y'all i have a random Eddie idea but kinda wayne centric??? yeah. Anyway.
Rockstar!Eddie has a meeting with his label and reader goes with him because maybe they do something within management or something. And that leaves Wayne taking care of baby munson. Wayne, not knowing what else to do, catches a sports game or something. Dresses baby munson so cute and just enjoys his time out with the little thing.
Wayne manages to catch the eyes of a group of middle-aged women who all love the image of him holding a baby. They just collect, and Wayne is super awkward because he doesn't really date, especially not since moving to California with the family while Eddie pursued his dreams.
Anyway, he manages to score a date with one of the woman, after she basically picks up the slack where he's awkward and leads the conversation. She finds it so endearing, while baby munson is just doe eyed and sweet.
Anyway, Eddie hears the story and is just so proud. He's convinced his child knew exactly how to play up the cuteness in order to help Wayne.
He also definitely gives Wayne a joking curfew and tries to give him a pep talk when he actually goes on his date, and Wayne wants to throttle him so badly.
My favorite hobby is showing my mom the notes I leave myself whenever I sleep walk. Or telling her the things I wake up doing sometimes. She always seems so scared.
synopsis— Steve has more demons he keeps secret than you realized.
warnings— Hurt/comfort, minimal mentions of potential vomiting, angst, fluff.
wc— 2.1k words
NOTES— This is the second part of Take On Me. There is some references to that one shot, if you wish to read it first.
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THERE WAS NO WRITTEN RULES WHEN IT CAME TO STEVE HARRINGTON.
One day, he fused his spine to yours and never left. That was the end of it. A permanent fixture in your life that settled your bones when they creaked. That mended when the creaking turned to an awful aching holding your hostage. He simply existed, and you let him. Because some things just made sense.
Your mind didn't process how deeply your need ran. But your body did. Unconscious shifts to face him, a persistent desire just to be in his proximity, and still comfort that eased the tension when you were allowed his time. Love was silent in the most basic way humans had learned to communicate, but god did it shout down in your atoms.
It was a connection that simply was.
The bond you shared was delicate and sweet. It was forged from the deepest pains and strengthened by a mutual effort to show up. Time and time again.
Once you had him, you just kept needing him. A never ending loop of desire that festered beneath your skin, down to your bones.
You were safe.
Your body was so finely tuned to notice him that you immediately felt a bit of unease when the phone didn't ring like it always did at 9 PM. You lingered like a mindless shadow by the phone, waiting for the clearance to move on with your night. Sometimes things happened, you understood that.
Yet, Steve always made a point to make those calls every night since he played that little song for you in the living room. Quite early you both had learned that hearing each other's voices before you slept somehow settled the raging fears within your subconscious.
Perhaps codependency was the first step towards a bitter downfall, but you both didn't know how to be anything but that.
After an hour, Steve's call still didn't shatter the benign noises within your home's structure. The refrigerator still hummed, the wood still creaked, and the wind outside still delicately tapped a lone branch into one of the front windows. The night was relatively peaceful, despite your incessant worry.
Steve never missed plans. He could lose all limbs and be actively bleeding out, and he'd still try to deny he needed help instead of ditching plans. It's why you loved him, but also worried. He was so selfless. It was agonizing.
You tried not to psychoanalyze him too much, preferring to hear the words from his own lips instead, but you knew deep down knew that nagging need to matter was a placeholder for some unfulfilled needs. You could say that only because you played the game as well.
Not everything runs the way you design, a pill you refused to swallow all the time.
Something had to have been wrong. That was the only answer your still traumatized brain could form within the clutter of possibilities. If it was nothing, surely Steve would've acknowledged you, told you not to worry and that he was just taking a day to himself. You would've understood. Sometimes, the noise just gets far too rampant, and the only way to drown it out is to disappear. To process. Or isolate and ignore. Whichever came naturally.
Instinct told you to fear the unknown. When you hadn’t before, things went terribly wrong. You were a traumatized bird trying to fly from the roost, but a sickening shadow followed behind. The worst had been over for a long time. But what if it hadn't even come yet?
As soon as the shadows crept to the fourth wall of your self-inflicted entrapment, you snapped into attention. Keys in hand, you darted out into the blacked out world, following the familiar pathing to your car. The engine sliced through the natural silence of the night. Others were peacefully sleeping on their beds. You were stupidly darting across town to ensure that Steve was going to stay tethered to this reality.
Your car tore down the abandoned roads, your nightly mission obvious to anyone that was paying attention. In Hawkins, no business stayed open past 9 anymore. You weren’t the only one with wounds that cut deep, but you were one of the only ones who understood the gravity of what had happened.
You made it to his humble trailer home, all lights off. He had gotten it for relatively cheap after the housing market crashed due to the many events that rattled the community. A lot of long-time residents had even skipped town, despite generations of memories.
You couldn’t blame them. Maybe your reasons for staying were full of insanity and one too many codependent tendencies.
You wandered up to the door with doubt. It was late. You could leave it until the morning and come when it was reasonably acceptable. But would you truly get any peace from that? You knew the answer before that question barely teased your mind.
