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proseover-bros · 10 months

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BEDROOM HYMNS BY PROSEOVER-BROS

FANDOM: The Walking Dead

TITLE: Bedroom Hymns

STATUS: Complete

ERA: Season 7

PAIRING: Negan Smith x Female Reader (No Use of “Y/N”)

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

SUMMARY: On the night of the lineup, Negan took one look at you and knew that he had to have you. What you never anticipated was just how desperately you would end up wanting him back.

RATING: Mature (Minors DNI)

WARNINGS: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Language, Sexual Situations, Dirty Talk, Begging, Praising, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Teeny Bit of Fluff

A/N: I don’t think it’s a surprise to anyone that I love Negan just as much as I love Daryl. Needless to say, seeing JDM’s sexy ass on my screen again every week was just the inspiration I needed for this smut-fest. Hope you enjoy! If so, comments/likes/reblogs would mean the world!

What the fuck am I doing here?

The same question had been repeating itself in your head as your reluctant footsteps brought you to the outside of Negan’s apartment. All of your instincts were screaming at you to get far away, but before you could so much as knock, the door swung open to reveal that smug, irritatingly beautiful face.

You knew he’d been waiting for you. When Simon had made a beeline for the truck the moment you returned from that afternoon’s run, it was a dead giveaway. Not to mention the fact that Negan had you hauled back the second he realized you’d snuck off in the first place.

Earlier that morning, you’d heard a group of the Sanctuary’s scavengers talking over breakfast. Today’s run was supposed to be through a neighborhood ten miles west of Alexandria. This was your chance. Your plan was to return, but only long enough to pack your things and get gone before anyone knew the wiser. The last thing you wanted was to create any more trouble for Rick and the others when all they’d ever done was help you.

Unfortunately, your entire plan went to shit when Negan had gotten in touch with Mike, the Savior who was leading the expedition. You’d overheard their conversation on the radio, listening as Negan ordered Mike to bring you back to the Sanctuary if he wanted to keep his balls attached to his dick. If Mike had been anyone else you might’ve felt bad for getting him into trouble, but he wasn’t. Mike was a Savior, and therefore not worth one damn bit of your sympathy.

He drove you back to the Sanctuary, bitching about the waste of fuel and resources the entire way, and when his truck pulled up right outside of the towering building, you turned to face him.

“If you were stupid enough to believe that he’d let me go in the first place, you deserve whatever you have coming.”

Mike snarled, opening his mouth to no doubt call you a bitch or a whore, but by the time the insult traveled from his pea brain to his mouth, you’d already opened the door to the passenger side and jumped down from the truck to an awaiting Simon.

“What is it about you?” Simon asked by way of greeting. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re hot as hell, but there are loads of hot women for him to choose from — women whose job it is to please him. Why’s he so enamored with you?”

“Oh, enamored!” You exclaimed sarcastically, earning a glare from the man who had the bushiest mustache you’d ever had the displeasure of seeing. “Someone’s been brushing up on their vocabulary.”

When Negan’s right-hand man crossed his arms and raised an equally bushy eyebrow as he awaited your answer, you rolled your eyes and strode past him. “Just lucky, I guess.”

The truth was, you didn’t understand Negan’s obsession with you either, but it went all the way back to the night of the lineup. That night and the fear you’d felt as you anxiously awaited his arrival with the rest of Rick’s group would stay with you forever. You’d all heard plenty about the Saviors’ infamous leader, but none had ever crossed him. Once the group had honored their agreement with Hilltop and attacked what they’d thought was the Saviors’ only compound, you’d assumed Negan had been included in the body count.

That assumption had cost Glenn and Abraham their lives.

You would never admit it, not to Negan, not to yourself — not to anyone — but the moment that the door to the RV swung open, you were just as attracted to him as he was to you. He may have been the man that both Hilltop and the Kingdom had warned your group about, but even you couldn’t deny that he was beautiful — psychotic or not.

As hard as you tried to fight it, your attraction to him had only grown since that horrible night, and after finally succumbing to it when you’d shared a kiss with him just yesterday, you’d gone out of your way to put some distance between the two of you. Until now, when you knew that continuing to avoid him could result in something horrible for Alexandria.

“Well, look who it is!” Negan exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway, opening his arms wide. He was attempting to hide his anger at finding his bed empty that morning with his typical show of bravado, but deep within his hazel eyes, you knew that the anger was laced with something else.

Hurt?

No, it wasn’t possible.

No fucking way.

This was Negan. He wasn’t capable of that emotion.

You brushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, finding it very easy to act as if it hadn’t happened when he continued with his usual theatrics. After allowing him to lure you to his apartment with dinner and drinks the previous evening, Negan had convinced you to stay the night, and you’d agreed, mostly because you didn’t want anyone to catch you leaving his bedroom so late. The entire evening had been established as a way to pay him back after he’d agreed to let Dr. Carson go to Alexandria to treat Carl, who had developed pneumonia after going on a run in the rain with Daryl and Sasha.

When you woke up that morning, it was in Negan’s bed, but he’d at least played the part of the perfect gentleman and taken the couch, which made it easy for you to slip out just as the sun was rising, completely unnoticed.

“What do you want?” You snapped, annoyed.

Stepping back, Negan opened his door wider to let you in, the flash of emotion you’d just seen on his face quickly forgotten as his signature grin replaced it, stretching wide across his handsome face. Foolishly ignoring your conscience for the second time that day, you stepped forward, entering his apartment.

“Pretty sure you know the answer to that question.” He grinned.

“And you chose me rather than forcing yourself on one of your ‘wives’?” An exaggerated gasp left your lips as you placed a hand to your chest with mock pride. “I’m honored.”

Negan shut the door behind you and within seconds you could feel him on your heels, his warm breath ghosting the back of your neck. “You really think I need to ‘force myself’ on anyone, darlin’?”

Ignoring his proximity, you moved away, stepping over to the kitchenette and mindlessly running your hand over the counter. Turning to face him now that you’d put some distance between the two of you, you crossed your arms over your chest and narrowed your eyes at him.

While Negan may not have noticed you leaving his bedroom that morning, someone else had. Sherry. The two of you had walked back to the cafeteria where she’d filled you in on how she had become Negan’s wife just a few weeks ago. It was an ultimatum that she’d agreed to in order to keep her real husband from receiving a worse punishment than the iron.

“I am not a rapist.” Negan continued defensively. “Every one of those women have come to me, willingly.”

“Willingly?” You scoffed, glaring at him in disbelief as your anger began to mount. “When you threaten to kill someone’s husband unless they agree to be your whore, that isn’t willingness, that’s desperation — and you fucking know it!”

Negan rubbed a hand down his jaw as he stared at you, but for once he didn’t have a witty comeback to toss your way. If the circumstances had been different, you would’ve celebrated such a victory. The man who never shut up, finally silenced? It certainly was a sight to see. As it was, you weren’t exactly in the mood for celebrating.

“That’s right, I talked to Sherry. Try again, asshole.”

For a moment he remained silent, tapping two fingers against his bottom lip as he appeared to be deep in thought. But when he met your eyes again and you watched as that wicked grin returned to his features, you knew that he felt no sense of shame, and your victory over him was short-lived.

“Ah, I know what this is . . .” He began, his deep, gravelly voice practically purring as he sauntered closer and lowered his hands to your hips. “You jealous, baby?”

Rolling your eyes in pure disgust, you covered your face with your hands, groaning loudly. “Oh, I fucking hate you!”

Negan’s grip moved from your hips to your forearms, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe for a brief, absurd, fleeting moment I didn’t absolutely despise you last night — but that’s over. Done. I want to go home. I want to go back to Alexandria.”

For a moment, nothing was said. He worked his jaw as he took in your words, but refused to believe in them. “Not happening.”

“Why?” You hissed, pushing his hands away when he attempted to return them to your waist.

Negan frowned but didn’t reply.

You couldn’t believe that you’d managed to stump him twice in one night.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“Take it easy.” He warned you.

“‘Take it easy?’” You laughed, outraged by how nonchalant he was being. Negan, who could put your potty mouth to shame, even on an off day. Nowhere near in the mood for this, you slammed your hands up against his chest, throwing all your weight forward and shoving him as hard as you could.

“Why the fuck not, Negan? Rick and the others have been killing themselves getting you everything you’ve asked for. They haven’t let you down once!”

Before you could fully remove your hands from his chest, he grabbed you by the wrists and pressed you to the wall, crowding your body with his.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You absolutely hated yourself for the abrupt feeling of desire warming in the pit of your stomach as he closed in on you, those dark eyes staring you down in a way that made your heart race.

“Because I’m not letting you go. Because it’s different with you. I felt it — you felt it. I fucking know that you felt it.” Raising his hand, he moved it forward to cup your chin, his thumb and forefinger dipping down to graze the sides of your neck. “And I haven’t fucked any of those women, not since you got here.”

“And what do you want for that? A prize?” You hissed, desperately trying to keep your train of thought on what was important. “This isn’t me being jealous of your harem, this is me being disgusted with you for taking advantage of these women in the first place.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you last night when you kissed me.” He murmured, his eyes darting down to your lips.

“You kissed me.” You corrected him.

“And you kissed me back.” He smirked.

Lowering his hands from your face, he placed them over your hips once more and pulled you flush against him, letting you feel what thoughts of the previous night were doing to him. You closed your eyes at the sensation as he molded your body to the erect outline of his cock, your resolve weakening.

“That was a mistake.” You whispered, hating the pathetic sound of your voice.

“You don’t believe that.” He argued.

Biting into your bottom lip, you swallowed hard but said no more, not sure that you could trust what might come out of your mouth next.

Suddenly, Negan scoffed. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Finally opening your eyes to look at him, you narrowed them into a glare, daring him to elaborate.

“I let you pick the job you wanted, excluded you from the point system. Hell, I even let you take that hick piece of trash’s place—“

At the mention of Daryl, you swung your hand out and slapped him across the face so hard that it left your palm numb and stinging. Negan’s head whipped to the side from the impact, and when he looked back at you, that smug smile was finally gone from his lips.

“Don’t you fucking call him that.”

Negan growled and in the blink of an eye, pressed you back once more, slamming his free hand against the space beside your head. Your back connected with the dry wall, a startled gasp leaving your lips as you stared up at him, wondering if you’d finally gone too far. Moving his hand to your throat, he gave it a gentle squeeze but even as you felt your heartbeat quicken from the contact, you weren't scared of him. This wasn't fear you felt, this was something else entirely, and when his eyes darkened and he lunged forward to roughly press his lips to yours, you kissed him back rather than allow yourself time to think about what that feeling was.

Negan’s kiss was hungry; his mouth devouring your lips, tongue, and every single moan that escaped you while his strong hands held your face far more gently than you’d ever thought him capable of. Opening and closing your mouth against his, you returned each of his kisses with equal fervor; a mixture of passion, anger, lust, hatred — every single emotion you’d ever felt for him, merging into one — your hands clutching his shoulders as he moved you from the wall and carefully backed you over towards his bed.

Gently breaking the kiss, Negan stared down the several inches he had on you, the look on his face very much resembling a starved man. With your eyes on his, you opened your mouth to speak when a sharp gasp left your mouth instead, his hands having found your ass and lifted you into the air against him before gently setting you down on his bed. Over the next moment or two he took his time removing your button-up flannel, tank top and jeans, his lips tenderly kissing every new inch of skin that became exposed to him.

Moving his hands to unclasp your bra, he let it drop to the side before lowering his body over yours. Negan had always considered himself an ass man, but with you he didn’t want to graze over a single body part. Pressing his lips to your neck, he used both hands to cup your beautiful breasts to his face, and you welcomed the rough feel of his calloused hands and warm tongue as his mouth lowered to each smooth mound long enough to tongue both of your nipples into stiff peaks. His hands continued their descent to your hips, your thighs, your ass, until finally he hooked his thumbs beneath your underwear and pulled it off.

Quickly removing his own shirt, Negan loomed over you, his eyes greedily taking in every inch of your body with a groan that let you know he was loving what he saw. Wasting absolutely no time, he grabbed you beneath your knees and dragged your ass to the center of the bed as he kneeled, pulling you close to his face and dipping his mouth between your legs. Breathing heavily as you allowed your body to recline against the pillows, you tilted your chin, watching as he skimmed the soft skin of your inner thighs, the scratch of his beard and feel of his lips teasing you mercilessly.

“Look at my beautiful girl,” He grunted in awe, groaning at the sight of you completely spread before him, pink and smooth and glistening with your slick arousal. You’d been wet from the moment you saw his face and heard his voice when he’d first opened that door, and if he’d given you any time to think it through you’d probably be a little embarrassed, but then he leaned forward to lay a sloppy kiss over your wet heat and all those thoughts of shame faded away.

“Fuck—" You cursed, tossing your head back as his mouth found your clit with ease, his tongue darting forward to caress the tiny bundle of nerves as he used his lips to suck it further into his mouth. Instinctively, your back arched and your hips lifted off the mattress to be closer to his skilled mouth as he feasted on you. Anticipating your response, Negan slid his hands beneath you to grip your perfect ass, anchoring your body to him with his hands and mouth as his eyes traveled up to your face. He’d waited far too long to see you at his mercy, and he wasn’t going to miss a goddamn second of it.

After a few more moments spent skillfully eating your pussy and learning just what you liked, one of the strong hands clutching your ass slid from beneath you and returned a second later when he thrust two of his long fingers inside of your tight cunt, stretching you. Negan lifted his head for a breath and groaned against you as he felt resistance meeting his knuckles.

“So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you, darlin’?”

Staring down at his beautiful face nestled between your thighs, you nodded eagerly, jerking your hips to the rhythm of his fingers as you shamelessly began to fuck yourself up and down on top of them. You wanted more — you wanted him — and anything less wasn’t going to satisfy you for long. Snaking a hand along your abdomen, you slid it up between your breasts and shoved a closed fist against your lips, biting the skin of your knuckle.

“Fuck,” He hissed, his eyes hooded with pleasure as he watched you move your beautiful body in sync with his fingers, your breasts bouncing with each movement as he curled his fingers inside you to graze that tightness within that left you writhing with pleasure. You were a goddamn treasure, and he was loving every second of this. “And so fuckin’ wet for me, too.”

Lowering his head once more, Negan lashed his tongue over your clit again and again, slowly but insistently while he continued thrusting his long fingers in and out. He could do this all goddamn night if that’s what it took, but with the way your body was starting to shake against his mouth and fingers, he knew you were close.

“Come for me, baby.” He breathed against you, twisting his fingers deep inside as he hummed over your clit. “Let go.”

“Oh, fuck — Negan!” You cried out, feeling that beautiful heat building up in your stomach and licking down to your core, your toes curling as your body began to jerk and spasm with the most intense pleasure you’d felt in years — maybe ever. Negan lapped up every bit of your release, taking his time as he cleaned you up, his graying beard and chin glistening as he climbed back up your body.

Your breathing was beginning to slow back down, but before you could get it back to normal you caught sight of his face and lifted your hips to pull him forward. Grasping his chin, you pulled him into a heated, messy kiss that he all too happily returned.

“You want me to fuck this pretty little pussy now?” Negan murmured against your lips before leaning forward to give you another soft, languid kiss. Hearing your eager moan of approval, he grinned onto your lips as he slid his tongue forward, letting you taste yourself. Tucking his hand behind your head, he threaded his fingers through your hair and gently tugged back so that your eyes were level with his.

“Then you’re gonna be a good girl and look at me while I do it.”

Negan watched as you processed his words and as your expression went from aroused, to pissed, then back to aroused again. But he knew that he had you. Of course, it was a risk, and if it hadn’t paid off he wasn’t sure he’d be strong enough not to beg for your forgiveness. Not allowing you any time to change your mind, he slipped his middle and index fingers forward to spread your slick folds, pressing his forehead to yours as he felt you shudder beneath him.

Not letting up, he found and stroked your swollen clit, rubbing torturous circles around it with the pad of his thumb and eliciting a sharp gasp from you. A beautiful, overwhelming shock went straight back to your core; your nerves still heightened and sensitive after everything he’d just done to you with his mouth.

“You want it?” Negan repeated himself, though his tone didn’t sound the least bit impatient. He was enjoying this far too much. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to the smooth flesh of your breasts, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses across your taut, pink nipples.

“Negan . . .” You whined.

How had you become so desperate for this man? Your enemy? How could you let him touch you with hands that had murdered your friends? Kiss you with the same mouth that had humiliated Rick, time and time again? You hated begging, and you hated the idea of begging him of all people, but in that moment you needed him to fuck you more than you needed air to breathe.

“Not good enough, baby.” He murmured. “Let me hear you say it.”

Fucking prick.

Kicking your pride to the curb, you stared up at him and nodded quickly as your teeth found your bottom lip, your gaze going from his face to the erection in his pants, then back to his dark, hazel eyes.

“I need you, Negan.” You begged, practically whimpering as your hand splayed out against his chest to grip the dark, coarse hair that grew there. “Now.”

“That’s my good girl.” Negan praised you, another smirk taking over his features.

The floor creaked beneath his weight as he stepped down from the bed to unbuckle his belt, his jeans and boxers soon joining the pile of clothes on the floor. Spitting onto his palm, he took his massive cock into his hand and gave it a few leisurely strokes as he stared down at you. Jesus. He was just as huge as he’d always assured you, and part of you fucking hated him for that.

Climbing back over you, Negan captured your lips in another kiss as he slid between your thighs, slapping the thick tip of his cock over your clit a few times before inching himself inside of you, his eyes watching as your mouth fell open in a gasp; completely overwhelmed by the sudden fullness. Meeting each other’s gaze, you both slowed to stare at one another, clearly overwhelmed by just how fucking incredible it felt to finally be joined.

When you thought back to your fantasies of fucking Negan, you’d always wanted him to take you from behind, but it was clear that he wasn’t going for that. He absolutely would not provide you with any opportunity where you could pretend this wasn’t happening. The knowledge that he would only fuck you on his terms aggravated you to no end, but if you were being honest with yourself, you loved watching his reactions to the things your bodies did together. The way his brow furrowed as he thrust forward; the way his lips parted to elicit a husky groan of bliss when he finally buried his cock deep within you. And that smile. That insufferable, shit-eating grin that spread over his face, dimples shining through his scruff, all while his eyes stayed locked on yours. You wanted to slap it off and kiss it all at the very same time.

“Jesus-fuckin’-Christ,” Negan hissed, thrusting his narrow hips forward and burying his cock deep inside what had to be the sweetest, tightest heaven he’d ever had the pleasure of fucking. He looked down, mesmerized as he watched your tight cunt swallow him whole, in and out, over and over, delighting in the sounds you made as he stretched you inch by inch and you lifted your legs to wrap around the back of his thighs and ass.

“Uhh, Negan! Mmm . . .”

Your body reacted instantly to everything he did, your hands clutching his chest as you rolled your hips against his again and again, giving as good as you got. This man might be a monster, but he knew exactly what your body needed, and for right now that was enough to help you temporarily forget all the things that he’d done to the people you loved.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” Negan hummed, digging his fingers into your hips as he steadied himself, pulling them just how he needed as he set up a steady rhythm. The sounds of his grunts and the wet, obscene noise of his cock going in and out of your pussy as it impaled you at such a delicious angle grew louder, and you could only pray that no one was loitering around in the hallway when you cried out his name while he fucked you harder, deeper, and better than anyone else ever had or could.

“Say it again,” Negan grunted, leaning over your body to gently palm your throat, pinning you in place as he used his other hand to swipe his thumb over your clit. “Fuckin’ say my name, baby. ”

“Negan,” You cried, not even ashamed as you felt him circling hard at your clit. “Fuck, Negan, fuck!”

Every time your hips rose to meet his — your movements, your expressions, your cries, his name on your lips, everything you were, everything you did — it all pushed him further to the edge. Anticipating that you were close, he quickened his pace, knowing that he wouldn’t be far behind.

“Look at me while you come all over my cock, pretty girl.” He demanded as he moved his hand from your throat to your mouth to trace your plush, swollen lips.

As if out of instinct, you flicked your tongue forward, lashing over the pad of his thumb and earning a low growl from him when you did exactly as he said, holding his gaze as he teased your climax from you, that delicious warmth fluttering through your stomach, then down further as your cunt pulsated and throbbed over his cock through every wave of your pleasure.

