brushes his teeth, packs his gym bag, and starts to eat breakfast.

His legs shake, knees bouncing up and down in a nervous tick that hasn’t shown itself since high school. His laptop screen is up again, the flight ticket once again flashing bright.

It’s a reminder. Now he knows that when it’s not reciprocal, the distance between the two of you is so much more than 18,000 kilometers and 12 hours. There’s no phone line, no facetime to shorten that distance, even if just by perception.

Then, it’s a striking thought: a realization that postponing a plane ride those few days could cost him a lifetime.

He dials your number again.

It rings, and rings, and rings.

“... Hello?”

“You picked up,” he hears himself say.

“Sorry I missed yesterday, Toru.” He knows what you’re referring to without you saying it. “And I’m sorry I hung up… like that.”

There’s a lot to say, but he can’t do it like this. So he asks, “will you wait for me to come home?”

“Toru…” your voice breaks with the syllables of his name. He hears the reluctance in your tone.

“If you want to break up, if you truly want to stop being with me,” it takes monumental effort for Oikawa to even speak of such an event. “Then say it to me in person. I have to know.”

You’re silent in response. He’s glad you aren’t refusing, saying that the flight, the cost, the time isn’t worth itt. He’s glad that you agree it’s still a worthwhile conversation to have in person. He’s glad you haven’t given up.

“Wait for me, okay? Please.”

It takes a few simple clicks and a significant chunk of his savings to do what he does next.

–

For the entirety of the flight to Haneda International, Oikawa’s knees bounce, colliding uncomfortably with the seat in front of him. Even with what little affirmation you gave him by simply picking up his call, it brings him little comfort as there’s absolutely nothing he could do for the next 28 hours but sit tight.

When the plane lands safely in Tokyo, local time of 9PM Sunday, Oikawa charms his way into getting off the plane first. He flashes a weak smile at all the people still in their seats of the plane, before rushing off with only his carry-on in tow. There’s no time to wait for a bus, so he shoves his way to the front of the taxi line, reciting your address as if it hadn’t been over 4 months since he’s been there.

Every passing moment does little to ease his nerves, exacerbated even up until the moment he arrives at your door. The seconds pass in loud silence, the hollow sound of his knocking ringing in his ears.

All the white noise fades, though, when the door opens and reveals you. No matter that your eyes are red and swollen, no matter that you’re wearing one of his old ratty Seijoh sweaters, no matter that the two of you are supposed to be breaking up.

“Toru,” you breathe. Oikawa forgets you’re supposed to sound like this, not the distorted, muffled imitation of your voice he hears through the phone too often. Yet another addition to his growing list of realizations.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but a single heave of a laughter bursts from his chest. “I told you I wanted to see you, didn’t I?”

“But… your flight wasn’t supposed to arrive until Wednesday.” You’re cautious and he hates that. He wants you to be uncaring of the emotions you show around him, to jump into his arms and forgive him. He wants it back.

“I changed my flight.”

“But volleyball…”

“That’s the thing,” he starts. “I think that’s probably one of the things I never made clear to you.”

You look at him, confused.

“Can I come in?”

It stings when you instinctively fold your arms over your chest protectively, eyes briefly leaving him to look at the ground.

“Will you let me in?” he tries again.

You look back up at him, moving to the side to let him in.

When the door clicks shut behind him, the first thing Oikawa does is wrap you up in his embrace. His arms engulf you. He forces his hold to be gentle, on the chance that you push away. You don’t, so he holds on tighter and tighter, until you squeak from the pressure. He thinks he mumbles an apology, but he’s not really sure because all he registers is your arms coming up to grab his sweater.

It’s not enough.

You let him just hold you, for how long, he doesn’t know, until you finally squeak out his name. He reluctantly pulls away and starts talking, as if he wants to get the talking part over as fast as possible so he can pull you right back in again.

“The thing I wanted to tell you,” he continues from before. “There’s no comparison – between you and volleyball, I mean.”

“Toru, you know that’s not true.”

Yes, it is,” he insists. “I’ve never seen volleyball as something that takes away from time that belongs to you. Every time you come to see me, or I go to see you, or when I push a flight, I’ve always seen that as just a… postponement of our time together, never that it would take away from it.”

“Toru…” you push further away.

“But, I think I get it now. I get that phone calls, video calls, text messages can’t be a substitute. I know because I almost forgot how your voice sounds outside of a phone and because I can’t accept us breaking up through a screen. And even more so because I can’t live off of the memory of how you feel.”

When your gaze softens, he knows he got it right. It only took all this time for him to understand what you meant when you said things weren’t working; it was never about a postponed flight.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get it.”

Your palm comes up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes a wet spot on his cheek. “Oh, Toru. I would never make you compare, I thought you knew that.”

“I know,” he says. I know. And he does.

“Sometimes, I just need to know you miss me as much as I miss you. I know you love volleyball,”

“I love you,” he interrupts.

“I know you love volleyball,” you continue. “And I would never want you to feel like you had to give any of it up for me. I just need to know that you feel what I feel too.”

His hands at your waist squeeze, like he’s reassuring you that he does.

“I know that you won’t be playing in Argentina forever. I was prepared to deal with long-distance for as long as it takes for you to be ready to come home. But-”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t need you to say it.

“No, let me say this. But, sometimes it felt like you were settling for how we were. Then… when you postponed the flight, I guess I was just bummed because I was so excited to see you. But you acted like it wasn’t a big deal.”

Yeah, he did, didn’t he.

“It felt like you would be just fine substituting me for the sport.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

There’s so much to explain and he’s afraid it would take too long. He needs to tell you that’s not how he feels and that it’s not true at all. And perhaps he’s become self-aware of his ability to grow numb to things like homesickness and he tried to apply that to you too so that he wouldn’t be crippled by the sheer magnitude of how much he truly missed – misses – you. And how appalled he was when he realized he was associating you with memories and nostalgia, as if you were a had-been and not a still-is.

But you seem to understand because your hands are still gentle on his face and your gaze is affectionate.

“Stop crying, you baby.”

“I’m not crying!” he denies.

“If you don’t stop crying, I won’t kiss you,” you tease.

He clams up, biting on his lips to stop the hiccups. His eyes roll upwards to the ceiling, willing any tears to stop overflowing.

You laugh lightly at the sight, voice still clearly weak from your crying marathon.

He has a lot to apologize for, doesn’t he.

You lean upwards for a kiss. It catches him off guard to this day, how much you can express in your gentle affection. It’s another thing he can’t feel through a screen.

With each kiss you press on his lips, he counts the things he has to apologize for, but more importantly he counts the things he needs to tell you he misses and loves about you when he inevitably puts the 18,000 kilometers between the two of you again.

And he’ll do it. Every day. Until the day he finally comes home.

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envysparkler · 2 days

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Natalia gets out of the car to stare at a row of oceanfront warehouses that are, remarkably, not on fire.

“Huh,” she says to her partner. “I thought you said Hood called this in.”

“I did!” Isha remarks, as upbeat as ever. “Maybe he’s gotten therapy for those pyromaniac tendencies.”

Natalia snorts. Fat chance. The Bats are allergic to therapy—anyone who dresses up to fight crime is certainly not dealing with their feelings in a constructive manner. Before she can point out to Isha that every one of the agents in their office are woefully behind on their mandated therapy—it’s hard finding a decent therapist that isn’t also moonlighting at Arkham, and no one wants to drive to Metropolis and traumatize those poor counselors—her phone rings.

She stares at the familiar name and exhales slowly. “Boyfriend?” Isha remarks with a knowing smile.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Natalia snaps. She’s not supposed to be answering personal calls while she’s doing her job, but Rafa can and will start calling everyone around her if she doesn’t pick up. He’s gotten a bit clingy since he found out that Deathstroke is her neighbor. Isha, for some reason, finds it cute.

“Hi Rafa, good evening, I haven’t been murdered yet,” she answers, turning away from Isha’s smirk.

“That sounds great, queriña,” Rafa chirps. “How are the neighbors?”

