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strangersmunsons · 9 months

Text

read 'em and weep

you and Eddie meet at the library. he’s smitten.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, bookworm!reader, lovesick!Eddie, reader gives Eddie book recommendations. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: brief mention of loneliness & negligence in Eddie’s childhood. Word Count: ~2.2k it's my hope to make this a little series! i think eddie is def a bookish guy - no lord of the rings quoting, metal head dungeon master hates reading. he would certainly be open to any fantasy/horror recs you had for him! <3

Indiana. 1989.

Hawkins Library sees a lot of action in the summer.

They offer a wide variety of youth programs to keep the local kids busy and the parents sane while school is out. One of the main events is Saturday Story Time, a beloved weekly staple that you have recently been tasked with putting on.

It’s simple. You gather a number of books, usually with a common theme, and then read a select few to the children who had signed up for the day. Most of the kids in attendance are no older than six or so, with some parents even pulling up chairs to the back so they can sit with infants cradled in their arms. The older ones sit criss-cross-applesauce on carpet squares in front of you, their chubby faces alight with giggles as you recount each silly, fantastical story with all the spirit you can muster.

And then there’s always an accompanying arts and crafts project, of course. If you read The Very Hungry Caterpillar then, naturally, you have to make little googly-eyed caterpillars out of popsicle sticks and colorful pom-poms. You don’t make the rules.

If trouble occurs during Story Time, it’s usually in this phase. (Giving paste to toddlers is always a gamble – you never know what they’re gonna do with that.)

And on this particular morning, it’s been chaos from start to finish. A whopping eighteen kids had signed up, and you stretched yourself pretty thin trying to attend to everyone.

One of the babies spit up directly onto the little girl sitting in front of him and his mother. Someone slipped on their carpet square and fell harshly to the floor, earning a bruised elbow that you gently fussed over. You wrangled a pair of twins who fought bitterly over a bottle of Elmer’s glue. There were three individual running-with-scissors-scares and, finally, you spent a good ten minutes soothing one sobbing child with whom there was nothing apparently wrong with, and that you suspected was just in need of a good cry.

So yeah, it was basically pandemonium.

But eventually, to your great relief, things wound down. The audience dispersed, with their handmade goods clutched in sticky fists, and went to peruse the glossy line of picture books you put out for display. Within the next hour or two, everyone traded the cool darkness of the library for buttery sunshine, and all was quiet again. You waved cheerfully to the last parent-child duo as they made their exit, promising them that there’d be a fun activity next weekend too.

You love these storytime sessions, you really do, but sheesh. Sometimes they run you ragged. With the havoc of the morning finally over, and the promise of lunch in your near future, you try to shake off the weariness, and instead take it upon yourself to clean up the disorganized mess someone’s made of the horror section.

You’re going about your work, tongue poking out in concentration as you strain to reach the really high shelves, when you notice someone standing in your peripheral vision. You turn and glance at him, or at least, what you can see of him. He’s half-hidden by the shelf behind you, but you catch sight of brown hair and denim.

A pale face appears on a craned neck from around the corner. His dark eyes meet yours, widen slightly when he sees that you’ve caught him lurking, and he abruptly disappears again.

You purse your lips to hide your smile. This isn’t uncommon; such moments often occur when you’re cleaning up a section of books someone is hoping to sift through. In a small act of kindness, you move over to the neighboring shelf and look for something to busy yourself with; trying to give the guy a chance to browse without having to ask you to step aside.

He doesn’t emerge. You wait, expecting to sense him passing by you, but no dice. It’s amusing to think that someone might be frightened to approach you (You? Really?) but you can’t help feeling sorry that you were in his way.

The rest of your shift is rather uneventful. At the end of the day, you punch out and head home, the stranger behind the shelf forgotten.

When you come back to work on Monday, it’s much quieter than the last morning you’d been in. You greet your coworkers and set up shop at the front desk, opening up a book of your own to pass the time until someone needed assistance.

You’ve been reading for about half an hour when the big double doors open up for the day’s first visitor, the sound echoing loudly in the silent, spacious room. You look up in interest, ready to greet the person with a warm smile.

“Good morning!” you softly call out as he comes into view. He walks slowly towards you, shoes scuffing the checkered tile with each step. As he comes nearer, you can see that he’s biting his lip, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture oozing self-consciousness. He only makes eye contact with you for a second before his gaze flits away again.

He’s pretty conspicuous-looking to be approaching the desk with such hesitance, you think. He has dark hair that hangs in slightly-scraggly curls down to his chest, and huge dark eyes. The pale skin of his arms, sticking out from within a denim vest/Judas Priest t-shirt combo, are littered with tattoos.

He pauses a few feet away from you, like he’s debating whether he wants to stop and chat, or to simply veer off towards the bookshelves and start browsing. Ultimately he decides to shuffle forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Hi there. What can I do for you?” you ask, voice gentle but encouraging.

He looks down and rests a hand on the desk, absentmindedly tracing the wood pattern with his thumb. “Um, yes.” He doesn’t offer anything else.

There’s a pregnant pause, both of you digesting the fact that what you had asked was not a yes or no question.

He tries again. “I…am in need…of some new reading material.”

You nod gravely, expression serious. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

He begins to rock lightly back and forth on his feet, contemplating. “I like fantasy, especially Tolkien. I read a lot of horror, too, and sometimes sci-fi. If you had any suggestions for me, that’d be great.”

“Oh, we can certainly find you something,” you reassure him, already flipping through a mental rolodex of your favorite books in those genres. “Here, come with me.”

You stand and move around the desk to meet him, beckoning for him to follow.

Eddie watches you run a delicate hand over the spines of the books, keenly aware of the clammy sweat that’s flooding his own palms. Be cool, Munson.

“So,” you begin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes, “you like fantasy. Do you read Le Guin?”

Eddie nods eagerly, hair bouncing slightly with the movement. “Oh yeah, I’ve read the Earthsea trilogy.”

“Have you read any of The Hainish Cycle books?”

“I haven’t read those ones, no.”

You pull out two slim paperbacks from the row, holding each one out for him so he can study the covers. “These ones are science fiction, and they’re pretty good. You might like Rocannon’s World since it’s similar to a fantasy novel, but personally I think Left Hand of Darkness is the best.” You suddenly pause, and look around furtively, like you were checking to make sure that you two are really alone. You even put a hand up to the side of your mouth, as though shielding the conversation from eavesdroppers.

“Honestly,” you lower your voice like you’re admitting something scandalous, “I even liked it better than Earthsea.”

“No!” Eddie immediately matches your whispered, gossipy tone and lets his jaw drop, pretending to be aghast.

“Yes!” you insist, seemingly delighted by his willingness to play along. Eddie’s heart soars.

“I guess I can’t refute that until I read it, huh? What’s it about?” he asked, taking it from your hand.

“An envoy is visiting this frozen alien planet, and he’s trying to convince them to join this intergalactic coalition that he represents, but they’re making it like, really difficult for him. Also, gender doesn’t exist, and there’s political turmoil stemming from border disputes.”

“...oh. Cool.”

The next half-hour passes in this fashion. Your soft, mild demeanor is aglow with enthusiasm as you pull out book after book, giving him an off-the-cuff elevator pitch for each. Eddie can practically feel the cartoon hearts swirling around his head, bright pink and red bubbles that are almost certainly going to appear out of thin air and give him away.

He can’t put his finger on what it is, precisely, that’s pulling him in so deeply, drawing him towards you like a magnet with an opposite pole. Maybe it’s the tender way you talk about each book, the love and care that’s so tangible in your sweet voice, the way you speak about them as though they’re your old friends. Perhaps they are.

It’s not an unfamiliar concept to Eddie. A childhood steeped in loneliness and poverty, instability and dysfunction, neglect from his volatile and unreliable parents…yeah, he gets it. The wanting, the longing, the dire need to escape to someplace that doesn’t exist, some place where things were better and didn’t hurt, a dreamworld that would be kinder to a scrawny little boy with unwashed hair and a mean father.

The closest he ever came to it was when he lost himself between the yellowed and dog-eared pages of the few, precious books he owned.

So he listens to you chatter away with chest-aching tenderness, already thinking that he could listen to you like this for hours and be glad for it.

“You love fantasy, but you’ve never read The Last Unicorn?”

Eddie gives you an apologetic half-shrug, no longer able to keep the goofy, besotted grin from unfurling across his face. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

“It makes me cry. You have to take it,” you tell him with pleading eyes, adding it to the top of the growing pile in his arms before he can refuse. Not that he ever would. How could he, when you look at him like that?

“You cry at this one, really?” He looks curiously at the artwork on the front, an innocent picture of the pale horned creature. “But it’s so unassuming…”

“Don’t be fooled, it’ll get you. Take it,” you repeat.

Eddie shifts the stack of books to cradle it in one arm, so he can raise the other at you in a salute. “Yes, ma’am. And when I’m finished with it, I’ll give you a full report on the emotional damage it caused me.”

This makes you giggle, lips turned up in a gorgeous smile, and Eddie knows he’s a goner.

Back at the front, you resume your previous positions at the desk. Him in front and you behind, this time separated by a short pile of books.

You hold your hand out. “Card, please, sir.” Polite and professional, but with a little sparkle in your eye that lets Eddie hope for a moment that his time with you this morning was more pleasure than business.

He fumbles with his wallet, slipping out his library card and slotting it between his index and middle fingers, extending it for you to take. His chunky silver rings catch the light.

You accept the offering. “Thank you” – you quickly read the messy signature at the bottom – “Edward.” You look back at him with a grin.

He cringes, face scrunching in embarrassment. “Oh God. Call me Eddie, please.”

The scanner gives a little chirp! as you begin the checkout process, nodding. “Will do, Eddie.” His name sounds like a song when you say it, one he never wants to stop listening to.

You finish scanning his books, and slide a receipt into the jacket of the novel on top (which just so happens to be Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love). Instead of sliding the stack towards him, you keep both hands clasped on the cover, hesitating. You bite your lip, an unconscious imitation of himself earlier. “Listen….”

Eddie straightens up a little, stomach flipping like a coin. “Yeah?”

You bow your head. “I’m sorry if I talked too much. It’s just – most people who come in don’t actually ask me for recommendations, and I got excited,” you admit quietly, looking sheepish.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “I appreciate it. I really enjoyed it, actually,” he adds, eager to quell your anxiety. “I liked talking with you.” More than you know.

“O-oh,” you stutter, taken aback. “I liked talking with you, too.”

Eddie nods, smiling slightly. “Would you like to…talk again?” He flushes scarlet and coughs. Smooth. “I just mean, when I finish these” – he motions towards the day’s finds – “we have to discuss them, right? You helped me pick ‘em out, after all.”

“Of course. You have to let me know what you think.”

His smile gets bigger. “So we’ll reconvene?”

“We’ll reconvene,” you chuckle.

“Awesome. Looking forward to it.” He sweeps up his books, and gives you a little wave. “Thanks again, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

And he can hardly wait. It looks like he’s got a lot of reading to do…

thanks for reading!!! <3 edit: this is now a series! Read Ch. 2-> Here!

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x bookworm!reader #stranger things fanfiction

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guacala · 1 year

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Bella ramsey x reader and the reader like leaves hickies on bella without them realizing and bella goes to set/ an interview with it and Pedro makes fun of them

hickeys, bella ramsey

masterlist pairing: bella ramsey x fem!reader summary: you leave hickeys on bella and when she shows up to an interview with them, pedro makes fun of them word count: 1k warnings: suggestive themes (reference to previous smut), language, pedro annoying bella, but mostly a lot of fluff a/n: bellie and pedge have my whole heart. i used she/her pronouns for the reader since you didn’t specify which you preferred, lmk if you want me to change it. also, im sorry it took so long (writer's block is a bitch) and if it seems like it’s on crack, its probably cause i was listening to queen shaki and lana del ray while writing this… <3

you wake up to the morning light, a lazy smile making its way on your face as you roll over to see Bella choosing out some rings from your small jewelry box.

“good morning sleepy,” they say, looking over at you with a smile as you get up to sit criss-cross applesauce on the edge of your shared bed.

“g’morin’,” you say, eyes still half closed and reaching out towards Bella.

they walk into your arms, their own wrapping around you.

“you sleep well?” they ask, pressing a kiss to your forehead, knowing how much morning breath kisses bothered you.

you nod against them, leaning further into their touch, “you?”

“mhm,” they hum in agreement, pulling away from you to finish getting ready.

you take in the outfit that they had chosen for their day full of interviews, starting from the black jeans that fit them way too well, up to the black and white button-up with green accents, which was technically yours.

“pretty,” you say, sleep still clear in your voice as you slightly drag on the e.

“thank you, babe,” they say, and your eyes trail up to their face to see their smile grow, but something else catches your eyes and makes you do a double take.

“um, Bells?” you say, awake now, with wide eyes, and you can feel your face getting hot.

“yeah?” they say in response.

“um…” you start to say, but words escape you.

“what's wrong?” they ask as they take in your embarrassed state.

“your- um- well- i- just come here,” you say, getting up and walking over to the bathroom as they follow you, concern clearly written on their face.

“what is it?” they ask, and you simply point at the mirror, watching their face, carefully, as they look at where you're pointing.

their eyes widen, and their jaw drops in amusement as they take in the trail of purple and red marks starting at their neck and going down under the shirt.

they start to laugh, and you hide your face in your hands.

“i’m sorry, i-” you start to apologize before Bella cuts you off.

“no, don’t say sorry, i should be the one apologizing, yours are way worse,” they say with a soft but teasing smile as you finally take your face out of your hands to look at yourself in the mirror.

you take in the matching marks left by Bella all over your neck, and when you pull the neck of your hoodie down slightly, you see more marks littered all over your collarbone. you bring your other hand up to gently trace over them.

“gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” they whisper as they walk behind you, wrapping their arms around your waist and pressing feather-like kisses on the bruises that were starting to form.

“but you have interviews all day, and now you’re gonna have to be in makeup forever,” you say, turning around to face Bella, their arms still holding you close to them.

