#i could put him in my pocket and still have space to pack him a lunch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

swampthingking · 1 month

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can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180°, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned.

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream.

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment.

“She’s yours.” His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter.

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want.

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy.

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal.

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb.

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated.

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition.

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot.

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder.

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty.

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express.

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair.

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong?

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack.

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights?

He’d heard some things about teenagers.

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly.

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen.

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there.

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father.

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap.

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours.

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.”

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers.

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all.

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else.

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts.

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.”

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head.

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket.

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?”

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?”

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted.

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way.

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals.

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought.

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard.

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door.

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop.

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise.

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds.

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand.

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!”

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands.

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly.

“Please.” A pin could drop.

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand.

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver.

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do.

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else.

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle.

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do?

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing.

But…he was trying.

“A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?”

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.”

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears.

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle.

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins.

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter.

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly.

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns.

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence.

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?”

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.”

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles.

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly.

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen.

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket.

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around.

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.”

Of course, he’d noticed that, too.

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely.

“What is it?”

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin.

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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feyhunter78 · 3 months

Text

Split Lips and Busted Knuckles - Nerd!Miguel

Description: A chance meeting with Miguel's half-brother Kron leads to you seeing a different side of Miguel.

Nerd!Miguel masterlist here!!

Seriously you hate men, maybe not all of them, obviously not Miguel, but a lot if not most of them, and you really fucking hate Kron. Tall, blond, an extremely punchable face and an attitude that screamed “I waste my daddy’s money on cocaine.” He was a complete and utter rich asshole. One who seemed to be intent on talking to you.

You had a Mid-18th Century History class together, and he always tried to catch you after class. Luckily, you had a few sisters in your class as well, and you could hide within the pack to avoid him. Then he tried to catch you before class, but your professor called you over, safe again. But now here in the courtyard, an open space filled with frat boys you stupidly decided to wander through on your way to meet Miguel, there was nowhere to hide.

“Y/N, hey y/n, wait up.” Kron calls, waving wildly to get your attention.

You stop and press your lips together, before putting on a fake smile. He was the social chair for KA, and you know some of your sisters have been dying to be invited to their parties. “Hey Kron, what’s up?”

He gives you a smile, one that you think is supposed to be friendly, even nonthreatening, but it gives you the creeps. “Not much, just wanted to ask you about something I heard from a few people.”

“Oh?” You rack your brain trying to come up with some semblance of an idea about what he’s talking about but come up empty.

“Yeah, I heard you’ve been hanging out with my brother.” He says, his blue eyes hold you fast, like a butterfly pinned to a board.

“Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.” You say, brow furrowing as you try to remember meeting someone who looks like Kron but isn’t actually Kron.

“Well, he’s my half-brother, my dad is the ultimate stud, so you know, things happen and then Miguel just showed up.” He explains, not even seeming fazed or upset that his dad had an affair.

You blink owlishly, his words echoing in your brain as you try to put two and two together. “Miguel, as is Miguel O’Hara?”

He nods, “that’s the one, weird ass nerd, he refused to join KA with me, even though I told him that’s the only way he’ll make friends.”

“He’s not weird.” You bristle, crossing your arms over your chest.

Kron holds up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, whoa, chill, I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, okay, so I’ve been hanging out with him, who cares?” You glance at your watch; you’re going to be late.

There’s a very real and slightly concerning pain in your chest at the thought of Miguel sitting alone in the student center, waiting for you like a lost puppy, thinking you abandoned him.

Kron rests a hand on your shoulder, and you fight the urge to shrug it off. “Look Miguel, he’s my half-brother and yeah, he’s fucking annoying, and a try-hard, but he’s a nice guy, too nice. Don’t waste your time with him, it’s social suicide. He’s a nobody, a fucking loser who cares more about Legos and fucking science or whatever than getting laid.”

“I really don’t care about social suicide, but thanks, I think I can make my own decisions.” You tell Kron, giving him that same, perfectly crafted customer service smile.

“Y/N, you don’t get it, I’m trying to help you. He’s a loser, back in high school, no girls gave him a chance, he’s a total virgin okay, and you need a real man.”

And there it is, the real reason Kron doesn’t want you hanging with Miguel.

“A real man, huh? Well, you know what Kron, why don’t you let me know when you’ve found one and then get back to me.” You pat his hand that’s still on your shoulder.

His face goes red, then the color drains and his eyes harden. “I’m trying to help you, bitch.”

“Appreciate it, don’t need it, thanks though.” You walk off, head held high, hands shaking in anger as you shove them in your jacket pockets.

Miguel is sitting at your normal table, the one tucked in the corner secluded and shaded by large hedges, his head in a book, his glasses slipping down his nose.

You set your stuff down and push them up, smiling at his startled look. “Hey, sorry about the wait.”

He shakes his head, pink tinting his cheeks. “No worries, I was reading up on next week’s lecture for my genetics class.

You slide into the seat across from him. “Oh yeah? Anything interesting?”

You can’t believe he’s a virgin, he’s so…hot. Your mind starts to wonder for a second, imagining what it would be like, how he’d sound, how he’d feel, the flustered look on his face when you straddle him.

He nods, and begins to explain, talking wildly with his hands, pulling you from your lewd thoughts, then he freezes, his shoulders tensing, his hands deathly still.

“Miguel? Everything alright?” You ask, casting a glance over your shoulder in the direction of his gaze.

Fucking Kron.

When Kron gets closer you yell out, “so what are you like a stalker now or something?”

He laughs, it’s that specific laugh that reeks of arrogance and an inability to see women as people. “You wish.”

“I really don’t.” You grumble, turning back to look at Miguel.

His knuckles are white, his jaw clenched, his back ramrod straight, his shoulders set back, the expanse of his chest on display as if he’s trying to make himself look bigger than he already is, which is a feat in itself. There’s a look in his eyes that sends a shiver of something akin to fear down your spine. You’ve never seen Miguel look this way, ever, it’s like you’re looking at a whole different person.

“Migs, how you doing, bro?” Kron asks, standing between you and Miguel, who both remain seated, resting his hands on the table.

“Kron.” Miguel says curtly, turning that ice-cold gaze fully onto his half-brother.

Kron rolls his shoulders back and glances at you. “I thought I told you there’s nothing to be gained from hanging with this loser.”

Your eyes flicker back to Miguel, who’s giving Kron a harsh look you can’t quite decipher, then to Kron. “And I thought I told you I can make my own decisions.”

Kron clicks his tongue. “What’s he gonna do for you, he’s a fucking virgin. Just gonna try to make you cum by explaining science facts to you? Build you a dildo out of Legos?”

You nearly choke on your own spit. “What the fuck is wrong with you?

“If you’re that desperate for dick, you can always swing by the house, I’d be more than happy—” Kron hits the ground with a strangled yelp.

Miguel is on him in seconds, fist cocked back, his back muscle rippling as he brings his fist down, again and again and again. “Di esa mierda otra vez. Dilo de nuevo, te reto a la mierda.” Trsl: Say that shit again. Say it again, I fucking dare you.

Kron manages to get one arm free and tries to grab Miguel’s face, shirt, arm, anything he can reach. “You’re fucking crazy, you and your sorority slut.” Kron lands a solid hit, and you wince at the sight of Miguel’s head turning—even if it’s ever so slightly—with the force, Kron’s smug laugh ringing through the air once more.

“You never know when to shut up, huh?” Miguel snarls, forcing Kron’s arm down with his free hand, the other connecting with Kron’s nose, a sickening crack filling the air.

The sound prompts you into action, and you ignore the way your stomach flips at Miguel’s tone, at the way he moves, like a panther, powerful, stalking its prey, delivering that fatal blow.

Be so for real y/n, you cannot be turned on right now, that’s so embarrassing.

You grab Miguel’s shoulders and try to pull him away, it’s useless, but you try anyways. “Stop, stop, you have to stop, fuck come on Miguel—if they catch you fighting on campus you could lose your scholarship.”

“Shit, okay, I yield, I’m sorry.” Kron coughs out, blood gushing from his nose as his voice joins yours.

But Miguel doesn’t stop, he’s cursing under his breath, and at Kron in Spanish, his hand bloody, Kron’s flailing helplessly in his vice grip.

You try to grab Miguel’s bicep, fear flooding your system. “Miguel, stop, please, you’re freaking me out.”

That catches his attention.

Miguel mutters something to Kron then gets up, shoving his stuff in his bag and walking away, his shoulders tense.

In shock, you grab a bunch of napkins and your things, before chasing after him.

Why is this still kinda hot? You wonder, before mentally smacking yourself upside the head.

Miguel’s legs are much longer than yours, his steps bigger, faster, and you grab onto the front pocket of his backpack, his name spilling from your lips. “Miguel, hey, wait up.”

He stops, and you drag him into a nearby alcove with a bench pressed flush against the stone wall.

You both sit and Miguel refuses to look at you, his hand and lip bloodied.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” You ask, taking his hand in yours and dabbing it with a napkin, trying to clean him up the best you can.

“I’m sorry.” Miguel says quietly, eyes downcast.

“Why?” You turn his hand over and start cleaning his palm.

“I scared you, and I—I let my anger get the best of me, I should’ve just walked away.” His eyes meet yours for a brief moment when you gently dab at his lip.

“You didn’t scare me, I mean yeah that was a little intense, but…” You trail off when you realize he’s trembling. “Hey, I’m not afraid of you, you’re Miguel, my sweet boy, who can apparently throw one hell of a punch.”

He laughs at that, albeit weakly, but it’s still a laugh.

“And Kron is an idiot, don’t listen to him.” You continue, spending maybe a bit too long cleaning Miguel’s split lip, mesmerized by him.

“I don’t care what he says about me, he’s been a jerk since we were kids, but…he can’t just—you don’t deserve that.”

You exhale forcefully out of your nose, a small, contained laugh. “He’s just a dumbass saying dumbass stuff, like really, who would build a dildo out of Legos? That would hurt like a bitch.”

“And you don’t—you’re not weirded out by what he said?” Miguel asks carefully, you can feel the embarrassed heat radiating off him.

You set the napkin down and grab his chin with one hand turning his face side to side, inspecting him. You know what he means, not the Legos, or the science facts, the virgin part. It’s such a dumb thing to make fun of someone about something you’ve always been against. Why shame someone for such a personal choice? It’s their body, they can do what they want.

Plus, it’s kinda hot, being the first one to have him? The first one who gets to hear him, see him like that? Fuck, you wish that was you. Maybe you should offer? No, no, y/n, seriously, keep it in your pants.

Once you’re done with your inspection, you turn him to face you. “No, I’m not, who cares if you have or haven’t slept with someone, it’s not a big deal. Though I am surprised, a smart, handsome, sweet guy like you? I thought you’d have tons of girls under your belt. Bunch of math and science prodigies following you around like groupies, fighting to get in your pants.”

Because that’s who Miguel deserves someone smart, someone who can keep up with him—shit pull back, you’re making yourself insecure.

Miguel ducks his head, nuzzling into your palm as a result of the movement. “Thank you, for cleaning me up, and...you know.”

You smile, heart fluttering as Miguel leans into your touch. “No problem.”

You’re in wayyyy too deep.