“Existing,” Natalia replies. “You know, you really have to stop these check-in calls. Dick isn’t going to hurt me, Slade doesn’t take contracts in Gotham, and people have stopped believing me when I say you’re not my boyfriend.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Rafa,” Natalia rolls her eyes.

“You would not be having these problems if you came back to San Diego like I suggested,” Rafa offers.

“I’d love to come back to San Diego,” Natalia says, “I really would, if it weren’t for the minor problem of all the people there that want me dead.”

“Gotham has people who want you dead,” Rafa says darkly.

“Gotham also has people who want me alive,” Natalia says.

“I want you alive.”

“And if Gustavo del Toro asked you to again get rid of the pesky FBI-agent-shaped thorn in his side, this time permanently?”

Silence.

“Goodbye, Rafa,” she says with a tone of finality, and cuts the call. She’s lost patience with his protectiveness, coming as it does with terms and conditions. She’d consider changing her number, but it didn’t work the last time, and besides, she has bigger problems than a sulky assassin on the other side of the country.

“How’s the boyfriend doing, Agent Padilla?” a mechanized voice asks.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Natalia growls as she spins to face the Red Hood. Hood raises gloved hands in the universal sign of placation. “Did your explosives fail to detonate or did you run out of bombs, Hood? I know it’s too much to hope that you decided not to make our jobs more difficult by setting all our evidence on fire.”

“I prefer to think of it as cleansing.”

“And I prefer to get home to bed at a reasonable hour, but clearly that isn’t working out for me,” Natalia says coolly. “What do you have for us?”

#my snippets #outsider pov #deleted scene #from a follow-up to 'seeing is believing'

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auspicioustidings · 2 days

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Ae Fond Kiss - Part 4

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death

Summary: The years pass and you find out how Simon feels about you before a familiar face arrives. Words: 2.8k

Parts: 1 2 3 4

“Tell me luv.”

Simon had his fingers tucked under your chin to tilt your head up so you could no longer easily hide. Urgh he was so bloody perceptive.

“It’s silly.”

“You’re always silly, now tell me.”

You fought the urge to blow a raspberry at him. He was truly the most stubbornly protective human you had ever met and he never just let things go if you said it was fine. He always knew when something was bothering you despite your attempts to hide it.

“What am I supposed to do when Joey starts nursery?”

You sighed and dropped any attempt to hide how miserable the thought made you. When you and Johnny had gotten married you had decided that you’d be a stay at home mum. You didn’t have a career you were attached to and Johnny made enough to support the household. Honestly you had come to enjoy it in the last year. You decorated your home for every holiday, experimented in the kitchen until you were actually a very good home cook and baker, always felt safe and content with how well you knew your own space and how cosy and clean you kept it.

It was never how you imagined yourself if you were honest, a homemaker. The idea of you actually sort of enjoying cleaning would have made you feel somewhat ill 5 years ago. But now you were in your own home with a toddler you loved to death and, though you often were reluctant to admit it out loud, a man you loved to death. You had been front and centre for all of Joey’s firsts and you wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Simon missed his first steps. Johnny had been fine doing video calls while he was on base during off hours, but you didn’t even have the number of Simon’s work phone. It used to frustrate you that it felt like he didn’t even exist the moment he left for work, but he had spoken about his family on your first Christmas together and it made you understand. He would never carry anything on him as the Ghost that could link back to you, even in the relative safety of the base during downtime.

Now Joey would be out of the house for most of the day. You could have waited, not sent him to nursery and just kept him home until school, but you knew it would be for your sake rather than his. He loved being around other kids and some of the friends he had made from you taking him to every toddler group in the area in an attempt to be a good mother would be starting nursery as well.

Could you just do nothing all day? Between Johnny’s insurance and death in service benefits and Simon insisting on funnelling money in, you could certainly afford it now, but it felt so wrong when Johnny was dead and Simon was doing the exact job that had killed him.

“What do you mean? You do the same as you do right now if you’re still happy doing it but without him.”

“Lounge around and do nothing while you are out risking your life you mean.”

Simon considered, always careful to think the situation through rather than reply impulsively. He was annoyed with himself for not seeing sooner that you were undervaluing yourself, only considering taking care of Joey which was a full time job in itself as contributing. While it had been a source of bitter guilt in the beginning, he had started to forget how much younger you were than him. He really should have seen it, no woman in her early 20s saw her full worth.

“Princess, you decorated this whole house while I was deployed and you’re the one that fixes things or organises for them to be fixed when they break. You cook almost all our meals from scratch and then make extra to donate to the community kitchen. The garden is immaculate because you follow the planting plan you made yourself and are out there doing maintenance every day. You do not now nor have you ever lounged about doing nothing, even if I would like it if you did.”

He already felt bad enough about it. When he was home he threw himself in, tried to take as much off of you as possible even when he was nowhere near as fast or good at things. If anything he was contributing nowhere near enough money to cover all the full time jobs you were gracefully juggling (only because it had already been a fight to accept any money at all, he gave you what you accepted and then put almost the rest of his pay into an account for Joey).

“Shut up!” you whined, battering fists against his chest as your face flamed.

You had lived together now for just around 3 years. You had been intimately involved for 2. It still absolutely floored you when he was nice to you and made butterflies erupt in your stomach. It was so ridiculous to feel like some wide eyed teen with a crush when it came to this idiot. Unfortunately his favourite hobby was fucking with you when you were taken off guard like this.

“Aww baby girl, you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me and Joe don’t you? We’d fall apart without you beautiful” he said in a smooth rumble, peppering kisses across your cheeks and down your neck.

It wasn’t fair that he could just tease you with a version of him that adored you. A version that you enjoyed even if you didn’t really think it was real. Sure there had been a maybe ‘I love you’ years ago after all that sexual tension broke and he seemed to be happy enough, but you could only imagine that if he ever knew how you felt about him he would run. The last 3 years you had fought at every turn to protect your heart, but you had stopped denying at least to yourself that it was pathetically his now.

“Don’t do that.”

“You don’t want praise and kisses?”

He raised an eyebrow and tried to hide a small smile. You loved praised and kisses, he knew that because in the bedroom he could use that to turn you into a pile of obedient princess who did whatever he said if it would earn you his adulation. But it was just sex wasn’t it?

“I don’t want you to pretend.”

He was confused by that and you wanted to sink into the floor to avoid this conversation. You had been avoiding it for a while now.

“I… fuck. Simon, I don’t- it’s not just sex to me” you choked out, not sure how to put it into words without straight out admitting that you were hopelessly in love with him and wanted him in you and J’s lives permanently.

“Christ, you pretty little idiot” he growled, grabbing your face roughly in his hands. “I love you. I am in love with you. I’m not Johnny, I don’t do big romantic gestures. I’m not the kind of man to tell you all the time how I feel. I’m the kind of man who is a selfish bastard because I don’t give a fuck if you deserve someone who does. You are mine. You have been for years. Do you understand me?”

You could only blink wide-eyed as your brain tried to catch up with the whole world restarting itself after the shock.

“Do you understand me?” he snapped.

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl… wanna get married?”

You stuttered out an outraged shout, feeling the tears that had been building drying up at the audacity of this man.

“Johnny took me to the cabin. He made me a replica of the first dinner we had together and set the table outside during the sunset. He organised for fireworks!”

“Told you I don’t do romantic gestures.”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine, let’s get married Casper. You’re the fucking worst.”

“Don’t I know it princess. I’m not wearing a tie.”

“Then I’m not wearing a dress.”

“Yes you bloody well are!”

“Wanna bet?!”

He did not wear a tie, but Joey did. Your dress was beautiful. Gaz officiated your wedding for the second time. Price said there was an emergency so he couldn’t make it - you weren’t really sure you believed him.

As you cleared up after the whirlwind that was breakfast in a house with a 9 year old late for school, you sighed and stuck on a heat patch. You were starting to wonder if being off birth control was maybe a little pointless because in the past 18 months it had only reminded you how much you hated periods after years of them being gone as a useful side effect.