You knocked loud enough to frighten anyone, you cursed yourself silently. What if he had been finally able to asleep at a reasonable time and you disrupted that? The longer you waited for an answer that never came, the more foolish you felt.
You knew he was home. His car was resting next to yours, the engine was cold with disuse.
You could've turned away now for sure, but you felt the unsettled prick of worry hit again. Sometimes, your gut was stirred by demons long since removed from life, but you just knew when your body was connecting to something.
You hoped he forgave you for what you were about to do.
You only used it once, the key he gave one day when he had you run by his place and pick up something while he was stuck at work. He never asked for it back. He honestly probably forgot you carried around the ability to enter at your leisure.
The lock turned easily and you pushed open the door, entering the still aired space. It was stuffy from windows being closed all day. Every single curtain shut, every light off.
Even the little night light he used to guide his way to the bathroom.
Well, actually, not every light was off.
It was not Steve's sleepy voice tinged with confusion that greeted you. Nor was it a frustrated callout towards your indecent arrival. It was a dull thud beyond the opened door of his bathroom.
You rushed over, taking in the scene. The faulty overhead light was flickering faintly, some bottle of medication was laying in a mess on the tiled floor next to Steve who sat on the floor, head in his hands.
You really didn't know how to process the sight, but your heart did break a little.
He was shaking, shrinking away into his body as if everything else was too much. His breaths were heavy, but he was obviously trying to control them if the manual slow breaths, almost too forceful, were anything to go by.
You crouched down slowly, a hand timidly resting on his shoulder. You were unsure of what you were supposed to do in this situation.
His head snapped up at the sudden touch, face scrunching at movement. He groaned, fingers digging into his temples as he composed himself. Frankly, he seemed quite out of it.
You frowned, seeing dried marks of blood coming from his nose, some even on the white of his shirt. Your hands trailed along his neck, to his forehead, feeling how clammy and heated he was.
You noticed him squinting when he tried to look at you and caught the main part of the flickering light. But he seemed to seek your touch, which made you slightly relieved. You didn't want to be a burden to whatever was happening to him.
"Sick?" you asked, making sure to keep your voice low after noticing how he reacted to other stimulants.
He shook his head and tapped the side of his head. His hand dropped immediately after as he turned towards the toilet as if he was about to be sick. You were prepared to move with him, heart going out to your sweet companion.
His shoulders curled towards his head as he sat there for a long moment, closing his eyes as his breath hitched. Your hand moved to his back now, moving up and down the rigid line of his spine.
His shaking fingers curled along the porcelain, he appeared to be in misery, and you didn't know how to stop it. You just kept touching him. You'd think about water when he was settled again.
His forehead knocked against his arm as it cradled the seat, and a sharp sob left him. The kind of pain that clawed into your stomach, leaving an uneasy curl of discontent before sympathy gripped your heart.
You were used to the Steve that was quiet with his struggles. Who thought of everyone else and still didn't even take care of himself when he was in the clear. The one that listened to you more on your nightly phone calls, giving only just a fraction of his own bitter plague. You realized this now. How long had Steve been willing to burn alone before ever asking someone for true help?
He hadn't even willingly let you in now. You never would've known this reality had your creeping worries not held you hostage.
Eventually, Steve fell back on his butt, back leaning up against the wall. He swallowed, tears clinging to his eyelashes. His head tilted to you again, eyelids half closed in exhaustion.
Before you could say anything, he dropped his head into your chest. You followed his movements, hand curling into the slick strands of hair as the back of his neck. You kneaded the flesh gently, and the softest noise left him. Like something in him finally untethered.
You got him into bed about fifteen minutes later. His body was heavy with fatigue, and he fell into the mattress with a small groan. You had wiped the dried blood off his face and gotten him water. He had drank that greedily, like he had been deprived for centuries.
Now he looked smaller than you had ever seen him. His body was curled still in a manner of discomfort. You turned on the small bedside versus the overhead light to limit the amount of light stress.
Your body was on autopilot as you tucked the blankets around him. His eyes watched you the whole time, thoughts unknown, but there was a quiet gratitute there. You knew him well enough to pick up silent cues.
He never failed at thanking people for even little things. It was just him. A gentleman. Someone who once took so much for granted, he now bent over backward to make sure people knew how valuable they were.
His hand caught your wrist before you could think about departing from this quiet bubble. You didn't really want to leave him, whether it was to sleep on the couch or go home completely. You were still regarding everything you had stumbled upon and unease swallowed you whole. What if he fell into another episode?
He seemed to be on the same page because he spoke. His voice was raspy, quiet. Like he wasn't allowed to indulge. "Stay…"
You offered him a small, supportive smile. You peeled back the blanket again, crawling into a once forbidden space beside him. The mattress wasn't soft but also firm, and the blankets enveloped you in comfort.
Steve shifted until you were right up against him. His head plopped onto your chest and an arm lay over your stomach. You could feel the rapid pulse of his heart from aggravation of his head pain probably.
You accepted the role you were given, arm curling around his back. His heat crept into your body, calming you down from your own whirlwind of emotions.