“it’s okay,” they say with a laugh, and when you look up at them, they mumble under their breath, “i kind of like them anyway.”

a shit-eating grin makes its way on your face as you laugh softly. “well if anyone gives you shit for them, it's not my fault.”

“what do you mean! of course it is!”

“i dunno,” you shrug, “it's just not.”

“well, you’re clearly not fully awake yet,” Bella says, giving you a small kiss, “i left you breakfast, but i have to go right now, or i’ll be yelled at even more.”

“no, don't leave me yet!” you whine as you hold Bella tighter, and they press another kiss on your temple.

“i know, i don’t wanna, but i have to,” they say, and you finally let them go.

“i love you,” they call out as they grab their stuff and start walking out.

“i love you more,” you respond.

“not possible,” they say as they close the door behind them, leaving a smile on your face.

⭒⭒⭒

when Bella arrives at the interview site, they are immediately rushed into hair and makeup as they scold them for the visible marks on their neck.

“Bella, what the fuck!” their makeup artist, Tori, complains as she starts grabbing concealer and foundation in an attempt to cover them up.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry! blame my girlfriend!” Bella whines.

“you’re just lucky that you’re already dressed,” Tori mutters under her breath, and as she starts to apply the first of many layers of makeup, the door to the room opens up.

“Bellie!” Pedro yells when he walks in, acting as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“hey Ped-” Bella starts to say but gets cut off by a gasp coming out of his mouth.

“shit Bella, your neck,” he says in shock as Bella hides their face in their hands, causing Tori to roll her eyes.

“i know, i know, blame her, not me,” Bella says, referring to you, as Tori moves their head to the side.

“oh, i highly doubt that,” he says, laughing harder by the second as Bella’s face starts to get red.

“what's that supposed to mean?”

“that knowing both of you, the poor girl is probably ten times worse.”

“Pedro!”

“am i wrong?”

“well-”

“am i?”

“...no.”

“see!”

“whatever,” Bella groans as they roll their eyes and throw their head back.

“let’s just hope that makeup covers all of that up, 'cause little Bellie went to town last night,” he says, laughing again as Tori nods in agreement.

Bella turns to flip Pedro off, but Tori quickly slaps their hand away and tugs their head back to the side, making Pedro let out another laugh, which causes Bella to cross their arms.

⭒⭒⭒

it takes some time to get them both ready, but once they are, Bella turns to Pedro.

“just... don’t tell Craig,” they say, holding out their pinky to Pedro, and he links them together, nodding, as they walk out to meet Craig and Neil.

“hey, Craig!” Pedro yells as they get closer, “guess what Bell-”

“PEDRO! NO!” Bella yells in distress, and Pedro just crackles and leans in toward them.

“man child,” Bella mutters under their breath as they roll their eyes, fondly.

#bella ramsey #bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey fluff #bella ramsey fanfiction #bella ramsey fanfic #bella ramsey x you #bella ramsey imagine #pedro pascal #bellie and pedge #pedro and bella #the last of us #anon request #lgbtq

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tac-the-unseen · 2 days

Note

I love all ur blog sm!! Can I ask abt something with the slashers (specially Thomas <3) with an foreigner!reader that don't quit speak english very well and normally forget words?

(Sorry if something is spelled wrong, English is not my native language lmao)

Absolutely, I can!

And because the request didn't specify, this fic will strictly be about speaking a foreign language.

Sorry if this is inaccurate! I'm a native English speaker and don't know many who aren't. Sorry in advance!!

Slashers x Foreigner!Reader

Micheal Myers:

•This man will act like he doesn't care but in reality he's so intrigued. (It might be why you're still alive)

•He’ll spend his time watching you practice your pronunciation and recognition patterns, like it's a movie.

•Is he a bit mean about it? Yes. Will he laugh? Probably.

•If you find yourself not knowing what certain words are and stumble around until you find the right word, You'd be surprised at how patient he is.

•If you are very new to the English language he'll secretly get you flash cards and stash them into a place he knows you'll find them

•Despite everything, if you ask him for help, he will help. He might be mute but he can write and use TV to aid you.

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Stu is already romanticizing your language, but instead of using the actual name of your language, he calls it “Talking pretty to me”

•Billy asks if you want any text books or study equipment to help you on your English speaking journey

•Both boys are a surprising help! Stuttering trying to articulate what you mean? They've already jumped in to, A) help save you some of the embarrassment, and B) give you time to think about what you're trying to say.

•Someone making fun of you? They're either dead or a social outcast by the end of the week.

•Are you struggling to remember a certain word? These boys are willing play charades until you figure it out. And they won't drop it either, Stu says ‘It’s bad to give up when you've already come so far.’

•Over all it's not so bad (Stu 100,000,000% uses Google translate to figure out how to say ‘i love you’ in your native language)

Thomas Hewitt:

•When both of you met, he had never met an actual foreigner before.

•He knew people travel around and occasionally some valley girl would end up in their small town, But someone from a whole different part of the world?

•His interest in you spiked the moment he heard your accent

•Thomas has so many questions but doesn't know how to ask you

•With him being mute and your struggles with English, It's not the easiest relationship. In the end both of you just end up pointing at things and making noises to get your point across.

•Absolutely loves to listen to you speak in your native language, Even if he'll never understand it.

•When he's first trying to court you, he leaves you slightly damaged flowers (he struggled to pick them) to communicate his affection.

•even with a language barrier, he's gonna love you like no one ever could

Bubba Sawyer:

•He had no idea people outside of America existed

•When You fell into the palm of Texas and his brothers found you failing to remember the word for your favorite snack, They knew you would be an easy target.

•When they kidnapped you and brought you to the basement so Bubba could chop you up, he was fascinated by the way you desperately tried to beg him not to kill you.

•It ended in a huge fight in the family, But he got everyone to let you live a bit longer.

•Sits Criss Cross applesauce while you speak for your life. You could babble about anything and he would listen intently.

•He pulls out his alphabet soup machine and spends hours typing with you. (You help him finally get past the clown level)

Bo Sinclair:

•absolute meanie, stinky poopy head about it >:(

•will mock your stutters and say stuff like “Oh come ON! The word is Cat! C. A. T. CAT! What's so hard about that?”

•If you speak your native language around him, He thinks you're insulting him or intentionally hiding something.

•”If you could say it to my face in your language you can say it to my face again in mine!”

•The same sentiment is not shared when it involves bedroom fun

•Will eventually apologize, But that's going to take a while

Vincent Sinclair:

•As another non-speaking fellow he takes his time to make sure you two can understand each other

•He’ll mostly use body language and and little doodles to get his point across

•Stuttering over a word? He doesn't care, he'll let you work it out without any judgment!

•Want his help? He has several books, Vincent will just pull out a book he knows as the word in it, flipped to the page, and point at the word.

•Love listening to you talk, In English or not. He'll happily let you yap his ear off.

Lester Sinclair:

•Poor boy was lovestruck when he first heard you talk!

•Full on heart eyes while you explain where you're from and how you ended up here

•If you end up fumbling on a word he'll start shouting out potential words for what you're trying to say.

•Example: “and then I had too…uh…um..” “Run? Pee? Eat? Were you hungry? Are you hungry right now?”

•So helpful, I know

•But the guy is already googling restaurants based off your native cuisine. He's got the date set up.

•”It's no biggie, I'm a native English speaker and I still can't get it right!”

Billy Lenz:

•Billy 100% understands the struggle of finding the right word to say

•He can't stop stuttering himself, so when you start stuttering you kind of reinforce us in his brain that you were meant to be together

•He feels like he can bond with you over it, and even feel safer around you knowing that you also mess up

•the thing is if you start stuttering, he'll start stuttering. If you can't get it by God he will.

•”W-we can't bo-oth be wrong.”

Brahms Heelshire:

•this man will 100% try to learn your language as soon as he finds out you're a foreigner

•That man has a huge library, there's bound to be at least one book written in your mother tongue

•He spends a lot of time practicing your native language so he can speak to you more comfortably

•You already know he has children's learning books he'll pull out if you ask.

•Can't find the word you're looking for? He's already 10 books deep, he'll find it for you.

•Brahms is a well-educated man and he intends to use His years of learning to help

•If you want to take classes to better your English skills he will 100,000% throw money your way to do so.

Hannibal Lecter:

•Now Hannibal really understands

•He's a Lithuanian who learned English as a 10 year old

•He didn't struggle as much, But for the first couple of months you bet he was stumbling.

•If you're struggling with a word, He has a process of teaching you so you don't forget it again.

1) Identify what you're trying to say

2)Slowly begin to sound out the word

3)Have you recite the word a few times

4)He'll either teaches you a little tune to remember or he'll do something so you remember the moment

•Does it feel a little condescending? Yes. But it works

•He's also willing to pour an ungodly amount of money into your English education if you ask

•He'll even teach you himself in his spare time

Will Graham:

•Doesn't really know what to do, He's a bit awkward about it

•He'll also identify the word and repeat it a few times so you can get a better handle on it.

•He thinks it's a bit funny and a bit cute when you stutter or mispronounce something

•He will gently correct you and move on like nothing happened

The Lost Boys:

•holy fucking shit this is a cluster fuck, let's do this one by one

•David

-David, having been around a while, has picked up a couple languages.

-If he does know the language you're speaking he'll speak it back to you and guide you into English better than the other boys could

-If not, he'll just read your mind and tell you what you're trying to say. It's by far the easiest way to articulate what you mean.

•Dwayne

-Dwayne being just slightly younger than David has also picked up a couple languages

-It's really the same if he does know your language But with a little more verbal teaching

-If he doesn't he'll patiently wait until you figure out what you're trying to say.

•Paul

-as soon as you start to stutter over yourself Paul starts shotgunning words off

-some slightly related to the situation and others wildly out there

-”Drink? Food? Ocean? Horse? The unforgiving eyes of God and His kingdom???”

-he'll do this to confuse you and have a nice laugh

•Marko

-Marko speaks English and Italian, so if your language isn't one of those two you're kind of shit out of luck

-”Come on babe, you'll get it”

-He finds it a bit funny but still tries to help in little ways

Thanks for reading <3

Sorry if this seems hastily written together, I haven't had the request in a while so I kind of jumped at the opportunity.

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not-your-fucking-kacchan · 2 years

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Hi you really don’t have to do this…… anyway I’ve been told I act like near from death note so could you do a mha x child male reader where the reader acts like near from death note like he pulls out toys in the middle of class stacks cups at lunch and is very quiet and stuff oh yeah could you make it class 1-A + Aizawa maybe other teachers in there too sorry if it’s too specific

Ofc! I haven't gotten that far into death note yet so I had to watch a Near compilation on YouTube, so I hope I got a good enough grasp of him in that time lol

Also I'm describing you as antisocial rather than shy, because near didn't strike me as the shy stuttering pushover type, and seemed just withdrawn or disinterested, and I also high-key headcanon izuku may have ADHD. I will not elaborate <3.

Masterlist<3

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 1𝐀 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

It draws a few sets of eyes every time you pull out a pack of tarot cards or dice to play with in the middle of class, but noone really got distracted as long as you were quiet enough. Though, a few times you've knocked over a power ranger or transformer doll while taking notes and drawn the classes attention.

During break on your second week of school, you find yourself approached by the 'bakusquad'. Kirishima introduces himself politely and mina stares in awe at your tarot collection, but Bakugou looks livid.

He doesn't expect you to meet his glare directly with an unamused stare, and he's a second away from lunging at you and taking it as a challenge before Kaminari and Kirishima simultaneously bonk him in the head.

"Dude you don't even know him, give him a chance!"

You can't stop yourself from raising an eyebrow at the statement, figuring that these two must be the perfect balance for Bakugou's... Overbearing personality.

The next thing that catches your attention is the green haired boy that joins into the conversation, quietly asking you a question with a cute tilt of his head. "Have you maybe got ADHD? I've just seen a few of the signs on you- It's perfectly okay if you do! You won't be looked at differently!"

You already like this one, he's so precious.

Your eyes look straight into his as he studies you, and it's very intriguing to watch the gears turn in his head while he figures you out like some sort of puzzle. You could definitely get along with him. "No, I don't believe so."

He seems a little surprised by your words, but then again, you very well may have ADHD. You were never allowed to get tested for it, because your parents refused. Without a diagnosis, they can pretend there's nothing "wrong" with you.

He studies your eyes, figuring that you may have an irregular sleep schedule from the dark circles under your eyes, and that your eyes seem to be very sensitive to light because of how wide your pupils are. It's almost unnerving, to be honest. Your eyes look almost fully black.

Over the next few days you're scolded a few times by Aizawa Sensei for being too loud when knocking over your dice or your robots, but he never once asked you to put them away. All he asked in return was for you to be a little more active in the lessons.

"You get to keep your toys as long as you answer questions and participate a little more. Does that sound fair?" You nodded, slowly backing away to walk back to your desk and wait for break to finish, but from then on, you start drawing attention to yourself.

At first the attention is unwanted, and as you sit Criss cross applesauce on your chair, playing with your tarot cards, Izuku comes to sit next to you, starting to ramble about a random hero that you don't know anything about. He's very easy to get used to, however, and you quickly become what some would call friends.

Everyone's a little creeped out by your social awkwardness, and the fact that you never seem to talk, until they start to include you more, and you're forced to make new friends.

That doesn't mean you don't have trouble opening up though, and during lunch you sit in silence with your new friends as they chatter and smile at you, stacking cups that Izuku gave you to help you focus on something other than the amount classmates you have crowding you.

It takes a few more months for even Izuku to pry anything even remotely emotional from you, and even then it only shows in the waver of your voice, but he's proud nonetheless.

He would escort you around school because he didn't want you to be alone, and after a while your newfound closeness with Izuku branches out as mina comes to join the two of you.

She gives you an absolutely radiant smile as she grabs your hand, izuku taking hold of your other side for them to both drag you away to some part of the school you're not familiar with. The warmth of their hands in yours leaves you in shock, though, and your mind blanks a little when you feel the greenette squeeze it reassuringly, a tiny, pale blush creeping into your cheeks. This feeling, it was something you wanted to feel every day. It's so warm and comforting.