It had been something you were speaking about since you got married. You had always wanted more kids. Simon had never even expected he’d have one. You were terrified of a repeat of your first pregnancy, he was terrified that his genes were poisonous. You had enough money with his hefty pay and your small business (you had started it up soon after Joey had started nursery and you got a lot of orders for events, birthdays and weddings for sets of biscuits. You imagined wherever Johnny was he was howling with laughter that you had turned into a home baker after all the kitchen disasters he had seen).

In the end it had been Joseph who made the decision. One shrugged mention of how he thought it’d be nice to have a little sibling and that was that. There was not one thing in the whole wide world you and Simon would not give him if it was in your power. Although you were starting to think it wasn’t in your power at all.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have an active sex life and in honesty it had only gotten more active from the breeding kink Simon had uncovered as soon as it was a possibility. But it just hadn’t happened.

You wondered if it was better that it hadn’t, at least until Joey was 10. That was when you had agreed you would tell him everything. On advice of a psychologist you had told him that Simon wasn’t his biological father very early on, as early as he could understand the concept, although stressed he was still his dad. The only thing you mentioned about his biological father was that he had died even though that was very much against the psychologists advice, she had said to tell him everything about Johnny.

But in 4 months he would turn 10 and he knew that you would answer his questions then. It was shitty of the two of you really, to hide Johnny until now. Joey’s grandmother still saw him, but she never talked about her son or who he was. It was cowardice. Simon had been speaking with a therapist for years about how to let go of the idea that Johnny died because he couldn’t save him. You felt ill at the idea of your son knowing you had married his dead father’s best friend. Both of you were so scared of Johnny’s ghost that you kept him from his son for nearly a decade.

Well sort of. Joey knew who Johnny was, just not that he was his father. There were photos of him in the house. Whenever Gaz, Price and their partner (that had been a whole drama, but you were happy the three of them finally worked it out) were around, sometimes they would reminisce about him. Well Gaz and Simon did, Price would just look pained and excuse himself to get a drink.

You could only hope that Joey wouldn’t hate you, but then he was such a great kid. A little wild, but incredibly kind and empathetic beyond his years. He had Johnny’s eyes. You thought that he’d understand when you explained it all. Maybe he’d yell at you for thinking he would blame you for falling in love with his dad, but he’d understand.

You focused on cleaning up and getting the kitchen back clean and cosy how you liked it, deciding not to borrow worries from the future.

–

Price had told him to settle his arse down in the base and let him travel down and talk to him before he went anywhere. Johnny ignored him. He had just saved the fucking world, there was not one thing that was going to keep him from his wife and child one second longer.

He had debriefed already, been medically cleared to leave. He knew the paperwork was going to be horrendous given that he was legally dead, but frankly he’d leave it for the intelligence agencies to deal with given how much of a big bloody favour he had just done them. He got your address off of them given that Price hadn’t given it to him, just telling him to wait until he got there. Fuck that.

It didn’t take too long to get himself there. It was oddly comforting hearing all the English accents after a decade of hearing almost entirely Russian even if he’d be moving your pretty arse back North of the border as soon as he could. Not a chance was his family living in Carlisle. He wondered why you would move that far from the Highlands where his family was. You had always been no contact with your own family, maybe you had reconciled with them and moved to be closer?

He would find out. Whatever it was he’d support you. God he loved you, he had missed you so fucking much. He had imagined the reunion for years, thought of your smile and your laugh when he needed to remind himself what he was fighting for, thought of your soft skin and tight pussy when he needed to relieve some tension with his right hand. Whenever he sent up a prayer in the prospect of death, it was for you that he prayed he would survive.

He thought of how he’d hold you for days when he got back. He knew you would have raised a wonderful son and he could not wait to meet the person he had become. He’d hold him as well, spend days cuddled up and watching movies with his family.

And then he’d take you to the cabin and lose himself in your body. Fuck it was strange to think he’d have to consider it wasn’t just you two anymore. He didn’t want to lose any time with his son, but he needed alone time with you as well. He’d work it out.

The house was nice, sort of quaint with the pretty flowers both real and painted on the door. It hurt knowing if he hadn’t been away you’d have something bigger. You would have had to for a growing family.

He wished he had stopped and gotten a change of clothes and a haircut. He was in military issued sweats and a hoodie and his hair had grown out to curl around his ears. He really should have shaved as well, a task he hadn’t had time for in the chaos of the last few months. But fuck it, he was here and he couldn’t wait.

It was almost like an out of body experience knocking on the door, knowing he was seconds away from you. He should have realised that there was another person around who could answer the door, but he hadn’t been thinking. The Joseph he knew was a tiny baby, not a bright eyed kid with a toothy grin in a football strip (a bloody Man U strip at that, Johnny just knew his uncle Simon would have had a hand in that and it made him grin knowing his best friend was still in his son’s life).

“Ye got big!” he belted, excited beyond proper introductions at seeing his son.

The kid furrowed his brows for a moment before he brightened with recognition. Johnny assumed now was about the time for crying and yelling and hugging. He was unprepared for the alternative.

“I know you! You’re dad’s Sergeant! I thought you died.”

His heart lurched, putting the dots together well before his brain could.

“Joe hurry it up! We’ll miss kick-off!”

Johnny knew that voice. It was not yours.

“I’m ready!”

“You better be! Right, who’s at the door then?”

The voice got closer and even though he wanted to run Johnny was rooted to the spot. It felt like the next 10 seconds as the footsteps and voice came closer was hours. The door swung wider open as a hand pulled on it from behind and then he was looking into the eyes of Simon Riley. The silence was deafening until Johnny broke it.

“What the fuck did you do Si!”

#mhairiwrites #cod #soap x reader #ghost x reader

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annaraebananawriter · 19 hours

Text

(Request) I Bet You Were the Best Brother

It's been a while since I posted a oneshot, so I hope this 5k one manages to make up for that.

As I've mentioned before, been going through a bit of a writer's block that is finally going away. Some it still lingers, but it is infinitely better. Feels like I can breathe again. So, everyone reading this that struggles with writer's block at the moment--know that it will go away. You will be able to write again. It's not a matter of if, only when. You will be able to write again.

Anyway, I don't have any other major life updates for you, so I guess I'll let you start reading now. Happy reading! Let me know what you thought!!

Fandom: Undertale/UTMV

Characters: Dream and Nightmare (Who belong to Joku)

Warnings: A character losing their memory and swearing and I think that’s it. Let me know!

Summary: Ilike_cringe (Fri 14 Oct 2022): "here is a request :>. Could you make it that nightmare might have hit dream tooo hard in a fight that (bear with me ) Dream lost his memory ( if you could could you add more spice \^o^/)"

Word Count: 5395

~oOo~

Nightmare wanted there to be a note that the fight started off normal.

His gang showed up, causing some ruckus. He hung out in the background observing, soaking in the new misery like a sponge, keeping an eye out for the tell-tale sign that the Star Sanses had shown up. In today’s case, that ended up being an arrow flying at one of his boys, which barely got dodged, the blue glow disappearing as it left eyesight. Grinning, he had taken it as his cue to join in, grabbing Dream by the ankles as he notched another one, and throwing him across the space.

Not too hard, of course. He didn’t want his brother out of commission quite yet. That was always the fun part about the fight, seeing him defeated. It needs to be drawn out a bit, though, for it to be really satisfying.

Dream recovered from the toss quickly, though he was soaked head to toe—he had unintentionally tossed him into the river. Whoops. The annoyed look on his brother’s face made his grin widen even more. They quickly fell into their routine after that, trading blows and insults, slowly moving away from the others. Another toss had them entering the woods, which resulted in a lot of fallen trees, a clear indicator of where they’d gone.

A cliff came into view, with Dream’s back to it. Nightmare didn’t take much note of it at the time, too preoccupied—his brother had just gotten a pretty bad hit to the back of his skull, making him stumble. Pausing for a minute, he gave him some time to get his bearings back before attacking again, pushing him closer to the cliff edge.

So…technically, this whole thing could be considered his fault, but how was he supposed to know what would happen?

