#and for them to mean it. to not pity him. to see his strength and to want to be the one to heal his scars anyways | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

razzle-n-dazzle · 2 months

Note

I just read some of your works and god do you write good better than the actual show I would even say.

I really want to request a Yandere headcannon for mainly Ozzie and Fizzarolli they don’t get enough love as they do, but with a little twist

Whichever you choose I would love either one you pick cause im indecisive.

1: a powerful reader maybe even more stronger than Ozzie being lovers with the two

Or 2: a chubby but physically strong reader that could lift Ozzie with ease as example

If you do see this I hope you consider writing this, you have such a lovely writing style and I would love to see what you cook up

Also call me 🥟-anon if you will cause I hope to request and talk more

ᯓ★ Murder is Okay, Shutting Us Out Isn't. Yandere! Asmodeus & Fizzarolli / Overlord! Reader | Oneshot TW! - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK: romanticizing yandere(s), obsessive behavior, def not proof read (because we die like Adam in this household /j), Vox (/j), boner mention (no sexual content), self harm, yelling, possessive

ᯓ I actually loved both ideas you gave me, so I'm going to mash then both together into one! For that, I'm going to give you all a little crash course into the background for the Reader (you) in this story so things make a little more sense: The reader, though an Overlord, is both physically and magically stronger than Ozzie, though doesn't show it off often. Also, this happened due to their mix of blood; The reader is the child of an an old overlord and a Sin (I'm going for Wrath in this story) and had gained the physical strength from their overlord mother and the magical strength from their Sin father. With this they're able to be known as the Wrathful Overlord, or 'The child and will of Wrath', though Satan doesn't claim them to be his own and has no interest to. Also, no the Reader isn't stronger than other Sins, just Ozzie for this case. Since Ozzie is claimed to be the weakest (or one of the Weaker) Sin that we currently know of, the Reader is matched right around his level. Yet they, much like Alastor, cannot beat other Sins or even Adam, as even with their strengths, are set back by the rather large power difference. So with that out of the way, please enjoy!:

ᯓ You had been living with Ozzie and Fizz for a few months, silently having moved away from your district on the Eastern side of the Pride Ring after their proposal. While it was not uncommon for love to bloom in hell, even with the eternal suffering or the large amount of (usually) taboo topics being put on display down here, you were still not big on having your private life being posted for all of hell to see. Especially those in the Pride Ring, where you were sure Vox would take any chance to slander and drag your name in the mud for having a 'blasphemous' relationship. And really, you didn't feel like cleaning up the blood of another Sinner. Oh no, not because you killed them. Dear, Lucifer god no! Why do that when you had two perfect body guards at your beckon and call?

ᯓ "Honestly, I don't even understand how there can be blasphemy down here. It's hell, God is not watching what we do and I pity him if he did." You would mutter, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching News 666 on your cellphone silently with Fizz; Who had became curious open hearing the news topic and bounded over, wrapping his snake-like arms around your waist twice. He squeezed you a little tight, yet you didn't mind, especially when his head was rested upon your shoulder. You could practically see the growing smirk on his lips before he even spoke, "You know everything we do down here is blasphemes right? That's why we're in Hell, not Heaven. I mean the murder, the sex, the gr-" Though Fizz's little list was caught off short as you hushed him, pressing a quick finger up against his lips.

ᯓ Ozzie was cooking in the background, occasionally taking peaks behind him to make sure you nor Fizz were doing anything stupid; Like trying to cook despite knowing neither of you could do so. It was always a nice gesture until Ozzie has to get the kitchen repaired... again. "And this in, News 666 and it's broadcasting will be disturbed quickly for a message from The fucking V's themselves." Katie Killjoy would crack her neck to the side, seeming oh so annoyed at the interruption. You were too, and Fizz didn't miss the way your face scrunched. "You know Tom, their news isn't even repu-" Katie tried to shout before their segment was cut off, their news source becoming engulfed in The V's logo before the man of the hour, Vox himself, overtook the screen. Him and his snicker, you knew this couldn't be good.

ᯓ Vox never hit the air unless he knew something, unless he wanted something to happen, unless this was his calculated and curated response to something.

ᯓ And the last time that happened, Alastor wiped the floor with him.

ᯓ Fizz drew away from your shoulder a little, his eyes narrowing at your growing irritation before he glanced back towards Ozzie, who already had his arms crossed in confusion. Sure, they've heard about this Vox, mostly from you, but they never expected you to have this much of a detest about him. What happened between you and this TV-head that they didn't manage to dig up? And most importantly, recent or not, did he ever hurt you in anyway. . . or was he planning to?

ᯓ "This just in, news is starting to come up from higher-ups, and close friends, in Wrath Town that their leader, supposed their supposed Overlord, the Child of Wrath, themselves, have gone missing!" Vox stated, trying to carefully keep his voice leveled yet failing miserably; From the twitch in his eye and the wide, plastering grin across his flat face, you could just tell this was another Alastor situation. Yet an Alastor situation that was not pointed directly towards Alastor rather You; Which you had saw coming, maybe even expected it, but fucking Lucifer did you hope you could at least get a good year under your belt before Vox came in to spread 'miss information' all over the Pride Ring. All just to keep his viewers attention on him, just to keep his support. What a loser.

ᯓ You would scoff, trying not to laugh at his obsessive allegations, which were true you guessed, as Fizz and Ozzie silently listened from beside and behind you. While you didn't seem alarmed, or even frightened at the least (as they were sure you would be, seeing as this seemed common for Overlords to not get along) they sure were. Well, not alarmed per say, rather on guard; carefully lingering on the words that Vox was so carelessly spewing to all of those who watched his broadcast. And you noticed how Fizz drew back closer, leaning over your shoulder to glare at your phone, to glare at Vox like Vox might feel his stare, like he was daring Vox to say something else; All the while you couldn't help but laugh, chuckle, giggle, and kind of make fun of Vox as he continued on. His senseless chatter played in the background as you tried to wave off your fiancés' concerns, "Please, guys, don't get worked up over him, he's no threat; More like an annoying bug under everyone's shoe." "One who, from what we hear, likes to stick his non-existent nose in other people's business." Ozzie would comment from the stove, his glare still harsh on the screen even as he flipped over the bacon in the pan. His tone was leaking with annoyance, or maybe irritation and ire is are better words; Either way, you shrugged your shoulders as he continued, "Really, doesn't he have like any other news? that's all basically weightless if it's coming from other people's mouths!" "It's gossip, it keeps his viewer's attention and support up. That's the whole point," You would explain, slightly rolling your eyes at the crazed look Vox gave you. Granted, it was through the screen, but, "I would have thought he would know better than to talk about me, especially since I've shattered his screen more than once." Though Fizz was less amused, "You both give than man way too much credit-" Was the only part of his commentary he could get out, hands on the counter now, before a shout from Vox drew all of your attentions back in.

ᯓ "Oh, ho-ho!" And there was a cackle, one that caused your eyebrows to frown downwards and scrunch your face. One that rang out like an annoying fire alarm and drew a growl from Fizz's throat and a flicker of hellish flame from Ozzie's coat. It's like you all could smell that the shit that Vox was going to spew. "THIS JUST IN," And there was a slam of his hands on the table, "I JUST GOT WORD FROM A TRUSTED SOURCE THAT THE WRATHFUL OVERLORD IS NOT ONLY NOT IN THEIR PITIFUL, SHIT-HOLE OF A TOWN, YET THEY'RE NOT EVEN IN THE PRIDE RING!- Where the fuck are they, you might ask? Well, not fucking here and maybe that's for the better, this place was turning into a shit down with them around." His grin would tease you from behind the screen, and you grew slightly worried that he could see you. That, as his eyes widened and he drew closer to the screen, that he could see right through it. . .

ᯓ "You're in the fucking Lust ring, you absolute SLUT! What the fuck are you doing hanging around an, who's that? An Imp and- And is that Asmodeus himself in the background!" Clack! You would drop your phone like it had burnt you and stumbled backwards, not out of fear, you could never be fearful of someone like Vox, yet out of . . . what would be the word? Ire? Exasperation? Irritation? Preservation? Fizz was quick to lock his arms, just to keep you from stumbling back too far and hitting against the countertops near the stove, potentially burning yourself; As Ozzie stepped up, standing protectively between the phone and the two of you, the flickering of his growing detestation and bubbling anger slowly flickering around his coat, which threatened to burst flames. "This just in, your little Wrathful Overlord, has not only abandoned the Pride Ring yet is sleeping with the Sin of Lust and his weak-dick, limp ass Imp!" Vox's cackle echoed around the room, "That's so fucking sad!- Oh, looks like no one will ever have any sort of reason to be scared of you anymore," And his name spilled out from his lips with venom, poisoning the air with his slithering voice. That was, until his broadcast was cut off, cutting his maniacal laughter short, with a crackle then pop. It seemed like Ozzie had enough of listening to Vox, and seemingly had enough of your phone, as he had slammed his fists into the counter. Effectively ending the broadcast and your phone all in one go.

ᯓ And nothing but silence filled the room, just as you were sure nothing but silence (and soon an eruption of hatred and irreverence) filled the Pride Ring, and Wrath Town.

ᯓ "Fuck. ." Was the words that left with an airy breath.

ᯓ "THAT FUCKER IS SO DEAD!" Was Ozzie's first words; his hair combusting into flames, his irritation and outrage boiling over and finally having struck that match.

ᯓ Maybe it was slight shock overwhelming you, never having expected your engagement to be outrighted for everyone in the Pride Ring to hear, or maybe it was Fizz carelessly (accidentally) spinning you around, but you found yourself exasperation against the kitchen counter; Your eyes still locked on where your cellphone was now intended into the counter. "I've got the rope!" Fizz's voice barely registered in your ears, along with the sounds of his mechanical arms and legs moving to easily wrap himself around Ozzie. "Let's go kill that fucker!- or maybe tie him up and leave him exposed and naked on his own stupid broadcast. Like, really, who does he think he is trying to come for us like that?" Fizz's agreement with Ozzie's irrational solution caused a growl, a very lion-like one, to seep through Ozzie's gritting teeth, "A two timing nobody, that's who he is, and I won't stand for it! He comes for what's mine and I'm going to show him who the FUCK he's dealing with!"

ᯓ You know, maybe you've enabled their behavior a little too much; Sure, you loved the way they grew overprotected about you (and as you were sure they loved when you did the same) yet logically, you knew you had to stop them. When news gets out about Ozzie and Fizz going up to the Pride Ring and killing, or humiliating, an overlord not only will Vox's words be taken as facts, which can cause a whole other set of issues, yet Lucifer might also get involved. Of course, though, your knowledge about how Sins worked together and how they could interfere with each other's rings was limited. Yet, you can only guess a Sin killing an Overlord in another person's ring would just cause some sort of uproar.

ᯓ So when Ozzie, with Fizz coiled around his arm as to not get burnt, were about to leave the kitchen-living room, you had to act fast. Even while a little dazed, a little out of your own body, stilling trying to reel in the information of the situation that just happened, you dashed forward towards them. Or maybe your feet did so because they knew you had to catch them, and it sure felt that way rather than your own doing. It all felt like you were watching through a pair of another's person's eyes as you rushed over, your tail trashing out to stag the Ozzie's heel and trip him (you would have to apologize later). It bought you some time to slid in between him and floor, effectively catching him in your arms. "Yeah, as to hell we're going to go do anything boys! We're," You slammed the door closed, effectively walking away from it, "Staying here!" And that was your final verdict and that was what you were going to do as to make sure you can control this situation as much as possible. While frazzled and your finances' not thinking properly, giving into their own natural urges that some would call taboo (even for hell), this was no time to do that. Ergo, this was no time to be out murdering people!

ᯓ At that time you failed to notice the blush and wide eyes that had sprung to Ozzie's face when you dropped them both onto the couch, as well as the slight boner he had to hide by crossing his legs; Which Fizz defiantly noticed and teased him for with a snicker. Often times, not on purpose, did Fizz and Ozzie forget that out of all three of you, you were the strongest. Physically and magically, as you tended not to flash it off like some demons like to do, instead you flashed where you shined mentally. Though, damn, does it get Ozzie every time you swiftly come in and pick him up like he was weightless, with the same ease he picked up Fizz and you (even after you had told the first few times he didn't have to, later learning that you were conscience about your weight due to your chubbier figure). So it managed to calm Ozzie down, at least a little for the time being. Fizz would follow after, not really looking to murder people by himself - or at least not wanting to or not believing that he could.

ᯓ Calling your name from the couch, yet to no effect, the two would watch as you walked away from them to only circle right back round and leave again; pacing around the room with a constipated look on your face, leaving them confused, and slightly concerned, on the couch. Fizz slinked down to sit on Ozzie's lap, seeing as Ozzie had sat up to make sure you were alright while walking circles around them. Them both noticed quickly the way your tail trashed dangerously, the slight glare you gave to your phone anytime you passed through the kitchen, and the way your left hand clutched and curled in on itself. Fizz was sure your claws were digging into the skin of your palm, where marks from previous punctures of your claws laid fresh. "Hey," Ozzie started, calling out your nickname yet watching it effectively fall onto death ears. Even so, he continued, what's going on?" An invitation to talk to them, an invitation that received the acknowledgement of you hitting the tip of your tail against the floor to ceiling glass. Your own way of letting them know you heard him, yet needed a moment to gather your thoughts. To find something that can fix this situation without it blowing over and becoming bigger than you needed or wanted it to. To find a way to sweep and brush it under the rug. To just- make it like it never, ever fucking happened!

ᯓ Crack!

ᯓ You barely felt it, the smoke of Wrath infesting your very mind and blurring every other sense. Yet, Fizz and Ozzie caught it with ease. They heard the crack of your bone, the saw the way your nails not only had dug into your skin with the increase pressure yet suddenly broke through your palm and to the other side of your hand. Fizz covered his mouth, trying to hold in the gag that threatened to escape from the shock that filled him. Ozzie, wrapping an arm around Fizz to support him up to his chest to comfort him, would stand. . . and he didn't know how else to get your attention but exploding; Calling your name with a tone he rather not use with you. "WHAT?" Yet you would snap back, a green lining the inside of your eyes, right by your pupils. "WHAT CAN BE SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU CANNOT WAIT, OZZIE. I'M TRYING TO-" A tug at your wrist, Fizz, despite not being able to stand the sight if your claws puncturing through your hand, dragged you over to them. He rose your hand up to eye level once you were in front of the two, and he didn't want to make you watch the black blood that flowed down from it, that coated your claws thickly, he knew it was the only way to get you to pay attention. To realize that you hurt yourself in the panic of trying to fix a problem that could best be fixed together. To realize the scowl that was placed upon Ozzie's face at your actions, yet the underlining concern he had. To notice how Fizz was a bit sickened at the fact that you could so easily hurt yourself, and hurt that you wouldn't talk to them and effectively just shut them out again. Even though they have both told you countless times that you could talk them through your thoughts, that they can help you, that they want to help you! Even if you felt like you needed to handle everything that happened by yourself, even if you felt like the world was crushing in they were here! They were always here for you, and they were ready to help as long as you just talked to them.

ᯓ Fizz and Ozzie, out of everyone and anything, care about you (and granted each other) the most. And to see you physically hurt yourself over someone you told them not to worry about . . . well it stabbed them in the heart and made them ever so more concerned.

ᯓ "I just, I need time. I can figure this out if I'm given enough time." You would try to explain to Ozzie and Fizz as you sat on Ozzie's desk, where Fizz usually sat to replace any problem limbs. Fizz sat beside you, securely holding your right hand in his own and nuzzling up to you; His head resting against yours. Ozzie was in front of you, carefully trying to bring your claws out of the palm of your hand without hurting you, so he could then disinfect the wounds and wrap them up. He would have gotten a doctor, but felt a bit too fired up to let any medical professional touch you when you were so vulnerable. "Honey, get us, we know," Ozzie started, then let out a heavy sigh. "You say that every time something shitty happens in Pride. It's like- your go to thing!" Fizz added on, his tone a bit chirpier than Ozzie's; trying to lighten the mood, bring at least a small tug of a smile onto your face. Ozzie would soon apologize as you let out a hiss, feeling your claw carefully yet strikingly painfully being pulled out from your palm. You squeezed Fizz's hand, he nuzzled his head further against yours. And yet, you still spoke through gritted teeth and hissing, "I just! There never seems to be- FUCK, Ozzie that shit hurts!" "Love, I'm sorry, but I'm trying my best to make it as painless as possible. Yet, it's kind of hard when you managed to stab yourself right between your own bones." Ozzie mumbled, quickly working on the exposed wound, trying to wrap it with a towel just for the time being so he could work on the other three fingers (your thumb didn't puncture through skin, but did leave a good wound on your middle finger). Fizz would let out a nervous bit of laughter, trying to turn the situation away from your pain, just so you wouldn't have to think about it. "Hey, why don't you tell us why. . . you were so against us going to go kill the guy! I mean, I'm sure it would be easier than thinking of a whole counter plan and stabbing yourself through the hand, wounding yourself for someone you-" "Froggie," Ozzie warned, though his tone was still soft, noticing quickly how he began to ramble out of nerves. "I don't think that's helping."

ᯓ Yet you didn't mind much, it kind of did set your brain a little more straight and screwed in properly. So in a way you kind of did need Fizz's nervous rambling right now, "No, no it's fine. I. . . needed that. I just," A frown stretched upon your face, letting out a heavy sigh that was quickly replaced with a painful hiss and quickly followed by another apology from Ozzie. Your face scrunched at the pain, yet softened as you felt Fizz trying to comfort you once more. His hand squeezed your undamaged one, and when you turned your head towards his, he connected your foreheads. The distress that came from your fiancés were slowly becoming more apparent to you; Especially by the way Fizz looked into you, his own eyebrows frowned and scrunched, worry laced around his eyes. You felt the pressure of Ozzie wrapping your newly oxygen exposed wound with the towel, trying to cover it gently yet firmly enough. "I just. . . didn't want them to hurt you." The words left your mouth before you could think about their weight; Even if they were nothing but the truth, all the worry that struck your brain the moment Vox had called you out was all due to your worry that Fizz and Ozzie might get hurt. That they might be caught in some sort of cross fire between Vox and you and you would have to deal with their blood on your hands. That was a thought your couldn't bear to stand.

ᯓ The silence was thick for a good few minutes as you kept your eyes squeezed shut, afraid to open them and face Ozzie and Fizz. You could feel as Fizz leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his in an attempt to comfort you, coax you to open your eyes. But he just saw they way they twitched and you squeezed harder. You could feel as Ozzie paused, his fingers gently grabbing around yours yet not giving it's usual tug. And without looking at them, you felt the nerves build in your stomach at the thought that you might have offended them in some way, or they were disappointed in you for some reason. Yet they weren't. Logically, you knew that they weren't any of those things, yet they worrying thoughts still crept in your mind. "Baby, no. . ." Ozzie's sweet voice would ring through the unwanted chatter in your mind, almost like he could hear or feel what was happening in your tornado of a mind. "No, you don't have to worry about us, we were more worried about you. Trust me." You felt Ozzie's engulfing hand rest against your cheek and Fizz nod against your head, "Oh yeah! Our names have been racked through the mud since the whole Mammon incident. Trust us, we can take a little shit, but-" And Fizz paused, always a little hesitant to speak about these topics, "This is new to you, and we know how important your work is to you." "And Just like Sins, I'm sure an Overlord's power also comes from your reputation among people. And that guy, well, directly went for your reputation," Ozzie mumbled, his thumb rubbing sweetly against your cheek. He couldn't dent it, but he loved how they were a little chubbier than most, making your skin a little more plump and soft. "And for that I would have killed him! But you don't want that, for some reason I still don't understand!- But, we respect that. Just know we're here to help anyway we can." "Yeah just say the word!" Fizz playfully moved his head to nuzzle his nose against your other cheek, effectively earning a smile from you and a few bits of suppressed laughter that dared to bubble out your throat. You weren't sure why it was always ticklish when Fizz nuzzled his nose against your cheek, yet it was. "Okay, Okay!-" A giggle slipped through your lips, "I'm sorry. . . I should have, talked to you guys instead of-" You paused, chewing over your words. Yet, you didn't have to think for long as Fizz cut in, "Pushing us away?" "Hurting yourself?" Ozzie swiftly added after, both with their own sassy yet caring tones as they stared down at you. "Yeah. . . that." You would mumble, with an heat rushing up to your cheeks out of embarrassment. You didn't realize you were actually being that big of a dick to the two most important people in your life. Wow, you really did need that reality check from Fizz earlier.

ᯓ "Well, thank god we love you." Fizz's sarcastic voice trailed out with a cheeky grin spread across his face, showing off his pointed teeth and his ever so adorable cheeky attitude. "Or else this would be such a different story! You might have ended out on the streets, or worse, dead." And even if his words would be less than comforting for anyone else, you couldn't help but smile at them; Shooting your own cheeky glare back, finally gaining the courage to open your eyes again. To bask in your lovers' faces instead of cowering in the darkness, fearing a rejection that was never there to begin with. Something that would have never came. Ozzie took the chance to, while you were laughing and smiling and paying attention to Fizz rather than your own pain, to gently yet swiftly take out your third claw. Instantly, your tail trashed and a hiss escaped your mouth. And while he felt bad, Ozzie couldn't help but shake his head and rather seriously state, "Yeah, but don't ever do this again." "Yeah no, I don't think I can take looking at you stab through your own hand either." Fizz agreed, shaking his head. Either way, he went back to nuzzling you to comfort, trying to distract you from the pain of your hands as Ozzie moved the towel over your third wound. One more to go. You tried to keep in the giggles that threatened to escape due to their words, yet you couldn't help it. With a roll of your eyes and a sarcastic, yet playful, tone, you muttered back to them, "Well, fuck, if I ever get stabbed I'm never coming to either of you!"

Home | Masterlist Tag list: @lily-ann-b

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[ A/N: Also, thank you so much for this request, it was a joy to write! I can't wait to hear from you again the future! And thank you to everyone for supporting my work, I've gotten so many nice comments in my inbox and I promise I'm trying to get through everyone's requests, or as much of them as possible. There's a good handful of them that request the same thing, so they will be clumped together, just because I don't think I can make enough content to make four separate posts about Adam with a Goth girlfriend or Yandere Lucifer lol! But, thank you all for the support, really, I wouldn't be able to do this all without you :) ]

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cordeliawhohung · 15 days

Text

Soft Spot - Part 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part thirteen of "soft spot"

taglist | playlist | dissection links

you're so used to the teeth that they don't even hurt anymore

warnings: childhood trauma, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past torture, threats and unkind language

wc: 4.4k

Some part of you always knew you’d see him again, but you never imagined it would be like that.

In your pitiful daydreams, you always envisioned things would be darker; scarier, even. You’d find him again in some dim corner where he would trap you and would lurk and stare until he was ready to pounce. In the version of yourself in your daydreams, you were stronger. You knew exactly what to say, how to convey how you felt, but most importantly, he would pay. He would pay for every single transgression he wrought upon you and your mother. You would never have to see him again. But it was wrong. You weren’t supposed to run into him there. Not on a perfect day like that.

It would have been a perfect day.

The warmth of the sun on your skin, the laughter of everyone around you; you had every right to enjoy that day. To bask in the beauty of the trees with their singing, fluttering leaves, and to soak up the fragrance of tulips and freshly trimmed grass. But behind it all, there was always something lurking. A second layer you hadn’t yet exposed. The rotting carcass of a bird nestled by the trunk of a tree. Musty hot car exhaust from the street on the other side of the park. A man too angry for his own good and his daughter petrified on the bench.

The smell of cigarettes.

Your eyes had no choice but to stay glued onto the man in front of you. So many years had gone by, and though his age caught up to him, that unbridled rage that festered within him was painfully distinct. It was his eyes, it always was. You could see every thought and intention that came to fruition in his thoughts, and though he smiled, you knew none of it was good. It alerted some primal instinct in the back of your mind that screamed at you to run, to fight. All you could do was place your hands on your stomach and hope Simon would return soon.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” The words flew out of your mouth of their own volition, like some sort of ghost had taken control of your body and given you the strength to say them.

Your father snorted as he took a step closer to you, and you had no choice but to watch him sink down into the seat next to you. His movements were slow, frail even. There was something wrong with him, as if he rotted from the inside out. Perhaps all his wrongdoings had finally caught up with him, and you took an odd sort of comfort in the thought he looked too sick to properly hurt anyone other than himself.

“Haven’t seen each other in years and you have nothing to say? Bullshit.” He coughed. It sounded wet, and you could make out the sticky sounds of it clinging in the back of his throat. “Though, the last time we talked you didn’t have anything to say to me but a threat.”