Gripping your hips, Negan moaned with you, lost entirely in your gaze as he chased his own release. Lowering his head, he met your lips once more in a bruising kiss as his cock swelled inside of your cunt and he spilled himself deep inside of you with several, brutal strokes.

Finally spent, Negan rolled to the side, reclining against the mattress and breathing deeply as he rested his hand over his abdomen. For a moment the two of you laid in peaceful silence, but only for a moment. Finally coming down from your high, you moved your palms to the mattress, about to push yourself up when Negan grabbed your right hand.

“Stay.” He said softly.

Quickly looking over at him, you frowned, about to shake your head no when he gripped you harder.

“Look, you can go back to goddamn hating me tomorrow. Just . . . just give me tonight first.” He pleaded.

Watching closely as he held your gaze, you found yourself at a loss for words. In that moment, Negan was being completely vulnerable, and he was letting you see that — more than that, he was begging you to stay. After a few seconds, he looked down, assuming you were going to deny him anyway, when you suddenly squeezed his hand back.

Rather than answer right away, you took his face in your hands and leaned forward to press a slow, tender kiss to his lips. When you broke it a few seconds later, you opened your eyes to find him staring at you searchingly.

“Tonight," You promised. “You can have tonight.

#negan smut #negan x female reader #negan x reader #negan smith smut #negan smith x female reader #negan smith x reader #negan x you #negan smith x you #the walking dead smut #twd smut #negan fanfiction #negan fanfic #negan smith fanfiction #negan smith fanfic #jeffrey dean morgan #twd negan

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cheesemoth · 1 month

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A WEDDING MADE OF STRAWS

Part 1 | Part 2

Fandom

Criminal Minds

Summary

Your relationship with Spencer, your husband, seems to be deteriorating after seven years together and four years of marriage. You've tried to talk to him about it, to find out if you've done something wrong, but all you get is an avoidance or the poor excuse "I don't have time". Finally, you've had enough.

Genre

Hurt/no comfort

Pairing

Spencer Reid/Female Reader

You never wanted to get married. The symbolism attached to marriage held no significance for you; it seemed devoid of value, so why bother investing in it? As a youth, you were even disdainful of the idea, finding it utterly ridiculous. You thought love between two people was so frail that it needed a ring and a piece of paper to affirm it.

That was before you met Spencer Reid.

Spencer, with his chestnut hair, sparkling eyes, and the hesitant smile he offered when he asked you out a few weeks after your first encounter. From the start, despite the awkward conversations, you were drawn to this lean man, brilliant in mind but lacking in social skills. He was just perfect for you — at least, that's what you believed then. And when he proposed, you reconsidered your initial refusal because, for him, it was special. And so, it became special for you too. As simple as that.

You regret it so much now.

After seven years together, four of them married, you deeply regret not sticking to your initial decision to decline.

It's been almost a week since Spencer Reid, your dear husband, has been acting off, distant. He comes home at night, gives you a brief kiss on the forehead, and then disappears into the shower for hours. When you wait for him in bed, he comes into the room to tell you, without looking at you, that he'll be spending the evening at a friend's place.

A friend who you later find out is JJ, the former flame who had captured your husband's heart.

Being mature, you didn't jump to conclusions. You knew JJ a bit, like most of Spencer's colleagues, and she's a woman who loves her husband and children — no reason for concern. Really. You wanted to talk to Spencer, not out of jealousy, but to find out if you did something that made him uncomfortable enough to want to sleep somewhere else.

"I don't have time," Spencer simply said.

He didn't even look at you, adjusting his tie as he headed for the door to leave for work. Normally, you would let it slide. Spencer always made time for you, so it wasn't a big deal if he was too rushed in the morning to have this conversation.

Except this was almost the tenth time you tried to have this talk. And your patience has its limits.

"Spencer," you step forward and gently grasp his wrist. "You never have time anymore. It's been almost a month. I just want to know why —"

"And I just want some space," Spencer snaps back in a tone he's never used with you before, pulling away from your grip. "Damn, you're so," he starts, but your anger gets the better of you, and you cut him off just as he did to you.

"Change your tone immediately, Reid," you hiss, stepping back and crossing your arms, eyes hard and lips quivering to hold back a flood of words wanting to break free.

Maturity. Understanding. He's probably just stressed from work, you reason before sighing and closing your eyes. When you reopen them, he's already turning his back on you, as if nothing happened, and opens the door of your apartment.

"Don't wait up tonight, I'll be at a friend's —"

"At JJ's."

You can see Spencer's shoulders tense. A foolish part of your brain hopes he'll turn around, comfort and reassure you with the warmth that made you fall in love. The way he doesn't respond crushes your lungs, but it's how he opens the door and closes it behind him that breaks your heart.

That night, for the first time since the start of your relationship, Spencer Reid made you cry.

...

Spencer doesn't reply to your text the next evening when you ask when he'll be home. He only replies a day later, a poor excuse that he was too busy with JJ — whom he no longer calls 'a friend' — and her kids to respond.

Your jaws clench, and you'd throw your phone if it hadn't cost so much. That night, you call your mother like you're a little girl again, sobbing into her skirts after scraping your knee. Only this time, it's your heart.

"Am I such a bad wife?" you ask between sobs that shake your entire body.

"Honey, it's not you who's running away from your couple's problems, is it?" your mother's words make your lungs stutter in your chest.

You shake your head, the free hand wiping your wet cheeks, before remembering you're on the phone and verbally responding with a no. Without any pretense, you know you're not the problem in this conflict; it's Spencer avoiding the conversation, and you're the one running after him like a puppy, trying to fix something invisible to your eyes.

When your mother offers to have you come stay at the family home for a few days, you accept without hesitation. And when you return to your apartment, now covered in a thin layer of dust as a testament to the lack of activity — evidence that Spencer hasn't even entered for nearly a whole week — your decision is made.

Marriage is truly crap.

...

It takes several weeks to receive the divorce papers. Endless paperwork and that annoying person who kept asking if you were really sure about this.

During this time, you made no effort to contact Spencer. When he comes home in the evenings, you don't wait up for dinner, lying on the couch watching a movie. And when he speaks to you, you barely respond; his texts are met with the bare minimum of replies, and you no longer try to reach out and try to fix things.

"I'll be back tomorrow, tonight I'm going —" Spencer starts, throwing you a glance — he does that often now, since you've stopped trying to initiate conversations — and putting on his coat.

You don't even let him finish. "Okay," you simply say, turning up the volume on the TV.

From the corner of your eye, you see Spencer fidget a bit, his hands wringing together and shifting from one foot to the other. For the first time in months, he seems to notice you. And it angers you because Spencer only notices you now that you've stopped paying him any attention.

"... Good night," he finally murmurs before hurrying out.

He doesn't hear your response; anyway, there's nothing to hear.

The day you finally receive the divorce papers, the tension in your shoulders dissipates. You feel lighter, and for a moment, you wonder if you were ever truly in love with Spencer. After all, you're holding the document that will end your relationship, and you feel relieved.

You shake your head, sniffing. No, you were — are — madly in love with Spencer. Perhaps some people just aren't meant to be together forever. And those people include you and Spencer, apparently.

Spencer is at work now, caught up in an endless investigation. You'd really like to give him these papers in person, but you can no longer stand living in this suffocating apartment. Perhaps it's also because you don't want to face him, knowing you won't be able to hold back your tears, your anger, and all the insults that have been simmering in your throat since he turned so cold towards you.

Spencer has hurt you deeply. He's shattered your heart into a thousand pieces. And you want to hurt him back. It's better for both of you if you don't see each other for a while.

You neatly arrange the papers and place them on the counter with a pen on top. Then you calmly head to your bedroom, which has more or less become yours alone lately, before packing your bags. When you leave the apartment, you lock the door and hide the key under the doormat.

You get into your car. Everything is quiet. Your heart beats in your temples, and your eyes burn. You start the engine and drive down the familiar road to your mother's house. Your throat tightens, and your fingers grip the steering wheel painfully.

You exhale, and a sob catches at the edge of your tongue, and the dam breaks once more.

“Fuck off,” you pant between wet, rushed exhales. “Fuck you, Spencer Reid.”

#one shot #criminal minds #spencer reid #hurt no comfort #spencer reid x reader #angst #female reader

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scoobydoodean · 3 months

Note

what’s your opinion on “lebanon”? as it actually is in the show and how fans/fic writers interpret/approach it.

cause i’ve been binge-reading “lebanon” fics and i’ve noticed two patterns: sam might argue with john or he stays calm but regardless he preaches to dean about what a terrible father john was, and dean always falls back into his performing and just keeps defending john. now i love all that angst, really i love it so much, these fics are phenomenally written… but i’m just wondering if i’m crazy to think that dean wouldn’t actually fall back into that role to such an extent, and whether the episode actually kinda got it right by having dean feel secure with his family as it is. iirc my issue with the episode is that neither dean nor sam got to express any issues with john in an honest but civil way (and that john is too nice) but that still i liked dean’s expression of security, but tbh it’s been awhile since i last watched it so maybe i’m missing/misremembering smth… thanks!

One of the strangest things I see in fandom is how many people's sense of how Sam views John versus how Dean views John is just flat out wrong. The idea that Dean is always defending John while Sam is always criticizing him the whole show is negated over and over and over in the actual show itself—extremely overtly.

There's two issues here in my mind that lend to this fandom problem.

The fandom accepting Sam and Dean's "John Narratives" at face value in the early episodes of season 1. For example, watching 1.08 "Bugs", where Dean claims to have no resentments toward John and says Sam also was a dick during Sam and John's fight, and going, "Well there we go. Dean has no resentments and refuses to criticize John but Sam will." At this point, we already know from 1.06 "Skin" that Dean does have resentments toward John for not appearing to care about him and for abandoning him, and we get further indications in 1.11, and 1.21 in this season alone. Another example is Sam and Dean's clashes in 1.10 "Asylum" and in 1.11 "Scarecrow", which are largely analyzed by the fandom as moments where Dean is blindly following orders when they have some other, better option Sam is pushing, and Dean is just refusing to go along with Sam's much better ideas because he's too focused on believing their dad knows best... when that is not actually what is happening at all. Sam's alternative plans in the beginning of 1.10 and 1.11 are absolutely stupid. In 1.10, he wants to call the FBI on John to find him. That's his big idea—instead of following the coordinates John just sent them and seeing if he's there. In 1.11, Sam's big bright idea on finding John is to abandon some people to die on a time-sensitive case so he can go search all of Sacramento for John with nothing but an area code. His plans are dumb, plain and simple—and while we do see Dean hiding his own resentments in these episodes too, that does not remain true—which brings me to the other issue here.

Fandom doesn't leave room for the brothers perspectives on John and their outward expressions of those perspectives to shift or mature over the series. This is particularly funny because their perspectives are literally swapping over the course of season 1, and have pretty much fully swapped by 2.02.

Sam's shifting season 1 perspective on John

What actually happens in season 1, is that Sam, who starts out burning with resentment and hurt toward John for disowning him and being a smothering drill sergeant and absent, binge-drinking dad, slowly begins empathizing him because he's now suffered a similar trauma and is having extreme difficulty coping with it himself! Sam's empathy for and understanding of John (and hell—even respect for John handling it as well as Sam thinks he was capable) is already beginning to show in 1.02—where Sam asks Dean "How does Dad do it?" (i.e., deal with the same burning rage and desperation for vengeance that is tearing Sam apart) (gifset). In 1.04, he learns John was bragging about Sam's accomplishments to other people (gifset). In 1.08, when Dean tells Sam that John was never actually disappointed in him—that he was scared Sam would get hurt if he wasn't around (gifset here) a lot of Sam's anger about the Stanford fight fades. He ends the episode saying "Dad did the best he could" (a repeated quote often misattributed as coming more from Dean) and saying he wants to find him to apologize to him for the things he said (gifset). John and Sam share a heartfelt, tearful hug in 1.16—at the end of which Sam begs John not to leave, and in 1.20, John himself apologizes and explains what was going on in his head when they fought, and it ends with them smiling and laughing as they acknowledge they understand each other and they're the same. I track Sam and John's relationship through the tag, #we probably have a lot more in common than just about anyone because Sam says that during that conversation in 1.20 (gifset).

Dean's shifting season 1 perspective on John

At the same time this shift is happening in Sam, we see Dean going the exact opposite direction. He starts out believing John has their best interest at heart even if they don't understand his actions, but the resentment is there too (1.06). In 1.09 and in 1.12, Dean needs help desperately, and John doesn't answer. While Sam is learning that John actually cares about him, Dean is growing more and more concerned that John doesn't care about him (Dean) specifically. We see this resentment start to come out (season 1 compilation set here) in 1.20, when John says he wants to keep the boys safe and that's why he's ditching them, and Dean calls it "A bunch of crap". Dean begins standing up to John to his face from this episode onward—finishing 1.20 with a "Yeah well we saved your ass" in response to John saying they disobeyed him. In 1.21, John tries to get on his case, and Dean lays into him about not answering the phone and specifically about abandoning Dean when Dean needed him in 1.09 and 1.12. In 1.22, Sam tries to get his way by telling Dean that John wouldn't want them to bring The Colt to save him, and Dean yells "I don't care what Dad wants!" and then when Sam starts throwing the blame on him for everything, Dean says,

Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can’t wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? I’m gonna be the one to bury you. You’re selfish, you know that? You don’t care about anything but revenge.

Dean has compared Sam and John more than once during the series, and it has never ever been a compliment.

Sam and Dean in the rest of the series

Sam and Dean's interactions about John in rest of the series are... almost universally the opposite of what the fanfics you've picked up suggest. Their interactions almost always show Dean criticizing John and Sam keeping silent or defending him, or reiterating that John did what he had to/the best he could.

Gifset on Dean's whole season 2 "Fuck John Winchester" vibe here.

In 2.01, Dean shouts at John for (it appears) abandoning him to die:

DEAN Come on, Dad. You've gotta help me. I've gotta get better, I've gotta get back in there. I mean, you haven't called a soul for help. You haven't even tried. Aren't you going to do anything? Aren't you even going to say anything? I've done everything you have ever asked me. Everything. I have given everything I've ever had. And you're just going to sit there and you're going to watch me die? I mean, what the hell kind of father are you?

Sam and John have a horrible fight where John blames him for Dean's condition and Sam tells him to go to Hell only for him to make a demon deal and literally go to Hell that same day (gifset) and Sam tries to start another fight right before John dies but John refuses to engage (gifset). The result ends up being that Sam and Dean have fully swapped places on John by 2.02 with John's death as the catalyst. John's death leaves Sam with regrets that their last interaction was Sam trying to start a fight (2.02). He decides he wants to hunt in John's memory (2.02) (gifset1, gifset2) while a part of Dean desperately wants to quit the life altogether—he's clawing the walls but feels helplessly trapped (2.09, 2.10, 2.20).

Sam defends John while Dean suggests John lead them down the wrong path with a dogmatic rule book (2.03). He demands they go to Lawrence so he can place John's dog tags over Mary's grave (2.04). He spends the season regurgitating John's orders, pushing Dean to do what John told him to do (2.11, 2.14, 2.20) while Dean wants to quit the life (2.09, 2.10, 2.20) and burns with anger toward John. In 2.10, Dean says "I wish to god he'd never opened his mouth!" about John.

In 2.11 "Playthings":

SAM (shoving DEAN to face him) Dean! Dad told you to do it, you have to. DEAN Yeah, well, Dad's an ass! (SAM frowns in confusion) He never should have said anything! I mean, you don't do that, you don't, you don't lay that kind of crap on your kids! SAM No. He was right to say it! Who knows what I might become? Even now, everyone around me dies!

We see Dean seething with resentment while Sam defends John's orders and tries to enforce them on Dean, carrying the legacy of their father in more ways than one.

Over and over, we get indications that a part of John treated Dean as disposable while he sheltered Sam, and that Dean is increasingly aware of the impact that's difference has had on him—to the point he realizes his father's neglect and abuse is the reason he isn't fighting to save himself in 3.10 "Dream A Little Dream Of Me". Dean and John's relationship is intentionally paralleled with a physically abusive relationship between a father and son in this same episode (gifset, meta), and in this episode, Dean rejects his father as an "obsessed bastard", calls Bobby his father (gifset), and decides from this point forward, he's going to fight to save himself from his demon deal because fuck John Winchester.

DREAM DEAN Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you? DEAN Son of a bitch! My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap! He's the one who couldn't protect his family! He– who wasn't there for Sam! I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me! And I don't deserve to go to Hell!

And yeah! Dean also still loves John! And more than that—he craves John's protection. We see this in 3.14 "Long Distance Call" when the Crocotta calls to Dean as John from beyond the grave, telling Dean exactly what Dean wants to hear: "I never wanted this. Never. You're my boy, I love you. I can't watch you to go to hell, Dean," and telling Dean he can save him. This is pure longing for the love and protection Dean has always desired from John but feels like he's never received. Instead, he's always felt disposable.

In season 4? Oh boy... we get this incredible bit in 4.10 between Dean and Anna:

ANNA I was stationed on earth 2,000 years. Just... watching... silent... invisible... out on the road... sick for home... waiting on orders from an unknowable father I can't begin to understand. So don't tell me that -- DEAN laughs. ANNA What is so funny? What? DEAN Nothing. Sorry. It's just...I can relate.

Then in after meeting Adam in 4.19, Sam and Dean have a fight about whether to bring Adam hunting with them or leave him to a normal life:

DEAN 'Hunting is life. You can't have connections.' Dad gave you that exact same speech, remember? It was just before you ditched us for Stanford. You hated Dad for saying that stuff, and now you're quoting him? SAM Yeah, well, turns out Dad was right. DEAN Since when? SAM Since always. Dean, when I look at Adam, you know what I see? DEAN A normal kid. SAM No. Meat. Because the demons and monsters out there, that's all he is. I hated Dad for a long time. I did. But now I think I understand. So we didn't have a dog and a white picket fence. So what? Dad did right by us. He taught us how to protect ourselves. Adam deserves the same. DEAN Listen to yourself, man. SAM You think I’m wrong? DEAN I think it's too late for us. This is our life. This is who we are, okay? And it's fine. I accept that. But with Adam, he's still got a chance, man. He can go to school. He could be a doctor.

Sam says John did right by them. Dean thinks he absolutely didn't, but they can't change who they are now—they can only keep others from falling down the same path.

At the end of the episode? Oh boy...

DEAN You know, I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much. You two were practically the same person. SAM looks over. DEAN I mean, I worshipped the guy, you know? I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listen to the same music. But you were more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now. SAM I'll take that as a compliment. DEAN You take it any way you want.

It is NOT a compliment.

In 5.16, Dean is confronted with god's intentional absence, and burning with resentment, says to Joshua,

Forget it. Just another dead-beat dad with a bunch of excuses, right. I’m used to that. I’ll muddle through.

In 5.13, Sam takes the opportunity presented to him by young John's presence to defend their father and tell John that he forgives him (gifset).

JOHN Look, how long have you known about this...hunting stuff? SAM Pretty much forever. My dad raised me in it. JOHN You're serious? Who the hell does that to a kid? SAM Well, I mean, for the record, Mary's parents did. JOHN I don't care. You know, what kind of irresponsible bastard lets a child anywhere near—Y-you know, you could've been killed! SAM I, uh...came kind of close. SAM laughs. JOHN The number it must've done on your head...Your father was supposed to protect you. SAM He was trying. He died trying. Believe me. SAM sits down on the bench under a window. SAM I used to be mad at him. I—I mean, I used to... I used to hate the guy. But now I—I... I get it. He was...just doing the best he could. And he was trying to keep it together in—in—in this impossible situation. See... My mom, um... She was amazing, beautiful, and she was the love of his life. And she got killed. And...I think he would have gone crazy if he didn't do something. Truth is, um, my dad died before I got to tell him that I understand why he did what he did. And I forgive him for what it did to us. I do. And I just—I love him.

What Lebanon does is present Sam with the opportunity to reiterate his forgiveness toward a John who understands the context:

SAM Dad… for me? That fight… that was a lifetime ago. I don’t even remember what I said, and – I mean… yeah. You know what? You did some messed-up things. But I don’t… I mean, when I think about you… [voice breaks] and I think about you a lot… I don’t think about our – our fights. I think about you… I think about you on the floor of that hospital. And I think about how I never got to say goodbye. JOHN Sam. Son. I am so sorry. SAM I’m sorry, too. But you did your best, dad. You – you fought for us, and you loved us, and… that’s enough.

