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urhoneycombwitch · 3 months

Text

imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill.

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days.

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place.

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you.

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite.

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge.

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs).

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue.

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties.

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.)

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course.

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you.

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school.

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before…

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend.

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event.

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room.

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh.

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space.

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts.

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise.

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals.

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily.

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form.

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are.

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda.

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes.

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak.

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet.

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel.

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours.

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here.

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?”

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds.

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude.

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him.

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there.

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours.

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone.

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you.

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you.

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside.

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks.

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year.

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in.

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie

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rubiehart · 2 months

Note

Jj taking care of drunk reader at party or something lol

he’d kept half an eye on you all night, partly for your safety, knowing you have a knack for getting hammered, and partly to watch the way your body swayed to the music, almost in slow motion to jj in the soft orange glow of the bonfire.

he engages in lazy conversation with a group of people, pogues and tourons mixed but he wasn’t too focused on what the conversation was about, watching as you stumbled over to the keg for the umpteenth time that night, licking over his lips as he watched you struggle, concealing his smirk.

leaving the group and making his way over to you, combat boots crunching the sand underneath him as he neared, hearing you mumble to yourself as you fiddled with the tap, chuckling to himself and you turned around with furrowed brows, ready to argue with whatever asshole was laughing at you, liquid courage coursing through your veins.

spinning on your heel with eyes squinted angrily, losing the anger automatically when you see the face of your blonde haired friend, dropping your red solo cup to the sand and practically jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you chirp. “hi jj.”

he pulls you away after a few seconds, keeping his on your upper arms with a soft smile on his face. “someone’s a little drunk, huh?” and you roll your eyes, smiling mischievously and shaking your head, bending down quickly to retrieve your solo cup from the ground, spinning on your heel to attempt to refill your cup again.

before you can even pick up the hose, the cup was plucked from your grip by a tanned arm, holding it high above his head so you couldn’t reach. “hey!” you groan in frustration, spinning back around to look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“give it back, i need that.” and he just shakes his head, still smiling. “think you’ve had enough of the good shit, yeah?” and you just shake your head, eyeing him up and down as he chuckles.

pouncing on you, lifting you up over his shoulder as you flop down against his muscular back, thumping your fists weakly against his shoulder blades in protest. “put me down! being such a party pooper jayj.”

and he shakes his head, adjusting you on his shoulder, harsh ringed grip on your thigh as he does so, boots crunching as he ventures up the sandy bank back towards where the twinkie was parked, lowering you into the passenger seat and fastening your seatbelt for you as you slump against the seat with a groan.

he rounds the bonnet, sticking his tongue out at you as he slumps down into the driver’s seat, turning the key and stepping on the gas. “loser.” you mumble, arms still crossed over your chest, gaze fixed on where the headlights light up the quiet street.

he grins and raises his eyebrows, reaching for the radio volume and twisting the knob to lower it down. “what was that sunshine?” and you sigh. “nothin’.” he nods his head with a chuckle. “thought so.”

#jj maybank blurbs #anon ꨄ︎*#jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #outer banks #jj maybank blurb #jj x reader #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank obx #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fluff

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cherienymphe · 11 months

Text

Basic Training XIII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

Peter was at work.

It had been some weeks since the inevitable had happened, waking up to find Peter putting on his uniform. You had expected it at some point, but definitely not so soon. Or, at least, soon for you. It had been hard to hide the disappointment on your features when the dark-haired man had glanced at you, his own face falling some as he neared you.

“Hey,” he’d softly said, cupping your face as he leaned over the bed. “It’ll be okay.”

You hadn’t responded, only blinking, and Peter continued.

“I’ll only be gone a few hours, just to get both of us back into the swing of things. I’ll be back in no time,” he’d assured you.

He’d been right, of course. He had only been gone for a few hours that day, but what felt like no time to him felt like an entire day to you. You’d gone through every task like it was indeed nothing more than a chore, merely trying to find some solace in your cleaning and cooking and gardening, trying to find some way to keep your mind off of Peter’s absence.

In truth, all you’d accomplished was counting down the minutes until he returned.

You’d been in the middle of helping Pepper with lunch when familiar hands had settled on your waist. It had startled you, at first, before the familiarity of them set in, prompting you to stop what you were doing. You hadn’t hesitated to turn and wrap your arms around him, feeling so much more at ease with him home.

“What’ya making?” he’d asked after briefly acknowledging the other woman in the room when she’d done the same.

“Thor wanted subs,” you’d told him. “Pepper’s toasting the bread.”

He’d smiled at that, and it was something you did often, now. Unable to hide your relief at having Peter home, telling him about your day, and listening when he did the same. The town struck you as so small, from what you remembered anyway, but you were always shocked by just how much crime and mess Peter and the rest of the station had to deal with.

The day he’d come home with a bandage on his arm was burned into your memory.

“It’s nothing,” he’d kept reassuring you. “Just some asshole trying to rob a bank with bad aim.”

You hadn’t laughed at the joke as Peter had, and he’d quickly swallowed his chuckles down. He’d reached out to touch your face in the hallway, but you’d been intently focused on the light blood that had bled through a bit. He’d been right, of course. It was nothing, a flesh wound, a graze, but it hadn’t stopped you from worrying all the same.

The heaviness in your chest had shocked you. After all, you liked to think that Peter meant nothing to you, but that wasn’t entirely true. You’d hesitantly reached up to graze his arm just below the white gauze, eyes burning. Peter could’ve been seriously hurt, he could’ve died, and that had worried you for more reasons than one.

“Peter,” you’d softly started once in the privacy of your room moments later. “What would happen to me…if something happened to you…?”

Surprisingly, it was a thought that had never occurred to you before. These men were mortal and human just like anyone else, and considering their professions, the possibility of any of them dying should’ve entered your mind at least once or twice. However, as you’d stared at his arm, you realized that this was the first time you’d truly given it some thought.

You’d heard him sigh.

“Don’t think about that,” he’d tried to coax you away from the thought, making you look at him.

“…but you’re a cop…and clearly this town isn’t as boring and safe as I’d initially thought.”

You had multiple reasons to come to that conclusion.

“What if something does happen to you?” you’d quietly asked him.

Peter had stared at you for a while before slowly leaning in and brushing his lips against yours.

“That won’t happen, pretty girl,” he’d slowly assured you, continuing before you could say anything. “…but if that ever were to happen…you’d just still be a functioning part of the household with no title to your name.”

You had frowned at that. So, you’d still be doing as you did but just without Peter around. The thought had terrified you for one reason above all else, and his name was Steve. You didn’t even want to imagine the kind of trouble you’d get into without Peter around to protect you, and you had thrown your arms around him before you knew it.

He’d rubbed your back, making soothing sounds, but you’d shaken your head, burying your face into his shoulder.

“I think I’d rather just die.”

You had said it so quietly you were sure Peter didn’t even hear you, but if the way he’d paused was anything to go by, he’d heard you clearly.

You couldn’t survive in this place without Peter, and he had to know that. You felt like you were barely hanging on when he was around, and God knows that thread only became thinner when he went to work. If you had to face the reality of never seeing Peter ever again, you didn’t doubt that you’d lose all reason under Steve’s wrath and stern discipline.

“Don’t say that,” he’d whispered. “Besides, it’s not going to happen.”

You had to believe that because the alternative wasn’t feasible to you.

“You don’t know that,” you’d murmured back, fingers digging into his side and the uninjured arm.

“You wouldn’t want to live without me…? Even if you had something to remember me by?”

You’d stiffened at that, understanding dawning on you as to what he was hinting at.

Peter didn’t bring up the possibility of kids often. He probably didn’t want to scare you, but you knew what was expected of you…you knew what he wanted. On the off chance that Sharon or Laura brought their sons around or Steve or Margaret stepped out with Sarah, you were no fool. You saw the smile that lit up Peter’s boyish features. You saw the longing in his deep brown eyes, the desire to have children of his own someday…with you.

Of all the men here, if any of them deserve to have a kid, you supposed that it was Peter.

However, you wondered just how true that was. The man had kidnapped you, after all, and clearly had no qualms against his brothers and whatever methods they chose to punish their wives with. Peter wasn’t a good guy, no matter how good he made you feel these days, and so maybe he didn’t deserve any children.

…but you yourself had wanted kids someday…but not like this.

The thought of subjecting your future sons to the same fate as their father or your future daughters to the same fate as you made your eyes water. It seemed like such a cruel thing to do, but giving Peter children was inevitable, you supposed. It’s not like you had any means to protect yourself against the possibility, and since Peter had first had sex with you, he had never not come inside of you.

It was honestly only a matter of time.

“I…don’t know,” you’d honestly answered his question.

Without Peter, any child you had would be far better off with any of the other wives than with you. You doubted that you’d even be able to look after yourself, let alone a whole other person who’d completely depend on you. On the other hand, though, you didn’t know if you could trust your hypothetical child’s wellbeing with anyone but you. Especially with Steve around.

Someone had to make sure they didn’t grow up completely messed up by all of this.

…but then again…maybe you weren’t right to be that someone either.

After all, Peter had kidnapped and raped you, and you greeted him when he came home from work each evening. You smiled as you told him about your day. You clung to him in the dead of night and welcomed his kisses. Even then, as you held him and fretted over his safety and the danger you had never considered he’d be in before…

You yourself were already so messed up by all of this, so how could you keep the same from happening to anyone else?

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl.”

Peter’s soft encouragement went straight to the pit of your stomach, adding to the heat that was already there. The water in the bathtub jostled slightly, small ripples in the water from your movements. Peter’s hands were pressed firmly into your waist, and you could feel his gaze on you.

“So good,” he whispered, leaning up and brushing his lips against yours.

You felt so…full, much fuller than you did when Peter was covering your frame with his own, pressing you into the mattress and pushing his cock into you with a pace that had your breath shortening. Now, you were the one on top of him, lifting and lowering yourself, sliding up and down on his cock with every movement.

A simple bath had turned into something more when Peter’s hand dipped between your legs, a noise of mischief escaping his lips as you’d tried to shy away. He’d been smooth in sliding you back onto him, a hand resting on your back before he’d expressed his desire to see your face.

Peter pressed kisses along the expanse of your throat, tasting you with them and his tongue. Your bare chest brushed against his own with every rise and fall of your hips, your hands pressed into his shoulders to steady yourself. Sex wasn’t new to you, but you’d always thought of it as a chore more often than not. You’d thought it was just one of those things that wasn’t for you.

Peter’s presence proved that the fault lay with bad boyfriends.

Granted, it’s not like Peter gave you the choice to refuse sex, therefore forcing you to engage in something you’d always thought of as meh. He didn’t even allow you to disassociate as you had in the past, forcing you to be present and engaging and taking pleasure that you weren’t all that familiar with. You both hated and loved it.

Peter moaned into your mouth as he kissed you, a wet hand massaging into your back, and you kissed him back, hot and wanton and just as hungry for your climax as he was his. Every time you sank down onto him, your walls stretched, and with Peter’s hand on your hip, rolling it over his, you had to pull away and gasp.

The first time you came around him, you were in the tub, but you were in the bed when you stiffened around him for the second time. Peter talked you through it, whispering sweet nothings to you as explosions burst behind your eyes, one hand twisted with yours and the other tracing patterns into your thigh.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured into your neck, his chest pressed to your back as you lay beneath him. “We both have to wake up pretty early, though.”

He sounded sad as he said that, pulling away from you. You were still catching your breath when you turned to face him, eyes fluttering closed as he reached out to brush his fingers over your face. You were tired, but you still found the strength to stare back at him. Peter was pretty, you’d noted before, but it was something you hadn’t wanted to linger on then.

Your eyes drooped a bit as his hand danced towards yours, taking it and playing with your fingers. It was moments like this that made it so easy to pretend. It was dark outside, and in the room, the only light coming from the glow of the moon outside. The rest of the house was quiet, and the only sounds in the room were that of your labored breathing.

It was moments like this that made it easy to pretend as if Peter hadn’t kidnapped you, as if his brothers hadn’t killed your friends. It was easy to pretend like you were the only ones in this whole house, just basking in each other’s presence and the afterglow of taking pleasure in each other’s bodies under the cover of darkness.

