#all he got was a pen pal when what he needed was a father to be there for him when his mother wasn't | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #linecook!eddie #roommate!eddie #ex-con!eddie

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fortheloveofwonderland · 11 months

Text

My Reply | S.R

This one was a request from the lovely @reidsaurora-replies for my milestone celebration which got wildly out of hand. I think I damn near used every lyric of the song in this one. Also, Maeve does not exist in this universe. I felt like his phone calls with her were too similar to the letters with reader and not needed

Summary - Spencer writes his deepest tragedies down on paper for his pen pal. After ten years of exchanging letters and some divine intervention from JJ, the two of you finally come face to face.

CW - this one covers most of Spencer’s canon storylines including Tobis Hankel and his drug addiction, his moms illness, his fathers abandonment, getting shot in the knee, his headaches, Emily’s “death”, prison arc, Mr Scratch and Emily’s kidnapping, angst, interfering friends, lots of literary quotes.

WC - 6.3k

Making friends was always something Spencer Reid had been inherently bad at. He was always too young or too smart which always seemed to put people off of forming friendships with him.

When he joined the BAU, his team called themselves his friends. But Spencer knew if he’d met any of them outside of work he would have nothing in common with them.

They were simply friends by proximity, which admittedly was better than having no friends at all. But he couldn’t talk to them about everything, afraid to scare them away with talk of his mothers illness or his fathers abandonment.

And sometimes he just needed to talk to someone.

It was Garcia’s idea that he sign up for a pen pal. When she found out about his mom during the course of the fisher king case, he’d confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to the team about such things.

At first she’d actually suggested talking to someone online, she had many online friends who she talked to in various chat rooms. But after almost an hour of trying to explain that to the technophobe doctor and getting little more than a deep frown in response, she changed tact.

A pen pal appealed to Spencer greatly. He already wrote daily letters to his mom and found it somewhat cathartic, getting his thoughts down on the page, but he never bothered her with the darker stuff.

The idea of a faceless person he’d never meet reading his deepest, darkest thoughts was actually intriguing to him. And so with the help of Penelope he found himself a pen pal.

In his first letter he’d just introduced the basics, his name and age, what he did for a living and that he lived in DC.

He went on to explain how hard he found it to make friends and the difficulties of talking to his already established friends about the darker parts of his life. He ended the letter with a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” - Harper Lee.

He received a reply little over a week later.

Your name was Y/N and you were twenty two, three years younger than him and a grad student at Columbia University. You told him you would be happy to read whatever he sent you, that you were more than willing for him to write to you about the things he didn’t tell his friends.

You signed off with a quote of your own quote from the book Infinite Jest.

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do.” - David Foster Wallace.

And so he did just as you said and he wrote another letter.

His second letter to you was five pages long. He went into great detail about his mothers illness, how he’d been left to deal with it alone at ten years old. He wrote about how he’d made the decision at eighteen years old to have her committed to a sanitarium.

He told you about growing up as a child prodigy in Las Vegas and how hard that was. You were the first person he ever told about Alexa Lisbon and being tied naked to a flagpole.

He spoke about the events surrounding Elle leaving the team and how it didn’t feel complete without her.

He ended the letter by apologising profusely that he’d wasted your time with his long winded rambles and said he hoped to hear from you soon and scrawled a quote from The Great Gatsby.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He said he would understand if you didn’t reply. But you did.

The letter took two weeks to arrive and you explained that it was because you wanted to really process his words and give each and every one of them the time they deserved. He read the last few lines of your letter over and over again in a loop even though they were etched into his memory after only one glance.

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through,

even though it's not my place to save you.

“When I get lonely these days, I think: so be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” - Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love.

He wasn’t familiar with the book and so he’d gone out and brought it and read it cover to cover within an hour.

Reading your letter made Spencer feel understood for the first time in his young life. You didn’t pass judgement on him. Spencer found that between the pages of your letters he found a kindred spirit.

The letters continued back and forth for several months until one day you didn’t receive a reply. His last letter had been penned to you on route to a case in Atlanta, which you’d responded to the day you received it. But there was radio silence from Spencer.

You shouldn’t have been as worried as you were, but you couldn’t help yourself. His letters had become such a huge part of your world, often rereading them hundreds of times just to make sure you didn’t miss any little nuance on the page.

His handwriting was ingrained within you, his scrawly, sometimes barely legible penmanship danced behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. His letters had rapidly become the best part of any day. And for over a year you didn’t receive a reply.

After a while you’d stopped holding out hope every time you collected your mail. Eventually you gave up ever expecting to hear from him again. Maybe he didn’t need you anymore. Perhaps he’d made a real life friend, maybe even a girlfriend and you’d been rendered ineffective.

But then little over a year after you sent your last letter, you found an envelope in your mail slot with the familiar handwriting you adored so much and the DC postmark.

Y/N,

I don’t really have any excuses, all I can say is I’m sorry. I have written you fifty three letters over the course of the last year but never mailed a single one. They are piled up on my desk, addressed and even stamped, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail them.

I’ve been struggling, I can’t lie to you. I can’t even lie to you through a letter and tell you I’ve been fine because I haven’t. I think you would see through my prose, know that I wasn’t being truthful. And you’ve never given me a reason to be anything but honest with you.

The case in Atlanta was one of the hardest I’ve ever worked. I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to tell what happened and hopefully this letter will end up with you and not in the pile on my desk.

I was kidnapped by the man we were hunting down. I spent two days tied to a chair being beaten within an inch of my life but a man with multiple personalities. In fact, that’s not strictly true. I wasn’t beaten within an inch of my life; one of the personas killed me.

I’m not entirely sure how long I was technically dead before he revived me but obviously not long enough to cause permanent neurological damage. Irreversible brain damage occurs after four minutes without oxygen so it stands to reason it was less than four minutes.

But during that time, my life flashed before my eyes, including every single word of every single one of your letters.

One of the alter’s drugged me in his own way of trying to save me. Drugging me was supposed to help with the pain, both mental and physical. I fought it at first, desperate for him not to stick that needle in my vein. But after that first hit, I stopped resisting.

I think you can probably already see where this is going. You’re incredibly smart and you seem to know me so well. After I shot Tobias Hankel dead I took three vials of dilaudid from his corpse.

I should have prefaced this by saying I am now ten months sober, and offered up the good news first. But there were several months that I continued using the drug in secret, hoping it would aid in erasing the memories of it all.

It took a case in New Orleans in which I met up with an old friend Ethan and ended up almost destroying my career for me to decide to get sober. I’ve had a lot of difficulties in my life, as you know, but getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done.

And now for the first time in months I’m craving again. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you, determined to send this letter this time. I need to know that everything is going to be ok and you are the only one that I will believe it from.

My team tries. Now it's all out in the open, they try to help. But you don’t even need to try. Your help is so effortless, so easy and I’m in real need of that right now.

His letter went on in this vein for another six pages. He also included several pages of handwritten poetry which he had copied out of a book to send you. With each word you consumed you felt your heart breaking for him a piece at a time.

And he signed off with a surprising choice of quote from The Lorax.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” - Dr Seuss.

You spent the next month or so trying to cultivate the perfect reply, but for the first time in your life, words failed you.

It was three days after Spencer received his one year sober chip that your letter arrived.

I got your letter and the poetry you sent me, postmarked in December of last year. I really hope you’re doing better, all your friends close by your side, one step closer to recovery.

I hope by the time you receive this you are close to one year sober, but if you didn’t make it you need to know that’s ok too. Life is full of ups and downs Spencer. If you didn’t make it this time you will the next time. Or the one after that.

If you relapsed I need you to not beat yourself up over it. You will be ok, Spencer Reid, for that I am certain.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

***

When he got shot in the knee, he wrote to you from the hospital. He told you how hard it was for him to turn down pain medication when he was in so much agony. But he was over two years sober now and he wouldn’t do anything to risk a relapse.

Your reply spoke of how proud of him you were and how you knew it couldn’t have been easy for him but you hoped the fact you were proud went some way to aid him.

He told you it meant more to him than you would ever know.

Then he started having headaches and the letters became sporadic. When he did write he told you how painful it was for him to try to focus on the words in front of him.

I’ve seen so many doctors and no one can tell me what’s wrong with me. It’s like they think I’m making it up, like this pain isn’t real.

On my good days it’s a dull throb but on the bad days it’s nearly paralysing. I’m so scared that this is a precursor for schizophrenia. I'm still young enough for my first break, and it is a genetic illness.

I love my mom but I can’t turn out like her, Y/N, I just can’t. I'm so, so scared.

But your letters are the greatest comfort to me. I don’t think there are words to describe how much they mean - I will try to surmise it with a quote from Charlotte's Web -

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'" - E.B White.

You could feel his fear through the pages. His handwriting was somehow even harder to read than usual and sentences often tapered off with no ending. There were whole passages scribbled out so violently his pen had ripped the paper in places. There were crude drawings of brains and dark rain clouds in the margins.

Spencer,

I am so sorry you are going through this and that no one can give you the answers you seek. But this isn’t the end for you, even if it is schizophrenia, you can still live a full and normal life.

If you'll just hold on for one more second, if you just hold on to what you have, you will wake up tomorrow. Behind every rain cloud lies the sun. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables -

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

In his next few letters he seemed to be getting better, his headaches slowly dissipating until they only hassled him every once in a while. Things seemed to be looking up for him.

But then one of his best friends died.

His detailed letter told you all about Ian Doyle and Emily’s history with him and went on to conclude how she died on the operating table.

I’ve been through a lot of trauma in my life, lost a lot of people close to me but never like this. I’ve never had to bury someone I love and honestly I don’t know how to move past this.

My initial reaction has been dilaudid. It's the only thing I can think of to take the pain away.

Tell me not to do it, Y/N, please. Please tell me that this grief will get better and that using drugs again is not the answer. Please help me stay clean.

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.” John Irving - A Prayer for Owen Meany

It took you longer than it should have done to formulate a reply. You felt pressured, like his sobriety hung in your hands. You hated that his friend had died but you didn’t think it was fair of him to put this on you. And you told him such.

Spencer,

I am sorry to hear about Emily, I know how close the two of you were. I’m no expert on grief, I can’t tell you how to deal with this.

You know full well that using dilaudid again is a bad idea, you really don’t need me to tell you that. Honestly, I’m a little frustrated at you for putting this on my shoulders.

I am always here to help Spencer, in any way I can but sometimes I think you expect too much from me. We’ve been trading letters back and forth for the better part of five years and I don’t think you’ve ever really asked me about myself aside from those first initial letters.

And it’s fine, you needed this friendship more than I did. But over time this has started to feel so one sided and I don’t always look forward to your letters as much as I once did.

I realise this is not the best time for me to be saying these things but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m glad I can be someone you can turn to but I have my own life, my own issues and I have no one to talk to about them.

You put too much pressure on me Spencer and it’s a lot to take. I’ve tried to help shoulder your misery all these years but it’s starting to bring me down. All I can say is you need to wake up, you've gotta believe; you can't give up. Time keeps going on without us, long after we're dead and gone.

And you finished it with a simple quote from After You by Jojo Moyes.

“No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.”

It was no surprise to you that you didn’t receive a reply.

***

Y/N,

It’s been two years and I’m sorry for that. Two years, one month and eleven days. The truth is your last letter was hard for me to read as you can probably understand.

The hardest part of reading it was the fact that I knew you were right. I’ve been selfish all these years. I’ve treated you like a sounding board for my problems and never once asked how you were.

It's taken me time to write this because I wanted to get to a better place before I responded. I was angry at first, I felt like I was being abandoned again and my anger would not have been conducive.

Then I was hurt, hurt that the one person I thought would always be there for me had turned their back on me. I displaced my grief over Emily’s death onto you and anything I would have written in that time would have only been the rage fuelled epitaph of a grieving man.

And then once I dealt with those emotions, life simply got away from me. Emily was alive and well, her death was faked to get Doyle off of her back. Again I was angry about being lied to by my friends but eventually I was just happy she was alive.

Then I turned thirty and had a crisis of faith I suppose. I guess with my intellect I always assumed I would be doing something more with my life and turning thirty kind of threw me through a loop.

We had some changes to the team, new agents coming and going. All in all things have been somewhat hectic.

But that’s not why I’m writing.

I am writing because I really do want to know everything about you. I want you to be able to open up to me the way I always have to you. I want to be your shoulder, your repreve. I really hope I haven’t completely blown our friendship and I hope to be the kind of person who you can talk to.

These arms remain stretched out to you and maybe someday you'll accept them. Maybe it's too late to save a young girl's heart that's long stopped beating. But I hope that it isn’t.

“You have been in every way all that anyone could be…if anybody could have saved me it would have been you.” Jennifer Niven - All the Bright Places.

You wanted to tell him it was too little too late, that after two years of silence you weren’t interested anymore.

You wanted to simply not reply, ignore him entirely like he’d done to you.

But you couldn’t. And so you replied.

It was your longest letter to date, depicting in great detail how he’d made you feel over the years and all the hardships you’d faced without having someone to vent to.

But getting to write it all down had been purifying, and by the time you were finished you weren’t mad anymore.

I am willing to give this another shot, but things have to be different. If we’re to continue this friendship then it has to be a two way street.

But I can’t pretend that I haven’t missed your letters because I have. I see pieces of you between the words, parts of yourself I’m not sure you realise you leave on the page.

I’ve painted a picture of you in my mind's eye and even after two years with no letters, I’ve carried that picture with me wherever I go.

I feel like I somehow know you better than I know myself and I hope going forward you can start to know me the same way. Charlotte Bronte once said -

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” - Jane Eyre.

***

Spencer didn’t know how it happened, he only knew that it had happened. Over the course of all the years writing to you it was almost a surprise it hadn’t happened sooner. Or maybe it had and he just didn’t realise until now.

Spencer Reid had fallen in love with the woman who wrote her prose to him.

It had been ten years of letters, every single one of which he kept in their envelopes in date order in the bottom drawer of his desk at home.

Those letters were his lifelines on bad days, the one thing that kept him tethered. He didn’t even know what you looked like, even what you sounded like but he loved you. He loved you with every fibre of his being.

And he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly what you meant to him. Even if it inevitably destroyed what the two of you had, he couldn’t stop the words from flying across the page.

So that’s pretty much everything that’s happened these past few weeks. Mom’s doing ok but obviously it's a huge adjustment for her and I’m not entirely sure how long I can keep her living with me but for now it works.

How did the interview go? I have absolutely no doubts that you blew them all away with your presentation, you’re a hard person not to fall in love with.

Your presence in my life has brightened my every waking minute. You once told me that behind every rain cloud lies the sun; you are the sun behind my clouds. Your letters bring me back to life, your handwriting penned onto my soul.

Is it foolish of me to be in love with someone I have never laid eyes on? William Makepeace Thackery said in Vanity Fair -

“It is better to have loved wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.”

I suppose that’s as good of an answer as any.

***

Five days after he penned his love confession, he was arrested in Mexico. Once all the drugs had left his system, only after he was extradited and arraigned and placed at Milburn was he able to dwell on the fact he never received your reply.

And being trapped in a cell gave him way too much time to think about that.

It was possible you had replied, maybe even just to tell him he was crazy to even think he could be in love with someone he had never met. But he was sure you wouldn’t have even bothered to respond, thinking him a lunatic you needed to cut ties with.

After a month in prison on one of JJ’s visits she brought a letter with her which she had found in his apartment. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope from several she’d seen him reading over the years.

She wasn’t allowed to give him the letter but she offered to read it to him. At first he’d declined because he had no idea what to expect from your reply but after several long minutes he’d decided to let JJ read it to him.

Spencer,

I am pleased to hear your mom is doing well but I do think you know that this solution won’t work in the long run. You say you live in a one bedroom apartment? You and I both know that you can’t sustain having your mother live there permanently. But I know you and I know you will figure out what’s best for you both.

The interview was amazing and they offered me the job on the spot. If it wasn’t for all your help with the presentation there is no way I would have gotten it, so thank you so much for that.

As for the other thing…

For some time now I have been wondering about feelings I didn’t understand. You’ve been such a large part of my life for so long and even though we’ve never met I feel like we have, if that makes sense? I feel like in my heart I know you. My heart knows your heart.

Falling for you was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Perhaps it is foolish but I believe Thackeray knew what he was talking about. And I also believe Emily Bronte was talking about me and you when she said, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Spencer had interrupted JJ then, when she was smiling from ear to ear as she read your words out loud.

“That’s enough.” He cut her off, burying his head in his hands.

“Wow, Spence, I had no idea you’d met someone.”

“I haven’t met anyone. She is simply a woman at the other end of a series of letters.”

“How long?” JJ placed the pages down in front of her.

Spencer looked up at her, a small blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to be talking about this, least of all on the other side of a plexiglass screen with his other inmates nearby but he responded all the same.