You both hadn't labeled things since that night he came over to your house. But the shift was prevalent as it was slow. It was easy, though. You just kept testing the waters every time, sinking further into a mutual relationship.
You belonged to him. He belonged to you. No desire to search for anyone else. It was progressing sweetly, with intent that you never had before.
And tonight, it was obvious there was vulnerability with Steve. A concern, maybe. You all carried some scar from the Upside Down, which was impossible to avoid. But Steve had a permanent, physical damage that you had been oblivious to until tonight.
The thought of how long he had been suffering rattled your mind. How often did he deal with this? Had he gotten true help for it? Somewhere, that latter question was answered with simmering frustration. It was always everyone's comfort before his, wasn't it?
Not anymore.
You were not going to let him stitch himself together haphazardly anymore.
synopsis— Eddie can't live without you so he decides to do something spontaneous.
warnings— Tooth-rotting fkuffies. Like a few mentions of Eddie's past mental health? I tried to hold back because i love angst but I was determined to make this strictly fluff.
wc— 1.9k words
NOTES— I would like to thank the dream i had with Joseph Quinn last night that inspired this whole thing. I woke up right it was getting good, so I just filled in the blanks with Eddie. I miss that dream 🥲
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EDDIE MUNSON FINALLY HAD everything line up the way he always desired.
Older now, Eddie no longer thought of his time in Hawkins like some oppressing weight he'd never unshackle himself from. He was no longer a shadow of his father's fuck ups, nor was he a lively mass of flesh that people percieved as unworthy. Throwing every damn insult under the sun, shunning and condemming him to a life of isolation.
He had dreams he obtained through sheer persistence. One too many demos sent to big-time producers, long months of perfecting one bridge just to appear enough. Enough to market to a large group of people and feel positive about the outcome.
He became someone who he only ever aspired to be when he was banging hopes into every lifeless crowd at The Hideout. He committed to the craft, though, demanding some compensation for the effort when most people in Hawkins tried with all their might to snuff him out.
Now, it had finally paid off. Aspiring artists actually came to him for advice now. Crowds congregated where his fingers plucked out a tune in beat with his band. He was now the inspiration he always sought out.
He tried to stay humble. That was the important part. To never let the noise thin the genuine humbleness that crafted him. He didn't even care about the money, that wasn't what he sought out. It kept him alive, but didn't poison his mind.
He was still always that Eddie that lived in the trailer with Wayne and got spit on by petty kids who hated people who lived outside the norm.
The most important thing Eddie was granted through this whole journey was you.
You had been there since the beginning. When he was trying to climb the pedestal in the heart of Los Angeles. No money, no backup, just sheer spite to prove to himself that he could be something. He stumbled, made you intrigued with his awkward delivery of words, and decided then that you would give him a chance.
Four years down the road, and you were still here.
Tonight was an award show. He had played this game several times now, and still, he was in awe. How had he even gotten here? Sometimes, he couldn't just quite connect his reality to his brain. It had to have been a dream. Some out of body experience that he'd soon fly back down to earth from.
Your hand perched on his thigh the whole show to keep the leg from taking flight. He still got nervous in front of crowds, even if he relished in the feeling at the same time. He always had attention drawn to him, but deep down, he always cared how he was perceived.
One hand on his thigh, he clung to your other hand with one of his. Grounding. As if he was still having a hard time believing you were here. You had been for a long time. Always so supportive in a way that made his belly turn to mush. He was lovestruck, gushy, completely dedicated to making sure you were always taken care of.
When his band won one of the bigger awards of the night, he forgot all about his firing nerves and bounced up the stage before anyone else. He grabbed the award and told the world about the lovely star that always kept him on the right path. Four years down and the world practically knew how devoted he was to you.
He barely remembered to pass the mic off to someone else. He couldn't steal all the limelight. He stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. He basked in the moment. He was proud of his band, proud of himself, and proud of you.
He was just grateful.
He could never go to bed early. He was full of pent-up adrenaline and needed to release it somehow. Wandering in fancy attire down the streets of Los Angeles seemed like the perfect idea.
He was just happy.
There was a random store selling knick knacks still open. The blue light illuminated from the inside, inviting Eddie closer. He dragged you into the chilled room, already browsing.
You separated from him at one point, lazily sesrching the shelves. He watched you for a long moment, relaxed expression on your face as you wandered. He always found his eyes drifting to you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. A silent habit he acquired from years ago.
He didn't divulge much about his last years in Hawkins. But the silvery, raised scars along his body were hard to pass off completely. He said vague answers, like how Hawkins suffered an earthquake and he got caught in the eye of the storm. But that was the farthest thing from the truth.
He never expressed how simple coughing sometimes brought him right back to choking on his blood as he lay on the ground, surrounded by the nightmare version of his hometown. Didn't tell you about the fear he felt for days knowing he was most likely damned if he ever made it out of the Upside Down. Maybe part of him never wanted to make it out.
But he did.
Because he learned that some people are too stubborn for their own good.
He woke up in a hospital two towns out of Hawkins before it closed to quarantine. Was somehow cleared of any murder charges, the slate wiped clean.