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waffles-art-writing · 8 months

Text

You… Me…? - Simon Ghost Riley X Female Assassin Reader - PART II

Summary: (PART ONE - READ FIRST) It’s been a few months since Simon started staying with you. He’s been there for you through what seems to be possibly the worse few months you’ve had to endure in a long while. There’s soft touches, calling words, tears and laughter shared.

Proofread: HA! Barely….

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Female!Assassin!Reader with a child. ((I may write a part 3))

WordCount: 6k

Age Rating: 16+ Preferably

Codename: You pick, not mentioned really.

KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name.

Warning/Info: Soft!Ghost, Female!Reader, Reader has a daughter. FLUFFY SO FLUFFY, Angst… I think… Domestic Life. Panic Attacks, Emotions, If I’m missing something. Tell me.

It’s been about 6 months since Ghost’s first night at yours after the mission. Emilia basically said “move in!” Within the first day of being around the poor soul. I mean… he seemed to enjoy the ‘sleepover’ if you could even call it that. It ended up with this large tank of a man, sitting Criss cross applesauce on a couch cushion on the floor.

Watching Disney movie after Disney movie before he had to go home to actually go get a bag to stay overnight. She wasn’t too happy about that, however she was still understanding when Simon needed some time to himself. You were very proud of her when she said “that’s alright! Kinda like me at school, when it’s all loud and stuff!”. Your heart melted when she gave him her soft toy as some company just in case he got lonely while driving.

Even that night when Emilia passed out, a bowl of popcorn in her lap. Half eaten. Head flopped to the side onto your leg while her feet were on Simon’s knee. You ended up taking her to bed while Simon cleaned up, meeting you in your room with a bottle of water and more painkillers for your heavily bruised ribs.

That night, all of you slept like a rock. Even Ghost, surprisingly. Even if he woke up way before everyone, and only got a max of four hours of sleep. But if you were being honest, that’s probably the best you’ve ever seen him. Actually a little more than a walking corpse, but it still made your heart ache when you saw him avoid looking in all the mirrors. Yet, you understood. Hell, you avoid them if you don’t have a shirt on. But that’s easily covered, but your face is almost on full display constantly…

—————

A scream rips through the quiet air of the apartment, gut wrenching and heart pulling. You bolt upright, the firm arm that was once wrapped around your waist is gone, the covers kicked off. Door already slammed open, sobbing echoes down the hallway and the deep hum of an attempt to soothe the sobs. You jump out of bed, beelining for your daughter's room, the small dim light of the nightlight lighting your way.

The wailing wind outside howls, the rumbling growl of the thunder in the distance almost shakes the home, the lightning flashing through the window from behind the curtains. The chilled air slipped in through the single layer windows.

Your daughter Emilia sobs, hands gripping the dark shirt of the man who is cradling her against his chest. His chin resting on the crown of her head, her hair a little messy from her tossing and turning through the night. You rush forward, sitting next to the two, your hand coming to rest on her back, her eyes welled with tears, rimmed with red as she peeks over at you. “Mama…” She whines, her small hands reaching out to you, your heart cries for your daughter. You scoop her up, holding her close as she buries her face into your shoulder, her arms wrapped around your neck. Simon sits next to you, keeping a large hand on Emilia’s back. His once plain expression showing worry, his dark eyes tracing your face.

“You’re okay sweetheart, don’t worry.” You soothe her, rocking slightly as you pull her closer. Simon stands from his seat, placing a quick kiss on the crown of your head and Emilia’s mumbling something about getting a warm drink. You nod, smiling up at the large man.

Emilia’s sobs quiet down, your eyes flicking to the side. The small clock on the bedside table lighting up with a dull pink, neon number’s reading 04:45. You sigh through your nose quietly, pressing your cheek into the top of your daughter's head.

Simon comes back, knocking on the door lightly. A small cup of warm milk - something Emilia normally has before bed - his large hand dwarfing the small mug. You stand from your spot, holding Emilia close, her legs wrapping around your waist. “Thank you…” you quietly thank him, nudging Emilia slightly for her to look up. Her teary eyes locked in on the small cat mug she picked out at a fair a few months ago.

Simon hands her the small cup, his spare hand moving to push the young girl’s messy hair out of her face. “You are one brave kid, Emilia.” Simon states, voice quiet. She smiles as she sips on the warm milk, eyes still rimmed with red.

You make your way back to your room, sitting on the bed. Emilia in your lap with her mug securely in her hands. Simon shuts the door quietly, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you. Simon leans against the headboard, stifling a yawn as he looks over to the alarm clock. He’s been actually sleeping ever since staying a few nights at yours, yet when this happens he won’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night.

—————

After some time, light chatter, storytelling and tucking Emilia in between the two of you. She’s out cold, your hand on her back, her face smushed into Simon’s arm that's acting as her pillow. “She’s out…” Simon whispers, his eyes looking over Emilia’s features. You can see his eyes just over Emilia’s head, a small smile on your face as you nod your head. “No surprise.” You hum, hand rubbing up and down your daughters back. Simon's free hand coming up to lay across yours, he can feel your hand shaking ever so slightly.

He glances over to you, brows furrowed. “Y/N?” He whispers, his hand linking with yours properly. Thumb rubbing against the back of your hand. You sigh quietly, closing your eyes. “Just… Her crying or waking up from a nightmare always scares me… it rattles me.” You whisper, voice barely making a sound. Simon sits up, carefully moving his arm from out of underneath Emilia’s head. He scoops the young girl up, placing her where he was once laying down. Pulling you over slightly, placing himself behind you, arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. His nose nudging the back of your neck, leaving a small kiss, littering them across the back of your shoulders.

“It will forever scare you, she is your daughter.” He mumbles, his breath fanning across your skin. “She is your flesh and blood, her pain is your pain. Her cries will forever hit you in the heart, make you feel the same pain she is feeling.” He states, you sigh. Leaning into him, turning your head to look at him. “Thank you Simon… for everything.” You whisper, he presses his forehead against yours. Eyes closing with a heavy breath. “Don’t mention it, now sleep. You need it.” He states, leaving a small kiss on your lips. You smile, a light blush spreading across your cheeks. Still not used to getting this sort of affection after so long of being on your own.

——————

Today was not anyone’s day, well in your house it wasn’t. Last night Emilia had another scary dream, three nights in a row now. First time you thought it was just the bad weather outside, Simon even agreed with you. The second night, you thought it was probably just the fact she was a little antsy because of the spelling bee that was the next morning. But last night, there was no plausible explanation as to why she would be scared, nervous or anxious about anything. You even called Simon about it, to see if you were just being over dramatic or not. He said you weren't, and suggested for you to take the day to do something to get your mind off it.

So… Today was the day you were taking her to a playdate with a friend, you would go out and do some shopping for Christmas in a few months, which to your dismay was quickly turning into a few weeks.

Which leads you to where you are now, standing in an aisle of the store, with the one god damn shopping cart with a stiff and squeaky wheel. To add to your agitation, there was a baby crying on the far side of the store, which you swear sounded like it was coming from right next to you.

Starbucks fucked up your order, you played it off like it was nothing but on the inside, you were cursing them out like it was a boxing match with verbal insults. Your car was low on petrol, so you had to dig around for spare cash to be able to just buy the fuel without breaking into your savings… which doesn’t have a lot in it to begin with… and to just add the sweet ol’ cherry of making your day even worse….

You got your period.

So with this whole mixing pot of shit, you are now staring down boxes of fake Christmas trees. With one question in mind. Snow or not to Snow? Yes it’s winter, it’s snowing outside, yes you could get a fake tree, with fake snow. Sounds stupid. But this year is the very first year you’ll be spending Christmas with a new person. Simon. He’s luckily not being deployed these holidays, which you were happy about. Because Emilia practically begged for him to join you guys, he was unsure at the start. Still a little hesitant now, but is still going to come.

All years before this one you had just a small christmas tree, tucked away in the corner. Half the time you went to another family member’s place, but this year they are going on a family trip… which you can’t attend due to limited money…. PERFECT family am I right… fuck them.

But you wanted to make it memorable no matter what, so here you are.

You pick up the box with the tree that has built in lights. “Fuck the snow, fuck the lights. I ain’t untangling them. Fuck this, why am I here. I wanna be sick.” You mumble, trying to put the box in the cart but it’s not fitting in. You push it, tug it, shove it. Eventually hitting it with a frustrated shout.

Your chest tightens, throat closing up as you crouch down. You grip at your hair, tears stinging your eyes as you just feel so…

“Hey, Hey, Hey… Y/N, look at me.” A voice cuts through your rushing thoughts, hands on your shoulders.

Your head snaps up, blurry vision as you try to focus on the person in front of you.

“Look at me Love, you’re okay. Just breathe… look at me.”

“Simon?…”

“Yes, it’s me. Just breathe, I need you to breathe. You’re hyperventilating. Just focus on your breathing for me.” He says, kneeling in front of you. Making sure you’re looking at him, his face mask being a good substitute for the balaclava. A black cap accompanies it.

You suck in a breath, it hurts, not as much as just before. But it still does, your throat still feels tight. Palms sweating, eyes stinging. It feels like your whole body is just wound tight, like a coil. Almost like a snake ready to strike, it was bound to happen. You close your eyes, listening to Simon talk, he’s guiding you through this battle, a battle of emotions.

Simon happened to need to get a few last minute things before he came around to yours tonight, aka buy all the things he knows you’ll probably want. He knew just by the sound of your voice over the phone that something was up, more than just Emilia’s sleeping problem. It was when he just happened to spot a blanket, one that you’ve been eyeing for a while. A big cosy weighted one to go on the couch, while he was looking at it he heard your shout of frustration. He immediately recognised it, he was rounding the corner into the aisle when he saw you crouch down. Tears spilling over onto your cheeks, he knew you were frustrated…

But god, he didn’t realise it had gotten this bad.

“Y/N, look at me darling. Talk to me, what do you see? Tell me.” He instructs, waiting for your answer to the question, may sound silly but it is a good way to get anyone who is having a panic attack, PTSD episode or simply just overwhelmed to calm their breathing and rushing thoughts.

“I see… Y-You.. I see you, and the stupid fucking shopping cart.” You huff out the end of your sentence, Simon letting out a light chuckle. “Squeaky wheel?” You simply nod at his query, letting out a huff of air as you wipe your eyes. Next thing you know, is your body being hoisted up from under your arms, you look up at the large lieutenant. “Now, what else do you need other than… whatever the fuck is in your cart?” He asks, peering into the shopping cart.

Apart from the box of the christmas tree, there’s a roll of wrapping paper, a box of some new Christmas decorations. A lot of colours mashed into one cart, and there lays the list, sitting on top of your side bag. Three things ticked off the unnervingly large list. Simon picks up the list, stepping back over to you, glancing up to look around to see if he can spot any signage to give a clue as to where he could find the items.

“I have no clue how I’m going to handle this, I am not in the mood to be here at all.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself, a cramp biting its way through the painkiller you took before you left the house. Simon’s large hand cups your cheek, making you look up at him. “Hey, I’m here. We will do this together, or we can come back another time.” His voice rumbles, sending a shiver down your spine. You simply nod, lips pulling into a thin line. “Thank you…” Simon shakes his head, thumb rubbing against your cheek. “Quit thanking me, alright?” He states, pulling you into his side.

“Now, should we start with the new clothes for Emilia?” His voice held a happier tone to it, only ever so slightly.

—————

“Simon you really didn’t have to, I could’ve paid for it.”

“No.”

“Simon…. Please at least let me pay you back somehow.”

“No.”

You sit there with a pout, creased brows and hands motion in a ‘huh??’ Expression. He just paid for the whole Christmas shopping, he even went back in after you loaded up the car with a bag in hand. Keeping it away from you so you can’t see into it, which you didn't push to look into but still it caught your curiosity.

“Now I feel guilty… that was a lot of money.” You state, looking down as you pick at the stitching of your jacket. Simon is driving, he walked to the store because he doesn’t own a car. Well he did, but swapped out for a bike so he has an excuse to not leave his flat as often. Which is why you are the one mainly driving everywhere. “Don’t feel guilty, your payment to me is just being happy.” He states, making your cheeks warm at his words.

*He what? Nah surely I heard him wrong, right? What does he mean by that, that can’t be a payment. I may seem happy but I’m just putting on an act… well I was… still am… I think?*

“God you’re cheesy” you mumble with a small laugh, Simon chuckles as he starts the car.

—————

The muffled steps of running breaks your calm, you place your book down and look towards the front door. The jingle of keys and the opening of the door sounds out, Simon holds the door open as Emilia runs inside. Cheeks rosy from the chilled air, and by the sounds of it, running down the walkway outside to get to the apartment.

“MAMA! Look what Papa got me!” Your heart stops, blood chilling as you stare wide eyed at your young daughter. She’s distracted by kicking off her boots by the door and throwing her jacket onto the hook to notice both the adults that are present freeze.

Everything seems to go in slow motion, your eyes moving up to meet Simon. He just managed to close the door when your daughter called him the title of Father. Your heart is thumping loudly in your ears, hands shaking as you move to sit up right. Simon just stares back at you, face neutral as usual but still his eyes are flooding with emotion. He places the bag down on the ground, toeing his boots off mindlessly.

You’re snatched from your trance by your daughter jumping onto the couch with a small box in her hands. You shake your head lightly, your mind still in a mess as you try still your shaky hands. “What did Simon get you Pumpkin?” You ask, trying to ignore the fact she just called your…. Boyfriend? No… you haven’t agreed on that… Your situationship… her father. You’ll talk to the man in question later, when Emilia is either asleep or occupied watching the TV.

Simon just stands by the door, heart beating so loudly he thought it might as well have broken through his ribs and be on a speaker for the world to hear. His chest is tight, it's warm but still it hurts. Almost suffocating, he’s touched by the name but still, there’s that nagging. Tugging, almost ripping, feeling clawing at his thoughts.

