#but missouri is just a few hours away so who knows | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 9 months

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jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

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sprinkler-ashes · 7 months

Text

begin again // aaron hotchner x reader

begin again

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

description: in which there are five times that aaron hotchner restores your faith in love and one time where you restore his. inspired by begin again by taylor swift.

words: 6.1k

warnings: cursing, a touch of angst, hotch in a quarter zip and casual clothes (yes this requires a warning), fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint, reader has an awful ex (gn pronouns for ex), mentions of violence and injuries

a/n: i’ve been working on this all throughout the week every night at like 3 am running on, at best, 4 hours of sleep so i’m very sorry if there are grammar/spelling errors – i will edit soon. also i fear i’ve been watching too much dharma & greg, and this was the product. enjoy!

i've been spending the last eight months

thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end

but on a wednesday in a cafe

i watched it begin again

One.

It was week one of your new job at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit when you knew with absolute certainty that as soon as you arrived back at the bureau, you were going to hand in your resignation.

You were sitting away from the rest of the team who all sat together, though a little cramped, and deep into discussion about something that you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to. They were talking normally as if everything they just witnessed over the last few days didn’t affect them.

You knew that you were new to this – it was your first week on the job. But you felt like you should be… happier than the way you currently felt. This was your dream job: one that you’ve spent years working towards. One that you gave everything up for, including your relationship.

However, it was starting to feel like it wasn’t worth it.

The team was very lovely. From the moment the case had begun, each one of them made an effort all throughout the trip to Missouri to make sure you were keeping up and doing okay. They’d even tried to get you to come over and chat with them when the flight started, but you lied and said you were tired.

Your head was leaning against the window, your eyes peering out to see nothing but blue skies and clouds. This was everything you’d ever wanted, so why did you feel the way you did?

A voice in the back of your head told you that your ex was right; you weren’t cut out for this. You were going to fail just like they always said you were going to – this was a mistake.

You couldn’t help but be on the verge of a breakdown with all the thoughts running through your head, but there was no way you could cry due to the presence of someone moving to sit in the seat in front of you. A part of you didn’t want to look up because you knew exactly who it was. You didn’t want to look him in the eyes, but, reluctantly, you did look up only seconds later.

BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner was sitting in front of you with his usual gaze that made you feel slightly intimidated. He seemed to be good at everything he did – or at least everything you had seen him do. He was well-respected, a damn good profiler, and so put-together that it made you feel like a mess in comparison.

“Can I help you, sir?” You asked, attempting to mask the conflicted feelings in your voice.

He ignored your question. “You just finished your first case. I wanted to see how you were feeling. You and Reid really helped by figuring out the geographical profile.”

You should’ve known he would know. This was a plane full of profilers – they probably all knew.

“I’m good,” you lied with an attempted smile that never reached your eyes. “I’m glad we caught the guy; I’m just really exhausted.”

Aaron didn’t say anything as he obviously did not believe you with his eyes still watching you, presumably reading more about you in mere seconds than you even knew about yourself. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the chatter from the rest of the team filling the air.

“They’ve all been here for years,” he suddenly said. “It still affects them, but it gets easier.”

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” you told him, your voice cracking in the middle of your sentence. You shut your eyes, cutting off eye contact. You didn’t want to look at your boss after you basically just told him you can’t do your own job.

This is so embarrassing, you thought to yourself.

When you finally re-opened your eyes, Aaron was still watching you. He moved forward, crossing his arms and resting them on the table between the two of you. He was looking at you with what you almost would’ve called sympathy.

“You can do this,” he reassured you, making sure his voice couldn’t be heard by the rest of the team. “You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t. It’ll get better.”

The sheer honesty in his voice caused unshed tears to form in your eyes. No one had given you the affirmation you so desperately needed in a long time – not even your ex, who often said more unkind things than kind.

“What if it doesn’t?” You asked, blinking hard to get rid of the tears that were threatening to fall.

“It will,” he said firmly, emphasizing his words. “Go home, rest, and come back for a new day tomorrow.” With that, he stood back up, straightened out the sleeves of his suit jacket, and looked at you one last time before walking back over to where he was originally sitting. “You did very well this week.”

Aaron said everything with so much sincerity that for the first time in a while, you felt a little bit better.

—

Two.

You didn’t end up quitting.

It had been a little over a month since you almost quit your job after the first week. Things still weren’t perfect, but you had gotten more used to being a profiler and had gotten to the point where going to work didn’t feel like such a chore.

You were now in a small North Dakota town on a case. It was the second week of December, and the heat was out at the inn you were staying at, which all of you had, unfortunately, found out when arriving back from the police department.

“I probably know the answer to this, but is there any way we could go somewhere else?” JJ asked as she stood by the door. “It’s freezing, Hotch.”

“Actually, in order for it to be freezing, it would need to be–”

“Reid, not now,” Derek cut him off.