He was right. A threat. A promise. Maybe both. Whatever it was, you had meant every word of it at the time when you said you would kill him if he ever hit you again. That felt like forever ago. Some other lifetime. Really, you were surprised he even remembered it at all. No, of course he remembered it. He would always remember the worst parts of you; the parts of you he could twist and use against you.

“I still mean it,” you said.

It was an empty promise. You knew that, and he knew that too.

“Sure thing, darling,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll do a whole lot of damage in… this state.”

No surprise bloomed in your chest at his comment, but disgust did. Having to see that vile man again was already bad enough, but seeing him while you were pregnant was a different form of degradation. It felt violating to be perceived in such a disgusting way, especially by the man who fathered you. Him seeing your mother pregnant hadn’t pulled on his heartstrings to save her from the terrible fate of his fury, and it certainly wouldn’t save you.

“So, who’s the dad? Some rich American? Surprised to see you back here after you ran off to play school girl in the States,” he sneered.

“You don’t have the right to ask that,” you snapped.

“Don’t I?” he challenged. “You’re my daughter.”

“I’m nothing of yours.”

A heavy sigh left your father’s lips as he adjusted his position on the bench. You hadn’t moved an inch since he approached you, and even your son seemed to know well enough to stay dormant inside of you.

“You always have to be difficult,” your father huffed.

“What the fuck do you want?” you bit. Intense eyes landed on the pathetic figure next to you, and you found your hands balling into fists in your lap. “We haven't spoken for years, and you think it’s okay to just stroll up to me in the damn park for a conversation?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with a glare. “Remember, you were the one who cut contact with me, not the other way around, darling.”

“Because you are a piece of shit, and you know it,” you retorted. “You’ve never been useful for a goddamn thing in your entire life. You beat my mother, beat me, and then left her to die when she got sick like she was a fucking toy you were tired of playing with. All that shit and you think you have any right to talk to me? To approach me and act like nothing happened?”

“Don’t raise your voice at me, girl,” your father warned. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re knocked up, you don’t get to speak to me like that.”

You weren’t sure what made your body move the way it did, but suddenly you were on your feet with your back facing him. Everything happened of its own accord. The way your feet moved along the pavement. How your heart thundered in your chest so violently you swore it would break your ribs. A sense of self preservation consumed your body and its senses as it did its best to get you away from the threat of your father. You were in no shape to fight, and you couldn’t afford to freeze, so you took flight.

But you had never been very good at getting away.

The brutal cycle of getting caught continued in the same way it always had; with a hand around your wrist. Your father’s grip was just as unforgiving as Bukin’s had been, and the same as Eric before him. Just like all the other times, you turned to face the aggressor with a bewildered glare on your face, incapable of holding back neither your fear nor your anger.

“How long do you think you can keep running? Huh? Before your legs stop working? Before someone breaks them?” he asked, his tone all but demanding an answer from you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Truly?” you questioned.

“I’m your fuckin’ father,” he retorted.

Hot breath fanned across your face and you could almost taste the rancid tobacco leftover in his lungs. It was enough to make your stomach turn, and with the anxiety pooling in your stomach you nearly puked, but you held strong as you wiggled your wrist out of his grasp.

“You are nothing to me. Not my father, not my family; nothing,” you spat. “I know you’ve got it in that thick skull of yours that you have some odd ownership over me because you fathered me, but that’s where our relationship ends. Do you understand me? I’ve lived my life fine without you. I’ll continue without you. I’ll have this kid that you’ll see no part of. I’ll get the life I always deserved while you die, alone and unloved, and nobody will fucking miss you at all.”

A heavy silence weighed on your shoulders as you watched your father’s face morph in front of you. He was always an angry man, but his true nature was something your nightmares could never quite capture. They could never paint the twitch of his lips or the flexing of his jaw, or the way his fingers buzzed with anticipation. Your fuzzy childhood memories paled in comparison to the real, unbridled enjoyment your father experienced when instilling fear and pain in someone.

Maybe that’s why you never learned. Not because violence wasn’t a good teacher, but because you could never remember just how bad it hurt. Not until you were there in the maw of the beast.

Whatever you thought was there lurking in your father’s features vanished faster than it had formed. Your father’s eyes scanned every inch of your scowl and you watched them light up with something sinister and wicked the moment they landed on the corner of your lip. A grin replaced the anger on his face as he took in the sight of that unsightly scar that still plagued the corner of your lips even after all those years, and you almost flinched. As his quiet and sour chuckle sounded, you knew exactly what he thought. He hadn’t given you that scar, which meant you had never truly escaped trouble as much as you wanted to pretend you did.

But you did. You climbed away from that life, fought tooth and nail just to live without violence, and you made it. Each night you were able to go to bed in the arms of a man who had never once caused you harm. In the mornings you would wake up to fresh air and a chaste kiss before you ever even slithered out from underneath the covers. The only bruises that tainted your skin were ones caused by unseen table corners, not the fists of an angry man.

Yet you knew he would never believe you. Abusers always had to come out victorious, even if that meant dipping their mind into their own delusions. You would sooner turn to dust and bone before your words would ever reach him, and he seemed to hold himself with pride over that fact.

He chuckled again, louder that time, and looked down at the ground for a short moment as he shook his head. His eyes landed on you again with humor before he shrugged. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

A large hand settled on your stomach as you felt a looming presence gently pull you away from the monster of your childhood. You didn’t even have to look up at the figure to know it was Simon; you knew him by touch alone. Your body did not untense at all even with him there, and the distilled anger was palpable on your husband. Dark eyes glared at your father, who hardly bothered to look Simon up and down.

All it would take would be one word. Something to anger your father, to get him to lose his judgment, to get him to lunge. A vile, dormant anger inside of you wanted to. Wanted to goad your father into attacking just to watch what Simon would do. You’d seen what he was capable of. Watched him break a beast’s arm and stomp on it just to feel the bone crunch under his boot. It was so easy for him to pull that trigger and end the life of a man simply for calling you darling. If only he knew half the things your father had said to you.

How much would he have to bleed to make it feel better? How many bones would have to break? Would it ever be enough? Could more violence ever satiate the need for revenge that stowed itself away inside of you? Did that make you just like your father? Did you even care? No, it would never be enough. There was no penance he could offer you that wouldn’t just turn your stomach sour.

He would get his turn. One day. If you were lucky, you would never even hear of it.

“I never want to see or hear from you again. I mean it,” you said as your eyes locked on him.

Your father’s eyes flickered up to Simon, where he finally seemed to understand the weight of the situation. He was old; a stupid drunk with nothing to fight with but a decayed body and rotten core — something Simon could shatter in an instant. Perhaps he finally realized he didn’t have as much power over his little girl like he thought he did, or maybe his self preservation instincts kicked in, but your father finally took a step back with a shrug.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

It wasn’t until you were halfway back to the car that you realized Simon tried to grab your attention. Your name fell from his lips hushed and even, yet no matter how hard he tried it was impossible for him to mask the worry it was drenched with. His pace was slow compared to usual, but then again it wasn’t like you could move as fast as you would have liked. You wanted to run — run to the edge of the world and never look back, yet you were so painfully present on earth.

“Sweetheart, slow down,” Simon said, trying to calm you.

“I’m fine.”

Those were the first words you were able to choke out, and you hadn’t realized how tight your throat felt until you said them. Still, you continued to push ahead, chest heaving with anxiety as you got closer to Simon’s car. All you wanted to do was go home. It seemed that’s all you ever wanted to do.

“Who was that?” Simon then asked, still trying to pull answers from you.

“Your father-in-law.”

There was no need for further explanation. Simon was well aware of the horrors you had to fight when you were a kid. A storm swirled in your mind so violently even he could feel the raging wind, and rather than try and fruitlessly fight it off, he chose to weather the storm with you instead.

The ride home was a blur with your thoughts so full to the brim yet simultaneously empty. Numb. It had been a long while since you had felt that way, and it didn’t wane until Simon unlocked the door to the flat where you pitifully shuffled over to the couch. Boo beat Simon to your side, and he instantly attempted to climb up on top of your stomach as if it were a perch and not where your child rested inside of you. You wanted to smile at him, but all you could manage was a quivering bottom lip.

“Sweetheart,” Simon tried again as you pushed your overly zealous cat off your lap. “Talk to me.”

Instead of sinking into the cushion next to you, he crouched on the floor where his hands quickly found yours. Every nerve in your body felt fried, too hot for you to exist properly. It traversed up your body in painful waves until the pressure built up so much behind your eyes you swore they would burst from your skull.

“I hate him,” you said, voice trembling. “I hate him so much. It’s been years and- and he shows up now? When everything is good? Wh- When I’m like this?”

You paused for a moment as the rush of hormones nearly suffocated you. Eyes overflowed with tears as you sniffled back the snot that started to run in your nose. You wanted to take your hands out of Simon’s in order to rub at your eyes, but his thumb running along your knuckles was too comforting for you to deprive yourself of that feeling.

“And I want him to pay. For everything. For all the years of bullshit he put mum and I through. But it feels so far out of reach because no matter what it’s not good enough. I just hate feeling like this, so fucking useless.”

Simon’s hands moved up from your hands, across your arms, along your shoulders, and all the way up until he cupped your cheeks in his hands. Everything felt heavy, yet he held your head high as he shifted closer to you.

“I know it’s hard. It’s never easy running into monsters like him,” he said. “But he’s never gonna see you again. Never layin’ a fuckin’ hand on you either.”

“It’s not that, it’s just… he makes me feel like a kid and I hate it,” you said in a near whisper.

“I know,” Simon shushed as he moved up to sit on the couch next to you. His arms wrapped around your body as he drew you as close to his chest as your body could comfortably contort. His warmth was all consuming, settling your frayed nerves as his hand traced along your waist. “I know.”

His chin rested on the top of your head while you did your best to calm your breathing into something more manageable. That simple action — breathing — had already grown to be so difficult those days with the extra weight on your diaphragm, but the crushing feeling of being reduced into nothing but a scared little girl again was unbearable.

“Family is bullshit, anyway,” Simon suddenly chirped. “Don’t have to keep anyone around that you don’t want. Could just be me and you, if you want. You, me, and our boy.”

Our boy. Those words had your tears falling harder than they did before. Having a child wouldn’t fix all your problems, and you were very much aware of that fact. Children weren’t supposed to be the glue that mended old wounds, like so many people wished they would be. Yet still, an odd sort of excitement flickered at the thought that you could one day erase it all. Erase all the parts of your life, and replace it with something truly worth living for.

Like Simon.

Like your son.

The prospect of no longer being your father’s daughter was an exciting one. Maybe your unfortunate conversation with him had been the universe’s way of getting you to say goodbye, though you could have very well done without one. Either way, none of it mattered. It was done. You would have a child to fuss over before long, and you didn’t need thoughts of a sour old man ruining that joy.

You didn’t even think of your father that night as you and Simon settled in for bed. There was too much love to enjoy in the warmth of his arms as he held you close to his chest that there was no room for anything else. Simon’s hands roamed your stomach, as they often did those days, where they settled at the top of your abdomen as if waiting for a good kick. For a moment, everything was still as Boo curled up against your legs with a quiet purr, and a smile curled your lips as you felt Simon’s lips press against the back of your neck.

Except, no matter how good things got, you always seemed to end up back in that basement. Some days it was difficult to tell if you left a piece of yourself there, or if a piece of it had clung to you even after so many years. Either way, it didn’t change the fact you stood in that room with its pale lilac walls that were still just as empty and bare as the first day you woke up in that cursed place.

However, several items were missing from their usual spot in that room. There was no door to the bathroom in which you spent so many hours hiding in, or the bed with the quilt you had spent half a day bleeding into. In fact, an entire wall had all but vanished, giving you the perfect view of the ocean with its salty waves. A comforting freshness lingered in the air rather than the rotten scent of iron, and for the first time in years, you didn’t feel scared.

“He’s so handsome.”

An old rocking chair creaked in the center of the room as your mother sat rocking a bundle of blankets in her arms. The back of her head faced you as her attention was soaked up by something else, something new, and your wavering feet shuffled closer to her.

“Who?” you asked, attempting to peer over her shoulder.

“My grandson,” she replied with a chuckle.

Impatient eyes peered over your mothers shoulder as you tried to steal a glance at the baby boy, yet no matter what angle you tried to get, his face always seemed to be obscured by the blanket. He was so quiet, so much so that the waves crashing on the shore just beyond that missing wall drowned out each quiet whine and sigh.

“He looks so much like you,” your mother cooed. “Good thing, too. I was worried he’d get Simon’s nose.”

You laughed, and it was strange. You never thought you’d be laughing in that basement.

“Simon’s got a fine nose,” you defended.

“Oh, I’m sure he does. Underneath all the scar tissue, anyway,” your mother teased.

Your laughter sounded in harmonious unison as she finally looked away from your son and up at you. Her eyes shined brighter than any other time you could remember in your dreams. She looked so real it was almost like you could reach out and hug her again like you used to when you were a kid.

“Can I see him?” you asked.

“Not yet. Just let me have this for a moment. You’ll see him soon enough,” she replied.

She paused as her bottom lip began to tremble.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

“What for?” you asked.

“Everything.”

There was no need to ask for further explanation; it was written in her face. Despite everything that had happened to you throughout your life, there was the indomitable will to survive, even if that just meant more suffering. After so many years, your suffering finally bore fruit. You no longer had to go to sleep wondering if you’d wake up to shattered porcelain on the floor. Unlike her, you had escaped.

That’s all she had ever wanted for you — for someone to take care of you.

Your mother’s attention wandered back to the missing wall in front of her, and your gaze followed. Fluffy clouds billowed along the horizon, and seagulls danced in the sky together while they sang to one another. That ocean was brighter than you had remembered it, like the sun had finally peeked through the clouds.

“I think it’s time for you to go home,” she said.

“Home?” you repeated.

She nodded. “You don’t need to keep coming here anymore.”

She was right. You were tired of that basement. Tired of the memories that haunted you from time to time. They would always be with you in some way, but you couldn’t wait to drown them with new memories. Better memories.

There was no need for a goodbye, as you had said them years ago to that wretched place. Instead, your feet trudged forward until carpet turned into grass. Cold wind moved freely around your body as it beckoned you closer to the crashing waves on the sandy shore. When your feet got close enough to the water that it nearly kissed your toes, you turned around only to find the house, and its terrible basement, had vanished.

That was the last time you ever looked back.

Searing hot pain ripped through your body when you woke up. It rippled all throughout your abdomen in a wave so vicious it took your breath away. Boo, who had been by your feet when you had fallen asleep, pawed at your face as he purred and bashed his head against yours. The pain left you nearly incapacitated for a moment until the wave eventually waned, and it was only then that you were able to slowly push yourself up so that you sat with your legs over the side of the bed.

Sticky sweat clung to your body with little remorse for your comfort, and you tried your best to calm your racing heart with a steady breath. In some poor attempt to assist you, Boo pawed at your aching stomach with an annoyed meow. You gently pushed him away, only for him to whine. Simon grunted, half awake yet still irked by the creature’s impressively loud demands for attention.

Simon didn’t fully wake up until a second wave of pain hit you, and you were unable to hold back the squeaky wince that it forced out of you. The bed shook as Simon’s hulking frame tore the blankets off of his body and scooted so that he sat next to you. His hand rested firmly against your back, yet he almost retracted when he felt your muscles tense and nearly tear with the strength of your contractions. Had it not been for the little human in your womb blocking your way, you were certain you would’ve been doubled over in pain.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What do you need?” Simon urged.

It was impossible to get any words out with the intensity of it all, and for a moment the only thing you could do was pant sharply as you tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating. You leaned your head to the side where it rested on Simon’s shoulder while your teeth nearly shattered as your jaw clenched. Eventually, the pain diminished once more, allowing your brain to clear just long enough to form a proper thought.

“He’s coming,” you panted. Your hand reached up to wipe the sweat from your upper lip, and your entire body shuddered with a sigh. “Fuck, we gotta- gotta go.”

“Okay, yeah,” Simon said.

He slipped off of the bed to stand in front of you, hands quickly capturing yours in his. His voice was calm and even, and not even his grip trembled as he helped you to your feet. Simon was always strong. Never one to show when he was nervous. But even then, you swore you could feel his racing heart pulse in his fingertips.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #f!reader #soft spot

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munsons-maiden · 2 years

Text

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Here’s a smutty little oneshot while I’m working on the next chapter of Worlds Apart. I hope you enjoy! - Love, Kiki ♡

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female cheerleader!reader (virgin!Eddie x virgin!reader)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | It’s been two weeks since you and Eddie decided to stop sneaking around and start behaving like every other couple at Hawkins High. Only that you’re not. And after overhearing a group of cheerleaders’ especially cruel gossip about your relationship, Eddie’s insecurities, nourished by all those years of bullying, hit home despite all of his attempts not to let people’s vile words get to him. This time though...he feels like they might be right. Because why would a girl like you ever fall for a guy like him? And when Eddie realizes he made a mistake...he can only hope it’s not too late to fix what he broke. Based on this request: Maybe one where reader is a cheerleader and popular but only wants to be with eddie but he is insecure because he's the school freak and overhears mean gossip? Angst w a happy ending?

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending; soft, sweet smut; virgin!Eddie x virgin!reader; insecure Eddie; a Pride-And-Prejudice-style confession in the rain

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 11k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (only read if you’re 18+ years old!), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

Eddie hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop. He truly hadn’t.

But he’d heard your name, and then his own, and now he was standing here, around the corner in the empty hallway, forced to listen to the voices of the three cheerleaders and the ugly things they were saying about you and him. He couldn’t muster the mental strength required to walk past them now and face their scrutiny.

He was a rat in a trap.

“…nearly got a heart attack when I saw her jump out of that rusty old van of his last week,” one of them remarked, “Like, I can’t wrap my head around the thought that they’re dating. Barf me out, that’s disgusting.”

“She’s probably just pitying that freak, anyways, and doesn’t know how to get rid of him. Like one of these flea-infested strays you feed one time and they’ll start following you around. He looks like one of these as well.” Eddie didn’t need to see her face to know she was scrunching her nose in disgust. He was used to that kind of reaction. “Oh god, do you think she’ll bring him if I invite her to my Spring Break party?”

“You probably shouldn’t risk it.”

“Probably. I’m a bit sorry for her, though.”

“Why? It’s on her if she’s screwing around with the scum. I always thought she’d end up with Steve Harrington, to be honest. They would’ve been such a cute couple before he graduated.”

“Don’t they always hang around?”

“I mean, yeah. As far as I know. She says they’re just friends but can you imagine rejecting Steve Harrington to end up with Eddie The Freak Munson?”

There was a beat of affirmative silence, before the second girl said, “I don’t get what she sees in that creep.”

“Maybe she fucks him to get a drug discount.”

“Or maybe he’s got some hidden talents,” the third girl jested.

Eddie could nearly feel how she was grimacing with disgust. It was dripping from her voice like poison.

“A freak in the streets and in the sheets?”

“Urgh, stop it!”, the first one giggled, “Don’t make me imagine it. I wanna scrub my eyes with bleach.”

“He probably always fucks her from behind so she won’t have to see his ugly face.”

There was a fit of giggles mingling with the sound of a locker door being slammed shut, before they finally left. Their footsteps were echoing through the silence that settled over the hallway as they walked away in the other direction, clearing Eddie’s path to the exit – but he was frozen in place.

His back against the wall, he let his head fall so his messy curls would hide the stray tear that was rolling down his cheek, as he squeezed his eyes shut to fight the feeling of nausea in his guts while the cheerleaders’ voices rang in his mind, like a broken record, playing their cruel words on repeat.

She’s probably just pitying that freak, anyways, and doesn’t know how to get rid of him.

I always thought she’d end up with Steve Harrington, to be honest.

He probably always fucks her from behind so she won’t have to see his ugly face.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since the two of you had decided to stop sneaking around and act like every other couple at Hawkins High.

The news of one of the cheerleaders dating Eddie The Freak had spread like a forest fire when the two of you had walked into the cafeteria together, hand in hand.

Eddie had known it would cause trouble – he just hadn’t anticipated how much the whispers and vile comments would hurt him. He was used to them, had been used to them as long as he could remember.

He was used to being eyed warily, glared at, picked upon and bullied because he was different, and he’d started wearing being different like a shield.

What hurt him was how people had started talking about you.

And the fact that Eddie knew, deep down…that they were right. That you deserved someone better than him.

Someone you could bring to parties and kiss in the hallways without being laughed at or shamed for it. Someone who played basketball instead of D&D, who wouldn’t graduate at his third attempt. Someone who looked like Steve Harrington, not like himself.

Someone who wasn’t a freak.

***

You’d known something was wrong when Eddie hadn’t shown up at your place for movie night as he usually did every Friday evening.

And when you’d sought him in the hallway the following Monday before classes, he hadn’t even looked at you before darting off in the other direction.

But if you were being totally honest with yourself…something had been wrong ever since you’d stopped hiding your relationship from the shark tank that was Hawkins High.

Things with Eddie had started out perfectly, all these months ago. The perfect love story, like the ones found on TV and between the pages of sappy romance novels.

Your craving for a chocolate milkshake and Eddie’s hunger for fries had led to a chance encounter at Benny’s Diner in the middle of a Saturday night a few months ago, and the night had ended with the two of you sharing milkshakes and fries until the good-natured but tired Benny had kicked you out by closing time at three in the morning.

When you’d parted ways in the parking lot with smiles as bright as the full moon in the skies above, the unspoken agreement had been struck to repeat whatever had happened that night. And one week later, when you’d shown up at the diner again, this time in the hopes not for a milkshake but the metalhead you’d always simply known as Eddie The Freak…Eddie had been there already, waiting for you with one of his dazzling grins and the confession that he’d hoped you’d show up again.

Benny’s diner became a sanctuary, and the milk-shake-and-fries-dates with Eddie an unspoken agreement. Away from the halls of Hawkins High where people would have stared, gossiped, about a cheerleader and the Freak talking, laughing together – when talking to Eddie and laughing with him felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like breathing. With Eddie, you realized that the corset you’d strapped yourself in could be loosened. Allowing you, for the first time in years, to actually breathe. To be yourself, just like he was, without saying something wrong, being judged. With Eddie, sharing fries and milkshakes at Benny’s little dinner under the cover of Saturday night when there was no danger of bumping into anyone at school because they were all busy partying, you felt more like yourself than you had in a very long time.

And the Saturday night diner dates had morphed into lunchbreaks spent in the shadow of the bleachers or on the little clearing in the woods behind the sports field, hidden from prying eyes; into movie nights and hikes through the woods until one clear, cold night three months ago, Eddie had finally kissed you underneath the starry night sky outside of The Hideout after one of his gigs, his skin soaked with sweat and his voice hoarse from singing and playing the guitar all night. It had been the picture-perfect first kiss.

And one single kiss had turned into many.

Stolen kisses in empty classrooms, fleeting touches and lingering glances in the hallways whenever the two of you passed by each other, heated make-out sessions on the couch of the trailer he shared with his uncle.

And the crush you’d been harboring for Eddie had turned into so, so much more.

Into love.

Not that giddy kind of infatuation of High School sweethearts, but actual love. The kind of love that had you plan your future together, far away from shallow-minded little Hawkins and its gossips.

But where movies and romance novels ended…real life went on.

It wasn’t enough anymore to share stolen kisses when nobody was looking, to see each other every day in class, the cafeteria, the hallways, so close yet parted by that invisible line neither of you had known how to cross – because as soon as the two of you set foot into Hawkins High, you were still a cheerleader. And Eddie was still The Freak.

Until, two weeks ago, the two of you had decided to end the secrecy and behave like every other couple at Hawkins High did.

You’d been prepared for the havoc the two of you would cause, the stares and whispers and bullying, but…you’d been tired of hiding. And you’d thought Eddie had been, too. That he was secretly scared you were ashamed of being with him, when all you wanted to do was shout it from the rooftops that you were in love with Eddie Munson.

That the reason Eddie had never made a move towards Third Base – and had gallantly thwarted all of your attempts to change that fact – had been rooted not only in his genuinely sweet, gentlemanly manners, but a deeper-rooted hurt about you still keeping your relationship hidden.

But now, two weeks later, it was obvious that something was wrong.

Eddie was avoiding you. And with every step you tried to take to close this strange new distance between the two of you, it felt like he took three steps backwards. Away from you.

By the time Friday had arrived, the vague sense of doom which had started to grow in your chest over the past two weeks had grown into fully-fledged panic.

And you finally had enough of Eddie’s dancing around you.

It was a game day, the whole of Hawkins High a sea of orange and green as everyone sported the school’s colors in anticipation of the basketball game which would take place that evening. Everyone, except for the members of the Hellfire Club, you noticed with a small smile as you entered the cafeteria for lunch break. They’d donned their matching Hellfire shirts for their own game that night, the ones Eddie had designed a few months ago, on a paper napkin at Benny’s Diner.