Like a normal man with a normal job simply coming home from work and making love to his normal wife.

Peter’s fingers touched your ring, and you were brought back to reality.

“Not every couple has done it…but some of the others have…had ceremonies…”

Your brows rose at that, and Peter’s gaze remained on the thorned ring around your finger.

“I would really like it if we had one too,” he murmured. “I… I want to declare my love and vows to you in front of the whole family…and have you do the same to me.”

You didn’t know how to feel about that, and so you merely frowned. Your eyes met Peter’s when he finally glanced up, and his tongue darted between his lips.

“…because I do, you know.”

When you didn’t respond, your confusion must’ve been evident to him because he continued.

“I do love you.”

That word made you feel faint, and you quickly sat up. Peter followed, a hand on the back of your neck and the other still playing with your hand.

“I do,” he reiterated, making it hard to swallow. “You’re so open about what’s on your mind, and you’re never afraid to ask me anything you want.”

You hesitantly looked at him, pulling your gaze away from the sheets.

“…and now that you’ve finally settled here, I can see how caring you are. I see how worried you get when you think Jane is straining herself or when you think Margaret might be too tired on her feet. I saw it when you were more worried about your mom than…”

He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish it. Maybe it was silly at the time to worry more about your free mom than your captive self, but you couldn’t help it.

“I knew I chose right, but it’s something entirely different to have it confirmed every single day,” Peter whispered, taking his hand and resting it under your chin. “…and you may not love me yet, but that’s okay because I know you will…just like I love you.”

Peter’s words were so…heavy. You found it hard to believe that he loved you, but then again, Peter had nothing but all the time in the world to observe you and watch you and take note of every flaw and quirk. Who were you to tell him what he felt? No man had ever told you that before, and there were layers to the fact that the first one who did was the same who’d stolen you away.

Something stirred in your chest at that.

“I want to make every promise in the world to you, and I want to do it in front of our family.”

Our family.

That was so strange to hear, but wasn’t it the truth? You had long accepted that you were never leaving, and despite what you personally wanted, this was your family, now…weren’t they?

“You don’t have to give me an answer, now,” Peter assured you, laying back down, fingers grazing over your lower back. “…but you know what I want.”

Yes, but what did you want?

You cared about Peter more than you wanted to admit. The thought of losing him in any way made your chest ache, but that wasn’t love. You knew what it really was, but your heart couldn’t decipher real feelings from ones brought on by circumstances and a means to cope. Your heart only knew that Peter was now in it, and his fingers on your skin and his devotional words made you feel things that you were ashamed of.

He pulled you back down to lie with him, resting your head on his arm as you clung to it. You looked up at him as sleep fought to claim him, his own lashes fluttering as he stifled a yawn. You were going to be with Peter forever, that was indubitable, and declaring that in front of the whole household wasn’t going to make it any more true than it already was.

You tilted your head back down, pressing your face into the arm of the man who loved you.

You had just got done taking the dish out of the oven when a familiar voice outside drew your attention. Peter’s laugh was loud, and you hurried to set the heavy pie and get your gloves off. He had been gone when you woke up, and Sam had told you that he’d had to go in early with Steve. You thought that meant he’d be home earlier, but no. This was one of those rare days where he was gone almost the whole day, and you’d been so anxious.

“Slow down, Y/N,” Christine called as you dashed out of the kitchen.

No other effort was made to stop you, and you practically tripped over your feet as you hurried down the hall. If Peter was having some important conversation with Steve and Tony, he put it on the back burner in favor of catching you as you flew into his arms.

“Woah, hey,” he chuckled, arm tight around you as he held you to him.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” you murmured. “You were gone when I woke up.”

You pulled away just a tad, hand twisting into Peter’s dark uniform as he gave you an apologetic smile.

“I know,” he sadly said. “This one screwed up some paperwork with a guy we arrested, and we had to go in pretty early.”

He jerked his head towards Steve as he said this, and you’d forgotten about the blonde’s presence entirely. Tony too. You barely spared them both a glance, only acknowledging them as evenly and respectfully as possible without putting in too much effort. You were already turning back to Peter when they returned the acknowledgement.

“Jane told me your favorite food,” you told him, pulling and forcing him to come with you.

He threw Steve and Tony a backwards glance as he waved them off, signaling that they’d continue whatever they were talking about later.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I made a cherry pie,” your tone was hopeful, nervous, and Peter’s gaze lit up.

“Really…?” he wondered as he stopped, more excited, now. “All by yourself?”

You nodded.

“It hasn’t been tasted yet, so I hope you like it,” you worriedly said.

The other man softly chuckled, and you briefly glanced up as Natasha walked by.

“I bet it’s perfect,” Peter assured you, kissing your cheek. “…and even if it isn’t, I’ll love it anyway. You made it, after all.”

You weren’t able to linger on his words like you wanted to, worriedly gazing at the redhead’s back.

You’d been worried for her ever since that day she’d told you she thought she was pregnant. She hadn’t brought it up since, and neither had you, too afraid of being overheard by the wrong person. You didn’t know if she was or wasn’t, and if she was, and Bucky knew, the whole house would definitely know by now. Thor had made a whole day of it when he found out Jane was pregnant, and considering what Natasha had told you about all of their efforts, you doubted that Bucky would be any different.

However, there was no word of it, and while Natasha didn’t seem as mopey as she had been, she was still…off. Quieter. She smiled more, now, especially at Bucky, and you’d found yourself wondering if she’d made peace with what he did to your friends so quickly. It seemed…unlikely but considering that she was in the same boat as you, with no chances of leaving, it’s possible she wanted to make peace with it for her own sake.

You wouldn’t fault her if she did.

None of this was easy, and especially so considering her own history with Bucky, so you felt no anger or disgust when their intertwined hands rested on the table between them. You didn’t blame her for the smiles she threw his way, or the soft kisses on her cheek that she didn’t turn away from. After all, you yourself had cut the first piece of pie for Peter, anxious to see how the brunette liked it.

“It’s great,” he hummed.

You’d been skeptical, still unsure of your own cooking skills, but Peter had assured you that he wasn’t placating you. He’d even fed you a piece, and you’d been shocked at just how good it really was. You and Peter had mostly been in your own world throughout dinner. After all, you hadn’t seen him all day, something that only strengthened your animosity towards Steve, and you felt like you had so much to tell him.

So, when dinner was over—and Natasha and Laura were cleaning up—you were disappointed as Peter stood too. The other men were heading towards the den to talk about work and the household as they did every evening after dinner. Peter’s hand was on your lower back as he walked you towards the stairs, and you knew your hesitation was evident.

“You’ve been gone all day,” you whispered, almost afraid to voice your desire to have him come upstairs with you. “…and who knows how long that will take. I don’t want to be asleep when you finally come up to bed.”

Peter tilted his head at you, studying you in a way you couldn’t place. His other hand reached for yours, fingers threading through your own, and you watched his tongue dart between his lips. There was a furrow between his brows, like he was thinking deeply about something before he glanced over his shoulder.

“Do you want to sit with me?”

You hadn’t expected that.

You didn’t quite catch what he meant at first, and then it was your turn to frown. You blinked at him, confusion and apprehension filling you.

“I can…?”

You couldn’t swallow down the small relief you were starting to feel. It would be different—unfamiliar—but at least you’d be with Peter instead of alone in your bedroom.

“Am I allowed to?” you wondered. “I didn’t think any of us could.”

Peter gave you an encouraging smile.

“It’s not common,” he honestly answered, pulling you along. “…but sometimes little Sarah can only be quieted by Steve so Margaret will bring her, or now, with Jane being pregnant and hormonal, she gets her way if she wants to rest in Thor’s lap.”

He chuckled at that.

You’d cleaned the den a few times. It was a large room with no windows, only brightened by the low light of lamps. The furniture was all dark wood and leather, and it had a bar that you’d never been tempted to use. You’d always been able to imagine the men sitting around and discussing police paperwork and what household business needed to take priority over others.

As Peter led you into the room, you realized you’d be witnessing it tonight.

“Peter…”

Steve’s stern drawl of his name reached your ears, half warning, half question.

“She’ll be good,” Peter lightly promised.

There were just enough seats for the men, and you realized why Peter had mentioned Jane sitting in Thor’s lap when she got in one of her moods. You didn’t hesitate to sit by Peter’s feet, curling your legs up underneath you as he took your hand. Truthfully, you didn’t care what they had to discuss, even if it was interesting and consisted of the mention of some woman who’d broken into a house.

You just cared about being next to Peter.

As you’d guessed, you were tired, and you were right to worry that you would’ve been asleep by the time Peter joined you. At some point during the meeting, your head drooped, and you did the right thing in leaning it against the side of Peter’s leg, your cheek resting on his thigh. Your hands curled around his leg, holding onto him as you fought sleep. Your lashes fluttered, and it was easier said than done…

Especially when you felt Peter’s hand on your head.

His fingers gently pressing into your scalp was soothing, and you slowly blinked, fighting fatigue. You were pretty sure Thor was talking, now. Or was it Stephen? Either way, it didn’t help, and you shifted, tightening your arms around Peter’s leg. The feel of his hand in your hair was going to put you fast asleep…if it weren’t for the feel of an oppressing gaze.

When you glanced over, your eyes met familiar blue ones, Steve hardly paying attention to a thing Stephen was saying. His cold blue irises were focused entirely on you. For a moment, you worried that you did something wrong, and you clung to Peter even tighter, and the brunette made an inquiring humming noise. You only shook your head in response, looking away from the blond and desperately wondering why he seemed to hate you so.

It was hours later when sleep evaded you. It was strange. You’d been so exhausted downstairs that you’d passed out almost immediately when you crawled into bed. However, your body had betrayed you in the middle of the night, waking and refusing to go back. Peter’s arm was comforting around your waist when you stirred, and you’d simply laid there for a few moments, basking in the feel and sound of him before making your way to the window.

The moon was only half full, and you used the glow of it to look down at your ring.

You thought about what Peter had said, about a ceremony, and you touched the thorned metal. You had never given marriage a lot of thought before, but you had never imagined it would be in the backyard of a large and beautiful country house, decorations and everything homemade.

You had also never imagined it would be to the man who’d kidnapped you either, but…

You sighed, shifting the ring a tad and blinking. It was true that your friends would want you to be happy, and that your mom, wherever she hoped you were, hoped you were okay. In a lot of ways, you weren��t, but in some ways…you were. No one in your life would’ve wanted this for you, that was sure, but you were in a bad situation, you were never getting out of this bad situation, and so why not make some good of it?

You glanced up, eyes running over the yard briefly, and you were about to look back down at your ring…

…when you saw it.

Movement in the yard made you blink, and it was so late, you almost wrote it off as some animal. You were out in the rural Midwest, hidden away amongst the trees, and so the odd animal here and there wasn’t uncommon. Jane had left a towel on the clothesline one night and something had dragged it off by the next morning.

However, looking closer, the figure was too large to be some animal.

They were moving across the yard, slowly and carefully, as if they were trying to go undetected. There was a sinking feeling deep in your gut, and you took a step closer to the window. You could feel yourself frowning, worry coursing through you as you watched some stranger figure move about. You were just about to call for Peter when the glow of the moon glinted off of hair.

Beautiful red hair.

Your lips parted at the sight of Natasha in the yard. It was too late for anyone to be outside, let alone her, and when she looked over her shoulder, her green eyes lifted right towards your window. You could tell that she saw you, her face falling just a tad, and you both blinked at each other. It didn’t quite click at first, unable to understand why Natasha was outside so late, but then your eyes fell to her clothes, clothes that she wouldn’t be caught dead in in the house.

Bucky’s clothes.

You felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had washed over you, and you placed your hand on the window, your gaze almost pleading. You silently begged her to come back, to turn around before she was caught. You shook your head, disbelief and horror and confusion tearing through you. You shook your head at her again, glancing at your door, trying to silently convey that you’d help her come back inside and lie if need be.

Anything to keep her from being thrown in that basement again.

However, Natasha silently refused, her only response being to step away slowly and continue going. You sharply exhaled, feeling frozen, and you didn’t know what to do. She didn’t look back again as she ran across the yard, and you pressed your hand to your stomach just as a familiar voice reached your ears.