He took that second chance and left for a brighter future, Wayne moving along with him. He bared the brunt of Eddie's reputation in that forsaken town as well. And just because the law decided he was okay, rumors never died.
He started over. Which meant some parts of his past were too damn much. But it always bled onto the music had written. Maybe that was enough to curb some of your quiet concern. You never pushed for more, understanding the wound was still festering in some way.
Maybe one day he would tell you.
He picked a stupid item off the shelf, contemplating for a moment as if it was some profound thing. He looked at you then the item, grinning softly to himself. He was nothing if not spontaneous.
You found him just as he made one choice.
"What do you have there?" you asked, startling him. He hadn't realized you had left from where his lovestruck eyes saw you just moments before.
He hid the item as if it was linked to a crime. His smile was sheepish now. He rocked on the balls of his feet. "Nothing…" he said quickly. "Just look away while I pay for it, okay?"
You raised an eyebrow, assessing him. "Okay, weirdo," you said. "Do your thing, I guess."
He scampered off to the counter, already pulling out the cash.
It was well past midnight when the both of you entered the home you shared. Eddie was finally feeling the exhaustion that was beginning to curl in his shoulder blades. It had been a long day of getting presentable for the world. he loved it, but it was still an out-of-body experience.
You wandered off to the bathroom while he sought a glass of water in the kitchen. Part of him itched to go straight for a bottle, but he had fought hard to break the bedtime routine of drinking. He didn't want to be someone lost and reliant on it.
You made him want to be as present as possible.
A drink or two was fine when somewhere like a party. But here? He tried really hard to draw lines because he knew how he got.
He made it into the bathroom just as you started the shower, shedding your clothes. He propped himself against the doorjam, admiring you with soft brown eyes. God, he was so in love with you.
Your eyes tracked him as you started to step into the stream, a silent gesture of "come here" with your finger. He obeyed, always drawn in. He would've followed anyway, but he liked the invitation.
He circled around you as soon as he was in, kissing the back of your neck with a quiet hum. His arms wound around your body, making you both stand under the spray for a moment. He rocked unconciously, pressing several more kisses to your neck, cheek, and chin. Anywhere his lips landed.
He wasn't trying to start anything. He just wanted to be with you. To wind down from the long day. You had a way of grounding him. Just like you had a habit of taking away those dark thoughts surrounding Hawkins without even knowing it.
Eventually, he did actually let you get clean. The bathroom was steamy when the both of you stepped out. He grabbed your towel, wrapping you gently with a quick kiss to your forehead to seal the deal. You had a tired smile on your face the whole time.
He had a towel tried around his waist as you did the rest of your night routine back in the bedroom. He felt some resolve hit his chest and he reached into his discarded jacket to find the item he bought earlier.
He unwrapped it quickly, peeking over to make sure you didn't hear or see.
His smile was boyish and nervous as he closed the distance. He had no plan, just sheer emotion.
"Baby…" he called.
"Hm?"
He crawled across the bed, wet curls dripping onto the comforter. He could've totally walked like a normal person to your side of the room, but his brain was sort of mush right now.
"Can you look at me?" he asked.
When your head turned and your eyes found him perched on the bed, he felt those nerves spike, nearly swallowing him whole in their abruptness. Oh god, his throat felt like it was closing on him.
He cleared the phlegm as best he could. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke next and he winced. "Will… you… will you marry me, baby?"
He held up the sacred item: a silly, red ring pop.
You looked amused if anything. taking in the sticky candy versus the tense look on his face. "What's this, Eds?" you asked.
"I'm serious," he breathed, words leaving him. "I'm really fucking serious right now."
His hand actually started shaking as doubt started to trickle in. Maybe the ring pop was too unserious for such an important moment. But he had always been one to indulge in the comedy. And suddenly he couldn't read your face.
"I can try again with a different ring if that's the issue, bu-" there really was no issue at all, and exactly 20 seconds had passed since he asked. He was just really good at preparing for the worst when it came to a major life change.
"Eds," you huffed out a soft chuckle. You weren't mocking him, and if he was able to look at this objectively, he'd realize you were going through your own moment of surprise. "There's nothing wrong with anything. Let me answer before you explode, yeah?"
He took a deep breath, an embarrassed tug of his lips. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay."
You cupped his cheeks, thumb running over his cheekbone. He sighed and leaned into the touch, a sucker for you.
"Of course I want to marry you," you finally answered, his heart stopped or started. He wasn't quite sure, but he did feel light. "Ring pop and all."
Those words were like heaven to hear.
Halfway through the next day you found Eddie with the remains of your ring pop. You gasped and he turned to look at you with wide eyes.
"Baby! It's not what it looks like!" he exclaimed.
"My ring!" you cried. "Does this mean we have to get divorced now?"
Eddie looked horrified.
"We haven't even gotten married and you already want to divorce me?" He stood up, determined. "I'll get you five more ring pops!"
You giggled. "Eds, just get me a real ring."
He grinned and mock saluted you. "I'm going to get you the best damn ring, baby."