Aaron looked up from the folder he was reading. “We can’t go anywhere else. This is the only place to stay in town, and it’s the only place that was approved and booked.”

“They said they will probably have it going again in under an hour. Maintenance is working on it now,” Rossi announced as he entered the room, stepping past JJ. “They apologized for the inconvenience.”

It was eleven at night, and everyone was in clothes they were sleeping in except for Aaron who still wore his suit, minus the tie and jacket. You didn’t know how he wasn’t freezing in only his white dress shirt. The rooms at the inn were relatively tiny, but the team had all managed to cram into Aaron’s room, who got one to himself this time. They’d all flocked to his room in an attempt to figure out if staying somewhere else was possible, except for you, who had already been there.

You were sitting on the couch in the room next to Aaron as you attempted to help him figure out how this particular unsub was kidnapping his victims. The couch was particularly small, leaving no room between you and him. The entire side of your thigh was pressed against his, warmth radiating off of him despite the cold room.

Aaron sighed, laying down the folder and running a hand across his temple. “I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands. Everyone, go back to bed. Hopefully the heat will be back on soon.”

“You coming?” Emily, your roommate for the duration of time you would be in North Dakota, asked as everyone filed out of the room.

You shook your head. “I’ll be there soon. I’m going to look over this one last time and see if there’s anything I missed.”

Emily told the both of you goodnight and left the room, leaving only you and Aaron still sitting together.

He made you very nervous.

Aaron was older, extremely accomplished, more experienced in the job, and working with him alone was nerve-wracking. You’d proven yourself immensely in the short amount of time you had been a member of the BAU. Still – he was wonderful at everything. The idea of being wrong around him was terrifying.

As you continued to look through everything laid out in front of you, you couldn’t focus. It was so cold to the point where you couldn’t feel the tip of your nose anymore, and you were slightly shivering, crossing your arms in an attempt to warm up a little.

“Looks like I should’ve brought a winter coat to sleep in,” you attempted to joke.

The left corner of Aaron’s mouth tipped upward as he stood up and moved to the small closet. “It is pretty cold, isn’t it?”

Before you knew it, there was a brown blanket being draped across your shoulders.

It wasn’t very thick nor was it very comfortable. In fact, it felt a little scratchy to the touch as it brushed over your bare hands, but Aaron situated it until it was entirely wrapped around you while his body hovered over yours. You stopped breathing momentarily, your heart picking up its pace every time his hands scraped over your own arms. Even through your thick sweatshirt and the blanket, you could still feel his touch.

“Thanks,” you muttered. Your heart rate had gone back down to normal now that he was moving to sit again.

“I can’t have one of my agents going hypothermic,” he joked and gave you one of his rare smiles; the ones that were usually reserved for outside of work.

You weren’t blind – Aaron Hotchner was a gorgeous man, and you wouldn’t deny that just the scent of his very expensive cologne alone was enough to make you feel slightly dizzy.

However, that's all you thought. He was your boss, and you were dealing with a breakup that was still laying heavy on your heart and constantly consumed your thoughts.

But even after the heat started working only half an hour later, you didn’t remove the blanket and temporarily forgot about the person who broke your heart while you worked next to him.

—

Three.

It was six months into your job when you found yourself having one of the worst days ever.

You’d woken up late and to a text from a friend letting you know that the ex you’d been getting over for half a year was now social-media-official with the person they told you not to worry about, you spilled coffee all over your car and your white top resulting in you being even later for work as you had to go back to your apartment and change.

You were a stumbling mess when you finally made it to the conference room for the meeting that you were six minutes late for. All eyes were focused on you as you mumbled apologies and sat down while trying to listen to Aaron’s voice. It was some housekeeping things and maybe you should’ve listened, but your head was elsewhere.

The rest of the day did not go well either. Halfway through the day, you had managed to screw up the fax machine, trip over your own shoes, and give yourself not one but two paper cuts. All of it sounded like minor things – a paper cut shouldn’t have set you off so badly, but it really did.

By the end of the day, you wouldn’t have minded if the ground opened up and swallowed you whole. Once you did one more thing, you would finally be able to go home.

“Come in.”

Aaron’s office was a place that you had grown to not fear so much. In the beginning of your job, every time you had to go in, it almost felt like you were in middle school walking into the principal’s office as he sat there at his desk with a stoic stare and hardly any emotion in his voice.

“I got your email about needing to speak with me,” you told him, coming inside and shutting the door behind you. “What did you need?”

He looked up at you as you moved closer to his desk. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

You frowned. “I thought you said in the email that you needed to speak with me about something important?”

Aaron nodded as if it was no big deal. “You’ve been acting off all day. How you feel is an important thing – even if you think it isn’t. So, are you okay?”

Your heart broke at his kindness. He was always nice to you, maybe nicer than he should’ve been, but calling you into his office just to make sure you were okay after a bad day made you wonder why no one else had ever cared about your feelings like this.