“Ten years.” He shrugged.

“Ten years?” JJ sounded incredulous. “Ten years of letters and you’ve never met? Why?”

“I, uh, it never really came up.” It wasn’t a lie, you’d never once discussed meeting in all those years.

“Is it like a distance thing? Does she live far away?”

“No,” He sighed with a shake of his head. “She’s in New York.”

“New York!” She huffed. “New York is a five hour train journey, Spence!”

“Jennifer, now is really not the time for this.” He lowered his voice as JJ’s had garnered eyes in their direction. “There is really no point in discussing this as we have no idea when or even if I’m going to get out of here.”

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true.” He shrugged sadly. “I really can’t think about all this right now, ok? Just take the letter back to my apartment and pretend you didn’t see it. Please?”

If it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes she might have argued it. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she got to spend with Spencer fighting.

“Ok.” She relented with a small roll of her eyes.

“Thank you, JJ.” He offered a tight lipped smile. “How are the boys?”

JJ filled him in but she wasn’t really focused anymore. In her head, she was already penning a letter of her own…

Y/N,

My name is Jennifer Jareau, JJ, and I work with Spencer at the BAU. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me to you or not. He hasn’t really told me too much about you if I’m honest. But I have learned that he has strong feelings for you and you for him. I’m wondering if I can make a suggestion…

***

When you received the strange letter from Spencer’s friend JJ in response to yours, you’d been initially extremely confused as to why he was letting his teammates read your secret correspondence.

But when she’d gone on to tell you that Spencer had been arrested along with all the details surrounding his incarceration and how she’d read your letter to him during their visitation, you started to understand.

But then a few days later, before you had a chance to reply to her, you received another letter from Spencer with a postmark from Milburn Correctional Facility.

Y/N,

Maybe Thackeray and Bronte were right or maybe they were wrong, I can’t say for sure. What I can say with certainty is that I can’t carry on like this a moment longer.

Something has happened to me, it won’t be hard for you to figure out what as soon as you see the postmark. I am not willing to get into it or explain how I ended up here. But I have no idea how long I am going to be inside and I don’t want the rest of our communication to be sent through a string of guards who will pick apart each tormented sentence.

I ask you not to write me back. This has to be the end of the road my dear. This letter has to be our last. I don’t know how much longer I will continue to be able to live like this. Each day my hope dies a little more and I’m sure I won’t make it out of here alive.

I am writing simply to say thank you. Thank you for all your years of listening, for all your patience and kind words and your hopeful prose. In my darkest hours you have shown me the light, dragged me out of the shadows of my own creation.

I love you for all that you are and all that you have done but even you can’t save me this time. This really might be the end for me and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You are the only reason I made it this far in this treacherous game we call life.

Take care of yourself, continue to live your absolute best life. And in time I pray that you forget me and are able to love someone far more tangible.

All that is left to say can be summed up by a quote from The Miniaturist -

“You are the sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed. My darling.” Jessie Burton.

You replied firstly to Spencer, his heartbreaking words more pressing than JJ’s letter. You kept it short and to the point, knowing that various other prison guards would read it before it even made it to his hands.

I appreciate but can't accept this thank you note that's sealed with your last breath and I won't stand aside and listen to you give up.

You are stronger than that Spencer Reid and if I know anything about your team from all the years of hearing you speak of them it’s that they are the best at what they do and they will prove your innocence.

Just remember what Ernest Hemmingway said in A Farewell to Arms -

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.”

You will be stronger at those broken places, Spencer, I have no doubt about it.

And besides, if you don’t make it out of there, how do you propose to ever meet me?

Whilst on a role, you grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started scrawling again.

Jennifer,

Thank you for your letter. I have spent some time musing on your suggestion and I think you might be right.

I think it's time for me to take a trip to DC…

***

Spencer never opened your last letter because he had no intention of replying to it. If he didn’t read it, he could pretend you had never sent it and he wouldn’t be tempted to write a response.

Instead he stuffed it between the pages of his book and tried not to think about it.

After two and half months his team proved his innocence and he was released but he was thrown into the deep end of trying to find his mother.

And even once he found her unscathed, he was rapidly thrust right into Scratch’s web after he kidnapped Emily.

Taking the elevator back up to the BAU alongside JJ after they’d escorted Emily to the hospital it already felt like a lifetime had passed since he left prison. And all he wanted to do was chronicle all of it to you.

Maybe once the dust settled, once he’d wrapped his head around everything that happened he would open your letter and send you a reply.

But for the first time in ten years, Spencer didn’t want to drag you into his mess.

JJ was strangely quiet as the elevator made its ascent. He didn’t even want to be here, he’d planned on going straight home after leaving the hospital. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for two and a half months and he couldn’t wait to collapse into it.

But JJ had insisted that instead of him getting the metro home, if he popped back to the BAU with her to collect some paperwork, she would drive him home.

And honestly he was just too exhausted to decline.

JJ’s eyes were hyper focused on the digital floor numbers as they got higher. A few seconds after it displayed number five, one floor below the BAU, she turned and looked at him.

“Don’t hate me for this.” She blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Spencer frowned, too tired to try to understand what she meant.

“I couldn’t just let it go.” She shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips.

“Let what go?” His frown deepened.

Her eyes flicked back upwards as the number five rolled into the number six and the elevator started to judder as it prepared to stop.

“Just remember I love you and that’s the only reason I interfered.” She shrugged as the elevator stopped entirely and soon the doors were peeling open.

Spencer looked away from her and out of the open doors to where someone was standing just a few feet back.

Spencer’s eyes landed on the stranger only it wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew exactly who this person was standing on the BAU floor.

He remembered the way JJ had read him your letter and how you’d told him your heart knows his heart.

Well his heart knew yours too. And he knew the heart beating a few feet away from him was yours.

“Y/N?” He croaked, slowly stepping out of the elevator but not too close to you.

“Spencer?” You smiled at him, the kind that reached all the way to your eyes.

Neither of you noticed JJ slipping quietly away, wanting to give you some privacy.

“What are you doing here?” His brows were furrowed and he was rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re friend JJ wrote to me. She told me everything that happened to you. And she made me realise that ten years is too long to wait for a first meeting.” Your voice was like honey to Spencer’s ears.

Your prose was beautiful, but hearing the words from your lips as you stood in front of him in all your ethereal glory was more than any letter could convey.

“I…I am actually speechless.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“You? Speechless?” You giggled and Spencer felt the sound all the way to his heart.

“You’ll come to learn I am much more of a wordsmith on paper. In person I am incredibly awkward and often trip over my words. I ramble when I’m nervous or clam up entirely, no in between. I spout facts and statistics rather than have a meaningful conversation. I am much more comfortable writing my words down on paper than speaking them out loud.” He let the words spill out of his mouth, proving his point entirely.

“I’ve waited ten years to hear your voice. Please never stop talking.” You smiled so brightly at him he felt like he was floating.

You were here in front of him, not just hidden between pages of letters. You were real, tangible; within his reach.

And suddenly the last thing Spencer wanted to do was talk.

He took a few tentative steps towards you and cautiously raised a hand to your cheek. You sighed in content when he cupped your face and nuzzled against his palm.

“I could talk to you about anything and everything all day long, my love.” He smiled, inching his face closer to yours. “But at this moment in time I have one slightly more pressing desire to do with my mouth rather than speak.”

“Oh yeah?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

The warmth of your body and your smile encompassed him. As he looked into your eyes, finally looked into your eyes, every bad thing that had ever happened to him slipped away.

“Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day.” He quoted Justin Wetch’s Bending the Universe.

“Spence?”

“Yes Y/N?”

“As sweet as that is, I thought there were more pressing desires to use your mouth for?”

“If you insist.” He smiled and quickly closed the small space between you.

When his lips finally met yours it felt like all the pieces of the universe were falling into place.

For ten long years you’d communicated in the pages of letters, constructing replies to what felt like one sided conversations that were confined to only live on paper.

As the kiss deepened every single one of those words seemed to float in the air around you, spiralling like a tornado made of a decade worth of missives.

He swore he could hear each and every word whispered to him in the voice he’d longed to hear all these years as he kissed you like you were the most important being on the face of the earth.

And when he pulled back and mumbled I love you against your lips, it was the easiest reply you’d ever given.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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billthedrake · 3 months

Text

HALL PASS

Story idea from @aestheticsupremacy

It was still summer warm as the two lacrosse jocks walked across campus after practice. Brian was going on about the chick he had a date with late that evening and was teasing Jake.

"Dude... if you ever wanted pussy, you'd be so set. Girls fucking love gay guys."

Jake laughed, his blond hair still on the lighter side from summer beach time. He and the star attacker got along great because they never BS-ed each other. "Bro, I don't think it works that way," he said, flashing his dimples. "Besides, I think all those sorority girls want a gay pal they can go to the clubs with. I can't dance worth shit."

"You can't," Brian grinned. "You got the moves on the field but, fuck..."

Both guys laughed as they entered the residence hall, one of the nicer ones where a lot of the athletes lived.

"Hey Jake!" the student worker at the front desk said when he saw the two jocks. "Some mail came for you."

"Mail?" he asked as the walked up to the desk. Normally, mail got delivered to their mailboxes, which Jake didn't check regularly. Who the fuck sends mail these days anyway, other than advertisers?

The desk guy nodded. "Yeah, certified or something. Looks important." He reached over and pulled out a document sized cardboard envelope.

"Hey, I'll catch ya later, Hoss," Brian said as he bumped fists with his teammate buddy.

"Yah," Jake said, then looked back down at the envelope. There was a familiar return address. It was his dad's work. Jake's father was a high-powered executive - not Fortune 500 but CFO for a top financial firm. Leave it to Dad to send paperwork in hard copy. Jake tried to rack his brain to guess what document was so urgent, but maybe it was some school form he needed to sign. Maybe Jake should take more responsibility for those things, but his dad tended to look after the details.

"Thanks, Mitch," he told the desk guy, then went to the elevators to go up to his room.

It was quiet in his room, since his roommate had taken off Thursday afternoon to go home for a long weekend. He got along well with Ed, a varsity baseball player, but they weren't real tight. And Jake liked having the alone time and privacy sometimes.

The lacrosse jock set down his phone and keys and shook his head with a chuckle as he opened the envelope. "You're so fucking old school, Dad," he said aloud. "I love it."

It wasn't a form inside, but instead there was a linen-white stationary with his Dad's company logo and his father's name and title embossed. "From the Desk of Steven J. Weir."

It was what was printed below that made Jake's heart stop.

"Dear Mr. Wier:

This letter serves as official notice that Jacob Peter Weir has his father's permission to have sex as often as he likes and with whomever he likes, from the date of August 20, 2023 to May 14, 2024. This arrangement will be extended in subsequent years unless the two parties renegotiate their terms.

sincerely,

Steve Weir"

There was his father's recognizable wide, cursive signature, undoubtedly written with one of his favorite blue-ink fountain pens that his family had given him for Christmas.

Jake was rock hard. "Fuck," he hissed.

Only then did he realize there was something else in the envelope. He reached in and pulled out three photographs, each 8x10 glossy portraits of this father. They were different poses of his dad in business attire, like professional headshots for a company website or something.

"Got your package," the jock texted his father.

It took a second but then a message came up from Dad: "You able to Facetime?"

Jake got a big grin as he hit the dial button to video call his father. His heart jumped a little as the image filled his phone screen. His dad was in his C-suite office and looking handsome as fuck in his tailored suit as his own horny grin matched his son's.

"Hey Sport," he said. "Looking good." He leaned back in his swivel chair and angled the phone to give Jake a better view of his suited upper body. He had a good knowledge by now of what pushed his boy's buttons.

"You too Dad," the jock hissed, reaching down to paw his crotch again. "I can't believe it's only been 24 hours since I've seen your face... fuck."

His father laughed. Because Steve felt the same way. He knew it would be hard when Jake went off to college, but he was going through sexual withdrawal in addition to the normal empty nest syndrome.

Only now his bright smile got a hint of nervousness. "What did you think of what I sent you, son?"

Jake felt that constriction in his throat. Sorta like the first time he knew he was gonna fuck his dad... that combination of sheer horniness and disbelief it was gonna happen.

"You know, Dad," the 19-year-old smirked, "A hall pass isn't an actual piece of paper."

Steve's brown eyes seemed bright. Happy. Excited. "I wanted to make it official. For you. For us." The exec was definitely getting that bedroom voice, and Jake could tell by the movement in his dad's upper body that the man was reaching down to unzip and haul out his cock.

For his part Jake tugged down his shorts with one hand to free his junk, which was firming up real fucking fast. His father had given him the encouragement to freeball it, and it was now Jake's preferred way of casual dress. It made him feel free and sexual.

Jake prided himself on the sexual confidence he'd learned to project with his dad, but times like this he still felt unsure, deep down. "I told you, Dad. I don't need to have sex with other guys."

"You're 18, Sport," his dad said resolutely. "A college kid should be spreading his wings."

Jake got a playful grin. His right hand was working up and down his bone while his left hand held the phone. "You really want me to fuck other guys?" he asked. Pointed. Challenging.

Steve shook his head no. "Honestly, no. I don't. But I want you to lead the life that's going to make you happy." His own fist was working up and down in his lap. "I want you to become your own man, Jakey."

Something about that nickname drove the jock wild. He felt a spurt of precum in his palm. "You think sending me 8x10 glossies is gonna make me happy," he hissed. Jake's tone was halfway between a statement and a question.

Steve loved watching his son get in horndog mode. He'd like to think he passed that on to Jake genetically, but something about the kid's sex drive seemed innate. And all Jake.

The exec's voice got low and gravely. "You tell me, son. Did they make you happy?"

Jake just let go of his prick and angled his phone down to capture the hard teen bone that stood up long and rigid. "This is the reaction those pics got." He pulled the phone back up to see the amused and pleased look on his father's face.

"I'm glad," Steve said. Then with a pause, he angled the phone to show Jake his own fatherly prick, standing out from his unzipped suit.

"I wish I could suck that, Dad," Jake said, enjoying the freedom to talk aloud like this. "I wish I was there right now."

"You primed for some office sex, Sport?"

"Fuuuckk, Dad." Jake's fist was now steadily pumping his jock bone. "I'm still pissed off you won't let me fuck you there."

That got a laugh out of his father. The 49-year-old was even more handsome when he smiled. "You're a spoiled brat, you know that?"

"Fuck yeah I am," Jake shot back, getting into the zone with the teasing sex talk with his father. It came to them so fucking easily. "Something about nailing your dad regularly will make you that way."

That got a soft growl from the executive, and Jake watched as his father reached up to flip his tie over the shoulder of his suit coat, getting it out of the way.

"Damn, you gonna cum on your shirt today, Dad?"

Steve shook his head. "Hopefully not... but just in case. You get me so worked up, Sport." Off screen Jake knew his father had gone back to stroking his hard dick.

"So, Dad... if I take you up on that hall pass... what are you gonna do?"

"Whaddya mean, Jakey?"

"I mean..." the teen's own fist was working up and down his cock. "Does that mean you get a hall pass, too?"

"That's not part of the deal," Steve said, his brown eyes now wide with excitement. "But Buddy... I honestly don't know how I'm gonna get through this year. I guess I'll be doing a lot more of what I'm doing right now."

That got a matching growl from his son, whose hand moved faster and faster on his prick. "A fucking waste of dad cum."

That got a grin from Steve. "You like my sperm, huh, Jakey?"

"Can't get enough, Dad," came the immediate response. For a confident top when it came to fucking, Jake loved to taste his dad's prick and to eat his father's semen. When he wasn't sucking his dad off, he'd be licking the cum off the man's well-fucked body.

The jock felt another spurt of precum when his Dad brought the phone down close to his crotch, that solid, thick seven incher sticking out from the unzipped suit trousers.

"That's my dad," Jake growled. He'd have to find a way to have phone sex more often.

"Wanna cum for me, Jakey?" Steve asked, his voice signaling he was already on the edge.

"Nah," the jock said. "Hold off one second," he urged. He set down the phone and stripped off his T-shirt and kicked away his lax shorts. He then angled the phone just right on his desk and stepped back. Even from the distant view, he could see his dad's face will up the phone screen.

"Damn..." Steve growled. "That's my boy."

Jake felt fully alive, head to toe, as he stroked his cock and showed off for his father. He knew he was a good looking stud, with a great toned, athletic body. But his father's approval made him feel that much studlier.

"So Dad..." the teen asked. "If I used that hall pass, you wanna hear about the guys?"

"I don't know, Sport," Steve said with visible mixed feelings. "I'll let that be your call, OK?" He watched his son intently, as if it was the last chance he'd see Jake naked and hard. "I almost didn't send it," he confessed.