“What are you doing up?”

Peter’s voice was groggy, sleep coating his tone, and you flinched. Blinking, you looked over your shoulder, heart in the pit of your gut as he rubbed his eyes. You stared at Peter with parted lips, eyes burning with tears, but you didn’t know why. You were confused. You were scared, but why did you want to cry?

Was it because you had to tell Peter that Natasha had managed to sneak out somehow, making a break for it? That her entire demeanor this past month had been a farce, a way to be sure Bucky wouldn’t be suspicious? That the discovery of what he did to her friends had indeed been too much for her and had pushed her over the edge to bring all of them down?

Were you crying because you had to tell Peter Natasha had escaped and therefore get her into more trouble than she probably ever had been in before?

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Peter had seen your face, now, sitting up with concern in his eyes, and you glanced over your shoulder. You could just barely make out Natasha on the other side of the pond, so close to the trees, and you exhaled.

Or were you crying because if Natasha succeeded, your time with Peter would be numbered? Peter was the reason you were here, the sole reason you were in this place, and yet, the thought of him behind bars and forever separated from you was too much to wrap your head around. The man was your sole comfort. Peter was who you clung to, the thought of being away from him enough to send you into a downward spiral.

Peter was all you had, now…

…and yet…

With all of that being true, your eyes finally met his again.

“I… I had a nightmare.”

The lie was said so softly, you almost couldn’t believe you’d said it. You watched his face fall some, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for you. Like an obedient lamb, you walked right into his embrace, and more tears spilled over before you could stop them. He shushed you, rubbing your back and soothing you, but you couldn’t be consoled.

The moment to stop Natasha was gone. Who knows how long it would be before Bucky discovered her absence. If Natasha was caught, you did not envy what awaited her, but if she succeeded…you did not envy what awaited the you in the future. You did not envy the version of you that would have to watch Peter be arrested and separated from you forever.

You didn’t envy the version of you that would have to learn to live without him.

You wrapped your arms around him and let Peter pull you into a kiss.

#peter parker x reader #dark peter parker x reader #dark!peter Parker x reader #dark!peter parker #peter parker imagine #marvel imagine #peter parker fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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eraenaa · 4 months

Text

Stereotypical (Demi-God AU)

Aemond, Son of Ares x Reader, Daughter of Aphrodite

Synopsis: The daughter of Aphrodite falls for one of the sons of Ares— the second coming of their parents.

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Dry Humping, Semi-Public Relations, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2, 720

It’s stereotypical, you were aware—a whole cliche. But what were you to do when you realized that you were growing attracted to one of the sons of your mother’s past paramours? It did not help that he was the strongest fighter in camp— the most mysterious and illusive Demi-God there. You watch him by the benches whilst you sit and chat with one of the daughters of the Goddess Demeter, Helaena. “You’re staring at him again,” She teased as her fingers twirled the stem of a dandelion whose buds she blew away. You rolled your eyes and shifted your gaze, denying the accusation. “Just speak to him; I’m sure he won’t be as standoffish as he seems.” Helaena hummed, but you shook your head.

“What are you two talking about?” Aegon, the son of Dionysus, appeared, seemingly intoxicated, even though wine was banned from camp. “No— let me guess,” he quickly said. “I’m guessing… the brooding swordsman? Hm?” He asked you, and you felt color bloom on your cheeks. Were you that obvious? You groaned and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear in frustration. “I do not understand! They… usually fall at my feet, trying to get my attention! But not him,” You complained, making Aegon and Helaena smile in amusement at the expense of your irritation. “Whatever, I’m going for a walk,” You grumbled and stood, trying hard not to let your gaze fly over to Aemond, who trained with a sword.

You find yourself in the woods, threading closer to the lake where you often stare at your reflection in the water. You took in a deep breath and stared at your face blessed by your mother— the prettiest girl in camp, they say. You attracted all sorts of attention, good and bad, but the only attention you wanted was never bestowed upon you. He denied you of his lone gaze. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” You hear a voice ask. You sighed and cast your gaze upward, landing on Jacaerys, son of Hephaestus. “Hello, Jacaerys,” You say politely.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asked, dark eyes hopeful. “I… I’d actually prefer to be alone right now,” You reasoned. Watching his face drop. You sigh; if only Aemond were this excited to be in your presence. “Oh,” Jacaerys said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ll see you at dinner, Jace,” You give him a fleeting smile, and you thank the gods that he actually took the hint and left. You returned to stare at yourself, trying to define which aspect you could improve upon, highlighting them in hopes that it would catch the attention of one of the sons of the God of War.

“What are you doing?” A different voice asked, a reflection joining yours on the surface of the water. You yelped and backed away in surprise. “Gods, Aemond,” You said as he finally cast his eye upon you. “What were you doing?” He asked once again, leading out his hand to assist you to stand. “Staring at myself,” You mumbled, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as he caught you. You hear him scoff, “Of course,” He said and let go of your hand that tingled from touching his. “Best you be reminded by the fate of Narcissus,” Aemond stated. You bit back your tongue; this is what you wanted. He was speaking to you— his attention on you, but now it came; why were you frozen as if you had gazed at Medusa?

“Do you not have to train?” You asked Aemond as you perched yourself upon a log near the river banks. You watch him take a pebble into his fingers, skipping it on the water. “I’ve just finished,” he said and moved to take a seat next to you. You took your lower lip between your teeth as you felt your shoulders brush, the heat of him reaching you. “What do you think we’re doing here?” You suddenly ask as both of you stare off into the orange sun that reflects on the lake. “What do you mean? We’re here to train. We’re here for protection from the outside world.” Aemond stated the obvious, but you shook your head. “Train for what?” You asked, “A war.”

“Is there one?” Your eyes locked upon his. “I… I just do not understand why I was brought here,” You confessed as you saw the confusion in his lilac orb. “They say the world of mortals was filled with danger— but mine wasn’t. I was living comfortably— I do not understand why my mother had summoned me if I am not to do anything here,”

“The gods have a purpose in every action they make— even if we do not understand it,” You hummed at his statement. “Do you truly believe that?” Aemond looked at you with a question once more. “I just… feel like we’re pawns being played here— born to do their bidding. We make the sacrifices; they get the glory. I just think that the minuscule scrap of recognition they throw is not at all worth it.” You saw a smirk rising to his lips despite the seriousness you posed. “What?” Aemond shakes his head; you feel him inch his way closer to you. “My sister seems to think that you’re filled with air in that pretty little head of yours,” You blinked at his statement; should you be offended or flattered?

“And do you agree?” You ask, fearing for his statement. Aemond hummed, gazing at your face. It was the first time in your life that you felt insecure under someone’s gaze— the first time you felt fear that someone might not think you agreeable and comely. “I agree with her when she said that you were pretty… very pretty,” You bit your cheeks as his eyes flew to your blushed cheeks and then ever so quickly to your lips. “But, no, she was completely mistaken to underestimate you,” You feel your lips twitch, catching Aemond’s attention. You inch towards him, your desires swirling with your assumptions. Aemond stayed rooted where he sat; he did not lean in, nor did he pull away. When your nose brushed, you hear him take in a harsh breath. “We should head back,” he said and pulled away, leaving you confused and overly embarrassed and rejected.

You were so close— you took the courage to move first. It was all Aemond wanted— all that he had dreamed of. All his offerings to the gods were for this moment, which was why he was greatly disappointed and infuriated with himself when he backed away and left like a coward. It was too much— it was so much more than he could handle. Ever since you’ve arrived at camp, all he did was try and keep your attention on him. He trained day and night, purposefully choosing grounds where you would pass by. He would relish with each moment that he would feel your gaze upon him. Watching intently as he would fight and show off his skill, hoping that it would impress you. Knowing that it was how his father had caught the attention of your mother.

Aemond’s eye would fly to you during dinner, you sitting with your brothers and sisters. There was no smile on your lips, unlike the previous nights; you sat limply and played with your food, your cheek resting on your palm as a pout formed itself on your luscious lips. What had he done? How could he subject the most beautiful girl his eye has ever seen to such a sullen state? Aemond dug his nails into his palms. You were the daughter of beauty and love, and he was the son of war and strife. He did not deserve anything so precious and delicate as you. He could only offer you ruin and struggle. The thought of bringing you conflict only fortified his decision to back away. To instead protect you from afar— to relinquish his desires to be with you, to hold you, kidding himself that gazing at you was enough. That simply looking at you had to be enough.

Days passed as both you and Aemond avoided each other. You, embarrassed by your wanting actions and him, controlling himself from giving in to his desires. You no longer watched as he would impressively train with the sword, and he would no longer silently trail you wherever you went. Aemond only picked specific moments to follow you and made certain that no danger would find you— even though the two of you were in the safety of camp where no danger could reach, Aemond was just simply cautious.

You traded the lake for the beach. Walking alone on the sanded path, the moonlight shining bright atop the water. Your mind consistently loops your foolish actions, making you cringe at yourself. You called for your mother the other night, trying to find guidance or perhaps comfort, as rejection did not sit well with you. The thought of someone not falling for your charms when everyone so easily did, scared you. She ignored your offerings and pleas, leaving you to face your confusion and fears by yourself, only solidifying your beliefs that you and all the children in this camp were simply pawns by the gods. Expected to answer their call when it first rings whilst they constantly ignore yours.

You sighed heavily, staring off into the sea where your mother was born. Stepping foot into the water, you tried to connect with the woman who disrupted your peaceful, mortal life only to bring you here and ignore you. You took deep breaths, walking deeper into the water, not caring that you were still clothed as you submerged yourself in the sea. Aemond watched by the shore, battling with himself if he should follow. When you disappeared under the water, with each passing second, you did not emerge; it only put forth fear in the bravest demi-god in camp.

Aemond shook his head and ran to the sea, diving to where you disappeared only to catch you resurface, shocked as you realized his presence had joined you. “Aemond,” You breathed out, wiping away the salt water from your eyes, the boy holding your arm, the waves pushing him closer to you. “What… what were you doing?” He asked, concern lacing his deep, silky voice. “I wanted to swim,” You reasoned, hoping that the water would clean you from embarrassment and shame. You feel his eye grow downward, looking at the clothes you fashioned. “In your night dress?” He asked, the silk fabric thin, the cool water clinging to your body. “It was a spontaneous decision,” You mumbled, your gaze shifting away from him as your cheeks heated. The both of you floating in the sea.

“Why are you here?” you asked, realizing that he had gone in the water, fully clothed as well. You met his eye, the sapphire orb shifting around. His thin, pink lips parted as he tried to find a reason. “I… I—“ You bit your lip, as you had never seen him so flustered. The most fearsome son of Ares is at a loss for words when faced with the prettiest daughter of Aphrodite.

Aemond stayed silent, only the crashing of waves reaching your ears. It took a while for the both of you to realize that you floated in each other’s arms— the past events of the other day returning to your mind, both making you conscious. “I’m sorry about the other day,” You whispered as you saw it best to address your actions in order for the both of you to forget it and your mind to free you from the torment of your idiotic presumption. “It was wrong for me to assume… I have misread your intentions and made you uncomfortable; I apologize.” You say sincerely.

You hear Aemond sigh, the waves pushing your bodies closer together, his breath fanning your face, your scent invading his senses. “You did not misread anything,” He admitted. Making your brows furrow. “I… I wanted you to kiss me, wished for it for a while now.” He confessed with a small smile, trying to lighten the tense air with his rare but charming smile. “Oh,” was all you could say as you tried to comprehend his words. “Then why… “ you trailed as you had trouble wording out what had transpired in the lake. Aemond sighed, and you stilled as you felt his arms wrap around your waist, flushing your bodies together as the both of you floated. The moonlight lighted your face, illuminating his silver hair as well as your milky skin. “I got scared,” He admitted, daring to cup your cheek. Your skin was soft against his calloused palm.

“You? Got scared? The favored son of the god of war got scared by the prospect of a kiss?” You asked in confusion, resting your hands on his shoulders. You hear him let out a small chuckle. “I was only frightened because it was you who I would be kissing,” He stated, caressing your cheek. “The most beautiful girl I was ever blessed to see… now, I hope you’d understand why I panicked,” Aemond smiled as the blush on your cheeks deepened. You set your gaze downward, staring at the water that sparkled under the silver light. Your heart stilled when you felt Aemond place a finger under your chin to raise your gaze once more, finally having the courage to place his lips against yours.