So yeah! The fanfic narrative here where Sam is Mr. "Dad was bad" and Dean is Mr. "Nooo dad did the best he could" IS ABSOLUTE NONSENSE!!!!!

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itsgameofthronesimagines · 1 year

Text

Strong Dragons (Part One)

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Masterlist Here

Pairing: Daemon x Fem!Reader x Rhaenyra

Warnings: NSFW! 18+ only! Smut, mature themes and language, P in V, arranged marriages, unprotected rough/raw sex (wrap it before you tap it), virginity loss, incest, daemon growls (enough said), angst, mentions of period blood, infertility struggles, threesomes, etc. (I’m so sorry if I miss anything I’m just writing the warnings down as I remember them)

Word Count: 4,032

Summary: Lady Y/n is chosen by Princess Rhaenyra for some would say a dangerous, maybe even an impossible task... and it requires marrying her uncle.

Request by: @ivy-targaryen

Author’s Note: I just so happened to be writing a Daemon x Reader x Rhaenyra fic when this request came in so thank you so much for the added inspiration! For context, Fem!Reader will be a Strong for later obvious reasons, Rhaenyra is still married to Laenor, Daemon stays in King’s Landing and never marries Laena, so their daughters are never born (I’m sorry). This is a VERY long one (that is most definitely getting a second and third part cause this originally had over 10,000 words) so strap in and I hope you enjoy it!

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

"What troubles you?"

Lady Y/n, daughter of House Strong, looks up from her embroidery to locate the source of her brother's voice. Looking around the gardens, she found him walking towards her, stepping into the gazebo she had hidden in. She tilts his head up at him, "Do I look troubled?"

Ser Harwin Breakbones lets out a snort full of snark, "I hardly see a sour look like that on your face, sweet sister."

Upon mention, Y/n feels the furrow of her brow lighten, straightening her posture when she realized she had been slouching. Blinking rapidly to try and veil her brooding expression, she clears her throat and nods towards the nearest seat for her brother. When he takes up the invitation to join her, only then did she voice her worries, "... If you were given an impossible task, would you do it?"

Harwin's eyebrows furrow, an expression fairly similar to Y/n's. By all accounts, apart from their genders, they were twins, and Y/n is reminded of this as she watched her brother similarly shift in his seat before replying, "Awfully vague question. If you truly want advice from your brother, wouldn't you want to be a bit more specific?"

"If I wanted advice, I'd go to Larys," the quick remark forces out a snort from Harwin. Y/n faintly smiles before urging him on with a stiff nod, "Just answer the question."

Silence lingers as he ponders on said question. Harwin listens to the wind brushing through the vines that have climbed the pillars of the gazebo. He answers boldly, like the strong soldier he was, "Nothing is impossible. Not for me. Not for us. House Strong knows no task that is too impossible to accomplish."

Y/n looked back down at her embroidery to hide her disappointment. She was afraid he would say that, furiously pulling the needle and threading through the fabric. Despite hiding her emotions, Harwin took her silent response as a recoil, worrying him further as he leans closer to her, talking quietly in case the question was for a more personal matter, "Can I ask who gave you this burden?"

The needle paused in Y/n's hand, her eyes still examining her threaded pattern as she mumbled, "The princess."

Harwin's worry eases some, shoulders visibly relaxing under his armor. He smiles warmly with encouragement, "Princess Rhaenyra would not have asked... whatever-it-is from you if she did not believe you could do it. She's also smart. I don't believe anything's impossible for her either," when his sister remained unconvinced, Harwin reaches out to still her hand from stabbing her embroidery with the needle, "She is to be our queen someday, Y/n... Whatever she wants from you, as long as you are not to be harmed, I believe you should do it."

Y/n's shoulders rise and fall as she sighs through her nose, watching Harwin's hand before finally looking up at him, "She wants me to go with her if and when she leaves for Dragonstone."

Not a complete lie, but one nonetheless, and it only added to the weight already heavy on her burdened shoulders. Harwin's eyebrows furrow again, but more so in confusion, "And why is that such an impossible task?"

"... Convincing Father of it is one, and being unwed is another. I doubt Father would let me go if he intends on finding me a husband."

Ser Breakbones scoffs, "Father cannot deny the princess, Y/n. He'll have to agree if she asks you to go with her."

"But the King--"

"Princess Rhaenyra has the King wrapped around her finger. She will get her father to agree to this arrangement, and then our father will really have no choice."

He stands suddenly, remembering that he had the City Watch to attend to and he had only meant to bid his sister a good day. Before he leaves, however, he smiles down and pats Y/n's shoulder, "It's an honor to have the heir to the throne request your service. Politically, the relationship between our houses would strengthen if you choose to accept the princess' proposal. Give it some thought, sister. I know in the end, whatever you choose, I'll believe it to be the right choice."

~~~~~~~~~

Her brother wasn't at all helpful in her struggles, but Y/n had appreciated his words, nevertheless. She knew she wouldn't get his full support if he had known the full truth, but he had answered as she knew he would with what she had given him. That night, as instructed, she slipped into the secret passageways of the Red Keep. Following the drawings that were quickly scrawled onto a piece of parchment, Y/n wandered cautiously down the tunnels, avoiding any source of light she caught sight of. Eventually, she makes it to a small stairwell and climbs up, finding the outline of a door on the top of the stairs. Ignoring the dust and cobwebs, Y/n places her hands on the door and gives it an experimental push. When it didn't budge, she pushed harder, quickly catching herself when the door gave in.

She nearly stumbled into the chambers revealed on the other side. Looking around, her eyes widen in amazement to find herself in Princess Rhaenyra's chambers, the very same Targaryen who was watching Y/n expectedly from her seat next to the hearth on the far side of the room. When Y/n's gaze caught hers, the Strong woman straightened her posture, quickly brushing the dust off her skirt and bowing respectively, parchment paper still clutched in hand.

Rhaenyra smiled, amusement shining in her eyes unless Y/n had mistaken it for the fireplace reflecting off her violet orbs. The princess rose from her chair and slowly crossed the room to the other woman, hands clasped in front of her, "Find your way here well enough?"

"Yes, Princess," Y/n curtly answered. She was nearly startled out of her manners, however, when a large hand reached around her and snatched the parchment from her hands. Dark hair falling over her shoulder as she spun her head, Y/n nearly lost her bravery when Daemon Targaryen stood beside her, seamlessly emerging from the shadows of the room. The prince barely acknowledged her presence, staring down at the small map he had drawn for Y/n as it crinkled in his hands.

Finally, he looked up once Rhaenyra had joined his side, the two Targaryens both staring at Y/n with their matching eyes, looming over her with a fierceness so similar to a dragon. Daemon allows a small smirk to grace his lips, "Incredible architecture, wouldn't you agree?"

Y/n quickly nodded when she guessed that he was referring to the secret tunnels, now slightly shaking, "Yes, my prince."

"Maegor the Cruel had the secret tunnels and passageways built throughout the Red Keep back when he was King. They say after construction was finished, he threw a grand feast for the hands and minds behind the building process," Daemon took the parchment and held it over a lit candlestick stationed on a pillar beside him, watching the remnants of his maps slowly disappear into flames before freeing his hand off it and fixing his gaze back on Y/n. The young woman tried her best not to cower in fear as he took one step closer to her again, "And after three days, he had them all killed so no one but him would know how to navigate the tunnels and trapdoors."

A hidden threat, veiled by his intention. Y/n forced her hands to stay still by folding them in front of her body, unable to meet the prince's eyes when he stepped far too close to her, close enough to feel his breath on her face as she whispered, "I will not breathe of word of this to anyone."

Daemon tilts his head, smirking as though he was playing with his food, "And what made you think I would suggest such a thing?"

"Daemon," both his and Y/n's eyes remember Rhaenyra and look to face her. The princess appeared patient, encouraging her uncle with a brief nod, "I trust her."

Once her uncle had stepped away and dutifully stood at her side, Rhaenyra turned back to Y/n, thinly smiling, "Have you made a decision?"

"I have, Princess..." Y/n nods again, trying to catch her breath after Daemon has stolen hers. She basked in her personal space, able to think straight without the two dragons lingering ever so close to her. Taking a deep breath and regaining her courage, Y/n lifts her chin and turns to Daemon, "I will marry you. I will wed you and bed you. I will give you the children you and Princess Rhaenyra so desire and pass them off as hers with Ser Laenor."

Rhaenyra's eyes were the only thing to give away her relief and veiled excitement. Daemon, however, remained impassive, unwilling to share whatever emotions he was feeling with the stranger in the room he did not yet trust. He keeps his gaze hard, staring deeply into Y/n's as if trying to fish out a lie, "You understand that while you will be the one to bear them, you will not be the one to raise them. When they are born, you promise to not hold motherhood over them and entrust this to the Princess Rhaenyra."

It was not a question or a request, more so a demand. Despite Daemon's bluntness, Y/n nods obediently, "If that is the princess' wish, yes."

Rhaenyra glides over to the woman, gingerly taking her hands in her own. Y/n couldn't find herself able to stare directly into the princess' gaze and so glanced down at their conjoined hands. Rhaenyra's skin was fair and much paler than hers in comparison. Y/n had a few small scars littered over her hands from various stories of her childhood, while Rhaenyra's was visibly flawless, apart from the feel of her palms. They were rough, as Y/n observed, most likely from the use of dragon-riding.

Y/n forces herself to look up, only to be rewarded with a grateful nod from Rhaenyra and a kind smile, "Thank you, my lady. You have no idea how much this means to me."

~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Daemon approached the King and asked for Lady Y/n's hand in marriage. Viserys was delighted that his brother had found a new wife so soon after Lady Royce's death and after the scandal with Rhaenyra and immediately confided in Lyonel Strong for his approval. His Hand, of course, agreed to this proposal between his daughter and Prince Daemon and so a ceremony was quickly planned to take place within a fortnight.

Preparations were made and everyone appeared to be excited about the event, bustling about and whispering with joy amongst themselves. Many of the ladies of the court giggled and gossiped with each other, fawning over Prince Daemon and commenting on how Lady Y/n was incredibly lucky.

If Harwin had a suspicion, he never showed it. Instead, he congratulated his sister on her proposal and promised to be her ally against her future husband should she ever need it. On the day the ceremony was set to take place, Y/n found herself surrounded by maids and other ladies of the court as they helped her prepare for her wedding. Just as they had fully dressed her in a white dress filled with embroidered dragons in red thread, the doors of Y/n's chambers opened to reveal the princess and Ser Harwin. The ladies and servants all bow and made a quick escape when Rhaenyra asked them to leave. Once they were alone, Rhaenyra nodded to Harwin and fondly watched as Ser Breakbones crossed the room to gather his sister up in a tight embrace.

"You look beautiful," he compliments, petting down her hair while looking her in the eyes, "The princess wishes to do your hair, but I will be just outside if you need anything."

Y/n nods and briefly smiles in answer. Before she could even say a word, Harwin had left the room and closed the doors behind him. Rhaenyra waits a moment before joining Y/n at her vanity mirror, instructing the bride-to-be to sit down while she took a brush to her dark hair. The two women were silent for the moment as Rhaenyra ran the brush through Y/n's hair, time and time again until it felt like silk running through her fingers. Then, the princess moved on to braiding certain locks and forming a halo on top of the bride's head, similar to something a Targaryen would wear.

"I understand what we are asking of you is a heavy burden," the princess spoke gently, "And I understand it will be difficult, but I want you to know that I owe you my life for this. You have my gratitude and I will never forget this. You're a true friend to the crown. Daemon may say whatever he likes, but as for me, I still want you to be a part of the children's lives. To them, you will be a distant cousin and an aunt, but to me, you will be every bit of a mother to them as I."

Y/n doesn't nod in an attempt not to ruin Rhaenyra's work on her hair. The curiosity got the best of her as she opened her mouth, "How will we hide any pregnancy? Will we have a maester we can trust?"

"We have a plan," Rhaenyra doesn't elaborate beyond that, "And we will act on it once we are sure you are with child."

"Will Ser Laenor be in the know of it?"

She nods, "He knows."

"And he approves?"

"He does," Rhaenyra finishes the braids, her hands finding rest on Y/n's shoulders. The two women stare into each other's reflection in the mirror, a small shadow taking over the princess' eyes as she spoke, "We did try, you know. Many times, in fact. But nothing came of it. When I turned to Daemon for help... still, nothing happened. As the future queen, it is vital that I have heirs of my own someday. If I am truly barren, well..." she squeezes Y/n's shoulders, "At least this way, the children will still have Targaryen blood running through their veins."

Y/n bites her lip, not voicing what she truly thought to the princess. Daemon never hid his disgust for his first wife, Rhea Royce. Everyone heard him spit terrible things about her, darkly stating his wife to be 'his bronze bitch' among other profanities. With one look at her own reflection, Y/n wanted to flinch away at her Strong features. It didn't take a fool to know that Prince Daemon had a taste for women with silver hair, but not just any woman. Some speculated that Daemon had only ever loved one woman, and could never have her. All the lords and ladies in court looked no further than Rhaenyra herself, knowing that she could ask Daemon to take over the world for her, and her uncle would do so without question. Y/n had once speculated these rumors, and now her arrangement with the uncle and niece only confirmed it.

Finally, Y/n turned away from the mirror to look up at the princess with as much honesty as she could muster, "I cannot guarantee the children will have silver hair."

Rhaenyra faintly smiles, her hand hovering over Y/n's hair as if wanting to run her fingers through it, but wisely decided against it, "We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

~~~~~~~~~

The wedding went by quickly, Y/n could scarcely remember it whenever she looked back. The ceremony played out like a rehearsal, vows full of monotone and kisses exchanged in practice. The celebration afterward was one so grand that Y/n had a moment to forget her sorrows. The feast was large and not only was wine being served but also ale and mead as well. Y/n had her father to thank for providing her favorite drink, her cups mostly filled with a honey mead sent from Dorne. She danced her troubles away with anyone and everyone, but not her new husband. Daemon barely paid a mind to her, instead seating himself beside the King as they joked and laughed as if they were boys again. Y/n wasn't too bothered by this as practically everyone danced with her. Her father and Harwin were the first to do so, her younger brother, Larys, was unable to take part in the dancing. Members of the King's small council danced with her, and their sons. The Sea Snake himself, Lord Vaemond, and Ser Laenor all danced with her. With knowing eyes, Laenor passed the bride off to his wife once a new song began, and Y/n was too stunned to remember her manners as Princess Rhaenyra took her hands and led her into a lovely, slow dance.

"I suppose this makes me your aunt now, Princess," Y/n finds herself speaking her mind more than usual, her mead finally dulling her restless mind.

Rhaenyra huffed out a laugh, linking her arm through Y/n's opposite as they spun around each other in a circle, "It does, my lady. Although from this moment forward, I would like to call you a friend as well."

"Whatever you wish for, Princess."

The bedding ceremony was not as enjoyable as the feast, but suppose that is why Y/n drank many cups of mead before that. She was horrified at the idea of everyone in court watching her, including her brothers and father, but was relieved to learn that Daemon had forbidden the court to watch. Y/n will later hear that Daemon himself spoke to the King about this, stating that he had every intention of consummating his marriage with his second bride, seeing as she was the one he chose, unlike Lady Royce, and that there was no need for his brother to watch and make sure. The lords still brought the bride to bed and the ladies brought the groom, but there was no undressing or an audience during the consummation.

Well, all but one audience.

Later, after the lords and ladies had gone, Rhaenyra slipped into Y/n's chambers, undetected by anyone outside. She sat near the bed, watching with interest as Daemon stripped himself and his new bride down to their night clothes. Her face red with embarrassment, Y/n doesn't comment and instead turns her head away to observe the far wall of her room, nearly jumping out of her skin when Daemon pulled her nightgown up, exposing her naked form to the cool air.

Y/n's eyes screw shut and her entire body stiffens when she felt the tip of Daemon's erection run over her folds, barely giving enough time to prep her before he completely sheaths himself inside of her. It's tight and it burns, causing Y/n to throw her hand over her mouth to stifle the cry of pain forced out of her. Daemon lets out a small growl and doesn't give her time to adjust, moving back out of her only to slide back in. His hips meet hers once she's able to take him fully without much resistance, and yet all Y/n can do was either shut her eyes or watch the wall, wanting to hide her body and shame into the very mattress Daemon began to fuck her into.

"Relax, Lady Y/n," Rhaenyra softly soothed the woman, her voice closer than what Y/n remembered. Turning her head, Y/n found her now sitting on the edge of the bed, hovering over the newlyweds' writhing forms. Rhaenyra's eyes appeared curious, intrigued by whatever she finds when Y/n's gaze meets her. The princess leans forward and finds Y/n's hand, sliding her own fingers in between Lady Strong's, "If you relax your body, it will hurt less."

Y/n tries to listen and obey, taking a few shaking breaths to calm herself, despite Daemon's hips snapping harshly into hers, forcing her breasts to bounce. The slight friction of Y/n's skewed nightgown brushing over her nipples sends a chill down her spine, and for a moment she forgets the pain, shivering as her hand tightly holds Rhaenyra's, briefly forgetting her embarrassment. Daemon grunts at the feel of her walls tightening around him, ever so slightly, slick sounds now filling the air instead of raw, dry claps. For the most part, he had been focused more on thrusting instead of acknowledging his wife, keeping his eyes lowered as he watches his cock disappear into her wet cunt with each snap of his hips. He refused to watch Y/n as he beds her, more focused on his goal than on pleasure.

However, after a long stretch of time, the prince found it harder and harder to peak, desperate for release as he starts thrusting harder and faster. Y/n bites the inside of her cheek so as not to scream, forcing her eyes closed again to stop the unshed tears from falling. Daemon's grunts were less pleasurable and were more out of frustration, still avoiding his wife's face and body out of a stubborn will.

Rhaenyra can see the exhaustion on her uncle's face and so she takes matters into her own hands. Still hanging onto Y/n, the princess uses her free hand to cup Daemon's face, forcing him to look up at her. Daemon's eyes meet hers and she could see the lust for her pooling in his hard gaze. She could see his desire but also his frustration. Rhaenyra leans in and kisses Daemon, moaning straight into his mouth.