Virgin Miguel bitchesssss

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #nerd miguel #nerd!miguel #college!miguel #college!reader #sorority!reader #nerd!miguel o'hara #college au #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n

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cyberkitty1 · 11 months

Note

Using my prettiest smile and kindest words to ask for the silliest and goofiest Miles Morales rizz to exist. The most awkward eye contact, embarrassing pickup lines, "The shoulder touch."

Complete whenever you are inspired! Love your work!<3

Thank you! I hope this is what you wanted!!

He walked into the wrong bathroom

He had spilt a drink on his shirt and was rushing ti the bathroom to try and get it off not paying attention to what bathroom he was going in he just so happened to walk into the women’s restroom.

You were standing at the bathroom sink fixing your lip gloss when he bursts in. Still having the applicator on your lips mouth in an ‘O’ shape you turn at your neck to look at him.

He’s keeping the shirt away from his skin when he looks up and sees you looking at him in shock. You both stand for a couple seconds till you say “can I help you?” He finally realizes where he is he starts rambling in Spanish “ ¡oh Dios mío! Im in the wrong bathroom i’m so sorry! Forget I was here!” He says falling out of the door.

You just look at where he was astonished.

_______________________

He gives you his number

You’re in your science class taking notes and staring into space. Looking to your left you see a pair of eyes looking straight back at you, amost immediately they look away.

Class is ending, you’re packing your stuff up when you see a shadow over your desk “ umm hi” you hear the voice say so you look up its the kid who was staring at you earlier! His name was Miles? Yea! Miles. “ hey, did you need something?” you say picking up a textbook and putting your backpack on.

“ Umm yea I just-“ He stops himself and looks at the floor. You look at him sideways what is he doing? Before you could say anything he puts his hand on your shoulder, you flinch a little he makes this face at you.

“ I was wonderin’ if you wanna go out sometime?” You looked at him for a second just blinking “ Umm yea sure” and with that his hand moves off your shoulder putting his hands in his front pocket. Taking his right hand out he gives you a slip of paper; most likely his number.

“ Ok ill uh see you around” “ mhm yea” you guys just stand looking around for a second you speak up “ well um im gonna go-“ “ YEA MHM” “ goodnight” “ yea good night”.

—————————————

im so funny guys 🤪

Im out of writing juice but I hope you liked it!!

last miles morales work…for now!

#miles morales x reader #miles morales fluff #miles morales #this made me giggle #fluff #funny #giggles #earth 1610 #earth 1610 miles morales #atsv #spider verse #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse

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sethcertified · 11 months

Text

「 KNIVES OUT ! 」 . . . 📁 01

scream : billy loomis, stu macher

w.c. : 2.5k

⊹˚.⋆ synopsis . . . it was just another night til [name] got those two very odd calls

⊹˚.⋆ starring . . . billy loomis, stu macher, & male reader

The night had taken over Woodsboro, California. An unfamiliar blue breeze had swept through as the sun ducked down behind buildings and night emerged from the suns departure; a tiny golden blaze of warmth and light on the horizon marking the rebirth of a perfect night from the sun's ashes. On any other night, I would've been tucked into bed with a song blaring into my ear drums, surely destroying my hearing, but today was Monday, which meant that I had the displeasure of closing up the video store for the night.

Despite my lack of enjoyment in being there, it was mine turn, fair and square. Randy had closed yesterday, so it was rightfully my duty to clean the shop and lock it up until the following day when we would open back up for business. That was the mantra I had repeated to myself as I dusted the shelves and the many dvds that were placed against each other like dominos that occupied the space. It was a dreadfully boring task, but I needed the money, so I made due.

A yawn escaped my mouth as I finished up the sci-fi section. My eyes flickered up to the ticking analog clock above the entrance doors. The clocks hands pointed to a quarter past twelve. My cheeks puffed out as I blew a frustrated mouthful of air into the atmosphere. I'd have no time to finish Randy's pre-calculus homework and be able to deliver it to him before first period. I cursed under my breath at the realization. Hopefully he would be fine with me giving it to him after school.

I blinked tiredly as I stumbled towards the reception desk, dropping the duster off at desk's newly wiped down countertop. All I had to do now was check the register; my last task before I could go home and flop into my bed. Opening the register, my fingers agilely sorted through the money. I spoke in a hushed voice, counting how much we had made the previous day. As the dollars increased in price, my sorting got slower and slower 'til I arrived to see the crisps $20 and $50 bills that occupied the bottom of the stack. All of it put together was more than I made in a week.

I bit my lip as my hand clutched an $100 bill that rested at the very bottom of the pile. Rent was coming up soon, and I knew we wouldn't have enough unless a miracle happened. This could be that extra push that my family so desperately needed so we didn't end up on the streets. My eyes scanned the store, making sure nobody could witness my thievery. Luckily, we had no cameras, so my crime would go unnoticed. I stuffed the money into my jacket pocket before shutting the register shut. My eyes shut as I exhaled a breath of relief. The money burned in my pocket. Guilt chewed at me but I just shook the feeling away. We needed this. I needed this.

With that being my final task of the night, I moved into the break room to grab my stuff. My backpack laid pressed up against the wall alongside my packed lunch. I leaned down as I slid the sleeves around my arms, putting my backpack on. I grabbed my lunch pal before brushing the dust off my clothes. It was finally time to go home. My hand wrapped around the cool metal of the door handle before being rudely interrupted.

"RI-I-ING!"

...

"RI-I-NG!"

The clattering of the phone echoed in the empty store, startling me. Who would be calling at this time of night? I sighed as I closed the door to the break room and made my way to the still ringing phone. It shone under the light that streamed from the window, its red coat looking as beautiful as ever. My fingers wrapped around the phone as I brought it up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hello." The assumed man replied from the other side of the phone; his voice not hinting any emotion. Despite that, I didn't mind the monotone inflection in his voice as a yawn escaped past my lips. "Is there any reason you're calling so late? We're closed, you know."

"Why do you think I'm calling?" The man answered with the same monotonous tone as before. My eyes squinted with confusion at the question. I had gotten weird calls before but never ones so vague. To be frank, it annoyed me. "To buy a movie?" I remarked sarcastically. "Call back during store hours, asshole."

"Such vulgar language," the man laughed, finally leaving behind his monotone cadence, "I should wash that mouth of yours with soap."

I rolled my eyes, "You're gonna spank me too?" My voice had gotten higher in pitch and whiny as I mocked the man by mimicking the tone of a child. A hum escaped the other line in an endless reply to my tease. As the hum continued on, I checked the analog clock once more as my patience wore thin. 12:20. My attention darted back to the phone as I stood waiting for the man to say anything in return. With nothing but the now dreadful sound of a hum escaping the line, I slammed the phone back into its rightful place.

"Dick," I mumbled as my had flattened on the cool surface of the entrance doors. What a way to make my night worse. I shook my head as the heel of my shoe clicked against the solid concrete of the sidewalk. Walking alone at night usually never unnerved me, but something in the air made my muscles tense in fear. My mind trailed back to the call, yet I immediately disregarded it. It was just some teenager trying to mess around with an overworked employee such as myself.

Maybe it was something in the atmosphere that unnerved me so, I reasoned. I wasn't sure what exactly, but tonight felt different from most nights here in Woodsboro, California. The air wasn't as suffocating, for one. Usually the air would be so thick it seemed to stick your to your body, yet I didn't feel any of that thickness tonight. In fact, I felt a slight chill.

My hands dug into my pockets, trying their best to a avoid the nighttime cold that swept through the area. The money laid in the palm of my hand, providing me some warmth. I looked up to see the night sky shining down on me. Stars lit up my way home, providing me a companion on my walk. My gaze darted back down as slight tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. "Not now," I mumbled. I quickly wiped away the singular tear the fell down my cheek.

As much as I hated to admit it, crying had begun a frequent habit of mine. I only allowed a few tears to slip out when I was alone, but my solitude didn't diminish my shame for being such a wimp. I crinkled my nose as I sniffled a bit trying to keep my composure intact. When I was younger and my calm composure would fall, Cotton or my mom would comfort me. But now, neither of those were options. Cotton was in jail and would be for the rest of his life. And my mom? She had become a shell of herself after Cotton's arrest. She wouldn't move or talk or do anything anymore. In truth, she was a living corpse. Bony face, bloodshot eyes, sluggish movements. The only difference between her and an actual corpse is the few times she would moan out "Cigarette" to me.

It was impossible to ignore the resentment that had built up towards my mother. She had abandoned me, yet forced upon the responsibility of taking care of her onto me all at once. I gritted my teeth as I kicked a decently sized rock. If Cotton was still here, Mom wouldn't have become this zombie. She would still be her regular self. Not this dead version of her. Another tear slipped down my cheek. It burned against skin.

Cotton should be here. Everything would be just fine if he was. Our family wouldn't be shunned, I'd have my big brother back: we'd be just like any other family in Woodsboro. I bit my lip as I looked up to the sky once more. Cotton's last words to me echoed in my head, "When you miss me, just know I'm not lightyears away." He had flashed me a grin so bittersweet before the guards dragged him away. They had yanked on his handcuffs roughly, motioning for him to start backing away. His eyes widened in panic at the feeling. "I love you, [Name]. Tell mom I love her too." He said quickly before he was taken away. It had happened too fast for my sixteen year old brain to follow. He was there one moment, and then he wasn't.

I shook off the memory as I reached my front door. I didn't bother knocking as I unlocked the door. My mother wasn't in sight, causing my shoulders to drop with relief. I hurried to Cotton's and I shared room, jumping out the rickety, old mattress. The springs poked me, but I payed no mind. Being in a bed was enough for me to be satisfied. I groaned as I turned over onto my back. The ceiling had a couple stains, and the cracks in the corners were getting worse. "We gotta get that fixed," I mumbled although I knew better. We wouldn't be able to afford it.

My eyes closed in frustration. There was too many things to fix but never enough money. I sighed as my hand dug into my pocket. $100 dollars wasn't enough to fix any of our problems. It was a penny when we needed a quarter. A hundred quarters, actually. I shoved myself off my bed as I headed to the kitchen. It was too depressing to be in there alone with the leaky and cracked ceiling. But worst of all, the hints of Cotton that still haunted the room. All his possessions still laid untouched with the exception of his clothes. None of my old ones fit anymore but we couldn't afford a whole new wardrobe simply because I had a growth spurt. His action figures collected dust on the shelf above his bed, his bed was as messy as always, Cotton never took the time to make his bed,

The kitchen was lightly dimly by the small, slightly flickering light above the dining table. My index finger delicately traced the cool edge of the countertop, mindlessly, as I reached for the case of red, plastic cups that laid by the phone. I prayed water would settle my restless mind. The sink gradually filled the cup to the brim with the liquid that would hopefully quench my ranging emotions.

Bringing the cup to my lips, my gaze turned to the phone. My mind couldn't help but think about the odd phone call from earlier. What idiot calls at the middle of the night? I set the drink down as my finger ran up and down the spine of the phone. Maybe he was high, I figured. Or drunk. Hell, maybe it was just a teenager goofing around. My lips pursed in the wake of my troubling thought: why was I was bothered? The call didn't mean anything, so why was it lingering in my head?

"RI-I-ING!"

...

"RI-I-NG!"