*No, I can’t… She’s just young, she doesn’t understand what it means. Just ignore it, push it aside like you always do. Like leaving for a mission, drown these stupid fucking feelings and forget about them… like you always do, so easily… like always… so easily…*

His body was moving on its own, placing the items he got in the kitchen and putting them away. Muscle memory, he swallows thickly as the words race around his mind again. ‘Fucking stop it, Simon…’ he curses to himself. He leans on the countertop, glancing up to spot you smiling. Emilia smiling back up at you, joyful as always. You are practically glowing in his eyes, not just you.

No, both of you.

Both you and your daughter are like the sun, shining so brightly and warming in his cold and dark life it makes it almost impossible for him to slink back into the darkness. To drown himself in Jack Daniels while sitting slumped back at his flat, that's cold and dark… practically empty and dusty. He’s barely stepped foot in it when he returns after the few missions he’s been on since that one with you 6 months ago. God, he can’t even stand staying there because of how just… miserable it makes him feel when he isn’t with you and your daughter. You have managed to light up all the dark and dingy cracks in his life in the span of mere months, hell he practically survives off your presence when he’s not at base.

If he was to actually pay attention to what his body says when he leaves for a mission, he will realise it is sad, in pain. He would find it difficult to leave you and Emilia if he didn’t push the emotions aside and just got on with it….

You meet his eyes, smiling at him. That goddamn smile… the same one your daughter has and willingly gives… yet he can tell yours is from years of pain and hardship but finally, your light is shining through and it's not only affecting him in good ways but also you.

—————

It’s been a few weeks since your daughter called Simon “Papa.” That night you were planning on talking to Simon, but you didn’t end up getting the chance. You passed out on the couch with Emilia, the painkillers for your cramps make you drowsy, so in turn. You were out cold when it was bedtime for your daughter. Simon ended up carrying both of you to your respective beds, you were out like a light, just like your daughter. “Like Mother, Like Daughter” he quietly joked when he saw you both asleep.

You tried to talk to him throughout the few weeks but things just kept getting in the way, or you forgot about it, or even he was at base for work.

Then the worst thing you could think of could happen just before Christmas, the flu. Emilia is curled up on the couch, breathing heavily in her sleep. You’re quietly picking up the dirty tissues from around the couch, carefully picking one up that’s clasped in her hand. You knew something was up, she woke up yesterday with a headache, feeling warm. You suspected it was just a cold, so you let her stay home. Today was supposed to be the last day of school, she was so excited for it as she would’ve gotten to have a shared lunch.

You dump the dirty tissues into the bin, grabbing some cleaner and a rag. Wiping down all the surfaces to try keep the flu off most surfaces, if you were honest with yourself. Your efforts are working but not as much as you wished. You’ve been fighting a head cold all morning, chugging water and a few pills to hopefully clear up your sinuses, to no avail.

You tip the bowl of half eaten soup down the drain, rinsing it out before placing it in the dishwasher. You lean on the counter, rubbing your temples. Groaning quietly as you feel like your head is a bag of sand, the ticking of the clock on the wall sounding ungodly to your ears. Loud and irritating. Then an ear piercing knock hit the door, it sounds deafening to you, yet you know it was a gentle knock.

You make your way to the door, opening it and cringing away from the light. “You might wanna go back to Base… Emilia has the Flu and I have… whatever the fuck I have.” You grumble, noticing it’s Simon. “Yeah right, like I’m going to leave you alone after being gone for nearly a week.” He states, pushing the door open more and nudging you to the side. His hand immediately pressed against your forehead.

His hand is cold against your forehead, you start leaning into it as it soothes the throbbing. “You’re burning up, fucking hell. Go sit down.” He instructs, you wave him off, grumbling something he doesn’t catch.

“Y/N… go sit down.” He grunts, leaving the bag of things on the counter. You flip him off, ignoring his gaze and words as you go about folding laundry that’s on the table. “I’m fine, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” You pause, feeling yourself waver, the world starts to spin. The feelings of your stomach knotting fills you, your throat burns. You drop the shirt and sprint to the bathroom, sliding down on your knees, leaning on the toilet bowl.

Simon is right behind you, holding your hair out of your face, hand rubbing your back soothingly. Tears burn your eyes. You hate being sick, because you end up crying. You don’t know why, but you’ve always done it, it’s not like it hurts or anything. You just don’t like it, it’s just a wave of emotion that hits you as well as vomiting up whatever is in your stomachs. Your hands clench the edges of the porcelain surface, gagging as your shoulders shake.

“Breathe, Y/N you need to breathe.”

The timbre of Simon's voice cuts through your rushing head, you didn’t even notice that you’re breathing quickly. Almost hyperventilating. Of course you are, why wouldn’t you be? You’re fucking crying.

“Love, breathe. Focus on me, not anything else, just me.” He says, voice soft but still commanding.

‘You can turn a civilian into a lieutenant but never turn a lieutenant into a civilian.’ Or something, you aren’t sure you just know whatever Price once said is about a soldier never losing their commanding voice even if in a civilian uniform.

You sit back, a damp cloth being placed in your hand. You wipe your mouth, tilting your head up at the ceiling with closed eyes as you flush the toilet, the taste of stomach acid tainting the back of your throat, coating your tongue.

That alone almost sends you into another gagging mess.

“That’s it, breathe. You’re okay…” you simply nod as you listen to Simon. Tears still staining your cheeks, you blink your eyes open.

The sound of running water fills the room, the sound of a plastic lid being flipped open breaks through the rushing water. You glance over, the tub being filled with water, Hot? Warm? Cold? You don’t know, you just know you see Simon rustling around with a bag of sorts along with what looks like a soap bottle.

Epsom Salts. Salts to relax your body and give you an energy boost, allegedly.

“What are you doing?” You mumble, shifting to lean onto the side of the bathtub. Hand dipping into the water, it’s hot but not too hot. It’s nice.

“Running you a bath, gotta get you to relax and give you energy.” Simon's voice rumbles, sending a calm wash through you. You just hum, pressing your forehead into the cold porcelain on the edge.

Hands run across your back, slipping around to your front pulling you gently to look up at Simon.

“Get undressed and get in, I’ll be back okay?” He states, helping you stand to sit on the toilet, flicking the lid down. You give him a thumbs up, yawning as you drag your shirt over your head.

You hear hushed voices from outside the door, a small whine of protest and a breathy chuckle.

“Well your mum needs to rest, she’s not feeling too well. Like you.” Simon’s voice mumbles, soft and low to not break the quiet air too much. He scoops Emilia up in his arms, keeping her snug in the cocoon of a blanket. “Can I see Mama?” She sniffles, her stuffy nose making it harder to breathe. “I’m sure she won’t mind, but you’re off to bed straight after. Deal?” “Deal!” Simon smiles down at her, his arms holding her close.

He quietly walks towards the bathroom, pushing the door open. He notices the lights are off and a few candles are lit, smelling lavender. “Love?” The man asks, peering around the door. “You can come in.” You chuckle lightly, leaning onto your arms on the side of the tub. Simon steps in, crouching down next to you with Emilia, she’s already reaching out to you.

Her hands resting on your cheeks, something she’s always done, especially when one of you is sick. You have no clue where she picked it up from, she would normally press her forehead against yours but you’ve warned her about doing it if one of you is sick. She’s a smart kid.

“Hey sweetie.” You smile, placing a hand over hers. “Are you okay? Papa said you’re sick, like me.” She asks, you can see tears starting to well in her eyes. Heart swelling with emotions, still noticing she called Simon papa again. “Aww. Pumpkin, it’s just a tummy bug. That’s all, I’ll be healthy as a horse in no time. But, we’ll both get better quicker if we both rest.” You state, brushing your fingers through her hair. Trying to tame her wild hair.

“So… Simon is gonna take you to bed, alright? I know it’s a bit early, but it’s to help us both get better okay?” Emilia nods her head, quickly pulling away to cough into her elbow. It sounds painful, both you and Simon grimace a little at her strained lungs.

“Sleep well my darling.” You smile, running a thumb over her cheek. “Night Night Mama.” She smiles, sniffling. Turning back to hide in the blanket, tucking herself deep in Simon’s arms.

———

You sit there in the hot water, focusing on your breathing. The scent of the candles wafting through the air, the warmth of the water relaxing your muscles. You smile gently to yourself, honestly surprised, A little flustered, but mainly grateful for Simon and what he has done. Yet you’re a little nervous that he may get sick himself, and if you know him well enough he will just brush it off and continue to go about life as he normally does.

You’re beyond happy that Emilia has taken a shine to him, as if she wouldn’t. But you’re a little bit surprised? Maybe… that Simon has so easily been able to slip into almost a domesticated world without being overwhelmed by all of it. Sure he has his days, everyone does, especially people like him. You’re happy he’s your boyfriend - wait, no. You haven’t figured that out yet. Friend with benefits? No that sounds harsh and crude, really good friend that you’re happy to share a bed with and let him kiss you occasionally? No, the title is too long. Situationship? Maybe, you’ll ask him about it. Especially since Emilia called him Papa again, something you have yet to tick off your mental list of shit to talk to her about.

Simon shuts Emilia’s door quietly, walking back towards the bathroom. Knocking on the doorframe, hearing you mumble a quiet ‘come in’. He steps into the tiled room, coming to crouch down next to you. Knees almost clicking, causing him to hide a grimace.

“How’re you feeling?” His voice rumbles, quiet to not cause any headache to ensue. You shrug, leaning on your arms again on the edge of the bath, bubbles popping quietly on the surface of the water. “Better… calm. A little tired but still awake enough to talk to you.” You smile, your cheek pressed against your arm.

“Good. I just want you to relax, you’ve had a shitty week. You both have.” He vaguely motions in the direction of Emilia’s room. He notices how your eyebrows are set, furrowed gently, barely noticeable. You’re thinking.

“What’s on yer’ mind?” He asks, adjusting to sit on the floor properly.

“You”

“Me?”

You nod your head, leaning back a little. You notice his eyes aren’t leaving your face. He’s trying to figure out what you mean, you sigh, sinking lower into the water, below the dying bubbles.

“It's about what Emilia said…” your voice trails off, Simon tilts his head, throat going dry. He knows what you are talking about, he’s just anxious? Uneasy, feeling unwell almost.

“Is it because she called me her father?” He asks quietly, watching you look over at him. Nodding, your lips pulled into a thin line.

“Yeah, I want to say I’m sorry. I should be telling her you aren’t her father and that you and I… we aren't officially together, what are we? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Are we a situationship? Friends with benefits? What do-” you ramble, brain going a million miles a minute. Almost making you breathless, chest tight with trying to figure out what you two are.

“What do you want us to be?” Your words die in your throat when you hear him ask the question, you look at him. Tracing his features with your eyes, his scars, ruffled hair from wearing a hat all day. His stubbled jaw, which is clenched, you can see it.

“… I don’t know…”

Simon nods his head, he had a feeling you would be unsure.

He’s even unsure on what he wants you to be to him, he wants you in his life and Emilia. His fingers twitch to move, to hold you close. He sighs, looking down at the tiled floor, shifting in his spot as he looks back up at you. He sees your eyes unfocused, he knows that look. Always the same, no matter what. You’re thinking.

“I want you to be in my life Simon, I want you to be in my daughter's life…” you pause briefly. “You have become such a big part of it in such a short time. You understand the struggles I go through, even though you aren’t a parent. But you understand that this is hard, and you’ve been there for me for the entire time you’ve been here…” you state, looking at him.

“I want you here Simon… I want you to be a part of this family. Only if you want to.”

Simon’s world slows, your words repeating themselves like a record. His chest tightens, muscles constrict and relax. His eyes dart between yours, to your lips then back to your eyes. The same eyes he’s seen tears in, creased at the edges from laughter or blown out in the dark room to see him as much as they could.

“I want to.”

Your lips part, looking at him. “I-… Uh.. I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want-” “I want to be with you Y/N. I want to be able to call being with you, home. come back to this apartment and see both you and Emilia.” He cuts you off, knowing you would try to spill all the regret you may have towards the matter.

His hand tilts your chin up to look at him, his eyes soft. Fingers gentle against your skin as he moves his hand to where your shoulder and neck meet.

“I would do anything to call you mine, to say that I have someone at home waiting. I want to be able to be here for you, help you through all the shit you have on. I don’t care if I have to stay up late, making sure Emilia is sleeping while you try to sleep yourself.” He pauses, smiling gently.

“I want to be here for you to lean on me, to cry to me if you need, scream at me cause you’re frustrated, punch me because you’re angry. I want to be here to laugh at some silly joke Emilia comes home with from school, or help her with school projects… granted I’m not the most artistic person out there…” you chuckle at his words, leaning into his hand.

“I want to call you mine… and I want to be yours if you would give me the honour of allowing me to be.” His voice is firm, but soft and earnest.

You nod your head, biting your lip as a tear falls down your cheek. “Of course…” you sniffle, laughing to yourself for how silly you must look. “God I must look pathetic.” You mumble, Simon just shakes his head, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You don’t look pathetic… You are as stunning as always… despite the bed hair.” He teases lightly, you just laugh. Grasping his wrist, leaning into his hand.

“You’re an asshole…” he just shrugs, leaning in. “But you like it, cause that means you can be an asshole back…” he muses, you just sigh, shaking your head. “Yeah yeah. Whatever you say Lieutenant.” A sly smile spreads across your lips, it quickly dies as Simon closes the gap between you.

His lips are firm, passionate, confident but also gentle and loving. You can feel the emotion behind the kiss, his hand cupping your cheek, his other hand dipping into the water. Sliding down your back as you lift your arms, wrapping them around his shoulders. He chuckles against your lips, mumbling “Don’t drag me in there, Love.” You smile, pulling back to look at him. “I’m not that cruel.” You smirk, running a hand through his short cut hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly, a shiver running down his back.

You scoop up some bubbles in your free hand, blowing them into his face. His once raised brows drop, the small smirk gone. He flutters his eyes open, staring at you.