He had spilled inside of Y/n soon after that, the Lady Strong relieved for it to finally be over.

~~~~~~~~~

However, she quickly realized that it would be far from over. She had promised to bring forth a child for Rhaenyra and Daemon Laenor, and until she did so, she would have to let Daemon back into her bed. It's not as though Rhaenyra wanted Laenor to share Y/n's bed, although Y/n was sure that she was far from Laenor's fancy anyway, but Daemon was now her lawful husband, and a child from him would be perfect for Rhaenyra. Besides, Y/n was positive that Rhaenyra would prefer to have a child from Daemon over her own husband.

For several nights after her wedding, Y/n would be accompanied by her husband and her newly appointed niece. And for several nights, after Daemon was finished, both he and Rhaenyra would leave her chambers, alone and sore in her bed. The nights weren't so bad after a fashion, and perhaps that was because Rhaenyra made it bearable for Y/n. Every morning after, Y/n was visited by the princess, and a tray of food and drink would come with her. Y/n was surprised but also inwardly delighted by Rhaenyra's kindness. Both of the women broke their fasts together so much that it became a tradition every single day. It even came to a point where even if Daemon didn't bed Y/n, Rhaenyra would still visit with her aunt the morning after.

A month had gone by and Rhaenyra sat in her normal seat at Y/n's table, sipping on her morning tea while staring out the balcony. The peaceful silence that usually followed this routine visit was oddly charged and heavy. The princess sensed this, glancing over to Y/n only to find the other woman staring down at her lap as if in shame.

"What is it?" She found herself asking, although her stomach turned with the suspicion that she already knew.

Y/n looked up, sighing in exhaustion, "My flower came this morning."

Disappointed, Rhaenyra only blinks, nodding while setting her cup down, "I can't say I'm surprised. It was foolish to get my hopes up that everything would happen right away."

Y/n nods as well, although the lines on her forehead didn't go away. Rhaenyra wanted to reach out with her thumb and soothe it over but had to pinch herself in order to refrain from doing so. She watched Y/n's face continue to fall into despair, the Strong woman gulping down the soreness in her throat when she felt her eyes begin to water, "Am I doing something wrong, Princess?"

The weakness in her voice nearly shattered Rhaenyra's heart, for once unable to reply with all the things she was supposed to say. Instead, a fire raged within her belly, and with it revealed the dragon within her. Y/n didn't notice, but Rhaenyra felt a cloud in her mind as she reached over to take Y/n's hand.

"No, it's not you, Lady Y/n. It's not you."

She had an idea of who was really to blame for her aunt's distress.

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So, uh... I'm DEFINITELY making a Part 2, whether ya'll like it or not. Hope you enjoyed!

Go to the Masterlist to see what chapters are posted!

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writing-for-life · 17 days

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Right, okay, I’ve thought long and hard whether to write this:

A squick (even a strong one) is not the same as a trigger.

Emotional discomfort, even emotional discomfort that leads to low-level physical symptoms like e.g. mild nausea, is not trauma. Unfortunately, TikTok pop psych has done nothing to help people understand the difference, because the trend to perceive (even strong) emotional discomfort as equivalent to a trauma response is worrying and neither helps people with nor without PTSD. I don’t wish it on anyone to actually find out the difference if they haven’t yet (disclaimer, since this is unfortunately necessary these days because everything gets misconstrued: I am not talking about individual experiences, because only you can know about those. I’m talking about wider trends in an often young audience with not enough background info to be able to tell apart sound medical/psychological info and viral BS created by “influencers” for some kind of personal gain).

What people in the current fandom spat want to have tagged as “triggers” are overwhelmingly squicks. And we’re probably all guilty of quickly saying “that triggered me”, myself included (and I’m a licensed psychotherapist, shame on me). It has become somewhat of a shorthand for “extremely annoyed or grossed out”. But when it gets used in the context of tagging, it’s good to remember that no one owes us a tag list the length of our arm just because we don’t like certain things. Even if we strongly dislike them.

And even on the occasion someone else’s yuck or yum is an actual trigger for us, it is impossible to cover for every possible trigger, because in theory, EVERYTHING has the possibility to trigger someone somewhere.

E.g., a certain smell in a supermarket holds the rare possibility of triggering someone, but do you see disclaimers at the supermarket door that say, “May smell of 484 different things, which are in detail [list of 484 things] and might be different tomorrow. Plus, we might have a customer today who smells of that perfume that brings up your triggering childhood memories. Or maybe we won’t, but just on the odd chance we do, we thought we’d rather cover it”.

There might be one person with a very specific trigger that does literally nothing to the vast majority of people. Do we expect everyone on Tumblr to tag for “eyebrows” or “white T-Shirt” because of that? How about that person just puts “eyebrows” or “white T-Shirt” in their content filter instead?

Do we really suggest to put that type of responsibility on creators? More importantly: Who are we protecting that way? All we do is put people into bubble wrap and shift responsibility for our mental wellbeing away from ourselves to others.

We are trying to tell other people what to do for our own comfort. That’s controlling.

If we’re squicked out by something, there is a simple solution: we can stop looking or reading. We can use content (not tag) filters. In the worst case, we can block. We don’t have to put that type of responsibility for our personal sensitivities on creators (or people who reblog, for that matter).

We can tag for certain things as a courtesy, I’m all for it. I love being able to filter out stuff I’m not into, and I sometimes wish people would tag better or not tag a certain way (getting ship tags for a ship you’re not into slapped on your character-metas is annoying 🤣). But I don’t die, neither does it cause me unbearable distress, if I see cows where I don’t expect them. Scroll past or block. And if I’m worried about mature topics like nudity or violence: Tumblr has a community label for mature themes you can (and in my view should) use if in doubt. Funnily enough, many people don’t do that though—maybe because they worry about reach?

Of course we should include content warnings where they are due, no one says we shouldn’t. It’s also fair if a creator doesn’t wish to do that beyond general warnings (no specifics) though because they might give away, say, major plot points that way. In that case, general disclaimers like “contains depictions of violence”, or whatever it might be individually, are a good idea. And if that’s not specific enough for us despite knowing that “violence” in general might also contain our personal trigger, we might need to make the decision not to read it to stay safe, but we shouldn’t have a go at the writer for not tagging very specific things that might be considered spoilers.

Long story short: If we assume people are “triggered” by werewolves with vulvas or non-human characters, it might be worth thinking about whether we’re just talking about squicks that very much fall into the category of “personal responsibility”. And there are plenty solutions to that at our end—we don’t need to put that on creators…

#fandom problems #fandom entitlement #fandom stuff #squicks #vs #triggers #tagging #being grossed out or strongly disliking is uncomfortable #but it’s not the same as being triggered

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sidekick-hero · 7 months

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Until I found you

(steddie | 1.5k | mature | AO3 | Collection with wedding fics)

My dearest @thefreakandthehair, you were the first person I really interacted with in this fandom and your Winter Challenge was the reason I wrote my very first ST fanfic. You have a special place in my heart Lex and I am so glad, that I and all the others, were able to show you how much you mean to us with our wedding gifts.

I wish you and Billiam a life filled with love and happiness and the knowledge that you found something special within each other 💜

Most of the time, Eddie doesn’t mind being poor. Hell, he grew up with no money to his name, and as with so many things, you can't really miss what you've never had.

But sometimes he wishes that he wasn't.

Not even for himself, but for Steve. Because Steve? Steve knows what he's missing.

Before he came out to his parents, involuntarily, when they caught them making out on the floor of their living room, and they kicked him out of their house and their family, Steve had money. He could buy anything he wanted and never had to worry about affording rent and groceries.

Now, Eddie and Steve were living together in a small but cozy apartment in Indianapolis with their cats, Merry and Pippin. Steve was studying to be an EMT, and Eddie was working as a bartender where his band played regularly. They got by just fine, even though most of their furniture was second-hand, and they went grocery shopping on a weekly budget.

Their life was good. Perfect, in fact, if you asked Eddie. They had everything they needed, especially each other, which was the most important thing, a fact Steve never tired of reminding him of.

But that never stopped Eddie from wanting to give Steve more. Steve deserved the world and Eddie hated that he couldn't give it to him. He couldn't even give him the honeymoon he deserved.

If he's honest, he still can't believe Steve said yes. Especially after Eddie proposed at the worst possible time. Not during sex, which would have been bad, but not the worst. No, he proposed during a fight.

Steve was yelling at him, probably about something inane because he was tired and frustrated at the time, Eddie doesn’t even remember. And all he could think was that he would do anything to have Steve yell at him and smile at him and kiss him and tease him for the rest of his life.

"If you don't care, fine, but some of us —"

"Marry me."

"What - are you kidding me?"

"No, I have never been more serious in my life. Marry me, Steve."

"Are you asking me to marry you so I’ll stop yelling at you? Because I won't."

"Oh, I know. You don't have to. Just say yes before you go on?"

Steve had stopped yelling at him after that, too busy kissing him. They fucked right there on their kitchen floor, and Steve bitched about it the whole next day when his knees hurt. It was perfect.

Eddie wants their honeymoon to be just as perfect. But even though his uncle pitched in as much as he could, their wedding ate up what little savings they had. So instead of going to a beach somewhere and enjoying the sight of his husband in nothing but his swim trunks and lathering his gorgeous skin in sunscreen, they stayed home.

"Come on, it's not that bad. You know us. We wouldn't have left the hotel room anyway." Steve tries to cheer him up as Eddie sulks on their bed, wiggling his eyebrows in the way he knows makes Eddie laugh every time. It has the desired effect when Eddie snorts, but the thought of letting Steve down still lingers on his mind.

"Seriously, Eds. I know we don't have much right now, but we can always go on vacation together later. Right now, I really want to enjoy some quality time with my husband. So could you please tell him to stop moping?"

It's said with a teasing smile, so Eddie knows that Steve isn't really annoyed with him. But he's right, this is their honeymoon, even if they have to spend it at home. He shouldn't sit around and mope. He's failing at being a husband. He should probably prepare himself for the inevitable moment when Steve realizes that too and asks him for a divorce. Maybe they can at least stay friends. The thought hurts, a pang in his chest that he knows has nothing on how much the real thing would hurt. Like a supernova imploding in his chest, a black hole that would suck the life out of him. But he would try anyway. Not right away, but maybe someday, because Eddie can't imagine a life without Steve in it, even if it won't be the way he hoped it would be —

"I see you spiraling from here, Eddie."

Steve's voice is soft, as is his touch, as he cups Eddie's cheek with the palm of his hand. When Eddie looks up into his eyes, they are soft as well, filled with nothing but love. They look exactly the same as they did when Steve said "I do.” Just before he kissed Eddie with so much tenderness that Eddie could feel it in his toes.

"I just want to make you happy, Stevie. I don't want to disappoint you."

It's painfully honest, but they both worked hard at being honest with each other. Even when they screw up or when they think it might hurt the other. Honesty is the foundation on which they built their relationship, along with trust, respect, and, of course, love. And fantastic sex.

Steve smiles at him, and something about the look on his face actually brings tears to Eddie's eyes and his heart clenches in his chest. Fuck. He never thought you could love someone so much that it physically hurts until he met Steve. "I know, baby. I know. Wanna know a secret?"

Eddie hums and presses a small kiss to Steve's palm. Steve's thumb reaches up to gently stroke his cheekbones, wiping away the wetness that has begun to gather. "You make me happy every day in so many ways."

Steve kisses the tender skin under Eddie's eye, first left, then right. "When I wake up in the morning, way before you, sleepyhead, and you always kiss me, even when you're not awake yet."

He kisses Eddie's nose next, adding a little nip to the tip that makes Eddie smile. "When you text me throughout the day, just to share your thoughts and hear mine. Just to show me you were thinking about me."

Next, Steve's lips find Eddie's forehead, lingering, pressing his love into Eddie's skin, wanting it to get through Eddie's thick skull. "When you come home after a long shift, tiptoeing through the apartment, and making a ruckus anyway because you couldn't be quiet to save your life. And you slide into bed next to me, wrap me up in your arms, kiss the side of my face, and tell me you love me.”

Finally, Steve kisses him on the lips, first taking his upper lip between his own, then his lower, before slowly dragging his tongue along the seam. Eddie opens his mouth and Steve's tongue slips in, just like that, just a tease, not as a prelude to anything, but because he can. Because what's Eddie's is his and what's Steve's is Eddie's. Everything he has and everything he is belongs to Steve. His husband.

"You made me the happiest man in the world when you asked me to marry you. When you said yes in front of our friends, our family." Steve whispers in the minimal space between their lips, and Eddie sniffles, too happy to be embarrassed.

"I love you, Stevie. So goddamn much." Another kiss, as gentle as the last.

Steve pulls away, both hands cupping Eddie's face, his thumbs wiping away the last of the tears. "I love you too. So how about we start with the whole honeymoon business, huh?"

"What do you have in mind?"

Steve's smile is sweet, innocent, but Eddie knows his husband well enough to see the gleam in his eyes. He's in for a treat, his stomach fluttering in anticipation.

"Well," Steve begins, letting go of Eddie's face to tap his chin, "I thought we'd take our mattress into the living room, put it in front of the TV and put on Lord of the Rings. Extended Edition." The words sound like music to his ears, the perfect way to spend the day in his book, but it's hardly a gift for the two of them.

Steve is not finished, however. "That's 686 minutes. Wanna show me how many times you can make me come in 11 hours?"

Standing up so fast he almost knocks Steve over, Eddie pulls Steve into a deep, heated kiss. "Marry me, Steve."

Steve laughs. "I already did, stupid. I take it you like the idea?"

"I love it. Almost as much as you." They kiss again, unable to keep their hands off each other.

Eddie wonders if the impromptu blowjob that follows on their bed can be added to the final count at the end of the day. If so, it's nine times. Not bad at all, if he says so himself.

Steve seems to agree as they cuddle on the couch, both naked, satiated and sleepy, their legs intertwined and Steve's head resting on Eddie's chest, their mattress beyond saving ("Good thing the new one gets delivered tomorrow.").

"Are you happy, Stevie?"

"Never been happier in my life, Mr. Munson-Harrington."

#steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie x steve #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #my writing #check out all the other great ficlets in the AO3 collection everyone outdid themselve for our dearest Lex

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theyoungeragrippina · 4 months

Text

15 more gentlebeard fic recs!

that i have lovingly hunter/gathered for you all. may they act as sustenance for u in this drought.

they are all complete, do not feature any ongoing steddyhands, and are above 20k words.

peruse part 1 and part 2 at your leisure if you want to compare our tastes/devour more fine literature, or check out my masterlist as an ao3 collection.

happy reading!

it's what isn't in the name by @tciddaemina

41k, mature

"The first thing they see - apart from Captain Bonnet himself, all silked up and frilly and I sight in his own right - is the cat sitting primly by his ankles."

writing is top quality, the depth of understanding the author has for every character is unmatched. i have never felt so gutted to know a writer hasn't written anything else for ofmd.

clarity by @kat0nline

44k, explicit

"After an accident upends Stede and Ed's fragile new relationship, Ed fights to bring Stede back."

amnesia/memory loss fic done justice. mary continues to be the best and i love her. only note i wrote after i finished was 'screaming crying throwing up i love you author'.

you are at the top of my lungs by @ratchet

55k, explicit

"Ed has a simple life. He has a self-built, off grid, mostly self-sustaining house tucked away in the middle of a forest... the appearance of an incredibly nosy, incredibly handsome stranger three weekends in a row has him questioning every self-imposed rule he's ever set himself."

this is really a story about healing and hope and grief and love. one of my most favourite eds. this author makes me want to change my whole life, and in this case become an off grid chicken owner that grows food and has gay christmas dinners.

seven point three miles, also by @ratchet

20k (technically just under but it gets a pass because everyone should read it rn), teen and up

"Stede takes a job as a remote forest fire lookout in the summer following his divorce, with a plan to find out who he is, and what he wants his life to be. With the help of the enigmatic lookout on the other side of the forest, he ends up getting more out of the experience than he could ever have hoped."

when will this author receive their nobel prize in literature. i want to be a fire lookout now. i also want to scream and cry and maybe stare at the ceiling for five hours to process this fic. there is a reason everyone loves this fic.

fine dining by wishingonalightningbolt and sugarybowl

37k, explicit

"Edward Teach is one of the most famous chefs in the world, working under the handle Chef Blackbeard. Not one to be tied down, he does random pop-ups in all types of kitchens, and for the absurdly wealthy, he caters special events. Stede Bonnet wants to throw the best engagement party ever for his ex-wife and best friend, Mary. His assistant recommends the extravagant work of Chef Blackbeard."

my notes just say: 'ed is a chef and stede is a cute guy and they are cute together' and i think that is a pretty good summary tbh.

Old Bae Season by nomadsland

57k, explicit

"Ed picks Stede up at a bar for what ought to be a one-night stand, but it turns out they're attending the same academic conference the next day."

they are scientists and stede experiences self discovery. crab door knockers as a symbol of love. i love this fic because it made me smile so much (and want to get my life together, weirdly).

Vitalis by jfc_anna

29k, explicit

"Crown Prince Stede Bonnet. Reserved, anxious, and newly arranged to be married. A child is expected. Though, with the Prince’s lack of experience, is also highly unlikely. There are murmurs of an educator of sorts amongst the nobility, with raven hair and eyes like fire, who has been the cure of impotence and disagreeable attitudes. He has been called many names, whispered behind hands or between cracks in doors. Siren. Kraken. Devourer of Love."

short and sweet and so different from most other things i've read in this fandom. lots of flirting and pining and copious amounts of seduction.

all that might happen is here somehow by @sungmee

27k, teen

"Stede gets caught in a time loop at the moment where Badminton tries to shoot him."

i put off reading this because i thought i wasn't super keen on time loop fics. i was wrong. this is charming, and a little bit heartbreaking, and VERY well written, and i loved every word. don't make my mistakes. read this rn.

turn on the light by smallestchurch

55k, explicit

"Lighthouse Bookshop had been there seemingly since time immemorial. Over forty years at that spot, sitting proud, a beacon at the heart of the community, and when the old owner decides to sell, it's the perfect vessel for Stede's odd restlessness. And the building is connected to a famous cocktail bar run by a mad genius behind the stick."

smiling through my tears rn. i was so absorbed that the end of the fic came up on me like a jumpscare. stede and ed continue to be posterboys for maladaptive coping mechanisms. books & cocktails & outrageous flirting.

our tesco means death by @stedesparasol

21k, general

"Determined to prove he can earn a living without his family's wealth, Stede applies for a job at the UK's biggest retailer (probably). Hmm, I wonder who his supervisor will be... surely not a handsome bearded man sick of the retail grind until Stede joins his workplace and makes things interesting..."

so unserious and so funny. fuckin' brilliant. made me genuinely laugh out loud so much that my dad asked if i was okay.

Queen Anne’s Renovations and Remodelling by bythedamned

32k, mature

"Ed didn't know why Stede’s house had a room sealed off. Two decades gone, filled with the creation and destruction of things they'd never shared with each other, and Ed no longer had reading privileges to the Book of Stede. So he's left to wonder - what's in the room? Why is the door plastered over? And why does Ed remember kissing Stede on a make-believe ship they’d invented as kids?"

thank u sm to @okayestokapi for the rec!! i love the sort of magical-mystery vibe this carries the whole way through & the conclusion was so charming and clever. heaps of fun.

help me to find peace (tell me you're okay) by @percyjacksonfan3

38k, general

"Stede and the crew come to find Ed and make things right. Turns out Ed is doing the same".

i am simply a sucker for a good post s1 reunion fic, and this is up there with the best. it flows really well, the characterisation is so good, and it felt like such a natural continuation of the s1 story and character arcs!!

Invisible String by @dimplyowl

48k, mature

"Scourge of the Caribbean" has been Stede's favorite book series since he was 12 years old. Now, age 47, divorced, and an aspiring author, he turns back to the series to draw inspiration from the familiar story. But as he starts reading, he realizes that something is different. Blackbeard, the main character, is apathetic and depressed, and the story has changed. Even stranger still, Stede seems to be the only one aware that this change has occurred."

more magic realism!!!!! this is so much fun and such a clever idea (plus such clever execution)! lots of flirting and stede being flustered and cute dates.

The Lion, the Witch and the Auxiliary Wardrobe by @xoxoemynn

21k, explicit

"Edward "Blackbeard" Teach's foolproof strategy to get over devastating heartbreak: 1) bring a witch aboard the ship 2) get trapped in an auxiliary wardrobe with the man who broke your heart 3) well, you'll have to read to find out."

in this house we read everything em writes because it is all brilliant and hilarious, and this is no different. its silly and fun and still tender and sweet, and ed & stede get to be just as embarrassing as they deserve (also there is a currently updating work by the same author u should look at too - take it as an unofficial rec).

Due North by surprise pink (+ gorgeously illustrated by @sungmee who appeared earlier on this list!!!!!!)

28k, mature

"Burnt out from his corporate job and his miserable marriage, Stede takes a seaside vacation where he meets Ed, an artist who takes inspiration from strange dreams that feel like memories. A museum exhibit about Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate brings them together, but it doesn't feel like the first time they've met."