Aemond wanted to be slow and cautious, to not frighten or pressure you to succumb to all his desires. But as a sigh left your throat when your lips finally met, all restraint he had disappeared. Pulling you impossibly closer to him, making you wrap your legs around him, letting your arms cling to him. Deepening your kiss, his tongue asked for entrance, which you were hesitant to give but relished the feeling when you did. Aemond’s chest rumbled with a sound as you accidentally nipped his lip, enjoying your mistake that only fueled his desires further.

You pulled away from him, suddenly feeling cautious as the both of you were being so intimate in such an open space where anyone could see. You tried to speak reason, to speak caution that the both of you may be caught, but as Aemond placed his lips on your neck, kissing it and leaving his marks, you no longer had the capacity to speak. Pleasure freezing your mind at the new sensation. Aemond hummed as he heard your heavy breathing, your sweet taste mixing with the salted water as he indulged in the feel of your skin. Aemond closed his eye tightly as you, who had your legs wrapped around his torso started to move your hips. Squirming as you felt urgency for something you were yet to know consuming you.

Aemond’s hand moved downwards from your waist to your bottom, cupping them and aiding your movements that sought for friction. You let go of a shaky breath against his lips, your eyes looking deeply at his sapphire eye that turned dark and glazed with deeper desires and restraint. “Aemond,” You whimpered, filled with anticipation of what was to come. You ground your hips further, making him utter a foul word and turn his head to the heavens. Aemond moved one hand to cup your cheek, bringing you closer to kiss your lips once more. “I… I— Aemond,” was all you could utter as you were uncertain what the sensation was building inside you. It was sharp and urgent and pleasurable— an odd mix. “Are you to come, my pretty girl? Hm?” Aemond gritted as his hips met yours. He bent his head down and placed a kiss atop your chest; his head felt light at the whimpers of his name that your mouth spewed.

“Aemond!” You shrieked as all finally fell, your body feeling alight as you came at the sensation of riding against the boy you had desired for long. Aemond gritted out your name as he, too, came, spilling himself in his trousers. You hummed as he kissed you again, tasting him and the sea that was witness to your desires and pleasures being fed.

Sequel: Jealousy, Jealousy

#aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond smut #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond modern au #greek mythology au #aphrodite #daughter of aphrodite #ares #son of ares #pjo #demi god #camp half blood

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rafeandonlyrafe · 5 months

Text

kook princess

words: 3.3k

warnings: kind of reference to possible sexual assault?, being rescued from a drunk man by rafe, reader is a kook but new to the outer banks, innuendo/suggestion of sex but not explicit, drinking, partying

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

you were meant to be leaving the party. you were tired and just want to head back home, so you bid your new friends goodbye and then headed out to the parking lot, only to get cornered by an obviously drunk man.

he has his arm raised, caging your body with how close he is standing to you, the alcohol on his breath reeking. you had one single drink when you first came to the party, you certainly weren't drunk enough to fall for his obvious flirting, especially since he is not someone you find attractive in the slightest.

you tried to step away, to flee from him, but his voice turned gruff and angry and grounded your feet to the concrete in fear of whatever retaliation his drunk mind finds applicable.

footsteps sound, causing you to turn your head. the drunk man turns too as whoever is walking stops, eyes assessing the situation as he stops twirling the keys in his hand.

you glance back to the drunk man, seeing he's still staring and turn back to who is hopefully your savior, mouthing “help.” the second your mouth forms the words, he springs into action, smoothly walking over with a smile gracing his features.

“hey, baby.” he says, slinging his arm around your shoulder, pulling you away from the car you were backed up into. “was wondering where you were.”

“you didn't tell me you were dating rafe cameron.” the man slurs, giving you the strangers name.

“you didn't exactly give me the chance.” you say, melting into your saviors-rafes side, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you're too drunk, man. find someone to drive you home.” rafe says, before giving him a pointed look. “and stay away from my girl.”

“you got it.” the drunk nods, and you don't wait to see if he does find someone to give him a ride as rafe turns you, weaving through the parking lot until you get to a truck.

“just get in.” rafe says, “you can get out later but let's make sure he's not following you.”

“thank you so much.” you say, climbing into the passenger seat. rafe rounds the hood and gets into the driver's seat, turning the truck on and blasting the heat upon seeing you shivering.

“are you okay?” he asks, and that's when you break down completely, bringing your hands to your face as tears begin to flow, embarrassed that you are crying in front of a stranger, but the relief of being saved from whatever your fate might have been has you overwhelmed with emotions.

“hey, it's okay.” rafe says softly, his voice so different from when he was confronting the drunk man. he hesitatingly puts a hand on your back, rubbing it gently.

“sorry, sorry.” you say, wiping away your tears, sure that your makeup is a mess now.

“it's okay.” rafe says, his large hand still stroking down your back comfortingly.

“i was just so scared.” you gasp out, trying to control the tears that still have the urge to fall. “thank you so much for rescuing me.”

“of course.” rafe says. “although be prepared tomorrow to fight the rumor that we are dating now. im sure most won't believe his drunk rambles, but it'll still get around.”

you can't help but giggle, the thought of just moving to the outer banks and already being the subject of gossip.

“what's your name, sweetheart? ive never seen you around before.”

“y/n.” you reply, tapping at your undereyes to hopefully smooth out your concealer, especially as you calm down and realize your savior is very attractive. “i just moved here. to umm…” it takes you a second to remember your new street address, but then you rattle it off to rafe.

“you're right near me.” rafe says. “let me drive you home? you're in no state to operate a vehicle.”

you bite your lip, wanting to accept the offer but not sure if it's the best idea to get yourself involved with another random man, even if rafe seems normal and not completely smashed.

“ill help you get your car in the morning.” rafe says, and that is what finally causes you to nod. you really don't want to drive, or even move from the spot you're in.

rafe smiles gently, removing his hand from your back and shifting the car into gear.

the ride home is quick, and you chat to rafe about your thoughts on the outer banks since you just arrived, curious about what you have and haven't explored yet.

“that's me right there.” rafe points to his house as you roll past. you nod, making a mental note before he drives the few more blocks to your house, pulling in the driveway when he sees no one else is home.

“where are your parents?” he asks.

“they're already traveling again.” you say. your parents are nice enough, but when you came along as an accident they viewed you more as an obstruction to their world travels for 18 years, but now that you're of age, they let you stay home while they spend what was both their parents money on near constant vacations.

“ah.” rafe says, stepping out of the truck to round the side, opening the door for you. you accept his hand out, not sure if your shaky legs can get you down the tall steps.

“let me just make sure you get in okay, and then ill be on my way.” rafe says, walking with you right up to the door.

“thank you again, rafe.” you say, pulling your key out and unlocking the door, letting it swing open.

“of course.” he nods, before pulling his phone out. “put your number in so i can text you tomorrow about getting your car.”

you nod, taking the phone and punching in your name and number before handing it back, an uncontrollable shiver moving through your body when your hands brush together.

“goodnight.” rafe says, pocketing his phone.

“goodnight.” you mumble back, stumbling into the house, ready to smash your face into your pillow and pass out.

you groan, surprised that the one drink you had caused a slight throb in your head and before you do anything else, the second your feet hit the floor as you slide out of bed, you head to the bathroom and down a painkiller with some water.

you look at your face in the mirror, you manage to smear your makeup off with a wipe last night, but didn't bother cleansing or anything, so you move through the motions now, feeling much more awake by the time your face is clean and moisturized.

you still flop back down onto your bed when you're done, grabbing your phone off your nightstand. your eyes widen upon seeing it completely flooded with texts from your new friends.

girl there's a rumor going around that you went home with rafe cameron?!

DID YOU HOOK UP WITH RAFE?? he is like THE it boy of the outer banks

literally everyone is talking about you and rafe

if these rumors are true im JEALOUS

no way you just moved here and you've already got with rafe?? omfg i want your life 😭😭😭

hey y/n, it's rafe. just let me know when you're up and ready to go pick up your car

you smile at the last text, glancing at the time to realize you slept in until almost noon. you ignore the texts from your new friends, clearly needing to get some more information on who rafe really is, considering their reactions.

hey sorry i just woke up. im ready whenever you are.

you respond to rafe before hopping up, getting dressed quickly in case he was ready right away. you decide on a simple sundress, soft and innocent flowing to your knees unlike the tighter tank top and shorts you were wearing last night.

you head to your vanity next, deciding just on some light concealer and mascara, as well as your signature lip gloss color.

your phone vibrates at the perfect time, just as you slip your feet into some sandals.

ready now. on my way to your place.

you head downstairs and sit on the swinging bench on the front porch, checking instagram on your phone and finding rafes profile, wanting to do a little more digging before clarifying the events of last night to your friends. you don't see any evidence of a girlfriend, but he does have a staggering amount of followers, like the whole island wants to see his mostly golf posts, with a few sprinkled shirtless pictures or fishing adventures sprinkled in.

you close out of the app when rafe pulls into your driveway, not wanting to get caught spying.

“good morning.” rafe says as he hops out, even though its almost noon.

“hey.” you smile, letting him pull you into a hug that you expected to be awkward, but your arms slot so easily around his waist that it just feels natural.

rafe guides you around his truck, again giving you a helping hand in before shutting your door gently for you and moving to the driver's side.

“so…” rafe says as he begins to back down your driveway. “if you're too busy you can say no, but i wanted to show you a bit of the island before we pick up your car.”

“oh my gosh, i would actually appreciate that so much.” you say. “everyone brings up these places names and i have no idea what they're talking about, and neither does google.”

rafe chuckles softly, his eyes fluttering between the road and you. “most of the names are local nicknames. don't worry, ill teach you.”

rafe drives you around the outer banks as the hours tick by, showing you all the popular spots, as well as giving you a rundown of the dynamic of the island, warning you to stay away from the pogues.

your stomach grumbles, and your eyes widen with embarrassment when you realize rafe can hear it. “oh my god, sorry, i just didn't eat any breakfast… or lunch.”

“don't apologize.” rafe says, turning down a road as a new destination comes to mind. “can i take you out to eat though? then we can get your car.”

“yeah, yeah, that'll be great.” you say, not wanting to part from rafes company, already feeling that you've known him for much longer than just a singular day from how easily you get along.

“we can eat at the country club. i'm a member.”

“cool.” you shrug. “im not big into golf but i’d love to learn.” you say, hoping it's not too obvious of a plea to hang out more in the future.

“i can teach you.” rafe offers, and you nod enthusiastically.

“that'd be great.” you say, eyes taking in the lush grounds of the country club as rafe pulls in. he again rounds the car to help you out, and you resist the urge to blush and how much of a gentleman he's being.

“order whatever you want.” rafe says once you're inside and seated.

you look through the menu before deciding on a basic chicken salad. rafe begins to question you on how much you know about golf, and you're glad for playing wii sports golf with your little cousins for giving you a bit of knowledge.

your food arrives, with rafe ordering a steak and you begin to eat, still chatting when your phone begins buzzing incessantly.

“oh my god, im so sorry.” you sigh, picking it up off the table and realizing that a picture must have been taken of you and rafe by someone at the country club, as it's now being spread around.

stop why are you guys the cutest couple ever??

ONE DAY AND RAFE IS ALREADY TAKING YOU OUT TO EAT? GIVE ME YOUR LIFE

he's supposed to be mine omg 😩😩

you show rafe the picture as an explanation for the texts, surprised when his mouth quirks up into a smirk. you figured that he'd be annoyed about the rumors being spread around.

“that's hilarious that people care that much.” rafe says.

“apparently you're the kook prince, at least that's what my friends tell me.” you giggle before taking a sip of your pink lemonade.

“i think i only got that nickname because my dad is a really… prominent figure.” rafe says, which makes you realize out of all the conversations you've had today, none of them have been about rafes family.

“oh.” you hum. “and probably because you're hot.”

“you think im hot?” rafe says, a smiling making his features look even more attractive.

“maybe.” you shrug, a blush coming to your face.

“well i think you're beautiful.” rafe says. “and um… maybe we don't do anything to stop the rumors.”