That made his son grin and Jake removed his fist from his dick, showing off the erection by swinging it side to side. "Yeah? It was so fucking hot to read it, Dad. You know, that you'd even send it."

"I'm glad, Jake," came Steve's reply.

"We're you hard writing it?" the son asked.

Steve's voice got soft and low. "I was, son."

"You want me spreading my wings in college, huh?" Jake's hand resumed its stroke. He really wanted his dad to cum first today but he didn't know if he'd be able to hold off.

Fortunately, Steve was getting into the zone now. Jake could only see his face, not his cock or masturbating fist, but he recognized that horny tone in his father's voice. "God, Jakey, you're such a fucking stud... seems wrong if you can't enjoy college a little, you know?"

Jake grinned, getting into a slow stroke that seemed to keep things on the boil without erupting over. "Maybe I'll line up some hot coach to fuck... but you know if I do, I'll be thinking of you the whole time, Dad."

That got an audible groan from Steve. Which only encouraged Jake to go further.

"Yeah, I'll be balls deep in some daddy ass and have to shut my eyes so I can think of my father... of fucking you..."

"Yes," Steve hissed. He was getting closer to cumming.

"of bending my dad over his office desk and pulling down those suit pants of yours..."

"You're not gonna stop pestering till you get that will ya, Jakey?"

"No, sir. I wanna get my way. Nail you hard to that expensive desk of yours... in your expensive suit... to thank you for all that expensive tuition you paid over the years."

This was new territory for the Weirs. They'd never talked about money, other than some of Steve's jokes about how much Jake's private school cost and some practical dad-son talks about personal finance. But Jake was bringing it into the sex talk and both men were surprisingly turned on by it.

"FUCCK!" Steve cried a half second before choking his reaction to be quieter in his office.

"Go for it, Dad!" the lacrosse jock said more openly. He stepped up closer so he could see his dad's face as he rode out an intense orgasm. "Nice!"

Steve's face was flush red as he caught his breath. "Goddamn, I needed that," he said. Then playfully he tilted his phone down. Huge splotches of his pearly white seed dotted his dress shirt after all.

"Cumming!" Jake cried, unable to hold by his ejaculation now. Steve had to look, had to watch his Jakey in full nut. It was just a beautiful sight. The only thing more beautiful was watching Jake orgasm as he was buried deep inside his father.

"Attaboy, Sport," he encouraged. "Goddamn, that's a huge nut."

Jake grinned as he felt the aftershocks. Playfully, he squeezed out dribbles from his long piece of jock meat and brought it up to his lips to taste. Not his dad's but a second best. Jake just loved the flavor of cum.

He could now tell his father was wiping off the cum from his shirt and his cock before pulling the phone back.

"That was incredible," Steve said.

"I'll say. I'll have to thank Rich for giving me the free time," Jake laughed.

"Is he away?"

Jake nodded. "All weekend. Maybe we can go long and deep this weekend, you know, edge a little."

Steve grinned. "I'll try, Sport.... awful hard to last with you, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Jake agreed.

His Dad seemed happy and yet sad at the same time. "Listen, I should go."

"Yeah," Jake said. "I need some dinner."

"I miss ya, Sport," Steve said. "So much."

"Miss ya too, Dad."

****

Steve felt nervous all Saturday. Jake had suggested they wait till later in the day for phone sex. The father tried to kill time with household chores and a super long session at the gym.

"You're a fucking mess, Steve," he said to himself as he drove home from the fitness center where he'd been spending a lot more time since the divorce and especially since he and Jake started fooling around. It felt wrong to be so attached to his own son, and yet he was.

There was a package on his front porch. FedEx Saturday delivery. Steve picked it up.

"What the fuck?" Steve laughed as he saw his son's dorm as the return address. "That little bugger."

As he opened the door and stepped in, the man squished the sides of the plastic package-envelope. It was soft inside. Steve opened the end with the pull tab.

As he pulled out the fabric, Steve Weir recognized the shorts immediately. They were a well-worn pair of Jake's high school lacrosse shorts. Wadded inside was a worn jock strap.

"Jesus," Steve hissed with excitement. Maybe Jake wanted him to have these for their session today. Or maybe this was just for the times it was Steve, alone in his bedroom, imagining a grown son who wasn't there with him.

Either way, Steve knew both the shorts and the jock were gonna be crusted with his own cum before long.

It was only after a second that he noticed scraps of paper on the floor. They'd fallen out, hand torn.

Steve immediately sensed what they were, and a quick look confirmed it. It was the hall pass he'd sent Jake.

"Man, buddy," he said aloud in the quiet room as he pulled out his phone. He had to call his son.

"Hey Dad"

"Oh, Jakey..." Steve said.

"You got it."

"Yeah, I got it," his dad replied. "You're not doing this just to make me happy are you?"

"Maybe," Jake said. "But not really. I don't know, Dad. I just realized I'd rather have blue balls than fuck a substitute you, you know?"

"Sport, that's the most fucking romantic thing anyone's ever said to me," Steve beamed.

That made his son laugh. "Yeah, that's me, one romantic fucker... just promise me one thing, Dad."

"Anything," Steve said.

"We gotta find away to see each other through the semester. Yeah, I know you want me to go off and be my own man. But I can't wait till Thanksgiving. For real, Dad."

"Yeah, we'll make it happen. I'll come down next week. And fly you up whenever you want. Promise." This was a backpedal from the promises Steve made himself when Jake went off, but he realized he was happy changing his stance.

"Cool. God, Dad, I love you."

"Love you too, Jakey," Steve said. He looked down at the scraps of paper and everything they represented. "And son... next time you're here, I'll let you fuck me on my desk."

#drakestories

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florenceafternoon · 4 months

Text

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Really, we shouldn’t be surprised by now but I have more amazing jily AU fics to share because the writers of this fandom are incredibly talented and I have my screen report to prove it.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

serendipity by desperateforsanity (on ao3)

Modern college/uni AU. Dearest Students and Staff, I am pleased to announce Hogwarts University’s fourth annual Pen Pal Program. Upperclassmen and sophomores likely remember and cherish the memories of their previous penpals and are excited to make another friend this year.

TW: for the later chapters for discussions of grief and its effects on one's mental well-being. For the most part, though this is a fun fic full of great banter!

The Frenzied Misadventures of Balcony Man and Window Woman by @clare-with-no-i

prompt: "It's 3am why are you outside my window- are you trying to rob me?"

It feels necessary to preface this entire thing with the fact that, yes, James had good reason to be dangling precariously from a third-floor balcony, and anyone who says differently is simply attempting to smear his good name.

At least, that’s the story he’s sticking to.

Hijinks & Shenanigans

mellow is the man (who knows what he's been missing) also by @/ clare-with-no-i

Earl's Court. 24th May, 1975. Led Zeppelin live in concert like you've never seen them before.

FEATURING: prolonged eye contact, deeply metaphoric descriptions of cigarette smoke, painful levels of detail about makeup, and a special one-time performance by Two Teens In Love! OR: the "we made eye contact at a Led Zeppelin concert but my friends pulled me away to mosh before I could come say hello" AU

So when I say that I saw this unfold frame by frame in my head, I mean the writing is on another level. The way that I could almost smell Earl Court ... I regret waiting so long to read it. Also, found out this is written by the same author as one of my favourite jily fics foreigner’s god so that explains it “I'm not a religious person but I do sometimes think God made you for me.” ― Sally Rooney, Normal People

but he’s a little bit too far away by @firefeufuego

Historical AU. A decade after they met as cadets for The Times, the toll of James chasing stories in war zones is starting to hit home for Lily.

Taking A Shot At You by @annabtg

Modern AU. Lily Evans, pharmacist, has to work all day and night on New Year's Eve - and ends up ringing in the new year with a bloke who just got himself a dog bite.

The Right Track by BeeDaily (on ao3)

Co-workers modern AU. When James is first handed the train ticket, his immediate reaction is to laugh openly in his father's face.

the horoscope by lirians

Modern AU. James stops momentarily to give way to a bunch of rambunctious teenagers on the pavement before he regains his step. Lily has come to a halt a bit further, waiting on him.

“Horoscopes?” he asks as they move onwards. He’s relieved that any awkwardness between them is apparently gone. “How so?”

“Marly sent me mine this week because it said I would meet someone from the past again,” she explains. “I’m still not sold on the idea of it, but isn’t this weird?”

I was inspired to read this by this art

The Falcon and The Squid by @jfleamont

There's a Lego Millennium Falcon that needs to be built. There's also a bet, a ring and a bike.

Put it all together and what do you get?

Leda's jily will always be a favourite of mine. They're idiots in love your honour

Glastonbury by elanev91 (on ao3)

Prompt: we're at a music festival and you crawled into my tent when drunk and fell asleep, now you've woken up bewildered and to be honest I should be more annoyed but you're just so good looking

One Day at Time by @sweeethinny

Single-mum-lily AU. One day at a time is the mantra Lily uses to keep peace inside her mind, but there are days when it's simply impossible and in the end all she needs is a glass of wine, a cozy hug with her boyfriend, and a serious talk with her son.

Note that you can read this as a stand-alone one shot but it's part of a series that takes place in this AU

For All My Life by aheartcalledhome & SecondJadeofLan (on ao3)

When saving the bees ends in a happy family.

pumpkins and blueberries by evotter (on ao3)

Modern soulmate AU. In which Lily Evans hates puzzles, Marlene McKinnon is a coffee-making goddess, and the stuffy manager with the unkempt hair just so happens to be Lily's soulmate. In the wise words of Mary Macdonald, nothing is scarier than a relationship. Especially if it's with your soulmate.

After Moon by lovesickjily (on ao3)

When the universe sent Lily back in time for some inexplicable reason, she didn’t realise that she’d fall for the charming, messy-haired Prince along the way, nor did she realise that she’d see him once again.

here's to never growing up by elixirsoflife (on ao3)

Chat fic where a group chat documents the lives of four highly dramatic teenage boys as they navigate their A Levels.

Or, like, die trying.

Okay, I rarely ever read chat fics, they're just not my thing. BUT this one had me wheezing on my way to school. It's crack. Just treat it like crack

Ice Baby also by elixirsoflife

Modern college/uni AU. In his defence, James never expected to meet his soulmate at thirteen minutes past eleven on a Sunday morning when he’s aiming a puck at Sirius’ balls.

Or: call me sweetheart again and I'll punch you in the throat.

Not a Clue by PotterandEvans (on ao3)

Modern college/uni Quarantine AU. Lily stood in the doorway of the flat, looking at the boy in front of her. She had spent most of the last two years keeping her distance from the annoying piece of work, staying away from his ego mostly. “Come in.” She said, stepping away from the doorway to let him into the flat that she usually shared with Remus.

"Ah, so kind." James muttered as he walked inside, his heavy bag weighing him down. This really was not the ideal situation, for either of them. But he had nowhere else to go, so staying with Lily Evans it was going to have to be.

they were zoommates (requires an ao3 account) by elanev91 (on ao3)

Modern college/uni Quarantine AU. Lily's on lockdown and, because she can't help herself, signs herself up for a whole bunch of extra (and free) work with her ad agency. Minerva, her boss, assigns a cheeky social media manager to her team to help her. Also, Marlene discovers TikTok (this is nowhere near as important to the narrative as its inclusion here suggests).

And You Heard About Me (Ooh, We’ve Got Some Big Enemies!) by @wearingaberetinparis

Fame AU. Lily Evans is a Grammy-winning singer-songwriter and global superstar, who recently broke up from her latest and long-term actor boyfriend Amos Diggory. James Potter is a professional football player who plays as a forward for Manchester United and has never been quiet about his celebrity crush: Lily Evans. When Lily Evans thus plays at Wembley Stadium - a place he is more than familiar with due to his being part of the England team - he just has to go and see her perform, embracing his inner, besotted fan boy, while the woman on stage is completely oblivious to his presence. Or is she?

The most unrealistic part was man u winning (but it's James so that explains it). Regardless, I started this fic while waiting for my final grades from last year to come through, and while they were disappointing, this sure wasn't. I was crying so hard that I fell asleep. Then I woke up and continued the fic and suddenly I was giggling along with Lilly. Anything and everything Mary writes is a masterpiece. Thank you for sharing this wonderful story.

it continues (the beginning doesn't matter) by whitesunlars (on ao3)

She is the last person he expected at his door at that exact moment, despite feeling unsure about the fact that she managed to track down his address, he agrees to go out to coffee with her. A lot could be said about James Potter, but nobody could claim that he had good self-preservation skills.

They meet in a bar. Mistakes happen. They learn to keep going.

#jily fic rec #jily #jple #lily evans #james potter

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bingbongsupremacy · 10 months

Note

yes part 2 please, and of pen pals and how to kiss

Wish You'd Make Me Cry Pt. 2

I'm working on the other 2 rn as well. Should be out in a couple days if not today!

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

Warnings: Alcoholic Ellie, Cursing

Summary: Ellie realizes she's been taking her anger out on you, but is it too late to save your relationship?

Idea from the song : Wish You'd Make Me Cry by UPSAHL

*Not Proof Read* TLOU Masterlist

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt.3

Pt. 3 on the way.

***** Third P.O.V. *****

Snow crunches beneath Ellie's tattered converses'. Anger and frustration seethe through her body, getting worse the more she thinks back on her conversation with Y/N.

'What the fuck does she mean. I do talk to her. I talk to her all the fucking time.'

Ellie yanks open the squeaky bar door. A few heads snap towards the direction of the sound, quickly turning away once they spot the angry woman. She's not one to mess with when angry.

Ellie takes a seat at her usual spot at the bar.

" Hey, Ellie. What can I get ya tonight? " Jesse greets.

" A drink. " She replies curtly. All she needs is a fucking drink. It's what helps her forget. It's the only reliable thing in her life. Alcohol doesn't lie and it sure as hell doesn't argue.

Jesse lets out a sigh. He can tell she'd had more than enough to drink already. " I don't know, Ellie..." He replies gently, not wanting to piss her off anymore.

Ellie looks up at the man. " Jesse, just get me a fucking drink, alright? I don't need you to do whatever the fuck you're doing. You're not my father. "

Jesse throws his hands up in surrender. " Whoa, calm down, Ellie. What the hell is wrong with you tonight? " He grabs a glass, against his better judgement, and pours a little moonshine into the glass. He passes it Ellie who immediately takes a sip.

" Fucking Y/N. " She mutters while wiping off her mouth. All her rage from the night seems to pour out uncontrollably. " I don't get what their fucking problem is. No matter what I fucking do I'm never right. I go on patrol, I come home and I want to relax, right? And all they wants to do is fucking talk about shit we've talked about a million times. It's always the same thing with them. ' How did this happen. ' " Ellie mocks Y/N. " ' How did it get this way '. I don't fucking know, Jesse. I honestly don't know. "

Jesse patiently listens to Ellie rant. He'd heard about the couples' marital problems from Y/N before, but never Ellie. Ellie's not one to share about their relationship.

Ellie takes a breath. " When I used to look at Y/N I felt this... " Ellie's brows furrow. " I felt this strong love. I felt like I couldn't breath without them. Like I'd die without Y/N nearby. Now...I constantly feel like I'm suffocating in my own home. And-and I don't know why. I don't know why I'm such a fucking cunt to Y/N. It's just whenever I see their face I feel so trapped. " Ellie finishes. Guilt rises in Ellie's stomach. She'd never admitted her feelings to anyone.

Jesse nods slowly. " Do you think that maybe this all started last year when you guys got married? " He asks, nodding to the small silver band around Ellie's finger.

Ellie looks down at the glimmering jewelry. She'd spent weeks looking for the perfect ring for Y/N. She'd learned pretty early on that Y/N wanted to get married, and she wanted to make sure she found the perfect ring. All she wanted to do was make Y/N happy.

Ellie thinks back to when she proposed, taking Jesses' words into deep consideration. Did this happen because they got married. Ellie hadn't been completely truthful when she'd told Y/N she didn't want to get married. In reality, she'd been pretty excited to propose. She just needed something to say she new would hurt Y/N.

" I don't know. " Ellie sighs while running a hand through her hair.

Jesse thinks before lowering his voice. " Do you think you could be taking your anger at Joel out on Y/N. "

Ellie hadn't thought of that. The week before Joel died Ellie found out what he did at the hospital. She was fucking livid. She didn't talk to him at all. She never got to say goodbye.

She never told Y/N.

Ellie decided to bury it. Joel wasn't here anymore so it didn't need to be addressed. At least that's what she thought.

Sure he'd sometimes creep into her thoughts at night. She'd wonder if he died thinking she hated him. She really didn't. She wondered if there was any way she could've saved him.

The easiest way to kill the thoughts was to drink. The memories seemed to blur when alcohol was involved.