had me googling 'pirate museums near me???' urgently at 1am. romeo & juliet meeting through a fishtank/starcrossed lovers vibes. absolute oodles of pining. a joy of a time to read.

#please send me more recs or requests or whatever!!!#i want to know ur fav fics!!!#these posts take ages to make but i love doing them sm #every recommendation is simply the cream of the crop and they should all be applauded as much as possible #if you are on this list you are talented & incredible and ily #our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death fic recs #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fic recs #gentlebeard fanfic #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fanfic #blackbonnet fic recs

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clowningaroundmars · 1 month

Text

morales twins hcs

i'm absolutely in love with the idea of miles42 and miles1610 being twins, i'm so glad most of the fandom has basically adopted 42 lmao

some of my own twins headcanons, just random stuff to add onto other ppls hcs ive seen:

☆ 42 loves his mamí absolutely but def acts the most like his dad, and haaaates when anyone points it out. it's the most obvious when 42 gets mad, he sounds EXACTLY like his father then lol

☆ in fact, the twins polar opposite personalities is probs bc 1610 takes after his mom's temperament more, while 42 is as stoic, stubborn and slightly dorky as his dad is

☆ whenever the boys made each other cry (by accident or otherwise) they did the typical little kid thing and tried immediately comforting the other. now that they're older 1610 handles his emotions better and is mature when talking about them, but 42 is the one who comforts 1610 more often

more below ↓

☆ as well as staying on top of his academics, 42 also plays basketball and trains in a couple martial arts studios after school. 1610 is taller than 42 bc of the spider bite but 42 has always been slightly bigger and more muscular than 1610 since he's the athlete. whenever the family attends 42's boxing matches, jeff gets an overwhelming sense of deja vu from back when he attended his own brother's matches before

☆ they both got thru school p okay, not many incidents of bullying mostly bc if anyone did try, 42 would put a stop to that nonsense immediately. 42 loves his bro with his whole heart and was glad to pick a fight with anyone who gave him any trouble at all. the whole neighborhood knew it too bc the only person allowed to bully 1610 is 42 himself!

☆ in fact, 42 doesn't win the lottery to enter visions in the first place, which saddened both brothers when they found out. so because they're at separate schools now, 42 makes sure his twin knows that if any fuckery is afoot at visions that he'd be more than happy to roll up and dogwalk any fool who tries it. 1610 laughs him off but knows his bro has got his back for sure

☆ 42 likes to pretend 1610 is the nerdy one, but they are both very big anime and manga nerds. every time they hit up any bookstore, they both make a beeline for the manga section and argue over who's gonna read the newest one first (they have to share cuz those books cost some moneeyyyy, man)

☆ 1610 and 42 love their uncle to pieces, OFC. they both pick up separate traits from him, even. 42 was inspired to start martial arts and boxing from watching videos on old digital cameras that aaron hung onto thru the years. they were of a much younger aaron back in his boxing days, when his family went to his matches and recorded them from the seats. 1610 was inspired to pick up graffiti and then even started doodling in notebooks bc of aaron

☆ 1610 is def the social butterfly and easily the most popular kid on the block by virtue of how friendly and outgoing he is. 42 is more introverted and keeps a small circle of friends, but everyone is cool with him nonetheless since they fuck with his twin bro

☆ since 42 stays at home the most (lol he a homebody) he picks up cooking much better than 1610 thanks to him staying in the kitchen to help his mom make dinner while they watch telenovelas together. 42 also knows how to dance bachata and salsa much better than 1610 too

☆ both twins love physics and math but 42 is more hardware-inclined. 1610 is about software, data, and formulas. 42 is good at taking things apart, putting things together, building and engineering. he kinda takes after his uncle aaron that way, and drove his parents nuts as a lil kid when he got his hands on radios, computers, clocks, etc

☆ 1610 loves softer brighter music like JID, steve lacy, smino, frank ocean, kid cudi, post malone, and nujabes. 42 is always bumping harder shit like pop smoke, waka flocka, zillakami, three 6 mafia, benny the butcher and some oldies like paul wall, wu tang clan, biggie smalls, MF DOOM and big KRIT. they tease each other's music tastes a lot since they're polar opposites in almost every way

☆ they actually have a shared playlist where they add new music they like (probs on some e-1610 spotify or soundcloud equivalent since everything is slightly skewed on e-1610 tbh). both of them check it periodically, and 42 is the more frequent contributor

☆ they both make art but 1610 is the artsier kid for sure. 42 doodles occasionally but he's not as enthusiastic about it as his twin is. they both go around the city tagging walls whenever they have any free time, though. 1610 loves colors, expressive styles and is good at coming up with cool ways to draw text. 42's lines, accuracy and technical skill can never be beat

☆ 1610 has superpowers, sure, but his fighting skills are trash! 42 was always the scrappy one, not 1610, so he shows his twin how to properly throw punches and other useful fighting knowledge. it def comes in handy in the future

☆ jeff loves his sons to death but he often finds himself butting heads the most with 42 since they're so similar, it kinda drives them both nuts. it def gets worse once aaron starts gossiping abt what jeff used to be like when they were kids, giving 42 plenty of ammo. they love each other but their relationship is just as complicated as it is between jeff and 1610, and 42 would be lying if he said he wasn't affected by the rift between his dad and uncle himself

☆ the minute the twins turn 16, 42 goes out and gets his drivers license on the first try (computer quiz AND road test aced) and rubs it in 1610's face almost constantly. 1610 likes to throw back that there's no parking space for another car on their block, so he can't even get his own car even if he wanted to anyways

☆ whenever the boys really fight, the whole city seems to know. they squabble a lot obvi, they're brothers. but the very few times they've given each other the silent treatment like for real, everyone in the family tries to get them to make up since it's unsettling to see two peas in a pod be so hostile with each other

☆ and since they've always been attached at the hip, 1610 being enrolled into visions felt. weird. everyone thought 1610 was gonna take it the hardest but surprisingly 42 had a harder time adjusting since he always saw his bro in the hallways at school, and was so used to him knowing the latest gossip of anybody in their grade. without 1610 around as often, 42 becomes even more withdrawn than usual

rio looks up from the pot suddenly, glancing at the time. dinner was almost ready and she… hadn't seen not hide nor tail of her son this evening. he returned home from school a couple hours earlier, choosing to skip going to his boxing class to shut himself in his room.

fine. teenagers can be moody sometimes and rio would rather keep her moody son at home where she can keep an eye on him, rather than worry about what he's getting up to on the streets.

strange thing is, though... rio hadn't heard a single noise come out of that room all night. 42 usually liked to have at least some music playing, maybe video game noises out of his nintendo... oh, what was it called again? whatever, that nintendo thing he played on sometimes.

rio placed the lid on the pot and lowered the flame a bit before making her way over to her twin sons' bedroom door, hesitating a bit when she noticed no light was filtering out from the bottom either. okay... that was weird, too. neither of her sons ever went to bed before dinner. ever.

the one time rio dared to try and send her sons to bed without dinner years ago-- as punishment for fighting right there in the kitchen that time-- both twins hollered so loud they got concerned knocks on their front door from various different neighbors. never again, rio remembered thinking that time.

now, the bedroom door stands oddly quiet and completely hollow without any signs of life behind it. rio knocked anyways, hoping against hope itself that 42 didn't go ahead and sneak out of the house without her knowledge. if he did sneak out, he's grounded for 3 months, rio thinks to herself mostly as reassurance. she nervously picks at a nail and strains to hear anything behind the wood.

she thinks she hears a groan and decides to try her luck by slowly opening the door. hopefully he's not in there... y'know, doing teenage boy things, either. dios mío.

rio swings the door open to...

...a completely pitch-black room, save for the sliver of streetlight filtering in past a crack in the window curtains and casting an eerie yellow glow on anything it could touch. it is cold, and also deathly quiet.

rio is shocked.

she walks over to the right side of the room where 42's bed is pushed up against the corner, next to the windows. on that bed lies a big lump, buried under several layers of blankets. the lump stirs.

rio crosses her arms. "mijo, mi amor. are you sleeping? …pero qué te pasa, papí?"¹

42 rolls onto his back and glares sleepily at his concerned mother standing at his bedside. it's dark in the room, but rio's face is illuminated by the living room lights pouring in from the open door. she's wearing a tilted smile, but coupled with the worry lines on her forehead, it isn't fooling anyone.

42 slowly closes his eyes, chin still under the covers, and lets out the most world-weary sigh rio has ever heard coming out of someone as young as him. if it weren't coming from her own son, she might have even laughed.

she immediately sits down, lifting the cover off of 42's chin to check his temperature all over his face. he tries to wriggle away.

"maaaaaa, stop..." he grumbles, trying to pull the covers up higher over his head. "'m not sick, mamí, forreal… chill."

rio leans on a hand. "¿si no 'ta enfermó pues qué es?² what's wrong?"

42 doesn't answer for a bit and rio exhales through her nose. " 'moré, what are you doing in this pitch-black room all by yourself? no light, no music, no nothing. what's wrong? you look like you're on a death bed!"

42 finally opens his eyes again, and blinks a few times as he says, "nothing, ma. seriously, i'm just... tired. that's all. i'm fine."

"you don't look 'fine' 42, you look like 2 seconds away from flatlining."

another sigh from the boy. rio rolls her eyes and places her hand on his forehead again, then strokes his cheek.

"is it 1610? hmm?" rio asks 42. she asks so unbelievably gently, as if by only mentioning his brother's name she would shatter something in the room. a mirror or something.

42's heart clenches at the love and care his mother is showing around this particular topic. it was true, and he couldn't even deny it. having 1610 in the house less and less every week, not seeing him in the hallways at their local high school, receiving sparser and shorter replies to his texts... it was all building up in his chest and the dam was pretty close to bursting. especially now as his mom was lovingly stroking his cheek as she checked in with him. how embarassing. rio wouldn't see him cry, not right now. he closed his eyes and willed the tears away, for her sake.

miraculously, 42's voice didn't crack or waver when he said, "yeah. yeah, i miss 'im."

rio crooned something saccharine in spanish and placed a kiss on her son's forehead. she saw right through his cold tough guy act, as expected. with how much of a mama's boy 42 was, it would've been impossible not to. they spent way too much time together for her to miss how he dragged his feet getting ready for school in the mornings, how he's been skipping martial arts and basketball practice more often lately, and how unenthusiastic he's been in general.

rio chuckles as she lays her cheek on 42's forehead for a second before sitting back up. "ay, bendito. 42, you know your brother is just down a few blocks from here. why don't you go visit him soon?"

42 shuffles under the covers. he's unsure if he should even admit this, but he proceeds anyways. "uhm. he's not answering my texts lately, so." he feels strangely guilty about this, like he just snitched on his twin somehow even though he has no reason to suspect that at all.

rio sighs and looks off into the distance, bracing herself for what she's about to say. she looks back down. "yeah. i know. he doesn't answer mine, either. i was hoping he was talking to you, but... well. "

something in 42 stirs a bit. "i bet he thinks he's in some fancy private school, around rich kids, now he's too good for us," it's a weak attempt at a joke, but rio smiles down at him anyways.

"don't worry. the second he gets home this weekend, he's on house arrest. okay? he's gonna be chained to you the whoooole time. and i'm keepin' watch."

it's not much, but 42 still takes that little bit of hope and holds it gently in his mind.

"the second he walks through that door, i'm tackling him. i don't care." 42 smiles at the thought.

rio laughs, kisses his forehead again and stands up. "dinner is almost ready, by the way." she gives him a look. "you better eat with me tonight, because your brother is at school and your dad is doing overtime tonight. okay? okay."

42 sighs deeply to wake himself up a bit more as he sits up and scratches at his durag. "yeah, yeah. 'm comin', ma!"

¹ "but what is going on with you, papí?" (papí being a common term of affection for a boy in spanish, it doesn't always mean "dad" lol)

² "if you're not sick, then what is it?"

☆ until they get "too old" for halloween, the morales twins ALWAYS wear matching costumes. every year. every single year, no matter what. what they usually end up wearing changes every year and they aaaaaalways argue over it, of course. notable costumes so far: batman and superman (age 13), two ninja turtles (age 9) (im thinking mikey and donatello bc of personality but lbr rio most likely forbade either of them to be leonardo bc the twins would deadass get into a fist fight over it), tom and jerry (age 2), mario and luigi (age 7), woody and buzz (age 5), peter pan and captain hook (age 10), and-- rio's favorite-- thing 1 and thing 2 (age 4)

☆ 42 was surprisingly always very popular with the girls at school. in middle school, 1610 was the geeky one with braces and acne. 42 got off relatively easy in that regard and as a result was labeled "a heartbreaker" from the jump, which annoyed him. he has no interest in dating whatsoever and swore to never get into a relationship before graduating high school. he's got his mom and brother to take care of and he's going places after high school, damnit! 1610 on the other hand is a huge romantic and has a crush on a new person almost every year of school, easily

☆ the literal second 1610 set foot in the house after his spider bite, 42 was all over him asking a million questions since they both have that supernatural twintuition, and 42 sussed him out immediately. 1610 obviously had to come clean and tell his brother he was spiderman just like he told ganke, otherwise he was never gonna be able to change into his spider suit at home (plus they share a room, so. there's that)

1610 didn't even get to close their bedroom door all the way before his twin leaped up from his own bed and stalked over.

"óye, bro. what's up? what happened at visions?" 42 circled his brother, squinty-eyed in the exact same way their mom is when she's suspicious. 1610 dropped his bag next to his bed and plopped down on his sheets, trying to put some distance between them.

"uhhhh what're you talkin' about?" he tries casually, and immediately regrets it.

"uhhhhh what're you talkin' about?" 42 mocks. "don't play dumb with me. you KNOW what i'm talkin' about, stupid. first, you answer, like, none of my texts ever. then dad comes home sayin' you never let him talk face-to-face when he visited you a couple days ago. mamí has been texting and calling you nonstop, no answer either. you are a brand new person now, huh? qué te pasa, yo?"

1610 hunched his shoulders as he got up and slumped over to his desk. he was quietly weighing his options, nervously rearranging papers and sketches on the wooden table, wondering how he was going to break it to his brother that he was--

"lemme guess. you have superpowers now," 42 says easily. he crosses his arms triumphantly when big round amber eyes suddenly turn up to his face.

1610 searches his face for any hint of a joke. no... no way. did his brother just...?

"you're playin' with me. no way. how did you--?"

42's eyes widen. "wait, are you being deadass right now?" he threw his head back and crowed with laughter. "that was just a guess!"

1610 leaped forward and pushed his hand onto 42's mouth, shutting him up. "heeyyy hey hey hey hey shhhhh, man. damn, could you possibly be any louder? look," he took his twin by the shoulders and gave him a slight shake, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "mom and dad can never know anything about this. okay? anything. not a word, you understand?"

42 pushes his brother off. "ok-ay man, cool it. i promise. we can shake on it, even."

wordlessly, they did their super secret handshake they came up with and perfected in the 4th grade in lieu of hooking their pinkies together. it was the morales shake, a move that binds them to secrecy and keeping promises til death. this was serious business. 1610 relaxes a bit once they're done.

"... okay. and i mean it, pencil braids. if you even breathe a word about this, or even think about--!"

"if you don't just tell me already, goddamn."

with a meaningful look thrown at his brother's way, 1610 raises an arm silently. 42 looks back expectantly.

1610 shoots a web up. he jumps up, using the web as a bungee rope to help him flip and land feet-first onto the ceiling. once his sneakers touch their ceiling, he stands up... upside-down. he stares at his brother and his brother stares back, mouth agape.

"niiiiiiice," 42 leans back and grins up at his twin brother, spiderman.

☆ 1610 is glad he has someone besides ganke to talk to about spiderman stuff, though. his brother listens way more attentively than his roommate anyways, and even tries to help sometimes esp when 1610 needs a quick distraction so he can switch from spiderman back into his regular clothes before the parents notice

☆ 42 is surprisingly cool abt his twin bro being spiderman, actually. even when they're texting 42 is careful not to imply 1610 is spiderman, and often calls stuff in to the police station if 1610 webs anyone up and lets him know. he also gets very good at bandaging up wounds quickly

☆ 42 is a hardass on the outside and contains his emotions much better than his twin, but he's kinda different around his family, since he loves them a lot. he jokes around a lot with them, esp around 1610. they also love pranking their parents, and are p creative at coming up with ways to make everyone laugh

☆ i personally picture 42's personality being sort of like huey's from the boondocks, especially around other adults. he becomes withdrawn and speaks very clearly and directly, and is very shy around strangers. some ppl mistake that as him having an attitude problem but his friends and family know better. only difference between huey and 42 is that 42 isn't nearly as woke lmfao

☆ meanwhile, 1610 becomes a motormouth around strangers and is quick to hug and kiss random family members at family reunions. as a lil kid, he'd always be the one up at the counter ordering for the both of them and chatting with the cashiers, or bus drivers, or whoever. as he gets older and used to the spiderman thing, he chats and jokes with randoms a lil less. he has to save the good material for when the mask is on

☆ 42 is a better writer than he is an artist, actually. he has notebooks filled with poetry and lyrics he scribbles down on post-it notes just to stick them in there for safekeeping. he's also been working on a sci-fi story since he was in 6th grade in absolute secrecy; he doesn't want a single soul to see it. he'd be mortified if anyone saw the nerdy shit he comes up with

☆ even tho 1610 has never fought anyone or been scrappy with anyone else, he's very good at wrestling and dodging punches thanks to his brother.

☆ 42 is the more fashion-inclined twin, even tho they're both sneakerheads. 42 just pays more attention to accessories, the fit of his clothing, how to pair the right shoes with the right jacket. 1610 throws on anything comfortable and calls it a day, and it gets even worse after he becomes spiderman. 42 clowns his brother SO HARD after he finds him wearing yellow sweatpants with an oversized red adidas hoodie and a green puffer jacket once (it was when 1610 came home from fighting a shapeshifting lizard that tried to take over cypress hills. the sweatpants were on backwards)

☆ 1610's sense of humor is geeky and he always tries too hard with his quips and jokes. he usually gets "secondhand embarrassment" chuckles from ppl. 42's style of comedy is a mix of dry humor and unintentionally being funny. this dude will say something clever with the straightest face ever and have the ENTIRE room in stitches without even meaning to

☆ just to nail home how different they are, even tho they share a room, you can tell EXACTLY which half of their room begins and ends. 1610's half is cluttered, vibrant, covered in posters and action figures, collages and trinkets on every available surface. 42's is as clean as a hospital room, and he ALWAYS makes his bed every morning. 42 has a poster or 2 hung up but he's not much for decorating in general. he's more into alphabetizing his bookshelf and looking for more efficient storage to put under his bed

☆ when jeff looks at his sons, he sees aaron and himself and sometimes it scares him. when the boys were around 12 (the Evil Year) he made SURE to sign them up for camp trips that summer and keep them close together as much as possible. he hates to see his boys drift apart at all and is the 1st one to call it out if he sees it. he just doesn't want his boys to end up like he and his brother did…

☆ … and then other times? it genuinely makes him feel a combination of irritation and also fondness bc sometimes 1610 and 42 really really remind him of aaron and himself, esp when they were young. ESPECIALLY when they argue. in every playful slap on the shoulder, every arbitrary competition started out of nowhere, every sleepy brother slowly sliding onto the other's shoulder during nighttime car rides, he sees it. he sees them, and then he sees his past. and with every little difference between the boys slowly cracking open like a chasm with each passing day, sometimes he thinks he can even see his future.

☆ 42 is cool or whatever but i also hc he's kinda… weird sometimes. it gets worse when his twin bro goes off to visions, he keeps staring at walls while sitting in dark rooms and eating at weird hours of the day. rio caught him fast asleep practically hanging off the window sill one night, and another time jeff found him having an entire conversation with a brick wall once while on patrol. 42 refuses to answer any questions

☆ after 1610 gets into visions, becomes spiderman, tells his parents abt his plans to go to princeton, etc... 42 eventually starts feeling a type of way (a jealous way…) their parents also seem to pay attention to 1610 more whenever he's home just to add insult to injury. he knows he's not supposed to, but he often finds himself thinking about the prowler gloves and schematics aaron left behind. he managed to grab them and hide them in a gym bag one day while helping his parents clear out aaron's apartment. the tech currently lives under his bed…

#mine #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #miles morales #miles g morales #BOY that sure is a lot to read huh. well. if u read all this here's a heart ♡#can u tell i am Not Normal abt these two #esp wrt them being potential parallels to their father and uncle.........#i can scream FOREVER abt this #the morales family always has me All Up In My Feels man #also LOL @ me writing fanfic again in this post #what can i say...... i guess i can't help it lol #i just love these two they are my babies............#also guess how many times i went and started writing “miles” for 1610 before having to backspace after realizing #yea thats right. Too Many Times #anyways hopes this like uhhh reads okay. the formatting might be weird cuz i had to copy n paste this from my notes app #but i think its cool. i hope #hope yall enjoy aallll of this lol

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 1 year

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Uncle Jesse x fem reader!!!

where one night he plays a gig at a bar with his band and during a few songs he sings, they lock eyes and he’s really interested in her, so during his break he goes and talks to her and they hit it off. She invites him back to her place and things get a little steamy until her shirt rides up a bit and he sees bruises on her torso. (Insert protective Jesse!!) (tw abuse.) maybe you could use the line “the last guy was a little rough.” But Jesse knows those aren’t those kinds of bruises and that someone later their hands on her

Season 3/4 era

Sounds Good To Me