My eyes squinted harshly at the phone. What the fuck? It was odd to get a phone call this late, let alone multiple, yet the phone continued to ring, reminding me that what I was seeing wasn't a hallucination. To add onto that, the call coming in just as I was thinking about it? This was either a crazy coincidence or something truly freaky was going on. My fingers clutched the phone, giving me a sense of deja vu, as I held it up to my ear. "Who is this?" I asked.

"You don't remember me?" I jerked my hand away as my eyes stared down the phone. It was him. How was it him? I bit my lip as my eyes burned. This couldn't be just a coincidence. There was no way in hell it was. "How'd you get this number?" I interrogated the man. He laughed a strangely familiar but equally as cruel laugh, "Small town."

My nails dug into the countertop at the force of my deafening grip. "This isn't funny, you know. And I swear, if this is you, Randy, I am going to snap your neck tomorrow."

"I'm not Randy." The voice replied laced in smarminess.

"Then who are you?" I asked. My question was by no means friendly. Which in truth, it wasn't meant to be interpreted in any means as friendly. There was a slight pause before that deafening voice answered me once more, "I'm the person that framed your poor, older brother." My grips on the phone loosened as my eyes gazed at the phone with the memory of that fateful courtroom day. Billy. Was this him?

It certainly didn't sound like him. I bit my lip harshly as my mind bounced back and forth. If I responded, would I be giving him exactly what he wanted? But if I did hang up, I would be angering someone dangerous. Before a clever response could leave my mouth, Billy's presumed voice broke out. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Is this who I think it is?" I barked out. I didn't care for the taunts or tease. All I wanted was for this torture to come to an end. Billy Loomis had made my life a hell ever since that courtroom. He painted me as murderous, a freak, someone to avoid. Billy Loomis had a way with words, and with those words he had outcasted me. Made me laughed at, teased, bullied. It was my own personal form of hell.

"Depends. Who do you think I am?"

"Billy," I mumbled under my breath. "Billy Loomis."

"You're gonna have to speak louder than that, or else I won't be able to hear you." The voice replied. I scowled as my knuckles turned white. "I said I'm hanging up on you," I lied. The phone slammed against the kitchen wall as I clutched my head in pain. What was happening? And why now? I shook my head as I head back to my bedroom and flopped into the bed. The smell of Cotton still hung in the room and I inhaled it sharply, trying to wash away any remainders of the odd phone call.

Yet the call remained in my head, smothering me. My fingers clenched the sheet in frustration. There was no way I was getting much sleep tonight so I let myself stay awake, gazing into the blackness of my pillow. All I could do now was pray it was a meaningless prank call, and not the devilish boy that haunted my dreams.

✎ notes . . . slow start, I know, I know, but trust me things will get intense very soon...

©️ sethcertified 2023

#☆ — sethcertified #billy loomis #scream #stu macher #scream 1996 #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #male reader #scream x reader #billy loomis x male reader #stu macher x male reader #ghostface x male reader #scream x male reader #☆ — scream

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dragonflylady77 · 28 days

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The Birthday Wish

I decided on Wednesday afternoon to write a fic for Billy's birthday (on the Friday). Just pretend it's still 29 March, okay?

Gift for @spaceofentropy

You can find it on ao3

TW Neil Hargrove, child abuse

Steve drove up to the quarry, slowing right down when he noticed there was already a car there. A very familiar blue car.

“Fuck!” His evening was shit enough, having had to endure three hours of the Party as well as Jonathan and Nancy being all cozy on the couch at the Byers’ house for Will’s birthday, he didn’t fancy a confrontation with Billy Hargrove on top of that.

It was too late though, Hargrove would have noticed his car by now, for sure, and Steve knew he’d never hear the end of it if he turned tail now.

He parked alongside the Camaro and turned his engine off. He glanced to his left and did a double take when he noticed Hargrove was sitting on the hood of his car, a thin looking blanket on his lap. The guy was holding something but it was too dark, even with the nearly full moon, for Steve to see what it was.

Steve grabbed his parka from the backseat and put it on once he got out of his car.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” Hargrove asked as Steve did his zipper up.

It was cold as balls, barely above freezing. “Yeah, it’s me, don’t cream your pants,” he muttered under his breath, not expecting Hargrove to hear him but then he started laughing and Steve stared.

He couldn’t remember ever hearing Billy Hargrove laugh before. It was surprisingly heartwarming and Steve wished he could see his face properly. He stepped closer to the Camaro and peered at Billy. He had a can of beer between his thighs and was holding a cupcake.

Huh.

“You’re just in time, pretty boy,” Billy said, pulling his pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his denim jacket, followed by his Zippo and a… birthday candle.

“In time for what?” Steve asked, confused as fuck. He didn’t even react to the pet name, he was kinda used to it. Truth be told, he hadn’t heard it for a while, since he wasn’t at school anymore, and he kinda missed it, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

“‘m turning eighteen in a few minutes,” Billy said around the cigarette between his lips. The flame of his lighter illuminated his face for a couple of seconds, long enough for Steve to see the black eye and the dried blood on his cheek.

“The fuck happened to you, Hargrove?”

Billy shrugged. “Neil didn’t take too kindly to Maxine reminding him it was my birthday. He expressed his displeasure before I dropped her off for her sleepover at the Byers’.”

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

“Don’t worry about it, princess. I’m just glad he gave me time to pack a bag before he kicked me out.”

“Kicked you out? On your birthday? Again, what the fuck?” Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Well, yanno, I’m eighteen now, legally an adult, so I have to fend for myself or some such,” Billy said, checking the time on his watch and pressing the sad looking candle into the frosting of his blue cupcake.

Steve watched him light the candle, his heart in his throat as he connected some dots. What kind of parent kicked their kid out the day they turned eighteen? What kind of monster beat up their kid because it was their birthday? Holy shit .

Billy made eye contact with Steve before he closed his eyes for a moment and blew out his birthday candle.

“What d’you wish for?”

Billy grinned before he removed the candle and put it back in his pocket. “Can’t tell you, Stevie, or it won’t come true.”

“Happy birthday, Billy.”

“Thanks.” Billy ripped the cupcake in two and offered one of the halves to Steve, who took it with a nod.

Steve looked at it then back at Billy.

“It’s not poisoned, in case you’re wondering,” Billy said before he moved off the center of the hood and patted the space beside him. “Come sit with me, I promise I won’t bite.”

Holding his half cupcake, Steve sat on the edge of the Camaro’s hood before sliding closer to Billy. The metal was still a bit warm and it made Steve feel something he didn’t care to analyze.

“What are you gonna do?” Steve asked as he took a bite. The frosting was really sweet, and the cupcake vanilla flavored.

Billy shrugged again. “Sleep in my car, I guess, shower at school, or something, I dunno. Neil didn’t find the money I’ve been saving but it’s not enough for a motel, not to last until graduation, anyway.”

“Billy, it’s way too cold to be sleeping in your car. You’ll freeze to death!”

“Cute that you think anyone will care, Harrington.” Billy laughed and this time, it made Steve shiver. Unlike before, there was no happiness in that laugh. “Not sure you’ve noticed but literally no one gives a fuck about me. No one at school. Certainly no one at the house on Cherry Lane.”

“Max cares,” Steve countered. You care , a voice in his mind added but he shushed it.

“She only cares because I’m her ride to places and it saves her having to walk everywhere. I have zero illusions about where I stand.” Billy balled up the paper case of his cupcake and threw it into the bushes.

“Surely—” Steve was sure Billy was wrong about Max.

“Nah, pretty boy. It’s fine. Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Just promise me, when they find me dead in a ditch, make up some good stories about me at my funeral, okay?” His empty beer can went the way of the cupcake case.

“That’s not funny.”

“Like I said, not your problem,” Billy said, an edge in his voice that Steve was wary of. “You should head home before your parents wonder what happened to you.”

Steve snorted. “My parents are somewhere in Europe, and they don’t give a fuck.”

“Aww Stevie, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“They showed up on Christmas Day and told me I had six months to sort myself out because they were putting the house on the market on July 1. I’m lucky my mom talked my dad out of cutting me off when I didn’t get into college.”

“Ouch.” Billy winced. “What are you gonna do?”

Steve shrugged. Working at Family Video was all well and good but it wasn’t really a long term plan. “Saving most of my shitty wages until I have to leave, then, I don’t know. Indy, maybe. Or Chicago, I guess.”

“You need to think bigger, princess. There’s a whole world out there. Where’s somewhere you’ve always wanted to go? What’s on your list?”

Steve took a moment to really think about it, watching his breath make little clouds of steam every time he exhaled. His ass was getting cold as well, sitting on the cooling metal. Billy’s blanket looked even thinner up close than it had earlier. It was time to move this party somewhere else.

“Hey, don’t feel like you have to say yes, or anything, but you wanna come back to my house? It’ll be warmer than here. I’ll even make us some food if you want.”

Billy didn’t punch his lights out or say no outright, so Steve counted that as a win. Billy gave him a confused look.

“Didn’t you have dinner at that weird kid’s birthday party? I saw your car there.”

“Yeah, well, sitting across from my ex and her new boyfriend kinda killed my appetite. I’m starving.”

“I didn’t realize you could cook, Stevie,” Billy said, taking one last drag of his cigarette before pressing the butt of it to the underside of his boot and dropping it in the dirt.

“My parents have been taking progressively longer trips ever since I was twelve, so I had to learn. There’s only so many frozen pizzas and boxed mac and cheese a guy can eat before he craves real food.”

***

Billy followed Steve to Loch Nora and parked his Camaro next to the bimmer in the Harringtons’ vast garage. He wasn’t too sure what was happening, but the promise of warmth, food and company definitely beat sleeping in his car at the quarry with the shitty blanket he’d sneaked out of Cherry Lane.

He left his boots by the door in the foyer and spent a moment taking in what he could see of his former teammate’s house. The Harringtons lived on the other end of the spectrum when it came to income bracket, no doubt about it. For starters, they had an upstairs and what looked like a formal lounge and, oh yeah, was that a freaking pool ?

“Billy?” Steve called out and Billy startled.

“Yeah?” he replied, wandering towards the voice and the light. The kitchen was bigger than his bedroom at Neil’s house, with a double oven and too many cupboards to count.

“Hey, there you are,” Steve looked up at him from the freezer. “You okay with gnocchi?”

“Um, I guess. Never had them.”

Steve smiled at him and Billy felt something warm unfurl in his chest. He was having trouble remembering why this crush he’d been harboring on Steve was a bad idea, what with the way Steve was finally giving the attention he’d been craving since the first day.

He sat on the bar stool by the breakfast bench and watched as Steve put a big pot of water on the stove. Steve kept telling Billy what he was doing as he was doing it, explaining it was a recipe he’d found in a cookbook his parents had brought back from one of their trips.

The butter and sage smelled delicious and Billy couldn’t wait to try this dish. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken the time to cook for him. Susan’s cooking skills were not the best and she cooked whatever Neil demanded anyway. One of the upsides of being kicked out was that Billy would never have to pretend to enjoy Susan’s bland, dry meatloaf.

Billy realized Steve was calling his name and he looked over at him. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Dinner is ready. You wanna watch a movie while we eat?”

Billy nodded, at a loss to explain why Steve was being so nice to him. It wasn’t like they were friends. Yeah, sure, Billy had apologized after the fight that night back in November, but the few times he’d taken Max to the video store, he’d stayed in the car to avoid any awkwardness.