The cliff seemed perfectly safe in the normal dangerous way!

This means the fight was going great until the cliff crumbled under Dream’s feet, making him shriek, eyes widening, his bow dispersing as he pinwheeled backward. Nightmare froze, staring at the now absent spot with eyes equally as wide, tentacles raised to strike.

Then it went silent.

“…shit,” he hissed, automatically turning around in case his brother teleported at the last second to safety. It wouldn’t be the first time, so it shouldn’t be the last time.

No one was there.

He waited.

Still no one.

Maybe Dream was just in shock, still picking himself up. Turning back, Nightmare stepped closer to the cliff, small rocks tumbling after the larger ones from his movements. If he leaned over, he could probably tell…ah, no. Nope, that was just a bunch of trees. His brother was probably under those trees. Probably just picking himself up.

He’ll return in no time.

Nightmare just had to wait.

So, he did.

For one minute. Then two. Then…honestly, he lost track of the minutes after that, glancing back and forth around the clearing, looking over his shoulder at the cliff like Dream would just suddenly appear, having climbed up for some stupid reason. Any minute now, the fight will be back on, continuing as usual…any minute now…

…any minute…

…any—

Okay, so.

Something was wrong.

Turning back to the cliff, he glared at the edge. It was its fault this was happening. Why did it decide to crumble now? Particularly when Dream was on it? Why?

Now his brother was somewhere below, dazed as hell, without the clear thinking necessary to teleport, or injured badly enough to be unconscious—and as soon as that thought popped into existence, he shoved it away, then took time to quell the rising panic in his soul.

No, no, that’s not possible. Dream’s far more durable than that. Sure, it’s a cliff, and cliff’s cause damage, even to immortal beings, but still. His brother could heal, so shouldn’t that work on himself, make him more…invulnerable, or something? Unless…he couldn’t actually heal himself and he’s just been assuming that he could this entire time…no, that couldn’t be possible. Nightmare’s pretty sure he’d remember that if it were the case.

So…what happened?

Maybe…maybe Dream was just staying down there for a while.

He’ll probably join again in a bit.

Yeah, that’s probably it. So, he should really go back and help his boys. Hey, maybe Dream’s already there! Maybe he went to his friends instead. Makes sense, makes sense…

He should go help his boys now, he’s been standing here too long.

And…he wasn’t moving.

Why wasn’t he moving?

Dream’s fine. He’s back at the main fight. It’s something that’s happened before. It should be something that happened here. It’s fine. He can go back. So…what kept him here, staring around like his brother would magically appear, a tight feeling in his chest that threatened to steal the air away from his non-existent lungs?

Maybe…maybe he should just go down there, check on Dream—

That was another thought pushed away. No, hell no. If he gave in to that though, if he went down there to check, now, after too much time has already passed for that to be considered just moving the fight along, that’d be…that’s cause his brother to hope. Hope that things could go back to the way things were before the apples. He can’t go through the painstaking steps needed to crush that hope, put off the last stubborn spark that remained until he was sure it wouldn’t create another flame. Not again.

Besides, he didn’t even care. Not that much. Sure, yeah, he cared somewhat, always would—that’s just naturally part of being a brother. But the majority of how much he cared was in the past, before everything was plucked off a tree in the form of a black apple and devoured. That care no longer exists, taken over by the need to win all these fights, making the scales tip in his direction.

It just…didn’t exist. He didn’t care.

(Some days, it was harder to convince himself of this fact than others.

This was one of them.)

He didn’t care, so he should so rejoin his boys, and get out of this AU.

This time, he teleported.

It was an easy win. Dream never came back.

When it came time to go home, Nightmare couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering away from his boys, who were celebrating as usual, over to the trees. In the direction of the cliff, even if he couldn’t see it from here.

The tight feeling in his chest squeezed and squeezed. His tentacles flicked nervously behind him. For some reason, he kept thinking that now was the moment his brother would appear, now was the moment he could stop all this silly, stupid worry, go back to being angry. And the longer he looked, the more that thought wavered and shook, gathering speed as it transformed into a tornado that threatened to consume all of his other priorities until he made sure Dream was okay. But the only way to do that was to go and check, and leaving now would just make the boys confused and worried, which he could not handle right now.

Besides, he was sure it was fine.

He got them all home before he could convince himself otherwise, before the urge to make sure was too overpowering. To make sure he was really distracted, he holed himself up in his office, pulling out some paperwork—which wasn’t even real paperwork, just a bunch of sudoku and word searches and other puzzles printed out to make it look like he was working on important stuff.

For the most part, it worked. Kept his mind too busy to think about what happened.

Then he got to one particular word search that—and he is not joking or exaggerating this part—had three words at the bottom for him to find, all in a row, that read: ‘Dream’, ‘injury’, and ‘concussion’. Isn’t that just the strangest collection of words you’ve ever seen? The surreal coincidence of the words made Nightmare stare down at the page for a minute, completely gobsmacked. Who the hell was writing these word searches, and why the fuck did they include these three specific words on the same one?

It was like a sign or something…

Sneering, Nightmare tore the word search up into tiny pieces, sitting back in his chair, spinning around and around. Trying very hard not to think about the three words. And how his brother never came back. And how the yelp he let out when he fell just fell silent and how he never bothered to check and—

And now he was thinking about it.

“Fuck.”

Growling to himself, he stopped spinning in his chair. Then, he promptly stood and teleported back to the AU.

Leaning over the cliff again, he teleported down. His brother wasn’t anywhere in the immediate proximity—though, why would he be? This was all just a waste of time—so he started walking around, ducking under some tree branches. When he fell, Dream would’ve had to have landed somewhere around here…though he still wasn’t sure why he was searching.

His brother was probably gone by now. His friends probably came to collect him.

Why did he think he’d find him here, lying on the ground as if nothing happened? As if he just decided to take an impromptu nap, in the snow and in wet clothes and…

Oh. Oh, shit.

That was actually Dream lying there in front of him.

Fuck.

Almost tripping over himself, Nightmare hurried over, falling to his knees beside his brother. His hands hovered in the air around him, unsure what to do. “Dream?” he called, hoping to wake him up. Nothing happened.

Dream didn’t move.

For a soul-stopping moment, Nightmare actually thought he might be dead. Panic swirled in his chest, choking him, until he remembered that if they were dead, their body would turn to dust. Presumably, anyway, since they had no real way of knowing that until they…y’know…actually died, but still. The thought allowed him to gather himself enough to Check his brother, make sure of it. It said he was fine, if missing a chunk of health.

Nightmare breathed out, hating how shaky it was. “Idiot, making me worry for nothing…” he muttered to himself, looking down at his brother, frowning. Shaking his shoulder, he raised his voice a bit, eager to wake him up, make sure he left to wherever, hopefully back to his friends, and get home himself before his boys wondered where he went off to. “Dream. Wake up.”

No response. Dream was still. Breathing—he double-checked, just to be sure—but still.

Frowning, he shook him again, rougher. Still nothing.

Even unconscious, his brother insisted on being annoying. Scowling, he sat back on his heels. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to kick you.”

Nothing.

Welp. His hand was forced.

Standing, Nightmare kicked Dream in the side—not too hard, of course, he’s not a complete monster. Just enough that he woke up.

Which he did.

Finally.

Nightmare rolled his eye to himself, crossing his arms as he watched his brother groan, coming to. A hand half-raised to his head before stopping, eyes blinking open and squinting against the light. His eyelights were paler than normal, just a hair bigger, too. He could see the exact moment they focused in, his brother clocking that there’s someone standing above him, but Dream didn’t panic, didn’t seem to be anything more than confused.

Dream blinked again. “Hi.”

Nightmare raised a brow bone. Seriously? That’s it? He fought the urge to roll his eye again. “What are you still doing here?”

His brother seemed to get more confused. “What?”

Wondering if the fall knocked loose some brain cells, Nightmare scowled. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You know what. What are you still doing here? This is, like, the most uncomfortable spot to have a nap.” Without waiting for him to answer, he continued, waving a hand around. He couldn’t let the opportunity to mock him go by. “And why didn’t you rejoin the fight? I thought you had a duty to protect the positivity in the multiverse.”