Fandom: Full House

Pairing: Jesse Katsopolis x Female Reader

Characters: Jesse Katsopolis, Female Reader

Word Count: 1363 // Rating: Mature

Summary: Reader and Jesse get off to a good start until her past makes an unpleasant appearance

Tags/ Warnings: Kissing, Requested Fic, Request, One Night Stand, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Physical Injuries, Bruising, Domestic Abuse, Domestic Violence, Angst, Protective Jesse, Jesse and The Rippers, Uncle Jesse, Set around Season 3/4

Notes: Here ya go @americaarse Hope you like it.

Just a memo other requests might be slow as I'm busy next week and this weekend. I'm going to be doing EP fics for his birthday so I'll be ignoring my inbox till they're done lmao

‘We’ve been Jesse and the Rippers! Thanks for coming out,’ Jesse said as a wave of cheers and applause rippled around the club. He left the stage and headed to the small dressing room the venue owner provided for them. It had been a good show. The crowd liked their material and they’d even managed to sell a good deal of CDs. But that hadn’t been the highlight of his night. No, the highlight of Jesse’s night had been the cute girl who’d been watching him throughout. She didn’t seem to be a fan of theirs, but rather someone who had attended the club they just happened to be playing at, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. And Jesse loved that. As the band packed up their stuff he headed out into the bar to get himself a drink.

He was standing at the bar, waiting to be served, when he felt someone appear beside him and turned to find the girl from before. She glanced at him and smiled.

‘Hey,’ Jesse said.

‘Hey,’ she said with a soft smile, ‘great set. You guys are really cool.

‘We like to think so,’ he chuckled.

‘I mean it. I wasn’t even gonna come out tonight but I’m glad I did,’ she said.

‘Well how about I make your night a little better,’ he said.

‘Oh yeah?’ she smirked, ‘how are you gonna do that?’

‘Well I’ll start by buying you a drink,’ he said with a smirk.

‘Sounds good to me,’ she smiled.

The guys had decided not to stay after the gig but Jesse didn’t much care. He was having a good time without them. He and Y/N had spent hours tucked away in a booth at the back of the club. She was a nice girl. Sweet, funny and smokin’ hot, just Jesse’s type. As the night wore on and the drinks flowed he found himself losing the thread of the conversation as he started getting distracted by her. The way she moved her hair out of her eyes. The way she smiled when she told him something funny. The way her lips formed a perfect pout as if begging for him to kiss her. She was telling him a story, enraptured in the tale, but he had no clue what was going on. He wanted to kiss her. Badly.

She seemed to catch him staring and blushed, ‘what?’ she asked after a moment. Jesse didn’t say anything, instead, he leaned in and placed his hand on her cheek before he kissed her tenderly. She tensed for a moment and then melted into it allowing him to continue. He pulled her to him and rolled his tongue against her lip as if asking her to go further. She responded and soon enough they were making out. When she finally pulled back Jesse watched her carefully. She was smiling, though a little shy, and said, ‘wanna take this back to my place?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said.

They left pretty sharpish after that, taking a cab to her apartment. Jesse figured it would probably be better than taking her home and having to explain why kids' toys littered every room in his house. Or having to explain to Joey and Danny who she was and why she was there. They were barely out of the cab before they were back on one another kissing one another as if their life depended on it. She forced them to break away so they could walk up to her apartment, though Jesse couldn’t help but come up behind her as she unlocked her door, kissing down her neck as his hands caressed her sides.

Once they were inside they were back together trying to make their way to the bedroom without breaking apart for too long. His lips were everywhere, nipping and sucking along her neck as he pushed her jacket off her shoulders. As they got into the bedroom Jesse pulled his shirt off, watching as she climbed onto the bed, lying down and watching him with an inviting smile.

‘Come here,’ she said beckoning him to her. Jesse didn't have to be told twice. He was on her in a shot, hovering over her as their lips reconnected. He made his way down her neck, his fingers tracing along the hem of her shirt before he hiked it up. She moved up so she could pull it off but as she did he noticed something.

Across her stomach were deep purple bruises, tinged with green around the edges where they’d started to heal. He stopped in his tracks and so did she, noticing him staring at her. She could see what he was seeing and nervously pulled her t-shirt down so they were no longer on show.

‘It’s fine,’ she said.

‘Those bruises-’

‘Aren’t a big deal,’ she said going to kiss him again but he pulled back until he was sitting up on the bed. She moved to sit up properly.

‘How did you…’ he said, trailing off mid-sentence. He had his own ideas. None of them good.

‘Let’s just say the last guy was a little rough,’ she said quietly. Jesse felt rage flow through him. He hated bullies. No matter the context. Those who used their fists to get their point across rather than their words. They made him sick. And he didn’t know how anyone could lay a finger on her. They’d only known each other mere hours but it was clear to him how special she was.

‘It’s fine,’ she said placing a hand on his knee, ‘and it doesn't have to ruin anything between us. I mean if the bruises bother you I’ll keep my shirt on.’

‘Bother me?’ Jesse baulked loudly making her wince, ‘sorry. Honey, I’m not bothered by them. Well the look of them anyway. I’m bothered by the person who did this to you. They shouldn’t be able to get away with this.’

‘It’s not a big deal,’ she said self-consciously.

‘Yes it is,’ he said as he placed his hand on her knee, ‘you’re a great girl. And whoever this guy is he didn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve any woman.’

‘I know that,’ she said quietly. Jesse could see something behind her expression as if she wanted to say something but she was holding herself back whether in fear of him judging her or admitting to whatever it was.

‘But?’ he said gently. She looked up at him panic-stricken, ‘you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.’

‘No it's okay,’ she said, ‘it’s just…I know it’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t let him in but he talks me around. Every time I tell him it’s done and every time he lures me back in until something like this happens. Then it’s like I see sense. You must think I’m really stupid.

‘I don't think you're stupid. Guys like that are just good at getting their way. They know all the cards to play to make you trust them again. It doesn't mean you're stupid for believing they might be a decent human for once,’ he said. Y/N nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment and she looked up at him with a meek smile as she said, ‘I bet this wasn’t the night you were planning on huh?’

‘Eh,’ he shrugged, ‘I had a good gig, a few drinks and I got to hang out with a pretty girl. I can’t complain.’

‘Still a bit of a mood killer though,’ she said.

‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but maybe it just gives us a chance to take another run at this whole first date thing.’

‘You wanna go on a date?’ she said.

‘Well, we did take this thing at a hundred miles an hour. Maybe we just need to slow down a little bit,’ he said with a smile.

‘Sounds good to me,’ she replied.

‘Though,’ Jesse said, clearing his throat, ‘I’m still hoping for something.’

‘What’s that?’ she said in a whisper.

‘That I can keep kissing you,’ he said, ‘just for a little while longer.’

‘Like I said. Sounds good to me,’ she replied.

#my writing #sounds good to me #uncle jesse #jesse katsopolis fic #jesse katsopolis x reader #jesse katsopolis #uncle jesse fic #full house fic #full house #request #requested fic

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and-knowing-is-half-the-battle · 1 year

Text

Stay

Brahms Heelshire x fem!reader

Length: 1.6k

18+ only, mature content. Do not copy/repost

Warnings: dub con/non con, chasing, groping, overstimulation, biting, begging, kissing, restraining, squirting, cum eating, “loss” of virginity, p in v sex, creampie. Some possessiveness. No use of y/n.

Don’t ask how I got sucked into this fandom. I’m just a horny person, ya’ll.

https://64.media.tumblr.com/faac1d2f5c6624be26e901cef4a2bf17/ca6020ad9b558133-36/s540x810/5fe05f4cc71b2536455f8857bdf4634701d25e31.gifv

Gif courtesy of: hereticstations (if it will load, dammit)

@hereticstations

"Get back here!"

His growl reverberated off the walls of the narrow passage as you scrambled to the small hatch that stood between you and safety. The seconds dragged as you pawed at the latch and dug your shoulder into the warped wood, knowing he was approaching.

You sobbed in relief when it finally popped open, the cool air swirling around your face and filling your lungs in contrast to the dusty, close air you crawled out of.

You were halfway out when his large hand closed around your ankle.

He pulled you back inside, your resistance no match for his seemingly superhuman strength. He tugged you securely under him, his form hovering over yours as you trembled. You watched the expressionless porcelain over his face, trying to read the shadows of his eyes. You saw him drink you in, his gaze registering your disheveled state. Your skirt had ridden up, a peek of underwear visible at your hip. The strap of your dress hung off your shoulder as your chest heaved from the scuffle. And your sweater had tangled up behind you, restricting your arms.

You were begging him before he opened his mouth.

"If I make you feel good, you will stay." He breathed, ignoring your pleas. He lowered himself onto you, using one hand to steady himself and leaving the other free to roam your body. You tried to wriggle away, but his heavy form pinned you just enough to prevent escape. His warm hand traveled gently up your bare thigh, slipping beneath your dress to slowly slide up your side and pause just below your breast. His eyes never left your face. You could feel them boring into you even as you turned away, your own screwed shut. As the tips of his fingers grazed over your bra, you became aware of his hardness against your leg, your struggling only resulting in stimulating him further. You clearly heard his breathing hitch, the sound amplified against the inside of his mask.

The feeling of your soft skin against his at last made him drunk. He was torn between the need to savor every inch of you and the desire to tear into you. To take you apart the way you had done to him without a single touch.

A moment of ferocity took hold of him as he turned you over effortlessly, tearing your clothes off you layer by layer. He found your soft cries of refusal strangely exhilarating. There was so much he had been denied over the years, and it was time for him to experience something fully. No more meager substitutions, no more partial glimpses between wooden slats, no more walls between him and what he wanted.

You were but a doll in his grip as he manhandled you back over and rose up to his knees to get his first full look at you. He loomed, his broad chest expanding further with each heavy breath. You waited, breathless and frozen as he deliberately discarded his cardigan and shrugged his suspenders from his shoulders before bearing down on you again. Your brain jolted into action and you pushed against his chest, your efforts not slowing him in the slightest.

His hands found your breasts first, a gentle grip as his thumbs brushed against your nipples, which peaked in response. He leaned forward, his gaze glued to your lips as you whimpered.

“No, please, Brahms,” Your skin soon became sensitive to his touch and your hips jerked reflexively. He gripped your arms and pulled you up into his embrace, guiding your legs to straddle him. One of his large hands splayed against your back, effectively holding you in place as he continued to explore you. The nose of his mask trailed down the column of your neck as his other hand clutched your ass and he groaned deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest. He hesitated briefly before lifting his mask just enough to free his mouth. Between the dim lighting and his proximity, you only caught a glimpse of his lips before he dove in to lick and nip at your skin. You tried again to push away from him, your arms trapped between you, but his arms were iron as he bit into your shoulder and you cried out helplessly.

His lips soon slotted over yours, his tongue invading your mouth. He tasted of mint with a hint of metallic blood, his tongue eagerly swirling over yours. He backed you into the wall before he grabbed your hips, guiding them to roll over him, your core catching against the crotch of his pants. You whined into his mouth despite yourself, feeling your wetness starting to gather.

He felt foggy, his senses sharp but his mind falling further beneath the waves of you. Drowning and diving deeper without hesitation. He was instantly enamored with each sound, movement, taste. He found himself frustrated at the hindrance of his mask and without thought ripped it from his face, quickly returning to your pliant mouth. It was then that the smell of you came to his nose, and he breathed deeply, intoxicated. He looked down, both curious and electrified at the wet patch over his groin. You squirmed when he dipped his hand down to gather it so he could examine it closer. It stretched between his fingers, slippery to the touch, tangy to his nostrils … and it was in his mouth before he thought about what he was doing.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours as he hummed appreciatively. When he dipped down again, his eyes not leaving your face, he pressed his fingers to your clit and a wave of heat rushed through him at the way your mouth dropped open with a moan. He moved his fingers instinctively, gauging your reaction and chasing your pretty noises.

You weren’t sure of when you had given in, but your hands were tangled in his hair as you ground down on him. You had only taken a moment to adjust to his true face, much of it untouched by the scars. He pulled you from your thoughts with another passionate kiss, his other hand wrapped around your throat. A tightness was building deep in your stomach, your wailing becoming higher and more frenzied. You needed more, your hands scrambling down his back to push under the hem of his shirt. To feel his skin against you. The hand around your neck slid down, once again cradling your breast and swiping over your nipple in time with the fingers on your clit, now circling it with fervor and sending you over the edge with a breathless scream.

You were gorgeous like this, clinging to him while he pulled you through your orgasm, gushing in his lap. Even when you melted against him, he couldn’t stop himself, his fingers playing you like he had a lifetime of practice at your keys. Your hips jerked against him and your sounds changed to whimpers, your legs pressing on either side of him, attempting to close. Your small hands found their way to the fly of his pants, tugging at the material impatiently. He reluctantly pulled his fingers from you, again cleaning them against his tongue before removing what was left of his clothing. You watched him with heavily lidded eyes, and he was the only man in the world.

You felt painfully empty, your body screaming with need as he stripped, revealing his taut muscles, hairy torso, and his angrily leaking cock. You pushed against his shoulder and he obeyed, laying so you could climb atop him. You wrapped your hand around his shaft, a moan falling from his parted lips even before you guided him to your entrance. When you sunk slowly onto his girth, you groaned in unison at the tight fit. You leaned over him, trailing small kisses up his thick neck as you began to bounce on him, sounds practically exploding from his mouth. You took your time, letting you both adjust to the sensation of him entering you over and over again. He was a whining mess by the time you pulled back, circling your hips over him while his hands slid over your body, seemingly mesmerized. He caught one of your nipples in his mouth, both of you keening as your walls clenched down on him in response. When you sat upright and began bouncing again, the change in angle made you both breathless, and his hands flew to your hips in a bruising grip. He was coming undone: his eyes shut tight and his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving as he flung his head back, and you could watch it forever.

He surprised you by planting his feet and fucking up into you, somehow hitting your g-spot with precision. You sobbed, starting to wilt, but his hand returned to your throat, holding you aloft as he wound the coil inside you with each stroke. It didn’t take long for you to fall apart on his cock, your pussy spasming around him as you screamed. He stared at you as you looked at him through tears, his grunts increasing in ferocity. His thrusts became sloppy and he choked on his moans as he spilled inside you, the warmth blooming as you started to come down from your high. He stilled and released his grip, and you flopped onto his chest as you both caught your breath.

“You will stay now?” He broke the silence, sounding unsure as the haze cleared from your minds.

“I will stay now,” You reassured, your fingers threading through his. He sighed in relief.

“Yes. You are mine.”

#smut #tw smut #tw sex #brahms heelshire #brahms hillshire x reader #brahms hillshire x you #brahms hillshire #brahms #brahms imagine #brahms hillshire smut

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lychniis · 8 months

Text

❝ i know who i am when i'm alone, i'm something else when i see you. you don't understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❞

HOZIER , IT WILL COME BACK

WELCOME TO ATTAR

the perfumery shall open shortly. please register here [ taglist ], to book an appointment. CLICK HERE TO VIEW UPDATES.

fandoms : genshin impact, honkai star rail

i. WITH THE COMING OF OCTOBER, it's time to set forth kinktober '23! i really appreciate the amount of support i have received from you guys over the past year spent in this blog and i've decided to dip my toes into posting some mature content alongside my usual sfw works!

ii. LET MONSTERS AND HORROR serve our theme, where i hope to entice you with smut ( that has too much plot *shivers in qinxing in the mountain* ), all presented with an array of perfumes to chose from. many thanks to @crystalflygeo for prompt ideas kjhgvbhnj.

iii. PLEASE NOTE THAT THE SCHEDULE IS NOT A FIXED DATE. due to my own projects and college hounding me, the fics will be posted at my own time, though i will endeavor to try and keep them within the constraints of october. they might end up far longer than i would have originally intended.

COMING SOON ON OCTOBER

( note ) : the content linked below is unsuitable for minors. by clicking 'view more', you are verifying yourself as a consenting adult. if you are not of consenting age, then please dni with this post.

SCENT ONE : ( GARDENIA ) ❝ ARARE LITUS ❞ feat. neuvillette.

people round the port have gone missing in the recent weeks, their bodies found by the beaches, clearly having drowned to their miserable ends. neuvillette questions the motives of the person behind it, till he notices the presence of an inquisitive oceanfolk beneath the waters.

⚠︎ CW : mermaid ! reader, dragon ! neuvillete, mentioned murder, reader being very naïve in terms of how humans work, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff domesticity, give these guys a hug, canon compliant, first time, lingerie, temperature play, gentle sex, mutual masturbation, body worship, overstimulation.

SCENT TWO : ( PEONY ) ❝ RARA AVIS IN TERRUS ❞ feat. zhongli.

the world was a dangerous place, for one like you. as the hunters draw close, you seek refuge in a dragon's lair, hoping to find a way to live. the dragon in question lingers close and tolerates your presence. you wonder when he'd demand for more. birds, after all, were so easily torn apart by claws and fangs.

⚠︎ CW : bird hybrid ! reader, dragon ! zhongli, monsterfucking, trafficking and hunting, reader had a pretty rough past prior to this, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff, some attempts at world building, canon divergent / au, mating cycles / heat, breeding kink, orgasm denial, size kink, biting / scratching, bondage, sensory deprivation.

SCENT THREE : ( ORCHID ) ❝ TANQUAM EX UNGUE LEONEM ❞ feat. jing yuan

you try to live your life the best you can. you try to be a good person despite the world wearing you down. however, upon stumbling into abcast away angel with liquid madness running through his veins, the loneliness your four walls bring is replaced with something else. meanwhile jing yuan learns of human fragility and how simple it is, for memories to fade away.

⚠︎ CW : canon divergent, angel ! jing yuan, mara plays a part here, talks about mortality and existentialism, reader is terrified and touchstarved, angst and tragedy, bittersweet ending i suppose, sacrifices, face sitting, electrostimulation, strip tease, mirror sex, praise kink, blindfolds, dom / sub.

SCENT FOUR : ( HYDRANGEA ) ❝ ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT ❞ feat. childe

you needed to run, run far away lest the monster beneath your bed devours you whole. childe, however, keeps the chase, for he hungers. he was a charming man, that you could agree with; but the demon he hides away scares you and his undying loyalty to the tsaritsa shall be your undoing.

⚠︎ CW : canon compliant, slight foul legacy ! childe, angst and betrayal, bittersweet ending, reader and childe are childhood friends, making a choice, self sacrifice, breath play, masochism, bruises, predator / prey, against a wall, rough sex, dry humping.

taglist — @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @moraxsthrone @hiraethsdesires @dustofthedailylife @celestewritestoomuch @genshinboys @kaelily @ofoceansandtombsanew

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#&&. my writing !!#kinktober 2023 #genshin impact #honkai star rail #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli #neuvillette x reader #genshin neuvillette #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail jing yuan #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #n.sfw ;#attar 2023 ;

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80s4life · 10 months

Text

Together At Last”

Word Count: 3,971

Status: Requested!

Ask: Can I have Chris Chambers x reader with the prompt "You're different and I like that"

@: @micheleamidalajedi

A/N: I absolutely LOVED this request because I was able to put myself into the Reader and prove that not everyone is the same, female, male, or nonbinary, or all of the girlypops!

Relationship: Chris Chambers x Merrill!Reader

Fandom: Stand By Me 1986

Summary: It’s been 5 years since the disappearance and eventual death of Ray Brower, and you’re each reaching graduation. However, another adventure arises and brings all 5 of you back to the woods to find Teddy’s dog. The problem? Almost all of you have either grown apart or split completely, and old feelings seem to resurface with unresolved conclusions. What could go wrong?

Warnings: mutual pining, adventure, confessions, AGED UP!, friends to enemies to lovers, some angst, nostalgia, lost friendships, gained friendships, Teddy is a brother figure to Reader, gun, unintentional intent to kill someone, strong language, Reader is Ace Merrill’s sibling,

{gif is not mine, credits go to @awidevastdominion}

Your landline rings, deriving you of your thoughts and current intensity studying for finals. Groaning, you shrug out of your seat at the kitchen table begrudgingly, answering the phone. “Hello?”

“Y/N? ‘S that you?” a familiar voice, deepened with maturity and hormones asks on the other side.

“Yeah, what do you want?”

“Nice to know you haven’t changed,” you can hear the voice taunt annoyingly.

“It’s been years since I’ve talked to you, did you expect a ‘Hey, what’s up’?”

“I would have preferred that, yes, but no. This is serious, and I really need you on board with me this time.”

“This better not be one of your schemes, Teddy, I’m not up for anything right now,” you sigh, “I’m up to my neck with textbooks and shit with studying for the finals and stuff. Dad’s been on my ass about getting into a college since I’ve been able to hold a B+ to A average.”

“Damn. Sorry to say I can’t relate?”

You giggle, sighing as you’ve missed him. You couldn’t quite tell what happened to cause you to separate, but as if you had just blinked, everyone was gone and you were left to yourself and school. “Alright Teddy, what bullshit are we pulling now?”

“Glad you asked!” he all but yells in happiness, “My dog went missing a few days ago and I haven’t been able to find him all over town. I know this sounds childish, but I swear, I’ve walked the whole town everyday at dawn before school and haven’t been able to find him.”

“So, you’re guessing he’s in the woods?” you groan, remembering the haunting history you’ve witnessed first hand in said territory.

There’s a long pause before he lets out a low, “...Yes...”

“What did the others say?”

“What makes you think I asked them?” he tries to sound as if he’s not that easy to read; a “changed man.”