Jesse takes Ellie's silence as an answer. " You need to talk to Y/N. You need to be honest and tell them what's going on with you. They don't deserve to be left in the dark because you don't know how to deal with your shit. That's not how relationships work. You're going to lose them if you don't get it together. " Jesse grabs the empty glass from in front of Ellie. " You're destroying yourself and your partner. "

Ellie's stomach sinks. She hadn't thought about how what she did to deal with Joel might have been affecting Y/N. All she wanted was a little relief from the never ending thoughts that raced through her mind.

With a groan, Ellie stands up. She needs to fix what she fucked up.

_____

All hopes of Y/N still being awake are immediately crushed as Ellie walks up to their dark house. She quietly opens up the front door.

She tosses her coat to the side before making her way to the couch. There's no way in hell Y/N would let her in the bed after what happened.

Ellie lets out a small sigh, trying to make herself as comfortable as possible. She needs to make this right.

_____

Sunlight pouring in from a the window wakes Ellie up. She sits up, immediately getting a headache. She makes her way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. A small glimmer catches her eye. Ellie peers down across the counter at the silver object.

A ring. 'Y/N's ring.'

Ellie picks up the ring in confusion, flipping it over in confusion. She grabs the small paper underneath, her heart dropping as soon as she reads the words.

Ellie,

I'm done. I'm done fighting for whatever the hell this is. You're right, we never should've gotten married, especially not this young. We're not ready for this.

I've tried talking to you. I don't know what else to do. I don't know what the fuck I did to make you so upset all the time. You're free now, Ellie.

I'm sorry you felt pressured into marrying me. I really loved you, Els. I really did.

Y/N

Ellie really fucked up this time.

Ellie's heart begins to pound faster. She drops the ring and note onto the counter before bolting up the stairs. She pushes open the door with fear in her heart.

Empty.

Ellie opens up the closet to reveal your half empty and a suitcase gone.

" Fuck! " Ellie grabs her hair in frustration. " She sits on the end of the bed, staring down at her knees. " Fuck fuck fuck. " Panic runs through Ellies' head. 'Where the hell could they be?'

Suddenly a name pops into Ellie's head. 'Dina'

Ellie jumps up from the bed. She hurries out of the house, not bothering to lock it up. She needs to get to Y/N. She needs to fix what she fucked up.

She only hopes you accept her apology.

A few minutes later, Ellie arrives on Dina's porch. She knocks on the door, her foot tapping anxiously.

Hushed whispering pours out through the other side of the door. Ellie's heart clenches, hoping Y/N's at least here and safe.

The door opens up slightly to reveal Dina. She gives Ellie a tight, sympathetic smile. " Hey. "

" Is Y/N here? " Ellie rushes.

Dina's eyes fall back into the house. She hesitates for a second before responding with a head shake. " No. "

Ellie narrows her eyes. " Don't lie to me, Dina. I know they're here. I just need to talk to them. Please. Just-just let me talk to Y/N. "

Dina's eyes wander back into the house. " I'm sorry, Ellie. Y/N doesn't want to talk to you right now. "

Ellie lets out a sigh. " Yeah, I get it. Just...let them know I'm sorry. Please? I'm really fucking sorry. And I have a lot to talk to them. I know it might be too late but...fuck...I have to try. "

Dina nods and moves back to close the door. " I will. Bye, Ellie. "

Ellie watches as Dina disappears behind the door.

For the first time in months, the alcohol isn't here to shield her from her pain.

Sorry forgor to tag u . Do you guys want to be tagged? Lmk.

@octavias-next-meat-bite

#fanfic #fanfiction #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x plus size reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #tlou 2 #the last of us 2

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m1ckeyb3rry · 6 months

Text

Endure VI: Cadets

Series Synopsis: You and Eren Jaeger have been best friends since the age of two, but the two of you are destined for an inevitable tragedy. The world you have been born into is cruel; it is one where friends are traitors and enemies are allies, one where you find yourself doubting everything you've ever known. In this life, mistakes are fatal, and you must be careful, lest you make one too many.

Chapter Synopsis: You and Tullia enlist in the 104th Cadet Corps and meet your new comrades.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader, Armin Arlert x Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4.8k

Content Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, sexual abuse (non-explicit), major character death, angst, original characters included

“I can’t believe it! My baby T is going to join the Cadet Corps!” Petra cooed, sweeping Tullia into her arms and squeezing the life out of her. Her younger sister did not, surprisingly, protest. Perhaps she felt emotional, too. After all, you were really doing this. The two of you had just signed up to join the 104th Cadet Corps, Southern Division.

“Levi says congratulations to the both of us,” you said, folding your latest letter from the man and tucking it into the special box you had gotten to keep them in. The Survey Corps Captain was something of a father figure to you now, and you had become pen pals in the past year, ever since that first letter you had sent him. He would tell you about all of the expeditions the Scouts went on, and you would tell him about the shenanigans you and Tullia got up to.

Two years after the fall of Wall Maria, you were finally back to the way you used to be, or at least as close as you would ever get. Though you would never not miss your old friends, you had accepted your loss and moved on. You smiled and laughed a lot, you played with Merry and Tullia, you did Tullia’s hair, and Petra’s when she was home, you went swimming in the river and climbed trees and made paintings and tried to learn how to cook (though you were mostly unsuccessful in that endeavor).

“Speaking of Levi, any exciting news? Did you catch a glimpse of his bare chest last expedition, Petra?” Tullia said, squirming until her sister dropped her. Petra gasped in outrage at the words.

“I would never invade his privacy by trying to see something like that!” she said.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t complain if you accidentally walked in on something you weren’t supposed to see,” Tullia responded, waggling her eyebrows. Petra’s face turned a flaming scarlet, and she shoved her sister.

“I would!” she said.

“So you would complain if you saw Levi without a shirt? Wow, Petra, you have a really weird relationship with that man,” you said.

“No, I wouldn’t complain!” Petra sputtered.

“Dirty Petra! Keep your thoughts to yourself or you’ll attract mice!” Tullia reprimanded her, barely able to keep her snickers quiet. As soon as the two of you locked eyes, it was all over, as you dissolved into howls of raucous laughter. Petra scowled and glared at you both.

“Don’t expect me to give you guys any tips for cadet training now!” she said. You and Tullia immediately froze before falling to your knees in front of the older girl and repeatedly bowing in apology.

“Please, Petra!” you begged.

“No,” she said haughtily. You and Tullia exchanged determined glances. You needed to step your apology up, so you did what any sane person would do: broke out into a dance routine.

“What the —?” Petra said in surprise as Tullia did a roundoff. You twirled before bowing again.

“Oh Petra, light of my life, protector of all that is good and holy, my beloved elder sister, please accept our most sincere apologies. We will never make fun of you again if you give us advice for the cadet corps!” Tullia said, springing up from her somersault and saluting proudly at her sister, who scoffed in amusement.

“You two are super weird, you know? Come on, let’s get in the carriage. We can talk on the way. T, say bye to mommy and daddy,” she said, shaking her head and heading out to the carriage. You followed after her faithfully.

“You and your parents will take care of Merry for me, right?” you said. Petra gave you an affectionate look, helping you into the carriage and nodding.

“That’s right. Don’t worry about him. Just focus on becoming the best soldier you can, okay? You’ve got this in the bag, baby,” she said.

“Baby?” you questioned. She flushed but gave you an embarrassed smile.

“You’re like another baby sister for me, just like T is. I know we’re not really family, but I hope you think of me as your older sister, too,” she said. You were overcome with emotion, but Petra’s words struck a chord in you. True, the Rals weren’t really your family, but Petra was like your actual older sister, and Tullia was like a sibling in a way that your other friends had never been. You weren’t sure why that was, for you had known Eren, Mikasa, and Armin far longer than you had known the Ral sisters. Perhaps it was because you actually lived with the Rals, or perhaps it was the emotional turmoil they had helped you through, but either way, they were your family now in every way that mattered.

“We may not be related by blood, but you saved my life and took me in when I needed you. You are just as much my family as my parents and brother were. Thank you, for everything. I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you’ve done for me, Petra. I...love you,” you said, leaning over to hug her tightly. She hugged you back just as fiercely.

“I love you too. And you don’t have to repay me for anything, ever. Just stay alive, you hear me? That’s all I care about. I know what Levi’s told you, and I understand it. If you were anybody else, I’d even agree with it, but you’re you. I don’t care about humanity as long as you and T are okay, understand? That’s your priority,” she said.

“Yes. My priorities are my life, and the lives of my sisters,” you said with a determined nod. Petra smiled at you.

“The three of us are going to give Levi grey hairs early once you and T become Scouts, aren’t we?” she said.

“He’s pretty old already, so I wouldn’t say early, but yeah, we’re definitely going to shave off at least ten years from his lifespan,” Tullia chimed in, entering the carriage as the Rals’ coachmen cued the horses forward.

“He isn’t that old!” Petra said.

“He could be Tullia and I’s father,” you mused, doing the math in your head. He would’ve been a young father, yes, but it was entirely possible. Petra turned an interesting shade of green at that.

“Is it bad that I still have a crush on him?” she said after a second.

“By the walls, Petra, we have a normal father! You should not have daddy issues!” Tullia said.

“I’m going to kill whoever taught you about such things,” Petra muttered.

“I am all knowing and infinite in my wisdom. Nobody taught me about such things; I was born with the knowledge. I suppose you could say God himself taught me,” Tullia said.

“Then I will drop kick God straight down to the underworld as punishment,” Petra said seriously.

“Honestly, I think she could do it,” you said.

“Pet would be the one,” Tullia agreed.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Petra wondered.

“Whatever you choose to take it as, I guess,” Tullia said. Petra mulled this over before shrugging.

“Thanks, then, both of you,” she said.

“Anything for my favorite big sister,” Tullia said.

“Mine too,” you added quietly. Petra’s smile became gentler, kinder, at this, and she leaned over to kiss you on top of the head.

“Y/N, you must be a saint if you’re letting her do that!” Tullia said.

“Ew, like I’d want to kiss you!” Petra said, wrinkling her nose and inching away from Tullia.

“What? Hey, that’s not nice! I’m not gross, I smell nice!” Tullia said in surprise at her sister’s rejection. Petra hugged you close to her. Tullia furrowed her brow and sniffed her arm in worry.

“You do smell nice, Tullia. So do you, Petra,” you offered, cuddling close to Petra, who smirked victoriously at her little sister. For her part, Tullia stuck her tongue out at the girl, who responded in kind.

Eventually, you reached Trost, which was where your division of the 104th Cadet Corps was based from. You noticed that you were the only ones arriving via carriage, which made sense. Most people that joined the military were orphans or refugees that had no other options in life but fighting or the fields.

To be fair, you and Tullia were much the same. Your situation was prettied up a little more, but you knew the truth. The Rals needed money desperately because of Mrs. Ral’s failing health, which was why Petra and Tullia had both signed up for the military. As for you, well, you had your promise to Eren to fulfill, but more than that, you didn’t want to keep relying on the Rals’ hospitality, willing to provide it though they were. There weren’t many options for a girl your age, relatively unskilled but decently good looking: brothels, the fields, or the military. It was clear which choice was superior to the others.

“Petra Ral. Back again for more training?” a tall, bald, gruff-looking man with dead eyes said.

“Nope, it’s these two’s turn. I’m going to be honest, Commandant Shadis, you’re a lot less scary than Captain Levi. No offense,” Petra said as if she was utterly shocked by this revelation. Commandant Shadis smiled, though it resembled a wolf baring its teeth more than anything. You were not sure how Levi could possibly be scarier than this man, but then you remembered that Petra had seen Levi in action against the titans and surmised that she was probably right.

“Ah, little Tullia Ral, and...whoever you are. The two of you, go get in your uniforms and line up. You’ll be meeting the rest of your comrades in the 104th today,” he said, nodding at you before turning to have a conversation with Petra about her trials and tribulations in the Special Operations Squad.

As you and Tullia pulled your uniforms on, you felt a sense of belonging settle over you. This was what you were meant to do with your life. You were finally, finally going to begin to be better than you used to be. And you’d have Tullia by your side through it all.

The two of you had been able to snag a room together, a fact for which you were eternally grateful. You were excited to make new friends, sure, but sleeping in the same room as a stranger wasn’t the most appealing thing to you. You were happy that the girl who was like your sister was the one you’d be with instead.

“Are you really going to just leave your hair like that?” Tullia said, flicking at your hair disdainfully. You shrugged, finishing up the final buttons of your shirt.

“Yeah, why not? I don’t feel like putting it up, and besides, my hair’s well behaved. It won’t get me in trouble, will it?” you cooed, petting your own head as if you were talking to an animal.

“You are seriously odd sometimes. Well, let me know if you ever want me to braid it or anything,” she said.

“Don’t think I will, but thanks for the offer anyways. You’re an angel,” you said.

“Tell Petra that, though I doubt she’d believe you even if you did,” Tullia said with a scoff.

“I’m afraid that you’re right on that count. Are you excited?” you said.

“For what, you telling Petra that I’m an angel? I mean, I guess so?” she said. You rolled your eyes and flicked her forehead as you walked outside to join the rest of the cadets in the lineup.

“No, dummy, making new friends and stuff. I hope the people here are nice, we’ll be spending the next three years with them,” you said, standing and facing away from the sun next to a boy with buzzed hair. He was short, but his olive eyes danced with mischief.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he whispered.

“Y/N. You?” you said.

“Connie Springer, but you can call me your future husband,” he said with a wink. You were in awe of his audacity, but you could tell by the way he was grinning that he was only joking, so you decided to play along.

“We’ll see about that, Connie. Aren’t you going to ask me what my last name is?” you said.

“Sure. What’s your last name, Y/N?” he said.

“Well, it was L/N, but it’s Springer now,” you said. He whistled lowly before blowing you a kiss.

“I mean, if you insist. Anything for you, my love,” he said.

“Thank you, my love,” you said dramatically, placing your hand over your heart.

“You’re funny. I like you,” he said.

“I should hope so, considering we’re apparently married now,” you said.

“Yeah, yeah, forgot about that part,” he said.

“How could you? It only just happened! Why, you’re hurting my feelings, Connie! I think I would like for us to divorce!” you said, scandalized. He pretended to wipe away a tear from his cheek.

“Our relationship was beautiful while it lasted,” he sniffed.

“I’ll never forget you, Connie. If only you could say the same about me,” you said.

“Don’t hold this over me forever, woman!” he said.

“I will, man!” you said.

“I genuinely cannot tell what relationship dynamic is going on over here, but I for one am fascinated by it,” Tullia said.

“We just operate on a different level, isn’t that right, Mr. Springer?” you said.

“Absolutely, Mrs. Springer,” he said.

“Ex-Mrs. Springer,” you corrected him. You decided you rather liked Connie. He was wickedly funny and he seemed kind, at least. If all of your comrades were like him, you would be quite happy.

Engaged in conversation with Connie and Tullia, you missed the first few cadets introducing themselves. You felt bad, but you knew you’d all be acquainted with each other soon enough, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Commandant Shadis stared you straight in the eyes before moving on without making you say a word. Perhaps he knew that nothing he could do to try and intimidate you would be enough to scare you. You had already seen the titans, had watched as they devoured your family, had barely escaped with your life. No mere man would ever be enough to make you fear anymore.

Connie was not so fortunate, getting thoroughly reamed out by the Commandant for saluting with his hand on the wrong side. Rookie mistake, but one you doubted he would ever make again.

Tullia was also left alone, the hard look in her eyes one that Petra had drilled you both on for countless hours as a way to ward off unwanted men’s advances. If only you had known about it back in Shiganshina. You doubted Oskar would have bothered you so much if you had glared at him properly, even just once.

A handsome boy named Jean Kirstein was completely shamed for wanting to join the military police. To be honest, you didn’t blame him. He just wanted to live. Was that really so wrong? He seemed cocky and arrogant, true, but he also had the air of someone with the skills to back up his big words. He had a strong jaw, and his eyes shone a warm golden brown when they flicked past where you and Tullia were as he stood from where the Commandant had knocked him to his feet. His cheeks were pink, and he scowled when he noticed your curious stare, surreptitiously giving you the finger once Commandant Shadis had moved on to yell at a girl eating a potato. You frowned and looked at your feet once more.

As the potato girl was sent to run laps and everyone else was dismissed to eat dinner, you grabbed Tullia’s hand and fairly sprinted to your room before everyone else could get there. Once the door had safely shut behind you, you both burst into laughter.

“By the walls, we have the weirdest class by far!” Tullia wheezed.

“Poor Connie! And the potato girl!” you said, wiping away tears as you changed out of your uniform and into your everyday clothes, Tullia doing the same.

“That Jean boy seems like a dick, but I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive,” she mused, redoing her braids with nimble fingers that were well-used to the familiar motions.