“Um…” Dream blinked for a third time, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He laughed, nervously, like a reflex, and when he opened his eyes again, they were fuzzy again. “Sorry, you went a bit fast for me there. Could you repeat that?”

Ugh. Now he was just being difficult.

“You’re so annoying.” Nightmare said, stepping away. “Just get up and get out of here.”

Looking up at him, the words seemed to take a few minutes to sink in. Then, nodding, Dream tried to stand, movements jerky, as if he was figuring out how to move them for the first time again. When he stood, he wobbled, tilting over a bit before righting himself.

Nightmare realized he had stepped forward, ready to catch him should he fall, and retreated, tucking his hands back into his arms.

Damnit. He was slipping. He had to get out here, fast.

“I’m alright.” Dream said, clearly noticing his misstep. He was smiling. Nightmare had to look away before the sight made him feel warm inside. “Just a bit dizzy.”

“Whatever,” Nightmare said in return, leaving it at that.

Still smiling, his brother shifted on his feet, looking down at his hands and clenching them into fists a couple of times. His gaze wandered back up to him, and then away, looking around them with a curious, still confused, look. It was almost like he was trying to figure out where he was, as if he wasn’t just in a fight here earlier.

He couldn’t have forgotten that fast, could he? And what was he still doing here?

Shouldn’t he be opening a portal by now?

“What are you waiting for?”

Snapping back to look at him, Dream didn’t seem to understand the question. “Huh?”

Waving a hand again, tentacles flicking behind him, Nightmare’s scowl deepened. Why the fuck was he acting so weird? “Open a portal already and go home. Your friends are probably worried sick by now.”

(He ignored the voice in his head that said he was starting to get worried, too.)

“Right, right.” Dream nodded, trying and failing to look like he knew what he was talking about. “A portal…see, um, I would do that…but, uh…” Looking around again, shifting some more, his smile turned sheepish. “Well, I don’t remember, exactly, how to do that.”

Nightmare did not return the smile, unamused. He just stared.

What the fuck? What was he playing at? What was the point in drawing all this out? Nostalgia? What did he get out of acting so weird? What was going on here?

“Do you think this is a fucking game?” Nightmare asked, voice slipping off into a growl. His tentacles moved restlessly. He was getting agitated now. He just wanted to go home, get back to his puzzles, and maybe sleep for a week. But no, he was here, playing along with this stupidness, unable to get a grasp on what was happening.

Dream looked alarmed, holding his hands up and shaking them furiously. “No! No—”

“Then why the fuck are you wasting my time? I come out here, in the middle of the evening, to make sure you’re good, and you decide to, what, pull a joke on me?” Unable to curb his irritation, he shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “Stars, I hate you. I’m reminded now why I don’t bother doing this for you. You never take it seriously.” Turning he started to walk away, hearing Dream stutter excuses behind him.

He didn’t want to hear any excuses. He was done. He was going home.

“It’s not—I’m not joking,” Dream called after him, footsteps crunching on the snow as he chased after him.

“Of course, you are!” Nightmare sighed, in annoyance or anger or both of them combined. He didn’t care anymore. “You always are!” He didn’t bother stopping or turning around. Just continued on. And then he remembered he didn’t have to walk away at all, could just make a portal out. Turning his annoyance to himself, he raised a hand to do so—

“I don’t remember that.”

—and stopped.

The statement struck the right chord, making something inside him fall to the pit of his stomach, pricking him uncomfortably. Slowly, he turned to face Dream again, paying more attention. “…what?”

“I—I don’t remember that,” Dream said, tone so genuine, eyes so wide and confused and even scared that it seemed to create a physical attack on his soul. Raising a hand, his brother held it to his head. “I thought if I waited a bit, I might remember something, but I don’t. It’s all just…blank. I don’t know anything you’re talking about, like the fight or my friends. I place any faces to them or names or anything.” He let his hand fall, shaking his head as he turned his gaze down to his feet, speaking softly. “I just don’t remember.”

The words pushed Nightmare out of the present, sending him spiraling into the black hole opening in his ribs, right where his soul is. They pressed in on him, reverberating, turning into a high pitch that buzzed inside him, threatening to cut off his breath.

He didn’t want to believe the words. In fact, he was trying his absolute best not to. Excuses flew through, nitpicking through the explanation and finding words that betrayed the real truth. He told himself over and over that no matter what, no matter how injured he got, Dream would never allow this to happen. His brother would hold onto himself with an iron grip, too desperate to let go, and the Multiverse would allow him to hold on because it was just another being that favored him. They would not let their favorite Guardian lose his precious memories, not for all the stories it brought them.

No, it just wasn’t possible. He was lying—though the reason why was unclear, and nothing could really justify it, he had to be lying. It was a trick, a ploy, maybe even a trap. Yes, that’s it. Any minute now, the other Star Sanses would jump out, pull their weapons, and Dream would drop this façade and go back to pleading with him and when it didn’t work, when Nightmare lashed out in anger, he would pull out his bow and—and—

It just---it had to be a trick.

It had to.

It…

His eyes didn’t look like he was lying, though.

No matter how long he searched, how close he looked, it was a blank sheet of gold. He found confusion, yes, he found anxiety—nothing new there—but he did not find any recognition. Hope and helplessness, but no relief in having someone he knew find him. Even now, as his brother looked around the clearing, he only saw curiosity, as if he hadn’t seen this place before, as if he had just arrived, as if he had just woken up and was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar faces. The eyes came back to his, smiled at him, and—

And they were still blank.

A ghost.

The black hole in his ribs widened, pulling him in faster. Digging his heels in, he resisted with everything he had, swimming back out. He had to confirm this, he told himself, had to make sure this was the truth. If there was any chance he did remember, whether that be his friends or his title or Night—

Well, Nightmare just had to find it. He had to.

He heard himself speak before he was fully back in his body. “Did you hit your skull?”

“Ah, maybe?” Dream tilted his head, reaching around to the base of it before retracting quickly, wincing. “Yes. Yeah, I did.”

“Turn around.”

Obedient, Dream did, and Nightmare stepped closer, observing the crack. It wasn’t as bad as he was expecting—certainly not as big—but it was still enough to make bile climb up the back of his throat. Swallowing it down, he darted his gaze around it, taking in the gaping black hole, about the size of a cherry, thinner cracks webbing out from around it. It had blood crusted on the edges, and he was sure that if he took the time to look around the cliff, he’d find matching spots.

Absently reaching out, he traced along the wound with his fingers. Stars, how he wished he knew how to heal. This would be so much easier.

Dream pulled away after his fingers made contact, and he let his hand fall as he turned back, already apologizing. “Sorry! Sorry, that just…really hurt.” He laughed again, but it petered out as he caught sight of Nightmare’s face. “Oh…that bad of a sight, huh?”

“You said…” Nightmare swallowed again, ignoring those words. “You said you don’t remember anything?” The feeling in the pit of his stomach clenched.

“No.” Oblivious, Dream shook his head. “The latest memory I have is of you standing over me. Before that…” Tilting his head again, his brother thought about it, ultimately coming up with nothing. No spark in his eyes. “Nothing.” He looked regretful, like he wished he could be of more help. “Sorry.”

There he went again, apologizing.

Nightmare was going to have to have a talk with him about that. He can’t keep saying sorry for things that he didn’t need to say sorry for in the first place.

First, however, was dealing with—this.

“So…” He didn’t want to ask the next question. It burned in his throat, made his tongue curl in preparation, the words too ugly to even think about. Why did it need to be said? He already knew the answer to it. Why did he insist on asking it when he knew what was going to be said? He would rather them stand like this forever than ask it.

That was a risk, though. And he would really like to get some sleep tonight—even if that might be impossible the longer this sank in. They should really wrap this up soon.

That meant asking uncomfortable questions.