“Really?”

“Really.”

TAGLIST: @grandnuttrash @thesnailus (Idk if this worked)

#fanfic #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #female reader #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x female reader #lieutenant ghost #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty fanfic

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quietblueriver · 6 months

Note

For prompts: Imogen/Laudna, hound of ill omen or pâté pet fluff

So this turned into nearly 4k words on Imogen and the animals she has loved? The last section at least is directly responsive. 😬 And I might supplement with hound of ill omen at some point because he's lurking around in my head, too.

Thank you so much for the fun prompt! <3

PS - Wrote this real fast so pls excuse any errors.

One afternoon when Imogen was six, her daddy called her into the barn and nodded over at the old wooden trough turned on its side near the stairs to the loft. She knew what it meant, gasping and scurrying in the direction of the trough, slowing to the quickest walk she could manage at her daddy’s, “No running in the barn, Imogen.”

And then she saw them—five tiny new things, eyes closed and mouths searching, mewling and pitiful on a pile of hay inside the shelter of the worn, dusty planks.

Lady, their mother and Imogen’s favorite barn cat, eyed Imogen as she approached, orange and white tail flicking back and forth, one black ear twitching. Imogen couldn’t read minds (not yet, anyway) but she thought she understood–she gave Lady and her kittens plenty of space, stopping before she got too close. She sat criss-cross applesauce, watching from a distance and thinking about names until her daddy put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her toward the house for dinner.

For the next few weeks, she went out every morning before school and every night before bed to check on them–three orange and one calico and a pretty orange and black mix.

“Tortoiseshell,” her daddy said as he watched Imogen watch them, the black and orange–tortoiseshell–jumping and pawing fiercely at a piece of hay that stuck up from the ground. He only stayed for a moment, wiping sweat from his forehead with the navy blue bandana he always kept in his back pocket before he said, “We’re only keeping one.” When she turned to look at him, he was already focused on pulling the rake from its hook and moving toward one of the stalls. She wanted to argue but she bit her tongue. She was getting good at that. He didn’t look at her as he added, “Don’t get too attached.”

She did get too attached. She cried when Pumpkin and Daisy went to live with Mr. Faramore’s cousin. She tried to hide it, sniffling into the sleeve of her shirt, but her daddy saw and frowned and shook his head. “That’s how it works, Imogen. I told you.” Shame curled in her stomach, and when she wiped her face again, motion hard with anger, the button on her cuff caught her cheek and split the skin.

A few weeks later, when Scare and Crow went to live on the farm a few miles away, Imogen hid behind the barn with Ember in her arms and watched as Crow’s little orange face peeked out from the backpack where he and his brother had been put. When the horse turned the corner and she couldn’t see him anymore, Imogen put Ember back inside the barn with Lady and cried and cried until she couldn’t anymore. Throat sore and nose running, she scrubbed at her face in the stream and wiped it dry before she went inside for dinner.

(“Of course you were attached,” Laudna whispered to her under the moonlight in a grove far, far from Gelvaan. “They were kittens. You were six.” She heard, in Laudna’s thoughts, the undercurrent of opinions on her daddy. What an absolute jackass. Honestly. When she snorted, Laudna tilted her head in that way Imogen was coming to love, one side of her mouth pulling into a smile. Sorry, darling. I don’t mean to think ill of him.

Imogen, heart doing strange things at the word darling, only came back to herself when she noticed Laudna’s smile begin to dip. She reached out and ran tentative fingers over the back of Laudna’s hand where it lay between them. Laudna turned her palm up and caught Imogen’s fingers between her own, the brief staccato interlude in her thoughts smoothing back into a more familiar rhythm as Imogen tried for the gentlest look she could manage. It wasn’t real familiar to her, gentleness, but Laudna made it feel easier than it ever had.

Don’t be sorry. Please. I’ve never had…Thank you, for defendin’ me. And you’re right. He was a little bit of a jackass.

She giggled then, feeling younger and safer than she had in a long time, and Laudna’s smile came out in full, face breaking open eerie and beautiful in the night.)

Lady disappeared almost ten years later, gone one day, then two, then a week.

“Likely went off to die,” speculated one of the older hands, bottom lip bulging with dip that he spit into the jar in his left hand every other sentence. “Dignified, that one.”

“Or somethin’ got her. Not as fast as she used to be.”

Imogen mucked a stall quietly as they went on, moving from Lady to the weather to crop predictions. She was sweating, so the tears blended into the water already dripping down her face, and nobody was paying her any mind anyway.

Nobody except her daddy, apparently. He walked by a few minutes later, shadow draping over her from where he stood in the stall door.

“That’s just how it is, Imogen.”

I didn’t say anything, she hissed into his mind, teenage angst and righteous anger forcing more tears from her eyes. The sound of his boots tripping over each other as he backed away pulled a bitter smile from her. She never spoke into his mind. He hated it. Careful, she said, almost taunting, and she felt the anger swell in him even as he moved further away.

She ate dinner alone that night.

By the time Flora came around, Imogen was miserable. She was fighting headaches every day, and she’d alienated nearly everyone in town over the course of the last few years.

When her powers first came, Imogen didn’t understand what was happening. Confused and generally in pain, she couldn’t always process the difference between what she heard and what she heard, which meant she sometimes responded to things that hadn’t actually been said out loud. People weren’t fond of having somebody in their mind, even if nobody was quite ready to admit that was what was happening.

Then came the panic attacks.

And the scars.

And the “accidents” that happened around her.

She’d never been popular, looked too much like her mama in a town full of people who loved her daddy, but the rumors gave them a better excuse to avoid her, and of course, to judge.

And, to be fair, Imogen wasn’t real eager to spend her time with them either. She hated the headaches and the anxiety and she definitely hated being able to hear the thoughts vile enough to stand out in the general din, vile enough that the men who thought them suddenly found themselves tripping over nothing or falling into ponds or spilling their drinks all over themselves. She didn’t do it on purpose but she wasn’t sorry. A few of those incidents and suddenly everybody was turning to look for lavender anytime anybody had an accident.

When Ms. Gillis dropped a basket of produce one morning at market and turned to glare at Imogen, setting all six of her kids to whispering about “the purple witch,” Imogen decided to give up the small hope she’d been clinging to that the town where she grew up might learn to accept her as she was now.

She stopped going out when she could avoid it, and when she couldn’t, she picked times when she thought the market or the general store or wherever it was she needed to go would be least crowded, got in and out as quick as she could. At least on the farm she was mostly alone, even if it hurt that her daddy joined everybody else for lunch and left Imogen alone in the orchard or under the big tree out behind the barn.

She was under that tree when she first saw Flora, placid as Sam and a hand she didn’t recognize walked her. She was beautiful, a sorrel with a wide white stripe down her face. Imogen absently took a last bite of apple before tossing it back into the brown bag she’d brought and standing to walk toward Sam.

“Imogen. There you are.” He looked relieved to see her, a vaguely anxious set of feelings pressing into her mind, which meant he really did not want to be handling this horse or he really did not like the other hand. Or maybe both. “This is Dylan. They work for Mr. Langham and rode over with Flora here.”

Imogen lifted a perfunctory hand at Dylan before moving closer to Flora. “Can I?”

Sam nodded, stepping back with the rope, and Dylan joined him.

“She’s real sweet,” Dylan said. “She’ll be perfect for kids.”

Imogen stood a little closer, in Flora’s line of vision, and let her look for a minute before she pulled a piece of carrot from her pocket and laid it flat on her palm in offer. There was the familiar tickle of soft, curious muzzle against her palm as Flora sniffed. She took the treat happily, crunching and then nosing at Imogen like they were old friends.

Imogen ran her hand down Flora’s neck and spoke softly to her until Sam cleared his throat.

“Well. We’re gonna leave her to you.”

“We are?”

She caught some thoughts from Sam that made her turn her face a little further away from the two of them to hide a smile. He definitely didn’t want to get away from Dylan, then.

“Great. Thanks.”

They were gone quickly, leaving Imogen and Flora to themselves. “Whadda ya say?” Imogen asked as Flora mouthed another piece of carrot from her palm eagerly. “Want me to show you around a bit?” She took the gentle pressure of Flora’s muzzle against her shoulder as a yes.

Flora was sturdy and young, barely more than a filly, and Mr. Faramore wanted her for her temperament and as a tester for the riding camp he was considering, a week or two of fancy kids coming to learn about horses and then, ideally, convincing their parents to buy one from him.

Imogen worked with her, taking over as her handler with no objection from anyone else, and they spent at least two afternoons a week together exploring the grounds. Imogen was “setting the trails” for the camp, which didn’t mean much beyond flagging trees and brush that needed to be cleared for easier passage. It was her favorite part of the week, and Flora was better company than any person she’d ever met.

The camp never happened, but two of Mr. Faramore’s granddaughters fell in love with Flora, so she stayed, spending a few days a month saddled up for the girls. She was Imogen’s, the rest of the time–always her choice for checking the property and riding out to mend fences or for any task she could justify, really.

She and Flora were checking some fencing, hot as hell in the afternoon sun, when Imogen heard her for the first time. Toward the forest, where an abandoned cabin sat just far enough over the property line that Mr. Faramore didn’t bother with it, Imogen caught somebody’s thoughts.

She wasn’t digging, had at least learned how to control that part of her powers, but the surface level thoughts were more difficult to block out, especially when she had her shields down, like she usually did when she was out with Flora. She was glad, for once, that she’d been unprepared, because these thoughts weren’t like anything else she’d heard before. They were like music, flowing and self-contained and happy.

She turned Flora toward the forest without much thought.

The woman was weeding outside the cabin, tall and incredibly thin, long hair pinned up with some kind of chisel as she worked, talking to herself quietly. There was something not quite right about her, something unnatural that Imogen couldn’t quite pin down but felt immediately.

It became obvious when she turned to look at them, big black eyes wide and mouth working itself into a smile that was genuine if nervous, and almost too wide to be human. Her skin was pale, too pale, and there was something black on her fingers where they gripped a bundle of weeds, roots dangling, tightly in front of her almost like a bouquet. What looked like some kind of dead creature hung from one of her belts and swayed gently with her movement.

Imogen was grateful for Flora for a thousand reasons, but in that moment, she was especially grateful for her steady temperament and natural curiosity, because Imogen was almost certain the woman would’ve spooked every other horse in their barn. Imogen was also almost certain that the woman in front of her was dead.

“Hello,” she said, clearly not totally dead and with a heavy accent Imogen didn’t recognize. “I’m Laudna.”

An hour later, when Laudna hesitantly offered Flora a piece of carrot from her palm, she took it happily and Laudna laughed, a sound as musical as her thoughts, when Flora leaned into her hand looking for more.

It wasn’t long after that Imogen let loose defending Laudna and burned away the robes of that cleric and any chance of a life for herself in Gelvaan.

She wasn’t sorry and she wasn’t sad, not really, to leave that place. As Imogen hastily filled a pack, Laudna looking on in concern, there was a dull and familiar ache in her chest, thudding below the fire and anger she still carried on Laudna’s behalf. Every what if she’d let herself indulge in over the years, every time she’d tried to please her daddy and failed, every attempt at getting people to see her as anything other than her mother’s daughter. But that’s all they were–what ifs that Imogen was steady realizing she didn’t want anymore.

The real hurt, as they hurried through the forest and then onto the road that led away from Faramore’s, was that light in the barn, where Marty was on shift closing things down and keeping watch. She was leaving Flora, unable to say goodbye, and she didn’t know when she’d be back. If she’d ever be back.

She cried the next night as they settled onto bedrolls, exhausted and overwhelmed and thinking of a horse of all things. She heard her father’s sigh, saw his disappointed and slightly patronizing expression and hid her tears in her sleeve and then in the fabric of her bedroll, trying to keep quiet.

After a few minutes, Laudna said, gently, “I know it must be very difficult. To leave. I’m sorry, Imogen. I’m so very grateful that you saved me but I can’t imagine what it cost you.”

Imogen turned to face her, embarrassed but willing, for reasons she still didn’t quite understand, to Laudna see her. “I’d do it again, Laudna.” The anger roiled in her stomach again, overtaking her sadness for a moment. “They deserved worse than what I gave ‘em, for what they were tryin’ to do to you.” She heard doubt in Laudna’s mind, and Imogen didn’t know yet how to fix that but she had time now to figure it out.

“Honestly, I feel more relief than anythin’ else.” Laudna watched her, pools of black reflecting the soft light of the moon. “I won’t miss it. I’m…I’m excited to explore. I’m excited to explore with you. I’m real glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very, very long time.” Ever rang in her mind, loud and earnest enough for Imogen to hear. The fierce, protective thing that had started building in Imogen’s chest that first afternoon was growing faster than she knew what to do with.

“I feel the same way.”

And then Imogen thought of Flora again and found the tears were back. A noise, something affectionate and concerned that was entirely foreign to Imogen, escaped Laudna’s mouth before she sat up and dug in her pack, turning back with a handkerchief which she handed to Imogen. It was soft, embroidered with something she couldn’t quite make out in the dark, and it felt about a million times better than her shirt or her bedroll against her cheeks.

“Thanks.”

“Of course. I…I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but I think I’m quite a good listener, if you do.”

Imogen folded the handkerchief to keep her hands busy as she said, so soft she was afraid Laudna wouldn’t even hear her, “I miss my horse. Flora. I know that’s…I know it’s silly. I just…”

She shrugged, chest tight, and Laudna moved closer to her, placed a hand on Imogen’s shoulder, cool even through the fabric of her shirt.

“It’s not silly. It’s not silly at all.”

It set something loose in her, the honest way Laudna said it, the echo of that honesty in her mind, and suddenly big, ridiculous tears were dripping down her face and Laudna’s arms were wrapped around her, her neck cool against Imogen’s forehead.

“I liked her better than most people.”

“Well, that makes sense. Aside from you, the people in Gelvaan didn’t make the best impression, I must say.” Imogen laughed into Laudna’s shoulder as she continued, “No offense intended, of course. I know I’m not exactly a welcome sight.” “You are to me.”