GhostGaz going on a cute date ice skating. Gaz is really coordinated having done it for a long time but Ghost is like a baby deer holding onto the wall. He absolutely accidentally pulls Gaz down trying not to fall. They kiss giggling on the ground more than once.
One of the cutest ideas, I can't. I rarely ever write pure fluff, but damn. GhostGaz being cuties together? I love your brain. Also I feel Simon. I have never been able to ice skate.
WARNINGS: Fluff. I have not written anything COD in months so I am rusty. But idgaf because these two cuties are happy and that's what matters.
Simon Riley knew extensively how to be a living weapon. Ghost. He wore the armor well because it was a survival instinct he had perfected long ago. The military taught him the art of patience. Of calculating. Of dimming the adrenaline to keep on living.
Off the field, Simon Riley was way leas coordinated than he'd like to admit.
He was a man. One that for a long time didn't know how to occupy his hands if they were not poised for defense on the battlefield. Adapting to the mundane, settling into a quiet existence took a far different set of skills than he was equipped for.
Kyle Garrick was a piece that naturally followed him from the battlefield to that mundane.
Simon adapted to him both easily and hesitantly. He trusted the bloke with his life. Could put a rifle in the man's hands and be certain there would be someone watching his six. And Simon did not take trust for granted. Especially when he knew how deeply the wound festered when that fragile connection was severed.
Kyle was a good man. Conflicted. But he knew his way around the world. Soon enough, it was easy to expect both when there was one. Truthfully, it made them all the more synchronized on the field, having this personal existence away from the guts and glory.
Simon adapted well, but not quite to Kyle's spontaneous date ideas.
And tonight was the night he decided Kyle Garrick was a little shit.
He had never been caught at an ice skating rink. You could put a blade in his hand and he'd wield it with an innate proficiency. He utilized his resources well on the field. He was a unit, a towering mass of flesh you didn't want to be caught by.
Put the blades on his feet? He was not so coordinated.
Simon gripped the wall, eyes glaring holes into his support like it'd disappear. He stuttered across the ice in mixmatched strides, not sure if his blades were stable enough to hold him up alone.
It made it worse when a little girl glided past him with much more grace than he had ever felt.
Kyle might have found the one thing that rendered his lieutenant useless.
Speaking of the man, he idled next to Simon with a stupid grin on his face. He was skating backward, distributing his weight evenly and confidently, allowing him to remain upright.
"You know, you're supposed to not hug the wall, eh?" Kyle speaks.
"Can it, Sergeant."
Kyle just chuckled and pivoted on his skates, facing forward and skating around the circle rink. Simon found his eyes drifting to watch him, a small hint of fondness creeping up. Kyle navigated himself around a family before curving around the last little curve before he made it back.
Simon? He hadn't moved that far.
"C'mon, big man. Hold my arm or hand," Kyle mused. His right arm extended the offer expectantly.
Simon sighed and removed a hand from the wall. He wobbled slightly, thinking his equilibrium was shifting when, in reality, he just spooked himself. His hand immediately went to clutch the wall again.
Kyle was truly amused and Simon hated it. When Kyle went to reach out again, Simon just wanted to prove that he could defeat his ice skating demons. Solid plan. Bad execution.
He tilted forward, blades cutting forward on the ice when he pushed his weight that way. Next thing he knew, he didn't even really know if he tried to correct the change, he was already down on the ice. And his smug partner went down with him.
Simon grunted, rolling over onto his back. The ice was cold on his back and he didn't even want to spare a glance at Kyle. He was the slightest bit embarrassed.
"Not a word, Garrick," he commanded.
Kyle's face appeared above him, a stupidly smitten and boyish joy brightening his face. Simon softened the smallest bit.
"You were like a baby deer, LT," he teased. He was going to milk this, it was obvious. "I'll make sure to tell Cap not to let you skate after the enemy."
"Laugh it up. I'll have you scrubbing shit," he defended.
Kyle knew that was a lie. He knew Simon had a soft spot for him. How could he not? Kyle knew how to be the type of person he needed. It was to be expected given the nature of a relationship that started off with blood spilling first.
Kyle leaned down, silencing Simon's complaints. His lips sealed over his, chaste but loving. It silenced Simon's inner dialogue for a long moment. That was another thing Simon had to adapt to. Being alright with holding something and trusting it wouldn't snap. He knew Kyle was more than capable of fending for himself, but it still terrified him sometimes. Old wounds refusing to close evenly.
"C'mon. If you manage to get up, I'll get you some ice cream. Sounds less likely to fight back," Kyle stated already pushing himself up.
But Simon grabbed his wrist, pulling him back. He was alright with this. Having someone to be lighthearted with. A domesticity he never got to cherish before.
He huffed out a laugh, before he pulled Kyle to him again. He kissed him with light pressure, shy as if seeking approval. But Kyle had mastered communicating a lot of things without words as well. So small gestures usually meant more than the grand ones.
If reader had been writing and publishing since before meeting the boys in the Serial Killer AU, and they’re such a active visual learner when it comes to their works (their insaneeeee attention to detail and infatuation) then how did they get their inspiration in the first place? What if they’re not as innocent as they’re putting out for the boys, going through all these stages of grief as they lose their mind to the newly discovered reality they’re in?