“are you saying you want to see me again?” you question, glad that your flirting is working out.

“that's exactly what im saying. maybe we let them believe that we are dating and actually start.”

“im down.” you nod, knowing your face must be red, but not caring if rafe sees the effect he has on you.

“perfect.” rafe says, reaching across the table and squeezing your hand with his own.

you keep ignoring the text messages as you and rafe finish your meal before heading back to his truck.

“i kind of don't want to pick up your car.” rafe says, and you look over at him puzzled. “why's that?”

“because i like driving you around.” rafe admits, reaching his hand over to rest it against your thigh. not too high up to make it scandalous, but letting you enjoy his touch.

“well, i like you driving me around.” you admit. “we can pick up my car and then ill go ahead and park it in the garage and use you to get me around.”

“perfect.” rafe says, looking over at you with soft eyes.

“if you're the kook prince, does that make me the kook princess?” you ask as rafe drives you to one of your friends houses. he's been chauffeuring you around for the past week, showing you more parts of the island as well as taking you to the country club for golf lessons. you're glad to spend most of your time with him. you flirt with each other, but you don't do anything beyond holding hands and hugs when greeting each other for the day.

“i suppose it does.” rafe says, pulling to a stop in front of the mansion.

“ill see you tomorrow? probably around 11?” you tell rafe, having asked him already to pick you up from the girls night, since they were begging you to give them the details on your new relationship.

“of course.” rafe says, and you lean over the center console to wrap your arms around him in a hug, loving how soft he touches you as his hand strokes along your side.

you reach for the door handle when rafe let's out an unpleasant sound.

“what is it?” you question, eyes going wide in confusion.

“you have to let me open the door for you.” rafe explains before getting out of the truck, rounding it to pull open your door.

“don't try to open it again, baby.” rafe says, the nickname making your cheeks flare.

“well, thank you for driving me, picking me up tomorrow and being a gentleman.” you say, accepting another hug from rafe, this one accompanied by him pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“see you tomorrow, beautiful.” rafe bids you farewell as you rush up the path to your friends front door, not even needing to knock as hannah swings it open, revealing stephanie and tina as well, all with an excited look on their face.

you turn to see rafe smirking, knowing of course what kind of reaction he gets as the girls pull you inside the house, facemasks and nail polish already ready on the coffee table.

“girl.” hannah sits down, and you follow by plopping onto the couch. “tell us everything.”

-- two months later --

“hey baby.” rafe greets you, eyes looking you up and down. you're dressed in a new golf outfit for your private lesson, a polo tank top and a skirt so short rafe swears the lightest breeze will expose you.

“hey rafe.” you say, looping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his lips, melting into his body.

“missed you.” you whisper against his lips before pulling away, letting rafe walk you, hand in hand, to the passenger side of his truck, never making the mistake of trying to open your own door again.

“we had dinner together last night.” rafe says as you climb into the seat, buckling yourself.

“i know, and i still missed you.” you smile, still head over heels in that honeymoon phase of your relationship where all you want to do is spend every second with your boyfriend.

“missed you too, baby.” rafe says, stepping up onto the truck to plant another kiss on your lips before shutting the door softly and rounding the bed of the truck to get into the driver's side.

you smile when rafes hand instantly finds your own, your fingers fitting firmly between his.

“ready for your golf lessons?” rafe questions, surprised by how quickly you've learned, still needing to get the precision down, but able to whack the ball quite far for a beginner.

“always ready.” you hum, surprised yourself by how much you've enjoyed golfing, but rafes constant presence sure has something to do with that.

“you wanna go to that party tonight?” rafe asks, eyeing you up and down as you finalize your outfit in the mirror.

“i did not dress up just to stay home.” you say, turning to look at rafe as he leans his head against the headboard of your bed, completely comfortable in your room.

“but you look so hot.” rafe complains. really, he's excited to show you off, but he's equally excited to have you all to himself. you've yet to do anything beyond make out, and rafe has been nothing but respectful of your boundaries.

“why don't we make just a quick appearance.” you say, sauntering over to the bed as rafe turns to place his feet on the ground, letting you step between his legs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “and then you can come back here? spend the night?”

rafes eyes widen, nodding enthusiastically, fingers tightening slightly on your hips, not sure if he will be able to restrain himself at the party with your obvious innuendo.

“good.” you lean down and press your lips to rafe, not caring that your lip gloss is smearing over his mouth. “now let's go.”

rafe groans, wishing he could convince you to skip the party, but he knows you told your friends you'd be there, so he forces himself to make it through the night, his cock consistently half hard in his pants as you both partake in only one drink, not wanting to be anything more than slightly buzzed for what is about to happen tonight.

“im ready to go now, rafey.” you say, leaning into your boyfriend. you only were at the party for about an hour, but you chatted and danced with your girls, and now you were ready for what the night brought you.

“perfect.” rafe leads you to the truck, admittedly breaking the speed limit a bit to get you back as quick as possible.

you rush inside the house, of course after letting rafe open your door for you, and the second you cross the threshold, you press your lips against his, mouths fighting for dominance as you both stumble further into the house, pushing off walls and bumping into things but not willing to stop the kiss to look away.

“why hello, y/n.” a voice rings out, making you both gasp as you turn to see your parents sitting on the couch.

“i believe introductions need to be made.” your dad says, eyes flickering between you and rafe, whose face has gone concerningly pale.

“uhh…” you stammer, not realizing that your parents would be returning tonight. they don't tell you their exact whereabouts in the world now that you are an adult. “mom, dad this is my boyfriend rafe.”

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youryurigoddess · 7 months

Text

I was minding my own business and analyzing another part of the A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop from the Radio Times footage when I noticed something interesting on Aziraphale’s desk. It looks like the angel was studying a handwritten copy of someone’s last will and testament and left in a hurry, with a bronze medal and a fountain pen on top of it. And… an attachment of a land registry plan, barely visible underneath.

Obviously that’s when my South Downs obsessed brain turned all of its alarms on and decided to read the whole thing. And look for the missing parts, since only a portion of the original document was visible on screen. Unfortunately the full text is much longer and less exciting than anticipated, and — spoiler alert — related to a different area of the country, but still relevant to the Good Omens universe. We’ll look into that in a moment.

Let’s start with the struck bronze medal — acting here as a paperweight, which makes the documents in question already stand out from the usual bumph and bric-a-brac accumulated by Aziraphale over an unknown period of time on his desk.

It’s a very interesting rendition of the mythological scene centered around Daedalus fastening the wings onto his son Icarus (little does he know that this attempt to escape imprisonment will lead to his son’s demise). Contrary to popular sentiment in the history of art, this particular version of Icarus isn’t depicted as a child or teenager, but as a warrior donning a helmet and preparing himself to battle. Which makes perfect sense after discovering that it was made for the Royal Air Force Athletic & Cross Country Association’s WAAF Athletic Championships in 1945. There’s some poetic irony in the fact that the medal was apparently given to the third place winner in a high jump category.

Apart from its obviously military style, this concept seems inspired by a 1885-86 medal by Auguste Patey commemorating the experimental flights at the first French wind tunnel at Chalais-Meudon, a town on the banks of the Seine near Paris. On 9 August 1884, engineers Charles Renard and Arthur Constantin Krebs made the first controllable free flight there when they piloted their airship, La France, over a course and returned to their starting point. From 9 August 1884 to 23 September 1885, La France made seven flights and was able to return to its starting point five times.

The last Will and Testament of Josiah Wedgwood

The last Will and Testament of me, Josiah Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, made the second day of November, in the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three, in manner and form following (that is to say): I give and bequeath unto my dear and affectionate Wife, Sarah Wedgwood, all that messuage or dwelling-house situate at or near Etruria aforesaid, with the buildings, gardens, and appurtenances thereto belonging, late in the holding of Mr. Thomas Wedgwood; and also all that field or piece of land in which the same stands, containing eight acres or thereabouts; and also all that close, piece, or parcel of land lying contiguous to the said dwelling-house, called the Horse Pasture, containing by estimation twelve acres or thereabouts; and also all that piece or parcel of land situate at Etruria aforesaid, heretofore purchased by me from Mr. Hugh Booth; To have and to hold the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my said Wife, Sarah Wedgwood and her assigns, for and during the term of her natural life. And from and after her decease, I give and devise all and singular the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments, and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my Son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever. Also I give and bequeath the sum of three thousand pounds unto my said Wife, to be paid to her within twelve months next after my decease. Also I give and bequeath unto my said Wife so much and such part of my household goods and furniture as is mentioned and specified in the Schedule or Paper Writing hereunto annexed, marked with the Letter A. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten thousand pounds unto my Executors hereinafter named, upon trust that they, my said Executors, do and shall place the said sum of ten thousand pounds out upon some good and sufficient public or private security or securitys, at interest, to be approved of nevertheless by my said Wife, and do and shall pay to, or permit and suffer my said Wife to receive and take the interest, dividends, and produce of the said sum of Ten thousand pounds, as the same shall from time to time become due to and for her own use and benefit for and during the term of her natural life.

And from and after the decease of my said Wife, I direct that the said sum of ten thousand pounds shall be applied for and towards payment and satisfaction of the several legacys or sums of money hereinafter given by me. And I do hereby direct that the provision hereinbefore made or intended for my said Wife shall be in lieu, bar, and satisfaction of dower and thirds at Common Law. Also I give and devise unto my said Executors, for the use of my said son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever, that part of Etruria Estate which I now occupy, upon the north side of the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek, with the house I now live in, the outbuildings belonging to the same, with the pleasure grounds and all appurtenances thereto belonging, being about sixty-five acres; and also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Richard Hall, being about sixty-eight acres; And also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Thomas Ford, being about forty-five acres; and also the Estate late a part of the White House Estate, on the south side the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek; and likewise the land purchased from Thomas Heath, with a small meadow on the north side the said Road, and lying in the Parish of Woolstanton; and likewise a meadow lately purchased from John Mare, of Handley, — all in the holding of Richard Billington, being altogether about eighty-one acres; and also a piece of land on the south side of the same Road, now in the holding of Daniel Haywood, being about two acres; and also an Estate bought from George Taylor, and now in the holding of Jonathan Adams, being about nine acres; and also a small piece of land adjoining the land bought from Hugh Booth, together with a part of the Hough Meadow, and now in the holding of John Ryder, being about four acres; and also an estate called the Spittels, situate in Penkhull, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, and lately purchased from James Godwin, containing sixty-three acres or thereabouts; and also an Estate adjoining to the Spittels on one side, and to Stoke Lane on the other, situate in Penkhull aforesaid, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, late in the holding of Humphrey Ratcliff, containing fifteen acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land called the Woodhills, situate in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, lately purchased from Ralph Baddeley, and now in my own occupation, being about eleven acres; and also all buildings, tenements, houses, farmhouses, outhouses, pot works, warehouses, workshops, and other buildings, of what kind soever they may be, situate, standing, and being upon any of the land or premises above named, and not hereinbefore devised; and also all my share of the models and molds of the Manufactory in Etruria aforesaid. Also I give and bequeath the sum of thirty thousand pounds unto my son John Wedgwood. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and likewise twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, unto my Son Thomas Wedgwood.

Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my daughter Susannah Wedgwood; and which said several legacys or sums of thirty thousand pounds, and twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, and twenty-five thousand pounds, so given to my said Son John Wedgwood, and to my said Son Thomas Wedgwood, and to my said Daughter Susannah Wedgwood, I do hereby direct shall be paid to them as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, together with interest for the same in the mean time, after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Catharine Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Sarah Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Provided always, and I do hereby direct, that in case my said Daughters Catherine Wedgwood and Sarah Wedgwood, or either of them, shall happen to die unmarried before the age of twenty-one years, then that the legacy or legacys of her or them so dying shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal Estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly, as shall hereinafter be mentioned. Also I do hereby declare it to be my will that all the rest, residue, and remainder of my said stock in trade, goods, wares, implements, materials, and utensils of trade, and other matters and things used by me, in or belonging to my said Manufactory, except the models or molds therein used or kept, shall, at the time of my decease, sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. Also I give and bequeath all and singular my household goods and furniture not hereinbefore given to my said Wife, together with all my books, prints, books of prints, pictures, and cabinets of Experiments, of Fossils, and of Natural History, unto my said Son Josiah Wedgwood. And I do hereby commit the Guardianship and Tuition of such of my said children as shall not at the time of my decease have attained the age of twenty-one years unto my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, until such children shall attain the said age. And I do direct that the fortunes or portions of such of my said children shall in the mean time be managed by my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, and a competent part of the interest and produce thereof be applied for their maintenance and education, and the residue of such interest and produce be suffered to accumulate for their benefit and advantage in such manner as my said Wife and Son John Wedgwood shall in their discretion think most meet and proper.