She was quiet then, surprise and affection and longstanding shame whirling around in her mind. After a moment, she asked, “Would you like to tell me about Flora?”

“I think…I think I would.”

Pate de Rolo was, objectively, horrifying.

Laudna had done a very thorough job preserving his body, and the skull was immaculately clean, but there was no getting around the horror of the creation–the mismatched parts and the patchiness of his thin coat; the dry, flaky reality of his tail; the unnatural stiffness of his joints as Laudna puppeted him, talented hands bringing his movements eerily close to what they might have been in life.

The first time Laudna brought him from her belt with an excited, “Oh, let me introduce you to Pate,” Imogen had worked as hard as she could to keep her smile, to fight the instinct toward disgust. She managed, because she knew a hurt thing when she saw one, and she didn’t want to hurt Laudna any further, but it was a near thing.

“Oh, so lovely to meet you, Pate.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” It was lecherous. It was hilarious. It was one of the most disturbing things Imogen had ever seen.

Laudna looked between them, seeming incredibly pleased, and Imogen, unbelievably, found herself wanting to keep the little monster going, if it meant making Laudna happy. She bolstered herself.

“Pate, Laudna mentioned y’all have traveled all over. She was tellin’ me about the mountains. Do you have a favorite place?”

“Well, I always do like the beaches. For the views, if ya know what I mean…”

Suffering through the ensuing monologue was nothing compared to the pride that bloomed in Imogen’s chest at Laudna’s beaming smile.

Over the course of their first few months together, Imogen began to understand what it meant when Pate made an appearance.

Sometimes, of course, Laudna was bored and they were around the fire and Pate provided a ridiculous and entertaining way to spend an hour before bed. Imogen found it easy to move past disgust as she got to know Laudna, let herself see beyond the grotesque corpse and recognize something that had helped her friend, who had quickly become her favorite person in the world, survive desperate loneliness and nearly unending cruelty. She found it easy, when she thought of him that way, to love him as an extension of Laudna.

And it became clear that he was an extension of Laudna, in more ways than one, as they traveled. The first time they were chased out of a cabin, she saw Laudna’s body shift into something Imogen found both terrifying and beautiful to defend them, limbs expanding and spine cracking as ichor pooled on her skin, a veil of black descending from nowhere to cover her face. That night, as they sat around the fire, Pate came out almost immediately.

“Well that was a right mess, wunnit?”

“It was.” Imogen moved closer on the log they shared, making the offer of contact but leaving Laudna the option to refuse. “We would’ve been in real trouble without Laudna, yeah?”

Pate danced as Laudna’s fingers moved, somehow managing to convey a shrug in the rat-raven creation. “I dunno. I reckon anything would be scared of her, like that. Boss is awful enough when she’s not a monster.”

“I’m not scared of her.” Laudna lifted her eyes from Pate to meet Imogen’s as she said, “And she’s not awful. She’s my best friend.” Black ichor dripped down Laudna’s cheeks as her fragile ankle shifted just enough to touch Imogen’s. “I thought it was really fuckin’ cool.” Laudna snuffled and Imogen grinned, bending down to Pate and stage-whispering, “Did you see that one guy piss himself?”

Pate cackled, and Laudna moved to close the rest of the distance between them.

When Laudna died, the second time, Imogen took his small body and kept it close to her. She couldn’t puppet him, didn’t want to try, but she spoke to him, whispered to him as she set him in a small nest she made from her bandana each night. “Don’t worry, Pate. We’ll get her back. I promise.”

And then he came back with her, ribcage cracking and squelching, off-color observations flying as free as he now could. It was suddenly more difficult to love him, Imogen forcing down disgust in a way she hadn’t in a long time. There was less incentive, now that he was an independent creature, but he was still Pate and he had still saved Laudna, even if he hadn’t been, well, him.

He found her one night as Ashton and Laudna played a game of cards, Laudna cackling in delight as they accused each other, loudly, of cheating nearly every hand. It was so good, to hear her laughing again.

“‘Ey, boss.”

He landed on a branch near her head, wings folding back into his body with a series of motions and noises that made Imogen smile to suppress a gag.

“Pate. I didn’t realize you were out.”

“Mum sent me to check on ya.”

Imogen looked back to Laudna, who was waving a hand dismissively at Ashton, nose turned up. Her eyes caught Imogen’s as she turned away from him with a scoff, and she winked before she threw herself back into their argument, brushing her hair out of her face with an exaggerated motion. Imogen blushed and bit her lip before she remembered she wasn’t alone, clearing her throat and shaking her head before the world’s lewdest undead flying rodent noticed her being a lovesick fool.

“She did, did she?”

“Aye. She worries about you, ya know? It was a hard fight, today.”

It was, objectively, but relative to the past few weeks it was nothing. She’d be fine after a good night’s rest.

“I’m good.” At his uncharacteristic silence, she realized Laudna really must’ve been concerned, so she continued, “Real good, honestly. Just need some sleep. I hadn’t been sleepin’ well, but it’s easier, now that we’re back together. Now that we’re…”

Pate didn’t have lips but he still grinned, somehow, bone-white face more expressive than it had any right to be.

“Now that you and mum’re smashin’, ya mean?”

“Pate.” Her face was red hot, embarrassing on its own and somehow even more embarrassing because her girlfriend’s perverted rat-raven familiar had managed to make it happen.

“I’m real ‘appy for ya.” At her pointed eyebrow, he raised a rat hand in the air, wobbling a little as he rebalanced. “Honest.”

“Mmhmm.” Ashton was up from his seat, arms flailing with enough distress that FCG had begun to make his way over to the duo. Laudna looked like she was having the best day of her life. “An’ how’s she doin’? Really?”

Pate grunted. “Been better, I reckon, but she’ll be alright, our girl. She’s tough.”

Right. This was why she tried to be kind, to hold her distaste at bay, to maintain some kind of love for him. Laudna was their girl. And she’d been Pate’s girl for a lot longer than she’d been Imogen’s.

Imogen stroked the slope of his skull and patted her shoulder, affection and disgust warring within her at the feel of undead claws on her skin. He settled and they watched together as Laudna and Ashton continued, Letters stationed close.

“She’ll be alright.” Imogen said it for the both of them, an affirmation and a promise.

Skull scraped skin as he moved to speak, and goosebumps broke out across Imogen’s shoulders, an instinct she couldn’t suppress.

“‘Course she will. She’s got us, after all.”

#imodna fic #imodna #cr prompt fic

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cuethediscoandthedrinks · 1 year

Text

some random ronal headcanons~

for u starved ronal bitches; Oel ngati kameie 🤭

• is a big eye-roller; she seems like more of a starer but the energy is that if something goes down, ronal's rolling her eyes and letting out a little 'tssk'

• smiles, but rarely. she'll hum in approval and give a half-smile usually, but if something genuinely makes her happy, she'll full-on eye smile; like, crow's feet, widened grin, apple cheeks, eyebrows scrunched up in happiness

• likes the feeling of sand in between her toes; often goes for walks in the middle of the night, big bright blue eyes taking in the star-littered sky, as she takes steady steps through the damp sand

• gives little slaps to her partner. like, if they say something especially silly, brash or funny (or all 3), ronal's definitely one for using the back of her hand to lightly *thwap!* your head or arm. all in jest of course, as she's equally very big on personal space

• ronal's a clan-leader, so the concept of her personal bubble is especially important to her; therefore she'd never disrespect others by invading their area (although this definitely means she'll go all out on hissing, snarling and hand gestures to intimidate others if necessary)

• is a night owl. stays up late every night, usually to complete any tasks or spend time with her loved ones. her favorite thing is to finally retire to her pod, seeing her family and partner curled up, in deep sleep. ronal may plant some gentle forehead kisses to them, or trace patterns on her partner's skin as she drifts off to sleep

• likewise, ronal's not an early worm by any means. nothing pisses this warrior off more than the sunlight getting in her eyes, loud noises waking her up, and uninvited individuals intruding on her beauty sleep and this def extends to her partner. kids may get a grumble and her rolling over, but if her bby wakes her up? unless for fucking she's not down

• she will 100% bare fangs in a vicious snarl the moment someone touches her sleeping form. she's a deep sleeper, but still very much trained in combat, and has a heightened instinct to protect her family

• sits cross-legged when no one sees. ronal highly values respect and authority, and being the tsahìk of an entire community necessitates a level of maturity and dominance. therefore, she only goes criss-cross-applesauce when she's sure no one of high ranking (other than her partner or children) will catch a glimpse

• doesn't like spicy food, or crazy texture clashes. luckily, there's little of it for the metkayina clan due to location; but when venturing further afield, many a welcome meal is provided to them, spanning all forms of slimy, crunchy, sticky, spicy and the worst blobby. she'll do everything in her power to avoid eating bits of foreign meals, ngl

• and lowkey, it's gotten to the point where her second in command will give her that look, and she then knows not to touch the lightly glowing red, leafy tendrils next to the purple fruit in fear of destroying her tastebuds, or to *accidentally* miss the third greeting meal of the day due to 'unknown' reasons

• although if she does happen to ingest something spicy, her whole face contorts into one of the most displeasing grimaces you'll ever see; she may or may not also stick out her tongue in disgust, too

• was very insecure about breastfeeding initially. the sitting, the time taken up to eat more, the interruptions to daily work, and the soreness all made her very hesitant to do so; but after exploring alternatives she decided to persevere because, "no. who else's milk would they drink, tonowari? mine is the only one..they come from me, they drink my milk."

• will straight-up leave when she wants to. she'll stand, give a curt nod to whoever she may be with, and walk away. no bitterness, or sass, or rude intent. it's more a matter of straightforwardness 'well, i'm finished here. we're done with this conversation, yes? yes."

• doesn't like excessive noise or disruption. ronal's a relatively quiet, reserved individual, so the idea that another person would disrespect the comfort of the many for themselves would bother her a lot. any especially noisy tasks are often done underwater

• speaking of underwater, ronal loves to collect herbs, corals, shells and scales; due to her interests, she's also a notoriously excellent deep-sea diver. if not in detailed discussions with others about the community, or seeing to her children, it's not uncommon to catch ronal swimming deep into the ocean, exploring old coral reefs and swimming through the seaweed (she loves the texture on her skin)

• she's not the primary healer of the clan, but collecting little objects of special note was always a passion of hers since she was a child; ronal likes to claim that it's due to her role within the clan that she finds such delicate and beautiful deep-see gifts, sent to her by the all-mother eywa herself she'll often give them to others too, in celebration of a pregnancy, mated pair or birthday 🥹

• additionally, ronal'll assert that the ornate, sparkly shells and shimmering scales are for a new elixir, or some form of healing broth, but in reality she enjoys grinding them up and sprinkling them in her hair.

• ronal's secretly a very girly girl, but doesn't enjoy the attention-seeking element, so anything subtle yet impressive is her go-to - therefore shining, almost starlike locks that leave every other clan member in both awe and intrigue does a lot to boost her confidence

• hums to herself when she's fixing things. only when she's fixing things she knows she can fix though. for something especially tricky, ronal goes dead silent

• eyebrows furrowed, lips in a tight line, eyes squinted in focus. but if it's something like a rogue strap, a broken handle, or one of her children's toys, ronal won't hesitate to softly sing or hum a song from her youth

hope u enjoyed lovelies <3

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ronancebible · 2 years

Text

the second hand unwinds {robin buckley x afab!reader}

Summary: You and Robin have been dancing around each other forever. One night at a party, your friends are determined to change that.

A/N: Fulfilling this and this request <3 GN pronouns used!

Warnings: Drug use (weed), gay sex! lol: vaginal fingering, oral sex, and thigh riding.

Oh shit, you thought absent-mindedly as Robin walked into the smoking room of the party. You choked on the smoke, nearly hacking a lung out at the surprise of seeing Robin in the room. She hated smoking and would hardly be caught dead in the hazy room full of foul-smelling smoke. You blindly leaned over and handed the joint to Jonathan, trying to clear your lungs while wiping at your watery eyes.

“You good?” you heard distantly, probably from Steve in the other corner. You nodded, finally regaining some semblance of a normal breath pattern.

It wasn’t even just Robin being in the room that threw you off—it was how good she looked. Not that she didn’t always look good (really, it was embarrassing how often you found yourself staring at your best friend), but tonight was a completely different story.

Your breath once again hitched violently when you saw Robin make her way over to you. Her eyes were adorned with thick black eyeliner with a shimmery red lip to match. She was wearing a cropped black t-shirt, her abdomen tantalizingly on display, and her black jeans hugged her legs in a way that left your head spinning.

“Hey,” she said softly, smiling widely and folding herself tightly into a criss-cross applesauce position by you. You tried to clear your head of the fog that the weed (and she) caused.

“Hey. What are you doing in here?” you replied with a smile just as bright as hers, nudging your knee against hers.

Robin’s leg felt rigid against yours, so you dropped a hand to her knee, absent-mindedly rubbing soft circles into the fabric against her skin.

Fuck. You were too stoned to be around Robin. You weren’t even that high, really, you hadn’t even properly inhaled your second hit off the joint, but even the small ways your inhibitions were lowered made your stomach squirm at the thought of what you could accidentally say or do. Like the hand on Robin’s knee right now.

Obviously, you knew you had a massive crush on Robin. Liking girls wasn’t anything new to you, thanks to Princess Leia’s gold bikini in Return of the Jedi, but Robin was a different story entirely. You were about as subtle as a fire alarm with your lingering glances and beet-red blushes. Nancy had figured you out months ago, her signature investigative reporter’s eye catching you on a particularly warm girls’ day at Lovers’ Lake (whose topless events you rehashed more often than you cared to admit).

Pretty much everyone had figured it out, really, except for—thankfully—Steve, who was about as oblivious as they came.

A warm hand on top of your own snapped you out of your thoughts. You heard Robin repeat your name. You shook your head to snap out of the fog, blushing deeply as you realized you had been staring at her the whole time.