With his messy dark curls long enough to brush his shoulders, the ripped jeans, the leather jacket and denim vest and rings, the tattoos decorating his skin, Eddie Munson always stuck out in a crowd – but today, in the sea of green and orange – from shirts to scrunchies, from banners to ribbons – he stuck out like a black swan in a pond full of white ones as he was lounging in his usual place at the head of the Hellfire Club’s table. The smile on your lips widened at the sight of him, gesticulating as he replied to something Mike had said. But the giddy feeling in your chest died and withered as realization crept back in that he’d been avoiding you the whole week. The whole past two weeks.

A group of sophomore girls walked past you, a few of them glancing at your cheerleader uniform with various expressions of timidness and awe, and you gave them a little smile as they passed.

Ever since you’d started dating Eddie, most people had stopped throwing you awning gazes and shy smiles in the hallways. Instead, there were now whispers trailing in your wake; some more hurtful than others, but that’s what you’d expected.

Four more months, and you were out of here. You both would be. Rid of ugly whispers and disgusted glances, of people treating you as if the stain dating Eddie The Freak Munson had left on your reputation was an infectious disease.

It hurt. Not because you cared what people thought about you – but because nobody outside of Hellfire seemed to see Eddie the way you did. They couldn’t look past the tattoos, the ripped denim and leather, the unkempt exterior, to see the heart of gold, all the sweetness and kindness underneath that shone from every single one of his radiant smiles.

The smile, though, was wiped from Eddie’s face as you walked towards the Hellfire Club table, the usual exhilarated mood at the table snuffed out like sunlight covered by rainclouds – the same rain clouds dimming the light in Eddie’s eyes when his gaze met yours.

It felt like a knife being plunged into your chest.

You’d hoped for him to give you one of his dazzling smiles when his eyes landed on you, to jump up and kiss you and whirl you around like he always did, but he stayed frozen in place, still as one of his D&D figurines as he watched you approach with a mix of surprise and…something else. Something you couldn’t quite decipher. It scared you.

The silence which had settled over the Hellfire Club’s table seemed to grow more tense when you came to stand beside Eddie, your weary smile into the group, at Gareth and Jeff and Dustin and Mike, answered by uneasy sideways glances flitting between you and Eddie, whose expression had turned into an unreadable mask so unlike him it hurt.

“Eddie, can we talk?”, you said quietly, fiddling with the hem of your cheerleader skirt just to give your hands something to do.

Eddie didn’t even look at you as you uttered the words. His eyes scanned the assembled crowd in the cafeteria, the sideways glances thrown your way, before he said, “Yeah. Sure. Outside?”

Up until now, there had been this tiny sliver of hope that it had all been a misunderstanding. That all your deep, dark fears of losing Eddie, nourished by these past days of sudden radio silence until the tender saplings of anxiety had grown into weeds threatening to suffocate you from within, were irrational, that Eddie’s sudden distance could be rooted in a harmless, reasonable explanation. A misunderstanding.

That if you called him out on it, it would turn out you’d just been paranoid. But judging by his reaction now, it was obvious that wasn’t the case.

Your heart seemed to cease its beating, to freeze over and plummet to the floor all at the same time as, like caught in a trance, you followed Eddie out of the cafeteria and into the silence of the abandoned hallway outside. He didn’t take your hand like he usually did. Didn’t press a delicate kiss to your cheek or your knuckles, didn’t play with the green satin ribbon in your hair matching the cheerleader uniform. Didn’t pull you into a spontaneous little dance, twirling you until your head was spinning and tears of laughter ran down your face.

The air between the two of you was frozen like Lover’s Lake in December when he came to a halt, the silence of the abandoned corridor around you suffocating as Eddie finally turned to face you. It was strange, so utterly unfamiliar to see that there was not a single spark of the usual humor, the usual gentle warmth in his dark eyes as he looked at you now.

“Shouldn’t you be at cheerleader training rehearsing for the game?”, he asked, his voice as hollow as his gaze.

“There are more important things than cheerleader training,” you began, voice softening as you took a tentative step closer to him and added, “Eddie, talk to me. Please. You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks now. And…and I need to know what’s wrong.”

The way Eddie shrunk back from you when you reached out to grasp his hand hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Did I do something wrong?”, you said quietly, letting your hand fall to your side.

Something in your voice, in your eyes, though, snapped Eddie out of this strange detached state, and with a shaky sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut as if he was in pain.

And it dawned on you that you’d already lost him.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he breathed, his own voice choked with emotions, “But this doesn’t work.”

“What –“

“This,” he exclaimed, waving at the space between the two of you, “It doesn’t work. You’re a cheerleader, and I’m a freak. And I’m tired of playing pretend.”

“Don’t,” you said quietly, voice strained to its breaking point with the lump that was forming in your throat, the tears stinging in your eyes and threatening to spill because you knew, could feel where this conversation was heading. It felt like being strapped to a train hurtling towards a glaring abyss. “Don’t call yourself that, Eddie.”

“But it’s true. I’m a freak. And avoiding to say it doesn’t change it. I’m tired of pretending I could be more than the guy tagging along with you through a little phase of rebellion before you tire of him and settle down with one of the Steve Harringtons of this world.” He drew out Steve’s name into a lilt, his voice dripping with disdain.

You reeled back. “Tell me that’s not what you think.”

“It’s what I know.”

Anger started rising in your chest now, mingling with the panic and pain already churning there like a maelstrom threatening to drag you under.

“What you know,” you echoed, voice trembling. “When did I ever give you a reason to believe that, Eddie? When?”

“You’re a cheerleader.” The way he said it, as if that was all there was to you…it made you sick.

“So, a pair of pompoms and a short skirt determine my personality? You, of all people, should know not to judge a book by its cover. And especially not a book you’ve already read.” It came out as a whisper as you tried to swallow back the tears.

“That’s…that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying, Eddie?”

Don’t. Please don’t do this.

Your tongue couldn’t form the desperate plea your heart was screaming at him.

With his voice so uncharacteristically quiet and detached, Eddie said, “I’m saying good-bye.”

There was a shellshocked daze clouding your senses as your body went numb, the sensation spreading from your chest to your fingertips as you waited to wake up with sweat-soaked sheets tangled around your legs and the relief of knowing this, right now, had just been a horrible dream and that Eddie would be waiting at your front door to pick you up for school with that beautiful smile on his lips.

The shrill sound of the bell piercing the silence of the hallways to announce the end of lunch break was dulled in your ears, a scratch at the edge of your perception.

It was curious, how the shattering of a heart didn’t make a single sound when it could be felt so clearly, caused a pain that ran deeper than any blade could pierce.

There was no time for you to react, to beg him to tell you what had happened in the span of a few days to end things like this.

The hallways flooded with people leaving the cafeteria for their afternoon classes, and Eddie was gone.

Walking away down the hallway, the familiar sight of the DIO patch on his denim vest and dark curls fading into the sea of orange and green as he walked away from you.

Just like that.

***

You didn’t remember how you’d gotten to the bathroom, or how long you’d been cowering in the stall, on the dirty, grimy tiles, hugging your knees as sobs ripped through you, the numbness in your body fading as pain took over.

Real, physical pain in your chest, as if your heart had actually shattered into a million tiny shards that were now scraping at your insides, tearing you open while the damn tears wouldn’t stop falling.

Eddie was your first love, your first everything.

And part of you had always – foolishly – clung to the belief that things would always stay that way. That Eddie Munson wouldn’t be your first heartbreak, too. That the plans you’d made for the future would become reality.

You couldn’t figure out what had happened.

Did it even matter, if something had happened? Was that better than Eddie simply falling out of love?

***

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Eddie’s head snapped up at the sudden sound, and a sigh escaped him as he saw Dustin, hands on his hips as he was standing in the doorway to the room Hellfire shared with the theatre club. The boy’s expression in the shadow of his cap was a mix of shock and anger.

“You’re not even going to argue?”, Dustin challenged.

“Would you go away if I did?”, Eddie replied. His voice was meek and coarse from crying. He was tired. So fucking tired and miserable.

“I won’t go anyway. I heard what you said to her.”

“You spied on me?”

“A High School hallway isn’t exactly a place for private conversation,” Dustin quipped, locking his hands in front of his chest now. The kid definitely needed to get his ego in check.

“Dustin –“ Eddie began, but the boy was already stalking towards him with a grim determination on his face as he said, “No. Let me speak. I’m pretty sure you already know what I’m about to say. Hear me out. You’re a fucking fool. You know why? The sweetest, prettiest girl of Hawkins High gave you her heart, and you threw it away because you’re so deep in your little bubble of moping and whining…about what? That she obviously loves you?”

“She never said that.”

Dustin threw his hands in the air, clearly exasperated now. “Did you? Did you ever say it to her?”

There was a pause as Eddie stared at Dustin, before the boy went on, “That’s what I thought. Why do you think she loves you, huh? For your popularity? Your good grades? Your flowery smell?”

“I get it Henderson, thank you. No need to rub it in.”

“No, you don’t get it and that’s the problem. Are you a Jason Carver? A Patrick McKinney? A Steve Harrington? No!”

“I’m already literally on the floor already,” Eddie said quietly, lacking the strength to even feel indignant, “Why do you keep kicking me, kid?”

“You’re an Eddie. And that’s your selling point! The girl took a single look at you, in all your weird glory, all revved up and jumping tables and selling drugs –“

“Wait, how do you –“

“You carry that stuff around in your lunchbox. Do you think she didn’t know there would be gossip and bullying? She did, of course she did! Yet she took one look at you, at Eddie The Freak, and decided you were worth all that trouble.”

“You don’t even know what happened,” Eddie muttered, raking a trembling hand through his curls. “You don’t know what people are saying –“

“You’re the one who taught me to not be bullied into giving up what I love and now you’re sitting here, hiding and moping around after doing exactly that. You threw her away like the notes for a failed D&D campaign. Or did you really think you were letting her go because you’re such a hero? You’re not a hero, you’re a coward. You’re running away. And while it’s okay to run away from danger or graduation or whatever, it’s really fucking stupid to run away from someone who loves you.” Dustin paused, letting his words sink in, before he added, “If I were you, I’d be on my knees and begging for her to forgive your utter and devastating stupidity and take you back. So…” Dustin cleared his throat, straightening his spine as he stared down at Eddie, who was still miserably cowering amid the scenery for the theatre club’s next piece, “Eddie The Freak. Get up from the floor, wipe your eyes, blow your nose, and get your girl back.”

With these words still hanging in the air, Dustin turned to leave, but Eddie’s voice rang out to hold him back.

“Henderson. Wait.”

Dustin turned, watching as Eddie slowly climbed back to his feet. Taking a steadying breath, he righted his leather jacket and he raised his chin, before he announced, “You need to tell the others that Hellfire’s cancelled tonight.”

“Wa –“

“There’s a goddamn important balls-and-laundry-baskets game I need to attend.”

Eddie could only hope it wasn’t too late already.

***

You’d never been so miserable in your life like you felt right now, dancing and jumping and smiling that wide fake smile as your muscles went through the movements of the choreography like a sleepwalker.

The cheers and voices in the gym blurred like the faces around you as every second made it harder to fight back the tears threatening to spill all over again.

You didn’t need to be a genius to know you were walking the flimsy tightrope over the abyss of a mental breakdown.

You only needed to get through the next two hours.

And then you could break down and cry your soul out.

Two hours.

“Watch your step!”, the hiss of one of the other cheerleaders tore you from your thoughts as you spun just in time to avoid bumping into her, your mind catching up with the steps of the choreography just in time to correct the little misstep and twirl – and time froze for a few heartbeats as your eyes locked on a pair of umber ones, staring back at you from the entrance to the gym.

He was standing in the shadow of the bleachers, hair tousled and hands shoved into the pockets of his ripped jeans as he watched you, the ghost of a sad little smile tugging at his lips that made him look like a lost puppy.

And despite all the hurt and heartbreak, despite the cruel things he’d said, your stupid little heart leapt in your chest like a bird in the confinements of its cage, ready to burst free and flutter right into his hands.

In the months since the two of you had started dating, Eddie Munson had never, not once, attended one of the “balls-and-laundry-baskets games” since they always took place on Fridays, at the same time as Hellfire Club, and it was sacrilegious to ever postpone Hellfire – but now here he was. And he was watching you the way only Eddie had ever looked at you. Not simply looking at you, but seeing you.

His gaze left that familiar prickling sensation in its wake on your skin you couldn’t get enough of as your surroundings blurred like watercolors because the only thing that mattered right then, the only thing that ever mattered, was that Eddie was here.

It took a few heartbeats for your senses to snap back to reality, for you to realize that the music had stopped and cheers rose all throughout the room as you struck the final pose, applause following as the cheerleaders of Hawkins High left the field to make room for the game which would start any minute now.

But as you walked with the others towards the spot at the edge of the field reserved for the cheerleaders, you couldn’t wait a single second longer.

You needed to know why Eddie was here.

A few of the other cheerleaders threw you dirty glances as you broke formation, pompoms still clutched in your hands, and raced along the bleachers towards the exit, heart racing and mind going a mile a minute.

But the blind spot between the exit and the bleachers was empty when you reached it. Eddie was gone.

The applause rising in the gym at your back rang in your ears in time with your racing heart as you darted out of the building and onto the parking lot.

Night had fallen already, and the soft drizzle from earlier had turned into a full-blown spring storm pelting down on you, biting the bare skin on your arms and legs as you squinted into the rain-soaked darkness, scanning the parking lot for the familiar sight of Eddie’s rusty old van.

It was still there, parked at the edge near the fence separating the premises of Hawkins High from that of the Middle School. Which meant Eddie was still around somewhere.

Not caring about the freezing rain, you raced towards the old van, weaving between the rows and rows of parked cars filling the for now abandoned space as the shrill noise of a whistle seeped out of the gym to fill the night, the noise of cheers, but you couldn’t care less about the game.

Just as you reached Eddie’s van, moving to squint through the driver’s side window to see if he was inside, someone called out your name. The voice was so beautifully familiar, the cadence like a melody you knew by heart, its soft lilt your favorite tune in the world as your heart soared and plummeted to the ground like a stone at the bottom of a well all at the same time.

You whirled around, coming face to face with Eddie.

He was absolutely soaked.

His mess of dark curls was plastered to his pale face in wet tangles, and rain was dripping into his face, running down his cheeks like tears as he held your gaze and stammered, “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you –“

“What are you doing?”, you cut him off. The words came out harsher than you’d intended for them to sound, but…you couldn’t help it.

He looked like a lost puppy as he watched you with those damn doe eyes, wide with a silent plea. “I didn’t want to interrupt, I just…I wanted to see you,” he replied quietly, “And that was stupid because you obviously don’t wanna see me right now, I get that, I really do. So, uh…I decided to just wait here until after the game and…talk to you.”

He’d started fiddling with the rings on his fingers. Like he always did when he was nervous.

“I thought you already said everything you needed to,” you said.

It was getting more difficult to hold back the tears with every second.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathed, rubbing a hand over his face, fingers carding through the rain-soaked curls plastered to his forehead – and it was the familiarity of this nervous little gesture that finally broke the dam.

The tears started falling down your face to mingle with the cold rainwater, and your vision blurred as Eddie cooed, sounding as desperate as you felt, “No, no, no, no, please don’t cry, sweeth- please don’t cry, okay?”

“What else am I supposed to do?!”, you shot back, your voice already breaking like your heart had.

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hands, the stupid pompoms you were still clutching tickling your face, before Eddie gently pried your hands away from your face, taking the pompoms from you so you could swipe at the tears and the rain on your cheeks.

The gesture was so tender, so Eddie, that the tears only started to fall harder.

“I was stupid”, Eddie breathed, eyes on yours, pleading, “Really goddamn fucking stupid. Because I got scared.”

“Of what?”, you whispered.

“Of this.” Eddie waved the pompoms between the two of you. Under different circumstances, it would have been hilarious, seeing Eddie the metalhead absolutely soaked like a cat that got lost in the rain gesture heatedly with a pair of wet pompoms.

“Of…of not being enough,” he finished, taking a trembling breath that told you he was barely holding back his own tears. His bottom lip was trembling when he added, “I…I’ll wait here. Go back to your game and I’ll wait here and if you decide to hear me out – and I know I don’t deserve a single goddamn second more of your time but I’m begging you to grant it anyways – then I’ll be right here, ‘kay?”

The pouring rain was the only noise filling the deafening silence which settled over the two of you as Eddie waited for your reply.

And while your heart screamed at you to break the silence, to take his hand and tell him to never let you go again…your head told you not to.

He’d hurt you. He’d been the reason why you’d cried your heart out at the floor of the High School bathroom for the past few hours.

“I gave you my heart,” you whispered, “And you took it and smashed it on the floor of that fucking hallway. And then you left me there. Without any explanation. Just like that.”

It was hard to speak through the force of your tears choking you, the pouring rain all around drowning out your frail voice.

“Nothing has changed in the past hours, Eddie. I’m still a cheerleader. I’ve always been a cheerleader, and you’ve always been a freak. It was you who started to reduce us to that. It was you who made clear that I’ll be the one to break your heart while you were just doing the exact same thing with mine. That’s not fair. And I didn’t deserve that.”

And with tears falling down your face in hot rivulets that mingled with the cold rain, you turned to go back inside. You didn’t even have the strength to grab your pompoms back from him. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t go back to the game anyways, to cheering with a smile when you were soaked and freezing and numb and sobbing, with your breaking heart that was still screaming at you to stop and run back into his arms.

“I love you.”

Eddie’s words, spoken with such quiet fervor, froze you in your tracks.

“That night you walked into the diner for milkshakes and we first talked? It wasn’t just a lucky coincidence,” Eddie said, his voice nearly breaking underneath the force of his own emotions. “I…At the start of the school year, last summer, I got the bats tattoo.” You could hear the soft rustle of fabric as he raised his arm, clad in the sleeve of his leather jacket, but you didn’t have the strength to turn around yet, to look into those big brown eyes that would bring you to your knees.

“I doodled these bats on my chemistry homework a few days before that and I decided they looked metal so I got them tattooed and the next day in class – you were sitting beside me that day – you told me the bat tattoo was bitchin’,” Eddie went on. You didn’t need to see his face to know his own tears had started falling. “You told me that you’d seen me doodle them the other day and it was cool I got them tattooed and I was, like, a hundred percent sure you were poking fun of me. I waited for you to say something mean because that’s what people always do and you were a goddamn cheerleader and I was actually kinda scared out of my mind of you. But you didn’t mock me or laugh at me or call me a freak. You smiled. Really, genuinely smiled. And I never recovered from that.” He laughed; a low, disbelieving laugh as you felt your own tear-soaked smile tug at your lips as you remembered that day.

“I thought it was the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen,” Eddie continued, “Like sunshine. I started watching you after that day. At lunchbreak, class, in the hallways…it was so annoying. Because there was no way you’d ever talk to me again. Like, no way. Zero chance. But that grip you had on me ever since that day was insane. Like, you probably could have asked me to join the cheer squad and I wouldn’t have hesitated a single. Goddamn. Second. To put a ribbon in my hair and start cheering for Jason fucking Carver if you’d asked me to.”

His low, incredulous little laugh floated through the air.

Your favorite sound in the world.

And a broken little laugh ripped free from your own in response, mingling with more tears as your heart fluttered in your chest, with love and…hope.

“And when I saw your car in that diner’s parking lot six months ago,” Eddie went on, having a hard time speaking through his own tears, “I knew if I left that goddamn High School without shooting my shot and finally talking to you, I’d be the most stupid fucking dumbass in history. Going in there, walking up to you and saying hi was the one brave thing I ever did.”

Eddie paused, swallowing back his tears before he added, “And leaving you there in that cursed hallway today was the most stupid thing I ever did. So…I guess what I’m trying to say, what I’ve been trying to say for a while now but have been too chicken to actually say is…I love you, Y/N. I love you with all my cynical heart. And I’m sorry.”

In the rain-soaked silence that followed, you finally turned around to face him.

Eddie’s eyes, these beautiful dark eyes, were set on you, blinking against the rainwater running from his soaked hair and down his face, the tears in his eyes. He’d never looked so lost and desperate as he did right now, in the pouring rain, waiting for your reply.

“I was scared as well,” you said softly.

He tilted his head. “Of – of me?”

“You got a reputation as cult leader, satanist, freak and drug dealer. But you were always doodling stuff in your books and on your notes and I spent whole classes just watching you doodle. It always looked so cool. And I remember the day you doodled the Hellfire logo and showed up with the shirt a week later and I was so intrigued by that, the passion you put into the things you were doing. Drawing, D&D. Guitar. I saw you design your band’s logo as well. I felt like a weirdo, staring at you like that during classes,” you added with a soft chuckle, “But honestly, I couldn’t look away. You were sitting right in front of the window in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class, and the lighting always painted your hair in different shades. On rainy days it was ink-black, like the sharpie you used to draw. When it was sunny, it was all shades of chocolate. And you always smile when you’re drawing, that sweet small concentrated smile while you’re poking out your tongue. That was when I knew that the guy beside me in English Lit wasn’t the same menacing freak people made him out to be. And I was drawn in. And when I saw you got those bats tattooed, I shot my shot. You grinned, the most dazzling grin …and you never talked to me again until that night we met at Benny’s diner.”

For a heartbeat, there was only the pitter-patter of rain as you stared at each other, all the unspoken things hanging in the air between you until you finally broke underneath their weight.

“But what if you get scared again?”, you choked out. You weren’t sure Eddie would even hear your frail voice against the downpour of the rain pelting down on the asphalt, the parked cars, but he had.

The sad-looking, rain-soaked pompoms still clutched in his hands like a lifeline, Eddie sank down onto his knees, right in the middle of the parking lot in the pouring spring rain, utterly soaked and lost, and his eyes never left yours as he said, “Please, let me explain. Not rationalize, just…just explain. Five minutes. And then you can…you can leave, slap me, strangle me, whatever is it you wanna do.”

The sight of Eddie, kneeling on the wet asphalt of the parking lot, blinking against the rain that was dripping from the wet mess of his curls plastered to his face as he stared up at you, the plea in his huge dark eyes, the holding the soaked pompoms front of his chest…it was just so Eddie that the wave of affection overwhelmed you, stealing the words right off your tongue.

You gave him a curt nod, locking your arms in front of your chest as you waited for him to explain himself.

“In these two weeks since we stopped sneaking around, people have been horrible,” Eddie began. “It’s painted a target on your back. You never said anything about it but you didn’t need to because I know how most of the other cheerleaders have started treating you. That your friends stopped inviting you to parties…and the reason why you’re on this crashing downfall is me. And the thing is…maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t deserve to be with you. Maybe I’ll never be good enough. Just…what do I have to give you? It’s my third attempt at goddamn graduation. Shit, I’m selling drugs. I’m a weirdo. And you…you’re beautiful, and kind, and you’re insanely clever. And…what kind of future do I have to give you, other than some tiny, crappy apartment and milkshakes at an even crappier diner for date night? You deserve someone who can give you all the fancy stuff in the world that you deserve. Someone you can kiss in public without people being disgusted. Someone who’s not me. Someone who’s not a freak.” There was so much venom in his voice as he spat that word, so much bitterness and disdain.

And just like that, everything made sense.

Eddie hadn’t left because he didn’t want to endure the bullying and gossip and whispers any longer.

He’d left because he actually believed them.

He believed that he wasn’t enough.

He believed the bullies, with their cruel jabs and their nicknames and their vile gossip, were right.

Because…if you’re being told the same thing over and over again, all your life…of course you start to believe it.

“God, Eddie,”, you breathed. “I’m…first of all, these people talking shit about us are not my friends. They’ve never been. You are. You’re my best friend in the world. And instead of just talking to me about the things bothering you, you just started to shut me out. No explanation, nothing. Because if you’d bothered to tell me about what’s going on with you, I could have told you that…that you’re all I want. That crappy little apartment with you is all I want. Milkshakes at some shitty diner are all I want. Because it’s with you. I don’t care about fancy stuff or gossips as long as the person beside me is you. Nothing else matters, and nothing else will ever matter. I love you, Eddie. And I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to see why.”

You’d crossed the distance between the two of you, standing right beside his van now.

There was a heartbeat of silence as the two of you stared at each other. Beneath the soaked strands of his hair, the dark chocolate brown of his curls turned into midnight black by the rain, Eddie’s dark eyes were brimming with tears as they rested on you.

“You…you love me?”, he breathed, his voice trembling, barely audible over the noise of the downpour.

He sounded incredulous. Bewildered.