Have you (or will you) consider reader having their hands dirty too? What if it’s all a front? What if the boys find out?
I doubt this is the direction you’ve spun it in, but could you write a spin off with something similar to this? I’d love to see an alternate (or perhaps canon) part where this goes down. They kill? Great, reader too?
Omg, I missed this for so long! I am so sorry, anon 😭 I've been so nonexistent.
I love this take! That reader is maybe playing them as well. It's so interesting. Them putting up a front because it helps them do their thing without the boys or anyone suspecting a thing. Reader fooling four highly smart men is just so perfect.
I have one idea rn, but honestly, nothing is set in stone. I just need to work out all the kinks. But I will think about this, hehe.
Hi people. Someone should (no pressure) give me some simple and easy blurb ideas. I am so blocked, but I want to keep my juices flowing, y'know? Brain is mean. Brain sabotage. Help. I miss y'all.
omegaverse or soulmates // fake dating or secret dating // fix-it or post-canon // mutual pining or friends-to-lovers // slow burn or angst // smut or romance // reality tv au or porn au // enemies to lovers or enemies to friends to lovers // domestic fluff or hurt/comfort // coffee shop au or college au // one-shot or multi-chapter // crossover or canon compliant // mpreg or adoption // online romance or workplace romance // single parent au or sports au // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au
(no pressure!) tags: @bythegraceofathena @cooliofango @unseaworthy @auberghyn @youarehereyouaresafe @silverlullabies
omegaverse or soulmates // fake dating or secret dating // fix-it or post-canon // mutual pining or friends-to-lovers // slow burn or angst // smut or romance // reality tv au or porn au // enemies to lovers or enemies to friends to lovers // domestic fluff or hurt/comfort // coffee shop au or college au // one-shot or multi-chapter // crossover or canon compliant // mpreg or adoption // online romance or workplace romance // single parent au or sports au // neighbors or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au
(no pressure) @captainpriceslilwife @gazstations @staytrueblue @nastybuckybarnes @dckweed @livecrow
omegaverse or soulmates // fake dating or secret dating // fix-it or post-canon // mutual pining or friends-to-lovers // slow burn or angst // smut or romance // reality tv au or porn au // enemies to lovers or enemies to friends to lovers // domestic fluff or hurt/comfort // coffee shop au or college au // one-shot or multi-chapter // crossover or canon compliant // mpreg or adoption // online romance or workplace romance // single parent au or sports au // neighbors or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au
no pressure tags: @lialucis @lostintransist @vinnierobot748 @emrysmerlinambrose @cod-indulgences
NOTES— I did it, guys. It almost took me a whole ass century to write for this again. I felt so guilty with all the asks about if I was continuing or not. Thank you for the love on this story even while I was off in the wind. Just trying to get in the groove of writing again. Life has been CRAZY.
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HOW DO YOU OUTSMART MEN WHO HAVE NO SET ROUTINE?
Instinctively, they already seemed well accustomed to the vulnerability of manipulation. They functioned true to their own roles yet still had a pattern you could not quite identify. You wondered if it had always been like this, and it just seemed normal. Or had they specifically decided to change trajectory because of your flight from the nest?
Your life had unraveled, busted at the seams of what you once thought was safety. Were you safe? Had you ever been? Or had your men been playing with their dinner, feasting off of what you provided before ultimately you'd be another casualty? It wasn't fair that they did this to you. This confusion in your bones was aching, making your poor head hurt.
The bile hadn't left your throat.
And the worst part was that you weren't entirely sure you wanted to fly the coop.
You loved your life with them. Had. Or you still did. There went your scattered thoughts. Both sides were tugging at your useless body, making you humiliated to even entertain the thought of staying. Why would you? You were a ticket to their cruelty. Their hungry malice.
You were going to die prematurely due to the stress they had caused you.
It was dark. Your lovers had left you to stew. To linger in your doubt. You had so much time to process, to make sense of what wasn't supposed to be understood, and yet you made no progress at all.
Torn.
All you had to do was put one foot in front of the other. If you couldn’t speak the truth of your lovers' lack of humanity, perhaps you could write it. You would surely be killed for it, but it would hit the shelves before they could do anything. Before they knew…
So why did you feel like you weren't supposed to?
Had the manipulation rooted so deeply that you could no longer rationalize with yourself? Maybe it was the unknown of what waited for you if you became the messenger. But why did you care so much if you lived? People had already died. You knew the truth. You had a duty to avenge them. Right?
You tossed in the bed. The blankets were as they had always been. Soft. Fluffy. Full of warmth. You had your own space, and yet you usually ended up with one of the guys by the time sleep weighed your eyelids down. There was a security there.
They banked on your pliant body.
The door creaked, wrestling you out of your mind. You turned your head to the blackened doorway, breath catching in your throat as if claws were going to sink into your feet and drag you free of your cocoon. You barely moved as you listened to the footsteps as they approached your bedside.
"Doe?"
Johnny's voice sounded much louder in the stillness of your quiet fear. You blinked, unsure of what to say. Tell him to fuck off surely would've been an appropriate response. Staying silent? Less effective, but still valid.