Swallowing himself down, Nightmare let the question go. It couldn’t hurt to ask, anyway. “You don’t remember me?” The words lingered in the air, an odd hint of emotion to them, something fragile and vulnerable.

(He knew the answer to why he wanted to ask this.

Somehow, somewhere inside him, there was still a need that maybe something would be remembered. If the longer they talked, the greater the chance the memories would just snap back into place. That the hollow feeling of having someone you grew up with look at you like one would a stranger would disappear, replaced by joy or anger or tears, anything else.

Inside, if nothing else, he needed there to be a chance he’d be remembered.)

It felt like hope.

“No.” Dream answered, the shaking of his head feeling like salt poured into open wounds. He seemed disappointed in himself, upset he couldn’t help. For him, this was failing at giving someone what they wanted.

For Nightmare, this was confirmation.

(It felt like denial.)

(There was a stinging in his chest. Where did it come from?)

“Where you someone important?”

Nightmare automatically bristled. “I—” He stopped himself, glaring down at the ground while clenching his jaw.

His instinct was to say that, of course he was. He was Dream’s brother. They grew up together. They were, still are, two halves of the same coin, two halves to the same balance. Despite everything, that had to mean something.

But that wasn’t the truth, was it?

Not anymore.

Maybe one time, before The Incident, before the villagers came to them. It was just the two of them, after all. And Mother, but she couldn’t really say much, or do anything beyond existing. Maybe then they were each other’s most important person. And maybe it would’ve stayed that way had everything not gone to shit.

But the point was, that was in the past.

Whatever they had, it was gone. In more ways than one now…

Inhaling, Nightmare looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That…depends on your definition of important.”

They had other people in their lives now. He had his gang, his boys. Though he often complained about their foolishness and called them idiots, not once had he ever wished he hadn’t met them. Dream, he knew, felt much the same about Ink and Blue. Neither of them would trade their friends for the world.

Even for each other.

“I was—” Nightmare sighed, rolling back his shoulders. “I’m your brother. Nightmare.” He forced himself to look back at Dream, even if the eye contact burned his soul with something uncomfortable. “Your name is Dream, by the way. In case you forgot that, too.”

“Cool!” Dream paused and gasped, beaming as he made the connection. “Our names match!”

“Yeah.” Nightmare said, forcing himself to smile back. “Yeah, they do.” Of course they did, he thought to himself. That’s the reason why they chose the names.

Brow furrowing, Dream tilted his head. “Wait, if we’re brothers, wouldn’t I just live with you, then?”

“What?” Nightmare felt himself frown in return. “Why do you think we’d live together?”

Strange, considering Dream didn’t even remember him.

(There was that stinging again.)

“I-I don’t know, I just…I have this feeling that brothers should be living together. That they need to live together. I don’t know why, but it’s a very strong feeling.” Dream raised a hand to his chest, hovering over where his soul would be. “When I think about you, um, that feeling gets all…strange.”

This caught his attention. “Strange?”

“Yeah.” Nodding slowly, Dream worked through it, finding what to call it. “I think it…I think it turns jealous, somehow.”

Nightmare stared.

Jealous…?

That couldn’t be right. Dream had to be reading it wrong.

There was nothing to be jealous about. His brother always had the perfect life. What more could he want?

If anything, he should be the one jealous. He’s the only one who deserves to be jealous. Jealous of the way people were always drawn to his brother over himself, the way people thought everything of the sun and nothing of the moon, even though they both shared the same light. It was his right to be envious, his right to look upon the past and view it with bitterness. It was his right to look at the present, now, when Dream still has his friends and his standing and still has everyone revolving around him.

At least he can find relief, find arrogance, in the fact that he found his own friends, his own group of people who looked up to him. It took years, it took work, but he found them.

He didn’t need Dream anymore.

(So, what if sometimes he looked at his brother and his friends and felt a longing to join them?

So, what if he found the way they laughed, the way they treated each other, a reminder that he’s done too many things to be treated like that again?

So, what if he’s tired of fighting all the time and wants to go back to how things were, while knowing that could never happen, while looking across the battlefield into golden eyes that reflected the same kind of feelings and—and…oh.

Oh.

Oh, they would never escape being peas in a pod, would they?)

“Hey, you mentioned my friends, though.” Dream said, brightening up again, looking around like they might just pop up. Not that he would recognize them. “Maybe we could find them and they could help me get home. What do you think of that?”

Maybe, Nightmare thought, looking away as well. He couldn’t lie, it would be nice to leave this place, and dump the responsibility of an amnesiac onto someone else. Especially the Guardians of the Multiverse, the coveted Star Sanses.

But something twisting in his stomach stopped him from agreeing.

He thought, all too suddenly, about how he came back hours later to his brother still lying in relatively the same spot he fell. Meaning Ink and Blue never came back to look for him after they retreated. You’d think, for monsters that claimed to be his best friends, they’d be out here the minute the battle was over, bringing Dream back home to be checked on.

Why should he trust his brother with those two, when they didn’t even search for him? They probably don’t even know he’s missing. They certainly don’t know he’s injured. He can’t help but wonder what their reactions would’ve been to this memory loss.

Too bad he won’t find out.

“I think they’re busy, actually.” Nightmare decided, making a split decision that he hoped wasn’t wrong. “And going to be busy for the week yet.”

“Oh…”

Dream looked disappointed. Hurt.

The look on his face only solidified Nightmare’s decision. His tentacles curled in satisfaction. “You can come home with me, though. Stay for a bit.”

“Really?” Starting to brighten yet again, Dream seemed to hesitate, searching to make sure he was telling the truth.

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.” Dream’s smile lit up the forest, and Nightmare turned himself away before he found himself getting soft because of it. Raising a hand to open the portal, he heard Dream chuckle behind him. “I gotta say, even though I don’t remember it, I bet you were the best brother ever.”

The words were said so confidently, so…normally…it made Nightmare freeze. The portal wobbled in front of him, but stayed open, and he blinked at it a couple of times before he turned back to his brother.

His mouth was dry, for a reason he couldn’t yet understand.

“What?”

“Well, I mean…it’s like you said. You came all this way, in the middle of the night, to check on me. You were worried. And then, when you found me, you stayed to wake me up, even though you technically already completed your goal. You didn’t just leave. And you checked my injury without me asking you to, and told me my name, and now you’re offering to let me stay at your place.”

Dream’s smile turned smaller, more vulnerable. “It just seems like a very nice thing to do.”

Nightmare’s gaze was frozen, locked onto that genuine, soft smile. The last sentence played on a loop, ringing inside his skull.

A very nice thing to do.

In any other situation, the suggestion would be laughable.

But like this…

(There was that stinging. Again. Why won’t it just go away?)

He thought back to the fight that happened earlier. How he reveled in the pain he caused, how much fun he had taunting his brother. How often he attacked him, without worry or caution. How eager he was to throw him around into trees, back him up into a cliff. He hadn’t even thought about what might happen, too giddy, too smug. All he wanted to do was put him in his place…he hadn’t even cared that he was bleeding…hadn’t even reached out to try and save him when the cliff crumbled…

How long had Dream laid there, in the snow, still in wet clothes?

What did he think as he watched Nightmare watch him fall?

How can that be called nice?

How can what happened during The Incident be called nice? What kind of brother turned his twin into stone, and left him in a dead AU all alone, knowing full well that he would one day return? What kind of brother picked an apple he was supposed to protect in the first place? What kind of brother was he?

Certainly not the kind this Dream was talking about…

“Right.” Nightmare said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He understood why this time. He wanted to throw up. “Thanks.”

Dream didn’t notice anything wrong. Still smiling away. As always. Always. “No problem!” Rocking back on his heels, he started to look around as his attention span waned with no portal to go through.

Still, Nightmare did not move to open it.

Instead, he found himself changing tracks. Jumping train from thinking about how bad of a brother he was, to how good of a brother Dream was.

Is.

Was.

Stars, this was so confusing…

“You weren’t that bad of a brother yourself.” Nightmare said, and this time the words were better tasting. At least this way, something true would be said here.