It tore your heart to ribbons, to realize Eddie truly didn’t see how anyone could be in love with him when he deserved all the love in the world.

He must have seen the answer in your eyes already – because he didn’t wait for your reply.

Eddies hands came up to cradle your face before his lips crashed on yours in a kiss so desperate and fierce that it made the parking lot, the rain, the whole world around you blur as each and every one of your senses came alive to narrow in on Eddie.

On the feeling of his lips against yours, his thumbs brushing away the droplets of rain and tears streaming down your face as he gently angled your head to deepen the kiss, pressing closer while your fingers buried in the mess of his soaked curls at the nape of his neck to draw the softest of moans from his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie breathed into the kiss, his lips chasing yours, “I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna run again. I promise.”

You knew he meant it. With all his heart.

Your hands buried in his soaked curls, you pulled him closer, and Eddie obliged happily, pressing himself against you while your back thudded against the hood of his van.

One of his hands roamed down your waist, to your thigh, as he helped you sit on the metal of the hood, not caring for the rain soaking your skirt as you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer, and the sweetest noise tumbled from Eddie’s lips as you bucked your hips against his, your crotch meeting the growing bulge in his pants to make him groan into the kiss as his tongue grazed your bottom lip.

You didn’t care about the pouring rain or the hard metal of the van’s hood beneath you. Nothing else mattered but Eddie’s lips on yours, his arms around you.

The cold of the spring night was melted away by the heat of Eddie’s body pressed against yours, the blissful burning sensation his kisses sent through you.

His arm snaked around you, hand settling on the back of your head to support your weight as the other slipped underneath the soaked shirt of your cheerleader uniform, fingertips drawing small circles on your wet skin as his tongue danced over yours, his intoxicating taste of chocolate and the faintest trace of cigarettes mingling with the rain and the salt of your tears invading your senses and sending your mind spinning like sparkling, frizzing champagne injected straight in your veins – only better. So, so much better.

Intoxicating and dizzying in all the ways only Eddie ever could make you feel.

With each kiss, so ravenous and greedy and gentle and sweet all at the same time, Eddie was placing all the pieces of your heart back together, mending what he’d broken.

Rain and darkness became your guardians, shielding you from the cruel, prying eyes of the rest of the world as you sunk into Eddie’s arms, rolling your hips against his with more vigor this time, and his answering groan, vibrating through your own body to stoke the embers glowing in your core into flames, drifted into the rain-filled dark of the parking lot.

The sodden skirt of your uniform had ridden up with the movement, and Eddie’s hand left your waist to roam down, exploring the side of your thigh, fingertips warm against your cold skin as he started to toy with the waistband of your panties, thumb hooking around the fabric as you pressed closer in a silent plea for him to follow through and remove the damn thing –

“Wait,” Eddie breathed, pulling away to assess you, and concern took over his expression.

“We need to get you somewhere warm before you catch your death out here,” he said softly – and only then did you realize you were, indeed, shivering. Tremors were racing through your body as the freezing spring-rain soaked through the fabric of your cheerleader uniform, running down the bare skin of your arms, your legs, plastering the fabric to your body and settling on your skin with biting intensity.

“Oh,” you replied, mind still caught up in the blissful haze of his kisses.

But when Eddie moved to gently pull you down from the hood of his van, back towards the gym with him, you called out softly, “No. I don’t want to go back in there right now.”

Eddie tilted his head, confusion still written across his features before his eyes lit up with an idea. “Then the van it is. Come on, sweetheart. Gotta warm you up.”

“You did a pretty good job with that already,” you teased as Eddie ripped open the doors at the back of the van, helping you climb inside with a gallant little bow before following you, pulling the doors shut to lock the two of you in the peaceful solitude of the car.

The band equipment which was usually occupying the cargo space was gone, leaving room for the two of you.

Eddie knelt in front of you as you sat, already grabbing one of the scratchy old wool blankets stacked in the back he usually used as padding to keep the band’s equipment safe from his maniacal driving style.

“C’mere,” he said softly, unfolding the blanket as he scooted closer, and your heart fluttered happily in your chest at the tenderness with which he wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, using the edges to gentle swipe at the mix of rain and drying tears on your cheeks, drawing a soft smile from you before you grabbed a second blanket.

“Your turn,” you instructed, gesturing for Eddie to shrug off the sodden combination of denim vest and leather jacket. The shirt beneath was plastered to his chest, and you inched closer to put the blanket around his shoulders, carding your fingertips through the wet strands of his bangs falling into his forehead – and Eddie reached out to gently catch your wrist.

“Are we…”, he began but drifted off timidly, and sadness flooded his umber eyes, as if he were scared to voice the question dangling in the air between the two of you.

He swallowed, gathering his courage underneath your own soft gaze before he said quietly, “Do you still want me?”

Affection washed over you at the anxiety in his gaze, the soft tremble of his bottom lip, and you gently freed your wrist from his grasp to lace your fingers with his.

“You’ve always been the only one I wanted, Eddie Munson.”

The smile on his lips was radiant, dazzling, warming you from within as he slowly pulled you towards him, onto his lap, his hands leaving yours to settle on your hips beneath the blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape, the warmth of his palms seeping through the sodden fabric of your shirt.

And with an intensity in his dark eyes that burned right through you in all the best ways, Eddie murmured, “I’m a goddamn dumbass.”

“You are,” you agreed with a soft giggle, “But you’re my goddamn dumbass.”

“Where were we?”, he grinned, nuzzling your nose, that radiant smile still on his lips.

But you bit your lip, scanning his face, before you timidly asked, “Is that why we didn’t…make it to Third Base yet?”

The little wince in reply didn’t escape your notice, but before your heart could sink again, he said, “At first, I wanted to take things slow and do it right and be a gentleman.”

“And then?”

“Then I got scared. Because…I’ve never, you know. I was scared senseless I’d do something wrong. I’m…I’m not confident. I’m just really good at playing pretend. I mean, I’m confident when I play D&D or my guitar but I feel like these are the only two things I’m actually good at so…”

He drifted off again, averting his gaze.

Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, and you gently tilted his head to make him meet your gaze before you murmured, “What happened in those two weeks, Eddie?”

He meekly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to fight his tears, and your heart bled for him – and raged, about all the bullying and the cruelties he must have had to endure for them to lodge as deep as they obviously had.

“You can tell me,” you pleaded softly. “You know you can tell me, right?”

You could tell he was fighting the tears, the shame – and had you been able to set fire to the whole damn town for treating him like this, making sweet, caring, kind Eddie believe the ugly, vile things they were whispering about him, you would have burned this whole Hellhole to the ground.

“You also know you don’t have to tell me,” you added, brushing away a few soaked curls from his cheeks. “You can tell me when you’re ready. Okay?”

He gave you a curt nod, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

And into the silence which followed, filled by the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the van’s roof, you placed the softest, delicate kiss on his cheek before you breathed, “I love you, Eddie Munson. For the way you light up every room with your smiles and your laugh. For seeing people, instead of just looking at them. For choosing kindness when it would be easier to just be rude. For caring about all the lost little sheepies.” Your words coaxed a timid little smile from his as he watched you, your fingertips playing with the sodden dark curls framing his face, “For caring. For being unapologetic and yourself even if you don’t think you’re brave, because sadly, being yourself in a world like ours and a town like Hawkins is the bravest thing one could do. And for giving others the courage to do the same. For giving me the courage to do the same.”

“Chances are,” he quipped, that tender smile playing on his lips, “That no matter how weird you are, I’ll still be the weirdest one in the room.”

You chuckled softly, before your expression grew stern once more. “I mean it. I love you, for more reasons than there are raindrops falling outside. And I’m sorry people don’t care enough to look at you, because if they did, they’d love you just as much as I do, Eddie Munson.”

“I don’t care if people love me,” he breathed, leaning closer, his lips hovering over yours, “I only care that you do. Nothing else matters.”

And his lips captured yours.

The kiss was sweet, slower than the ones you’d shared in the rain, yet it had lost none of its fierceness.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as you buried your fingertips in his curls once more, relishing the low moan the motion coaxed from Eddie’s lips, the sensation of his soft, soaked strands gliding through your fingers, rainwater running down your palms as you sunk into the kiss.

And with each movement of his lips against yours, you could feel his doubts melting away alongside your own.

Something had changed, in the way he touched you, you realized.

Something you hadn’t consciously realized had been there before.

Where the caress of Eddie’s hands had been restrained by hesitation before, it had grown bold. Where his kisses had been careful, as if he’d always feared to do something wrong, to overstep and scare you away, there was no more holding back now.

It was like a dam had broken, and you happily let the tide sweep you away, immerse you in the way his hands roamed over your sides, slipped beneath your cheerleader uniform to explore every inch of you, painting gentle patterns on your wet skin like he used to draw his little doodles into his books.

You could feel him smile into the kiss as you uttered the softest of moans when he drew his fingernails up your spine, making you arch your back and roll your hips against his, the already soaked spot on your panties rubbing just right against the tent in his pants, and the shudder running through Eddie made the heat in your core blaze just as much as the sensation did.

“I need you,” you whispered, “If – if you want –“

“God, you have noooo idea how much,” Eddie cut you off with a soft chuckle – one that morphed into a sweet groan as you rolled your hips against his again as he eagerly met your movement with a buck of his own hips, his teeth gently grazing your lips as his hands roam down to the outside of your thighs, dragging his nails over your feverish skin to leave trails of sparks in the wake of his touches, nerves flaring like sparklers as your body came alive beneath his hands.

And it felt like your heart would burst out of your chest with nerves and exhilaration and love and arousal as Eddie’s thumb hooked around the waistband of your panties for the second time that night.

“These need to go,” he breathed into the kiss – a question more than a statement, asking for permission – and you replied with an eager nod.

“Then get rid of them,” you crooned, the heat in your core, the need for him, putting a low rasp into your voice you’d never heard there before.

And with the sound of tearing fabric filling the rain-laced silence of the van, the panties were gone, and you pulled away from the kiss to gape at Eddie.

Who looked just as surprised as you did.

“I’m…sorry,” he said, the sudden timidness in his expression not quite matching the way his pupils were blow, the black nearly eclipsing the umber shade of his irises in the half-dark in the van’s back, the dim, murky light of the parking lot’s streetlamps seeping through the windshield shedding just enough light.

“Did you just rip my panties?”, you giggled, and the guilt in his eyes grew as he replied, “Uh. You wanted them gone.”

“That’s hot,” you grinned. “Very metal.”

His relieved exhale filled the air before he kissed you again, one hand coming up to the nape of your neck as his other hand dove underneath the hem of your cheerleader skirt once again, fingertips gently wandering up the inside of your thigh, painting burning trails of pleasure over the sensitive skin, and the filthy sound you made when his thumb gently flicked over that spot at the apex of your thighs where you needed him most made you gasp in surprise. But before you could pull away from the kiss, before you could even think of feeling embarrassed, Eddie crooned into the kiss, “That was hotter. I hope there’s more where that was coming from.”

You smiled against his lips, and another groan bubbled up your throat as he repeated the motion, the pad of his thumb drawing slow circles over your clit, spreading the wetness that was pooling between your legs – one which had nothing to do with the rain and everything with him.

“Is this good?”, he whispered.

Yes, you wanted to reply, so good. But the sensations of burning pleasure the caress of his thumb was sending through you was stealing the words from your tongue and every rational thought from your mind until there was nothing left but the raw, all-consuming need for more, more, more.

Eddie seemed to understand, though – and your hips moving in sync with the caress of his fingertips over your soaked heat, you angled your head to trail kisses along his jaw, down the column of his throat, inhaling his intoxicating scent of leather and cologne and him, of the rainwater soaking his beautiful dark curls while your hands wandered down to slip beneath the hem of his shirt, caressing the soft skin beneath and relishing the sounds your kisses, your touches, conjured from his lips like the sweetest melody in the world.

“God, sweetheart,” Eddie breathed, and the rasp in his voice, darkened by his own arousal, did nothing to quench the need burning in your core, “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“So are you,” you whispered against his neck, feeling him shudder softly with the sensation of your hot breath fanning over his skin as his fingertips worked you into blissful oblivion.

“I need you,” you rasped, fingertips travelling down towards the waistband of his jeans, following the soft line of his happy trail before you stilled above the buckle of his belt, waiting for his permission, and a smile curved your lips as his hands left their previous position to undo the belt and help you free him.

Your gaze locked on his as your hand wrapped around his throbbing length, a barely suppressed groan ripping from his throat…and a sudden fit of nervousness gripped you.

And of course, Eddie – attentive, gentle Eddie – didn’t even take a split second to see the flicker of nerves which must have crossed your gaze, because with overwhelming tenderness in his gaze, his hands came down to grasp yours, lacing your fingers as he whispered, “We don’t have to do this now, sweetheart. We got all the time in the world, ‘kay?”

“I want this,” you said, your voice more vehement than you’d intended for. “I want all of you, Eddie. And I don’t want to wait a second longer, so if it’s what you want, too…”

The smile lighting up Eddie’s face even in the half-dark was the sweetest one you’d ever seen, so filled with love and tenderness and devotion for you that it made your heart sing as he said, “I don’t think there’s ever been anything I wanted more than…not just that. Just…you.”

For a heartbeat, you just smiled at each other.

Perfectly at ease in each other’s presence, just like it was supposed to be, like it had always been before you’d stopped sneaking around those two weeks ago.

“There’s just one more thing I need to do first,” you said softly, climbing to your feet, hunched so you wouldn’t hit your head on the van’s roof as you felt for the little button embedded there, and a triumphant little huff escaped you as you turned on the small ceiling light before you positioned yourself back on Eddie’s lap, straddling him – and froze as you saw the utter terror in his expression.

“Eddie? What’s wrong?”, you inquired softly, tilting your head.

“I – I’d thought we’d be leaving that off,” he replied hollowly.

And for the first time, you felt gnawing, gut-wrenching insecurity.

“Don’t you…want to see me?”, you asked timidly, heat rising in your cheeks, but the terror in Eddie’s gaze grew as he blurted, “NO! I mean, yes! Jesus, yes! I want to see you. It’s…you don’t have to see me.”

The way he spoke the words in a broken whisper, shattered you all over again.

Because it dawned on you what he might have heard in the course of his life to warrant such raging insecurity. In the course of the past two weeks. You could imagine it too vividly.

And your heart bled for him all over again.

“I don’t know how anyone could ever have perceived you as anything else,” you said quietly, taking his face in your hands, a silent plea for him to look at you, “But you’re beautiful, Eddie. Not just handsome, not just hot, but beautiful.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off when you fiercely added, “Like, that was the first thing I thought when I saw you for the first time, in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class. The only seat that was free was the one beside you and you looked at me with those stunning dark eyes and I was so, so nervous because I’d never seen you up close before and my heart plummeted three stories into the damn basement when I did because I knew I’d have the hardest time of my life not to ogle you like some creep. I mean, I did,” you snickered, “But very subtle.”

“You did?”

“God, yes. I memorized every detail. I’ll be getting my diploma in four weeks but I already graduated from the Eddie Munson Color Scheme School. I memorized the exact shades of your hair and the exact hue of your eyes before I ever told you the bat tattoo looked amazing. And I’m a little ashamed to tell you that my…my mind went a little bit into the gutter when I watched you draw your doodles, which, by the way, wasn’t about the doodles but your hands.”

There was a timid, bewildered little smile on Eddie’s soft lips as he watched you bite your lip.

“You…you’re not making that up?”, he inquired.

“The exact. Shade. Every little detail. It took me a week to memorize you better than I ever did my own damn reflection in the mirror so it’s safe to say I was crushing on you way before you started crushing on me.” Your expression softened as you placed a kiss on his cheek. “But I’ll turn the light off if you don’t want it. I just wanted you to know that whatever you heard…it was a lie. You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson. And maybe one day, I can help you see that, too.”

You made to rise from his lap and flip off the light, but Eddie’s hands grasped your waist, keeping you in place as he leaned in to kiss you.

And this time, there we no more interruptions. No more insecurities.

Just love.

“I love you, sweetheart” Eddie whispered into the kiss as he aligned himself with your entrance as you lifted your hips, heart racing with giddiness and love and the tiniest flutter of nerves – and with his beautiful umber eyes on yours, brimming with all the love mirrored in his voice, the tenderness of his touch as his free hand settled on your cheek, you slowly sunk onto him, burying him inside you, stretching you inch by tiny inch as you sunk down, breath hitching in your throat at the sensation, the tiny little sting of pain that didn’t escape his notice as he stilled. For a moment, worry took over his expression. “Wait, did – did that hurt?”

His voice was strained with a suppressed moan.

You were quick to shake your head. “No. Just a little sting. Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered with a smile.

You could sense how he wanted to protest, make sure you were okay when you were more than okay, and you met his lips in a kiss that was fierce enough to swallow all of his concerns as you settled in this new position. The sensation of him buried inside you knocked the air from your lungs and the strength from your body, delirious with the feeling of him as close as he could ever be, two pieces of a puzzle falling in place, and your eyes fluttered close with the flood of sensations.

“You good?”, Eddie asked, his fingertips caressing your cheeks, his voice strained with his arousal as he waited for you to adjust to him – and your mind went blank when you rolled your hips, your whole body turning into a live wire with the sensation bolting through your nerves, with Eddie’s blissed-out moan filling the interior of his van as he slowly rolled his hips to match your rhythm, his lips finding yours as his arms wrapped around you, your own hands burying in his mess of sodden curls.

It was better, so much better, than anything you’d ever imagined.

“Don’t stop”, you whispered as he gently thrust up, his hips snapping against yours, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you to make you throw your head back as currents of pleasure zapped through your body, building this glowing, white-hot pressure in your core with each thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” Eddie murmured between moans. His breath prickled on your lips before he caught them in another kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy and sweet at the same time as you got lost in the moment, the raw, radiant bliss Eddie was making you feel, the sensation of your bodies melting together so perfectly, as if you were made for each other.

The sweet noises tumbling from his soft lips mingled with yours in-between kisses while his free hand began to trail your spine, the side of your neck, gently tilting your head to give him access to your throat. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin over your racing pulse as you cried out in pleasure at the throbbing ache building in your core, driving him deeper into your throbbing heat with each of his thrusts, each roll of your hips to match his pace, your heart pounding as fast as the rain still pelting down onto the van’s roof.

“I love you”, Eddie whispered, “I love you so much.”

The dark, rasping timbre of his voice engulfed your senses as his hand snaked beneath your skirt once more, fingertips dancing over your clit to draw the most sinful sounds from you with the skill you’d watched him play his beloved guitar so many times, building that glowing pressure in your core until you thought you’d burst with it.

With a final cry of pleasure, your climax washed over you, swept you away in a white-hot wave of bliss that made stars explode in your vision, your fingers tightening in his hair as you could feel him come undone alongside you at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, your name tumbling from his lips as he rested his forehead against yours.

There was only Eddie, buried deep inside you, making you feel as if you were flying as his hands found their way to your hips to help you lazily ride out your climaxes together.

And with the softest sigh bubbling from your lips, you collapsed against Eddie, face buried in the crook of his neck while his hands came up to caress the sides of your face, placing the softest kisses on the crown of your head as he murmured, a little timid all of a sudden, “Was…was that good for you?”

You raised your head to give him a blissful little smile, caught up in the daze of your afterglow. “God, this was so much better than good, Eddie.”

“Good,” Eddie grinned. “This…this was amazing. Like…I figured it would be amazing but this was…this was so much better than I even dreamed of and I dreamed of this, with you, more times than I’m comfortable admitting.” He let out a breathless chuckle of his own that mingled with your giggles.

He looked positively blissed. His curls, only just beginning to dry, were a wild mess, his pale cheeks dusted with a soft blush, and his umber eyes were wide, filled with so much joy and love that you felt a lump in your throat as he mirrored your grin with the most radiant, dazzling smile of his own.

“So, uh,” he grinned, nuzzling your nose, “I wanted to ask that over chocolate milkshakes at Benny’s diner but I figured now’s just as good a time as any, so…wanna go to prom with me?”

You reeled back, gaping at him. “Like, prom prom?”

“Um. Is there, like, more than one?”

The alarm in his eyes made you laugh. “No, I mean. You. Eddie Munson. Going to prom?”

“Well, since we’re official and the plan still stands to turn heel and get the Hell outta here together as soon as we get those diplomas, I thought I could just as well do something…weird for one night.”

You laughed, and Eddie joined in, his hand grasping yours to guide it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss on your knuckles.

“Uh, you didn’t reply yet. Getting a little nervous here, sweetheart.”

“Only if you attend in your best leather jacket.”

You could visibly see him deflate with relief at the thought of not having to wear an actual tuxedo, and your smile turned mischievous as you drawled, “And only if you help me pick out the dress you get to rip off of me afterwards.”

“That’s a deal I can live with,” he grinned, before his expression softened once more.

“I love you, sweetheart. And as long as you’ll have me…I’ll stay. Promise.”

-----

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rainybubbles · 2 months

Text

10 A.M- Ghost x plus size reader

-Summary : Every day on leave Ghost watches his neighbor at 10AM during his smoke break. Will it lead to more ? (yes, especially with Johnny involed.)

-(Sorry in advance, English is not my first language, so sorry if it's bad or OOC. And I've posted it on ao3 months ago, so it's normal if you feel like a déjà vu)

-10 am. The ballet was starting.

-A foot missing a step, a groan of pain, clothes thrown on the ground, and an apple bitten into hastily. Breakfast was beginning, and the curtain rose, giving Simon the perfect view of his neighbor's daily spectacle across the landing.

-Eyes so sunken they rivaled his own, hands with nails cut short—Simon wondered why so short, perhaps their job? A habit? And their body, all curves.

-That's what had caught his attention in the hallway the first time.

-Such a ominous building welcoming such a pure ray of sunshine like them, Simon couldn't help but bask in their warmth from the shadows.

-A glint in a corridor had eventually become a routine. When Simon smoked on his balcony, they would open their curtains, and slowly, without knowing it, their routines became intertwined at certain hours of the day, briefly filling Simon's respites with a bit of humanity.

-"What are ye lookin’ at?"

-"Nothing that concerns you, Johnny."

-"L.T, come on." Johnny, curious, stepped onto the balcony, but they were already gone.

-"I’ve put up with you enough, stop pokin’ your nose in."

-"Ye volunteered when Price asked who could help me with my cast during our leave. Because Gaz was with his fiancée and Price with his sister. That's friendship."

-"Pity," Ghost corrected him.

-"It still means I make ye feel things, L.T."

-"Yes, and it's exasperation."

-"Seriously, what were ye starin’ at? I mean, apart from the poor garden, there's nothin’."

-Simon ignored him. One word and he knew what Johnny would say.

-"Talk to them. You have nothing to lose."

-Worse, the Scotsman might set up a situation where he'd end up stuck in an elevator with them. The explosives expert knew much more about physics and math than he let on.

-"By th’ way, have ye ever had someone in yer life, L.T.?"

-“…”

-"I see, we're playin’ neither yes nor no?"

-"We're playin’ 'no personal questions.'"

-"I'll tak’ that as a yes. Ah wonder whit yer type is? Redhead? Blonde? Brunette? Tall? Short? Or maybe brown, green, blue, gray eyes?"

-"People who don't ask questions."

-"Damn, rejected like that."

-"That's enough, Johnny."

-"Okay, I… would ye introduce me if ye ever had someone in yer life, no?"

-"No."

-"What?! Come on, I'm adorable!"

-"And invasive."

-"I left a sock lyin’ around one time." Soap remembered the incident.

-"In a frying pan."

-"It was an accident."

-Ghost sighed. His gaze shifted to the window; damn, he wished he could catch a glimpse of them for a moment, to gain some strength. As if his prayer had been heard, the window opened, their head appeared, watering their plants.

-"I see, so it wasn't just a cigarette," Johnny said with a smug smile.

-Unfortunately, that also meant they'd just watered trouble for Ghost.

-"Johnny."

-"I'm just saying they’re beautiful, that's all."

-"Not a word."

-"So… the curves?"

-"Johnny," Simon repeated, annoyed.

-"Okay, not a word."

-A silence fell, but Simon couldn't stand Soap's trembling leg.

-"One question." He eventually gave in.

-"How long?"

-"None."

-"What?"

-"We're not dating."

-"So a crush, huh?"

-"We're not in high school anymore."

-"But ye have a crush on yer neighbor like a teenager."

-"Johnny," Simon warned him.

-Soap backed off before grinning smugly.

-"I get it, I'd be the same if they were my neighbor, they seem cute," he added

-"Johnny, damn it," Ghost sighed, his cheeks slightly tinged with red.

-Soap laughed.

-"It's cute. I guess ye won't talk tae them?"

-"No. Not with our profession, not with my personality. they deserve better."

-"Even fur one night?"