Words always got you in trouble.
Johnny answered for your lack. He peeled back the blankets and found the warmth of your body. He shuffled into your space like every other night. Nothing changed for him, and yet your world was imploding as his hands cupped around your belly. He let out a pleased little sigh as he settled.
"Ye feelin' better?" He asked, stroking over your stomach like the sickness in your body was merely a viral infection and not a conflict of your very heart.
You didn't answer. You just closed your eyes and wished for his touch to be gone. It just made your deterioration worse because any sliver of contact made your heart yearn for more. You wanted it to be easy to shatter any good light you had perceived them in.
"Cap feels bad fer what he did," Johnny continued. "Kyle said he took care of ye, though."
The bath you took with Kyle still sweetened your skin with whatever scent the bath bomb had been. You had taken that bath and skipped dinner, acting like you locked yourself in purgatory when really you knew you were still under their bend. The lock turning outside your door showed as much.
How long had they been planning on imprisoning you behind the walls where you used to bloom?
There were things you never thought of but were revealed to you at slow, agonizing speed. Taunting. Driving the hammer further down on your heart. The queasiness in your stomach never left. It became an uninvited guest prowling in your guts.
"Please dinnae be mad at us," he whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. "We want the best fer ye."
A warm hand cupped your face and turned your head. You could barely see him, but you felt his breath as he analyzed the situation. You used to crave the way his eyes alone would pry you apart because it made you feel seen. Like you finally found someone who completed you. They all had their strengths of making you feel desired and understood.
Now the analyzing just put you on edge.
Johnny hummed as he placed a quick, almost chaste kiss to your lips. But you knew better. He was a dog. A man always hiding his true intentions for just a moment before he got impatient. He could never sit still for long.
His lips sought yours again, this time more demanding. More taking. He rolled your body until it was beneath him, his legs bracketing you. His whole brawny form enveloped you, a powerhouse of desperation and malice. You sunk beneath the waves for him, instinct coiling tight in your belly as your hands rose and traced the lean muscle of his stomach.
God, what were you?
Johnny smiled against your lips, "There ye go, doe. Ah'm right here fer ya."
You let his body drape over yours, molding into the bed like some paperweight. Your brain was buzzing, but your body was one foot in the complete direction of damnation. You were accustomed to the smell of him, the way he pried into your rib cage like it was his own. You didn't want to let that go, but deep down, you knew you might have to. You could not call yourself a good person if you let the victims evaporate in their premature tombs.
Johnny's kiss was insistent, pressure against your lips in a way of claiming. He sighed into the kiss, sloppy and hungry for your submission. For your acceptance of what was and would be. You could taste metallic seeping into your mouth, and you faltered slightly. He pressed his hips into yours, rolling softly just to hear the slight catch in your breath. You just let him. Selfishly, you wanted one moment of not thinking about reality before you dove headfirst into the rocky bank.
Johnny's fingers trailed down your torso, seeking and admiring as they dipped below the waistband of your pants. Just as he delved into the heat between your legs, clarity slammed into you. What the fuck were you doing? You made a noise of protest, pushing at his shoulders. You ignored the hiss of pain he made when you pressed too hard on his right shoulder. You could care less.
"No. Stop," You demanded. Your breath was heavy, and you could feel the warmth of his against your face. "You don't get to do that. Not like nothing is wrong."
Johnny was silent for a moment. You couldn't completely see him in the darkness of the room. You couldn't see what look he held or what he was scheming. You knew he would try. Johnny was stubborn. And he would be loyal to John first before he would ever try to sympathize with you.
You squirmed from underneath him, reaching for the beside lamp. You'd have more control in the light. The knob was turned, and suddenly, all the details you were deprived of came into the forefront.
Johnny was still hunched in the same position, head tilting in your direction to look at you. He was already shirtless, bruising along his shoulder where it looked like he was roughly grabbed. It matched a new, deep bruising along the right side of his torso—you noticed a wince when he moved, suddenly favoring the other side. There was a cut on his lip as well, explaining the metallic you had tasted before.
"Yer leavin' me, doe?" He asked pitifully.
"All of you," you corrected, trying to keep your footing. As long as you kept your head, they couldn't hurt you anymore. Right? "What you do… it's wrong, Johnny. You…"
Johnny's hand enclosed around your ankle, blue eyes boring into yours. You kept his gaze for a moment before your jaw tightened, and you broke it. You despised the way he did that, like it was your fault you found their extracurricular activities distasteful. Like you were the one who wasn't supposed to have morals.
"Ye dinnae understand," he said firmly. "That's all it is."
A scoff left your lips, "Right. Because I'm supposed to understand murder."
Johnny's face twisted. You tensed like you were waiting for a blow. You didn't know who you were facing in situations like these. Because clearly, all your assumptions had been misguided by pretty little lies the whole time. It made you sick, your stomach rolling as you thought about it.
"Ye willnae be safe out there," Johnny insisted. "Not alone."