Dream looked back at him, surprised, with a spark of confusion. Then, even if he didn’t know everything Nightmare was talking about, he smiled, taking it as the compliment it was. “Aw, thanks.”

Nodding, Nightmare finally managed to open the portal, letting Dream go through first. He hesitated to follow, looking around the AU again. For some reason, he felt like he would still find his brother, memories and all, waiting for him if he looked hard enough. But he wouldn’t. He knew that.

At least, he had to accept that.

That stinging again…

Showing it down once again, Nightmare turned and went home.

(It’s only after Dream is settled into one of the guest bedrooms—stocked with fresh bedsheets and a fresh pair of clothes for the next day borrowed from Nightmare’s own closet—and he’s back in the safety of his office that he lets his composure finally break. Choking, he slides down his door, hand clasped over his mouth to keep as quiet as possible.

It’s only then that he lets himself cry.

Cry about how he never reached out to catch his brother when he first fell.

Cry about what his brother thought before splitting his skull on a rock.

Cry about the stranger left in his brother’s body.

Cry about everything.)

#my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot #request #undertale #utmv #dreamtale #dream sans #nightmare sans #tw swearing #tw amnesia

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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 1 day

Text

B Plot

Isabeau still can’t confess, and Siffrin needs to clear their head. Which means it’s high time for a sidequest.

Act 1, Scene 2. West Dormont. Isa’s hand hovers near your shoulder. You try to look inviting, but you must not be very good at it. He’s already pulling away. Okay. This is it. Go time. “You can touch me,” you blurt out. “Wh— Hwhuh???” No turning back now. “It just. Seems like you think you can’t? But—you can.”

(Full disclosure, this is literally just 5k words of Siffrin trying to flirt, because he's not the only one who needed a break. Spoilers thru Act 3)

You don’t make the pun for Isa. You don’t say hi to Loop, either. You just sit on the ground and stare at the grass.

“Wow, stardust,” Loop snorts, “thanks for the warm welcome. I missed you too! But tone it down a little, will you? All that enthusiasm could get a little overwhelming!”

Near your foot, there’s a leaf growing out from a fallen branch, glossy and bright like it thinks it’s still attached to the tree. Like it thinks it’s still alive. But of course you know better. It’s already dead. It just doesn’t know it yet.

“Sooo~, what’s up? Give me the scoop! The latest and greatest, teehee!”

The leaf is always growing out of the branch, and the branch is always on the ground, splintered and slowly drying. Does the loop last long enough for the leaf to dry out, too? Does it die every day, like you do? Or will it spend the rest of eternity in a state of blissful ignorance?

“You beat the King again, right? That’s cool! You’re getting pretty tough! Keep it up and pretty soon you’ll have nothing to be scared of! Aside from, you know. All the existential dread.”

You watch your hand reach out to close around the leaf. It comes loose with a gentle pop.

“Oh, come on, at least pretend to listen. You’re good at that, teehee!” When you still don’t react, their tone sours. “The silent treatment is really not a cute look on you, you know.”

Even with nothing to hold onto, the leaf still looks offensively alive. You crumple it between your hands and then shred it into tiny little pieces. There. Now it’s just like you.

—There’s a startling clap! as Loop claps their hands about an inch from your left ear.

“Stardust,” they say firmly. “I’m a patient star, I really am, but if you keep ignoring me, I’m going to get grouchy.”

Very slowly, you look up. “She didn’t know anything.”

“...The head housemaiden?”

You nod.

“About Time Craft, you mean?”

Another nod.

“Oh,” Loop says softly. “Well. I suppose that’s to be expected. Maybe no one does, anymore.”

You shrug.

“B-But you still have leads, don’t you? Didn’t you have a few more questions for the K—”

“I don’t want to talk to the King.” The last time you tried to talk to the King, your actors looked at you like you were something monstrous. Subhuman. Like something they’d scraped off the bottom of their shoes. You wound up letting him kill you just to end the loop faster. But you’d forgotten how much the King’s final blow hurts.

“Okay, but—”

“Will you stop?” you demand. You don’t want to talk about this. You just want—

—but there’s no point finishing that sentence.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. Probably you hurt Loop’s feelings. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Stardust,” Loop says at last, unexpectedly gently. When you glance up, they’re looking away, picking at the—not skin—the gummy celestial membrane that covers the pads of their fingers. They don’t have a mouth, but if they did, it would be frowning. “I think you might need a break.”

“Haha!!!! Ahaha!!!!! Do you think???”

“I don’t mean from the loops,” Loop says impatiently. “I just mean… Ohh, I don’t know. From fighting the loops? Of course I can’t directly relate, but—from an outside perspective, I think that trying to break the loop is probably sort of… not-good. Ah. Psychologically.”

You stare at them in stony silence.

“So maybe you need a B plot!”

“…A what?”

“You know. A B plot! Like in plays? It’s what the side characters get up to while the important people are off dying and falling in love and things!”

Wait. “You watch plays?”

“I am a star of culture, you know,” Loop sniffs. “I just think you could use a win! Take a break from fixing the laws of physics to focus on something a little more achievable, hmm~? Just for a few loops! Just to clear your head!”

Your mouth scrunches to one side. Unfortunately, they’ve caught your interest. “Like what.”

“Like, ah… oh! What about your touch therapy? That was fun, wasn’t it? Here, look, I could hold both your hands!”

“It doesn’t count,” you mutter.

“Oh, no? And whyever not?”

“It just doesn’t.” You can’t really explain why Loop doesn’t count. You just know that they don’t. The first time they elbowed you, you didn’t even flinch. To be honest, it barely registered. Like knocking your elbow against something not alive, or trying to tickle yourself.

Loop rolls their eyes. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

* * *

They’re right, though. You need a break. But you’re not going to get it by holding hands with Loop.

* * *

You spend the rest of the day thinking about how to take a break from a temporal prison that is categorically, explicitly inescapable.

“Umm,” Isa whispers over dinner. “Sif? Are you, um, okay? You seem a little off.”

You probably should have expected this. Isabeau is always paying attention to what you’re doing and not-doing. But it never goes anywhere, because he’s too afraid to say it.

…Oh. Is that anything? You think it might be something. You already know that Isa wants to touch you. But he doesn’t, because he thinks you don’t want him to. Because you can’t tell him, and he can’t ask. So instead you’re both stuck here, not knowing what’s true.

What would it take to make him brave enough to say it? How obvious would you have to be before he could feel safe?

Your eyes narrow. Maybe you really do need a break.

You can read the rest on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55543246

#in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat isabeau #isat siffrin #isafrin #fluff #act 3 spoilers

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onceuponapuffin · 3 days

Text

Fanatic Intervention Part 8!!

I see your votes everyone, and I hear your voices. But before I can, in good conscience, place us in Heathrow, I need to share this with you.

Beginning|| Previous || Next

******************

In the end, convincing Aziraphale (who, surprise surprise, had never flown on a plane) that First Class was the way to go wasn’t all that hard.

“Otherwise you fly all cramped with hundreds of other people!” You say. Crowley nods.

“Mmmmm yes,” the demon agrees, “Imagine being elbow-to-elbow with all those humans. Feet in your face, children kicking the back of your seat, sharing an armrest!”

“I rather like humans though,” says Azirphale, even though he looks a little pale at the mention of armrests, “And I would be next to you anyway.”

“What about the humans who haven’t showered for days?” You ask, “How long has it been since the last time you were near one person, nevermind a hundred-ish, who didn’t follow basic hygiene practices? A few hundred years?”

Aziraphale’s face falls. Crowley chimes in.

“Oh yes, just imagine all the sweat and grease from the airport food.”

“And then there are the babies that travel. I mean, their ears pop when the plane takes off and when it lands, and they only really have one coping strategy.”

“Aaah,” Crowley says, “The crying babes! Think of all the crying babies and no escape! Not for hours and hours and hours.”

“And then,” You say, “There’s the in-flight meal.” Here, you seem to have struck a cord. Duh, you should have led with this. Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.

“Oh? They serve food?”