-"I don't want a one-night stand, not with them."

-"I see, condemned to yearn, a wee bit sad."

-Simon didn't reply; it was his routine. Observe, analyze, and act. His strategy had been clear from the start: do nothing.

-So he finished his cigarette, hoping it would be 10 am again soon to relive this peaceful anticipation. The sun set, and it all began again.

-5 am, wake up. 6 am, jogging. 7 am, back, ready to take a shower and face Johnny.

-"Oh, sorry."

-But sometimes routines break. Simon watched his neighbor, struggling to move a too-heavy piece of furniture up the stairs.

-"Can I help you?"

-"I… I don't want to bother you, especially since you just came back from exercising—"

-"It's nothing."

-He carried what looked like a wardrobe to their landing.

-"Thanks again. I… I don't know if you knew, but we're neighbors. My name's y/n, I moved in there after Matilda. I know they wasn't… well-liked?"

-"We could say that."

-"No need to downplay it; I know they threw tomatoes at all the doors, ripped up their garbage on all the landings, and dismantled a door by mistake."

-"Hm."

-"I mean, at 80, it's impressive," y/n laughed.

-"For sure," he chuckled.

-"So, you're Smith, right?"

-Oh yes, the fake name on his mailbox.

-"Yeah."

-"Well, thank you, Mr. Smith. Honestly, I don't know how I would've managed without you. I told my roommate that having such a big wardrobe was pointless, but they never listens to me."

-"Roommate?"

-"Yeah, she lives with me. their name's Léa, maybe you've met her? Tall, blonde."

-"Hm."

-"She always wakes up late, and I wake up early, so we kind of live in the dark in the apartment, like real vampires. Perhaps you know her ?"

-"Thank you, Léa," Simon thought. Without her, he'd never catch sight of y/n on their balcony.

-"No, I don't think so."

-"I see. Do you have a roommate too?"

-"At the moment, yes, but it's temporary."

-"Oh, I see, a friend crashing. Happens."

-"Actually, he takes care o’ me," a voice said.

-If Simon could slow down his reaction, he'd be sure to see panic. Johnny, smiling, approached and introduced himself.

-"John, nice tae meet ye. This big guy keeps an ee on me, wi’ ma broken arm."

-"Oh, I see, that's not easy. Nice to meet you."

-"Ye ken, I was plannin’ tae make some muffins; I thought if ye like them, we could maybe give ye some since this guy doesnae like sweet stuff."

-"Johnny."

-"What, you don't like them?" y/n asked, surprised.

-"I… it's not my thing, that's all."

-"I see," y/n smiled. "Why not, okay, well, I mean don't poison us, but okay."

-"I'm no’ sure that would convince anyone no’ tae poison ye," John replied.

-"Maybe, but does it work on you?"

-"Aye," Johnny laughed.

-y/n thanked them and closed their door. Soap, with a victorious smile, looked at Simon.

-"Don't start."

-"We're makin’ progress, L.T, recon mission wit’ introduction."

-"This isn't a mission."

-"Of course, it is. Gaz agrees wi’ me."

-"Gaz knows?!"

-"It's the 21st century, L.T, phones are magical."

-"No."

-"By the way, if they ask for yer number, ye'll have to give them one that's not disposable…"

-"There won't be a number."

-"I bet there will be; they seem nice."

-"They thanked me for a favor; it's just politeness."

-"If ye say so."

-"Nothing's going to happen, Johnny."

-"We'll see."

---------------------

-"I was thinking we should exchange numbers! It's always handy, for dog sitting, plant watering, breakdowns, broken showers, or anything else."

-Soap looked at him triumphantly. Certainly, it wasn't y/n asking, but Léa, after accepting their muffins and inviting them inside. But Soap saw the papers with the two different numbers, indicating that y/n's was included.

-"For sure, but isn't a roommate kind o’ a hassle? I mean, I remember wi’ other folk’s boyfriends an’ girlfriends, it can get awkward," Soap asked.

-"For that, there would have to be some," Simon replied.

-"What dae ye mean?" "Well, I'm not interested, and y/n… they…"

-Léa seemed hesitant.

-"New acquaintances aren't really their thing, with social anxiety, you know."

-Simon raised an eyebrow. they had seemed so calm. He was also accustomed to social avoidance, so y/n's reaction to him surprised him, unless they had grown accustomed to his presence before. But that would mean he was a familiar face to them. Which would imply…

-That at 10 am, he wasn't the only one watching.

-A warm feeling filled his heart.

-"Why are ye smiling?" Soap murmured as they returned to his apartment. "It's bad news if they's as bad as you at talking, you'll be together when Price runs out of beanies to wear."

-"Hm, if you say so."

-"L.T, tell me, I ken ye ken something."

-"Soap, it's none of your business."

-"The code name, really?"

- "Johnny."

- "Simon."

-Neither broke eye contact; Johnny eventually sighed and raised his only free hand in surrender. Ghost nodded.

-He looked forward to the next 10 am.

________________________________

-At 10 am, with a cigarette in his mouth, they were there. their eyes on their hands. He smiled. Target acquired. How could he have missed it?

-Using his hands, he executed a slight sign of recognition. they jumped, surprised he had noticed them; he smirked. they responded with a hand waving back. He signaled for them to open the window.

-"Nice view?" he asked.

-"On such a shabby garden, no," they replied, ignoring his implication.

-"I meant the neighborhood.”

-"Well, not everyone can have a balcony."

-"Or a pretty neighbor."

-"I—"

-"Have a good day, y/n." He went back inside.

-Nothing will happen, my ass, Soap muttered as he watched him.

_______________________________

-Slowly, it became his game. Spotting y/n, signaling to them, and lightly flirting.

-It was nothing. Just a game of cat and mouse, that's all. It wouldn't lead to anything, he kept telling himself. But every day he waited for them.

-Praying that Price wouldn't call him. But apparently this time his thoughts weren't heard; Soap was sent to the base under someone else's watch, and Price called him for a mission. 10 a.m. should wait.

____________________

-"Mr. Smith?"

-Tired. Covered in mud, smelling of powder. Simon was back after three months, his eyes empty, his face covered, only his eyes remained. y/n stood in the hall, in pajamas, letters in hand, probably looking for their mail at... 1 a.m.? Who would do that?

-"y/n.”

-“ Everything alright? You're soaked. You know if you have a dryer problem, we have one."

-"Everything's fine."

-"I see. I... I got worried because I didn't see you around, I wondered if something happened to you."

-His cowardly heart quickened at this concern.

-"It was nothing, just work."

-"I see, you travel a lot then."

-"Yeah, you could say that."

-"Must be tiring, never... feeling at home, right?"

-Simon couldn't get a word in. He had never thought about it, in his childhood home, his sanctuary, he had never thought about it as his home, so as he grew up, he had no attachment to a place.

-"Not really."

-"Not a homebody?"

-"Yeah, but just a bit."

-"I... sorry, I'm asking questions while you're exhausted, I'm really sorry."

-"No need to apologize, such a pretty face coming home erases all fatigue."

-they frowned their eyebrows..

-"Do you mean that or is it for Léa?"

-Simon was surprised by the sharper tone.

-"Léa?"

-"If you want to get closer to Léa, please don't use me. I... honestly, all this flirting is confusing, if it's her, then don't use me."

-"I don't want Léa."

-"Oh." y/n paused, “then why?"

-"I don't know, why do people flirt, y/n?"

-"You."

-"Me."

-"So all this time..."

-"I'm eagerly waiting for 10 a.m., y/n."

-"I-, I'm sorry, I just thought you really liked Léa, I let my insecurities take over without even thinking about that, and I apologize for that."

-"No worries, now everything is clear. Goodnight y/n and see you tomorrow morning."

-"See you tomorrow morning, Mr. Smith."

-"Simon."

-"Hm?"

-"Call me Simon."

-Maybe Soap was right; he knew from the beginning that this wouldn't just be a flirt.

______________________________

-At 10 a.m., Simon noticed a blanket on his balcony. Hand-knitted with a post-it.

-"I'm not there today, but you seemed cold in the morning, so welcome back and have a good day."

-Slowly, he took the soft fabric. Draping it over his shoulders, he closed his eyes, letting the nicotine escape from his mouth.

-He knew he shouldn't. A part of him screamed not to trust, to flee. But he was so tired. He, too, wanted to go home and have that smile.

-Suddenly, the blanket felt too cold, the nicotine too bitter, and the balcony too narrow.

-What was he doing dreaming of a normal life?

-Simon was officially dead, flesh living for a task force. He shouldn't even think of the hope of surviving long. He had given up on that. Slowly, he placed the blanket back on the balcony. The window was closing. He decided that maybe the 10 a.m. breaks weren't a good idea.

___________________________

-"You ken, it's no’ Pokémon, L.T."

-"Johnny," Ghost calibrated his rifle as the car swerved through the bends.

-"What's he talking about?" Gaz, in uniform beside them, ready for the mission, asked.

-"Our dear L.T. fled like a Pokémon facin’ its neighbor."

-"My life is none of your business."

-"Ye're missin’ something extraordinary, obviously. They just told ye it's mutual, an’ there ye are, runnin’ away. Imagine what ye’re sayin’ tae them."

-"It's better for them."

-"Coward."

-Simon looked away. It was better this way. Proof was, he was off again to risk his life for two months. No one wanted a life like this.

-y/n didn't know about Ghost, didn't know about the PTSD, about Tommy, about Joseph. He was just the slightly mysterious neighbor from the balcony.

-"They know nothing, it's better this way."

-"Maybe he's right, Soap. Some people aren't meant to be with soldiers," Gaz tried to reason.

-"He's just using runnin’ away as a defense mechanism, Gaz."

-Simon ignored the rest. The voices were blurring. He had to stay away from y/n; their warmth could burn him if he got too close.

_______________________

-Dead.

-He held the dead girl's body in his arms.

-Riddled with bullets, their poor little hands weakly holding onto Ghost's uniform in a last hope for life.

-The blood on his hands wouldn't go away. He washed, scrubbed, scraped, over and over.

-The blood remained on his hands.

-He had to save them.

-He had failed.

-The mission was a success.

-But everyone was dead.

-The coldness of the body wouldn't go away.

-The shower didn't help; no matter how hard he scrubbed, increasing the heat, nothing could rid him of the horror.

-His breathing wouldn't calm, his vision darkening, his legs trembling.

-He knew what was happening.

-Slowly he sat on the floor, the sound of water deafening, his ears ringing, the hot and cold alternating in his body, sweat increasing. A panic attack.

-"One, two, three." He repeated. Trying to calm himself, he began counting again. One, two, three.

-But the numbers tangled, and the memories seemed so real. The girl's body seemed to be at his feet. He knew it was impossible; he was in a shower, in a terrible apartment, not on the battlefield. But nothing could be done about it.

-"Mr. Smith?"

-Everything shattered. His bubble burst, and suddenly reality hit him. Getting up, staggering, he grabbed a towel and walked to his front door out of habit.

-"Yes?" he managed to say, his hoarse voice scratching his throat.

-"I'm sorry to interrupt, but our shower exploded, and I was wondering if you knew about it or if you could let me borrow yours because I... I'm a bit covered in ink."

-He opened his door completely, and...

-y/n, hands covered in blue ink, even their nose staring at him wide-eyed. Remembering his attire consisting only of a towel, he closed the door.

-"I'll get dressed and be right there."

-"Yes, I- sorry again, I didn't know you were in the shower."

-He didn't reply. Damn it, he had promised not to let their into his life.

-Putting on a hoodie and sweatpants, he opened his door.

-"On the left at the back." He indicated in a slightly dry tone. His thoughts still roughed up after his panic attack.

-Noticing that y/n wasn't moving, he frowned.

-"I wanted to know if I offended you? I don't know if I'm imagining something, but it looks like you're avoiding me?"

-Not as discreet as he thought.

-"I was busy."

-"I see. If I offended you anyway, I apologize."

-"It's not your fault, y/n."

-"Oh."

-"Just... shitty job."

-"PTSD?"

-Simon stopped.

-"The walls are thin, you can hear the girl from the fifth floor sneezing, so you can imagine that your screams at night..." She added.

-"I see."

-"My father had it too, if you ever need help, well not psychological help, that's more for a therapist, but support, I can." y/n said anxiously.

-He blew air out of his nose.

-"Military father?"

-"Cop," they replied.

-Simon noticed the underlying tension.

-"Not on good terms?"

-"Few people get along with their father, right?"

-"Some do."

-"Do you?"

-"No."

-They smiled.

-"To rotten fathers, then.

-“To rotten fathers. Now I suppose you should hurry if you don't want the ink to dry on your hands."*

- "Oh shit, yeah."

-Y/n rushed into the shower. When they returned a few moments later, Simon watched them.

-"Any reason for this ink explosion?"

-"It's ridiculous,”they said, but Simon motioned for them to sit down.

-"Go ahead."

- "I like... tattooing. I don't have the talent, but I like to try tattooing fake skins in my spare time, but my blue ink exploded so I tried to use the shower but it looks like we have a plumbing problem."

-"Tattooing?"

-"Yeah, but it's nothing crazy, just a hobby."

-He nodded.

-"Well, I'll get going." they murmured.

-Ghost wanted to hold their back. His hand reaching out reflexively, he thought better of it.

_______________________________

-"So?"

-"So what? Didn't you listen to Price during the briefing?" Ghost replied to Soap.

-"Ah’m nae talkin’ about that, but the GIL mission."

-"Gil?"

-"Ghost in love."

-"I'm not in love."

-"Hmm, so nae progress wi’ the neighbor?"

-"Soap."

-The Scot stopped. Feeling the blue-eyed gaze not leaving him for a moment, Ghost sighed.

-"We talked again."

-"Ah!"

-“Shower problem, they needed one."

-"Is that it?"

-"We're neighbors."

-"That's disappointin’."

-"Thanks, Johnny." Ghost replied sarcastically.

-Simon spared the details. It wasn't just a shower, but a shower during the two weeks of leave he had had.

-With the plumber unable to find the problem, y/n and Léa had somewhat cohabited with Simon for that brief moment. Maybe... he had shared more teas with y/n than he admitted.

-Even if he wanted to flee, to shut himself off, to reject y/n, he crawled for a crumb of their attention.

_____________

-Returning from his mission, Simon walked through the hall when he heard it. Cries echoing in the corridor.

-His landing.

-Knowing that Madeline, the other neighbor on the landing, couldn't cry due to death, it was either Léa or y/n.

-Approaching, he noticed a silhouette sitting on the doormat. y/n. they seemed to be trying to pick up debris from the floor, their hands bleeding.

-Worried at the sight of the red liquid, he walked towards them without thinking, examining their wounds. Pieces of metal and glass were in their hand.

-"Simon," they managed to articulate between sobs.

-"What happened?"

-"It's stupid, honestly, I'm ridiculous crying over this, but... a box fell and broke my tattoo machine. I know I could buy a new one, but that... it broke me?"

-Ghost was relieved it wasn't anything serious. He nodded.

-"It's not a big deal, it's your passion."

-"I know, but an artist doesn't cry when they run out of lead with their pencil."

-"Well, then they should invest in tons of tissues," Simon joked.

-They laughed through the tears.

-"It's just... everything, I guess. I'm tired, I have a shitty job, I thought I'd finally make it with my fake skins, and now my machine breaks like a sign."

-"Not a sign," Simon said. "Don't give up. Now let me look at this; we'd want to avoid infection and stitches."

-They nodded and followed Simon into his apartment. Ghost's expert hands treating theirs.

-"The tattoo," Simon began. "It's not just a passion, is it?"

-"I... it was my dream for a while."

-"'Was'?"

-"My parents wanted something safe, I didn't know anatomy, people drew better than me. At 13, I was the artist of the class, the little prodigy, at 18 I was just an artist like everyone else. I had nothing... extraordinary, so I gave up."

-Simon nodded.

-"I don't think so," he finally added, finishing their bandage.

-"What?"

-"That you gave up. You may think so, but practicing so hard, continuing to do it every day, it seems like you've always held on."

-"I... never saw it like that."

-"Plus, who wouldn't dream of being tattooed by an angel?"

-"Simon!"

-He smiled.

-"I missed... our exchanges," they whispered.

-He stopped.

-"Me too."

-"Okay, so are we starting fresh? No more running away?"

-"I can't promise that."

-"Oh."

-"I was talking about constant exchange, I've been... an asshole thinking I was doing the right thing, but it seems obvious that no matter my efforts, our paths intersect."

-"So you'll stop running?" y/n asked, their eyes meeting his.

-"For now," Simon finally said.

-"I see, cool," y/n said.

-"Cool," he repeated, squeezing their hand.

-They got up and left. Simon let his eyes wander over their curves.

-Fuck.

_____________

- "Not a word, Johnny," Ghost said, putting his things down.

-"I didnae say anythin’!" the Scotsman complained, entering the briefing room.

-"I know what you were going to ask, and no."

-"So it's progressin’."

-"Johnny."

-"Okay. Just... ye're allowed tae be happy, L.T."

-"Hm."

-Simon avoided his gaze, his attention on Price. The captain questioned Simon with his eyes, Simon indicated with the same look that he would explain later.

________________

-“Ten o'clock breaks are nicer on a balcony."

-"Really? I thought you preferred waking up in the dark and stumbling around looking for your window," Ghost joked.

-y/n laughed. "Mean. It's cool to see the other side," they said, blowing on the tea Ghost had made.

-Sitting across from him, Simon could get used to it. A morning shared together, a breakfast enjoyed. The sun bathing their face, their hair tousled from waking up...

-"Hm, better than spying?"

-"You're the one who was stalking me."

-"You were doing the same."

-"But I wasn't looking at the other with a murderous look, I thought you hated me at first."

-"Really?"

-"Yes. I mean, I'm not the sexiest view in the world, so I thought you hated seeing me when you smoked. I even tried to shift my hours so you wouldn't see me."

-He laughed. "You're the sexiest view there is, y/n."

-"Wrong, there's Megan thee Stallion."

-"Hm, second view then."

-His phone beeped. Simon sighed.

-"Is it work?"

-"Yes."

-"You're leaving?"

-"In two days."

-"I guess you can't tell me where."

-"No."

-"Or how long."

-"Hm."

-"So, two months."

-"What?"

-"Well, if you can't say anything, I can imagine it, right? Like your mask, I never knew why, so I imagined you had vampire teeth."

-"Vampire teeth?" Simon mocked.

-"You never went out except at night, you came back late, your blinds were always closed, and your pale skin, what else could I think?"

-"Ill?"

-"..."

-"Hypochondriac? Scars?"

-"Okay, my theory was dumb, no need to twist the knife, Simon."

-He snorted.

-"You're beautiful without it," y/n finally added.

-"I know."

-"Fuck you, Simon, I'm trying to flirt."

-"Hm, 'trying' is the right word."

-"Simon."

-"Fine, 'thank you, y/n', is that better?"

-"Yes."

-Simon winked at them, y/n rolled their eyes.

-"By the way, I have a package arriving on Friday," Simon said.

-"And?"

-"It's for you."

-"A gift? But I didn't do anything."

-"That's the point of a gift, y/n. Plus, I know your birthday is coming soon."

-"Léa?"

-"Your ID."

-"How did you get it?"

-"I needed to check who you were," Simon lied.

-"...Léa," he eventually admitted.

-"I thought so."

-"Happy early birthday."

-"Thank you, Simon."

-And there, Simon wanted to engrave this image of their smile.

__________________

-Alone, lost in the forest, waiting for the target, Simon wondered what y/n was doing. Was they sleeping? Had they opened their gift? Did they like it?

-His thoughts stopped, focused on the mission, with a new desire. The desire to go home.

-To go home. To y/n.

_________________

-"Simon!"

-Tired, jet lag leaving his body heavy, but his eyes squinted at the sight of them.

-"y/n."

-"I..."

-They seemed hesitant to hug him, not quite sure what to do. Simon wanted it.

-"Oh damn, hugging y/n, melting into their warmth, leaving his hands on their curves, their thighs so soft, their hair."

-"Hug okay?" they asked.

-"More than okay."

-"Sure? I know it's not your thing, so it's not obligatory."

-"y/n, I'm sure."

-they nodded and hugged him. their scent filling his nostrils, Simon let go of his bag, letting his arms wrap around them. An embrace comforting him, finally stopping this fatigue. Ghost could leave to let Simon come home.

-"Welcome back," y/n murmured into the embrace.

-"I'm back," he whispered back.

-"I missed you. I... thank you for your gift. I... you're crazy to have spent so much, a machine of this quality..."

-"I intend to let my second sleeve be done by you."

-y/n backed away, surprised.

-"Simon, you don't even know my tattoo style."

-"And?"

-"Imagine if I'm into kawaii? Or a cute colorful Hello Kitty watercolor?"

-"Then I'll have a magnificent Hello Kitty," Simon replied.

-they laughed.

-"That would suit you well."

-"Without a doubt."

-"I might do that when I get my certification."

-"Wait, certification?"

-"I passed the hygiene certification. It's time I stop putting myself down. If I'm a failed artist, well, at least I'll be an artist."

-Simon smiled.

-"I'll be your first fan."

-"Léa is already there."

-"I already have to fight for you, damn."

-"I'm popular, you'll have to get used to it."

-He smiled.

-"Well, I'll let you go home. Good night, I suppose." y/n smiled and went home.

-He nodded and went into his apartment. However, he stopped.

-"y/n?"

-"Hm?"

-The words didn't come. Ask them to stay for what? Tea? Talk? He felt so pathetic.

-But y/n seemed to read him and took his hand, leading him into his apartment. Guiding him to his bed, they lay down beside him. Their bodies still clothed under the sheets drew closer.

-"I didn't imagine the first time in your bed like this."

-"Really?"

-"Hm, yes. I imagined a bit more warmth."

-"The heating is there."

-"Oh, shut up, Simon, you know that's not what I meant," y/n said, laughing.

-He nodded. His hands finding their place on y/n's body, embracing them.

-"My thighs aren't stress balls, Simon."

-"No, they're perfection incarnate. So soft, trembling, they're perfect."

-"It's fat."

-"Exactly."

-y/n chuckled and relaxed into his arms.

-"Does this mean something, us?" they murmured.

-"Yes."

-Not another question, and Simon fell into a deep sleep.

-Waking up, y/n in his arms, Simon decided he didn't want to wake up without their anymore. Enjoying the brief moments of peace, he let his thumbs trace circles on their back.

-"Hey," they murmured.

-"Hey."

-"Did you sleep well?"

-"Yes."

-"Simon, you have to let me go if we're going to get up."

-"Why get up?"

-"To eat?"

-His stomach answered for him. Simon sighed and got up.

______________________________

-"L.T., how dare ye?"

-"Soap."

-"Why?!"

-"Why what?" Simon asked, irritated, looking up from his reports.

-"Ye slept wi’ them!"

-"How do you know that?"

-"Ye smell good."

-Simon frowned.

-"So, I don't smell good usually?"

-"Na, ye smell like aftershave, but now it's soft."

-"Yes, I slept with them. Need details?"

-"AYE!"

-"Well, you won't get any. It was platonic, nothing sexual."

-"...so a nap."

-"Yes, McTavish, a nap."

-"...damn it, L.T., that's disappointin’."

-"I don't care."

-"Invite me tae the weddin’ in a century then."

-"You won't be invited."

-"You love me too much for that, L.T.!"

-"In your dreams, McTavish."

______________________

-"So, a lovebird in your life?"

-"Not you too, Cap."

-"I'm just curious, Simon. I know how closed off you are."

-"They're the one, sir."

-"Nice?"

-"They understand PTSD and all that shit."

-"Hm, so one to keep."

-"To marry."

-"Good luck, Simon."

-"Thanks, Cap."

----

-"Simon?"

-Blood. y/n, dead. Simon standing over their body.

-Gasping, he stood at his door, needing to know, to touch them, to prove they were alive.

-He hugged their, checking their pulse. It wasn't an illusion; they were there.

-"Simon, five things you see," y/n murmured, understanding he was there without being there.

-"You, my hands, your doormat, your coat, and your slippers," Simon eventually articulated.

-"Four things you touch."

-"y/n."

-"Simon, focus."

-"Your hair, your neck, your hips, your shoulders, your cheek."

-"Three things you hear."

-"Your pulse, my pulse, your voice."

-"Two things you smell."

-"My sweat, your perfume."

-"One thing you taste."

-"My blood."

-y/n nodded, and Simon opened his mouth, his teeth so tight he had bitten his tongue. His breath, still shaky, was calming.

-"I'm there," y/n murmured, not moving from his embrace.

-"Do you want to talk about it?" they asked.

-"No."

-"Let's sit on my couch, better than standing at the entrance of the apartment, okay?"