Also I givo and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto my Brother in Law, Philip Clark, for and during the term of his natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of Twenty pounds unto my Niece, Sarah Taylor, for and during the term of her natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto Mr. Alexander Chisholm, for and during the term of his natural life; recommending it to my Son Josiah Wedgwood to give him any further assistance that he may stand in need of, to make the remainder of his life easy and comfortable. And I do hereby direct that the said several and respective annuitys of twenty pounds, twenty pounds, and twenty pounds shall be paid and payable quarterly, at the four most usual feasts or days of payment in the year, (that is to say) on every twenty-fifth day of March, twenty-fourth day of June, twenty-ninth day of September, and twenty-fifth day of December, by even and equal portions, free and clear of and from all taxes, charges, and deductions whatsoever; the first payment thereof to begin and be made on such of the said days as shall first and next happen after my decease. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten guineas unto the said Alexander Chisholm, as a testimony of my regard for him. Also I give and bequeath the sum of two hundred pounds apiece unto all and every the children of my Nephew Thomas Byerley, who shall be living at the time of my decease, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case any one or more of the said children shall happen to die without issue before he, she, or they shall attain the said age, then I direct that the legacy or legacys to him, her, or them so dying shall go and be paid unto and amongst the survivors or survivor of them equally, share and share alike, in case there shall be more than one, at such time and in such manner as is hereinbefore directed and expressed of and concerning the said original legacys or sums of two hundred pounds: Provided also, and in case all the said children shall happen to die without issue before they shall attain the said age, then I direct that all the said legacies or sums of Two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. And I do hereby expressly direct and declare that no interest shall be allowed or paid upon the said respective legacys or sums of two hundred pounds in the mean time from my decease to the time that the same shall become payable by virtue of this my Will; such legacys or sums of two hundred pounds being given by me in lieu of legacys or sums of one hundred pounds, which it was originally my intention to have directed to be placed out at interest, and to have accumulated for such children of the said Thomas Byerley as aforesaid until they should attain the age of twenty-one years. Also I give and bequeath unto each of my Nephews Thomas and John Wedgwood, Sons of my late Nephew Thomas Wedgwood, of the Upper House in Burslem, the sum of two hundred pounds each, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case they shall either or both of them die before they arrive at the age of twenty-one years, I direct that the legacy or legacys of the party or parties so dying, of two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid, shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly.

Also I give to my Servant George Jones the sum of twenty guineas, as a token of my remembrance of his faithful services to me. Also I give and bequeath to the several persons whose names shall be mentioned and comprised in the Schedule or List hereto annexed, signed with my name, and marked with the letter "B," the mourning Rings or other small legacys or sums of money which shall be therein specified and expressed. Also I give and bequeath unto James Caldwell, Esq., of Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the sum of one hundred pounds, which I desire he will accept as a testimony of my friendship and esteem for him. And I do hereby direct and appoint that my said Nephew Thomas Byerley shall, under the direction of my Executors, settle my accounts and manage and conduct the collection of my debts and other matters relating to the settlement of my concerns in business; and that a Salary of one hundred pounds per annum be allowed and paid to him for such particular service, so long as he shall be employed therein, over and above all charges and expenses attending the same. And it is also my Will that an estate at Burslem, late in the occupation of Joseph Wedgwood, consisting of a newly erected dwelling house, a set of pot works, with other buildings, and a field called the Cross Hill, containing altogether about two acres; and likewise an estate in the Parish of Astbury, in the County of Chester, called Spengreen, and now in the holding of Thomas Johnson, containing about seventy-five acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land on the east side of the Bridge in Congleton, in the said County of Chester, being about two rods; and also all the rest, residue, and remainder, messages, lands, tenements, hereditaments, and real estate, money, securities for money, debts due and owing, personal Estate and Effects of what nature or kind soever or wheresoever, not hereinbefore particularly devised or disposed of, together with such or so much of the several sums of money hereinbefore mentioned and bequeathed as shall, by means of the contingencies and directions hereinbefore expressed, shall all of them sink into and become parts of the said residue of my personal Estate. And I do hereby give, devise, and bequeath the same unto my said Executors, for the payment of the legacys and annuities hereinbefore mentioned; and provided there should be a residue after the above mentioned payments, then I direct that such residue shall go and be divided unto and amongst my said children, John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, their heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, equally, share and share alike, as tenants in common, and not as joint tenants; and if there should be any deficiency of real or personal estates for paying the said legacys and annuitys, such deficiency shall in that case be born equally amongst and made up by those my said children above named, (that is to say) John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, share and share alike, in proportion to the amount of the legacys to them herein left and bequeathed. And I do hereby nominate, constitute, and appoint my said Wife, my said Son John Wedgwood, and the said James Caldwell, Esq., Executrix and Executors of this my Will. And lastly, I do hereby revoke all former or other Will or Wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do declare this only to be my last Will and Testament.

In witness whereof I have to this my last Will and Testament, contained in six sheets of paper, and have to each of the first five sheets thereof set my hand, and to the sixth and last sheet thereof my hand and seal the day and year first before written. — Jos. Wedgwood (L.S.)

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Josiah Wedgwood, as and for his last Will and Testament, in the presence of us, who in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses thereto; the several following words being first interlined: money—my—happen—said. — Alexr. Chisholm, Thomas Mitchell, Joseph Mitchell, Joseph Rutland

John Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, Esquire, maketh oath, and saith that he has searched among the papers and writings of his late Father, Josiah Wedgwood, late of Etruria aforesaid, Esquire, deceased, in order to find certain Schedules or Paper Writings referred to in the last Will and Testament of the said Josiah Wedgwood, and therein mentioned to be annexed thereto, and respectively marked A and B. And this Deponent further saith that he has not been able to find such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them; and this Deponent further saith that he has never heard or been informed, nor does he believe that the said Josiah Wedgwood ever wrote or made out, or caused to be written or made out, such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them. — John Wedgwood

Sworn at Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the 29th day of June, 1795, Before me, John Lloyd, a Commissioner.

Proved at London, 2nd July, 1795, before the Judge, by the Oath of John Wedgwood, the Son, one of the Executors, to whom Administration was granted, having been first sworn by Commission duly to administer. Power reserved of making the like grant to Sarah Wedgwood, Widow, the Relict, and James Caldwell, the other Executors, when they shall apply for the same.

That was… certainly a lot of words. Let’s see if they mean anything! Turns out that this isn’t another John Gibson, rural postman and shoemaker from New Cumnock, Scotland, but a prominent historical figure with close familial connections to someone whose name you definitely know.

Josiah Wedgwood (12 July 1730 – 3 January 1795) was an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery. He is credited as a pioneer of modern marketing, specifically direct mail, money back guarantees, travelling salesmen, carrying pattern boxes for display, self-service, free delivery, buy one get one free, and illustrated catalogues.

As well as pretty, decorative vases and crockery with aesthetics and technology rooted in antiquity, Wedgwood put his designs to a more radical use. He was elected onto the Committee of the Abolition of the Slave Trade and designed an anti-slavery medallion which became the most famous image of a black person in all of 18th-century art. Covering the costs of distribution and production himself, Wedgwood ensured that it became a powerful symbol of public support.

Josiah was also a founder of the famous Darwin–Wedgwood family and the grandfather of Charles and Emma Darwin. It was the considerable inheritance Josiah left to his son, Josiah II, that enabled young Darwin’s survey voyage aboard HMS Beagle and, consequently, the development of his theory of evolution.

Okay, but what links the “Prince of Potters” to Aziraphale and his bookshop?

In 1774 Josiah Wedgwood and his longtime business partner, Thomas Bentley, opened a new warehouse, enamelling rooms and most handsome showrooms at 12-13 Greek Street, Soho. In 1795, after Josiah’s death, the Wedgwood studio moved to 8 St. James’s Square and the buildings were later occupied by coachmakers, writers and other artists.

Now, through Word of God we already know that Aziraphale spent the 1600s using his personal savings to gradually buy out portions of the neighboring land in order to build the original bookshop “on Greek Street just off Old Compton”, which finally opened in its current form in 1800.

This means that for the time Josiah’s company operated in Soho, they were at least neighbors.

#Yuri is doing her thing #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #A. Z. Fell & Co.#aziraphale #aziraphale’s bookshop #aziraphale is a landlord #and has a penchant for legal documents #which sounds a bit too ominous for an angel

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psibinstitute · 1 year

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cordeliawhohung · 9 months

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The Emptiness had Always Been There

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader part 3 of "soft spot"

You dig the knife in deep. Simon isn't scared. Why isn't he scared?

Warnings: Alcohol, talk of sex, descriptions of an anxiety/panic attack, a little bit of PTSD, allusions to past dubcon, reader is a little traumatized, Ghost is a natural caretaker.

wc: 6.4k

“Are you sure you should be having another one?”

The half-raised glass of the fruity drink you had ordered at the bar stopped short of your lips at your co-workers question. She stared at you with that question heavy in her eyes as she glanced back and forth between you and your drink.

“Huh?” you asked, setting it down on the table.

“That’s almost your third, maybe fourth one of the hour. You’re gonna get pissed before we even get tipsy,” the other woman at the table teased.

Cheryl and Méabh. They were two of the girls at the bank who you were closest with, and they had both managed to rope you into a night out drinking. Or, at least you were drinking. They were still on the first drinks they had ordered nearly forty minutes ago.

Méabh was a sweet girl with bright eyes. He had only been working at the bank for about a year by that point. She worked there part time in the morning before her afternoon classes at university, but she always baked sweet pastries and made cute cards for everyone on their birthdays. Cheryl was a bit older than you, and gushed about her two children whenever she got the chance. She was as much of a motherly figure as you were going to get while living in London, and the concern in her eyes only reminded you of that fact.

“Yeah, of course. Probably should hold off a bit,” you said with a chuckle.

Truth was, by that point in the evening, you were already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. Fruity drinks were the bane of your existence. They tasted too good, yet were full nearly to the brim with alcohol that would knock you on your ass by the end of the night. Every time you looked around, it was as if your head kept moving long after you had told it to stop.

Neither of the women in front of you were very covert in their glance at one another. The concern was practically seeping through their pores by that point, and it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Cheryl invited you out because she’s worried about you,” Méabh suddenly admitted, eyes landing back on you once more. “She thinks you’ve been more distracted than normal.”

“Jesus Christ, Méabh, you can’t just blurt that out,” Cheryl chastised the girl as if she were her own child.

“Don’t look at me like that. We’ve been here for almost an hour and you haven’t even brought it up yet,” Méabh retorted. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got my tutoring job in the morning.”

Really, you hadn’t expected something like that from Méabh. She was always so reserved, despite her cheerfulness, and though she didn’t sound angry, she was certainly assertive.

“Distracted?” you repeated, your hand reaching out to absentmindedly grab your near empty glass. “As in like, at work, or…?”

Cheryl turned her attention back to you, her gaze softening at the concern in your voice. “Well, not necessarily. It’s just… you’ve been acting like you’ve got something on your mind lately.”

You could feel heat begin to rise to your cheeks, and you weren’t quite sure if it was because of the slight embarrassment or the alcohol. Either way, you lifted the glass off the table and took a quick sip before setting it back down.

“Oh. Well, I guess, maybe a little?” you said, unsure.

Both of the women hummed and nodded their heads in understanding, but their eyes still held something else behind them. More questions they wanted to ask. The silence that stretched between the three of you made you want to down the remainder of your drink.

“How are things with you and Simon?” Méabh asked, her soft smile radiating the corner of the bar you found yourselves in.