“I just said I came in to, um… maybe give it a try?” Robin repeated, eyes darting around before timidly landing back on yours.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Robin flushed a little, taking her hands and shoving them in her lap.

“Yeah, I mean… I’m mostly against smoking cigarettes as a habit, just because it’s so gross and unhealthy and there’s, like, no point, but I was thinking about it, and, if weed really is as great as you and Eddie and basically everyone else says it is, then I wanna try it. Especially since it’s not gonna be, like, a habit, I’m not gonna be smoking a joint every hour just to—”

Your hand shot up to cover her mouth. “Robin.”

She smiled sheepishly under your hand, reaching up to remove it from her mouth. Your breath hitched as her fingers curled around your wrist, and you were sure you almost stopped breathing when she didn’t bother letting go, both of your hands lazily overlapping against her thigh.

“Thanks,” she smiled.

“Of course. You know me,” you chuckled, dropping your eyes from her face for fear of your skin turning the shade of a tomato.

Jonathan, ever the bro, nudged the baggie and rolling papers over to you. Distantly, you realized you needed both hands to roll the joint, so you slowly slipped your hand out from Robin’s grasp, eyebrows furrowed at the effort it took to remove yourself from her willing grasp.

“It is really nice, but for your first time we’ll take it easy. I’m here for you, and everyone here is cool and can help you out if you need it. Also, I will warn you, it doesn’t really taste or smell all that good. I like to have some water or juice on hand to get the taste out of my mouth,” you murmured, concentrating on spreading the weed out on the paper. You weren’t an expert by any means, but you smoked enough to know what you were doing.

“Oh, okay. That makes sense, yeah, I have a juice right here.”

You saw Robin lift something in your periphery and you glanced over to see her holding up a bottle of apple juice. Her goofy grin went straight to your heart, and you fumbled the full paper a little, recovering quickly and only turning slightly red as you glanced back down to the matter at hand.

You could feel Robin’s gaze lingering on you as you continued rolling the joint, and you glanced up at her briefly, smiling when your eyes met. Jesus Christ, your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

“Stop staring, Buckley,” you muttered with a small smile. You heard her chuckle softly.

You glanced back and forth at each other a few more times, each as heart-attack inducing and confusing as the last, as you finished rolling. When you were done, you presented the finished joint dramatically.

“Ta-da,” you flourished, waving your hand to be dramatic.

Robin laughed, snorting briefly (and you tried to ignore the way your heart leapt).

“You’re such a dork,” she said, swinging her body around to sit directly next to you, bodies pressing together. You gulped, trying to act as natural as possible.

“So, it’s probably gonna burn pretty bad going down, especially if you’ve never smoked anything before. It’s okay if you cough—no one here’s judging,” you prefaced, nudging your leg against Robin’s and smiling in her direction absently.

“Oh, um… is there anything that makes it smoother? I’m kind of scared I’ll accidentally throw up,” Robin admitted. You saw her fiddling with the laces on her boots.

Your brain ground to a halt as you thought of one of the only things that would make joint smoke smoother. Your face once again turned beet red as you twiddled the joint between your fingers.

“Um. There is one thing, but, like, I don’t know if you’d want to,” you muttered, not meeting her eyes all the way.

You could still feel her brow furrow as she pressed even closer to you. “I mean, I don’t know why I wouldn’t want to. Why, what is it?”

You cleared your throat, trying to muster up some semblance of courage to describe it.

“It’s called shotgunning. Basically, I would take the hit and inhale it and then, um, you would, like, inhale out of my mouth,” you explained haltingly.

You didn’t really want to make eye contact after explaining that, afraid that your face would be too red and immediately give you way, but you made yourself look over at Robin anyway. Her face was also slightly pink (damn the hot, smoke-filled room) with wide eyes and she stuttered before speaking.

“I’m—I mean that’s, uh, cool with me if it’s cool with you.”

Your heart sped up immediately, and you nodded self-consciously before flicking the lighter on.

“Okay. Yeah. Cool. Um, okay so, I guess I’ll just lean in and you inhale when I exhale, okay?”

You gave Robin what you hoped was a reassuring smile after seeing her slightly nervous expression and took the joint between your lips, holding the lighter over the end and burning the tip away.

You inhaled deeply, rich smoke filling your lungs and edging its way into your consciousness.

You turned quickly toward Robin, heart racing as you tried not to make her uncomfortable with your proximity. She edged closer to you, pursing her lips to inhale as you started to blow, still too far from her face and shaking unstably from the angle. She seemed to chase you for a second, trying to catch the slow stream of smoke coming out of your mouth, but, after barely a second, her eyebrows set and she reached up and grabbed your face, fingers digging into the soft part of your cheek. Your lungs started burning for air, but you couldn’t bear to break yourself from Robin’s firm grasp.

“Stay still,” she muttered, before leaning in incredibly close, lips barely brushing, and inhaled from your mouth in earnest as you pushed the smoke out of your lungs.

It felt like alarm bells going off in your head as Robin’s lips hovered tantalizingly close to yours. You barely managed to exhale all the way without stopping your breath just due to the sheer proximity of her face.

Once your lungs were totally devoid of smoke, you stifled a cough from the effort. Robin’s hand dropped from your face to your back, thumping you softly as you continued to cough.

“I really could have executed that better,” you said hoarsely. “Did you get a good hit?”

Robin nodded her head side to side, as if to say so-so. “I definitely think I could use another one.”

You nodded, trying not to let your panic show on your face. You barely survived the first try without melting onto the ground.

Face red, you took another long pull off the joint, this time easily letting your face be taken in hand and turned toward the object of your affections.

This time, with more warning and preparation, you were able to appreciate the contact Robin’s hand made with your face. Her fingers felt strong and soft against your cheeks, caressing the skin there minutely as her lips once again barely brushed yours.

She managed to inhale nearly all of the hit you had taken, and you quickly repeated the process once more, not wanting to let a spare second risk Robin taking her hand away from your face.

Once you were done, Robin’s fingers dropped away from your cheeks, coming to rest lightly against your knee. You both faced each other, eyes wandering around the room in comfortable silence, and after a few minutes, you realized you were definitely buzzed. Robin’s eyes looked hooded.

“I’m definitely already feeling it,” Robin whispered, eyes scanning your face hungrily. You shivered.

“Yeah, me too. How’re you feeling?”

Robin hummed, head inching away from yours and thumping back against the wall. You sighed quietly at the loss.

“You were right. This is really nice.”

“What do you like about it?” you asked with a smile, itching to hear her first impressions.

“Everything is just… nice. It feels like how cheesy movies portray life. Just… better,” she tittered, eyes glancing around the room at the friends surrounding you.

“It also makes everything prettier,” she continued, glancing back over at you with a look that made your mouth dry up (or maybe that was the weed). “Like you. Jesus, typically you’re so gorgeous, but right now you look like a goddess. Seriously, I don’t really know what to do with myself.”

Your heart nearly stopped, and then started going a mile a minute. Your skin flushed, and a dopey smile overtook your face.

Robin’s eyes dropped to your lips so quickly, you were sure you imagined it.

Steve suddenly came out of nowhere (probably the other corner, really) and crouched down beside you. You both snapped around to look at him, annoyance clear on your faces.

“Ooookay, Robin, I’m glad this is fun but, uh, just following your own orders here, so we’ve gotta go to the kitchen and get some water,” he said conspiratorially, gently grabbing Robin by the arm and lifting her into a standing position. You squinted at him suspiciously.

Robin rolled her eyes and grumbled as she clambered to her feet, letting herself be led by Steve away from you.

He turned around to look at you, but your gaze had returned to Robin, eyes holding the same affection you were sure they always did, the stupid smile unsoiled.

You didn’t see it, too busy continuing your affectionate stare—or ogle—at Robin, but realization crept over Steve’s face, his searching stare turning into raised eyebrows, his mouth making a small ‘o’.

Robin giggled at you, rolling her eyes playfully and pointing at Steve. “I’m gonna see what the dingus wants,” she called out to you as she was steered out of the room. You smiled and nodded in return, waving her off without a worry.

Nancy was next to you in an instant, a barrage of questions spilling out of her mouth without warning.

“What was that? Seriously, what was that, because, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s stupidly in love with you,” Nance said nudging you over and over as if to prove her point further.

You blinked confusedly. “No, no, you’ve got the wrong idea. She just wanted to try smoking for the first time and, uh, wanted the smoke to burn less, so we just… shotgunned a few hits.”

Nancy looked at you in disbelief. “Did you, like, completely miss the part where she called you a goddess?”

“No, but that’s, like, how girls talk to each other. It doesn’t mean anything, Nance.” You sighed, refusing to once again spiral into the possibility that Robin liked you back.

Nancy just stared at you.

“What?” you said, exasperated.

She sighed your name dramatically. “I know you’re being pragmatic, but Jesus, just let yourself see the very realistic, good possibility in front of you!”

You opened your mouth to reply, but, as suddenly as he had appeared the last time, Steve swooped down and sat next to you, greeting you with your name.

“Nance. I would like to see you in the kitchen, please,” he said, his words laden with obvious hidden meaning.

“Oh, um… sure?” Nancy replied, frowning at the interruption.

“I promise,” he continued, glancing over at you briefly, “that this is in both of our vested interests.”

You scrunched your face in confusion, but Nancy’s face lit up with understanding, nodding as she took Steve’s hand and quickly trailed after him to the kitchen, throwing back a quick, “Be right back!”

You sighed, shrugging to yourself as you glanced around the room, enjoying the high that settled throughout your body. Steve and Nancy grabbed Eddie by the arm and pulled him out of the room, too. You rolled your eyes. They were definitely up to something. Something to do with Robin. Robin. You smiled softly.

Once your mind was on her, it didn’t leave. You daydreamed, thoughts of her smile and gorgeous self flitting through your brain.

You didn’t really know how long you sat there, high wearing off, as you ran through daydream after daydream of Robin, of holding her hand, kissing her, getting to be hers. All you know is that you must have had the dreamiest look on your face because the next thing you knew, Argyle (seriously, where did that dude live?) was waving his hand in front of your face.

“Hey, dudette, you look suuuper spaced out. Purple Palm Tree Delight hit you too hard tonight? Or do you have someone else on your mind?” he lulled.

You blinked rapidly, trying to assess exactly how much time had passed and how stupid the face you were making was.

“Oh. Um… No, I was just thinking about—”

“Not to worry, my friend. You may be super obvious, but the object of your desires has yet to catch on. Not that it would be bad if it did, though,” he said cryptically before walking away, his hair fluttering behind him.

You gaped, incredibly confused, as you tried to decipher his meaning. Not that it would be bad?

It wasn’t long you had to wonder, though, before the rest of the party came streaming into the room. You ran through the list of names in your head: Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, Robin, Eddie, Argyle, maybe Argyle’s girlfriend, and a few others that you recognized but couldn’t quite name. You trailed toward the middle of the room where everyone was congregating, heart skipping a few times as Robin found you, face lighting up with a smile and giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“What’s going on?” you whispered to Robin as you let yourself be corralled into a circle, Eddie’s voice cutting through the drone of the crowd, insisting people sit in formation. You complied quickly, not wanting to incur his wrath.

She shrugged, dropping into criss-cross applesauce so close next to you that your legs completely overlapped. You could feel the warmth of her leg so firmly against yours, a tangible reminder of the love and life inside her you liked so much. She pulled your hand over to her knee, holding on lightly. You swallowed a sigh, blushing furiously. The weed still left in your system made it feel amplified, electric even.

“Whatever it is, I’m definitely scared. They came up with it in the kitchen and wouldn’t let me see.”

A clap from Eddie snapped you out of your continued conversation.

“Alright! Now, because we are grown adults about as immature as they come, Harrington and I have decided we will be playing the oldest game in the middle school book.”

He shook something behind his back ominously before slowly revealing a ball cap full of slips of paper.

“Seven minutes in heaven.”

Noise filled the small space as the room split reactions. Overpowering were laughs, people who were down for a stupid game sure to cause entertainment. Less so were groans from the more reluctant part of the group, likely leaning less toward the immature side that Steve had mentioned. You noticed Robin next to you giving a nervous giggle.

You remained quiet, wide-eyed at the suggestion. The heat of Robin’s leg against yours seemed to grow hotter, her presence making you hyper aware.

Might not be so bad…

Your eyes flicked over to Robin, and you found her already looking back at you, expression unreadable. You knew your face was heating up, but really, you were kind of entranced by Robin’s gaze on you.

Eddie’s voice ruined it once again, and you about-faced. “Now, the bowl of names is already made,” he said, shaking the hat, “so let’s set some ground rules.” He stood up straight, speaking more seriously.

“One, and this should go without saying, don’t fuckin’ make anyone do anything. Be real,” he started, tone already chastising.

“Two: what happens in the closet stays in the closet. You don’t have to kiss and tell, or not kiss and tell, if you don’t want. We’re all grown ups here.

“And three: absolutely NO bodily fluids touch the carpet. If you are found in violation, you will be publicly humiliated,” Eddie finished with a smile, at least partially joking on the last part. A titter of laughter followed.

Robin’s leg was now searing hot on yours.

“Now, Stevie here has lovingly volunteered to go first, just to get the ball rolling. King Harrington, the honors?” Eddie reached the hat out, bowing slightly and shaking the contents.

Steve laughed a little, fingers wiggling over the slips of paper as if he could get a sense of which to choose. He finally landed on one toward the top, plucking it dramatically from the pile.

It crinkled as he opened it, eyes scanning the paper before his eyebrows raised slightly.

“Uh, it’s Nancy.”

The room ooh-ed as Steve rolled his eyes and offered his hand to Nancy, who made a similar face as she accepted, standing to meet him. They made their way to the spacious closet, door clicking shut behind them.

Robin nudged you, leaning in to whisper in your ear as conversations resumed around you.

“It took me a while to believe, but Steve is definitely over her. He has his eye on someone else. I don’t think anything’s gonna happen in there,” she said, voice low and raspy. A shiver ran down your spine at her hot breath in your ear.

WIth a little frown, you replied, “Yeah, Nance, too. She apologized to him a while back, for how things went down. She’s definitely over him, though.”