“He gave me the finger earlier,” you said sadly.

“Asshole! Him, not you. By the walls, I hate men,” Tullia said, shaking her head.

“I think he was just embarrassed about how the Commandant treated him, that’s all,” you said, your voice quiet as you laced up your boots.

“Whatever. I’m sure there’s cuter boys around. Connie was funny, at least. It seemed like you two got along,” she said with a suggestive smirk. You laughed out loud and shook your head.

“Goodness, no. I’d want to be his friend, but certainly nothing more than that. He is funny, though, I’ll give him that,” you agreed.

“Somewhere, a short little boy with buzzed silver hair is crying right now,” Tullia said.

“Somewhere? Don’t you mean in the Mess Hall, where we should be if we want to get any food?” you said.

“Hold on, I’m almost done. Patience is a virtue and gluttony is a sin, which means you just double dipped in the pot of offensive ranch dressing,” Tullia said.

“I hate ranch dressing,” you deadpanned.

“I hate you,” she deadanned back.

“Let’s just go eat,” you said, drawing your cardigan tighter around your shoulders in an attempt to ward off the chilly night air. She did the same and gave you a winning smile.

“Yeah, sure. It’s probably for the best. I don’t want to deal with a hangry Y/N,” she said, rolling her eyes as you headed towards the Mess Hall.

“I don’t get hangry!” you snapped.

“Yeah, and Petra doesn’t have a crush on Levi. Just because we say things doesn’t mean they’re true,” she said. You were going to respond with something snarky as your stomach rumbled, but then you realized that that would just be proving her point, so you kept your mouth shut. She grinned at your acceptance, and you fixed her with a baleful stare as you walked into the Mess Hall.

“There’s barely anything left!” Tullia said in dismay as you filled your trays with the meager food that had been passed over by the other cadets in their quest for dinner.

“Maybe if somebody hadn’t taken a million years to braid their hair just right for Jean Kirstein, we wouldn’t be having this problem!” you hissed, ladling a spoonful of cold soup into your bowl.

“I was not doing it for Jean Kirstein!” she said.

“Oh yeah? I hope not, because he looks pretty disgusted. I think it’s because the left one is crooked,” you said. Her face went white, and she immediately put her tray down and took the braid out before redoing it.

“Does he still look disgusted?” she whispered. You snickered.

“He never did, Tullia dearest. I was just messing with you, but you proved my point quite perfectly. Oh, I think your boyfriend’s about to get into a fight,” you said.

True to your words, Jean was standing to face off another boy, whose face you could not see, as his back was to you. He had shaggy brown hair that reminded you of Eren’s, and you smiled fondly, finding yourself rooting for him just because of that, though you didn't even know what the two were fighting about.

“Who are you cheering for?” Tullia asked.

“Brown hair,” you said immediately.

“Really? I’ll go with Jean, then,” she said, “Just to be a contrarian.”

As you watched, however, the two boys ended up shaking hands. Though it was a let down, as it meant you wouldn’t get to watch a fight, it was probably for the best. You were going to have to work together in the future, after all. There was no place for senseless rivalries in the military.

And then the brown-haired boy turned around to leave the Mess Hall. Your eyes met, and you felt like you were drowning again. They were bright jade, filled with curiosity and that ever-familiar wonder. Your tray slipped from your grasp and clattered to the ground, and you were dimly aware of Tullia scolding you, but it was unimportant. You pointed at the boy, your hand shaking.

“Are you really here?” you said. He seemed as awed as you were, his eyes wide as he drank in your appearance. The world faded away for a moment, leaving the two of you in some liminal space where you were the only ones that existed.

“Y/N,” he said gently, his voice wavering as if he could not quite believe his eyes.

“Eren,” you said, your throat dry. Tullia stopped her ranting to look at you and then at the boy and then back at you.

“Woah, wait, like your childhood best friend Eren? Your dead childhood best friend Eren?” she checked. The other cadets had gone back to whatever they were doing, not at all interested in the bizarre turn of events, most likely because for them, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I thought you were dead,” Eren said, reaching his hand towards you and then drawing it away sharply. You looked at his hand, his warm, rough, familiar hand that had once fit in your own as if it was made to be there. You wondered if it still did. A flash of white caught your eyes, and you were further surprised to see a white ribbon tied around his wrist.

No, not just any white ribbon. It was the white ribbon you used to put your hair up with. It had gotten caught in the wreckage when Petra had saved you, and so it had been undone and discarded without thought. Yet here it was, with Eren the whole time.

Noticing your gaze, he laughed bitterly. “We found it, Mikasa and I, when we went back to get my mother. It was pretty obvious what had happened at that point. You had been eaten. Yet...here you are.”

“I thought the three of you had been eaten,” you said, “My parents said you guys had been playing close to where the breach was, and then they were killed and so was my brother and then Petra saved me, and we looked for you afterwards, but we could never find you, and you’re dead, right? You’re dead, this is just a hallucination or something. Damnit, what the hell did Tullia feed me?”

“I’m not dead. Neither are Mikasa and Armin. We managed to escape. Armin got Mr. Hannes to save us, though he wasn’t able to get to my mother in time. She was eaten, just like your family,” he said.

Your families were gone. But you were here. He was here. It might not have been what you had had in mind, but it was enough.

Just like that, the barriers broke, and then you were flying into his arms, and he was hugging you as tightly as he had when you were two, and three, and four and five and six and every other year that the two of you had spent together; because this was a fact of life, as true as the sun was bright: Eren Jaeger was your best friend, and in some way, shape, or form, you would always fit together. The puzzle pieces of your minds and hearts and bodies would change and evolve, but always in tandem, ever parallel, so that even after years apart, he was as familiar to you as your own self.

“You’re alive,” you choked out.

“You’re alive,” he repeated, and you were crying tears, though they were not of grief or sorrow but joy as your heart sang at the reunion. He was like a miracle of some sorts. Certainly, no human could cheat death itself and find you once again, so long after you had last parted.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for that stupid argument. I wish we had never fought,” you said, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I know. I know, it was all my fault, I thought you died hating me,” he said, and you were surprised to feel warm tears dripping onto your neck as he started to cry.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. We may fight, and argue, and disagree, but never hate,” you promised him.

“Okay,” he said, clinging onto you, and for once, it was you comforting him and not the other way around. You found you did not mind.

“Are Armin and Mikasa here?” you whispered after a moment.

“Yes! Yes, oh, they’re not going to believe this!” he said, drawing back from you with a brilliant smile, though his eyes were rimmed with red, and you knew yours were the same.

“Wait, Eren, before we go, I want you to meet someone. This is Tullia Ral. Her older sister saved me from the titans, and I’ve been living with them for the past two years. She’s like my sister,” you said, pointing at Tullia, who had been awkwardly standing beside you the entire time. She waved at Eren.

“Hey, Eren! I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said.

“Uh, is that a good thing?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, using his other one to hold yours in a death grip.

“I think so!” Tullia said cheerfully.

“Let’s go meet Mikasa and Armin, and we can introduce Tullia to them, too,” you said. Eren was positively glowing at this, and with his other hand, he grabbed Tullia’s and dragged the two of you behind him to meet your other two childhood friends.

“Where did you rush off to, Eren?” Mikasa said dryly when you neared their table. Eren responded by shoving you forwards. You stumbled but straightened yourself and waved at the duo, whose jaws dropped when they saw you.

“Mikasa, please pinch me. I think I’ve gone insane, because I’m pretty sure that’s Y/N standing right there,” Armin said.

“No, Armin, if you’re insane, I am too, because I can see her as well,” Mikasa said.

“Guys, she’s really here! She’s alive! She’s been alive this whole time!” Eren said. Mikasa slowly stood, running her hands over your face as if to check and see if you were really, truly there. Determining you were solid, at least, she leaned down to listen to your heartbeat. After a second, she straightened, her dark grey eyes filling with tears as she looked at you before gathering you in a hug.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” she said.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you said, her familiar sweet almond scent making you feel at home once again, bringing up warm memories of nights by the fire and her silky hair running through your fingers as you weaved it into impossible to replicate knots and plaits.

Pulling away from Mikasa, you turned to the final boy you had spent your time with. The boy with the ocean in his eyes and the hair like spun gold; the boy who read books to you and showed you every single picture contained in their pages: Min-Min, your Min-Min. He smiled, a bright, wide smile that showed his pearly teeth. Everything about him seemed almost seraphic in nature, just like it had when you were younger, and you adored him for it. You hugged him, too, and finally, some long-missing piece of your soul was restored as you were once again surrounded by your best friends from childhood. You did not need to say anything to Armin. He was smart, he understood what you meant when you hugged him and pressed your face against the crook of his neck — I’ve missed you, I love you, don’t ever leave me like that again.

You introduced Tullia to them, and the five of you wasted the night away learning what the others had been up to while you had been separated. Though you had started off sitting beside Mikasa, you had somehow gravitated towards Eren. Nobody questioned it. It was simply the natural order of things. You belonged next to Eren and he belonged next to you. It was black and white in a world where shades of grey reigned supreme.

As the moon inched across the sky and your yawns became harder and harder to ignore, you mutually agreed to return to your rooms and continue to speak over breakfast tomorrow. Mikasa had to all but carry you towards your dorms, refusing to let anyone else do it, and Eren graciously helped Tullia, who was feeling a little sick after eating the spoiled soup that had probably never even been good in the first place.

None of you noticed Jean Kirstein watching through the window of his dorm, regret filling his face before he closed the curtains and turned away.

#eren x reader #armin x reader #eren x y/n #armin x y/n #eren x you #armin x you #canon au #reader insert #endure #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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midnightswithdearkatytspb · 1 year

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MidnightsWithDearKatyTSPB’s Recommendation List: April PT. 2

Welcome to part 2 of April’s recommendation list, down below you will find the link to part 1. Please send me a moodboard request for your work. I love making them. If you are interested in having your writing challenges featured here, your stories, or even your blog, please feel free to tag me in your works, message me, or use the hashtag MidnightWithDearKatyTSPB. I hope you are having a lovely start to spring or fall, depending on where you live.

<< April Pt. 1 🌷

May Pt. 1 💐 >>

Masterlist 📜

In My Hometown (Moodboard) >> Joel Miller x Reader - "I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay."

More Than Just An Heiress (One-Shot) >> Dougie Poynter x OFC!Greer Smith - Summary: Greer Smith, the best friend of Dougie Poynter, is turning another year older. She needs reminding that she is more than what she is labeled.

BLURBS/DRABBLES:

Easter Egg Hunt by @look-at-the-soul >> Tommy Shelby x Reader - Summary: The Shelby family has an Easter egg hunt for the children, and you have a special one for Tommy. (my summary) | It's so fluffy and sweet. I love it!

March Madness Drabble Challenge 2023 - Peaky Edition: Day 25 by @acewritesfics >> Tommy Shelby x Reader - Summary: Gif Request - Sneak Preview: “Then you know what to do, Tom,” she reminds him of what they last spoke about. | This needs to be shared again because, sometimes, Thomas Shelby needs to be told.

Takes One to Know One by @zablife >> Tommy Shelby x Reader - Summary: You are Lady Sarah of Connemara. At least that’s what you want everyone to believe. | You know the gif where the girl flings the newspaper and dances? That's me. Love it.

Tommy Shelby + Secret - Mood Board by @acewritesfics >> Tommy Shelby x Reader - Summary: Tommy Shelby has a secret he's been keeping close to his chest. (my summary) | Tommy Shelby is never late to anything, and I absolutely adore this moodboard and drabble.

ONE-SHOTS:

Home by @shelbyssins >> Tommy Shelby x Reader - Request - Sneak Preview: Her eyes widened as he started to speak to her again, she couldn’t focus on his voice over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears, “If you tell me to leave you alone, I will,” is all she heard him say. | Prepare to have your heart broken and put back together within less than 8 thousand words.

Loud Sounds by @runnning-outof-time >> Tommy Shelby x Reader ft. Daughter!Thea - Summary: Gif Request - Sneak Preview: “Mumma’s not going to be happy that you got your shoes and pants wet,” she pointed out in a warning tone, making Tommy realized that the lower half of his legs were now submerged in the pond. | K writes what I feel would have happened in an episode had Tommy had a PTSD episode while being a wonderful father to his daughter Thea.

Pen Pals by @little-diable & @zablife >> Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader - Summary: Tommy and the reader have been pen pals as teenagers, though ripped apart by the war. Now, as she is trapped in an abusive marriage, she finds Tommy's old letters again, and she can't help but wonder if he had made it home from war, and if so, could he be the helping hand she's desperate for? | I thoroughly enjoyed reading. I just about melted right where I sat.

Ruined by @areyenotfondofmelobster >> Arthur Shelby x Reader - Summary: Arthur wants to love you, your scars, and all you are. (my summary) | The is beautifully written, and as someone who has scars and is self-conscious, I would love to have Arthur love me like this.

This Storm Will Also Pass by @runnning-outof-time >> Tommy Shelby x Reader - Summary: Tommy manages to calm down (Y/N) after he finds her hiding and riddled with anxiety during a late autumn thunderstorm. | K knows how to write a piece that could have occurred on the show. I'm not sure which is my favorite part, the ending or when he comes home to her.

SERIES:

A Different Sort of Man | Chapter 7 | Epilogue | by @evita-shelby >> Tommy Shelby x OFC!Eva Shelby - Summary: Or where Eva plays around with magic and Tommy wakes up in a universe where Grace is his wife while that universe's Tommy discovers just how different his life would have been if he pursued the pretty witch in 71 Watery Lane | What a perfect way to end the series with both Tommy and Thomas getting a happy ending, which they deserve. Very much enjoyed this series, and I think you will enjoy this read.

Family Ties | Chapter 17 by @peakyscillian >> Modern!Tommy Shelby x f!reader - Summary: The Shelby’s will do anything for family. | Such a beautiful way to end the series.

ONE-SHOTS:

soft morning sex with Frank? by @amhrosina >> Frank Castle x Reader - Reader sleeps in and wakes to Frank, and what follows is a pleasant morning together of soft morning sex. (my summary) | Love a sappy love-drunk Frank.

TED LASSO:

Begin Again Ch. 3 | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 by @teds-mustache-wrangler >> Ted Lasso x OFC!Penny Fletcher - Summary: When Penny starts working at AFC Richmond as their new head photographer, she catches the eye of a certain mustached, happy-go-lucky, head coach of the team. But can their spark endure through the season’s pressures and the demons of their past? | I feel so lucky to get to read this story before everyone else does. Because I get to be so excited for you guys. Wren does such an amazing job forming relationships with her characters. You just can't help but to want more.

PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS:

DRABBLES:

Booby Trap by @zablife >> Joel Miller x Reader - Summary: Gif Request - Sneak Preview: "This is more than I bargained for," he said with a shake of his head. | I requested this from Lee, and she had me all smiles by the middle of it. It's a must-read Joel drabble that you don't want to miss.

ONE-SHOTS:

Breaking The Girl by @cinematicgf >> dom!Joel Miller x sub f!reader - Summary: as a casual photographer, you find the opportunity to go with your neglectful boyfriend to his hometown for the summer thrilling. Taking photos of his neighbors and friends whilst not blowing money on a huge vacation sounds perfect. A small job with his mum, neighborhood summer get-togethers, and weekend beach trips accompanied by your trusty camera, why not?! But when a certain charming Southern man, known as your boyfriend’s old boss, enters the mix, you can't take your lens off the fine older man, and he can't seem to take it off you either. | This piece was so scorching and enjoyable.

Editorial by @just-some-random-blogger >> Joel Miller x Reader - Summary: "Can I read your diary?" "No." "Please." "I said no." "Pretty please?" "Ellie." "P l e a s e?" "No." | You got your angst and fluff. It's too adorable for words.

Just Keep Breathing by @swiftispunk >> Javier Peña x f!reader - Summary: Javi finds it harder and harder to keep up with the more physical aspects of his job. Reader offers him some love and words of comfort. | It's so soft and fluffy. 🥹🥹

Let Me by @swiftispunk >> Javier Peña x f!reader - Summary: Reader is inexperienced, Javi helps you out. You know, like a gentleman. | Someone, please cool me down, stat.

Rare by @swiftispunk >> Joel Miller x f!reader - Summary: A rare find on a supply run leads to some new and unlikely experiences. | You guys are in for a treat with this one. It's all porn. I consider this Dom!Joel, and it's perfect. *chefs kiss*

Soaked by @joelscruff >> Javier Peña x f!reader - Summary: It's hard being an intern for a man who won't even look at you, but maybe there's something else to it that you don't see. | If people don't get soaked reading this, I don't even know.