Simon. Simon Riley. Over the last few months that the two of you had been together, you learned quite a lot about that man. Earl Grey tea was his favorite, and so painfully stereotypical of him (not that you could blame him, as you fancied yourself a vanilla tea misto on particularly cold days). He would shiver every time you kissed the scar on his cheek. He hated Christmas, but whenever you asked him why he told you he always thought it was tacky (this was a lie, and you knew it, but you refused to push him on it). If he had family, he didn’t talk about them, but would mention small details about the members of the task force he was a part of.

Despite how quiet he could be at times, he was absolutely charming, albeit a bit cocky in a way. He was confident, and showered you with as much love and affection he could offer you whenever he wasn’t off on the other side of the world. On Valentines day, he sent you flowers at work (unsigned, of course, but you knew who they were from), and when you had gotten sick with the flu he provided you with all the medicine you would need (despite the fact you told him not to worry about it).

He was tall, and towered over every other person you ever knew, and he always came back with some sort of wound from his missions. In a way, he should have terrified you. Yet he was so soft with you, so sweet. He nearly shattered someone's jaw only to walk you home afterwards. He was everything you could have ever wanted, and maybe more than what you deserved.

And yet, there was still something in the back of your mind. This terrible, burning feeling that whispered to you day and night. That seed of doubt had been planted in you long ago. Someone had come in and taken their trowel, cutting you straight to the core where they shoved that terrible, decaying feeling deep inside you before patting it over, leaving it to fester.

But you weren’t about to spill that to your co-workers.

“They’re great. Yeah, things are good,” you answered, mustering a tight lipped smile.

“It’s the sex, isn’t it?”

Horrified, Méabh looked at Cheryl with wide eyes and mouth agape. “Bloody hell,” she breathed. “You yell at me for blurting out that we’re concerned about her, but you casually ask if she’s getting shagged?”

“Well, I certainly worded it more tactfully than that.”

Well, now the heat in your face was for sure from embarrassment. Your hand once more grasped around your drink and you shook your head before quickly taking a few large gulps. The sight of it only made Cheryl grin, and she leaned her elbows on the table.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” the woman pushed. “I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that sex can make or break a relationship. So, what is it? Your needs not being met, or what?”

You averted your gaze from them and instead turned your attention to the table. It was made of some sort of faux wood that had deep gashes in it from god knows what. The multicolored lights that were strung up around the ceiling of the bar reflected slightly off of the dull plastic, and they started to blend together in a shade that made your stomach feel queasy.

Maybe you really should have laid off the drinks.

“We haven’t… we haven’t had sex,” you admitted softly, biting the corner of your lip.

“Oh,” Cheryl said, surprised. “How long have the two of you been dating?”

“Since the end of January, so… four? Five months?” you threw out a guess, unable to think straight between the pressure of the conversation and the alcohol rotting your stomach.

The woman nodded her head as she reached up and shoved some of her greying hair behind her ear. “Well, that should be plenty of time. Just nervous or what?”

“God, wouldn’t you be?” Méabh interjected. “You’ve seen the size of that guy. He’d probably break the bed and your goddamn hips with it.”

Cheryl threw the girl a look of warning as your face fell into your hands. A groan huffed from your chest as you heavily rubbed at your eyes.

“God, I don’t wanna think about that,” you slurred.

Leaning over the table, Cheryl gave your shoulder a firm, motherly squeeze while offering a sympathetic smile. “What’s the matter then, darling?”

Your hands fell from your face, and you stared at the table once more as you thought. It felt like that’s all you ever did those days; think. Think and think and think and god, it was getting annoying. Worms infested your brain, whispering terrible lies and sickening worries so much so that their thoughts had replaced your own.

“I just, I don’t know. After everything with Eric I guess I’m maybe a little apprehensive? Or something?” you rambled. “Which is, like, stupid because they're nothing alike. Like, I know Simon looks scary and he’s in the military and he’s quiet but… fuck he’s… he’s so good to me, you guys.”

Eric, your ex, was… less than perfect. It was impossible to expect anyone to be perfect, but between the arguing, and the fighting, and the bruises and the degrading… Even before all that had started, back in the honeymoon phase, back before everything started going wrong, he had always put his needs above your own. It was almost as if the man had never heard of aftercare before in his life at all. Once he was finished, then so were you, and you were left behind to clean up the mess he made of you, and everything else.

But Simon was different. He had to be different. Because in reality, you were terrified of getting that close with someone again. Of being used and tossed aside. And yet you panicked and told yourself that if you didn’t give in soon, maybe he would get bored of you, and you would end up all alone in that big city in your big apartment that you were struggling to afford.

Fuck, were you going to cry?

Once more the rim of the glass cup came to your lips and you took another thick gulp to distract yourself before quickly blinking the moisture out of your eyes. Whatever horror that had been painted onto Méabh’s face was replaced with the same concern Cheryl wore. Even though it felt nice to have someone worry about you, the last thing you wanted was their pity.

“Hey, it’s alright to be anxious,” Méabh assured you. “Eric was a prick. You’ve every right to be worried.”

Cheryl nodded her head in agreement. “But at the same time, don’t let that hold you back if it’s what you want. Keyword, what you want. Take all the time you need, but you can’t let that arsehole control you forever.” She took a moment to pause and look you over, and a small smirk appeared on her face. “Or, just dive headfirst into it. I think you’ve got enough liquid courage coursing through you for that.”

It was a joke, and a poor one at that, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You laughed a silly, unfiltered laugh and the two women beamed at you. Whatever concern they had for you previously seemed to melt away as they changed the spotlight of the conversation away from you. Cheryl told a story about how her first marriage ended, and though the events weren’t funny, the way she told the story was. Perhaps in an attempt to make you feel better, Méabh indulged in her countless failed relationships with both the men and women she had met while at university.

Eventually, the three of you had stayed there so long the bartender was beginning to grow a little impatient, giving you eyes that screamed for you all to just let him go home already. So you downed the rest of your drink and began to get some cash out of your bag, but as you went to stand up it felt like the floor was moving from underneath you.

“Whoa,” Méabh warned, gently pushing you back into your chair. “Take it easy, babe. I’ll take the cash up for you.”

Huffing, you obliged, and sat back at the table like a child as they helped you pay for the drinks you had indulged in too greatly that night. When they returned, they started to grab their own bags as they fumbled for their car keys.

“Need a ride?” Méabh asked.

You shook your head. “Nah, I walked here.”

Both of them froze, and after sharing glances with one another, Cheryl looked at you and crossed your arms. “You’re taking the piss outta me if you think we’re going to let you walk yourself home. Now you either come with one of us, or you call that boy of yours to come get you.”

A small scoff escaped your lips as you rummaged through your bag in search of your phone. “Boy…” you muttered, pulling your phone out and scrolling until you found Simon’s contact. “Six foot, four inches, and you’re calling him a boy.”

Simon picked up on the third ring. Even after the few months the two of you had been together, you couldn’t get over the sound of his voice. The shitty audio quality of the phone didn’t do him full justice, but just hearing the lilt of his Manchester accent had you nearly falling out of your seat.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard. “Hey, uhm… I went out with a few friends from work and uh… I know it’s late, and I’m sorry but-”

“Need a ride?” he interjected, cutting you off in the middle of your drunken ramble. Not in a rude way, but in a way that was more finishing your thought process. Or maybe he could just tell what you were working up towards asking by the slur of your words.

“Yes,” you said with a breathy laugh. “Yes, please.”

He hummed, dark and low and in a way that the phone hardly picked it up, but it was there. “The one on twenty-first?”

You nodded your head and stayed silent for a short moment. When he hadn’t responded, you blinked a few times to try and clear your mind, trying to remind yourself that you were, afterall, on the phone. “Sorry, yes, yes. Twenty-first.”

“I’ll be right there,” he assured you.

When you two said your goodbyes, you looked up at your co-workers with a toothy grin. Once they were certain you would be alright, you said your goodbyes before they left to go back to their own homes and families and lives. As you sat waiting for Simon, your eyes couldn’t help but wander back to your empty glass.

What had that been? Was it really your fourth? Or had it been your fifth? You couldn’t remember, but it must have been. And you must have drank it quickly too, because even though you had stopped drinking maybe thirty minutes ago, it was as if the backlog of all the liquid you had chugged was finally hitting you. Your stomach was starting to spin as fast as your head was, and you had to take a deep breath to try and steady your frayed nerves.

Or, just dive headfirst into it. I think you’ve got enough liquid courage coursing through you for that.

“Fuck…”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You didn’t have to wait long for Simon to come pick you up, and he practically had to carry you to his car. It wasn’t a secret that he was concerned for your wellbeing, as the moment his eyes landed on you he almost looked a little scared, and so you did your best to ease his nerves by doing the only thing you knew best; talk. So you talked and giggled over everything and nothing the entire drive back to your apartment. You weren’t quite sure if he even responded to half of the things you said, but you weren’t talking to entertain him, anyways.

Things weren’t much different by the time you actually arrived home. Stairs proved to be a challenge for you, and you found your breath being stolen by the way Simon rested his hand on your lower back to keep you steady. He walked a few steps behind you, watching you carefully in case you should fall. By the time you made it to the landing, he had to be the one to put the keys in the lock for you as you kept missing and scraping it along the side of it.

The very moment the door was open, you tossed your bag somewhere on the floor before making a beeline to the couch. If you stayed on your feet any longer, you felt like you really were going to fall over, and you weren’t trying to embarrass yourself that much in front of Simon that night.

“Thanks for the ride,” you sighed as you sunk back into your, frankly, uncomfortably sofa. “Sorry it’s so late.”

“Don’t be,” he said, adjusting the straps of his mask. “I don’t want you to ever hesitate to call me if you need me.”

A soft hum rumbled in your chest as you watched Simon walk further into the living room after ensuring the deadbolt was locked. God, just the sight of him sent your mind spinning, and the alcohol wasn’t helping. His mussed hair, those broad shoulders that could engulf you in a simple squeeze, and that damn tattoo peeking out from underneath the sleeve of his sweater.

You smiled softly as he knelt in front of you, his eyes glancing to your feet. Even with him knelt down he was hardly much shorter than from where you were sitting on the couch.

“Gonna muck up the floors,” he muttered softly.

You watched him as he carefully reached for your shoes where he undid the laces, only struggling a little bit with the double knots. His hand gently grabbed your ankle, lifting your leg up just enough to slide the shoe off before carefully setting it back on the ground. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest you swore you felt it palpitate. How could he be so soft with you?

“It’s fine. I can always clean them,” you said as he set your shoe to the side.

“You’re not going to want to,” he retorted.

Once he started on your second shoe, you found yourself enamored by his face. Or what you could make of it through that mask he always wore. With it nearing summer, he wasn’t wearing the balaclava as much, and opted for the surgical style cloth mask that was a bit more accepted. You liked it more because it showed his hair. But what you really wanted to see was his face. All of it. The slight stubble on his face, the cheeks that you loved to pepper with kisses and caress with your thumbs…

Before you knew it, your finger was hooked underneath the fabric of his mask, which caused him to pause midway through taking your shoe off. Yet he then continued as if nothing happened, and your shoe slid off with ease. When your feet were finally free from the confines of your shoes, and the floor no longer being assaulted by the dirt from outside, Simon looked up at you, his eyes shining as your finger stayed hooked under his mask.

Reading your mind wasn’t difficult, as you were practically asking out loud for it. Simon reached his hands up and in one smooth motion pulled his mask off before setting it on the arm of the couch next to you. A grin broke out on your face as your hand instantly made its home against the flesh of his cheek.

“You’re so handsome,” you said, nearly cooing.

He didn’t break eye contact with you as his hands slowly reached for your shoes, taking them in his hands before he slowly stood up. “I know.”

You huffed as he shot you a playful smirk before walking towards the entryway and placing your shoes against the wall next to his boots. You watched him carefully; how small your shoes looked in his hands, how the fabric of his sweater stretched against his back as he leaned forward, the way his hands rubbed at the back of his neck as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“You’re awfully modest, you know that?” you called out to him in a teasing tone.

Simon let out his own small huff before it was smothered by the sound of running water. “Haven’t been called that in a while,” he mused. Moments later he returned back through the doorway, a cup of water in hand, which he held out to you the moment he was near the couch. “Drink.”