“Because I still know you, or some of you. There’s no way this is going to be a one night thing and we need more sets of dependable eyes.”

“Well, now you’re making me sound smart.”

You giggle, “I’m not gonna keep beating around the bush Teddy, I’m in as long as the others are?”

“Yes!” he shrieks.

...

A few days later, as instructed by Teddy, you carry your sleeping bag, flask of water, some snacks, and money (something you all collectively forgot last time) to the dumpsters behind the town’s cafe. Trudging around the corner, your breath catches in your throat as you lay eyes on the back of three familiar heads and a face, each people you thought you have grown so far apart from.

“Y/N!” the voice of the face coming from Teddy.

You nod silently, leaning against the brick building as you keep your distance.

The three boys that are now men, turn around to take you in, eyes wide.

You wave nervously, age and distance having changed all of you and making you feel as if you don’t know these people.

Teddy still had his familiar square-shaped, black glasses, but his hair is cut to fit the army’s conduct, shaved short on the sides around the back, the top of his head a bit longer. There was just enough hair for Teddy to comb it back with gel just as he had as a preteen - before you all turned away to seek your own lives. He grew a bit taller, standing at 5′5″, but not by much. You giggle internally.

To the far left, you see Gordie and your heart breaks a little. He’s still lean in build, but he’s grown to be tall and confident, around 5′11″ - 6′0.” To you, he hasn’t changed a bit, except personality. He still had his longer hair, possibly longer than you remember it, with the same hairstyle and familiar baby face, though slightly aged.

Next was Vern, and he was so big now. He managed to drop the weight, a lean build of muscle standing above 6′0″ and carrying his dopey grin with longer hair - a similar style to Gordie’s, though unintentionally. You smile at him. He’s still a sweetheart, but more like a big, lovable Chocolate Lab now.

Lastly was Chris, and he was still as gorgeous as ever. He came to be of above average height, 5′10,″ grew his hair out longer and adorned circular glasses that framed his face perfectly. His eyes carry no emotion, a contrast to his younger self, but they’re still that luscious deep blue. He looks you up and down in silence before staring you directly in your eyes. You can feel your heart break all over again.

You didn’t realize how long you were staring at each of them before Teddy clears his throat. “Shall we?” he tries to smirk, but the tension is thick.

You hug your arms around your abdomen as you nod, plastering a smile of your face as you force yourself to stand beside the now men. Slowly, everyone starts to follow Teddy until you reach the tracks.

Some time later, as you walked on the tracks, you lagged behind. Now, with this view, you could see where everyone had changed, but not as much as you thought. Gordie and Chris got to talking amongst themselves far in front of the group, Teddy and Vern behind them. They’re all too busy catching up for them to notice your inner turmoil.

You almost want to cry. You don’t know any of them anymore. This was a fact that your younger self would’ve never expected or taken a liking to. You think of what your younger self would do, punishing yourself for what you allowed to happen.

You would’ve called them repeatedly, tried to make plans or catch up to them in passing to classes. All of this you could pride yourself on saying that you did, but then Gordie went the way his father wanted him to go, Chris becoming an athlete while trying to follow Gordie’s brains, getting into law, Teddy trying to apply and reapply to the military, and Vern taking a liking in the construction trade.

They all grew up, and though you couldn’t blame them, they slipped out of your hands far too quickly and suffered the backlash. Girls in school are bitches, and though you have friends, they aren’t like the ones before you. Even after all this time, they are still considered exactly that - friends, family even.

You went your own way, too, after giving up on them. You found an interest in engineering and found that it’s not exactly as you suspected. It wasn’t all math and physics and you deeply enjoyed the creativity and problem-solving it included. You have some fond classmates there, but they would never compare to these boys.

You are ripped from your thoughts as you hear the loud blaring of a train’s horn. You smirk at the memory that crosses. Calling out to Teddy, your voice is loud enough for all of the boys to hear, “Sound familiar, Teddy? We’re not gonna go diving for you on the tracks again, right?”

“Fuck off,” you can hear him giggle, jabbing Vern in the side.

All the way in the front, you can hear Gordie add, “Or have to break you and Chris up, huh?”

You giggle at the reminder. That was the time when you were all trying to figure yourselves out without guidance, restrictions, stereotypes, and parents. Teddy had a lot of trouble then.

Your smile drops as the group goes quiet again, the nostalgia dying with the connection that almost rekindled. You groan audibly - unintentionally.

The boys look back at you curiously, surprised just as much as you were.

You decide to take the initiative, “Is this what we’re going to do the whole time? Act as if we’re strangers and not speak to one another?”

“We are strangers, Y/N,” you hear Chris state with indifference.

You catch up to the group and walk between them, “There’s a reason we all came here and I know we all hoped to be together again. It doesn’t help when you don’t even try to speak to us though, does it?”

The group stops as Chris spins around on you. “Why would I? After this, we are all gonna go our separate ways and avoid each other again,” he growls and spits, “Just like last time.”

“Then, why did you come?” you ask, your curiosity getting the better of you and asking the question you were all wondering yourselves. “Why are we all here?” you look around at each of them.

“Because I missed you guys,” Vern pipes up, the first words he’s spoken the whole walk from town.

“We wouldn’t have missed each other if we had just kept our promises, would we?” Chris asks, frowning with his eyebrows scrunched together and arms crossed tightly over his chest. It almost resembles hatred.

And it makes you livid. “You broke your promise, too, Chris,” you vividly remember the promise you made just short of town on your way back; the promise that meant the world and more to you - it still does. “We all did, but at least I can say it wasn’t intentional. I tried to reach out to you guys, but we were all growing and changing. I can’t blame you guys, except you, Chris.”

“Me?” his voice reaches higher as the time passes by.

“Oh please, we all know you went from a street rat like us to the high priest and prince of school,” Teddy adds.

Chris scoffs, crossing his arms, “Gordie?”

“I mean, you did drop us after you got with Stephanie Wheeler,” Gordie deflects, shrinking in size as he knows the blows coming next. He adds, “The rich bitch of high school whose daddy is the principal.”

“This is bullshit, I should’ve never decided to come,” he shoots daggers at you.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t of because we all know that you’re embarrassed of even being seen with us,” Vern adds, caution to the wind.

Chris scoffs again as he takes up his bag, starting back to town.

“So, you’re just gonna leave?!” you scream as he creates distance.

“I fucking knew it!” Gordie screams, grabbing his bag as well to follow Chris on the opposite side of the tracks.

You watch with pain as each of the boys start back to town. All except Teddy, who manages to stand there with teary eyes.

“I just wanted us to enjoy the time, find my dog, and hopefully have one last high school hurrah before we are all forced apart,” he sniffles.

You look at him with matching sadness, “I-I’m sorry Teddy, I didn’t mean to act out like that. I just couldn’t stand another minute, let alone night, with no one planning on speaking to each other. It would have all been for nothing. Even if we had found your dog, we still would’ve hated each other. This is my fault, Teddy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not, Y/N, it was gonna happen eventually,” his eyes watch them go, but the look in his eye is distant - his mind far beyond where they’re heading.

“We can still look for Butch together?” you manage to smile, tears brimming your eyes.

“I don’t feel like it anymore,” you can visibly see his body deflate.

“Well, can you at least stay? If there’s still some shred of them left, I think they’ll come around again. I still want to rekindle our relationship. I’ve missed you so much, Teddy,” by the time you’re finished, fresh tears are starting to roll down your cheeks.

Teddy’s voice cracks as a tear slips down his cheek, too, opening his arms to pull you in for a hug beside him on the grass.

You smile thankfully as you lean in, sighing at the comfort and history.

“It ain’t going well with my Pops, as you’d assume. He’s still a crazy bastard, but I’m sticking with him. Just for a little longer, as long as I can.”

“Understandable. We can’t forget your ear, can we?”

“Whatever,” he smirks, “What about you?”

“Mom and Dad still fight. If they aren’t fighting, neither of them are home to ensure that they don’t have to fucking see each other. Ace is still a prick, too. I wouldn’t expect him to graduate and still stay in this bum-fuck town.”

“Guess he doesn’t want his reputation to be forgotten,” Teddy giggles.

“Guess so,” you trail off, noticing the sun starting to set and the sky change color. “You think they’re coming back?”

“No, but I can hope.”

You look up at him sadly and nod. “Wanna set up camp for the night anyway?”

He nods silently, taking up his sleeping bag and finding a soft spot to lay out in the grass.

Silently, you follow his lead, walking down the side of the tracks to the opening of the trees, laying your sleeping bag just beside the first tree, hidden under the canopy of leaves. He decides to go in a little deeper, a few feet away from you, protected by the dimmer lighting in a proactive attempt to block the harsh sun that’ll come in the morning.

Sighing, you both settle in, staring at the sky. Before you know it, your miniscule, unimportant chit chat with Teddy dies down and sleep overtakes you swiftly. There’s no dreams as you toss and turn, but your glad there’s no deeper thoughts that’ll plague you and leave you wide awake.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sleeping until the soft snapping of twigs perk your ears, harshly throwing all of the sleep from your fogged mind and automatically putting it into defensive state.

Peaking around with your eyes, you catch a figure some ways to your left, walking away from your temporary camp. By the distance the figure has created and the direction of their walk, you can tell they were either walking through or around your huddle, no doubt near your camp regardless.

You flip onto your belly as silently as possible, hand sliding slowly to the underside of your pillow, fingers touching cold metal. You pull the gun from under you, the uncomfortable and foreign weight of it settling in your hand, bringing more unease into your heart and bones.

You lift yourself up slowly, noticing that Gordie and Vern have, in fact, returned and settled in a circle with you and Teddy. However, there is no sign of Chris, not even a bag.

You let out a slow breath to try and calm your racing nerves as you follow the figure, gun raised and aimed at the black figure. You gain on the figure silently, until your foot makes a horrible crunch as it breaks the branch beneath it. Cursing under your breath, you raise the gun in defense, both hands grasping and eyes trained.

The figure spins around, voice accusatory, “What the f-? Hey...” the voice lowers instantly, hands coming up to show they are unarmed. “Hey, Y/N, put the gun down,” the voice registers in your head as the figure emerges from the darkness and into the glow of the moon breaking through the trees.

“Chris?” you groan, lowering the gun instantly, shoulders dropping. “What the fuck were you thinking? Sneaking around in the woods? You know the way I sleep, man.”

“Knew,” he clarifies, “And, I was just going for a walk to clear my mind.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” you ask with a creep of annoyance settling in, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers. “Why do you keep acting like you’re camping with strangers? Like you have absolutely no knowledge of who we are?”

“Because I don’t; I don’t know the people you have all become now. Even if there are slivers of the people I knew that show every now and then, they are no longer the people they were nor who they are now,” he steps closer to you, enough to reach out to you if he wanted to.

“I can’t say that we are who we were because that’s impossible, but we are still those loving people we were. I’ve noticed that Vern still carries a comb and is a little sensitive. Gordie is still quiet and finds meanings in everything. Teddy still has such and undoubted devotion to his father and his infatuation with the army. I still bother the shit out of everyone and parent them as a way of care. But you,” you pause, assessing him as the sadness settles in your voice and heart again, a cold shock coursing through your veins, “I can only see a person in front of me. You look like Chris, you still have that leaderly inclination, but besides that, everything has changed. Even your eyes have a different look to them, yet they are still that same pair I last looked at 5 years ago.”

Chris says nothing, his mask fitting into place and revealing nothing to you - it doesn’t even look like any of your words are reaching him.

“You keep acting like everyone here is out to get you, but we are simply just being ourselves. You see us as enemies because we had a falling out, but that’s natural. We changed - you changed - and you want to blame us for something that was out of our hands. We are still here for you Chris, I’ve always been here,” your voice is cracking as you look down at your feet, kicking some leaves and twigs to divert your attention somehow.

A hand reaches beneath your chin, tugging your head up to look into those sapphire irises once again. “You were never my enemy, you were my greatest fear,” Chris says, a pitiful grin pulling at his lips. “You know why I chose to become better? Why I went out with the cheerleaders, tried out for football, worked hard to get into the smart kid classes?”

“W-Why?” you look at him, pain and confusion streaking your E/C eyes like lightning in a storm.

“Because I knew that if I stayed where I was, I would never be able to give you what you wanted - never been able to give you everything you deserved. At first, I distanced myself because I thought I would never be good enough for you; that distance was what you needed and for me to get out of your sights, so that that better man would show up and lift you off your feet. But, you were insistent,” Chris giggles sadly as his mask starts to fall, his eyes showing the same pain and suffering that reflects off of yours. “I chose to blame you for the pain of losing you, so you would never look at me with those eyes again; never show me this source of genuine love that was undeserved and unfair.”

“But, you promised me that we would be together forever?” you question, a tear slipping from your eye as you stare at him with the newfound information. Pain of losing him, sadness of bringing such turmoil and insecurity to himself, suffering from the rift that could’ve never been, and regret that if you had known, this would have all been avoided as a whole.

“I know I made that promise, and I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite and idiot. It doesn’t matter how far away we’ve become, you can still manage to look at me with that undeserved care?” he mostly questions himself as his eyes search all over your face, both hands cupping your face in his hands.

Your hands go up to hold his wrists, looking at him with such longing. “You deserve the world, Chris. You always have and always will. You are too pure for the hand you were dealt, and yet you still push yourself farther above.”

His eyes round and snap to yours with confusion and disbelief, searching you for some sort of trick. “I’ve always loved you, Chris. No one has ever made me so damn pissed off or more loved with just one look or action. It doesn’t matter who I’ve used or dated to temporarily distract me, I’ve always worried and searched for you. You’ve always been in the deepest part of my brain. I-I still love you...so damn much.”

“You’ve always been different and I like that. You’re the biggest pain in my ass, but my greatest mistake. I love you, Y/N,” Chris smiles, a genuine display of delight and content as tears slide down his cheeks with the relinquishment of pain and torture. He’s waited too damn long for this. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he smirks devilishly, eyes delving to your lips and up to your eyes before he leans in.

Your chapped lips meet his fresh, plump ones, smeared with chapstick with the taste of lemon. Your hands goes up to tangle in his long, blonde locks as his arms reach down to your hips to keep you tightly trapped against him; like he fears that if he doesn’t hold you tight, you’ll slip away like every dream he’s ever had of you - his greatest happiness.

You pull him in just as tight, arms around his shoulders as your hands tug, fearing the feeling of losing him again. When you part for air, you still never let go of each other, your head ducking in between the crook of his neck and shoulder. You breathe in his scent and save it to your memory as a smell you hoped to never forget or live without.

“Well, it’s about damn time! God damn!” Teddy yells from his cross legged position on his sleeping bag.

Gordie and Vern start to whoop and holler from their comfort of sleeping bags with deep pleasure and happiness.

“I knew you guys would make up eventually,” Vern added with a soft giggle.

“I was starting to miss my parents,” Gordie chided with a roll of his eyes.

“Does that mean we can all be friends now?” Vern adds with a playful glint in his eye and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“I mean, I guess I could, y’know, hang around a while,” you tease, earning a shove to your side by Chris as you both walk back to your seats on your sleeping bag.

That night, you all stayed up late trading stories of what you’ve missed within the short time away from each other, and for once since the start of your adventure, you see the benefits of their changes.

They aren’t the same people you once knew because they are now their best versions, and will continue to change for the many years to come. It’s only up to you guys to keep that connection strong and adapt with them that will keep you all bound together forever.

It was your greatest promise, but there’s been a few changes: “No matter how far away we are nor how different we become, we will always find a way back to each other. Friends forever.”

You and Chris made your own promise, too: “Whatever happens, we will learn to overcome together, forever and always, in love and sickness, at the best and worst moments. Lovers forever.”

#chris chambers #chris chambers x reader #chris chambers imagine #river phoenix #river phoenix x reader #river phoenix imagine #stand by me #stand by me x reader #stand by me imagine #gordie lachance #wil wheaton #Jerry O'Connell #vern tessio #teddy duchamp #corey feldman #ace merrill #keifer sutherland #1986

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jokeringcutio · 1 year

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The Gift - The Grabber x Reader Insert

Summary: Your curiosity got the better of you.

Fandom: The Black Phone (2022) Pairing: Albert Shaw | The Grabber x (f) Reader Rating: Mature Warnings: Dark themes, kidnapping, older man\younger woman, age difference, size difference, allusions to dubious consent, dub con, reader insert. Read it [ here on AO3 ] or read it below <3 Written for the amazing @willshipanything-blog ~ * ~ Despite the blue lucid sky, the house in front of you looked grey and solemn. As if the building was covered in shadows despite the sunlight shining brightly over Denver.

A deceitful wind was blowing, chasing the clouds away, tricking people into thinking it was warmer outdoors than it actually was. Though, when out of the wind, the weather could actually be described as nice, hot. Bone-warming.

A lamppost nearby was flickering lightly despite it being day. And then the wind reminded you again that there was still a chill in the air.

The front door to the house was open, inviting strangers into the otherwise uninviting home. A paradox with a sense of mischief to it. It let itself be pushed by nature, its hinges creaking and cracking every time the wind picked up and played with it.

So this was the house your friends had been talking about, eh? A rather elongated ground floor building with a tiled roof and a low iron fence around it. You hardly ever crossed this street when on your way home, so you hardly had paid attention to it. But then your friends had taken their sweet time to tell you stories about this place, challenging each other to be the first to check it out.

You had doubted their words then, thinking that if no one had gone inside, how did they know it was abandoned? It had something to do with the lease, one of your friend’s – whose father was into real estate – had told you. And now it just stood there without a purpose, waiting for a new owner to come and lay claim. But so far, no one had bothered yet. It was positioned in one of the less interesting neighborhoods, a suburb of Denver. Most young people wanted to move uptown. When you looked at the house you could imagine why. It was no castle. Just an ordinary looking building.

The door creaking caught your attention again and you watched it swing in the wind. Surely the neighbors must be annoyed by the sound, you thought. Perhaps you should go and close it?

Not that you were curious and looking for an excuse to step closer, of course.

Slowly, you made your way to the porch, pausing a few times to glance over your shoulder to see if anyone was approaching. But no one seemed to be around.

As you lay your hand on the doorknob, you wondered what would happen if you had a little peek inside. The idea of an abandoned home – history unknown – was thrilling to you. Would there be any furniture left behind? Any clues of whoever had lived there?

Your fantasy ran wild.

And so you did the brave thing and quietly placed one foot over the threshold. You listened with bated breath, but apart from the wind you heard no other sounds. The building emitted a sense of forlorn peacefulness. The air being quiet, like the silence before a storm.

Carefully, you moved forward until you stood fully inside, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness surrounding you. You gasped when you realized you’d come into a little hallway. Plain cream-colored walls and floor stretched in front of you. A rug the only thing giving color to the space.

There was still furniture inside.

An ordinary hallway with a little empty white plastic cabinet to the side and a tin umbrella stand in the shape of a misshapen flower in the corner to your right.

A cold gush of wind brushed past your arms and sent shivers down your spine. You subconsciously closed the door behind you, eager to get away from the wind’s chilly touch.

You did it! You’d been naughty and entered someone else’s house. No, scratch that. You were exploring an abandoned building. How more exciting could things be?

Taking a moment to revel in this feeling, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath and smiled. The air around you felt warmer here. It did not smell dank or musty like you would have expected for an unmaintained house. Perhaps it had not been abandoned for that long? You couldn’t recall if your friends had said anything about that.

As quiet as a mouse, you continued your exploration. Two doors at the end of the hall made you come to a halt, and you decided to try the one to the left first. It opened with a click, and when you carefully peeked around the corner, you spotted a twin-sized bed in the middle of the room, its wooden headboard pressed neatly against the wall. There was an old wooden closet there, and a nightstand next to the bed on which you could see an old glass, fingerprints smudged over it.

You wrinkled your nose. Someone’s bedroom then. Judging by the sight of clothes strewn in one of the corners of the room, you wondered if someone else had been here before you and ransacked the place already. It would explain the lack of little nick-knacks in the hall.

Carefully, you closed the door, resting your hand against it as you thought about the things you’d just seen. One room down, another to go, you thought. And with your head held high, you stepped to the door on the right, opening it swiftly but carefully. You were afraid to make a sound, despite knowing that you were the only one around. The room that was revealed was darker than the bedroom. Long curtains were drawn in front of the windows at the other side, blocking the daylight. A door lurked on the other side in one of the corners, signalling that there was at least one more room to explore.