Now he’d shared his birthday cupcake with the guy and they were sitting down on his expensive looking couch to watch a movie, with a beer and delicious smelling food Steve had made for them. Almost made Billy forget about Neil whaling on him and kicking him out of the house.

He expected Steve to sit on the other end of the couch but he sat right next to Billy instead, his thigh warm against Billy’s. They ate in silence, and Billy did his best to pay attention to the plot of the movie Steve had picked but he was too distracted to care much. He hadn’t been this close to Steve since basketball practice and it was making his heart race.

Billy was trying not to read too much into the prolonged physical contact. He’d already been punched once tonight, he wasn’t looking for a repeat. Resisting the urge to put his hand on Steve’s thigh was getting harder and Billy wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to control his body’s reaction. That was an embarrassing situation he could do without, not to mention extremely awkward.

He put his empty plate on the coffee table and stood up, asking Steve for directions to the bathroom before telling him he didn’t need to pause the movie. Billy then rushed out of the living room and locked the bathroom door behind him, resting against it for a minute. Fuck. Maybe he should leave, head over to the Motel 6 for the night and work out what to do tomorrow.

Once he was done in the bathroom, he headed for the kitchen and got a glass of water to give himself some time.

“You okay?” Steve asked from the doorway and Billy startled.

“Y-yeah, just, um, needed a drink.” He drained the last of his water and put the glass in the sink. “Look, Steve, it’s really late. I’ll… um, I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for dinner but I better be going.”

“What? No.” Steve walked into the kitchen and stopped in front of Billy. “Why?”

Because if I stay I’ll probably get a boner and try to kiss you…

Billy ran a tired hand through his hair. “It’s just… it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Steve asked, not budging when Billy tried to move past him.

“Steve…”

“Listen, Billy, I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Steve’s hand made it halfway to Billy before he dropped it at his side and wasn’t that a mindfuck? “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by sitting so close to you on the couch. I just…”

“You just…?” Billy’s fingers twitched with the need to reach out to the boy in front of him. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, a phantom touch that heated up his skin, so for once, he let himself look. Steve’s hair looked like he’d been raking his fingers through it, his brown eyes fixated on Billy, the moles dotting his cheek and his neck, the yellow jumper that looked so soft.

Billy didn’t let his gaze move below the belt, instead trailing back up to Steve’s mouth, his lips looking so fucking kissable. And so close. Huh? Before Billy could fully process that Steve had closed the gap between them, Steve leaned forward, cupping Billy’s face with both hands, and pressed their mouths together.

The contact was brief. Too soon, Steve pulled away, dropping his hands and taking a step back, eyes wide, like he suddenly realized the enormity of what he’d done. Billy grabbed him by the waist with both hands and pulled him close, capturing Steve’s lips and unleashing a year and a half of pent up yearning and pining.

Billy found himself pressed against the side of the fridge, Steve’s tongue in his mouth and Steve’s arms around his neck. The kiss went from soft and exploratory to frantic and thrilling. Billy couldn’t get enough. He could feel Steve getting hard against his belly and it was intoxicating.

They broke the kiss when breathing became an issue but didn’t move away from each other.

“Stay,” Steve whispered against his lips and Billy nodded.

Later, tangled with Steve in his bed, naked and sated, Billy told Steve in hushed whispers how he’d wanted to kiss him since the Halloween party at Tina’s. Steve told Billy of all the times he’d stamped down on the attraction he was feeling because he believed it would never go anywhere. Billy laughed when Steve said he’d thought Billy was straight, then told him about Neil.

Over breakfast the next morning, Billy told Steve he’d secretly applied to colleges in California, and Steve told him he’d never seen the ocean. They started making plans.

***

Billy stepped off the stage on Graduation Day and walked past his classmates and the rest of the crowd until he reached the parking lot. Steve and Max were leaning against the Camaro, chatting animatedly. Max ran to him when she spotted him and they hugged.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, Billy!” she cried when he let go of her.

“You can come visit, shithead,” he replied with a grin. Being with Steve had helped repair their relationship and Billy had had to admit that Steve was right and Max did care.

“You better write me when you get there.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I promised, didn’t I?”

They hugged one last time then Steve said his goodbyes and they got into the car.

Billy told Steve he could picked a tape and a lone birthday candle fell out of the glove box when Steve opened it.

“You never did tell me about your birthday wish, Billy,” Steve said, holding the candle up with two fingers.

Billy smiled as he pulled away from the lot. “I guess I can tell you now, since it came true.”

“Oh?”

“You were my wish, pretty boy.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #billy hargrove's birthday #dragonflylady77 #the birthday wish

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clone-anon · 4 months

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Snow Drift (Crosshair x Reader)

This is for @secondratefiction for the Clone x Reader Life Day Exchange with @cloneficgiftexchange. I hope this is to your liking!

Word Count: 1310

Prompt: “I thought I lost you, damn it! Stop acting like I’m not allowed to be upset about this!”

Warnings: some angst, mostly fluff, mention of losing Mayday and implied PTSD, small avalanche, cuddling and kissing, sfw but minors please DNI

Crosshair was not entirely sure why he had to be on a cold planet. The Batch had decided to try to retrieve some supplies to help some of the citizens of Pabu who were still getting back on their feet after fleeing their home world which was now ravaged by the Empire. Crosshair agreed with supply retrieval, but surely there were supplies on planets not covered in snow. There were three outposts in the area and Tech parked the Marauder in a central location. Hunter, Echo, and Omega would head into one outpost, Wrecker and Tech to the second, and Crosshair would go to the third with you. You were happy to come along and weren’t sad to be getting some alone time with him. While he wasn’t much of a talker, you’d gotten to know him and had fallen in love. It took a lot to approach him and tell him about your feelings and while his response had few words, his own emotions toward you were no less affectionate. He often showed you how he cared. Putting a hand on your lower back as you walked through Pabu together. Leaving a little kiss on your forehead before you parted for the day. Finding a way to spend more alone time with you. Leaving fiery kisses and whispers under the stars that left nothing to your imagination.

Once you picked up a blaster and showed you had enough skills to take care of yourself, the Batch all agreed you could come on supply runs and certain missions. Crosshair was more protective, always wanting you with him.

You walked toward the outpost together in relative silence. Even the word “outpost” somehow seemed to bother Crosshair.

“What is it about this that’s got you bothered,” you asked him as you walked side-by-side through the snow.

“Hm,” he replied, as if a hum answered everything. You waited for him, giving him space to say whatever he needed to. Finally, he opened up. “My last mission, before I was taken to that horrendous place…”

“Tantiss?”

He nodded and continued. “I was sent to a snow-covered planet. Unbearably cold.” He paused again. “The Empire had clones protecting stormtrooper armor. The last clone from the remaining squad – a commander – was injured when we tried retrieving stolen crates.” Crosshair paused and you walked forward another few minutes before he added, “I got him back to the outpost, but he died. If the Empire had cared, they could have saved him.”

His words snapped harder than the bitter wind and he let out a shaky breath, pausing to look ahead. You could see how pained he was at the memory. You wrapped your arm around before pulling him close for a gentle hug. Crosshair took his hands out of his pockets to give you a little squeeze and a quick kiss to your temple. With the cold being as it was, you both went back to walking with your gloved hands in your pockets. You were both wearing civilian clothing and Crosshair missed his blacks. At least they provided a bit more insulation. As you walked through the mountain pass, he noted a pathway above yours where speeders headed in a different direction, seemingly leaving the outpost or arriving from other parts of the planet. Crosshair was uncomfortable with the small blasts of snow that sprayed above your heads as you turned a corner, but he said nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief when you made it to this outpost. You quickly found the supplies you were looking for. The bacta gel and med patches may have been small in size, but each one was highly valuable. You both filled up your packs with as many as you could along with several items you thought might help these new refugees feel more at home. You headed back toward the Marauder as the snow started coming down more heavily.

You made your way carefully through the pass. The ground was a little more slippery, but not terribly so. A speeder flew along the path higher up the mountain, spraying more snow as they turned a corner. You were getting closer to a ravine and from there would take another path back toward the ship. Something didn’t sit right with Crosshair and he paused to take in the scene as you trotted ahead. A large speeder on the trail up the mountain took the turn too quickly and landed in a very large pile of snow. It was just enough to start a very small avalanche and Crosshair went cold with fear as he saw the mound of snow come directly for you, pushing you further down the mountain.

You didn’t see it coming. The rush of cold flakes was strong enough to pick you off your feet and push you toward the bottom of the ravine. It wasn’t a far drop by any means, but you could hear Crosshair call out your name as your face was buried in white fluff and you landed on a pile consisting of fallen leaves and fresh powder.

You tried to move, but didn’t even get the chance. Crosshair jumped down after you and quickly dug you out. You smiled up at him as he brushed the snow out of your face.

“Nice landing, huh,” you asked with a grin. “Perfect pile for a soft landing.”

Crosshair had tears in his eyes as he checked you over.

“We have to get back to the ship,” he said in haste. “Do you need me to carry you? We can get Tech to scan you. Are you bleeding? Bruises?”

“Crosshair,” you said shaking your head. “I’m fine.” You stood up as he still checked for any sign of discomfort.

“We have to be sure,” he replied, nearly starting to hyperventilate as he searched the ground for anything that could cause greater injury.

“I am sure,” you answered, now almost annoyed at his insistence. It was just a small fall and you landed in about the safest spot you could.

“I thought I lost you, damn it! Stop acting like I’m not allowed to be upset about this!”

You softened and reached out to cup his cheek. Tears welled up, but he couldn’t look at you. You wiped away his fallen tears and kissed him.

“This is about what happened before.” You said it more as a statement than a question. He simply nodded. You took his hand and placed it over your heart. “I promise nothing hurts,” you said, “but if it makes you feel better, let’s get back to the ship and Tech can scan me.” He nodded and pulled you up and in for a hug. He needed to feel you, to know you were safe. He held your hand the whole way back. When the scan revealed that your body was functioning completely normally, he finally let out a sigh. Once in hyperspace, he got into his bunk. You joined him without him saying a word. As you curled against him, he rested his cheek on the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you. You knew that your fall could have been worse. You had a plush landing and were grateful, but you could feel his breath shake as he tried to steady himself, still reeling.

You gently broke the silence between you. “You can tell me however much or little you want.”

He nodded and quietly replied, “Maybe when we’re alone.”

You gave him a gentle smile and kissed him. He kissed you back and let out a heavy breath. You rolled over, facing away from him so he could spoon you. He liked being able to feel your body against his, from your head to your feet. He held you so perfectly and you both relaxed against each other, grateful to be going home together.

#clone x reader life day fic exchange #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #tbb fanfiction #reader insert

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lucky-bishop · 3 months

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messy draft monday

Thanks for the tags @like-lazarus and @dear-massacre! I am absolutely a mess today (on brand for me) so I'm posting late but I'm still posting! Not tagging anyone bc it's so late but if you'd like to do it feel free!

From some progress I made recently on my "Stiles gets bit by a grindr hookup" Steter fic!