Your head was spinning. Before you realized you were doing it, your foot planted itself against his chest and pushed. He moved, didn't say anything as you tried to create distance. You needed more time to think, and he was not helping. It was making you uneasy.
"Get out!" you snapped. "Get out!"
"Doe…" he tried to reach for you again but you picked up the water glass Kyle had left earlier, and held it up. "Feck. Jesus. Ah'm goin'!"
You didn't feel any less weighed down when the door closed behind him. And you listened to the lock click from the outside with your heart dropping into your stomach. You ended up chucking the cup anyway, listening to it shatter against the far wall in frustration. You couldn't think properly while being trapped right in the hornet's nest. You needed to get out, but you didn't know how.
You curled up into the bed again, body active and alert as you stared at the far wall. You analyzed the window, wondering how easy it would be to drop two stories onto the ground. You couldn't do it unless you were adequately prepared. You needed to think about that, something that would have to wait until tomorrow.
A tomorrow that would come slowly.
But no one else bothered you after your moment with Johnny. At least sparing you some silence.
♡◇♡
Simon nudged you awake the next morning, no pleasantries offered for your weary soul. You blinked open your eyes, head pounding from the restless sleep and the lack of food. You lifted your head, watchful and suspicious. Simon was one of the hardest to read. Or maybe the easiest. Because you at least knew he was far harder to please. Johnny and Kyle hid behind boyish grins and sweetness. It was almost less surprising for Simon or John to betray you than it was Johnny and Kyle.
All at once? Yeah, you didn't quite like the feeling of hurt that bubbled in your body. It made you feel pathetic and childish. Made it harder to grasp stable ground.
"You need to eat," he said simply.
His arm was already tugging you off the bed, giving you no room to protest as he dragged you towards the door. You let him. You knew that no matter what your plan was, you were going to need your mind operating to its full extent. You wouldn't get far with half a mind and stomach empty.
The others were already downstairs when you both entered. There was an open spot between John and Kyle, Simon forced you into the seat without a word. He plopped down right across from you, Johnny slightly tensing as he did so. You narrowed your eyes at the display.
"Sleep well, darling?" John asked. His meaty hand enclosed around your upper thigh, squeezing softly. A gesture that could easily be mistaken for affection, but it just made your stomach burn like you ate something rotten. Every action now was glossed over with new meaning, disrupting the sanctity of your life.
You didn't answer the question, gripping your fork in a tight grip. Play indifferent until you had a full plan.
"You'll learn," John was so sure in his words. Like he knew the script that was always bound to happen. "Eat up. The lads all pitched in. We still want to take care of you, even if you're a little misguided right now."
"Misguided?" You couldn't stop yourself from saying. "Do not talk about me like I am some child throwing a fit. You are all monsters!"
John chuckled dryly. "Never claimed to be good. You only saw what you wanted to. Never questioned what you already knew deep down."
You didn't have a rebuttal to that. Because maybe he was right about that. You never chose to look into their curiosities about your writing. Never questioned why there were rules in place that limited your freedoms to being alone and going to certain areas of the property. You never questioned why they came home with a certain air about them.
You believed the lies because all along maybe you were surviving.
You stabbed your eggs like they were laced with poison. You wished they were. The moment you started to eat, so did the others. You hated the way they orbited around you. It was confusing you, making you feel more guilty about what you were waiting for the right mind to decide. Did you ever have freedom?
John leaned in close to your ear, "If you ever step out of line again, I'm cuffing you to the bed again. Your choice on how you wish to play out, darlin'."
Your spine stiffened at that threat. He knew you exactly what you were planning. Knew you'd try to find some way to trick them. He had to. He knew games because he was the master at them. Which is why you had to be extra careful about what you did. Or you'd get nowhere at all and your restrictions would be even more brutal.
Then John was smiling disarmingly, squeezing your thigh again and finally biting into his own food.
"You'll see what we're doing for you. All in due time."
Beefy stocky men who loom over you, thick, powerful body pressing down with his full weight- broad chest, heavy gut, and dense muscle pinning you helplessly to the bed. Driving his fat, veiny cock deep into your slick cunt, pressure of his heavy balls grinding against your clit as he grunts low and heavy, hips slamming forward with raw, bruising force. Being completely smothered, drowning in his heat and heft while he fucks you senseless. 🙂↕️🤤👌🏻
Hellloo, I've read all of the serial killer au parts and all love them all I'm wondering if your gonna write more parts but I have an idea if you wanna write part 8
If the cod men's girlfriend tried to run away from them and they find out , what are they gonna do would they just gonna let her go away or they have plan?
Also I lovvee your writings 💜🫶
Hi! Thank you so much for your ask.
I am happy you have enjoyed the AU! I am definitely going to do more parts, and I am sitting on 2.5k words of the next part. I swear!!! Lol. I have a lot of ideas I am excited about for that piece. It's just a matter of actually sitting my ass down to finish the next part. I always end up watching youtube or something whenever I have time to write.
The guys definitely have plans and won't let the reader just pop off without another word. There's kind of more to the story that they have yet to divulge. Plus, they do like reader, so they'd hate for them to move on.
Hope you have a great day, nonnie! I hope you see this 💜