Taking one step forward, you heard how wooden floorboards creaked under your weight. It made you pause and look down. With a frown, you noticed that a thick Persian rug was lying several inches away from your foot. It seemed to cover most of the room like a squared blanket. You understood the owner’s choice. At least it would dampen the sounds of the wood cracking whenever you walked on it. You made sure to tread lightly upon the rug, making as little noise as you possibly could. Your curious gaze slid past a large wooden cabinet with many drawers that stood to the left side of the wall, and then over to a quilted blanket that lay upon a couch opposite of it. You stepped closer, picking it up, feeling the mixture of soft and rough fabrics slide underneath your fingertips. This seemed to be hand-made with love, you thought. Why would someone leave it there?

A scratch.

Was that a sound? You stood frozen, listening. Like paws sliding past something solid? You held your breath, fearing that a dog might come running round the corner any moment now, but nothing came. Slowly, you turned to face the direction from which you had come, but the door behind you was still open and the hall was still empty. You dared to breathe again.

Turning back to face the room, it was easy to see that this must be the living area, with the couch in the middle. A cushioned chair was beside it, a lamp standing to its side. Probably used for reading, you realized. As your eyes traveled past the room, you spotted the rather obvious television cabinet across the couch. And then, a television caught your eye.

You frowned.

Who would leave an expensive item like that lying around? Especially if others had been here before to ransack the place. But then you noticed that the room seemed clean, no signs of debris or destruction. No graffiti on the walls, no cabinets wretched open.

And so you did it yourself.

You placed the little quilt blanket back on the couch, walked over to the cabinet with all the little drawers, and started to pull open some of them. One drawer held leaflets, another cutlery. There were some glasses and a party cocktail set on one of the shelves above them. Another drawer revealed an unopened package full of black balloons. And then another drawer was opened and you had no idea what it was you saw in there. Like compressed little foam rubbery things? Were those bananas? Another one, and you saw how this entire drawer was filled with scarves and colorful fake flowers. And was that a glass of wine but folded? You quickly closed the drawer and caught your breath.

Such odd things, you mused. But it was all there. All of the drawers were filled. Everything seemed very much there, which meant…

Your eyes drifted to the television cabinet, neatly decorated. You noticed a pile of video tapes with some titles having recently been released.This place did not look abandoned. In fact, every surface seemed in tip-top and pristine condition. No cobwebs, no excessive dust traces. Why had you not spotted this sooner?

Your hand slipped past your thigh. A heavy feeling settled in your stomach, like a stone weighing you down. This house was not abandoned.

As if the devil played a game with you, at that precise moment, when you realized this house was not uninhabited at all, there was a loud sound behind you, like the rattling of keys. You instinctively dashed forward, rushing to the other side of the living room where a door was, determined not to be caught by whoever owned this place.

Surely this house must have some kind of backdoor? Or at least a window that would allow your escape? Imagine the embarrassment you'd feel if the owner of the house caught sight of you. It would be like Goldilocks, but so much worse, because it would be you who got caught. And you had no idea how to explain your actions. Would this person belief it was just curiosity? Or would they think you were a burglar, a thief? Would they call the police? No, you did not like to think of that. This was all a misunderstanding, a silly mistake.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you closed the door behind you, willing yourself to calm down and think rationally. A mere glance was all you needed to see that you had ended up inside a kitchen.

The window here was uncovered, allowing the daylight to spill in. A table was all prepped up, someone’s range of breakfast cereals posed on one side. By the look of the used plate at one end of the table, whoever lived here must have been in a hurry this morning. A smudge of yogurt or milk and a lonely forgotten berry adorned the plate. At least whoever lived here had taste, you thought sardonically. But there was no time to dwell on your thoughts for a sound came from outside. A dog barking. So you had been right, there was a dog out there. And were those paws again, tapping against the front door of the house?

A kitchen counter was to your right, a fridge to your left. It all seemed so ordinary and lived in. You could not believe you had thought this place to be abandoned only moments ago. So it had been a prank after all, you could not help but think bitterly. Your friends had pulled a prank on you and you’d fallen for it. Would they be laughing if they found out it had worked? That they had fooled you? And so easily, you thought angrily. How foolish you must seem to them, and how foolish you would seem if you got caught by the owner.

You looked around, frantically, for a place to hide or escape. The kitchen cabinets would offer you no room to hide, and underneath the table you’d be spotted within seconds. But there was a blue door to your right, and a staircase in front of you that spiraled to some place below ground level. It was an easy equation.

Without a second thought, you dashed forward to open the blue door in the corner of the room. But unlike the other doors, this one remained closed. In an attempt to force it open, you placed your shoulder against it and pushed with all your might. It took all of your strength, but the only result was a disappointing creaking. The door would not budge and you could only conclude that it must be locked.

You let out a small agonized cry when you realized that this must be the backdoor you’d been hoping to find, but it was offering you no escape. You tried to peek through the slats that covered the door’s glass and caught a glimpse of the side of the house. It was large, must larger than the rooms you'd been through. There must be more rooms, you realized as you looked at the house from this angle. There must be some door that you had missed. But there was no going back now.

You heard the tell-tale sound of a front door being opened and closed. Something was placed in the tin stand, the sound a loud clink that resounded throughout the hallway.

You looked up, sweat forming little droplets on your forehead. Then, an unbidden thought: It was getting later in the afternoon. What if they got hungry?

Swiftly you spun around, desperately looking for a place to hide. Footsteps sounded, heavy on the floorboards. Alarm bells were ringing inside your head. Whoever had just entered must be someone big, you mused. Who said the person wouldn’t come up to you with a gun? This was America after all.

The footsteps halted shortly, then grew louder, a clear indication that whoever had entered the house was now heading in your direction. You could hear the happy barking of a dog.

Shit. They were going to find you. If not the house owner, than probably the dog.

For a moment, you stood there indecisively. There was no place to hide in here. The kitchen counter was empty, the cabinets already in use with plates and mugs. The only way for you to go was forward, down the concrete stairs that led into some kind of basement.

I have no choice, you thought. If I go in there then hopefully they won’t see me. Perhaps you could stay hidden for long enough until whoever lived here would leave the kitchen, then you could get out unseen and unembarrassed for accidentally barging into someone’s house. Yep, that sounded like a solid plan.

You were swift to descend the stairs, wincing when you heard the first few steps creak alarmingly. There was no way to get up or down here without being heard, you thought. That is, if whoever lived here was nearby. You hoped the dog hadn’t heard or smelled you yet, but there was nothing to be done for it.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs you came into full-contact with a closed door. Dread it, you thought angrily. Was this how your great plan of escape was going to end? But luckily, all it took was just a push for the door to open. You wasted no time in getting into the dark space behind it, letting the door fall to a close behind you.

It was a basement, just like you had predicted. But it wasn't filled with anything like you had expected it do be. There were no crates and no racks filled with wine. It wasn't converted to some kind of game room or man cave. It was just a dark and empty place. You weren’t sure what you had hoped for. If the owner would have had all of his stuff cluttered in here, then at least you would have had the perfect place to hide. Now it was just an empty and open space with little to no room for you to curl your body into and pretend you weren’t there.

You hadn't hardly taken a step into the room when you noticed the change between the air here and upstairs. Here it was mushy and nearly suffocating. What was this smell? Your eyes darted to the only two objects in the room. A wired bed frame with an old damp mattress covered in dark spots. Yikes! And then there was a black phone attached to the wall. You could see the cord of it dangling into nothingness. That would not make any calls for your rescue.

Whoever lived here seemed to have taken little care of this space, perhaps even forgotten about it, you thought. It was obvious the room had been given little love in recent years, by the way the walls showed traces of crumbling and the floor was covered in dirt and grime. A little window at the other side of the room caught your attention, but it was way up high. You doubted you could reach it.

Breathing heavily as your pressed yourself against the brick walls, you tried to listen to the sounds above your head. But oddly enough, there were none. It was as if the space you were in had been concealed, like a little pocket of time and space in another dimension. A little box of nothingness; of darkness and silence.

You knew that going back up was not an option. But where could you hide? As your eyes started adjusted to the meager light that came in from the window up high, you noticed there was a corner at the end of the room. Perhaps there was something hidden behind it?

You slowly made your way deeper into the basement. Your footsteps slapped on the uneven tiles of the floor. Yet, any sound you made, any breath that was a bit too loud, seemed to be absorbed by the walls. You hoped that whoever was up there did not hear you as you made your way to the other side of the wall. Your joy was short-lived and you flinched upon the sight of what you found around the corner. An old toilet. That explains the nasty smell somewhat, you thought. Though it did smell like a rat had died in here. You pulled a face and, with your nose pinched between your fingertips, you looked around. No rat to be found, must be the toilet then.

Looking around once more, you saw that there was nothing there. Now way out. No secret door. No room. Just some old rugs piled on top of each other.

With no wish to remain next to the smelling pit any longer, you headed back into the main room the basement had to offer. Your eyes flitted shortly to the door. Should you push against it? Set it ajar so you could hear whatever happened above you? Did you dare to do that? But what if the owner was up there and caught sight of you? What if the dog was there? You felt like you were left with no alternative but to seek your escape from the window that was up high. It was probably your best bet to get out now. But how could you get to it? You glared up at it, studying the window way up high. As if it had been put there at that exact height just to tease you. Then you squinted your eyes. Did you see it correctly? Did it have bars in front of it? You briefly wondered why it needed that, then remembered seeing bars on many more basement windows around town. It was a thing apparently, probably to keep cats and hedgehogs out or something. Or thieves, you mused. Now, however, the bars made it feel like you were inside of a prison. Just what you needed after barging into someone's home uninvited.

Your eyes slid back past the few items in the room. It wasn't much, but you figured you could use whatever you had. You could get the rugs and step upon them to try and reach the window, you imagined. But they seemed heavy and you would have to move the whole lot of them. That seemed like a mighty bit of work to do. Then again, it seemed like you had time aplenty now that you had yourself trapped in here.

Then there was the issue of the bars. How were you going to get past them? Standing on your tiptoes, you tried to study the window from afar. You thought you could see how some of the bars were bent. Perhaps if you used all of your strength you could bend them some more and find your way out. If only you had something to help you make the job of bending them easier. Then your eyes fell upon the black phone. Yes, that might work.

As quietly as you could, you set about pushing and pulling the rugs from their resting spot and underneath the window until you had formed a nice pile. Nice.

Admiring your handiwork, you then set out to get the cord from the telephone. If you could get high enough on the rugs to reach the window, then you could wrap the cord around two bars and pull it tighter and tighter until the bars would bend under its pressure. At least, that's what these prison escape movies had made you believe. Stepping over to the black phone, you placed your hand on it and felt the dust bite into your skin. How long had it been here, you wondered? Forgotten and abandoned. Why had it been installed here in the first place? You wiped off some of the dust with your sleeve, then pulled at the cord. It slipped free easier than you had expected and with a thud, you fell backwards and landed on your buttocks. A groan escaped your lips. Of course this was just your luck. But at least the cord was in your hands. And dangling from it was the phone itself. You could use that, you thought, to smash the window when time came. It was a risky idea, but you thought you could get there. You had all the tools: something to climb upon, something to bend the bars and something to break the window. You got this.

Slowly, you got up to your feet and walked over to where the rugs had formed a nice slouched pile on the floor. You placed your foot on top to test if the pile would hold you. When the rugs didn't slip off of each other, you climbed your way up.

You were close to it now, much closer than before but not quite close enough. Why were you this small? Why as the window so damn high up?

A creak sounded behind you but there was no time for you to react fast enough. Two strong arms encircled around your waist before you could even as much as turn around to look behind you, and then you felt yourself pulled downwards. Your feet slipped off the rugs whilst the phone fell from your hands. A cry escaped your lips. You’d been so close to getting away!

You had not heard the door open. You had not noticed someone approach, as concentrated as you had been on the task at hand. You'd been completely unaware. And now it was too late. You felt someone behind you, heat radiating off his body.

“My, my,” the voice was low and raspy. A man’s voice, definitely, but a man who sounded parched. Like he desperately needed a drink. Two hands were heavily upon you, sliding from your waist all the way up to your shoulders while your back was pressed against someone's front. A firm chest, you thought. Someone larger than you. You felt him push down on you, like you weren’t already smaller than his towering frame.

“A gift!” the man’s voice rose, becoming lighter and almost childish, then an added murmur, “for me.”

What had you stumbled into?

He slowly turned you by your shoulders until you faced him. You desperately wished to know who this man was. Yet at the same time, you were too afraid look up and meet the owner of the lilting voice. So many octaves, so many emotions, in just a few sentences. You did not think you had ever heard such a range in someone’s voice before.And so you kept your eyes on the floor. You did not dare look up.

Firm fingers pressed tightly into your skin, pressing through the layers of your clothes. You felt how he maneuvered you with his grip, making you stumble a few steps backwards until your back hit the firm wall. You saw his shoes. Black pants with red socks. He felt strong. Incredibly so. His warm hands were big when you felt them on your arms, his palms covering the entirety of your shoulders, his fingers curling around your upper arms.

You listened to his breathing, deep and slow. Was he studying you? You tried to subdue your own wildly beating heart and finally willed yourself to look up into the stranger’s eyes.

You instantly knew that you were going to regret this.

He's like dad, you could not help but think when you finally saw him. A man with lines on his face and grayness to his hair. A man around the age of your parents. A father type. A neighbor. Just another ordinary looking man. But boy, did he feel anything but ordinary. His hands lay heavy upon your shoulders. He’s a man, you reminded yourself. Just a man. But then his lips curled into the tiniest hint of a smirk. As if he was enjoying this – whatever it was that was happening between the two of you. His eyes, a pale color, bore into you. His forehead crinkled when he raised his brows, as if he saw something on your face or in your expression that you didn’t know and could not guess at.

Wisps of hair fell to his shoulders; a brown color that was slowly washed to grey by age. The darkness of the room fell upon him like a cloak. He could be part of it, of the darkness, you thought. With his black blouse and black jeans. If not for the red turtleneck that peaked out from underneath his blouse, like blood dripping from an artery, he could have been a shadow himself.

His skin was pale in the dark, dripping wet. As if he had recently been cleansing his face with water.

Strong pale hands gripped your shoulders possessively, thumbs digging painfully into your skin as he pressed you against the wall.

A low laugh escaped him. “Usually they don’t come to me,” his voice was higher now, then it got low again, “but look at you.” The last words came out like a purr.

He leaned his head a little more forward until his lips were near your skin, his breath ghosting past your cheek. You wished you could tear yourself away from his grip, especially when you felt him press his chest to yours. Could he feel your rapid heartbeat? Could he feel your breasts pressed against his chest?

But his hold on you was firm. And when he felt you move, his grip on you seemed to tighten even more.

“Oh,” it came out as a sigh from between his lips. As if something occurred to him. The distance between your upper bodies increased again, for which you were grateful. The heat that radiated from his body affected you less now that he was further away. And for a moment, you thought it was over. That he had touched you and invaded your personal space just to intimidate and scare you. That he had wanted to teach you a lesson after finding you illegally tiptoeing around his home.

You were prepared to step away, but then he chuckled.

“Look at you, honey.”

Dread crept upon you upon hearing his light voice, teasing almost. Elated. This was not good. Your heart was hammering inside of your chest, your breast heaving as you tried to remain calm. The man’s eyes flew downwards, as if he had caught sight of your sped-up heart-rate. An eerie smile slid on his lips, and it was as if a dark twinkle had appeared in the man’s eye.

“Oh,” his voice was low and guttural, coming deep from his belly. His left hand slipped from your shoulder and all the way up to cradle your neck. Cold rings pressed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to pull your head away, to move your neck out of his reach, but it seemed the man had you trapped against the nearest wall and in no position to edge away from him.

A hum rose from deep within his chest, appreciative almost. As if he was studying you and liked what he saw. “You’re special.” The low murmur hardly reached your ears, so soft and quiet it came.

You could feel his fingertips twirl into your hair. A gesture that felt almost lovingly. It was hard to swallow, let alone breathe. You tried to pull your head away from his touch and tear your eyes from his gaze, but he would not let you. With just a tug at your hair he had you lock eyes with him again, deep pools of grey that swirled with darkness.

“Up here, sweetheart,” you heard him say, indicating you should look at his face rather than avert your eyes. The whispered words turned something deep inside of the pit of your stomach. Raw emotion laced his voice. He sounded hungry, starving. His fingers re-positioned in your hair, as if to get a better grip.

Then suddenly, all of the tenderness was gone and his fingertips dug deep into your skin again. It was painful. You tried to reach up to relieve some of the pain, but he started walking and you had no choice but to follow him as he half-dragged you to the bed. Your hands reached out for his to alleviate his grip, your fingers curling around his in vain. He was too strong, his hold never relenting. Not until he dropped you face-first upon the spot-covered mattress.

The bed frame creaked with your weight as you were thrown upon it. What was happening? Your mind was running overtime as you tried to think of ways to get the man to stop. The moment you felt that his hold on you was gone, you tried to push yourself up, crawling with your elbows in front of you as you tried to lift your belly from the bed. But a firm hand pushed against your lower back, effectively pressing you down until you felt the springs of the mattress prick your stomach. Then another weight was added. The man pressed himself against you. His hands caught your wrists with ease, forcing them in front of you with a grunt. And then you felt your whole body being flipped over, roughly, before his weight settled on top of yours.

He had roughly turned you over, trapping you uncomfortably beneath his thighs, and you tried to arch your back to loosen his hold on you. But his weight remained on top of you, his legs at either side of you, keeping you caged underneath his body. Now on your back, panting heavily, you looked up to see his frame atop of you, hurled in shadows, as he slowly leaned over you. His hands pressed down tightly upon your wrists, keeping them pinned above your head. The whites of his teeth glinted as he smirked down at you, like the cat who got the cream – or the predator who finally pounded upon his prey.

“You know,” he said through gasps, as if it had become hard to breathe. In this position, with him leaning over you, you had every opportunity to study his face. The wrinkles that adorned his skin, the black dilated pupils in his otherwise pale eyes. And the maniacal glint that lay within them.

“I never had one like you before,” he breathlessly said, his arms keeping yours pinned above your head.

No wait.

Your eyes grew wide when you realized his right hand had slid down to your collarbone. Which meant he was restraining you with only the one hand. His left. How strong was he? How big compared to you?

“But you know what they say,” he continued, voice laced with delight as he traced a knuckle past your cheek, “can’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.”

You growled, teeth gritted and showing. How dare this man? You were most certainly not gifted to him. "Let me go," it came out fiercer than you thought it would. But here you were, telling the man to stop and let you out. Your voice was unshaken. You sounded confident. He shifted, sitting up straighter to have a better look at you. You would almost say that his eyes softened at what he saw, if it wasn’t for his voice which was still low and husky. “No sweetheart, I can't do that. You see, I so do love a challenge,” the words weighed heavy upon you, almost as heavy as this man’s frame.

Then he was upon you again, fully. His chest brushed against yours, making it hard to breathe. You noticed the first stripes of grey fanning out from his long hair as he leaned over you. "Stop," you begged him, "just let me go, sir."

"Sir," he said, mockingly. "I like that, little girl." His breath was hot on your skin and then his lips brushed past your cheek, ever so slightly.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me?” he purred in your ear.

Your eyes widened again. No, you could not think of it, should not think of what he might have in mind for you. None of that was going to happen to you. It just could not. You struggled with renewed vigor, wildly thrashing against his body. His fingers curled painfully around your wrists, hard enough to bruise, desperate to keep you there, trapped underneath him.

His hips pressed flushed against yours. Something hard poked into your abdomen. Something hard and hot. You instantly ceased moving, your eyes wide and wild. Was that...?

Then you heard him laugh near your ear. “I thought so,” and with those ominous words, you felt all the fight leave your body. Be his good girl? He chuckled again.

“I think I’m gonna keep you.”

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