Stiles firmly does not want to call Peter, but he is one of his alphas, and that deserves respect. Peter picks up on the fourth ring, voice bleary with sleep although a bit more put together than Scott, and Stiles winces. He’s cracked enough jokes before about Peter and his beauty sleep to know that the alpha genuinely hates having his sleep interrupted, but he knows it’d be worse if he didn’t call immediately. “Stiles? It’s two o’clock in the morning. Shouldn’t you be out carousing with your human friends?” “So, about that, I actually was, and then I decided to come home and hook up with this guy who was close on grindr, and - “ “Stiles, we’ve been over this. You don’t need to report all of your sexual exploits to the entire packs, and frankly - “ “He bit me, Peter. He’s an alpha, and I’m turning. I’m not showing any signs of bite rejection, but I wanted you to know - “ The call disconnects before Stiles can say another word, and he sighs heavily. Peter will be here soon enough, and since he still seems like he’s doing alright, it’s time to get Spencer out of here before the Hale alpha shows up. Stiles gets out of bed, wincing at the bite that hasn’t started healing yet on his side, and makes his way out to the living room. “Looks like I’m gonna turn and be fine. You should give me your contact info and then get out of here.” “Wait, you want my number? I didn’t think you’d want to see me again.” “Because you’ll have to help in the ritual to transfer me to one of my packs, dude.” Stiles cuts him off. “Oh,” Spencer replies, then digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Stiles, who does the same back. They exchange their information, and then Spencer makes a half-hearted protest to stay, which Stiles completely dismisses. There's no way an unfamiliar alpha werewolf - who fucking bit him nonetheless - is sticking around. Plus Stiles doesn't hate the guy, and he wouldn't unleash a tired and incredibly pissed off Peter Hale on somebody unless he really had a bone to pick with them. “Trust me, dude, you do not want to be here when my alpha gets here.” That’s enough to get him to leave, thankfully. Stiles doesn't think about calling Peter "his alpha" - he and Scott both are, of course, and Peter is the one that's going to show up right away. Scott will show up, too, but Stiles downplayed the urgency to him. He downplayed it to Peter, too, of course, but Peter is much less inclined to believe him on behalf of his general personality. There's some pain from the bite, but it's not unbearable. Stiles' confidence in his survival increases every minute. The mark hasn't started healing quite yet, but it's not bleeding anymore, and he's not showing any signs of rejection, thankfully. Stiles cleans himself up as best he can - both from the hookup and from the bite - gets dressed in his comfy clothes because even though he knows Peter will have several things to say about the way he's dressed, and waits. He's not left waiting too long before there's a frantic knocking at his door. He jumps to answer it and Peter pushes his way into his space immediately, grabbing at Stiles and looking him over. "Where did he bite you? Is it healing properly?" Stiles shoulders Peter off of him and gets the door closed - he doesn't want to disturb the neighbors. He lifts up his shirt to show off the bite to Peter, who immediately drops to inspect it. In the time since Stiles has stopped monitoring it so closely, it's started to slowly heal. Peter breathes out a relieved sigh, then glares up at Stiles from his position on the floor. "How could you let this happen?" And Stiles is not going to put up with that bullshit. "I didn't let anything happen. I thought I was having a normal, human hookup! When he asked if he could bite me I thought it was going to be hot. Not this. I never - I guess - I mean I thought since I escaped it for so long - " "I'm sorry, that was out of line." And Peter's apologizing, now? Maybe Stiles actually is going to die.

#my writing #steter #wip #teen wolf

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allthingsfangirl101 · 4 months

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A Little Distracted – Keys

Masterlist

Masterlist 2.O

I walked into his apartment with a bag of food in one arm and a six-pack of beer in the other. I had barely kicked off my shoes when I felt it. Something was off.

"Keys?" I called out as I walked into the kitchen and put the stuff down. I started getting nervous when he didn't respond. "Keys? Where are you?"

I left the kitchen and started walking through his apartment. "Keys? Come on. Please say something. Keys? Give me a grunt or a crash so I know where you're at."

I let out a sigh of relief when I heard a soft grunt coming from the extra room that Keys turned into an office space for himself. I jogged down the hall and stopped in the doorway. When I saw him, my heart sank into my stomach.

"Hey, you," I said gently.

"Hi," he mumbled, his eyes still glued to his computer.

"I brought food," I said, shoving my hands into my back pockets. "And beer. You up for a break?"

He grunted but kept typing on his computer. I watched him for a few minutes but his focus was entirely on his code.

"Keys, I really think you should take a break," I sighed. "You're starting to worry me. Remember senior year with your project?"

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"Keys."

"I'm fine. Why the hell is this not working?" Keys interrupted himself.

"Keys, I'm bleeding."

"I will take a break as soon as I finish this part of the code."

"You always say that," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Take a break and help me with this bullet wound."

"In a minute."

"I'm dying."

"I will eat as soon as this. . ."

My heart sank when I realized he had officially gotten to the point where he couldn't even finish his thought. I smirked when I got an idea, "How about we skip dinner, go to your room, and just go to town on each other? Let's do it, Keys. Take me to your room and make love to me."

"Wait, what?" Keys said, finally looking away from his computer and turning his chair around.

"Of course, that you hear," I sighed, throwing my hands up in defeat. Before he could say anything, I turned on my heel and walked back to the kitchen. I tried to push down my anger as I set up the food.

"Y/N," Keys sighed as he joined me in the kitchen. "I'm sorry, but you know I have to do this. I have to get it done."

"Save it," I cut him off. "I've heard it all before; Just one more line of code. Just ten more minutes. I'm almost done, Y/N, I swear. Warm up the food. I'll be there in a minute. I can't do this anymore, Keys."

I mumbled that last part. I looked up at him to see him studying me.

"Y/N. . ." He started.

"Maybe I should go," I sighed. "There's no point in me being here. Especially if you are going to ignore me and go back to coding."

I left the kitchen, ignoring the sound of Keys running after me. I reached the front door before he grabbed my hand and stopped me. He grabbed my hand and turned me toward him.

"Please don't leave," he begged. Keys looked down at my hand in his and quickly let it go. "What can I do to make this better?"

"Take a break," I said instantly. "Eat dinner with me and watch a movie. Hang out like we usually do without the distraction of your code. I know coding is important to you, but you've been killing yourself for the game. You need to think about whether or not this is worth it."

"It is," he said under his breath.

"Is it?" I challenged. "Do you not remember our senior year? You got so focused on coding a game you were working on that you didn't eat for two days. When I finally forced my way into your room through your window, you were basically comatose."

Keys opened his mouth to say something, but at the last minute, he decided against it. Without a word, he let go of one of my hands and took me back into the kitchen. He led me to the table and finally let go of my hand as he pulled out a chair for me.

I sat down, not entirely believing that he was actually going to walk away from his coding. But he did. Instead of going to his office, Keys walked over to the counter where I put the food and started pulling the containers out of the bag.

I couldn't push back the smile as he carried the food over to me, put it down in the middle of the table, and sat across from me. I watched as he took off the wrapper and took a bite of his burger.

"Hey," he said, his mouth full, "I thought we were both eating."

"Sorry," I chuckled as I finally stopped staring at him and started eating my burger.

As we ate, I could tell his mind was still on his game. When we finished, I got up and started cleaning. I looked over my shoulder to see Keys checking his watch and drumming his fingers on his knee.

"Just go," I sighed.

"What do you mean?" He asked, faking innocence.

"Come on, Keys," I said, turning toward him and crossing my arms over my chest. "You are dying to go back to your code. That's fine, but I'm not going to sit here, knowing you'd rather be working."

I started to leave again, but Keys jumped up, ran around me, and got in front of me. He gently grabbed my shoulders and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was trying, Y/N. I swear."

"I know," I said softly. "But I also know that you would rather be working so. . ."

"No," he cut me off. "I'd rather be hanging out with you."

I knew he was lying but I let him believe that I believed him.

* * * * *

While we watched the movie, Keys kept glancing at his watch. The further into the movie we got, the more restless Keys got.

"This isn't working," Keys grunted as he paused the movie.

"Okay," I said, turning towards him and tucking my feet under myself. "Let's try something else."

"Y/N," he sighed, "I appreciate the help but. . ."

"Talk it out."

"What?"

"Talk it out," I repeated. "Everything with your game, with your code. Talk it out."

"Are you. . . Are you serious?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I tried distracting you with food and a movie but that didn't work so let's try this. All the feelings, all the frustration, let it out."

"You mean it?"

"Of course I do. You're my best friend, Keys. I hate seeing you like this, so, let me have it."

I sat back and listened as Keys told me everything about his game. He told me about where he was struggling. He told me about the issues in his code. He told me about how there was one specific part in his code that wasn't syncing correctly. He told me about the characters he was creating and how he needed a couple more that he couldn't come up with.

"And there's one character," he sighed, "that I can't crack."

"Show me," I shrugged. Keys jumped up, grabbed my hand, and led me into his office. He sat down at the desk and I leaned on his chair behind him. I tried to understand as he explained his code to me but it went over my head.

"You said you could figure it out," I said slowly once he was done explaining.

"I can," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I just. . ."

When he didn't continue, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and leaned my chin on his head.

"Did you ever think about getting inspiration about people from people?"

"What does that even mean?" Keys chuckled as he reached up and gently grabbed my wrists, not pulling them from around him.

"You said you had a few other NPCs, right?" I asked.

"Yeah," Keys elongated. "So?

"I meant that you should try getting inspiration for your NPCs from people around you," I explained. "You know, the guy at the ice cream cart, the checkout girl at the coffee shop, the overly friendly cop, the crazy cat lady that lives on your bottom floor. And then maybe it can help you come up with new characters."

I looked down to see him staring at his computer but with a different expression on his face. I loosened my grip a little so I could get a better view of the look on his face.

"What?" He chuckled, clearing his throat.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Of course," he shrugged. I let go of him and moved so I was leaning against his desk.

"Talk to me, Keys," I pushed. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm distracted," he said slowly. "My code is. . ."

"You got this faraway look in your eyes," I cut him off. "It made me nervous."

"I didn't do that," he stuttered.

"Walter," I said, my voice soft. Keys' eyes instantly softened when I used his real name.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "But, really, it's nothing."

My breath got caught in my throat when he maintained eye contact but something changed. It might have been the way he looked at me. It might have been how close we suddenly were. It might have been the feelings I've pushed down most of my life.

"Okay," I whispered, trying to get rid of the tension. "I guess. . . I believe you."

"Do you?" Keys asked, inching closer to me. It felt like my heart jumped into my throat when his eyes glanced down at my lips. When he looked back up at me, he realized that I had noticed.

"Something's bothering you," I said under my breath. "Please tell me."

I gasped when Keys leaned in and delicately pressed his lips to mine. I reached forward and gently put my hands on his shoulders. As our lips moved in sync, Keys gently grabbed my waist and pulled me onto his lap.

We let our emotions and feelings boil to the surface as our lips continued to move roughly against each other. When neither one of us could breathe, we broke the kiss and leaned our foreheads against each other.

"You're why I'm distracted," he whispered, out of breath from the kiss. "You and Lovelorn."

"Me and who?"

"Lovelorn," he continued to explain. "He's a character I designed to never meet the love of his life."

"That's kinda sad," I whispered.

"I know," he chuckled light-heartedly. "But it was how I was feeling. Until. . ."

"Until?"