“Psh,” You say, “If you can call it that. They ask you if you want chicken or vegetarian, and then they plop a cardboard box with a film top in front of you.”

“It’s dreadful,” agrees Crowley, “All bland and clearly frozen and warmed up in a microwave.”

“And if you’re lucky, you can tell that it’s meant to be a sandwich,” You add.

“Supposing you can tell that it’s food at all!” Crowley says with a nod, “And their wine list is small potatoes.”

“Small bland potatoes,” You say, “If you can call them potatoes at all – served in the tiniest bottles and the tiniest glasses you ever did see.”

You noticed Aziraphale’s eye twitch ever so slightly.

“And in First Class they...they serve actual food and wine, do they?”

“Oh yeah,” You say, “with proper service and cloth napkins and everything. Most of the airline websites say that the food’s prepared by an actual chef.”

“And the glasses are normal sizes, and made of actual glass,” adds Crowley for good measure. Aziraphale hums.

“Yes, fine. Clearly First Class is the only acceptable way to travel.” He leaves the room. You hear the kettle turn on. He probably needs some tea to calm his nerves after hearing all that. You turn to Crowley.

“So you’ve gone on a plane before, huh? Did you invent the food? I would not be surprised if you did.”

“Me?” Crowley says, “Naaaah. Never flown on a plane. Never needed to. But I know a bit of fun when I see it.”

You look up at him and sigh, cradling your chin in your hands for effect.

“It really is no wonder why Aziraphale loves you so much.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says, his ears turning pink.

-----

And now, dear Reader, we arrive at Heathrow. Anathema and Newt had met you at the bookshop, and the four of you drove over together in the Bentley after bidding Newt and Muriel goodbye. You spend the entire wait in line at airport security feeling nervous. Airport security is always a test for your nerves to begin with, but this time you have no passport or paperwork of any kind to twiddle in your hands to take the edge off. Instead, you fidget relentlessly with the button in your pocket (Muriel, being an observant and kind soul, had given you a large-ish green button to put in your pocket “Because you seem nervous, and it looked like it helped you last time.” You swear if anyone harms your new best friend while you’re gone you will end them). The line goes quicker than you would like, and when it gets to be your turn, honestly you’re not sure what happens. It all goes smoothly. Did Aziraphale and Crowley miracle you a passport? Did they click a finger or wave a hand to convince the guard that everything was in order? You have no idea, because you’re too focused on your nerves and Trying Not To Look Suspicious While Worrying That This Makes You Look More Suspicious Than You Would If You Could Just Be Normal About This (if you know the feeling, you know why it gets to be capitalized like that).

Once the stress of airport security is done, you head to the bathroom for a break from the chaos so that you can figure out how to breathe again. Normally, you wouldn’t be That Person to occupy the Accessible Washroom, but since you are desperately trying not to have a panic attack because of all the pent-up anxiety from the whole airport security thing, you decide that you Really Cannot Do People Right Now, and that the single-occupant washroom may be your saving grace. You lock the door and sigh, leaning against the cold metal. It’s comparatively quiet here, and you’re grateful for it. Thank Someone. You resolve to try not to be too long in case someone who actually needs this washroom comes by (although I’m gonna be honest here, reader, right now you need this room for invisible accessibility/health reasons). After a minute or two, you are finally starting to feel your anxiety return to a manageable level. Everything is okay. You are traveling with the most ideal companions you could ever dream of, and the worst part is over. Everything from here on out is smooth sailing.

Except, dear reader, you all voted. And So It Shall Be.

You’ve just finished drying your hands.

“Aah,” says a voice behind you. You jump a solid 3 feet in the air. “I thought I might find you here.”

“HOLY! FUCKING! ZOMBIE! JESUS!!!” You sputter.

“Mind your manners, human.”

“Manners?? ME?? This is a WASHROOM.”

The Metatron looks at you blankly and shrugs. Ah yes, the biggest jerk in Heaven doesn’t know or care about washrooms or privacy. Or actually being polite.

“I merely wanted to have a word with you. Away from the others, of course.”

“Yeeeaaaaah,” You say. You’ve seen a million movies (approximate), and read a million books (also approximate), you know what this is. This is the maybe we can still solve this problem quietly plot. And you know that actually having the conversation is a bad idea. “I don’t think so.”

You reach for thee door. It’s locked, and it won’t unlock. Of course. You (gently) pound your head against the door, before turning to face Metatron. You take a breath, and answer as calmly as you can given how angry you are.

“What. Do you want?”

“I merely hoped that we could agree upon...an arrangement.”

“Pretty sure I made it clear back at the bookshop that I’m not letting you anywhere near them.”

“Oh dear, no. This has nothing to do with the demon or with Aziraphale. This is about you.”

You mentally brace yourself. Here comes the manipulation. You inwardly remind yourself of the tropes of villain manipulation and all the things you’ve ever shouted at the tv screen after one of these interactions. You need to be prepared, because apparently you need to play this out. And so, you give him the response he clearly wants.

“What about me?”

“Well, my dear, I only thought that perhaps you might like to go home.”

“Ha! Nice try.”

“You have no desire to return to your family? Your friends? Your life?”

“Not right now, thanks.”

“And you think you’ll get a similar offer later?”

“I mean...well yeah. I don’t know whether I would actually want to go back yet but --”

“You think Aziraphale and his associates will want to keep you as their pet forever? My dear, they only entertain you right now because you’re useful to them.”

Okay, I mean you knew that already but still. Ouch. Hearing it out loud is just...Ouch. Unfortunately, you do not have the Acting Prowess of either Michael Sheen or David Tennant, and so the Metatron sees the Ouch. He smiles kindly.

“Here, you are merely a tool,” he continues, voice smooth as honey, “And back home there are people who love you and value your presence in their lives. Back home there are people who miss you purely because you are you. Here, you are well, a convenience. A help. But that’s all. And once this is all over, there is no promise, no guarantee that you would be able to return. And no reason for Aziraphale to keep you. You would need to start again, and since you needed the help of an angel to get through airport security, I’m guessing that would be very difficult for you. And then, of course, there’s your immortal soul to be concerned about once the Final Judgment comes to pass.”

You ignore the bait, even though it stings. Take a breath. You’ve got this.

“That’s all irrelevant right now,” You say.

“Is it? It seems that you’re….what’s that charming human expression? Flying by the seat of your pants?” He chuckles at his own joke. You smile awkwardly. Well, yes you are, but the heroes in stories do all the time. They figure it out as they go. You are doing no worse than any of them. You don’t find the joke so funny. And frankly his laughter is unsettling.

“Um...” You start uncertainly, “Well if that’s all, then can I go now?”

“In a moment,” the Metatron says smugly. Oh you hate that he has so much control right now. “First I would like to extend to you the offer of some help. I would like to see you home safely, at a time of your choosing. Whenever you feel that you are ready.”

“And you have the power to do that, do you?” You’re skeptical.

“I have the power of all Creation at my disposal.”

“Riiiiight. Just out of the goodness of your own angelic heart. That’s very kind of you Metatron.” You’re not sure if he hears the edge of sarcasm. He shrugs regardless.

“There is of course, one and only one thing I would like from you if you decide to take my help.”

“Oooooof course there is. I’m not letting you near Aziraphale and Crowley.”

“Once again, my dear, this has nothing to do with them. All I would like is to know why your first instinct was to take that coffee. The full truth, mind you. None of that sarcasm or loophole nonsense that you humans are so fond of. And do not be foolish enough to think I can’t tell the difference.” He looks at you pointedly.

That’s...a suspiciously innocuous request. But then again, it usually is with these sort of things, isn’t it? You feign non-chalance and tap your foot for emphasis.

“Are you done yet?” You ask obstinately. The door unlocks audibly behind you.

“Just think about it,” says the Metatron, “No rush.”

Oh yes there is one. You rush to open the door. Never before have you felt so relieved to be in a crowded place.

Don't worry about airplane route logistics or whether or not you can actually get a direct flight from Heathrow to Orlando. Just vote for whatever you would like :)

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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