Ultraviolence by @devilmademewriteit >> raider!joel miller x fem!afab!reader | Summary: Thank god—a handsome stranger saves you from the grips of a pack of cruel, cruel men. Unfortunately, said stranger, Joel Miller, is cut from the exact same cloth as the rest of them. | Sometimes you need some dark!Joel with filth in it, and this was it.

What I Need by @swiftispunk >> Joel Miller x fem!reader - Summary: Reader has a bad day. Joel gives you what you need. you know, uh, fuck it, Joel Miller knife play. | It's hot 🥵 and it's dirty. I love it! 🥰

SERIES:

Apothecary | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | by @atinylittlepain >> Joel Miller x witchy!reader - Summary: Joel becomes curious about the woman running the medicine shop in Jackson and the strange rumors swirling around her. | I'm so excited to see where this goes. Witchy + Joel? Yes, please!

Fallacy: Reject Me, I Get It by @cherry-clafoutis >> Joel Miller x Reader - Summary: You're young, sick, and vulnerable after getting rid of your family with your own hands. Trying to survive in a broken world. When Joel Miller finds you, you swear he is your guardian angel. Falling in love with him was wrong but inevitable. | This series has everything you need in a reader insert for The Last of Us. Adventure, Action, Angst, Love, and Family. It’s just perfect. It was my binge of the day, and I’m glad that I did.

*In My Hometown | pt. i | pt. ii | @swiftispunk >> neighbour!dbf!Joel Miller x fem!afab!reader (+ platonic!Tommy and platonic!Sarah) - Summary: Tomorrow, you leave town for good. tonight, you cross the line with your neighbour, Joel. | This ripped my heart out, but like in a good way? It's the writing okay and the playlist that goes with it. Just oomph. It's a must-read.

Need To Know That I Want You by @joelscruff >> Joel Miller x Reader - Summary: Joel calls you his good girl for the first time. (Takes place after this) | This series continues to get hotter and hotter.

Night Walks by @toxicanonymity >> dark!creepy!Joel Miller x Reader - Summary: Joel, an older neighbor you've been walking with late at night, asks you into his basement to sell him weed but has other intentions. | Sometimes you just want some dark and creepy Joel, and @toxicanonymity does not let their readers down.

*September by @wheresarizona >> Joel Miller x f!reader - Summary: Joel Miller was the love of your life, your plans to spend the rest of your days with him derailed by the world ending. You got separated on the day of the Outbreak and never saw him again, not knowing if he survived until you find out the smuggler Marlene hired to bring an immune girl to your research hospital is none other than the man you thought you'd lost forever. | You will go through every possible emotion while reading this series. It's still in progress, and I love it so much.

TRIPLE FRONTIER:

BLURBS/DRABBLES:

A Better Person by @musings-of-a-rose >> Santiago Garcia x f!reader - Summary/Request: "You made me a better person." | The hopeless romantic in me was squealing. You're going to love it.

ONE-SHOTS:

Champagne Fulled Confessions by @violentdelightsandviolentends >> Will "Ironhead" Miller x Female Reader - Summary/Request: I have something to tell you and coming home drunk scenario. | I can never get enough of Will, but add Porn and I'm in heaven.

Save Tonight by @psychedelic-ink >> Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Frankie Morales - Summary: Frankie has a proposal for you that you're eager to accept. | This is very hot. 😅🔥🥵

MOODBOARDS:

Arthur's Angel, Everybody Eleses White Devil by @call-sign-shark

Arthur Shelby Modern AU by @call-sign-shark

John Shelby and Dangerous by @cillmequick

Tommy Shelby and Angel by @cillmequick

Tommy Shelby and Serene by @cillmequick

@swiftispunk - Hannah is a great writer getting you sucked into her various Javier Peña and Joel Miller works that she has written. Her current Joel Miller story, In My Hometown, comes with a playlist that helps you feel every bit of emotion she tries to relay through her writing, from the heartbreak to the angst. I highly suggest giving her masterlist a read-through and turning on her notifications.

@wheresarizona - Arizona writes for various Pedro Pascal characters, and through her works, she takes you to far-off destinations you never thought imaginable. I feel various emotions that keep me returning for more of her writing. When in need of a break from this reality, Arizona provides you one through her masterlist with various stories and one-shots. I suggest reading September, a Joel Miller series that is still ongoing, and Learned Something New, a Jack Daniels blurb that got me into Agent Whiskey. Whether in need of something long or short, Arizona has you covered.

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queentheweeb · 2 years

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Hanta Sero X Shy American Female Reader

A/N: You replace Mineta

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"Breathe L/N-chan you have nothing to fear." You were trying to give yourself a pep talk in your just freshly moved-in dorm room. Everything happened so fast that you really didn't have a chance to reflect on all the blessings that have been handed to you. Your parents were struggling in America, you guys were originally from Canada but moved to America when you were just two years old and now that you are 15 the three of you moved to Japan. The reason? Your father got a job offering 3 times the amount he was making in America and he took it. Plus you got accepted to Japan's most prestigious hero academy. You were sad that you were leaving your friends but, you had a video call and can always pen pal with them. In the span of 2 weeks, you took that 12-hour flight jet lag kicking your ass, and when you landed you guys were taken to your apartment. It was huge! It was half the price back in America but you guys had a big backyard with a pond that had turtles, koi fish, and some snails. You guys had a finished basement and an attic/crawl space. The culture shock and difference were all so much to handle. Once again you thanked GOD that both your parents were fluent in several languages and taught you how to speak 3 fluently which were English, Japanese and Spanish. "I'm thinking too much again, come on girl" You slapped your cheeks a few times grabbing your bag and ensuring that you have everything you needed. It's only been 2 days since you moved in since you got here when it's been a few weeks of classes already. You were caught up on everything that happened courtesy of all the U.A teachers aka Pro heroes. They weren't lying when they said that only active or retired pro's worked there and that the principal was a talking animal. Your head was spinning by the time all of that was over and you didn't have time to digest it! You had to make up as much work as possible while adjusting to constantly speaking Japanese, learning how to use transportation and vending machines, and other culture shocks. It was a mess but, at least your parents were struggling with you.

"Watch where you're going extra!" You jumped looking to see who in the hell is that loud and rude to a total stranger. You looked behind you and saw a very pissed-off blonde with red eyes scowling extremely hard at you. "AREN'T YOU GOING TO SAY SOMETHING FOR GETTING IN YOUR WAY!" He let off little explosions in his hand. Ah! He has the same quirk as you! Choosing to ignore the fact that this guy was crazy and could have easily walked around you with all the available space you showed him your quirk. You put both your hands up showing your explosions to him. Bad idea. "SO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME HUH SHITTY EXTRA! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF WE HAVE THE SAME QUIRK I'M STILL GOING TO BE ON TOP!" You gave him such an incredulous look confused beyond comprehension. How the hell did he come up with all of that when you didn't even say a word??

"You're already picking a fight Bakubro." You jumped at the unexpected voices both of you turning around to see who it was. It was a group, a girl with pink skin and horns, a redhead, a yellow-haired one, and another one with a triangle smile. The red one hardened his face and arm when Bakubro? swung at him.

"SHE'S THE ONE THAT GOT IN MY WAY SHITTY HAIR" Is he incapable of calling people by their real names.

"With all this space? You just chose to walk behind her to see who she was hee hee" The pink-haired girl started laughing while dancing around to avoid him.

"DO YOU WANT TO DIE RACCOON EYES" First Shitty hair and now raccoon eyes? What was next?

"Anyway, I've never seen you around here, are you from one of the other classes?" The yellow-haired one was in your personal space making you red and stutter from the sudden attention.

"U-uh, my name is Y/N L/N I'm a transfer student and got accepted to U.A through recommendation. I am from America and I went to the number one hero school there." You don't know why you told random students that but okay.

"OOOO you're from America? How many languages do you speak?" You held up three fingers which earned you gasps while the ash Blondie was still seething.

"I'm sorry while my friends are talking a mile a minute." You were surprised to see the black-haired triangle-smile guy shove away the yellow-haired one and stand a foot from you "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I'm Hanta Sero, the pink one is Mina Ashido, the electric is Denki Kaminari the one holding up the angry chihuahua-"

"I'LL KILL YOU." You couldn't help but giggle as the red-headed one was struggling to hold him back.

"He's Ejirou Kirishima and the loudest one is-"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TELL HER MY NAME." The unholy screeching that was coming out of his mouth made you wince. Did he just not give a fuck about his vocal cords?

"-Katsuki Bakugo" You nodded your head in understanding now. That's why they called him Bakubro.

"YOU FLAT FACED MOTHER FUCKER" He broke out of Kirishima's hold and started chasing the two of you. You have no idea why you were running with Sero but, it felt right considering he was pissed and looked ready to attack anyone.

"By the way what class are you in?" You both were running and not the slightest out of breath.

"I'm in Class 1-A" You looked at him and saw he had a really big smile on his face.

"That's the best news I've heard all day! We all are in Class-1A!" You beamed at him finally making it into the building and turning your sprint into a brisk walk with the others very close behind.

"I can't wait to get to know you all." You saw the door down the hall and it was still open meaning class didn't start yet

"I can't wait to get to know you." Sero gave you a thumbs-up with a wink making you giggle. You can already tell this is going to be an interesting year.

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A lot of potential for a part 2

#anime #fanfic #manga #bnha #mha #fanfiction #quotev #quirks #fluff #x reader #american reader #shy reader #x shy reader #female reader #x female reader #hanta sero #Hanta Sero X Female reader

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jennagrinsoverml · 2 years

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Any recommendations for fics where Adrien either never went to public school or just never met Marinette as a civilian until later in life?

Oh, this is fun! The dynamic changes a lot when you remove the square from things. I've read and enjoyed quite a few fics with this premise. Here are my favourites 😊

Lucky Us by PrincessKitty1

-AU- Marinette Dupain-Cheng's life isn't going as planned: twenty-six, recently dumped, and running her parents' bakery. The highlights of her day are the emails sent by her mysterious pen pal, Chat Noir. That is, until handsome model Adrien Agreste starts swinging by the bakery after hours. But how is he to know the Ladybug he loves is standing right in front of him?

Multi-chapter. Normally I'm not one for no power AUs, but this one is so well done, and found a great way to reintegrate the square, even with everything. Once I started reading, I was entirely swept along and found it impossible to stop.

Imbalance by @thelibraryloser

Chat Noir is fighting evil all on his own, not aware he’s supposed to be half of a whole. Hawkmoth is desperate to get his hands on the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculous, knowing that if he causes enough destruction the world will demand balance and the Ladybug will have to appear. And when she does, she's not what anyone expected. Chat thought having a partner would feel different- maybe like how he feels talking to the girl on the balcony.

Multi-chapter. This is a great AU where Adrien not only never went to school, but got his miraculous under different circumstances and without Chat Noir and Ladybug meeting as fellow superheroes. The writing is fantastic, and the storyline is unique.

out of the woods. by @anxiouscupcake

“I- I have a… Someone I care about very much,” Adrien admitted. “I’m only doing this because my father gave me no choice.”

“Well,” she said, lips pursed. “I don’t have it in me to fight The Gabriel Agreste, right now. My hands are tied too.”

“I’m sorry.”

To his credit, he genuinely sounded a little remorseful. She even resented him a little for it, because she had so much more to lose than he did, but he just wanted to stay in Daddy’s good books.

She grimaced. Marriage, for one year, they agreed. And a painful few months of “courtship” to convince the press of the authenticity of their “marriage”.

In eighteen months, her father would be hale and hearty, and she’d divorce Adrien Agreste and be nothing more than his business partner.

(…In which Gabriel is an asshole, Adrien is trying and Marinette’s stubborn but gives in eventually.)

This is a 2-part series that isn’t finished and that I desperately hope is continued. It has a kind of enemies to lovers vibe, even though that’s not exactly what’s going on. Adrien never went to school, so Marinette never fell in love with him. Instead Ladynoir are in love, but can’t be together because of identities. Meanwhile, Adrienette are forced to marry because of circumstances and Marinette resents Adrien for it. The tension in this one is exquisite!

Save You a Seat by @miabrown007

Alya once read that you should invite random celebrities to your wedding — with the more than likely assumption that they won’t attend, only send you a card and an overpriced coffee machine.

Luckily, the chances of Hawkmoth’s son reading his mail and showing up to the event are microscopic. Marinette will be busy enough trying to get to know the boy behind Chat Noir’s mask — if he does decide to come — she doesn’t need to worry about being able to look Adrien Agreste in the eyes.

One-shot. Adrien never went to school so he doesn’t know Marinette, Nino or Alya. They just know him as Hawkmoth’s son. So, needless to say, things are a little awkward when Adrien shows up to Nino and Alya’s wedding… Such a fun (and awkward!) read.

Totally Not a Rom-Com by @nomolosk

Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Graham de Vanily (formerly Agreste) meet for the first time on a trans-Atlantic flight to New York. Cuteness and fluff ensues.

One-shot. I love these kinds of meet-cutes! Especially where they fall for each other so quickly (because it’s them, of course they would) and where their needs and wants align so perfectly. This is just so cute!

A little love by @hanaasbananas

He thought of those weeks visiting Marinette on her balcony, cultivating a friendship as she built a place for herself in his heart. He thought of Ladybug, his partner who had been beside him through everything, who had waited for him even when it was clear he would not return. How, of all the cafes in Paris, Marinette had chosen to walk into his.

Multi-chapter. This one is pretty angsty (but with a happy ending!) Adrien never went to school, so there’s no pre-existing relationship between Marinette and Adrien. But for plot reasons, Chat Nori and Marinette did have a friendship. So when, after Hawkmoth’s defeat and reveal, Chat Noir disappeared, it impacts on these relationships in different ways.

In the Span of a Cat-Nap by @komorebirei

When Adrien boards the Eurostar for London, all he wants is a nap. Instead, he gets a cute design intern as a seatmate, and his napping attempt proves unsuccessful.

Written for Adrinette April 2020 Day 27: Naps. AU where everything is the same, except Adrien never went to public school and isn't personally acquainted with Marinette. Post-Hawkmoth-reveal, and aged-up - they are twenty-one.

One-shot. Did I mention I’m a fan of the meet-cute?? Because this is a great one! I love the way that it feels like these two are meant to be together and no matter where or how they meet, they’ll always fall for each other, and crazy fast at that. It’s really sweet and even though the ending is ambiguous and open-ended, it really worked for me with the feel of the piece.

when you're near by @buggachat

When Ladybug and Chat Noir were together, dancing across rooftops and kissing under the moonlit sky, Ladybug loved her boyfriend. But when the masks fell and all that was left was Marinette, she hated her boyfriend. She hated the lonesome afternoons, the third wheeling, the way his name wasn't in her contacts...

She knows their identities are secret for a reason, and she tells herself she'd do anything to protect that— but when Marinette hears Chat Noir's voice coming from the boy sitting behind her in a coffee shop, she can't help but wonder if it's really worth not having him in her life.

One-shot. Ladynoir are in love, of course, since Adrien wasn’t around to steal Marinette’s heart. And for whatever reason Marinette is able to recognize Chat’s voice, but she doesn’t look to see his face. There’s this amazing push-pull dynamic where they try to respect the secret identities rule while being in love and wanting to be together all the time that builds towards a really beautiful ending.

Masks Off, Heart Eyes On by therealjanebingley

In a world where Marinette and Adrien never went to school together, where there's no magic keeping Ladybug and Chat Noir from recognizing each other on sight as civilians.

Marinette was sure she'd know her Chaton the moment she saw him sans mask, but she did not expect that moment to be at a fashion show. A fashion show he was modeling at, no less.

Two-part series; description taken from the first fic. I love the theme of these Never Met fics where of course Ladybug falls for Chat Noir without Adrien Agreste in the picture. And so, when Marinette recognizes Adrien at a fashion show, things get really romantic really fast. (The sequel features established relationship Adrienette but focuses on djwifi, who get the love square treatment themselves!)

nothing secret is sacred by thegeneralgirl

“Do you think you’ll recognize me if we ever bump into each other outside of—“ he gestures to the black leather “—this?”

Ladybug considers him for a second, her expression barely visible in the distant glow of city lights.

“Chaton, I think I’d know you anywhere.”

Or: Adrien Agreste never manages to enroll at public school. Marinette Dupain-Cheng falls in love with a different blond.

One-shot. The Ladynoir in this one makes my heart so happy! Just - they love each other so, so much and it’s just so sweet with just the right amount of angst and ahhhhh read it I loved it so much!

Look at this Photograph by orphan_account

Nino's apartment is full of unused picture frames, but he claims to know the blond stock photo model that lives in each one. Everyone else is a little more skeptical of his (imaginary) friend.