-Simon didn't let go of them for a moment.

-Hours passed, nothing could calm his paranoia.

-"You haven't shaved," y/n murmured.

-Simon couldn't articulate, he just nodded.

-"Can I do it for you? I know under your mask, it must feel better when you're clean-shaven."

-He nodded again. Slowly they guided him into their tiny bathroom, shaving him precisely, calmly, in a soothing silence. His eyes never leaving their face, Simon wanted to scream, cry, shake them, show them he was broken, reject them, make them run away but...

--they were there. Not forcing him to talk, letting him slowly come back down, anchoring him to reality.

-"You know, sunscreen and moisturizer would help your skin a lot," they murmured as they applied the lotions to his face slowly.

-"Especially with your chalky complexion," they added, chuckling.

-That sound, so soft, calmed his heart.

-"Okay," he managed to say.

-"I'll buy you some."

-"...Thank you."

-"Thank you for everything, for the crisis, for the beard, for the lotions, for not asking questions, for welcoming me into your life."

-"You're welcome," they replied, understanding the implication.

__________________________

-"I got rejected," y/n murmured.

-It was 10 a.m., they were on their balcony, the rain falling, they were sheltered.

-"None?"

-"No tattoo parlor accepted me for apprenticeship. Maybe I'm not good enough."

-"Or they're just blind."

-"Simon."

-"You'll make it, y/n," Simon murmured, taking their hand.

-"Maybe, but I... don't feel legitimate to continue."

-"Van Gogh was considered worthless all his life."

-"I hope to have recognition before death, Si'," y/n said, laughing.

-"And there it is, the smile suits you better."

-"Thank you, Si'."

-"Always there."

-they nodded.

___________________________

-"Si'."

-Late at night, in front of a cheap show, they were on their couch.

-"Hm?"

-"Are you... attracted to me?"

-"y/n."

-"I don't want big words, it's just... I don't want to be with someone who loves my personality and accepts my body out of pity. Not feeling desired, I know what that's like, feeling like a second option too, and I've never... addressed the subject with you. Being with a fat person is something different, the looks of others... it's something. And I don't want to be a secret or a shame."

-Simon observed them.

-"So I've been shitty."

-"What?"

-"Because every step, every breath, every part of you ignites a burning desire in me, y/n. I've been shitty at showing it if you think for a moment that every inch of you, every roll, every stretch mark isn't something I love about you."

-their breath caught for a moment.

-"I want to touch you, taste you, let your plump thighs around my head as I kiss you, I want to feel that belly with every bounce when we make love, I want to kiss this body."

-"I- I just wanted a yes, Simon," y/n replied, their voice rising in pitch, their gaze shifting away from the sudden warmth in the room.

-"Well, you have it," Simon added, a predatory look in his eyes.

-"Yes."

-The silence stretched.

-"Aren't you going to do anything, y/n?"

-y/n leaned in.

-"Yes."

-they kissed him.

_____________________

-"L.T., thanks again for coming."

-"No one wanted to miss this, McTavish," Price added.

-"A Scottish Hello Kitty tattoo, that's not to be missed, that's for sure," Gaz said as he entered the small salon.

-The place was peaceful, comfortable. A young woman greeted them and guided them to the artist's station.

-The men settled. Soap in the chair, the others on the chairs to support him.

-"Hello everyone."

-Price and Gaz greeted the tattoo artist, but Soap spoke up.

-"YOU BASTARD! YE DIDN'T TELL ME!"

-"Soap, what's-" Price began.

-"I don't need help, Johnny, I told you."

-"Ye didnae tell me, it's horrible, I was waitin’ and ye two, ye... how long?" he asked y/n.

-"Six months."

-"SIX MONTHS?!"

-"Wait, you're..."

-"y/n, meet Gaz Kyle Garrick and John Price. This is y/n, my lover."

-"Pleased to meet you," Price said, shaking their hand. "I'm surprised this big guy managed to find someone as lovely as you."

-"Thank you."

-"Six months," Soap repeated.

-"I wanted to tell you, but we wanted to take our time and with all my paperwork to find an apprenticeship and a place, I didn't realize how time passed," y/n admitted.

-"Wait, ye’re an apprentice?" Soap asked, terrified.

-"Yes, but don't worry, I'm not doing your tattoo today. I'm just preparing the equipment," y/n joked.

-"Oh, nae that I dinnae trust ye but-"

-"Don't worry."

-At 10 a.m., lost in a tattoo parlor watching Johnny get a Scottish Hello Kitty, y/n by his side, and Gaz and Price smiling.

-Ghost had finally found a new meaning to home, and he wouldn't leave it for anything in the world.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x plus size reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

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feelingdozy · 1 month

Text

White Knuckled - Yuuta Okkotsu

Summary: Before you know it, you, Yuuta, and all the other sorcerers present in the area are battling against Sukuna. When you wake up in a hospital bed, you're greeted with the harsh realities of the aftermath of battle.

wc: 3,1k

Warnings: spoilers (recent arc - "Shinjuku Showdown"), Heavy themes ahead -> Major character death, fighting, talk of wounds/gashes, blood etc, self-doubt, lots of crying/trembling, grief, descriptions of death, mention of drug, heartbreaking angst no happy ending

You were thinking about Yuuta again- the boy who always wakes up on time, early mornings greeting him with you clinging onto him. The only person he's focused on and in his line of sight as he pushes himself to rise from the bed, twisting his head in your direction. He's constantly distracted, solely by your sleeping form. He can never get enough of your beauty as he stares at you for a good while before carefully lifting himself off the shared mattress, trying not to disturb your rest. Fully getting out of bed, he walks over to your side before going to shower, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting some towels.

You awake most days to find his side of the bed silent, today being no different. The spot beside you is empty, lacking the boy's comforting presence. He never wants to startle you, so he lets you wake up on your own accord, even if that means abandoning the plush of his bed and the soft blankets that surround the two of you and encapsulate the overflowing affection and love shared.

He was usually the big spoon, so he never had to worry about maneuvering out of your firm grip- one that longed for him to stay. Forever if the day had offered, but knowing that it'd never be true, it lacked the might to hold him back from removing it. He had learned how to sneak out quietly and carefully with time, and had become somewhat of a pro, but left you lonely- contemplating if you really had to wake up, when instead you could be faced with the prettiest boy you had ever seen by your side, planting soft kisses along your neck and jawline. Another hour in bed wouldn't hurt, right?

Now it was mandatory. The bright lights of the room stained your eyes, being able to see them even as your eyelids were screwed shut. Your body was planted to the unusual bed you'd been laying on for awhile now- unable to move even an inch from the pain that stretched all over your sore body. Chest lined with cuts, battered black and blue from what you had been through- you were afraid of tearing open wounds more, or causing unnecessary sparks of pain throughout. Relentless with such things as fighting, of course you had lined yourself up for such a demise. Also the fact that being someone prominent in the Jujutsu world was enough to get you a front-row spot to your death- Sukuna rivaling you this time around.

Being up there with Yuuta made it even harder to concentrate. Of course your hits on the enemy were steady, and slashes were taken with the utmost seriousness and all strength you harbored inside your being- yet somehow none was enough against the monster, and now you watched countless of your friends experience the same awaited fate of death at their doorstep.

It made you nervous. Anxious. Although you couldn't show it, you shook with fear. You tried your best to accept your death before you even stepped foot outside your door, but the truth was that you weren't ready to go yet. You felt you had a little more in you- at least a little longer. But alas- such a universe showed no pity no matter what good deeds you may have done to benefit others. Monsters didn't wait for the comfortability of their enemy. Or they did- just to tear them down right in front of your eyes.

"YUUTA!" You cried amidst the battle, head focused on Yuuta's attacks as Sukuna went after him harshly.

Watching Yuuta's every movement made you eager to join him on the field, but with all the might left in him, he had begged you not to unless it was absolutely needed a couple days prior. And you weren't going to go against him- especially not in such dire moments where he didn't have the time to focus on protecting you.

His domain had done great damage, and his power was demonstrated through every attack meticulously planned in the moments retrieve- he was a beast. But monsters and beasts are quite different. Monsters wanted only the worst for their opponent. No mercy for anyone- leave nothing to the imagination of outcomes. Rip them apart, starting from the very root of what they care about- they don’t bring any good, and don't intend to do any.

You tried to stay strong, keeping your emotions away from the battlefield- out of reach and unable to affect you. But seeing a big gash accompanied by groans of pain in front of you, you could no longer sit back and simply watch Yuuta get slashed apart.

Only remembering bits and pieces made it hard to put crumbs back into the full dish- but you recalled every emotion cursing through you at the time- anger, frustration, despairing sadness. Everything balled up into one and came at you as fast as your sword went for the curse that had taken away your everything- just Sukuna daring to lay a hand on him was reason enough to act such a way- Irresponsible. But who was to say it was your fault? One of the higher ups? Ones who decided they'd never let their students fully grasp a proper adulthood, left to suffer for their consequences and fight for them against vile curses?

Sometimes, the biggest dream of sorcerers was to live a simple life. Such a thing was always pondered by friends, brought up as measly discussion. Now it was obvious why it was chatted about so much- it was something you now longed for. Love was the biggest influence, yet it could bring a person down all the like. Heartbreak, too, was a strong emotion. The scene of Yuuta and his blood spilling onto his white uniform was something that'd constantly replay in your head, over, and over, and over.

Other than gory scenes and scattered emotions, you remembered nothing of what happened, nor where you ended up, or how you ended up. Where you ended up could be the heavens for all you knew- the bright lights sitting above didn't deny you of that theory. It was only when the scene before you steadied into hazy recognition- not as much as a blur. You tried to focus on one thing at a time, but seeing machines hooked up to every possible space they could cram them to fit on your body to keep you alive wasn't a very welcoming sight back to reality. Chatter around you never ceased, so in a constant headache of confusion and uncertainty, you laid there, quiet and in pain.

Hours passed until most had left- nurses and doctors filtered out the room alike in big groups, assumingly to help others like they had to you. Now only left with a couple accompanying people left, you took the chance to test your vocal chords- if you still had them

Your voice was hoarse and your throat ached with every sentence you tried to produce, rendering it inconceivable. Yet you suffered through and attempted your best, gaining the eyes of the couple nurses still present around you. Making out sounds, it became hard to distinguish long words, so you quickly shortened them, able to alert them with the name, "Yuuta".

"Yuuta? I'm not sure- i've only been attending to you" One of them replied simply, not eager to cast another glance your horrid way. She was probably angry she had to change the bandaids wrapped around you every once in awhile- somehow you had gotten on her bad side by staying perfectly still and asleep most of the time she did it. Maybe the cuts were the hard sights to bare. Who knew- and who cared- not when there were more important questions to be asked.

"I've heard of him, haven't seen him." Another spoke up, just as uncaring as the other tending to you. In a random state of worry, ripping sounds filled the air just as suddenly needles were being ripped out of your arm and machines moved, crashing against each other with multiple resounding bang's, the metal clanging and alerting whoever was left in the room as you burst out the door. Although you heard yelling behind you, you never once stalled, not focused on them enough to listen, nor care. You weren't going to be denied- no matter what. You needed to find him- and if they couldn't give you answers, you'd get them yourself.

Passing doors of all sorts, you were unable to determine a sign of which one would be him- so you resorted to opening them a crack, enough to see if the person inside resembled a person you'd recognize by familiar looks, or his scent alone.

Yet across all the doors you stumbled upon, none of them had the boy you were searching so desperately for, and your head was starting to spin- except you didn't know if it was from your sudden sprint out your assigned room or the worry that now clouded you. You kept on your feet though, constantly ignoring the calls of your name down the dimly lit and eerie hospital hallways.

And as you sprinted, some conversations made it to your ear as you made multiple people jump because of an unexpected appearance of a distraught and unkempt patient quick to run by and disregard them as they were bumped and shoved from their path. Most of the chatter wasn't related, but some of the names you'd heard mumbled under breaths did strike a chord, meaning some had made it to the hospital with you.

Heart starting to beat at rapid rates, breathing starting to get uncoordinated and wonky, legs starting to fail from beneath you- every single thing was going wrong and you were about to drop of pure exhaustion, and no sign of Yuuta was to be found in such a place. Unable to go without assistance, you clung on to one last door at the end of a hallway- it was a dead end anyways, so you'd be caught and escorted back quickly as they were hastily on your tail, trying to sit you back down to stare blankly and the boring tiled roof above, and the cold floor below you knew all too well now.

Everything felt wrong- everything felt bad, and it washed over you with a chilling shiver. Not knowing if you were in a state of delusion, maybe drug withdrawals- everything happened to be catching up to you and rushing to your head. With the heavy push of your body colliding with the door, it swung open hard enough and hit the wall, greeting you with the view before it.

What you saw looked peaceful. Tranquil even. It looked like he was in a state of meditation- his eyes were fastened shut, but gently- not forcing them closed, but not lousy either. His hands rested at his torso, held together and something clenched hard in his fist to where his knuckles were painted with the faint color of white fading away, knowing he hadn't been holding the object tighter much longer ago. The rest of his body was stiff and prim- proper, like he was sat set up in a coffin and ready to be hauled off to the graveyard. You looked at his face again, admiring the way a smile still stood strong on his face, the muscles habitually putting him in such a facial position, obviously the outcome of wearing it often.

You gasped when you first barged into the room, scared to shock the injured, but you realized loud noises didn't phase the man on the bed, and he had stayed the same without batting an eye, or sitting up toward the sound.

Then your breath hitched.

Your heart jumped out of your body.

Your eyes trailed his half-blanketed figure again, with the same thoughts as before racking your brain- and after your second inspection of the body, you realized something new.

His hair was black, parted in the way you always remembered- you used to tease him about it sometimes- give him a side part to annoy him, poke fun at his sides saying how you'd wanna see him with long hair although you both knew it'd never happen. It had the same volume as when you ruffled it as he laid on your chest in the late evenings. The sun had already set through the curtains, and the moon dawned on the two of you, bathing you in the moonlight as the tv screen reflected in two pairs of eyes.

Except this time his hair wasn't all over the place because of your gentle fingers. His eyes weren't shut because you made him laugh with a stupid joke, to where he was crying and begging you to stop or else he threatened he'd piss his pants- and although it'd be his fault, you would start to crack up beside him insisting him not to. His mouth wasn't in a smile because he saw you first thing after training, a sigh of relief parting from his lips as his hands opened themselves for a long awaited hug. His body wasn't laid down because he was sleeping next to you.

It was because his chest no longer would rise or fall.

Sprinting to his aid, you hurriedly reaching for his hand, neck- any place a stable pulse could reach your fingers and give you signs of life. Everything before your eyes gave you a harder punch to the gut then anything you'd experienced in your lifetime.

Suddenly reality dawned and came crashing down before you- as did your body, falling to the cold ground. Only the measly hospital gown aided you for cover as you started to sob, unable to do anything else but slouch over defeatedly, cradling your head in your hands as your mind shattered.

You didn't care to keep up a strong face anymore. You didn't care to impress the people around you with your courage and strength.

You pleaded with all your might- to the heavens even- , begging and screaming loud, cracking voice and undying chants asking, why couldn't you have come just moments sooner? Why couldn't you have been better? Stronger? You wailed out, begging, begging for a miracle- a switch of souls even.

With damp cheeks and a pitiful appearance, only despair covered your features and grief filled every sense you had left working. You were stumbling around as if you had no feeling in your legs- except you simply didn't. Your hands went limp at your sides like you were already succumbing to the exhaustion of your cries- except your muscles felt like jelly and couldn't withstand the heavy weight of your tears that heavily spilt. Your body felt like it weighed more pounds then any person in the world could ever lift, head drooped like a bowling ball had been propped up on it, ready to smash and collide into the ground.

Planted in place, no one could take you away from his bedside. You clung to his lifeless body. You wrapped your hand around his, trying to shake him awake while muttering a few words to hopefully make him sit up and tell you it was all a silly joke.

He wasn't yet cold, but soon he would be. Soon he'd be taken away from you. You wouldn't see him again. You weren't ever going to see him again. Ever.

Anyone who tried to awake and pull you from your distressed state couldn't get ahold of you in the slightest. You didn't hear the voices around you. You didn't hear the beeping of machines, or the rushing of doctors and nurses invading his room. You could only sit there and hold onto his tightly closed palm with all your might and resist the power of hands pulling you towards them. Behind you they kept on, trying to escort you back to your room by lifting your slacked body onto a bed stationed out of the room, being picked up under the armpits like you were a toddler.

The one day he didn't wake up before you- he didn't carefully try to roll out of bed, nor did he whisper sweet, hushed "goodmorning"'s in your ear. He didn't give you a forehead kiss. You didn't get to say goodbye.

As you pressed a wet kiss onto his closed palm, it slightly loosened at the action, letting you gently pry it open in the state of chaos around you. The object he held close in his hand was now held close to your heart, in an even stronger grip then he had It in. No one was taking it from you.

As much as you screamed and begged in their arms, nothing worked as tears fogged your vision, and the only thing you felt in the moment was the drops from your eyes staining your cheek. You had eventually passed out from how much you struggled, mixed with crazed sobs and constant pleading for a sign he was still with you.

Waking up in that room felt no different than the first. Except something was gone. Something felt right- or out of place.

It felt like you had been pierced right in the heart. There was now a wide wound. A bigger wound then any other weapon or curse could've caused you. The empty space was simply there. Somehow, although nothing was in its spot or piercing you physically, it throbbed. It ached. Yet no blood spilled out of your chest. No blood spewed out from your mouth. You were perfectly healthy.

....

Why couldn't it have been you instead of him?

Suddenly, you remembered the box in your hand. You hadn't been able to make out what the object was before, but now as you weakly brought it up to your eyes, observing it, it was a black, velvet jewely box, with the words "promise" engraved on the plastic protecting it. You brought your other hand up, and with shaking fingers, ripped off the plastic and opened the box.

It sparkled in your eyes- before you a tiny diamond ring, beautifully detailed with initials on the side. Your eyes widened, not expecting something so fancy and thoughtful while you looked like a mess- a puffy face which tears had already starting leaking out of, tangled hair, and a sad hospital gown. A note flew down to your chest when the box was opened, hands clumsily scouring for where it had landed on the thin hospital blanket over you. It was folded tiny, tickling your fingertips to open the paper.

"If this letter gets to you, it means I couldn't personally go down on one knee and present it myself. Even if I couldn't give this to you, I hope you receive it. It was all I could afford with the money I saved up, and I know its only a promise ring, but, I hope you like it. Maybe in another life, I would be able to see your face right now.

I love you."

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x you #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu x reader

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zoromuse · 1 year

Text

want you (need you) pt. 2 | headcannons

taking an aphrodisiac with them and seeing who gives in first.

characters. Portgas D. Ace, Trafalgar Law, Shanks, Nico Robin

general cw. aphrodisiacs (obv)

a/n. based on this and this ask. also tagging @h3rfave bc she seemed to want robin a lot for these headcanons. thank you for all the support on the first part, hope yall like this one just as much <3

part one

PORTGAS D. ACE

cw. slight manhandling, squirting

I think he’d be the one to suggest it, he’s really open to trying anything in bed.

He immediately regrets it, the feeling is so strong, he’s never wanted you as much as he wants you now, but he’s trying to hide it.

He’ll put his hat over his lap, trying to hide the boner he got just from seeing you on the other side of the room, just as horny as he is, yet you look more composed about it.

He’ll walk over and throw you on his shoulder as he takes you to bed, and he doesn’t need to say anything to know you won’t be leaving his arms any time soon.

“Take your fucking hand off, I wanna hear you” he says, referring to the hand over your mouth that muffled all of your moans. You couldn’t, not with all the embarrassing sounds you were making, so you shake your head “no” with teary eyes, hoping he’ll take a pity on you.

He doesn’t.

He’s quick to wrap his hand around your wrist and pull it back, making you gasp at the sheer force of his grip, or maybe it was because of the strength of his thrusts, you don’t know anymore.

Everything is so messy, your sweaty bodies are pressed against each other, your pebbled nipples graze against his chest, bringing all the more stimulation to your body. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac, but you’re so sensitive to every single one of his touches, it’s almost humiliating. You’re so close, and he can tell with the way you’re becoming more vocal, your moans just a few octaves short from being downright pornographic.

“Ace, Ace-!” you say, throwing your head back, feeling your orgasm take over your body, shaking and trembling under his unrelenting grip. “‘m gonna… mmm fuck, Ace!”

“That’s it, cum f’me” he pulls out and swipes his fingers across your clit while your juices squirt out against your will, too fucked out to even notice the mess you were making of his sheets.

TRAFALGAR LAW

cw. lowkey mean dom law, lots of dirty talk, mirror sex, full nelson, mentions of dumbification

You’d have to provoke him in order to get him to agree.

“What, you’re afraid you can’t handle it?”

He tries to keep his usual facade, even though the sweat on his forehead gives it away.

You’d have to be the first to give in, he’s too prideful to ask for it.

He’s definitely going to tease you all night about it too.

“Look at that” he says, pointing to the large mirror in front of you, and you’re embarrassed at what your reflection shows. You have a mess of tears and drool running down your cheeks, and what’s more, he’s holding your legs with his arms hooked around the back of your head, putting your cunt on full display for the mirror.

“And I’m the one who can’t handle it? Look how much you’re creaming around me” he says, fucking into you at an agonizingly fast pace. He’s so fast, so deep, it’s too much. He was right, you were the one who couldn’t handle it.

You’re leaking like a faucet down there, your slick covering his cock and leaving the prettiest ring of white around the base of his cock.

“Oh… you got tighter when I said that, you like creaming around my cock, huh? You’re such a messy little bitch”. He’s right, you’re being so messy, crying his name out in hopes he’ll take it easier on you, but he’s not stopping any time soon. “Are you gonna cum again? That’s right, make a mess for me. I’m not done though, I’ll make sure to fuck you until you go dumb, see if you can handle that, pretty”.

SHANKS

cw. manhandling if you squint, a little bit of dirty talk

I think he’s willing to take it, but he definitely won’t be giving in first.

He’s gone for long periods of time sometimes, so he’s familiar with this feeling.

And as much as he loves you and wants nothing more than to bend you over and fuck you until you’re babbling nonsense, he also really wants the satisfaction of winning, so you’re definitely going to have to give in first.

“Aw, giving up so soon, that’s a shame”

His big hands hold you in place when he enters you, pushing past the ring of tightness to be wrapped in your walls.

“So good for me, taking it all like a good girl” he whispers, his chest is pressed to your back and his breath shuddered against your skin, making you arch into his touch.

“You’re so wet, were you thinking about me?” he asks. Of course you were, who else could you be thinking about but the man who knows exactly how to touch you to make you melt in his hands? “Did you need me to take care of you, huh?”

“Yes, need you so bad, S-Shanks… want more, please!” you say, and as soon as you do, his hand is pushed against the back of your head, pushing you into the pillow that muffles all of your moans as he fucks you harder.

“You want more? This pretty pussy’s already sucking me in, and you want more?” he says, laughing at your mindless request, but if that’s what you wanted, he’d be sure to provide for you.

NICO ROBIN

cw. oral (f!receiving), fingering, scissoring, desperate robin

Probably the most hesitant out of everyone, but still willing to try it if you’re up for it.

The only way you would be able to tell is if you payed close attention to her, the way sweat was gathering at her temple, and her legs were crossed tightly, too tightly.

I think you’d both give in at the same time, mostly you.

“I just wanna kiss you, nothing more”, and then you were doing more.

“Robin! hm…” you bite your lip, her tongue tracing experienced circles on your clit, while she used her fingers to prod at the spot that drove you crazy.

Too soon, she stopped touching you, her slick covered finger slipping out of you, leaving you with a disappointing emptiness.

You all but pout at this, until she’s putting one of your legs over her shoulders and guiding her pussy on top of yours, her arousal mixing with your own as she’s now pressed against you.

“Need m-more,” she says, breathless, almost as if trying to explain herself. You don’t need an explanation, you quite enjoy seeing your usually composed girlfriend this desperate.

You’re reveling in the sight of her sweaty body on top of yours when she takes you by surprise and starts grinding against you. She’s different, she’s usually so calm and collected, even when it comes to sex, she likes to be gentle with you, and take her time to enjoy every moment she has. This time though, she’s messily humping you, sloppily rubbing her clit against yours in an attempt to chase the high she needs.

You wish she would show this side of her more often, because you love the look of pure bliss she has on her face when she’s cumming, half lidded eyes that are practically begging for more, and mouth agape from calling out your name in the middle of her euphoric high, all the while still grinding into you.

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signedeclipse · 1 year

Note

May I please request fluffy and nsfw headcanons hantengu ( and his other forms) with chubby fem s/o? Please and thank you.