"A couple of weeks ago, you called me almost in tears," Keys said as he reached up and cupped a piece of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering. "You were frustrated with school and your Mom had called you to get on your case about not having a boyfriend. I came over for dinner and you fell asleep in my arms. I've known about your sleep-talking since high school but that night, you kept whispering my name. You started sleep-talking that I was your hero. I realized how much I wanted to live up to your expectations of me. I had to be worthy to be called your hero. Knowing that you trusted me and depended on me, gave me hope. I would find the love of my life. In fact, I already have."

"You have?"

Keys reached up and gently grabbed my chin. He pulled me down and pressed his lips to mine. My entire body was on fire and my heart was in my throat as our lips moved delicately in sync.

"I have," he whispered as he broke the kiss. "Any chance Lovelorn's soulmate loves him too?"

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. I felt him smile as he kissed me back. I grabbed his face, deepening the kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to his chest. I let out a small moan as Keys slipped his tongue into my mouth. We tightened our arms around each other as our tongues battled for dominance.

I broke the kiss and we both had matching cheesy grins on our faces. I felt my face start to burn as he rubbed my hips.

"Lovelorn's soulmate feels the same way about him."

#joe keery #keys imagine #walter keys mckeys #free guy

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devilat-thedoor · 7 months

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Wildflowers and Wine

A/N: i was yearning for soft!Sammy. i just really needed this, so it’s completely self indulgent. but maybe you guys will enjoy it too? So, here’s a fluffy lil Sam drabble💖

🌲🌲🌲

A weekend getaway was exactly what you needed to escape the stresses that life had been throwing at you. When Sam surprised you with a trip to a cabin deep in the woods, you were more than excited to have the alone time with him. You spent the night packing everything up and left first thing in the morning, “You’re gonna love it up in the Smokies, babe.” He lifted his hand from the wheel to grab yours in your lap, “There’s a really nice waterfall off of this one trail… It’ll be too cold to swim, but it’ll still be cool to see.”

Leaning over the center console, you placed a tiny peck on his jaw, “Thank you, Sammy. I really needed this.” His smile grew as he squeezed your hand. You reached over to turn the music up a bit and settled back into your seat, eventually falling asleep.

“Hey…We’re here, babe. Wake up.” His voice was a mere whisper as his fingertips brushed over your cheeks. It was almost as though he didn’t actually want to wake you up, but his whispers persisted, “Babe, come on.” He tugged at your arm and your eyes finally opened, blinking a few times, and settled on his face. Sam was standing outside of the passenger door, waiting for you to step out.

Once you exited the car, you got a full view of the cabin, “Oh. This is beautiful.” You spun in a circle, taking in the looming mix of trees. Maples and Pines. Oaks and Hickorys. You wanted to run straight into the woods to explore and he could sense it.

He grasped your waist, pulling you against him, “Let’s get you changed first, then we can go on a hike.” He had your hand, guiding you up the few steps to the front door.

You stopped, looking back to the car, “We have to unload the car, hun.” You tugged on him, but he kept walking, dragging you with him.

“I already carried everything in while you slept, c’mon.” He opened the door and allowed you to step inside. It was rustic and cozy, a small living space with the kitchen attached. Sam came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his chin on your head, “I can’t wait to get you in front of the firplace tonight, babe.” He kissed the top of your head before releasing you and pointing to the short hallway with two doors, “Bedroom is left, bathroom is right. Go put some jeans on and grab a sweatshirt. I’m gonna put a pack together to for our hike.”

Wandering into the bedroom, you found the bags laid neatly on the bed and smiled to yourself as you dug through yours to find a pair of jeans. After lacing your sneakers up, you emerged from the bedroom, hoodie in your hand, and met Sam in the kitchen, “Ready, baby?”

He was tucking a few water bottles into the backpack and stalking over to you as he zipped it up, “Yep. Let’s go, pretty girl.” He grabbed your hand, twirling you under his arm twice, and pulled you out the front door, closing it behind him.

🌲🌲🌲

“Sammy, what is this?” You leaned down, examining the peachy-orange flower clusters, surrounded by long, thick leaves.

He sidled up to the shrub, plucking one of the flowers, “Rhododendron.” He turned you to face him, pushing your hair aside to slip the flower behind your ear, “They call these ones Flame Azaleas. They can range in color from white to yellow, even red… But the orange ones are my favorite.”

“They’re so pretty.” You picked your own bloom, carefully placing it in the breast pocket of his flannel.

“Come on, babe. The sun is starting to set, we should get back.” He was smiling wide as he turned around to walk back up the trail.

You fell into step behind him until something caught your eye, “Baby, wait!” You took off through the trees, “What is that?” You were ducking through leaves and branches, pushing through a dense thicket, as he chased after you.

“Y/N, slow down!” He finally caught up, breathing heavy as he began to scold you, “Babe, there’s bears and shit, you can’t just- Woah…” You’re sure his face had to of matched the incredulous expression of your own.

You stood in a clearing, staring out over a varying array of colorful wildflowers and tall, flowing grass, “Sammy, this is- Look at the sunset!” You pointed out to the horizon, forcing his attention to the dipping, golden sun as it cast an orange hue over the earth before you, “Baby, did you bring your camera? You have to get pictures of these.” You sunk to your knees into the grass, running your fingers over the various flower petals.

When you turned to look at up at Sam, his eyes were already on you, the brown of them turning to a fiery amber in the sunlight, “I left it at the cabin, we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” His lips lifted into a warm smile as he held his hand out to pull you from the ground, “Let’s head back before it gets dark.” He weaved his fingers with yours and led you back to the trail.

🌲🌲🌲

The walk back to the back the cabin was short and dusk was falling fast. As you walked through the front door, Sam broke away from you and rushed to the bedroom. You didn’t question it, just slipped out of your shoes and pulled your hoodie off to hang on a hook. Padding into the small kitchen, you opened the cabinets one by one until you found the cups before calling out to him, “Baby, do you want some wine? I’m gonna start dinner.” He called back a “sure, babe.” and you filled two mugs with the red. You sipped yours with a soft hum and began chopping veggies on the large cutting block.

Sam appeared seemingly out of nowhere, wearing a sweater and carrying a flashlight, “I’m gonna grab some firewood outside. I’ll be back, okay?” He pulled you against him, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

You pulled back with a smile, “Hurry up, dinner won’t be long and I already poured your wine, hun.”

“I’ll be quick, promise.” He pecked your lips one more time and slipped away.

Your attention went back to the pot in front of you as you stirred the vegetable soup, bringing the spoon up to your mouth to taste it. Going to bedroom to retrieve your phone, you came back into the kitchen, clicking a random playlist on, and finished up the food. Song after song played, but it wasn’t until the soup was finished that you realized Sam wasn’t back yet. You cut the flame on the stove off and went to grab your hoodie to go find him but he was coming in the door before you stepped out of the kitchen, “Sammy, I was starting to get worried! What took so long?”

He was holding his hands behind his back with a beaming grin on his face, “I had a little side quest…” He pulled his hands around revealing what he was hiding.

“Oh my god, baby…” Your mouth hung open as you stared at the makeshift bouquet. A bundle of the all the diverse wildflowers you’d seen in the field on your hike, tied together at the stems with a few long pieces of the grass that surrounded them. He had to of gotten at least two of every species of flower there was, “Sammy, you went back in the dark and got these for me?” You took the bouquet from his hands and held it to your nose.

“Of course I did. I saw the way your face lit up when you saw them and knew I had to get them.” He watched you turn around and walk back to the kitchen, “Pretty flowers for the prettiest girl.”

“Thank you, honey, I love them.” You laid them across the countertop and went to the sink to fill a cup with water. When you turned back to him, He was standing in the middle of the room, drinking his wine, eyes locked on you, “Why are you looking at me like that?” You couldn’t hide the shy smile that ghosted over your mouth.

Sam set his cup down and stepped towards you, snaking his arms around your waist, “I love you…” He swayed you through the kitchen, holding you close while the music flowed from your phone, “I’ll pick all the flowers in the world if it means your eyes will light up like that.” He brushed the stray hairs from your forehead and began peppering your face with soft kisses.

You giggled through his attack, trying to shield your face, until he stopped and caught your lips with his, “I love you too, Sammy.” You wrapped your arms around his torso and held him tight as you laid your head on his chest, “I don’t need all the flowers… You make my eyes and my heart light up without even trying.”

He rested his cheek on the top of your head, humming along to whatever song played while he rocked you back and forth, “I’m still gonna pick you all those flowers tomorrow…”

#SOFT SAMMY HAS BEEN HEAVY ON MY MIND #I’M SORRY #sammy baby #my pookie #sammy kiszka #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka blurb #sam kiszka fluff #sammy kiszka blurb #greta van fleet #gvf #sam kiszka x reader #wildflowers and wine #sinsofstardust #sam kiszka drabble #sam kiszka imagine

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roadkillremi · 1 year

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Randy Meeks x Ghostface!Fem!Reader and TOXIC!Poly!Ghostface x Ghostface!Fem!Reader

Part 1. Part 2. MasterList (4 on MasterList)

Warning : Language, Mentions Killing, Mentions Death, Mentions Sex, Under Age drinking. Toxic relationship (If I missed anything let me know please!)

I do NOT support killing and toxic relationships. if you or a loved one is in one please seek help ASAP!

Summary : Being childhood friends with Billy Loomis wasn't always easy. As you got older he demanded revenge and that you helped him. (He may have manipulated you along the way). After helping kill Sydney's mother you refused to help anymore. Billy and Stu forced you to stay due to blackmail causing you to be in a toxic secret relationship.

Randy held your hand as you walked outside. Billy was standing by Stu glaring at anyone who looked at him wrong. Tatum and Sydney were still by their lockers waiting for Billy to leave.

"Hey!" Stu called out, Randy jumped back bit.

"What the hell do those two want?" Randy mumbled. You shrugged, "No fucking clue.".

Stu ran up to you two, "Hey, heard you two finally did it!". He laughed, "Didn't think Randy boy could pull it off!". You rolled your eyes, "Randy let's go..".

"Remember my place! Around 7!" Stu called out as you two walked away. Randy tossed his keys in his hand.

"Gonna go to work with me?" He asked as he unlocked the car.

"Yeah, Safer in numbers remember?" You slid into the passenger seat. You watched everyone disperse, Randy's sister walked with one of her friends. Sydney and Tatum were talking to Stu, probably about tonight. Billy disappeared, you looked at Randy as he drove out the parking space.

"What movie are we watching tonight?"

"I'm thinking.. Halloween" he smiled. You groaned, "You only watch it for the tits!".

"That's not the only reason why! Besides it's the perfect movie for tonight! With the stalker killer on the loose!"

You looked at him in disbelief, "Why not Prom night?". He took a deep breath, "because you made me watch it 100 times-"

"18 times" you corrected.

"Jamie Lee Curtis is in Halloween!" He defended.

"She's in Prom Night!"

You sunk into your chair, "But I wanna watch Prom Night.". He chuckled at you're posture, you were like a toddler having a melt down. Curled up and pouty, but you only did it cause it was his weakness. He sighed, "Fine, after the party.".

"Yes!" You sat up normally as he parked the car. You walked inside with Randy, the place was packed.

"Go make that money, honey" you kissed his cheek before looking through the movies. Randy smiled putting his name tage on. Once you found Halloween and Prom Night you went to the counter.