One-shot. This is such a fun read! Instead of being a big famous model, Adrien does stock photos instead. He never went to school so, when Nino claims to know him, everyone is skeptical. Then, one by one, the others “get in” on the joke. It’s a really sweet fic that I enjoyed a lot.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #ml fic #ladynoir #adrienette #adrinette #marichat #adrien never went to school #ml fic rec #jennarecsml

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velvet-paradox · 1 year

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Curious (Preview)

Fandom: Outer Banks

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female reader + mentions of past relations with Topper Thorton

--> I've had this thot in my head for months and it's finally coming together, this a Noir AU; in which Topper seeks Rafe's expertise in finding the one who got away (you of course!) but will he give his friend the deets or attempt to keep you all for himself instead?

ENJOY!!!

He was thankful to be putting away that steel bladed fan, chipped army green base and all into one of the storage closest in the office, he hefted it, teetering just a little from the weight in the base out to the hall. He slicked back his hair, neat and tidy, back into place after dusting his hands of the thing. Autumn was coming, storm clouds and much needed and beloved thunderstorms were on the horizon. Rafe's favorite time of year.

The season when he wasn't sweating through his shirts, even the spare ones he had hung up in a cabinet in his office. He lost count of the times he had to strip himself of his shirts while he plugged away, hanging them on the window rod to dry out. The cat would be happy too, she hated the heat just as much, Rafe liked to think.

And speak of the devil and he (or she) will appear, the calico in question simply and appropriately named Penny pounced onto the windowsill. Rafe scratched her little head, pleased that she was purring and enjoying the cool night air when there was a sharp rapping on the frosted office door.

Rafe frowned and looked at his watch, one that his father had hand picked when he came home with another chip of sobriety. They were closed and he told the manly silhouette on the opposite side the same fact.

"Aw come on, open up Rafe it's me!"

He sighed and shook his head, he opened the door staring into the smooth face of Topper Thorton. Just a titch shorter in his brand new boat shoes, slacks and cozy looking cardigan. He was season ready as well, Rafe thought as he leaned on the door frame.

"Still means we're closed."

"Don't be like that!" Topper huffed and pushed his way past Rafe, who grumbled at the intrusion but didn't feel up to a fight tonight, so he let it go and shut the door behind him. "I've got a favor to ask and I'll even pay you this time."

"Damn right you're gonna' pay me! what mania is it this time or do I dare ask?" Rafe gave Penny another pat on the head before taking out a cigarette and leaning against the secretary's desk.

"I had a dream, you see. It was so incredibly real and vivid and when I woke up, I thought I knew for sure, without a shadow of a doubt it was completely real." Topper explained.

"That good, huh? what sort of pills are you on now then? I might have half a mind to ask for one."

"No Rafe, that's the thing. I was stone cold sober! not a lick of a buzz." Topper was on cloud nine from the looks of it, speaking most animatedly with his hands.

"So, you had a dream, thought it was real and now you're in my office after hours, for what exactly?" Rafe questioned as he smoked, clouds filling the air and right out the window, Penny took her leave and scurried around Topper's feet into Rafe's office.

"It was about a girl. And not just any girl, mind you. The one who got away."

"You mean the one you let get away. And rightfully so!" Rafe pointed his cigarette at him with a smirk, knowing exactly who he was referring.

They didn't go to the same college but had kept in touch, pen pals and making sure all was swell for the other. On a random quiet spell away from the dorms, Topper had come back to the County and showed off a few small photographs of a few of his elite friends, girls and the ever regarded...

"Never mind all that, it was her. Y/N Y/L/N, what a gal. The best gal, if we're being honest. I haven't thought about her since college, since she broke my heart and put out my fire. But she was there, in my dream, clear as the day is long, calling to me ‘Topper come back, come back to me Top'..."

Rafe recalled your face, though a bit dodgy and mirage-like after so long but your exaggerated body language which wasn't the norm amongst other dames he knew, on the street, at work or between the sheets, was quite curious to him. That one photograph of you making a silly face, one that was usually seen in Men’s' dorms or between the same kin had made him chuckle and wonder about you.

Rafe had to snort at that. "Are you sure you didn't drink your dinner last night, Top?"

"Of course I'm sure! what do you take me as? Some rummy? No no, no hooch. I promise. But that dream got me thinking about the old girl and... dammit Rafe I need to know!"

"Need to know what?"

"What has become of her of course! How and what did she do in this life? Hw did she make her way in this world. Is she happily married with a couple of brats, is she just some spinster living out a lavish life on some yacht somewhere, with an umbrella in her glass. My mind has been reeling all day and I finally talked myself into coming down here and telling you all about it. So, will you be a real pal and help me out?"

Tagging: @synnersaint @cherienymphe @starkeyobx @outerbankspov @cockslutpadalecki @poguesarerogues @valeriiecameron

#rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfic #coming soon fic #rafe obx #topper thorton imagine #obx imagine #obx fic #outer banks imgaine #outer banks fic

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bjorkn · 4 months

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⚡︎ — whoa! NEVA BJÖRK just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 2 YEARS, working as a/an ART CURATOR. that can’t be easy, especially at only 30 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit IMPULSIVE and COMPUSILVE, but i know them to be OPEN MIND and KIND. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to BROOKLYN!

name — neva birgitta håkansson björk nickname(s) — normally people calls her neva, gigi for closed friends. name meaning — neva: snow , birgitta: the high one, or strength. & björk: birch age — thirty date of birth — january, 1st sexual orientation — demisexual/straight height — 5'6" / 1,68m occupation — art curator (at MET museum) by day, night owl by night. residence — brooklyn birthplace ⏤ stockholm

#𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂:

mother — linnéa alma née håkansson björk (60)+( former miss world + doctor ) father ⏤ baldur fredrik björk (65 )+( ceo + economist + billionaire ) brothers — kris björk ( 40 ), ??? björk ( 38-44 + wc) marital status ⏤ dating ryan hunter caddel. issues ⏤ upcoming. ( expecting 4 months ) pets ⏤ boo björk ( ragdoll cat )

# 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾:

tw: cheating, depression, pregnancy

Neva is the daughter of a doctor and former Miss World, Linnéa, and businessman and economist Baldur Björk. She was born in Stockholm on a blizzard day, hence her name. Even on the news on TV was announced strong blizzard on the day she came. She is the younger of two brothers, and all of them are relatively close. Being the daughter of a beauty queen wasn't easy.

She always had an interest in the arts which was shown from an early age, before she could even learn how to talk, she learned how to draw. During her teen phase, she wasn't popular at school, and hardly had friends. Neva was often alone, but always hid it from her family, she never wanted any of them to worry about her. There wasn't any phase where her grades were bad, she was a good student ( top students ) , and never bragged about it.

When she was 15 she moved to USA in California. Her father was promoted from work ( & live ) and wanted to live abroad. In the very beginning was hard for her, because she liked her life in her hometown, despite not having friends, not other than her own brothers.

Her father was a bit disappointed that she studied 'arts'. He wanted her, just like be like his family following the financial business. Her mother hoped for her to be a doctor, like her family it was also a tradition in her family. She didn't hear neither of them and did what she wanted for herself.

During her college years, she fell in love with a guy, name Liam with whom she thought she would have a life ( they were engaged ), turns out he was cheating on her, with multiple people. They spent 5 years together. She was very heartbroken because she imagined he was her soulmate, and blind in love. Neva began to focus even more on her future in her graduation not wanting to feel the pain of heartbreak anymore.

Since then, she never had any other serious commitment to anyone, focused on her future, and fortunately, she graduated, got a great job with so much effort and soul to get where she got, and also has two p.H.d, she is an art curator at MET museum.

She met a guy named Ryan in one night and she asked him for help. He was off duty ( he is a firefighter ). Their friendship began to bloom ever since, he became her best friend, she didn't think he was into her until one day he declared her feelings to her. When they began dating found out their family knew each other. Despite dating not too long, she found you she's expecting his child. CURRENTLY: And now she's expecting a new challenge of having a child and Ryan is helping to be part of this new chapter.

(more to come)

#𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 + 𝚆𝙲:

⚡︎ — CHILDHOOD FRIENDS ; | 1 / 2 open | any character that went to high school in California. ⏤ taken by maddie & ⚡︎ — PEN PAL ; | closed | Someone who maybe could have written either letters, texts, or emails to my character. It could have been a pure internet friend that they maybe met on a social networking site and always promised to meet up and either didn’t or eventually did. ⏤ taken by liz ⚡︎ — GHOSTED ; | m | During the time she hustled to get where she got in her work, at MET museum, she tried to back on game on dates, but this she thought she would have a nice time, turns out she figured out she wasn't fully prepare for being in dates games again after breaking up with her fiance. Cowardly she ghosted on the y/m, besides as workaholic as she is didn't have time for y/m . ⏤ taken by faolan ⚡︎ — PARTYING BUDDIES ; | closed | a friendship that relies on nothing more then alcohol, drugs, going out and having a wild time. you could add more to this by having them occasionally hook up with intoxicated or something like that. ⏤ taken by honey & abigail ⚡︎ — MOM FRIEND ; | 1/2 open | she is the mom friend to y/m, always checking on them, making sure they had their water and get their daily vitamins lmao ⏤ taken by marcus ⚡︎ — GOOD INFLUENCE ; | 0/2 open | best friend who look out for each other and often act as a conscience to each other. ⚡︎ — STRANGER DANGER? ; | 1 open | someone they met through a friend of a friend. They have definitely heard of each other but was not sure how the other would be like unless they definitely met them for their own. They could end up being the best of friends or the worst enemies the world had ever seen ⚡︎ — DISTANT COUSINS ; | closed | self-explanatory. ⚡︎ — CO-WORKERS ; | ?? open | anyone that works at MET museum. ⚡︎ — NEIGHBORS (Brooklyn); | ?? open | more to come soon.

#𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙲.

⚡︎ — OLIVER METCALFE ; | best friend / soul brother & roommate ⚡︎ — AMANDA HENDERSON; | close friend ⚡︎ — HONEY LAVERE; | party friend + girl pal + best friend ⚡︎ — ABIGAIL KINGSLEY; | party friend ⚡︎ — RYAN CADDEL; | family friends + best friend + boyfriend + babies' father. ⚡︎ — HOLLY BERNE; | distant cousin ⚡︎ — ELIZABETH RUSSO; | pen pal friend + confident ⚡︎ — INGRID HÅKANSSON ; | aunt + maternal figure ish

#boroughs.intro #tw: cheating #tw: depression mentions #tw: pregnancy

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lavender-long-stories · 6 months

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Spoilers for Lavender Letters Chapter 1

It seems like we joked a little too close to the sun, my friend.

For context to anyone reading this Nari (@nikandrros) came up with the concept of this story while talking about Hidan and Hinata's relationship in Lavender Clouds. I have done several Akatsuki Character x Hinata stories since and the question was basically 'When is Hidan getting one?'

We started joking about it until I had too much plot for it to be a joke anymore. Everyone, thank her for her unhinged.

I know I already told you but I'm going to say it again: RATED M FOR MURDER!!!!!!!

This is a tag on originally a tag on the AO3 story because I thought it was funny. It's not rated M for mature themes, just the murder.

I love and I live for every single Neji you write because all of them are such grandmothers

Neji is the nosey older brother we all need in our lives.

"She had long since learned to read chicken scratch, or maybe he just got better with time." Yes, give me Hinata getting snarkier and snarkier after every interaction with Hidan, I so want to see it.

Hinata on a new brand of done with his shit before the ever meet in person.

I love Hidan's character because being either canon or fanon, I never know if he is insane or very, very sane. It fits him being insane if you're thinking about it like a normal person, but it also fits his personality to be very aware of everything and decide to go apeshit just because. Is he actually insane for thinking what he is doing is okay? This is a nice topic to think about and analyse, I think. Anyway, I stand with Hinata's canceled husband.

Hinata's canceled husband. XD

I actually like to think I got a nice blanced of Hidan being an unhinged weirdo and endearing as a male lead. I was worried I wouldn't be able to do it.

I think it's cute how Hidan waits for Hinata's letters like a dog waiting for the owner.

He wants attention too. Murder boi wants his letters damn it.

"He didn’t really care how she looked. It would make the mental picture more complete." Peak long-distance relationship dynamic, if you ask me.

Is this my long-distance relationship trope fic?

1. She already knows the worst of him, everyone knows the worst of him, but at least she isn't actively trying to fix him. And this is something I always say means love, that when someone knows you at your worst and about how horrible you can be and still chooses you, it means something. Not having to impress or scare someone off really lifts something off of you, I think. It's nice to be seen and tolerated, if not accepted.

I don't really like the 'I can fix him.' I very much prefer the 'he will fix himself when he find something worth it' or 'I love him the way he is. even if he is a pain in the ass'

They talked a lot. A lot, a lot. They talked so much Hinata could print a fucking book if she wanted. And Hidan just let it happen ¯_(ツ)_/¯ It seems the prude girl is getting to you, Hidan.

At what point did he think he was in too deep?

"Kakuzu liked one thing in life, money. It’s what got him in prison in the first place. An embezzlement case. He wasn't embezzling. He killed the man embezzling from him." Can't say he was wrong so I won't say it :D

Embezzlement -> murder pipeline

Lavender Letters Pairing: Hidan x Hinata Rating: M for Violence and Strong Language

Description: Hinata signs up for a prison pen pal program and is assigned to Hidan, a serial killer known for his brutal murders. Hinata becomes friends with him despite his crass nature. And, oh yeah, they kill her father.

#hidahina #hidan x hinata #hinata hyuuga #hyuga hinata #comment highlight #nari i blame you

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zeldaelmo · 1 year

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This is my favorite installment of this year's calendar, I hope you'll like it, too! It's not set in a specific game. Five parts in total!

The Pen Pal Plan

Zelda's mother rattled a long finger over the handle of the baskets Zelda had lined up on her desk. "So," she said with a light tease in her voice that drew a giggle from Zelda and made her duck her head. "How are we going to do this?"

"Okay, so what you see here is a year's worth of 'The Penpal Plan'."

"You gave it a name?" Her mother chuckled behind her other hand. "To think that I just asked my parents who would be the three most promising suitors and picked the one who didn't step on my toes at the ball." She winked conspiratorially. "Well, that's the official version. Unofficially I chose the one who gave the best kisses. You don't want to be married to someone who gives sloppy kisses."

"I know, I know." Zelda dropped into her chair, arms spread wide on the armrests. "Father suggested keeping an eye out on the balls, too. But you know I hate the flattery that comes with these events with great passion. I don't want to be reduced to my beauty. I wish for a partner who can hold a candle to me in conversation."

That couldn’t be too much to ask for, right? Zelda tugged at the fabric of her blouse. Either the fireplace had been packed with too much wood or her mother’s teasing got more to her than she liked to admit. Humming, her mother flipped through the envelopes in the basket standing dangerously close to the corner of the desk. "Out of curiosity, how many letters did you get when you announced that the hand of the Princess of Hyrule could be won in pen pal ship?"

"Oh, hundreds." Zelda waved her off. She leaned forward and smirked at her mother. "You wouldn't believe what the poor servants had to endure during the first few weeks. Someone sent an outgrown apple tree to gain my favor, roots and all. And another one commissioned a painting of him and me in a rather… romantically entangled pose."

"Oh my…" Zelda's mother fanned herself with a letter and laughed. "I see it was a grave mistake to leave you to your business and take a winter break on Snow Peak. I'll make sure that we're here when your plan finally comes to an end, I can't risk missing all of the fun again."

"I sure hope that the candidates I picked know how to behave around a lady." Zelda scrunched her nose, letting the memories of the oddities of the first few weeks pass again. Then, she stood up and pointed at the first basket. "This one here has excellent taste in poems. He even wrote a few for me. Unfortunately, that seems to be the only thing that comes out of his quiver, so I thought about meeting him first."

Her mother halted in her fanning. “Wait, why would you want to meet the most boring suitor first? Why not meet the most promising candidate and ride off into the sunset with him? Given he's a good kisser, of course.”

“Mama!” Zelda laughed and rolled her eyes. To think that her mother was supposed to be the mature, middle-aged ruler of the Kingdom here and not the twenty-year-old, giddy princess looking for a husband… “These men have entertained a pen pal friendship with me for nearly a year now. I have the duty to meet them all. Everyone deserves a fair chance.”

Her lips pinched in a line, her mother suppressed a giggle. “You’re too serious sometimes, little bird. Live a little! But now let’s see what we have. Maybe I can help you sort through them.”

Zelda pushed a basket in her direction, smiling bashfully. “Actually… I want you to skim-read some so that I might get your approval of inviting them to the castle.”

“Oh, but Zelda!” Her mother laughed and shook her head. “You don’t need my approval nor your father’s.”

“I know, but I would feel much better if you had a look.”

“As you wish, little bird.”

Her mother rang for tea and they settled on the settee, each of them with a basket of letters on their lap. Zelda observed through her lashes how her mother giggled and chuckled while she went through the letters. She found Zelda’s plan to find a partner over the top, that much was obvious.