Robin hummed, and you held your breath as her hand started rubbing circles over yours.

“Do you… think you’ll kiss anyone?” she said slowly, not meeting your eyes.

You hesitated, eyes jumping between Robin’s eyes and her hand on yours.

“I– I don’t really know. I guess it would depend on the person.” A beat. “What about you?”

Robin sighed, a long and weary breath that you weren’t used to hearing from her.

“I don’t think so. I’m kinda… hung up on someone.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet, and you felt lightheaded, like someone had sucked the air out of the room.

“Oh.”

Robin pressed on, her grip on your hand tightening slightly. “I don’t think I would kiss anyone but them.”

Them.

“Oh.”

Your eyes dropped to your hands pressed together in her lap, a violent blush rising to your cheeks as you tried to tamp down the hope, the possibility, blooming within you.

Robin laughed humorlessly, eyebrows tight and holding your hand in a vice grip now as she said, “Yeah. Oh. Why does everyone always say it like that?”

You panicked, hating the pseudo dramatic irony that had built up between you, and you scrambled for something, anything to say that would assuage Robin’s worries, simultaneously trying to overcome the panic of coming out to her.

“Not bad oh! Definitely not– not bad oh, Rob. I mean, for the record, I don’t think I would kiss anyone except the—” you cleared your throat. “Except the girl I was hung up on, either.”

Robin’s hand stilled, and you actually felt her breath catch in her throat. Slowly, her head pivoted toward you, a small smile creeping over her face.

“No shit?” she giggled.

“No shit,” you laughed in reply, giddy at all the possibilities that opened up in front of you.

“Jesus, and I thought I was the only one left in Hawkins,” Robin said, hand now painfully tight over yours.

You flexed your hand under hers. “Jeez, Rob, you’re gonna cut off my circulation,” you complained, still smiling painfully.

Robin immediately looked worried, loosening her grip and drawing away quickly.

“Shit, I’m sorry—”

“No!” you cut her off, pulling her hand back to you. She looked slightly startled, so you smiled sheepishly. “No, sorry, I just mean— don’t let go, just loosen up a little.”

You were sure you were fire-engine red, wide-eyed at your all-but-confession, and Robin looked at you similarly, eyebrows crooked in a silent, unanswered question, but, differently, a smile pinched at her lips, eyes soft as she gazed at you.

Which, of course, was the moment Eddie called time and brought Steve and Nancy back in the room, both looking thoroughly un-kissed as they rolled their eyes at the jests that met them once they left the closet.

Steve plopped down to your left, giving you a kind smile as he reached around and thumped Robin on the shoulder.

“Nothing to report?” Robin asked quietly.

“Oh, believe me, absolutely nothing,” Steve sighed, looking satisfied. He looked at you. “I think we’re going counterclockwise, so, get ready.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you noticed Eddie heading toward you with the ballcap. With no time to mentally prepare yourself, you just stood up when he offered you his hand, realizing you were still a little high when you indulged him with a reciprocated bow.

When he offered you the hat full of the slips of paper, you only hesitated slightly before plunging your hand in and quickly drawing out the first one your fingers closed around.

You held your breath as you thumbed open the folded paper.

Robin

The name slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and the room filled with noise, loud comments and playful catcalls alike. Nearly everyone in here knew about your embarrassing crush, you realized. Even Argyle and his girlfriend, by the looks of it.

Robin looked like a fish out of water, eyes wide as she scrambled to her feet, rushing over to meet you in the center of the circle. You didn’t have a chance to say anything to each other before Eddie was corralling both of you into the closet as if he were herding cattle. You could barely protest (as if you wanted to) before the door clicked shut, leaving you and Robin in the soft glow of the lone small lamp in the corner.

“Robin…” you started, but she cut you off abruptly.

“Listen, you can totally, like, punch me if I’m wrong, I mean, like, feel free to kill me, even but I’m just gonna try something because I think I finally figured something out and, yeah, I’m just gonna—”

And then she cut herself off by kissing you.

You gasped into your mouth, only hesitating for a second before kissing back earnestly. If this meant what you think it meant, you would follow along blindly to the ends of the earth, and even if it was just for tonight, you would take whatever you could get.

Robin’s chapstick tasted like root beer, you realized distantly. Did she always wear root beer? Would you ever find out?

Robin pulled away slightly.

“Dude, I can hear you thinking from here,” she whispered. “Did I get it wrong, am I not—”

“No, no way, you didn’t get it wrong at all!” you cut her off. “I just…”

With a sigh, you swallowed your pride. “I’m just, like, stupidly in love with you and wondering if this is a one-time thing.”

Robin just stared at you for a second, beautiful face illuminated by the soft light.

“Oh my god, we’re such idiots,” she giggled.

You furrowed your brow in confusion. Seeing the look on your face, Robin lifted up a hand to your cheek, stroking it softly. “I’m stupidly in love with you, too, dingus,” she whispered before bringing your lips together again.

This time, when you gasped in her mouth, she took it in stride, slipping her lips open and taking your bottom lips between hers. You went light headed at the sensation, gleefully kissing back, chasing the taste of her root beer chapstick. A little overeager, you pushed further into Robin, causing her to stumble backwards a few steps. She giggled into your mouth, pulling you down to a sitting position.

After a second of maneuvering, you were both sitting back on your knees, leaning forward clumsily to meet lips again. Her hand wrapped itself through the hair at the base of your neck, the other hand caressing your cheek softly. Your hands were a little less coordinated, grasping desperately at the shirt she was wearing.

Robin was a good kisser, you thought absently, a twist of jealousy running through you as you considered who she might have gotten good with. A particularly delicious slide of her lips against yours banished the thought completely, and you whimpered thoughtlessly into her mouth.

Robin chuckled against you, easing forward slowly. You began to lose your balance as she pushed into you, but then you realized that was exactly what she wanted. You broke off for a second, taking the opportunity to lay back on the ground. Robin hovered over you, smiling down as she softly traced her hand up your arm.

“So now you’re a mind reader, huh?” she teased before bracketing your body with her arms and reclaiming your lips with hers.

Kissing Robin, you decided, was your new favorite pastime. She had you in a puddle under her, nibbling and sucking at your bottom lip before soothing it with her tongue. Your hands clung to her desperately, winding through her hair and collar.

Before long, you felt Robin’s knee make contact with your clothed center. You gasped into her mouth, needily squirming down to find friction.

“Robbie,” you muttered against her lips. “We don’t have much time.”

Robin smiled at you, eyes dark as she replied, “Don’t worry, I can be quick.”

With that, her knee increased pressure and you let out a whimper at the delicious friction. You were barely high anymore, but you had forgotten how horny weed made you, the evidence already damp against your underwear.

“Are you sure?” you whispered as Robin’s hands trailed under your shirt. Her hands stilled for a second.

“I’ve wanted this for an embarrassingly long time, so, yes, I’m very sure,” she said, breath heavy. “You?”

You nodded vigorously. “Same.”

Her hands resumed motion as she smiled, head dipping to your throat and placing open-mouthed kisses as her hands trailed softly over your nipples.

You moaned in earnest, shuddering at the feeling.

“Shh, baby, everyone’s just out there,” Robin teased, sucking a fresh bruise into your collarbone. At the same moment, you heard loud music start playing from the adjoining room. You blushed furiously at the idea of everyone hearing you.

Your hands needed something to do as you lay there, pliant and willing to Robin’s wishes. You groaned at the continued friction from her knee, and suddenly felt the need to give her the same. Your hands shot out, grasping her hips and rubbing circles into her hipbones, inching slowly toward the center.

Robin’s breath hitched as she realized what you were doing. When you hand reached the waistline of her jeans, you quickly unbuttoned and unzipped them. Wasting no time, you maneuvered your hand over her panties, cupping her harshly and rubbing back and forth. A moan vibrated against your neck and you noticed your hand was already sticky with her wetness.

She broke off of your neck to sigh at the contact. Her supporting arm trembled next to you.

“Babe, my arm is tired and we’re probably running out of time,” she said, voice cracking as she lifted off the ground and pulled back slightly.

You frowned slightly, tempted to pull her back down to you. “Oh. Did you wanna stop and cool off or something?”

Robin shook her head quickly, peeling her jeans off quickly and scooting further down your body.

“No, I’m gonna eat you out,” she said, meeting your eyes mischievously.

Your jaw dropped and a wave of heat wracked your body, settling strongly in your core. Your hips shifted up as Robin moved to slip your pants and underwear off.

“Where…” you swallowed thickly, heat reaching your face. “Do you know how?”

Robin smiled sheepishly as she dropped kisses up your legs. “I’ve been taught, but I haven’t exactly… put it in practice.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean…”

Robin quirked her eyebrows slightly, and you caught on.

“Oh! Ew, I’m not thinking about Steve right now,” you said, brain hazing more and more as Robin neared your center.

“Definitely not,” she agreed, hot breath fanning over your inner thighs.

A slightly tentative tongue dipped into your folds, running slowly up and down from clit to hole. At your first low moan, Robin became slightly more confident, pressure increasing and running circles over your clit.

You were in heaven, embarrassingly close already. You hand grasped Robin’s hair tightly, and she moaned slightly before pulling off of you.

“No. I want you to touch your tits,” she said, voice raspy and eyes dark.

Your breath hitched at the command, finding you liked this side of Robin… a lot. You nodded, pulling your shirt over your chest with a whimper. You ran one hand across your underboob, the other hand taking a nipple and harshly tweaking.

“Good,” Robin said, a little smug, before she brought her mouth against you again.

This time, she ran her tongue up and down a few times, spreading your wetness, before wrapping her lips around your clit and suckling softly. A loud moan ripped its way out of you, and you’d never been more thankful for loud party music.

Robin continued like that, suction over your clit as she also ran her tongue over the sensitive spot. You felt your walls flutter around nothing.

As if Robin could read your mind, you felt a warm finger tease your entrance.

“Please, Robbie, yes,” you babbled, gasping loudly.

She broke away for a second and said, “Fucking Christ, I like to hear you beg.”

One finger slipped in easily, crooked upward. It felt delicious but it was nowhere near enough. You whined.

“Use your words,” Robin said, drawing your eyes back toward her. “Please,” she added, looking slightly unsure.

You giggled slightly, as much as you could manage through the haze of pleasure, bringing a hand down to stroke her hair affectionately.

Her finger moved and you gasped, suddenly back to your urgent need at hand.

“Please… another finger.”

Robin smiled, saying, “There we go,” before slipping in a second finger, crooked upward just the same. She simultaneously latched back on to your clit, sucking and licking as though her life depended on it.

“Oh, God,” you choked out as you grew closer and closer to the edge. Your hands grasped for purchase, and you found yourself grasping your chest, just like Robin had told you earlier.

“Robin, I’m so—” you cut yourself off with a moan.

Robin hummed against you, glancing up at you through her eyelashes. That, combined with the mind-numbing friction of a particular out stroke, had you tumbling over the edge. The pressure on your clit exploded, and your walls dragged Robin’s fingers in deep.

“Fuck, Robin, oohhhh,” you moaned loudly.

Robin worked you through it, kitten licking your clit to prolong the sensation, her fingers still inside you as your walls pulsed around them. You gasped for air, lost in the waves of pleasure crashing against you.

Finally, you came down, panting through the aftershocks. You started scooting to meet Robin, but she stopped you in your tracks.

“Just sit there… and look pretty,” she said through heavy breaths. She pulled you into a sitting position, grabbing your shoulders before settling on your thigh.

“Do you not want me to do anything?” you asked, hands settling on her hips.

Realization struck you as she started rocking on your thigh, hard. She had already soaked through her underwear, leaving a sticky wet patch on your leg, and you let out a soft whimper at how utterly sexy she looked.

“You can—fuck, oh my god—suck on my tits,” she moaned, eyes slipping shut as she ground herself down hard and fast.

You obliged quickly, licking a small circle around her right nipple. Robin keened above you at the contact. You sucked a hickey on the swell of her underboob, right next to her nipple.

“Ohh, God,” Robin moaned vocally, movements quickening as your tongue moved to flick over her nipple. You wrapped your lips around it and sucked softly.

Robin was loud. You felt yourself start to get wet again as you listened to the high-pitched sighs that escaped her mouth with every breath, her head tossed back in absolute pleasure as she ground herself with unrelenting pressure into your thigh

“I’m gonna—fucking—Oh my God,” she said breathlessly as her movements became sporadic.

You scraped your teeth over her nipple and that was all it took. Robin barely suppressed a yelled-out moan, hips stuttering as she let off the pressure but continued rocking her hips, her hands in a vice grip on your shoulders. You rocked her hips through it, soothing her until she fell forward onto you, sweaty and spent.

You both caught your breath, laughing lightly and exchanging small kisses.

With a gasp, you remembered why the hell you two were in there initially.

“Robin! It’s been way longer than seven minutes!” you said, panicked.

Robin’s eyes widened, and with a small shit, you both began scrambling to put on your clothes and get the hell out of the closet.

You pushed the door open, bursting once again in the bright room, Robin right behind you. You found everyone talking amongst themselves over loud music.

“Why didn’t anyone get us?” you nearly shrieked.

Nearly everyone’s heads swiveled around to you both.

“Fucking finally!” Nancy said, raising a glass in your direction. There were similar agreements from everyone else, a toast practically made in your names.

“What?” you said, confused. Robin wore a similar face next to you.

Steve nudged the baseball cap over to you. “Check the papers,” was all he said.

Brow furrowed, you bent down to rifle through the slips and unfold them. Realization crept over you, along with a blush.

They all said Robin.

Robin gasped behind you, pointing an accusatory finger at Steve. “You rigged it!”

Steve just shrugged with a smile.

“I mean, it worked, right?”

You pinched your lips together. He did have a point.

He raised his eyebrows, now looking at Robin.

“And it sounds like the lessons worked. We had to put the music on.”

You sputtered, turning red. Robin stifled a laugh next to you.

Steve grinned. “Cigarette?”

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