"this all?" Randys co-worker asked blandly.

"Yeah."

He sighed scanning them, you waited patiently glancing around the store. Billy and Stu made eye contact with you. You quickly looked away paying for the rentals walking over to Randy.

"I got the movies, can I put them in your car?" You ask putting your head on his shoulder from behind.

"Yeah, here" he reached in his pocket pulling out his keys.

"Then why'd the cops release him, Smart guy?"

"The police are always off track with this shit! If they'd watch Prom Night, they'd save time! There's a formula to it! A very simple formula! Everyone's a suspect!... But Billy.. there's something off about him." Randy started to speak lowly, you turned around starting to walk away.

"You're telling me you think it's Billy?" Stu said pretty loudly. You froze and watched the conversation.

"Well.."

"Why would he kill his girlfriend?!" Stu interrupted

"There's always some bullshit reason to kill your girlfriend. That's the beauty of it all, Simplicity! Besides if it gets to complicated you lose your target audience."

"Excuse me?"

Randy whipped around to look at you, "Not that I would kill you."

"Uh-huh. Imma go out these in the car now." You walked away hearing Stu laughing.

You placed the movies in the car quickly to not be alone to long. You noticed Stu and Randy having a heated conversation. You tried to walk over before Billy grabbed your arm.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"I'm sorry for pulling your arm earlier.." you looked at your arm. There was soft discolor but nothing serious.

"It's whatever. Billy.."

"Hm?"

"I don't wanna kill anyone.." you said softly. He looked around the store, "you won't have to, just sit there and be quiet." He gently touched your cheek before you swept it away. You went over to Randy and Stu, Billy following close behind you.

"Billy, Randy here thinks you're the killer." Stu smiled. You grabbed Randy's forearm trying to take him away. Stu gently pushed you aside, Billy stepped closer to him.

"If you were the only suspect in a senseless bloodbath - would you be in the horror section?" Randy tried to save himself.

"A lot of people like horror. Anyone could be the suspect" Billy stepped even closer.

"You're right, Billy! Anyone could be the suspect! Hell, I should be a number rone suspect!" You rolled your eyes grabbing Randy's arm pulling him away.

"Randy don't let them get in your head." He grabbed another pile of movies to restock.

"I'm not. It's just Fuckface and his guard dog."

You leaned against the shelf he was restocking, "we don't have to go.". He glanced at you, "I know you mentioned that a few hundred times."

You rolled your eyes fighting the urge to correct him. You sighed, "They're dipshits.". He stood Infront of you, "Yeah but I have something they don't."

"Yeah?" You smiled. He grabbed your hips giving you a kiss.

"You." He smiled going back to restocking shelves.

You could feel Billy and Stu's eyes piercing you. You sighed, if only that was the truth.

You and Randy arrived at Stus house a bit early. Stu greeted you both by wrapping his arms around your neck.

"Make yourselves at home! The party's gonna be wicked!" Stu went into the kitchen. Randy flopped on the couch placing the movies on the coffee table. You stood behind the couch gently messing with his hair.

"Can you get me a beer please?" Randy looked up to see you.

"Yeah, gonna start the movie?" You put your head beside his. He kissed your cheek, "Yeah.". You smiled and gave him a small kiss before heading to the garage.

Stu was restock beers in the fridge, he looked towards the door smiling at you. You headed towards the fridge, "Randy wanted a beer..". You took one, Stu lightly placed his hands in his on your hip. You stepped back, "I've missed you.." he whispered.

"I haven't missed you." You turned around to walk back upstairs. Stu grabbed your hips, "Come on..".

"No, Stu. I don't wanna kill people!" You whispered loudly. Stu held your hips tighter you struggle against him.

"Please." He sounded whiny yet demanding. You glared at him, "I want nothing to with you. I am happy with Randy.". Stus grip loosened, "Is it true?".

"What true?"

"You two finally had sex."

"Yes."

Stu raised his eyebrow, "and you enjoyed it?!". You rolled your eyes, "Yes!". Stu smiled, "Yeah right. Lemme show you how a real man does it.". A wide smile was plastered on his face as he whispered. You pushed him back, "No.".

"What are you gonna do when they're all dead and it's just the three of us? Won't have Randy around.."

"I would rather die." You pushed him back further walking up the stairs. Some other kids from school arrived, you handed Randy the bottle.

"Thanks, baby" You smiled at him sinking down on the couch next to him. Halloween already started and he was the only one invested in it. You leaned against him, he kissed your forehead before going back to watch the movie. It got louder as more people began to show up. Thankfully Randy made you watch it so much you knew the words.

"Randy?"

"Yes?"

You sat up to get a good look at him, "I'm gonna get some popcorn, save my seat?".

"Of course."

You fought your way through the kitchen, you got popcorn out of the pantry and put it in the microwave.

"Really know your place around?"

You looked behind you, it was some guy in your math class. He was what Randy called the 'Stone Head comedic relief'. You nodded, "Yeah, me and Stu known each other for a while.". The guy nodded downing his beer. You sighed getting the popcorn bowl, "How come I never see you around much?".

"Uh, I'm usually with Randy, the movie nerd.". You waited for the microwave to ding, you tapped your nail on the counter. You were hoping the guy would move on and try to talk to someone else. But he was standing there, "how about we leave this party?". The microwave finally finished you took out the bag and poured it in the bowl.

"I'm pretty sure my boyfriend won't appreciate that." You grabbed the bowl and started walked away. The living room was more crowded, Randy was chatting it up with some girl from his science class. He's mentioned her, he told you how she sometimes says things that are too bold. She gently slipped her fingers across his forehead as to wipe something. He moved back a bit at the suddenness. You marched over placing popcorn on the coffee table. Randy looked at you and shrugged signaling the girls presents. You plopped down in Randy's lap, due to not having a proper seat.

"Hey, do you need a beer? Seem tense." Randy mumbled.

"No, I'm good.." you tried to relax in his lap. His arms tightened around your waist. His head leaned against your arm to watch the movie. Stu would sometimes pass by watching you. When he did for the 5th time you grabbed the back of Randy's neck kissing him. Randy gave in melting against you softly moaning when you tugged him.

"Sorry was that too much?"

"No, it was perfect." Randy smiled giving you another kiss. Sydney and Tatum showed up, you waved at them from the couch. Billy stumbled in not too long after them, going upstairs with Sydney. Your heart dropped into your stomach. Tatum was gone and Stu was doing god knows what. Nothing seemed strange until Curfew. Some people left a couple stayed, Tatum seemed to still be gone. You worried and looked at Stu for a sign, he just smiled.

Tatum is gone.

You stood up, "Imma go to the bathroom." You gave Randy a small kiss before leaving. You locked yourself in the bathroom holding back tears but a couple leaked through.

You did this

She didn't deserve to die

She was nothing but nice to you

You took shaky breathes looking down at the sink. You wiped your tears trying to contain it all. You needed to backlash their plan.

Sydney's dad.

He's in the closet.

When Randy's too drunk and Stu pretends to kill Billy you'll let him out and send him to get help. You can call Dewey, he came in earlier.

A Weapon. You need a knife for protection, you can hide one under the couch. You took a deep breath walking back to the living room. Randy reclined on the arm rest, he smiled when he saw you. He patted his thigh signalling you to sit. You sat in-between his legs and leaned back.

"Everything okay?"

You attempted to relax in his arms, "Yeah, I'm great.".

#horror #scream #billy loomis #billy loomis x stu macher x reader #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x you #stu macher #sydney #sydney prescott #scream fanfic #scream fandom #scream x reader #scream x you #ghostface!reader #ghostface #randy scream #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks #poly!ghostface x reader

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second-axis-point · 1 year

Note

I just read this fic called “secondhand high” by nightwideopen on ao3 (please go read it 😉) It was a dincobb fic and it has me in a diabolical chokehold. Do you think you could do something similar with male reader in place of Cobb?

Pairing: Din Djarin x Male!Reader

Warnings: Smoking?

Content: Touch starved!Din, Fluff, Din being generally soft

I absolutely LOVED this fic. Space stoner Cobb has me barking like a dog 🐕‍Thank you for THIS request 🧎‍♂️

First Time for Everything

You had been almost giddy when Cobb had handed you a pack of cigarras. You hadn’t had time to smoke after joining the Mandalorian as his partner and mechanic. Din saw you beaming like the suns, watching you walk back to the small hut the both of you were sharing while on Tatooine. The good Marshal had allowed you to stay in Freetown for as long as you wanted as long as you were okay with sharing.

“What are you so happy about?”

Din kept his tone light. You held up the pack and shook it.

“Got my hands on these.”

You moved through the hut to the back porch while Din followed. You sat back in one of the chairs, laying your head against the wall, and turned your attention to the setting suns. He had already taken off most of his armour, leaving him in his under armour and his helmet. He sat down in the chair next to you and watched as well, only looking away when he heard you digging through the bag.

“Where did you even get those?”

He asked you.

“Our favourite lanky Marshal just happened to come across a few of these. He also just so happened to be in the sharing mood.”

You used to live on Tatooine a while back and you've smoked with Cobb a few times. A lazy smile found its way back onto your face thinking back on fond memories.

“You want one?”

You offered a cigarra to the Mando next to you.

“I can’t really um-”

He cut himself off and awkwardly pointed back towards his helmet. You felt like an idiot.

“Oh shit right. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and chuckled, the awkwardness dissipating quickly. You retracted your hand and moved your attention back towards the suns. You rifled through your pocket and pulled out your lighter. You place the cigarra into your mouth and light it. Din watches carefully. He watches your fingers as they wrap around the cigarra. He watches your chest rise as you take a long drag. He notices that you turn your head away when you exhale, making sure you blow it away from him.

The way your body relaxes make him want to take the ciggara from your lips and replace it with himself. The light from the suns made you glow. You looked almost angelic. Rugged and handsome in the setting suns. Once you finished and put it out, you noticed him looking at you and turned your head.

“What’s going on inside that head of yours, Mando?”

Your voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

“You could have one, I have no problem sharing. I could step inside.”

He appreciated the gesture.

“I would but-”

He cut himself off once again.

“I’ve never actually smoked anything before.”

He looked away, not wanting to face you while you made fun of him. But you didn’t. You hummed quietly and thought for a second.

“I could help you if you want.”

He turned back to you, surprised.

“I can’t take my helmet off.”

You nod.

“I could close my eyes or we could find a blindfold. You don’t have to obviously, but if you do, I have no problem helping you out.”

Din didn’t know how you would help but the way you were smiling at him made him not care quite as much.

“Alright.”

He nodded, feeling a bit of anxiousness nibble on the very back of his consciousness.

“It’s alright Din, you don’t have to.”

You reminded him, sensing the nervousness in his posture, as you got up to search for something to use as a blindfold.

“No, I want to.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, you head back into the hut. You finally find a good piece of cloth to cover your eyes and walk back outside. Din was still sitting, stiff in his chair. You brush your hand on his shoulder as you move next to him.

“Hey, relax. It’s alright.”

You saw him visibly release the tension that was sitting tight in his shoulders, his back hunching slightly. You didn’t sit in the chair, instead you moved it away from the wall and sat down on the wood of the porch. You motioned for Din to do the same. Once he was sitting next to you, you shifted so that you were cross-legged in front of him.