It wasn’t that Zelda hadn’t tried to find an acceptable suitor traditionally. She had danced her fair share of nights away at balls, and she hadn’t lacked offers. Still — she never had more than a few dances in a row with someone, and their names were long forgotten come morning regardless. Surely there must be another way of finding someone who could participate in an engaging conversation with her? Someone with whom she could talk (or yes, maybe even kiss) the nights away?

A little sigh escaped from her lips and she was quick to cover it with rustling papers. She longed for another soul, for a partner, but her station didn't make it easy.

The guard in front of her door knocked politely, opening it for the servant who arrived with tea, nodding in their direction.

"This one," Zelda started, distracted by the maid pouring them tea, "is an expert in all kinds of science. We had a rather heated discussion about the ups and downs of keeping plants in glass houses for the benefit of cultivating fruits."

"And any heated discussions about something more you related? You look for a husband, not a professor." Her mother laughed heartily and even on the faces of the maid and the guard played a small smile when the door closed again with a thud.

"Uhm." Zelda flushed and put the basket aside. "Let's look at the next, maybe."

They went through a handful of baskets after that and Zelda, much to the amusement of her mother, wrote a schedule on a chalkboard behind her desk.

"Okay, that was all, I think." Zelda's mother put the last letter back into the basket and rested her hands on the handle. "I couldn't help but notice that you aren't overly enthusiastic about all of them, is that right? Or are you just a bit shy?"

Zelda squirmed under her knowing gaze, feeling for something under her desk with her foot. "Actually… I've left one basket aside because I want to put him at the end of the schedule. He's, um, not the most eloquent, but we've gotten along rather well. I mean, his letters are fine, he just keeps them to the point and he doesn't send poetry or something along those lines, like the others."

"Oho, now we're talking!" Zelda's mother impatiently dropped all the baskets on the floor and leaned forward onto the desk. "Show me. I want to know everything."

Zelda hid her deepening blush behind her hands and peeked through the gaps between her fingers. "He's cute. Writes things like how he learned the lullaby that's named after me on the ocarina so that he has an excuse to think about me. He's a bit secretive about his profession but other than that, we've been writing about everything."

"Around your age?"

"Yes, 21. And he's quite attentive. Look what he sent me." Zelda rummaged through the stacks of letters hidden under her desk and pulled a flower out. "It's a Silent Princess folded from paper. I mentioned it once that they are endangered and weeks later, I wrote that I like them."

Zelda's mother leaned back with an easy smile. "Well, well, well, we have our winner. Do you have a name, a town? Maybe we can find something out."

"No, I'm using pen names with all of them. It's a bit silly in my case because they all know who I am, but I wanted–"

"–to keep it fair. I get it. What's your plan now? How are you going to meet them?"

Zelda shrugged. "I thought about inviting them and having tea?"

Her mother yawned excessively into her hand. "Sorry, what did you say? A masquerade ball? The winter festival in Castle Town?"

Oh, the nerves! Zelda threw a rubber at her mother that she caught, laughing. "I want to meet them one by one to avoid tensions. And masquerading is impractical because I finally want to know who they are."

"Okay, I understand. But tea?"

Zelda shrugged. What was wrong with a nice afternoon, drinking tea and talking? How was she supposed to get to know someone better at a loud and chaotic festival?

"Little bird, what am I going to do with you? Go out and have a bit of fun before you get married." She winked. "The winter festival is just perfect for that, trust me. Snatch some guards and meet your suitors there. And if we have to hurry with the wedding because you won't fit in your dress otherwise, then so be it."

"Why wouldn't I– Mama!" Zelda leaped from her chair, tearing a basket with her that clattered to the ground. "You'll stop talking like that right now!"

Cackling, her mother stood up, circled the desk, and picked up the letters. "Alright. No jokes about your modesty anymore. Although I really think you could loosen up a bit in that regard. Most young people have a little experience although they rarely talk about it. I think it makes for a better relationship, too, but that's not for me to decide. Still, the festival? Does that sound so bad to you?"

"I…" Zelda glanced down at the paper flower. In the end, it only mattered that she had an opportunity to talk to him, right? And she could still arrange their meeting in a tavern where they could chat to their heart's content. "I'm considering it. You're not wrong, if a meeting goes awry, I could at least find distraction at the festival. A boring conversation partner might be much more difficult to bear over a cup of tea."

"That's the spirit." Her mother beamed at her. "I'll alert the seamstress. You'll need pants and a blouse that's simple enough to melt in but displays your curves nonetheless. And a hood." She clapped her hands. "Ah, I'm so excited! My little bird wants to court!"

Smiling, Zelda shook her head. "I do, yes. Let's hope everything will work out."

"Of course!" Her mother rang for another cup of tea, and soon, Zelda was absorbed in enthusiastic planning.

#zelink #legend of zelda #advent calendar #Day 16 #zeldaelmo writes #The pen pal plan

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absintheandtextbooks · 2 years

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Message in a Bottle part 1

Theo Dimas and Mabel Mora AU (I’d call it a penpals Au?)

Content: grave robbing (let me know if there’s a warning I should add that I forgot)

2011 - April

Theo hated working at the funeral home. He didn’t mind the bodies so much it was the despair all around that made it difficult. The bodies were understanding, silent, and nonjudgmental. Their mourners though were a different story. They wailed and moaned and snapped at everyone around them. Theo understood they were grieving but he felt one should grieve in silence - call out to whatever you hoped for beyond in your head. He certainly did. Every day for the past 3 and a half months. He talked to Zoe in his mind. She laughed at his jokes about the mortuary tools. Or the mourners fighting over some sliver of a will. She talked to him when he felt alone - like a shut in in his own home. She died in his nightmares every night and in his worst moments said he killed her and in his best said he might not have. Theo knew he needed to stop talking to her. But in the meantime it didn’t do any major harm. It was certainly better talking to her in his head than going crazy. He was still shocked they just left him to work. He was still young. Too young to be doing this every day. Not that it mattered to his father.

In sitting with death every day Theo had learned a few things. Firstly, he was definitely going to have a closed casket or be cremated. Secondly, everything at a funeral was expensive. Thirdly, the families were too scared of death. Theo was also scared of death but more because he knew his father and by extension him fed on the sentimentality and lack of oversight families had in the case of a family death. The bodies were safe. He sat with them, treated them as people. He signed to them while he worked and apologized profusely when he stole from them. He listened to families fight about whether to put grandma’s earrings or grandpa’s watch in with them and silently pleaded for them not to.

As he worked, gently pulling the gold molars out of a mouth, he considered his situation distantly. He had no friends. Arguably was spending every free hour grave robbing and was a middling student. He had no friends barring his father and few hobbies besides drawing little comics in the margins of the books he read. He realized he needed to talk to people - anyone - his age.

When he got off work he made a few brief searches and found a program for teens/young adults to be pen pals. Not necessarily his best idea but he certainly didn’t think it would be his worst. He filled out the form and set up an email completely unrelated to his fathers. He wanted to be someone else. Anyone else. He sent in the paperwork and went to bed. Eagerly awaiting the first email from the person he matched with.

~~~~~~

Mabel sat in her room at home, her paints all around her. She had almost finished the wall in her room and was planning a tree and a patterned wallpaper. She absently rested her pencil in her sketchbook, dissociating until she heard a gentle knock on the door.

“Mabel,” her mother did gently, “have you thought about what might be helpful?”

She heard her mother rest her hand on the door and she bundled herself up in a blanket her aunt had knitted, coming to rest with her back against the door. “I’ve thought a bit about it.”

“Do you have anything you want to try?”

Mabel pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping the blanket over her head, cocooning herself in the wool. “I don’t want to see anyone yet. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Sweetheart it’s been months. We can’t keep doing school and everything like this.”

Mabel buried herself further in the blanket and stood, letting her mother into the room and sinking back down to the floor surrounded by her paints and sketches. Mabel’s mother perched precariously on the corner of her bed.

“The art is looking nice sweetheart.”

Mabel nodded her thanks.

“Have you considered the pen pal program?”

“I don’t need to have a random penpal!”

Her mom shifted to sit by her, putting her arms out for a hug. Mabel shifted into them. “I think you might want to consider it seriously. I miss seeing you smile. You can’t hole up in here forever. I think having someone to write to might help you ease back into socialization.”

Mabel sad and considered, wiping at the tears that had begun welling in her eyes. “I just miss Zoe! I miss them all so much!”

“I’ll send you the link.”

Her mother gave her another big hug and stood, leaving the bundled up Mabel amongst her sketchbooks and paint.

Mabel waited until her phone lit up with the link and she set up an account, thanking her lucky stars that her email was from when she was young and didn’t have her name at all. She didn’t want people to guess who she was. She ticked the box for local-ish penpals and waited to see who she was paired with.

2011- May

Mabel woke wary to her phone buzzing. She sat bolt upright when she saw the email in her inbox. It was subjected “You’ve matched with a penpal!” She nervously opened the email to see an autogenerated message with an email: “[email protected]”

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. She began typing.

“Dear bookworm.

Nice to meet you! I hope you’re doing well. Maybe we should try get to know each other questions or something. Ya know. Favorite color? Favorite food? What silly thing scares you? Any hobbies? Favorite season? We could go through a lot of favorite things. Anyway. Hope to hear from you soon!!!”

~~~~~~

Theo woke up to two emails floating in his mailbox. As he brushed his teeth he read them both. The first was from the penpal service giving his penpals email as “[email protected]”. The other email was from his penpal. He opened it eagerly.

Whoever it was seemed scattered but hesitantly excited. They asked him questions he promptly answered: blue, halva (or really most sweet things), silverfish, reading, and winter (I like sweaters a lot).

He finished brushing his teeth as he sent the email to “mysterypainter” and headed to school, getting ready for a very long day ahead.

2012 - May

A year later and they were still emailing. Pretty constantly but Mabel was hearing less and less about bookworm’s actual day to day life. She had started art school and loved every minute but still get disconnected from her classmates - at odds with these people who had lived seemingly normal lives. She still enjoyed hanging out but struggled to connect. Her portfolio had become a dark gnarled mess. She painted out her feelings and startlingly realistic portraits and the subject matter helped her get out of her head. She could put on a podcast or music and just paint. She listened to a lot of slow heavy music, letting the lyrics move her brush and the bass tint her art in shades of blue and purple. Occasionally she’d send bookworm pictures of paintings she particularly liked. They always replied with questions, especially when they learned she painted to music, diligently asking what she had listened to or what she was thinking about. In turn they’d send her short stories and poems back. Soon she started a small series of paintings to the poems they sent. Stockpiling them. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to send them. Part of her wondered if it was because she wanted to show them to bookworm in person.

~~~~~~

Theo didn’t know why he kept up the messages with the painter. His dad had him working constantly. He had grown unsettlingly accustomed to dealing with the dead. He felt less and less with each body that reached his table. The jewels didn’t even mean much anymore. Their glimmering looked like paste regardless of how finely they were crafted. He still tried to humanize them. Signing to them. Thinking about their lives. It was a way to hold on. But he feared letting go of even that. Eventually he’d be numb to it. So in his free time he read. Extensively. Any book he could get his hands on. On the painters recommendation he read through all the Nancy Drew and Hardy boys books. He read old plays he found and poetry. He liked the rhythm of the words and the expressiveness of the poet on paper. The painted recommended other mysteries as well, the Flavia deLuce series and the no.1 Ladies detective agency. He liked reading about the thief or murderer getting caught. In what he thought of as his weaker moments he thought about his father getting caught and him getting dragged down with him. The truly sad part is he didn’t see much of a problem with that.

New Years 2015

Theo looked up at the night as he left the funeral home. It was dark. The air seemed to have the energy of New Years eve but he felt none of it. As he looked around at the dead streets in this part of town he completely stopped and sat down on the front stoop of the funeral home. He had absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go. His father was running a dinner for close advisors and investors he wasn’t invited to and his handful of acquaintances his age were home over Christmas break from studying in New York. They would be graduating soon and wanted to spend every second they could with family. His emails with painter were getting more and more sparse. For some reason he opened his email and started a draft. He stared at the streetlight nearest him. It shone gold and there was a light dusting of snow beginning to fall. He addressed the email to the painter and for no apparent reason began to write. He sat there in the cold for near an hour writing and when he finally came to it was near midnight. He glanced at it once and then pressed his icy fingertip to the send button. Tucking his phone and hands into his pockets he began the trek home.

~~~~~~

Mabel received the message while she was home. After the incident her family kept New Years very low key. She was sitting curled on the couch next to her mother working on a pint of ice cream and some halva from a nearby bakery. Years ago when she had gotten the first email from bookworm she had tried them and at this point she didn’t even associate them fully with the messages. They were a comfort food all their own. She was getting over a breakup. She had dated the girl for almost a year before they finally split a couple of days before Christmas. She was working on trying to not completely associate the Christmas season with heartbreak and trauma but here she was. Her mom got up from the couch to switch on some soft music and her phone buzzed. She wondered if it was someone from school. She was looking forward to graduating but didn’t really know how many people would actually stay in touch after that. She had tried making friends and had made a few but not many. After a moment she flipped the phone over to read the notification. She stifled an eyebrow raise when she saw it was an email from bookworm. And not a very long one at that. She opened it hesitantly her eyes skating across the message. It was a poem. Her fingers itched to paint at their words. And they had signed it differently this time. It didn’t say bookworm. It was signed Orpheus. She closed her eyes, switching her phone off and turned the name over and over in her head. Why that name. She was sure there was some irony to it but not sure what. But quickly her mind drifted from the name to the painting she was thinking about for the poem and then even those glancing colors faded to sleep.

2019 - January

Theo had gone entirely numb to the whole business as expected. The bodies were bodies. There wasn’t anything human about them at all in his expert opinion. The embalmed cadavers sat waxy and glassy eyed. He had grown tired of learning to place eye caps and position mouthes after he’d taken teeth. He watched the other funeral home members work and felt completely divided from them. Some of them talked to the dead, moving them gently and giving them dignity others worked with efficiency to show their respect. Hw had long since stopped. His job was to rob them of that dignity on their path to the grave. Nothing he signed or did would change that he was desecrating them. And there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. Though the work at the funeral home was bleak the other options felt worse to him somehow. He resented picking up shifts at the delis, wearing his father’s company logo on his apron and hat as he grinned at people like a broken doll from behind the counter. The people didn’t want to speak at him. They just muttered instructions to the person manning the till and he executed orders. It was bleak. Thankfully after years he’d finally convinced his father to let him move out. Sadly it was to an apartment his father had chosen and was finding. But he relished the privacy. He had been getting more emails recently. And whoever it was had begun signing emails as Callie Shaw. He thought he hardy boys reference was funny but decided not to push. Whoever she was had seemingly gotten very fervent with her art. Painting constantly. He could feel the hunger to succeed mixed with the listlessness she felt about her situation. And her paintings were lonely. Faces looked at him with blank eyes or distant expressions. Landscapes all felt bare. He would trade poetry for the paintings, filling his time and many journals with it. He sent the best ones her way. He wondered if they’d ever really meet.

~~~~~~

Mabel was desperate for something to do. She had spiraled a bit after college. She had part time work as a graphic designer thankfully but was still living in her mothers house for the time being. Her last apartment hadn’t worked out. And she was painting. Some of them sold but many didn’t and loved the walls of her mothers house. Her stash of paintings based on Orpheus’s poems - both the ones he’d sent and written - were still safely stashed under her bed in a carefully organized and unlabeled box. She still hadn’t sent them and felt she was a little past the point of starting to send them. If they ever met she vowed to show him. Even if she thought they’d make him laugh. Early one morning she got a call from her Aunt from the Arconia. “Mabel dear,” her aunt questioned as she answered the phone, “if perchance I wanted a change of pace, would you be willing to potentially take on a project?”

Mabel shrugged before responding “maybe?”

“I’m looking to renovate at the end of next year.”

That felt ages away but Mabel considered.

“December in 2020?”

“Yes dear. I need some time to get my things sorted.”

Mabel thought about her job which was very doable from a distance and the fact she’d have housing covered that wasn’t with her mother. The prospect seemed promising.

“I’m interested potentially. Please keep me in the loop”

“Of course dear I’ll update you on my progress with packing bags. Expect to move in in late November next year.”

Mabel smiled as they continued to absently chat for a bit. She had something to do and somewhere to go - if all worked out- and it sounded like an adventure and less excitingly, an opportunity to face the demons she had finally started to go to therapy for.

#mabel mora #omitb season 2 #theo dimas #theo x mabel #omitb spoilers #Mabel mora x Theo dimas #mordimas #Au fic #there should be a part two sooner than later #i just wanted to give them some backstory friends. besides trauma. some not trauma. hopefully

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