Hantengu [X Reader]

In which Hantengu and his clones enjoy their s/o to their fullest.

Hantengu may be horrified, even of literally standing, but he will go to great lengths to make sure other demons don't even so much as know you exist

Think of a hidden away home where you are safe from nosey demon slayers, something he can easily protect from other of his kind and his enemies

The thought of you hurt just kills him, and he climbed the ranks a lot just by having the mindset of living for you

When you're alone, Hantengu is a very possessive person due to his jealousy and envy

He wants you to feel good, he wants to see you depend on him, he knows he could easily overpower you and dangles that over your head, albeit slightly unknowingly

He'll wrap you in his own silky clothes, just to praise your gorgeous body; lots of light scratch marks from his claws

Kind of a sugar daddy energy but he's lovely

Sekido despises his clones and other people, so he is happy just sitting in a room with you alone

You give him peace, and he loves when you'll run your hands through his hair or wash it for him because it helps ease his near permanent headache

You're soft and warm, unlike most the cold stone like individuals he meets, so he likes to rest his head on your chest

Behind closed doors? You know how some guys smack their s/o's ass when they walk by? He lightly zaps yours just to see you jump

Jealous/hate fucking is real with this one, but 10x worse than Hantengu

He wants to see hickeys the darkest they can get, he wants to see you clinging to him that your nails are breaking into his skin, he wants to protect and fuck you into the bed until you can't move

Karaku just adores seeing you fawn over his body

I mean, he mostly shows it off for you, and he loves feeling your fragile hands trace him all over

He doesn't purr but he makes little hissing noises as a way of showing he's happy and really relaxed

While he may be quite the kinky one, nothing beats having you sat on his lap cockwarming him

Seeing you get all flustered and embarrassed when you try to ride him while he stares straight at you only makes him harder

He loves his strength, because he knows no one else could treat you this good, he'd never let them

No, no he won't move his hips, if you want him so bad surely you can fuck yourself onto his cock, come on!

If you frustrate him enough, he'll pin your thighs down and fuck you so hard you'll lose your sight for a couple of minutes

Aizetsu really enjoys being all tangled up with you; he wants to have your arms linked, hands held, so on

He gets really silent once he has you defending him from any of the clones usual harassments, and appreciates you for seeing the good in him

In bed, he's the kind to 'pity' you with his words

"You poor thing, it feels so good you're crying...my poor weak girl can't handle it, can she?"

He'll be physically gentle with you, not much marking or bites, but he will overwhelm you until your eyes are so full of tears because he just loves seeing it

Urogi is just so sleepy with you what can I say

He expels so much energy flying, fighting, using his attack and bickering with his clones that once he's alone with you he just wants you to sleep with him

His wings are very strong but when new feathers come in he likes when you take the time to prune him and break the new feathers shells for him

Might smack you with his wing lightly because he thinks you make a funny noise when you get a face full of feathers

When he gets into a sort of 'heat', he just loves fucking you roughly, hell he will do it out in a wild if he's really feeling it, he wants to get dirty

Just wrap his wings around you so you're nice and snug against him, unable to crawl away as he feels you spasm on his cock for the nth time

he is very light so it's a lot easier for you to overpower him but he doesn't mind introducing restraints if he needs to

Authors Note - I love Hantengu so much and I have really wanted to get my thoughts out on the clones because a lot of the things I see about them just don't rub me how I would like! Thank you for requesting and please enjoy, Anon!

#hantengu #hantengu x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer headcanons #kny headcanons #kny x reader #kny #headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #x reader #reader insert

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artificial-transmutations · 3 months

Text

Strength Within

Tiberius was humming slightly as he carefully, almost tenderly, chipped away another piece of marble. It was a warm summer day, and he was working on one of his best pieces yet: A statue of a gladiator, made of the finest marble. It was going to replace one of the hundreds of statues in the great Colosseum. There had been a storm some weeks ago, and a few of the lighter statues had been toppled over, breaking them beyond repair in the process. It had been a great honor to be asked to create a replacement, and Tiberius had immediately started to work on it.

It was the statue of a young man, his body chiseled out of a piece of white marble that Tiberius had bought at the market. He was so focused on the statue in front of him that he almost didn't hear the noise of approaching feet. Only when the person stopped right next to him, did Tiberius avert his gaze.

It was Marcus, Tiberius' slave, a young man with a lean, fit body. Tiberius even supposed that the young man was kind of handsome, at least judging from the attention Marcus got when he went to the forum for him. Right now, however, the slave seemed flustered, almost fearful even.

"Master, there... there is a visitor for you."

Tiberius frowned slightly. Usually, Marcus knew not to disturb him when he was working. One wrong move and the whole statue could be ruined.

"Well, can't you see I am busy? This is most important work. Imagine all the people who are going to see my statue at the great Colosseum when they pass it by. Even the nobles, perhaps even the emperor himself. I can hardly afford to make mistakes here. Tell the visitor to return after sundown."

Marcus gulped slightly.

"Master, it's..."

Another voice, strong and filled with arrogance, spoke up. "I will most certainly not return after sundown. I am here, after all, to inspect the work for my Colosseum."

Slowly, Tiberius turned around before letting himself fall to his knees in a panicked motion. Standing in front of him was no one else but Cornelius Magnus, the emperor of Rome. The most powerful man in the whole world was standing here, in the backyard of Tiberius' villa, clad in the finest toga.

"Y-your lordship, I am so sorry! Please, forgive me for being rude!"

"Oh, I forgive you, artist." Said the emperor, stepping closer to Tiberius. "You seem like a nice enough man."

Tiberius was still looking at the ground as the noble came closer.

"Stand up, artist!" The emperor commanded.

Tiberius was shaking like a leaf as he got back on his feet.

"I... thank you, your lordship."

The emperor thankfully didn't comment on his stuttering and instead looked at the marble statue.

"I can see why the great Colosseum has employed you. This is truly a magnificent piece. Who is it supposed to represent?"

"That... uhm. It's nobody, actually. I was just imagining a gladiator."

"Ah, I see. And what a fine gladiator he would make, too." The emperor replied.

Tiberius couldn't help but blush slightly. It was such an honor to receive praise from the emperor himself.

"But tell me, artist! Why is his chest so smooth and unadorned? Where is all the manly hair you would expect on a man of his strength?"

"I-I just figured that... you know... a gladiator would look better without chest hair. More... more elegant. It's the style, you see. Also, it is almost impossible to capture these fine details in marble."

"Hm. A pity you think so." The emperor continued to look at the statue for a few moments before turning towards Tiberius.

"You know, I have not only come to inspect the art, but also the artist." The look of the emperor now lingered on Tiberius himself, making him feel entirely uncomfortable. It was just the same judging look he just used on the marble statue.

"What... what do you mean?", Tiberius stammered.

The emperor didn't answer the question, but slowly circled around Tiberius. "You are aware that you are my subject, yes? That I basically own you, just like you own that slave boy?" he asked in a casual tone.

"I... yes, I am. I would never dream of questioning your authority." Tiberius didn't like where this was going, and he knew the emperor was, in fact, wrong. He was a free citizen, not a slave. Not even the emperor *owned* him. But that were semantics he didn't want to lose this job over.

"Good. It pleases me that you are not a troublemaker. It makes my life easier. I do not enjoy punishing my subjects." The emperor paused and then looked directly at Tiberius.

"Now, take off your toga."

"My... my toga?"

"Yes, you heard me."

"Eh..." Tiberius didn't know how to react. It wasn't that he didn't want to obey the emperor, it was just that the command made no sense to him. He had no idea what the emperor had planned.

"Are you refusing an order from your emperor?" The man now asked with a hint of danger in his voice.

"N-no, of course not, your lordship!"

Still shaking, Tiberius untied his toga, exposing his naked chest.

The eyes of the emperor were akin to those of a vulture as he studied the exposed body of his subject.

"Pitiful. But your face is agreeable at least. Agreeable enough at least. Get on your knees, boy, and use that mouth of yours to serve your emperor."

Tiberius froze.

"I... I don't understand."

"Don't be daft. You are going to suck me off. Use that mouth for something other than talking."

Tiberius stared at the man with disbelief.

"No." Everything in Tiberius was revolting against that request. He wasn't a particular fan of being intimate with other men, but even more importantly, he wouldn't let himself be forced to that against his will. Not even by the emperor. He was a free citizen.

The emperor had a cold look in his eyes as he spoke up:

"What did you say? I thought I misheard."

"I... I said no." Tiberius was trembling, but he managed to keep his voice firm.

"You... dare to defy me? You dare to defy your emperor? You will regret that, artist. You just forfeit all your privileges. Your life is not worth anything anymore. Do you know what happens to slaves who disobey their master? They are taken to the arena and fight to the death against wild beasts."

Before Tiberius could protest - or react at all - the emperor snapped his fingers. The clicking sound was unnaturally loud, like the crack of a whip. All of a sudden, Tiberius felt weak. Shadows and darkness came closing in from all sides despite it being a sunny day. He barely heard the voice of Marcus cry out, as he collapsed into unconsciousness.

***

When Tiberius awoke, he was not in bright sunlight anymore. Instead, he found himself in a dark dungeon. Moist stone surrounded him and as he got on his feet carefully, he noticed that he was imprisoned. His cell was small and empty aside from a heap of straw that served as a bed. It smelled as bad as Tiberius would have expected, and light only came in from a torch in the corridor through the iron barred door.

Tiberius stumbled towards the door, holding on to the bars for support. He was weak and felt lightheaded. He was also wearing different clothes, a simple tunic and sandals.

Of course, Tiberius recognized his surroundings. He had not been here before, but he recognized the masonry. He was in the coliseum, the biggest and most famous structure in Rome. Only now, he wasn't in the part where visitors went, and statues stood. He was in the dungeons beneath the arena.

"Hello?" He called out, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

Even though he didn't expect any reaction, he heard steps approaching. He thought the sound of the steps sounded familiar and, really, a familiar face appeared in the torchlight.

"Marcus!"

"Master! You're awake!" The slave was obviously happy to see him.

"What happened?"

"It was all very weird. After the emperor snapped his fingers, it became really dark for a moment, and you collapsed. Then, the emperor ordered his guards to bring you to the coliseum as a new gladiator. And then, all your stuff was being sold off. I, too, was sold to the arena, although not as a fighter. They need a lot of support staff for the fights, so I was bought to be a cleaner and a servant. Oh, and the emperor's guards took your statue and smashed it. He was really angry at you."

Tiberius needed a moment to digest that information.

"I'm a... gladiator now?"

Most gladiators were slaves, or criminals, or prisoners of war. It was about the lowest one could fall, and all just because he had the nerve to refuse the emperor. Still, even though Tiberius felt anger swelling in himself, he wasn't angry at himself, but that *asshole* of an emperor.

"Master, I'm so sorry, I..." began Marcus, but Tiberius quickly cut him off.

"What happened is not your fault. And don't call me master. I'm not your master anymore. I'm a servant myself, as it seems. Just call me Tiberius."

"But I can't..."

"It's okay, Marcus. Just do it."

"Okay, Tiberius. Thank you. We will figure something out. The emperor said he would 'inspect his work' later, perhaps you can appeal to him then."

That sounded reasonable. However, Tiberius didn't *feel* reasonable. He felt... enraged. Full of furious energy. His whole body felt like it was on fire from within.

"Perhaps." Tiberius murmured, clenching his fists.

"How... how long was I unconscious?"

"Two days."

"Do you have any food?"

"Yes, the kitchen is well stocked. Let me get you something."

While Marcus fetched the food, Tiberius was left alone with his thoughts.

Being turned into a gladiator was pretty much a death sentence, at least for someone like Tiberius. He looked down on himself and looked at his lean, but not overly fit body. He wouldn't last ten minutes in the arena.

However, as he looked, the warm feeling inside of him intensified. Every breath he took in seemed deeper than the last, and every time he exhaled, his chest didn't recede all the way, as if his lungs were expanding with each breath.

When Marcus returned, he almost cried out: "Ma- Tiberius! What is happening to you?"

By now, his chest had barreled out considerably and his clothes felt tight. When he spoke, the added lung volume made his voice resonate somewhat deeper. "I don't know." He replied. "What is happening to me?"

"You... are growing."

"I know." came Tiberius frustrated answer. "It's like my chest is blowing up."

"It's not just your chest! Your shoulders, too."

It was difficult for Tiberius to look at his own shoulders, but he found Marcus was right: His shoulders had become considerably wider, and his arms were further apart then just minutes before.

"I feel like I'm growing. Growing stronger, I mean. My body feels so energized. I feel like I could smash that iron door with my bare hands."

"Well, perhaps you should try not to. This is some weird magic going on, no doubt." Despite his words, Marcus didn't just appear to be frightened. A certain ...interest was clearly audible in his voice, too.

Tiberius could hardly focus on it, though. His simple tunic felt even tighter as his arms and legs began to swell with strength and muscles. At the same time, his chest and shoulders expanded further and further, the fabric stretching beyond its limits. The seam of his tunic ripped, and the garment fell apart, leaving his torso naked.

"Fuck." Normally, it would be unlike Tiberius to curse like that, but now it came to him naturally. On the other hand, he found it more and more difficult to focus on the more complex thoughts, like *why* he was changing.

All of a sudden, an itching feeling spread quickly over his body.

"Gods, my armpits!" Cried Tiberius, scratching his underarms and sides.

"Let me see." Marcus quickly rushed closer, and indeed, small hairs began to grow out of the previously smooth pits. They didn't stop there, though. quickly, like a fire, the pelt of hair covered his bare chest and back, quickly spreading further north and south from there.

"Your face!" exclaimed the slave, before obviously getting an idea. He produced a small piece of polished silver and handed it to Tiberius, allowing him to see his own face change.

While before, his face had been lengthy, crowned by dark curly hair, he was changing quickly now. His skull reformed to a blockier appearance, radiating a form of rugged but outlandish and primitive manliness. Coarse stubble grew on his chin, and his curly hair straightened into strong spiky strands in an exotic blonde color.

This wasn't the face of a roman, Tiberius knew that. It was the face of a barbarian from the north, a member of the tribes of Germania. Confusingly, Tiberius didn't feel particularly disgusted by becoming some filthy animalistic barbarian from the north. Instead, he felt... pride? It was hard to find the right words, even more so, as his knowledge in Latin diminished to a heavily accented basis.

He looked back at Marcus, who was watching the whole process with big eyes. Well, not only big eyes, as Tiberius noticed. The excitement was clearly visible in the loin area of his clothing. That, in turn, was oddly exciting for Tiberius. The thought that he preferred female company was quickly diminishing as his own member grew. It wasn't just that his cock was becoming stiff, no. It was also becoming *bigger*. In Rome, a small cock was considered civilized. But Tiberius wasn't from Rome anymore. In Germania, a big fuckstick was something to be proud of! And proud he was.

It was impossible for Marcus not to realize the hefty tool Tiberius was now sporting.

"Tiberius, you..." he said, but again, Tiberius cut him off. "It's Torben." he said with his gruff accented voice. After a moment, he added: "I... like you Marcus. Really." He wanted to express more than that. He wanted to express gratitude that Marcus was there for him, and he wanted to express the deep fluttery feeling that was composed of both barely contained lust for the other man and emotional closeness, but Torben didn't know the words for that.

However, even though Torben lacked the words, it looked like Marcus understood him perfectly well. Still separated by the bars, he brought his face close to Torben's. So close they could feel each other’s breath. However, just as their lips parted, the door to the dungeon opened. Quickly, both men took a step back.

It was the emperor, a smug grin on his mouth.

"Ah, the artist. Although, you're not much of an artist now, are you? But don't worry. What you lack on status now, you'll make up in entertainment value for the people of Rome. Or..." he paused for a moment before continuing. "For me. In my grace I have decided to give you one. last. chance. Serve in my bedchamber for one week and you shall have your former body back and be exiled. Now that is a most generous offer, if you ask me."

Torben couldn't help himself and snorted.

"And what if I don't accept?"

"Why, you stay like that of course. And be eaten by lions, eventually, I suppose."

Torben looked at the emperor intensely. The offer wasn't that bad, he had to admit. Being with men wasn't a problem anymore for him, and a week wasn't that long. The only trouble was his burning hatred for that arrogant asshole. Nevertheless, it was his best shot at survival.

Torben was just about to agree, when his gaze fell on Marcus. Torben wasn't too bright, but he understood: If he returned to his old life, he wouldn't be attracted to Marcus anymore. Even more so, he would be exiled, without him. Torben might be strong as a bull, but the thought alone made his knees weak.

"No." he said firmly. "I stay. With Marcus."

Clearly, the emperor did not expect that. His expression changed from surprise to anger, and, after a few seconds, to an amused grin.

"My, aren't you a strong one. Even now you have the audacity to defy me. You realize I could just let you have executed right now?"

"Yes." Torben said, with his head held high.

"Ha. You really must like that slave boy. Fine, have it your way. Stay a gladiator, see how long you survive."

The emperor turned around and went for the door. When he reached it, he turned around once more.

"You know, it doesn't happen often, but every now and then a gladiator can earn back his freedom. I'll be delighted to see you try."

The closing door felt as if Torben's fate had been sealed. He looked to Marcus, unsure what to think, but the young man just smiled.

"Thank you.", he said, and closed in for that kiss. Life surely wouldn't be easy from now on, but Torben had a goal. He would fight for freedom, both his own and Marcus'.

Hey, if you like Torben or Tiberius, check out my Tip Jar - There are many alternate versions of him!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down #straight to gay #racial transformation

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nanabansama · 2 months

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Card Set Hanakotoba

Recently I was discussing with my lovely friend @istoleyourboat about the meanings behind the flowers in this new card set, and I felt the urge to chronicle them somewhere! I thought you guys might get a kick out of it, too, so this seemed as good a place as any to put it.

So without further ado...

1. Hanako-kun - Queen of the Night

The Queen of the Night (月下美人) is a cactus flower that blooms just once a year for a single night. Because of this, the most heavily associated meanings with the flower are "transient beauty", "fleeting love," and "the urge to see someone just once."

The short-lived life of this flower feels quite fitting for our ghosty boy! I also like how the flower looks both beautiful and unsettling...all around a fantastic choice by AidaIro.

2. Nene Yashiro - Strawberry Blossoms

If you have paid attention to the Hanakotoba in TBHK before, then Nene being associated with strawberries should be nothing new to you. Regardless, the prevalent Hanakotoba for Strawberry Blossoms (イチゴ) are "love," "innocence," and "you make me happy."

The "you make me happy" one makes me want to kick my feet around and squeal a little. Isn't that cute!? I also feel the strawberry is especially fitting for Nene because it seems like something she would grow in her Gardening Club.

3. Kou - Clivia

Otherwise known by the names Bush Lily or Natal Lily, the Hanakotoba for Clivia (君子蘭) are "sincere," "noble" and "good-hearted."

I think this all fits very nicely with our resident good boy Kou, hm?

4. Teru - Bird of Paradise

The Bird of Paradise (ストレリチア) symbolizes "faithfulness," "magnificence," "a bright future" and "superficial love."

Even at a glance this flower really pops out at you, making it a great fit for the ever-impressive Teru. I really, really love this choice!!

5. Sakura - Hellebore

Otherwise known as the Christmas Rose, the Hellebore (クリスマスローズ) represents "reminiscence," "never forget me" and "notice my woes."

The way this beautiful flower seems to cast its head down makes it look almost sad. I suppose that's why it has such pitiful meanings associated with it!

6. Natsuhiko - King Protea

King Protea (キングプロテア), also known as the Sugarbush, symbolizes "strength," "courage," "resilience," and "a king's quality."

If you notice, Natsuhiko always has a little crown-shaped tuft hidden in his hair, so AidaIro associating Natsuhiko with a flower that references royalty pleases me. There's still a lot of mystery surrounding him, but we can at least confirm that Natsuhiko is, indeed, strong and resilient.

7. Akane - Ivy

The plain, non-flowering ivy stands out in stark contrast to the other plants here, but that's because the hanakotoba for it is just that good. Ivy (ヘデラ) means "everlasting love," "I take this feeling to the afterlife," "faithfulness", and "marriage."

Like, if that doesn't scream Akane, I don't know what does.

8. Aoi - Hydrangea

Again, if you've been paying attention to Hanakotoba in the series, this will not be the first time you've seen Aoi paired with hydrangea. Regardless, hydrangea (アジサイ) represents "enduring love," "mystique," and "fickleness."

The hydrangea is also associated with rejection, more specifically the coldness of a person who rejects the romantic advances of another. It's just such a perfect Aoi flower, there's no wonder AidaIro is so attached to it.

💐🌸🌼🌻🌷🌹🥀🌺

Thank you for reading till the end! And I urge you to look up these flowers yourself and see if you can find any meaning to them I may have missed. You might find something brilliant that I completely overlooked!

#tbhk #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #hanakotoba #aoi akane #akane aoi #hanako kun #nene yashiro #amane yugi #natsuhiko hyuuga #sakura nanamine #teru minamoto #kou minamoto

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hanetea · 2 months

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Flowers in the Winter

| Persephone retelling but make it Gojo Satoru x Reader! | Part 1 | part 2

Summary: 6 months of the year I am technically married to Satoru Gojo; and the other 6 months, well... I still am married to him. Word count: 1.3k CWs: Teen!Gojo, he's a warning in itself..., Timid!reader, Reader!POV Canon compliant till I say so, rom-com, slow-burn, how slow? maybe like 3 chapters slow, fluff, angst, eventual smut a/n: Hi everyone :D this is my first fic back into fanfiction, currently there is no beta reader and this is mildly edited, hope you guys enjoy regardless

6 months of the year I am technically married to Satoru Gojo; and the other 6 months, well, I still am married to him.

"But where is he?" Suki with a mouthful of chips asks as I play with the ring on my finger.

"Hes in Tokyo" which gains an audible gasp and Ohs by my group of friends.

"That's so far!!"

"So he's a city boy?"

"How do you guys talk to each other?"

‘We don't really talk at all when we are far away actually.’ I thought nervously rotating my ring more.

"6 months and we can go back to our normal lives " his back is turned against me as he ruffles his hair trying to undo the hair gel that was keeping his unruly white hair slicked back for the ceremony.

I jump at his loud groans and sighs as he tries to loosen his Kimono, trying to be comfortable inside his room. Honestly, probably ready to slip booty naked with the way he reached for his oversized shirt as if preparing to change. The problem was that I, the recently wedded bride, was also in that space.

‘Moreover, what does he mean by 6 months?’

"This is so tacky, honestly those oldies just do whatever they want" he grumbles under his breath, huffing and puffing around.

But all I could do was hold a small smile, too nervous to say anything.

'Satoru Gojo is not a kind man' my mother and her teachings engrained how much of an insult to empathy Satoru Gojo is. She made sure our interactions before the confirmation of vows was limited to zero. This was the first time I ever interacted with this man, and first time to be in his presence without my mother as well. If I didn't vomit from sheer nerves during the ceremony, there's certainly nothing stopping me now.

"MAN!! tradition sucks absolute ass!" His voice bouncing off the walls without a care of his vulgar language nor his tone.

The Gojo clan, whose strength is only possessed when a child with the 6 eyes and limitless technique is blessed into the family, has a tradition of getting married young. Satoru Gojo, blessed with both, was forced into marriage at 15, to a wife of their choosing.

While I, however, possess no cursed technique, and contain an abysmally low supply of cursed energy, The Gojos must see something in me as to why I was chosen right? Maybe they think me and the young heir could get along because of our similar ages-

"Are you mute or something? Staying quiet like that isn't going to make my mood any better y’know"

Ahhh this man is so rude.

"6 months is a lot of time away from each other though" Tsukasa says while fixing her empty bento box, ready to put it away.

"We aren't exactly talking during those 6 months" I said while sipping my tea as I got pitiful eyes from the two of them.

"Like... zero contact?" Suki asked, to which I nodded.

They both groan in unison, typical for 16 year old girls who have only been in an all girls school. Who wants nothing more but the excitement of a budding romance.

Unfortunately for them, there was nothing exciting, or romantic about yours.

"That's so lame! And he doesn't call you at all?" Tsukasa pushes

"He does, he calls the night before I visit him" which the conversation only contains with 'you coming?' 'Yes' 'okay see you then' . Not that I ever looked forward to it anyways since it's always at 12am on the dot.

"But you usually visit him at their family home right? So this will be your first time visiting him in his new Tokyo school." Suki points out. Gojo recently got accepted into the Tokyo technical school, the students there are supposed to dorm within school grounds, so instead of his family house I'll be staying with him on campus.

That is, if he's even staying there at all...

"I don't know, i don't even know which station to go..." I couldn't even eat the past 3 weeks just thinking about it.

"WAIT you're telling me..."

"No way..."