You pulled out another cigarra from the pack and lit it. You grabbed Din’s hand and placed it in his grasp. You pick the cloth back up and tie it tightly around the back of your head. You hold your hand out and he gives the stick back to you. You listen to the slight rustle as he takes his helmet off and places it on the wood next to him.

“Ready?”

You ask him. You were actually a bit excited. You’ve had a weird thing going on with Din for a while. This was the farthest you’ve ever gotten with the Mandalorian.

“I’m not really sure what to do.”

He admits quietly, his voice no longer filtered by the modulator.

“That’s alright.”

A soft smile slid onto your face.

“Just take a deep breath, okay?”

You kept your voice quiet, not wanting to sound forceful or startling.

“Okay.”

Din watches as you bring the cigarra to your lips and take a long drag. His hands shake slightly as he watches you bring a hand up to his cheek and pull him closer. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. He reminds himself over and over as you lean in. You start exhaling slowly as Din breathes in. His chest is buzzing and his mind is swimming and he’s almost positive it’s not due to the weed. He feels like his whole face is vibrating. Once you start to pull away, he breathes out. It was a lot easier than he thought it was going to be, only coughing slightly.

“You okay Mando?”

You move your hand down to his shoulder. Din’s mind went almost completely blank. The only thing he could think of was how close you had been.

“Can you do that again?”

He asked as soon as the words left your mouth. You looked surprised for a split second before giving him an answer.

“Of course.”

You, once again, took a long drag and ran your hand back up to his face. Only this time, Din did the same. He put both of his hands on either side of your face and pulled you in. His eagerness caused a warmth to radiate up your spine. He pulled you in much closer than before, your lips brushing slightly, almost making you forget to breathe out. But you did. You felt Din breathe out and he didn’t cough this time. Before you could lean back, he closed the distance in between you.

His lips were soft on yours and his hands were brushing across your face. Your cheeks felt hot and you could focus on nothing but the man in front of you. You licked his bottom lip, asking for permission. He opened his mouth and you explored it eagerly. He was the first to pull back, not stopping you as you nibbled down his neck and under his jaw. You revelled in the whine he gave once you pulled away. You both were breathing heavily and his hands were still on your chest. You realised that he was pretty much in your lap.

“What do you think, Din?”

You asked him before bringing the cigarra back to your mouth. He hummed and you felt his eyes on you as you breathed out. He watched the smoke leave your lips as he caught his breath.

“One more.”

Was all he said when you moved to put the cigarra out. You laughed and obliged. This time, he took it from you. You listened to him inhale and felt as his hands ran up your chest and onto your face once again. You opened your mouth and inhaled. His lips were on yours once again and you breathed out of your nose. Din put the cigarra out and climbed fully into your lap. The rest of the night was full of intermittent make-out sessions and teasing.

The next day you walked into the cantina, Cobb saw your laidback posture and waved you over. Once you got closer, he saw the hickies and small bites on your neck. He tossed his head back and laughed at your goofy smile.

“What the hell happened to you? I’ve never seen weed do that before.”

He nudged you with his elbow and ordered you a drink.

“Can’t thank you enough. I gotta drop by here more often.”

You thanked him and took a sip of the drink.

“Well, you and your Mandalorian are always welcome in Freetown, partner.”

Cobb winked, clasped you on the back, and moved to go talk to the other patrons. Your Mandalorian. You could get used to that.

#the mandolorian x reader #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x male reader #din djarin #cobb vanth #x male reader #x reader #male reader insert #reader insert #male reader #the mandolarian #i love din djarin #i love pedro pascal #request

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guitarhappyman · 7 months

Text

Let people know.

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.

Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. 'Really?' she heard whispered. 'I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!' and, 'I didn't know others liked me so much,' were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in

Vietnam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. 'Were you Mark's math teacher?' he asked. She nodded: 'yes.' Then he said: 'Mark talked about you a lot.'

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.

'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket 'They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.'

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.

'Thank you so much for doing that,' Mark's mother said. 'As you can see, Mark treasured it.'

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, 'I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home.'

Chuck's wife said, 'Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.'

'I have mine too,' Marilyn said. 'It's in my diary'

Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. 'I carry this with me at all times,' Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: 'I think we all saved our lists'

That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

And One Way To Accomplish This Is: Forward this message on. If you do not send it, you will have, once again passed up the wonderful opportunity to do something nice and beautiful.

If you've received this, it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care.

If you're 'too busy' to take those few minutes right now to forward this message on, would this be the VERY first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships?

The more people that you send this to, the better you'll be at reaching out to those you care about.

Remember, you reap what you sow. What you put into the lives of others comes back into your own.

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starlightandfairies · 2 years

Note

Hi! Could you do a billy request where he gets the reader pregnant and is nervous as hell? She’s friends with the party but he isn’t. Somehow hopper ends up giving him advice on fatherhood? I read an imagine like this and it made me almost cry. I hope this isn’t against your rules and if your requests are closed I’m SO sorry. Thank you either way!

Description: Billy gets the reader pregnant and both are going through the stress of being in teen parenthood. Hopper gives Billy a talk to reassure him of what was to come.

Warnings: Swearing, she/her pronouns, fluff, angst, teen pregnancy, new parent stress and general stress.

Key: Y/N = Your Name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 1,535

First Person's POV

I hadn't been feeling well the last couple of days, I'd been throwing up and my appetite has been all over the place. Then a couple of weeks ago, Billy and I had unprotected sex. We risked it, now I've been going into overdrive about the whole situation. I bought a pregnancy test, peed on a stick and I've been dreading reading the results for the last few minutes. My whole world froze as I stared at the results, I couldn't move nor breathe. What would I tell Billy? How would he react? What's he going to do once he hears? Is he gonna break up with me?

I jumped as the door opened, I quickly placed the stick behind my back, staring at Billy as he quickly turned away apologising consistently for invading my space.

"Billy, come back in... please?" begged, he opened the door and looked at me with a confused gaze. I stuck the stick in my back pocket and took his hands. I gently placed Billy on the bathtub edge and then sat down on the toilet across from him.

"Is everything okay? Doll, what's up?" He whispered, I held my shaky hands, doing it as a way to stop them from shaky.

"No." I quickly splurted out, Billy took my hands, staring at me worriedly, he knew something was up but I didn't want to lose him and this kindness that the boy held.

"Please, don't get mad, just put me down gently and I'll help you pack."

"What are you talking about?" He moved closer to me, cupping my face in his hands and staring deep into my eyes like he was trying to figure out what was going on.

"Billy, I'm sorry, I'm pregnant." I could feel my lip quivering as the tears welled in my eyes, Billy pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead.

"You're pregnant! I'm gonna be a dad? Oh, doll, I'm never leaving you and you don't need to freak out." He whispered, I sniffled into his shoulder and giggled as he started spraying kisses over my face.

"You're gonna be a mum! I'm gonna be a dad! Oh, I promise you that I will look after you - hand and foot."

Billy has been great since we found out, he's been taking a couple of extra shifts at work, and he's been helping me with getting the right baby furniture. I'm now three months pregnant and my bump is only just starting to get noticeable. Yet still good enough to be hidden, I'm so nervous and so scared about having this baby, how am I meant to be a mum? I don't know anything about raising a child, I'm only a teen and I'm already freaking out about supporting my baby finically.

"Doll, stop worrying, you are gonna be an excellent mother. I can see you picking flowers with our little girl or boy, I can see you protecting them from the scary stuff out there. I can see you reading your favourite stories, telling them who to hate and who to love. You're gonna be awesome, I love you and you don't need to worry." He whispered coming up from behind, hugging me gently, not wanting to squeeze my stomach. I giggled as he kissed the side of my forehead and took my hands, leading me to the car, so we could get Max.

With the adventures that take place here, the party refuse to let me help out until I have the baby, I can only be the communication of the expo. Dustin had become the most protective, the sweet boy making sure I didn't injure myself and babying me more than Billy has. He's been pissing Billy off, but he's been a real sweetheart about he's taken it out with the party and treated them as nice as he could before he lost his shit. I know Billy's also been really nervous, he's been promising to not ever be like his father but he still worries about making sure to not be a deadbeat dad and wanting us to have a secure and happy home life.

I've caught him staying up super late, reading parenting books, counting money to put aside and putting together a bag for when the baby is due to come and he's already taking it everywhere with us. Billy has been protective, as well as more responsible, he's not smoking anymore nor is he drinking to the extent that he did. The boy doesn't get in any fights anymore unless it's to defend my honour.

I laughed as Dustin took my hands, dragging me away from Billy and showing me one of his games that he won a high score on.

Billy's POV

She's perfect, I love her, I worry for her and I worry about her not being safe. I want her to be happy and I don't know anything about raising a baby! What the hell am I supposed to do? I grew up with a father who's a dirtbag, my mum left earlier on and I've been a real asshole, I know that there's no way I'll be my dad and that I don't need to worry about how Y/N would be with the baby. She's already great with Max's friends and is so much better in general than I could ever really be.

"You good there, kid?" I looked at Hopper, he must've been here to get El, I shook my head and watched as Y/N cheered Dustin on, praising him for something he did in the game.

"No, not at all, what am I meant to do for her? She's freaking out, but she's been doing her best to be happy about the whole ordeal and I don't even know the next thing about raising a kid. I've been a shit brother to Max, definitely don't have role model parents. I don't want to end up like my father, it's everything but who I want to be and that girl deserves someone who knows what they're doing. I've built a crappy crib, I've been going through all the books and it's not helping." I didn't mean to spill out all my emotions to him and so I continued rambling random bottled-up bullshit.

"Billy, you don't need to worry, you're gonna suck and you're gonna fail but you're gonna learn from those mistakes. Y/N is gonna be lucky with you, Billy, you are already a better man than your father is and I know you would never hurt that girl or the baby. If you have a girl, you're gonna be so lost once she becomes a preteen, you won't know shit and she'll expect you to know what's happening. It's gonna be scary once she goes through her first period or any other girlie stuff. You'll interrogate her date when they come to the door, you'll then comfort her when she goes through all her break-ups. If you have a boy, you'll do stupid shit with him, Y/N will scold you both she'll tell you that she's right and then when you fail at the stupid shit she'll tell you that she was." I chuckled at his words, knowing that Hopper had a point and I could see Y/N doing all that stuff.

"You'll raise the boy in a comforting environment, you'll worry that if you scold him for doing something wrong that you could cross the realms of your father but you never will. Your kid will hate you when you ground them, but they'll still love you and you have Y/N at your side who will reassure you about what you need to do and you'll have a good cop bad cop routine. You're gonna be so scared every day, you'll never know what's going to happen next but that's the good thing about parenthood." Y/N walked over, waiting to make sure we weren't talking and kissed my cheek as I wrapped an arm around her waist.

"How are you doing, Y/N?" Hopper asked, she smiled and nodded.

"Good, thank you and yourself?" I loved this about her, she always checked in on people and it was just hired wired into her, Hopper nodded and gave me a look before he walked away.

"What about you?" I stared at her, smiling happily and kissed her forehead. The girl took my hand, chuckling as she started swinging my hands around.

I thought about Hopper's words, it was reassuring even though it was stressful. Yet, Y/N was already perfect and I was suddenly feeling so much more confident with raising the baby with the girl.

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