When you reached for the cup the first time, you nearly missed. Giggling your blunder away, you held out both of your hands instead, trying to keep as steady as possible as you then brought the glass to your lips. It was refreshing to have the cool taste of water wash over your tongue rather than the sugary, and somewhat biting taste of alcohol. It didn’t do much to wash away the aftertaste of everything you had drank at the bar, but it was enough.

While you sipped away, Simon slowly lowered himself into the spot next to you on the sofa. It was the usual thing the two of you did whenever you were craving a night in. Slight cuddling on the sofa, watching something on the television, trying not to fall asleep. But this time you couldn’t look away from him. The way he placed his arm along the back of the couch, resting behind your head; the way his shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest; all of it drew you in.

“See something you like?” Simon asked, brow raised slightly as he continued to tease you as usual.

Why did you feel so… queasy? That twisting feeling in your stomach, and that spinning feeling in your head. Vision constantly rotating so fast your body couldn’t keep up. Was it the alcohol? No, alcohol never made your heart lurch like that. Never made it beat so fast that it felt like it was going to tear itself to shreds. Was it Simon?

Just dive headfirst into it.

You took your eyes off of Simon long enough to set your cup on the side table next to you, and then in an instant you were swinging your leg over to straddle his hips. He looked up at you with his mouth slightly parted in surprise as he watched you settle yourself onto his lap. Instinctively his hands came to rest on your waist, helping to steady your slight swaying as you put your arms on his shoulders.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low as his eyes scanned your face.

Something in his eyes softened as he looked at you. Whatever playfulness or cockiness that had been there before melted away as his grip on you became more firm. His eyes were beautiful, and honestly, they were probably your favorite thing about him. Sometimes, when the sunlight hit them just right, the dark brown color would brighten to that of sweet honey. In a way, it was ironic that a man of his nature could hold so much softness to him. But you found you also liked it when the color of his eyes were dark. So dark that they looked endless, as if his irises were some void inviting you in.

But everything started to fall apart after that. You could feel it in your trembling legs and the pressure building behind your eyes. Everything was too fuzzy. Too bright. Too soft. Too loud. God, it was loud. Deafening. It was too much. Too everything. It was everything all at once. Except for Simon. He was beautiful. So beautiful, so soft, so careful.

How you wanted to fall into him. To fall and fall and let his arms catch you. To hold you. To pin you. Pin you and pin you. Feel his teeth graze against you and take. And take and take and take. Would it… hurt? Did you want it to hurt? Did you like it when it did? Like it did when you were with him? Him? With Eric? Face into the mattress, palm of his hand pushing you down. He was always so greedy. And greedy and greedy and greedy.

You can’t let that arsehole control you forever.

In a last ditch attempt to get your nerves under control, you gripped the collar of his shirt with both of your hands before descending on him with your eyes shut tight. Flesh collided with your lips but it felt empty. It felt cold. It wasn’t like the kisses Simon normally gave you. It was wrong.

When you opened your eyes, you found that you hadn’t even made it halfway to Simon’s lips before something stopped you. His hand. It pressed firmly against your mouth, holding you back away from him. He wasn’t pushing you away, he had only created a barrier. A line. And he wasn’t going to let you cross it.

“You’re drunk,” he said. It sounded so funny to hear him say it. Like it wasn’t obvious. But that’s not what he meant when he said it, and you knew it. It was an answer. It was him saying no.

His hand lingered on your mouth for a moment and he didn’t pull it away until you nodded your head. A part of you felt ashamed. No, all of you felt ashamed. What were you thinking? Had you even been thinking at all? Was he going to see you as some idiot? Some stupid girl?

You fucking minx.

“Sorry,” you stuttered out, your voice trembling. “I, uhm… I didn’t mean…”

Simon hushed you. Not to interrupt you (as there wasn’t much to interrupt to begin with,) but to soothe you. It wasn’t until he did this that you felt the moisture starting to stain your cheeks, and his hand returned to your face once more to wipe at the tears there.

“Come here,” he urged as his hand slowly pulled you closer.

Before you knew it you were against his chest where his hand held the back of your head, keeping you firmly tucked underneath his chin. While his hand rubbed soothing circles into your scalp, his other arm stayed wrapped firmly around your waist, making you feel secure against him despite the fact that everything still felt like it was rotating and trying to drag you along with it.

You didn’t want to cry, but you did. An embarrassing amount, at that. It was mostly silent with sniffles here and there as the proof of your sorrow soaked into the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t say anything, and you were honestly glad he didn’t. You didn’t need to be questioned at that moment, or talked through anything. All you needed was the firm reminder that you were there with him.

Once your sniffling and hiccuping stopped, Simon’s hands slowly began to move down your body. His touch ran down your spine in smooth, solid motions, and you felt your body begin to go limp. The drowsiness of the alcohol began to shut down your nerves in a rolling blackout, and eventually it felt like every part of you was fried.

Never had you felt so empty before. No, the emptiness had always been there, looming in the dark chasm of your chest. You had just filled it with so much junk, so much nonsense so that for some fleeting moment you could forget about the gaping hole left where your stomach was supposed to be. But Simon had torn out that unnecessary waste and stared straight into that emptiness inside of you.

For some reason, he didn’t seem scared.

Why wasn’t he scared?

And so the two of you stayed like that with your legs still straddling his hips but the side of your face pressed against his newly damp shirt. Eventually the movement of his hands stopped and he just held you, still not saying anything. There was nothing but you, him, and the silence. Of course there was still the festering wound in your stomach, eating you alive from the inside out, but for that moment, that short, fleeting moment, you pretended that it wasn’t there.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

When the morning sun hit your face, you thought it wasn’t real. It was warm, and felt like liquid gold against your eyelids, just like in the way poets always described it. However, all its softness and grace did nothing to wash away the terrible ache that smothered your body. Your head was the apex of the pain, but it quickly radiated in waves down your neck, your spine, seeping into the very fiber of your bones.

For a moment you laid there, head on the pillow, splayed on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The window was open, which was strange because you didn’t remember opening it before bed. In fact, you didn’t remember going to bed at all. Birds chirped in some tree, and you could make out the vague sounds of people shuffling about, enjoying their weekend.

Then there was the rustling of paper bags. Brows furrowing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, trying to restrain the groan threatening to leave your throat at the movement. The door to your room was closed, muffling the sound coming from your kitchen, but it was still distinct nonetheless.

In several slow and painful movements, you slid out of bed where your feet landed on the wooden floor. You were still wearing socks for some reason, which you found odd. In fact, you were still wearing every bit of clothing that you had worn the previous day. They felt heavy with sweat and with every emotion you drowned in.

You turned your attention back towards your bedroom door where you carefully walked to it. The rustling of the paper bags grew louder once you opened it, and you quietly trudged down the hallway until you reached the kitchen.

Simon stood in front of your fridge, bent over slightly as he shoved items into the shelving on the side of the door. Several bags were sprawled out on your counter where some grocery items laid between them like some odd mosaic. It didn’t take long for Simon to realize you were standing in the doorway, and he turned to you for a moment, mask obscuring his face.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as he went straight back to putting away those groceries.

“Not great but… better than last night,” you admitted.

Your attention turned back to the groceries, confused. You certainly didn’t buy them, as the gods knew you couldn’t afford that much food.

“Did… did you buy these yourself?” you questioned.

Without turning to you, Simon opened up your breadbox where he quickly shoved a loaf of wheat bread inside. “Went to try and make breakfast for you, but when I was going through your pantry I realized there was fuck all for ingredients,” he answered nonchalantly.

A pit formed in your stomach at that realization. He really did go out and buy you food. With his own money. Not only had you made a fool of yourself that previous night, but now he had gone and filled up your pantry for you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled as your feet finally carried you fully into the room.

Without wasting time, you started to rummage through the bags, pulling out items and searching for a new home for them. But you didn’t make it very far before Simon hummed and grabbed the item from your hands.

“Nuh uh,” he said softly as he placed the item back down. He then motioned towards a small bag on the edge of the counter. A cute emblem of some sort of pastry was printed on the front of the bag. “Don’t worry about this. I need you to eat.”

Arguing with him was useless, and you knew it, so you did as he asked. You grabbed the bag and moved towards the stove where you leaned against the side of it as you dug into the bag. A still warm strawberry danish laid inside, and you wasted little time biting into it while Simon continued to work.

It felt… oddly domestic. As if the two of you had done this a million times before. But there was some sort of stench in the air. A tension that threatened to drown you, and you knew exactly what was causing it.

Swallowing the bite of pastry you took, you softly prompted the conversation; “I’m sorry about last night.”

Completely unphased by your words, Simon continued to work, having nearly finished finding a place for everything in your once empty cupboards. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

What a lie. There was so much to be sorry about, so much you felt sorry for. Or if not sorry, then at least ashamed about. Even your nights worth of sleep couldn’t get rid of that taste in your mouth.

“Did you go home?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “Camped out on your sofa after putting you to bed. Thought it would be best that you weren’t alone.”

While the image of Simon trying to scrunch himself into a comfortable position on your tiny, two seater sofa would have made you laugh any other day, you found yourself another reason to feel guilty again. His neck probably ached from it, and you knew he couldn’t have gotten decent sleep because of it.

“Why did you stop me?” you then asked.

The last bag of groceries had been put away, and Simon stopped his pacing around the kitchen to lean against the counter on the other side of the room from you. His hands rested flat against the surface of the counter, torso leaning forward some so that his head would hit the cabinet behind his head.

“You were drunk,” he said simply.

He wasn’t wrong, but then again, it never exactly stopped others before him. But he wasn’t like them. Like him. A part of you felt guilty for even expecting something like that from him. No, you hadn’t been expecting it; it’s just what you had gotten used to.

“Don’t… don’t you want to have sex with me?” you then asked softly.

Simon’s expression changed only a little, but it spoke volumes. His eyes softened while the muscles in his arms tensed. He continued to look at you for a moment, the silence enveloping the both of you, before he reached up and pulled his mask off of his face, tossing it onto the counter.

It wasn’t until he started walking up to you that you realized just how tense your body had become, too. The poor pastry in your hands had almost crumbled into dust by the time he stopped in front of you. You had never seen him so serious before. But he wasn’t angry, or upset, just sincere. And maybe a little sad.

“If we ever have sex, it’s not going to be like that,” he said, speaking it as if it was a fact. “Not with you drunk. Not with you looking at me like that.”

A lump formed in your throat, and when you tried to swallow it you almost choked. “Like what?” you pressed, forcing yourself to hear his answer.

“Like you’re terrified.”

God, if you didn’t feel gutted before, you definitely did then, and you couldn’t look at him any longer. In an excuse to look away, you turned slightly and set your half-eaten pastry back in the wax paper it had come out of. Was this the part where you bared yourself? Stripped yourself down so he could count up all the scars? Ripped off your skin just to show him how deep they went?

“I’m sorry.” The words came sputtering out of your mouth like a rusty faucet. Overused. Well known. Repeated too often. “I don’t know what came over me, or why I was trying to… I don’t know…”

Simon shook his head and a hand came up to brush against your arm. Once your eyes met his, he shook his head again as his eyes carefully scanned your face.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said while his thumb carefully traced the side of your bicep. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

How did you end up there? In the kitchen, leaning against the stove, fresh bags of groceries put away by a man who wasn’t mumbling about the annoyance of it? What did you do to find yourself standing so close to the person you loved and not be terrified at the same time? It was new, and it felt nice. So nice, and so scary at the same time.

Your arms made their home around his torso, and Simon was quick to return the gesture. He pulled you into him, trying to take the weight of it all off of you. You breathed in the scent of him and realized he was beginning to smell like home. The place where you ran to when everything else was too loud. You could be petrified in his arms for all of eternity and be perfectly satisfied.

“Thank you,” you choked out.

As he held you in that kitchen, the one with the freshly stocked cupboards, the one that stood just next to the entryway with the freshly patched hole in the wall, you kept replaying his words. They echoed over and over in your head.

If we ever have sex, it’s not going to be like that.

If we ever have sex. If. It was a promise to be different, but not a promise that it would ever happen at all. There was no pressure, no ulterior motives, it just was.

For the first time in your life, you found comfort in the uncertainty of it all.

#fanfiction #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 x you #mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #mw2 fanfic

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