Because Satoru gojo refuses to contact with me during the 6 months,

I don't even know where I should be staying for this visit.

–

“Baby…” my mother looms at my bedroom door as I’m crouched to the floor, packing what was the last of my personal items before disappearing from her sight for 6 months.

This was the second year after my wedding doing this bizarre arrangement. Not a day goes by with her constantly reminding me of how many months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds I have left before I leave, But I know that it never gets easy for her to see me go.

“Must that child continue to torment me by hogging you all to himself?” she says with venom in her voice.

But it never gets easier how much she hates Satoru Gojo.

“Since Gojo is a student for Jujutsu technical school, I doubt I’d spend a lot of time with him… him being a sorcerer and all…” I said meekly hoping not to fan her anger even more.

She turns away with a scoff, “I'd very much like it if he didn’t show his face to you at all” she leaves with weight in her steps and a temper that could cook an egg.

“But…” a marriage where the couple avoid each other even as far as living so far away, is not so unheard of in jujutsu society. After all, you can force a marriage all you want but you can't force the couple to like each other. Then again most sorcerers, if given the choice, wouldn't bother with getting along with their wedded partners and would rather choose a life of avoidance from each other. You can't exactly miss someone you don't know.

‘But I don't want a marriage like that’ I sighed inwardly,

A little thud rang inside my room as I turn to see a picture frame plop face flat. “Ahh I hope it didn’t crack-” it was a picture of me, and a picture of my husband, Satoru Gojo. It was our wedding picture.

Our faces were very monotonous, most wedding pictures are usually done without any smiles. But ours however, shined juvenile unease. Mostly coming from me. I caught myself smiling a little, as I carefully touched the picture. After all, despite me being so obvious with my nervousness, the one who really takes the cake is the man blessed with the six eyes pouting. I sure do hope it's not because he's mad that he’s married to me-

RINGGG

The picture frame leaps from my hand at the noise, and I barely caught it mid flight. I turn around to see a bright flashing of light coming from my phone, with the contact name ‘Satoru Gojo’ displayed on its screen.

‘Shoot! It's already 12??’ I internally scream, scrambling to grab my phone. It's a ritual for me to walk around my room to wait for his call, just to not sound jumpy, I mean after all this is my first time hearing from him in months!

‘Ahh will he get mad that I made him wait?” I tap the phone on my chin pondering,

RINGGG

I mentally scream as I click the answer button, I'll worry about panicking later.

There was light shuffling on the other side, I crossed my fingers hopping I don't get yelled at for not answering fast enough-

“Hello? Were you busy? You took a while to answer the phone.” suddenly I felt everything around me stop for a second

I carefully looked back at the caller I.D., But it clearly displayed the name ‘Satoru Gojo’

“I’m sorry but who’s this?”

“HUH!?” for the voice in the other line belonged to a 16 year old Gojo, who’s voice dropped a few octaves making him sound like a completely different person.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fandom #haneblurbs #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n

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perpetuallydaydreaming · 1 year

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play stupid games, win stupid prizes

sirius thinks he’s hot shit, that is until you play his game.

warnings: no warnings, maybe a few curse words? sirius being dumb

tags: fluff, 4.2k wc, established relationship, emotionally constipated sirius, accidentally made an oc charlie wilson (also appeared in my james potter fic here)

“sirius, what the hell?” you near shouted as you got close to the group of boys. one in particular looking way too chipper for your liking.

roughly tapping your boyfriend’s shoulder, as he continues to ignore you. “sirius, i’m talking to you.”

slowly, he looked up at you from his seat. irritation flaring under your skin, as he all but smile calmly at you - looking like he’d done no wrong. you felt a blooming shame from making a scene in the great hall but the flare makes it easy to ignore.

“where were you? i was waiting for you all afternoon.”

he looked at you, cooly, before shrugging, “oh i forgot, sorry about that.” though he looked anything but sorry. frankly, he looked rather satisfied with himself.

you felt a gnawing migraine slowly come to you. you’ve noticed conversations like these are becoming way too frequent with your boyfriend, as of late. as pathetic as it sounds, it wasn’t the first time he’d stood you up either.

you scoff, “you had begged me to come all morning and then you were no where to be found and you just forgot? what the fuck.”

sirius rolled his eyes, and you felt your eye twitch in anger, “i just forgot this one thing, it’s already over and done with. merlin, what else do you want from me?” he clicked his tongue and turned away from you to grab more food to fill his plate. seemingly done with the conversation. but you stayed standing behind him, boiling in anger.

the hall started to stir in murmurs, yet you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“what i want is a little respect from you - as your girlfriend.” you spat out, hands clenched to your sides.

sirius turned to look to look at you sideways, before he says his voice in a staged whisper, “i’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” scratching his neck, “how about we keep this relationship - open?” he says, “i want to have options, and i don’t want to get stuck—“

“stuck?”

“—into a relationship that’s too serious, too early. you get it, don’t you sweetheart?” his tone dripping in honey.

but it all felt like saccharine venom filling your lungs as the blood drain in your face and hands, hearing a couple of people at your back giggle and whisper at the spectacle before them. you felt a sliver of humiliation—one you’ve never though you’d feel with sirius. you looked at the man in front of you, looking way too proud of himself, and felt a sudden distaste settle in your mouth. willing your eyes to stay clear. your hand losing its strength to clench, now lay limp at your side. breathing in deep, and sighing.

“sure,” you said lamely.

you can see sirius’s smile falter a little bit before widening again, and winking at you. “i knew you’d get it.”

without another word, you turned and walked briskly out of the hall. feeling the gazes of hundred students following you walk out. you hadn’t eaten anything at all today, but sleeping hungry, sounds more appetizing than having to sit through the humiliation sirius had happily put you through.

at the groan of the door closing shut, remus wasted no time as he leaned in and whispered harshly. “should you really be acting like this towards your girlfriend?”

sirius looked taken aback first, before looking at his friend with an easy smile plastered on his face.

“oh moony,” sirius breathed out a haughty laughter, grabbing remus’ shoulder and smiled as if pitying, “this is why i’m the one with a girlfriend, yeah? trust me, i know what i’m doing.”

remus rolled his eyes, already done listening to this nonsense as he pried his hand off of his shoulder with a shrug

“and what is it that you’re doing exactly?” james asked, hands clasped in front of him, his dinner promptly forgotten.

“you know,” sirius gestures vaguely, “giving them a little taste of good ol’ padfoot and then depriving them of it.”

james frowned, “again, what is it that you’re doing exactly?”

peter looked at him apprehensively, “did you just refer to yourself in third person?”

sirius ignores peter’s quip and continues, “it’s the push and pull trick,”

remus frowned, “and i’m assuming this trick has something to do with being an asshole to your significant other then?”

sirius scoffs, “it’s not,”

james looking at sirius, indignant, “it sounds like it is.” sirius psh’ed, waving his hand.

peter sighed, “i feel like like i’ll regret asking this but - what is the push and pull trick?”

“don’t-“

sirius grinned, “i’m glad you asked,”

remus roll his eyes already fearing the worst and james not even bother trying to hide the grimace on his face.

“it’s when you give them a little bit of something like asking them out on date or bringing them flowers. and then you act nonchalant and aloof, like forgetting the date, or the flowers are all limp and dying.”

james gasps horrified at the prospect, “that’s bloody awful!” james slams his hand on the table, flabbergasted. “please tell me you didn’t give her dead flowers!”

sirius just shrugs, and james slumps in his seat.

peter shakes his head and turns to his food. “i regret asking.”

“that is probably the stupidest thing i have ever heard.” remus sighs, his eyes dead and unamused.

“you are a terrible boyfriend!” james shrieked, still dumbfounded.

sirius rolls his eyes, “i am not!” running a hand through his hair, “this is a way to strengthen our relationship!”

“that’s assuming you still have a relationship to strengthen,” peter hummed into his cup.

“if she cares enough, she’ll chase after me.”

remus rolled his eyes, “and why does she need to chase you?”

“to prove she wants me enough,”

“want you enough? are you actually insane?” james clicking his tongue, and looking at sirius as he’d wrong his entire lineage. “she doesn’t have to prove anything,”

“james, don’t bother,” remus says, putting a stern hand on james’ tense shoulder. “if sirius wants to play stupid games, let him. it’ll bite him in the arse soon enough.”

it was the next day when james, for once, had decided to heed remus’ advice of not bothering. so now sirius has been subjugated to conversations needing a middle man, as james refuses to associate with him until further notice.

“are you actually still pissy about last night?” sirius groans, looking over peter’s stout stature over to his petulant friend.

“wormtail, can you please tell sirius i’m not talking to him until he apologizes to his girlfriend.”

sirius groans louder following his friends in the halls.

“james said he won’t talk to you because he hates you.” peter relays, deadpanned and muffled by the candies in his mouth.

sirius grimaces, “i did try! but she wasn’t in the dorms last night.” he had meant to talk to you again, something to get the image of you deflating and leaving the halls out of his head. he would have apologized and you would have forgiven him, like you always did. but he hadn’t seen you at all since last night.

“wormtail, can you please tell sirius he didn’t try hard enough and i refuse to be his friend if he treats his girlfriend like shit?”

peter nods and turns to sirius, “james said you look like shit.”

sirius gasps, looking to peter now, “he did not say that—“

“james she’s not his girlfriend remember,” remus finally quipped. “he wanted it open,”

“mate, come on!” sirius laughs exasperated. “i really didn’t want it to be open, i’m gonna take it back today and go on our weekly dates like always.”

remus snorts, “ha! like she’ll say yes after your show yesterday.”

sirius frowned, “of course she’ll say yes,”

peter scrunches his face, and shares a look with remus, “how sure are you this push and pull thing is even working,”

“because, we’ve already been dating for weeks and i’ve been doing it since the start.” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

james sputter out sounds of disbelief before speaking harshly, “wormtail please tell sirius that he is absolutely mental for ever thinking that treating a lady like that is a good idea.”

“james said—.”

“i heard him,” sirius says, waving him off. “this verified data, okay? this is working.”

remus laughs in that irritating way that he does, when he knows something you don’t. sirius can already heal the bubbling irritation, wanting to say a scathing remark back but peter looks at something behind sirius, smirking as he points to the courtyard, “isn’t that your not-girlfriend with a guy over there?”

the group looks and, sure enough, there you were. your back against a post and a guy’s hand flat beside your head, leaning way too close as the both of you laugh. sirius doesn’t like the way the guy is looking at you. he doesn’t like the way he’s inching closer and closer to you, and he really doesn’t like the way you aren’t doing anything about it.

“begging, huh.” remus hummed, an irritating tone of smugness coating his voice.

sirius ignores the teasing quips and practically sprints to you, eyes blazing in anger and chest beating in jealousy. “hey!” he shouted when he sees you leaning up into the guy.

“hey,” he repeats, trying hard to not pant as he pushes his hair around to look nonchalant, “how are you?” he asks, eyes looking between the two of you.

the guy leaned back from your face, but his hands still remained near your head. sirius wanting nothing more than to cut his hand off and throw it to his face.

you didn’t bother moving from your spot, regarding him in a dull look. it leaves a bad taste in sirius’ mouth.

“oh,” you breathed, looking over at him. your face void of all the frowns and obvious anger you would usually have after a fight. which strangely makes it even worse for him. he knows how to deal with your anger, or your irritation but he doesn’t know what to do with your indifference.

“who’s this? a new friend?” he said looking pointedly at the offending hand beside your head and the excessive closeness of your positions. you raised an eyebrow, arms crossing in guarded scepticism, which, okay fair. but he’ll be damned before he leaves without getting some answers.

“charlie wilson, nice to meet you mate.” the blond reaching forward and offering his other hand.

sirius stares at it in great offence, before dragging his gaze to look at you instead. “what are you doing?” he asked, frowning to see any sort of tell, a clue to what your thinking. not even bothering to pretend he cares about the blond’s name, as the offending hand drops and stuffed into his pocket.

“i’m talking to charlie,” you say his name as if you’re close. as if this person wasn’t a practical stranger in your life. as if it wasn’t a guy you’ve barely interacted before.

sirius doesn’t even know what to say that. frantically at the position you’re standing in, hands gesturing to the scene. charlie sensing a tensing shift in the air, slowly removed his hand beside your head and stuffed it into his pocket, too.

the guy laughs, “look black, i don’t want any trouble.”

“don’t you now?” sirius snapped, turning to glare at the guy still standing way too close. “then what are you still doing here?”

“sirius,” you warned, no longer leaning against the post, and your arms tightly crossed.

wilson, still with an easy-going smile on his face, raises his hands in the air in faux surrender, “okay then,” softly grabbing your hand and squeezing it, “i’ll see you later y/n,” then stepping away. to hell with later, as if sirius’d let him come up to you ever again.

sirius was about to follow him, wand in hand - clutched tightly. he has a few colourful words to express to this bloke charlie. maybe his earlier friendly glances were too subtle, for him to still casually address you like that. but before he could even take a step, you turned to look at him. gaze hard and serious.

“what was that?”

sirius sputtered out words of disbelief and looked at you, his eyes wide as saucers, “what do you mean what was that?”

“you didn’t have to be such an arse towards charlie like that.” again, with his name!

“well, someone’s got to be.” he puffs, “i see you have a bit of qualms telling him off as you were practically humping in the courtyard.”

“excuse me?” you gaped.

he should stop. he should stop and the apologize. take it back and start over, and beg for forgiveness.

“you heard me,” he retorted, arms crossed in defiance, “why didn’t you tell him off?”

“last time, if i remember correctly, you were the one who said you wanted an open relationship.”

he did say that. said it in front of the whole bloody school, too. he might as well have gotten up to the tables to scream it out so everyone could hear.

but sirius is nothing but destructively defiant. even if he was wrong, he’d never admit it. “i know.” he sniffs, nose raised to the sky as he crosses his arms too, “i just wanted you to keep the tiniest bit of decency as to not go at it in public. wouldn’t want people calling you a scrubber.”

he saw you deflate again, like last night. your lips tremble just the slightest bit and your eyes take on a new shine of unshed tears. his arms uncrossing, apology already on the tip of his tongue and reaching out to you, but you stepped away.

“i’ll keep that mind for next time then.”

he should’ve apologized.

he didn’t know much about charlie wilson, and he kinda wishes it stayed that way. because now he was everywhere. everywhere with you. always seeing you smiling and laughing with him in every bench, at every meal, ni every class. how easy and happy you looked. it made him think to the last time he made you smile like that though it only caused a heavy pit in his stomach when he realized he can’t think of any. too caught up in his head about methods to assure himself of the feelings you felt for him. that he failed to assure you of his.

there were already a handful of people speculating if you two had broken up. each time sirius hears it, he denies it vehemently. he tries to approach you but you either ignored him or were too preoccupied in a conversation with that prat wilson to even give him a chance to say, hello.

sirius groans, running a hand through his hair and plopping his head on the table with a thud. the gryffindor common now being the only solace for him from the onslaught of offending visuals of you and your new beau.

“bit you in the arse real good, yeah?” remus chuckled, popping a candy in his mouth. as he leaned back on chair next to him.

“it’s what muggles call karma,” peter cheerfully quipped.

his voice muffled from the table, moaning to himself, “what should i do?”

sirius couldn’t see it but he can feel remus roll his eyes, “how about try not being a complete wanker then?”

peter smiled from the couch, “i would’ve gone for asswipe, as the americans would say.”

“or actually treating her like a human being, not an experiment.” lily stated as she entered the room. james following closely behind, her books clutched in his arms.

sirius mutters silently, “and no actual help was offered. got it.”

but not silent enough it seems, as james replied, “this is your own fault, anyway. why would we help? i mean, seriously, who in their right mind would even think that what you were doing was going to end good.”

james had started speaking to him again, but only because peter kept adding gruesome details that always included hitting sirius’ bits that made him stop relying on peter to be middleman. but if you asked sirius, he would have preferred james not talking to him at all because now every time they talked it would always lead to a lecture about how bad of a boyfriend he is. which he sort of is (he can admit that now), but he doesn’t need the constant reminder.

“i’m happy for her, she seems to glow lately. i’m guessing without you to stress her out made her even prettier.” james huffed.

“agreed,” lily hummed.

remus nods enthusiatiscally, “you have to admit, this is the best case scenario.”

“best case?!” whipping his head to look at remus as if he had gone bonkers. “how is this best-case? we barely talk now!”

“oh sorry,” remus sheepishly laughed, before scratching his cheek, “best case for y/n, i mean.”

“and what, you think i’m bad for her or something.”

“well you did treat her like crap.” peter said mouth full of candy.

james nodding in agreement, “not to mention she’s leagues above you.”

sirius gasped, scandalized, “we’re in the same league.”

“are you though?” lily hissed theatrically. “i mean, you’re here miserable and she’s out there dating.”

“she’s not—! of course i’m miserable, how could i even think of dating other people when i have her! i lover her,”

lily raised an eyebrow, “then why’d you say you didn’t want to date her?”

“i never said that!”

“right, you said you wanted it to be an open relationship.”

“yes—“

“and then you stood her up,”

“i stood her up before i said-“

“like that makes a difference?” she bemusedly hummed, “you ask her for space, she gives it you and sulk. you ask for an open relationship, she starts talking to other people and you sulk. she just can’t win with you huh?” sirius seemingly sinking into his chair, trying to ignore the onslaught of judgement and scoffs “then why’d say all that in the great hall?”

sirius pauses, “i thought, it’d be good for our relationship—”

she gives him an incredulous look and scoffs, “are you joking? how could you possibly think it’d help with your relationship? you’re just pushing her away! not to mention humiliating - doing it so publicly, why if i was in her shoes i wouldn’t even give you the time of day. forget dating you, i wouldn’t even talk to you. did you even apologize? hm? or were you too caught up in your games to notice?”

he kept quiet seeming to sink deeper and deeper into his seat. a sneer etching itself on lily’s face, “typical,” she spat. “and now you’re putting on woe is me act as if you’re the victim when you’re the exact reason why this is happening in the first place. if you want to be an arsehole then at least have the balls to act like it until the end,”

“but i don’t want to be an arsehole,” he mumbled, hands restless on his lap feeling like a child again, waiting until the sermon stops.

“what was that?”

“i don’t want to be an arsehole.” he repeated louder.

lily looking triumphant, leans back into james and crossing her arms. “then do something about it, instead of dragging everyone into your mess.”

sirius hadn’t a clue how to even start a conversation with you - feeling like he’d lost all the right to. the shame and guilt and inadequacy settling into his subconscious like a second skin. he doesn’t know what he could possibly say to justify his grievous actions towards you (because it really was a shitty thing he’d done to you - fuck, you won’t ever want to be with him after this), but he suppose he could start by coming clean.

finding you was easy enough— it was approaching you that proved to be rather difficult. you had a whole set up in place; your yellow blanket spread on the ground, snacks littering your sides and a book in your hand. breathing in deep, his eyes firmly set on your figure, he slowly approaches you. this is probably be the first time in days that he sees you all alone. and sirius isn’t much for signs but he can’t help but think that it must be fate working for his favour.

once he’s close enough, he sees the thing you’ve been reading. he pauses mid-step, almost tripping him. but he steels his nerves and walked on. he had to do this now, or else he might never have the chance to make things right again.

“hey,” he says slowly, low and careful, like he knows anything could set you off— judging by the furrow on your eyebrow, and the frown set on your lips, he knew it wasn’t a far-fetched assumption.

you look up, the magazine still clutched into your hand. staring up at him, eyes still holding that cold indifferent gaze.

he pauses and then slowly, “am i disturbing you?”

you looked at the all too familiar magazine, and all the annotations to the pages. he was pretty sure you were going to drive him out, maybe even hex him for good measure. he wouldn’t blame you if you did, you had every right to. but then you shook your head no and moved just a tiny bit to give him space. he almost sighs in relief before slowly plopping down. he wanted to reach out and touch you over anything. maybe even just your robes if he could, but he knows that would be more than he deserves from you. so he settles half in the blanket and half in the grass before slowly asking, “what are you reading there?”

you flip the magazine close, the cover in plain sight for the both of you, cosmopolitan’s marvellous guide to keep him interested! in bold yellow. “it’s a muggle magazine. somebody lent it to me.”

he gulps, “i see,”

you hum, still looking at the cover. your fringe covering your eyes, “it’s an interesting read - the contents are horrifying but the owner of this even more-so.” you plop the magazine into his lap. the wrinkled pages, a testament to how much the owner has read this thing is obvious. sirius grabs it and opens it to a familiar page. his handwriting scattered around, filled with stars and exclamation points to the things he’s curious to try.

“i can explain,” he says plainly. feeling his hand lay heavy on the glossy pages and the heat rising to his neck and cheeks.

you look at him, your eyes carrying indignation now, better than nothing he supposes. “okay then,” you huff, “explain to me why you’ve been using ridiculous magazine tactics to mess with me. is it your idea of a joke? hm? thinking i’m not even worth a decent relationship with you, that you just play me like that? experimenting with bullshit like appearing aloof to capture my attention?” you read into one of the things he’d underlined thrice.

“i know i know, it’s fucked up - but i didn’t do it to mess with you, believe me,” sirius says, running a hand through his hair and sags, “i did it - well, fuck okay, i did it because i didn’t know how to be a boyfriend.”

there it was, the embarrassing truth of it all. he doesn’t really know what the fuck he’s been doing the past weeks. too ashamed to admit his lack of experience in dating that he’d created this façade of easy confidence, reducing him to pathetically consulting magazine articles.

“oh come on,” you scoff, before quickly getting on your knees and reaching all over the blanket to grab all your stuff. “you’d honestly think i’d believe a sorry excuse like that? sirius you’re literally the hottest guy in school—“ sirius really tried not to preen at that, he really did. though his joyous moment of narcissism quickly fades once you stand, arms full, and heart tightening frown on your face. “—everybody wanted to get with you, i had people - people! - that would beg me to break up with you so they’d have a chance. you expect me to believe some bullshit about you being a budding virgin?”

there was a pausing silence when you looked at him, at least he felt you look. sirius refused to look at you, resolutely staring at his lap and willing his cheeks to calm down to its natural pale colour.

sirius had never gotten with anyone else except for you. his impromptu celibacy was defiance at first, his parents urging him to make connections and meet people at hogwarts. people he can someday marry and produce an heir for the family, naturally he’d rebelled. refusing to meet with anyone, or even entertain the idea of dating and he’s successful in this endeavour (though some might too successful). but then he met you. wonderful you, that broke down his walls and his immature need to defy his parents, like a battering ram and had made him want you. you made him want to be with you, and get to know you and love you, and you were so perfect. you’d always know what to say and what to do, and he’d just wanted to be that with you. but he hadn’t had the guts to ask for any help at the start, because people expected so much from him — expected him to know and he doesn’t. he didn’t want to disappoint you. though now he knows, he still did either way.

“you’re actually—?”

he nods.

you sit down again, things tumbling out of your arms to your lap and across the blanket.

“why didn’t you say so?” you say quietly. your annoyance simmering away. even when he knows you have every right to run off and curse him out and never talk to him. but you were toonice. thank merlin, you’re too nice because now, you’re sat closer to him. he could almost smell your pleasant perfume.

“i didn’t want you to think that you’d made a mistake dating me that you could do so much better.”

you flick his tie, “that’s a stupid reason.”

“i know,” sirius sighs, trying to still his twitching fingers from reaching out to you. “i’m sorry.”

you huff crossing your arms, “i wouldn’t’ve cared, you didn’t have to use cheesy tactics to get me interested because i’m already am,”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

“and i really got upset you wouldn’t talk to me properly,”

“i know, i shouldn’t’ve done that, i’m sorry.”

“treating me like i’m garbage in front of the whole school too, do you know how mortifying that is?”

sirius bit his lip, “i’m sorry, that was - i’m sorry.”

you sag, throwing a pack of crisps into his chest, making him look up at you. “i don’t forgive you.”

sirius looks down, because of course you wouldn’t. it was enough you’d hear me out if anything. “i understand,”

you sigh, “you have to make it up to me first,”

“what?”

you opened a bag of crisps, all the while gesturing to the bag on his lap to open it too. “you could start by spending the entire day with me and telling me everything you’ve learned from this magazine.” throwing a piece into your mouth and giving him a tentative smile.

sirius can feel the painfully wide grin spreading on his face, eagerly grabbing the pack and popping it open, you really are too nice for him.

extra:

“how did you even get the magazine?” sirius asks, his arms carrying the folded yellow blanket and the crumpled magazine.

he was sure he had it hidden in his bedroom drawer - with a strong locking charm too. he can’t think of how this could’ve possibly ended up in your possession.

you shrugged, “peter gave it to me.”

he didn’t even know peter could pick locks! let alone counter his locking charm. “that traitor.” he grumbles.

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