“I’m okay,” you told him. “It’s just been a terrible day.”

Still sitting at his desk with his full attention on you, Aaron asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You wouldn't lie – you did think about his proposal for a moment. There weren't many people for you to talk to. You had friends, but not many in Quantico other than your co-workers. You’d moved alone without knowing anyone, and you worked so much that there was rarely time for you to go out and meet new people.

But Aaron was a busy man. He was probably just offering to be polite – there was no way he cared that much to hear about your miniscule problems when his job was as hectic and busy as it was.

“No, Hotch, I don’t want to keep you here any longer–”

He cut you off. “I’m already here; it doesn’t matter. You can talk to me. I’ve been rather concerned about you.”

At that moment, you couldn’t come up with an excuse as to why the idea of him thinking about you was enough to make your heart flutter.

“It’s… it’s stupid,” you started, taking a seat in the chair in front of his desk. “I had a bad breakup right before I moved to Quantico. My ex didn't really care when I went to the Academy, but they exploded when I told them how I finally got this job. It was constant fighting before they gave me an ultimatum: them or taking the job.”

“And you chose the job?”

You laughed, feeling a little pathetic. “No, at first, I didn’t. They really got it stuck in my head that I wasn’t good enough to do this. I was going to turn it down and stay, but I changed my mind last minute. I found out this morning they’re now with someone else. Then, I was late, I fucked up the fax machine, and I got a couple paper cuts. It’s nothing, really – it was just a bad day.”

Aaron moved around in his seat, leaning back a little and crossing his arms. “It isn’t nothing if it bothers you.”

“I didn’t know you were a therapist,” you tried to joke, squirming awkwardly in your seat. You were already feeling vulnerable and the way he was looking at you wasn’t helping.

“Only part-time,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone – someone may think I have emotions.”

His face was completely stoic when he said it, but as soon as you started to laugh, he joined in.

“Really, though, I’m okay – just exhausted. I think the universe just hates me right now.” You stood up to leave. “I want to beat the rush hour traffic, so I should head out, but thanks for checking on me.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and you were on your way out while thinking the interaction was over, when he called out your name.

You stopped, hand still grasping the door you were about to open. “Yeah?”

“It’s their loss.”

A frown appeared on your face. “What do you mean?”

“Your ex,” he explained. “You shouldn’t lose sleep over someone who doesn’t know how lovely you are.”

Lovely.

You’d been called a lot of things in your life, probably even some adjectives better than lovely, but the way it just rolled out of Aaron’s mouth as if it was a casual, every-day-like occurrence made you feel warm.

Aaron Hotchner thought you were lovely and knowing that kept a smile on your face for days after while the wounds that had been given to you by someone else slowly healed.

—

Four.

After a year of working with the BAU, you ended up with your first unsub-related injury.

You thought going to the hospital was pointless because you truly felt fine, but both Derek and JJ argued relentlessly for you to go due to the nasty gash on your head. Unfortunately, you were outnumbered and sent to the hospital for an evaluation after the unsub you were after thought it was okay to slam you on the ground a little too hard, resulting in a blow to your head when you went down and hit the concrete.

JJ rode with you to the hospital in the ambulance that you, very much, did not think was necessary. After seeing a doctor, it was determined that you had a concussion. With a thick bandage on your wound and a drive home from JJ who gave you strict rules on taking care of yourself while you healed like the mother she was, you were finally alone in the comfort of your apartment after a long day spent in Manassas – the location of the latest case.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, you were starting to feel the symptoms and the sound of knocking on your door felt like nails being drilled into your head.

However, the person standing on the other side when you opened the door made your head spin faster than the concussion did.

Aaron was standing on the other side of the door, one hand holding a brown paper bag with a look of worry on his face. He was dressed casually in a navy blue sweatshirt and jeans, nose slightly red from where he had walked through the cold November air to get inside your apartment building.

In other words, he looked very good. It was hard to not grab and kiss him.

You’d developed somewhat of an attraction for your boss since that fateful day in his office. Not that you hadn’t been attracted to him before, but it now felt more like a serious affection and not some small crush – the first time you felt this way about anyone in a long time.

“Hi,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to another upon seeing you. “How are you?” He paused after his eyes glanced at the very obvious bandage on your forehead. “Wait, I don’t think that’s an appropriate question right now. I’m sorry.”

You giggled despite the throbbing in your temple, moving to let him into your apartment. “I’m as good as I can be right now. Come on in.”

He walked into your apartment, following you into the kitchen after you shut the door and locked it. Aaron had only been to your apartment once after giving you a ride home from work, but this was the first time he’d ever been inside.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” He asked while you got a glass of water.

You nodded slightly, careful to cause any more pain. “Probably, but I can’t get any rest until my medicine kicks in and my head doesn’t feel like it’s about to bust.”

Aaron winced. “I tried to come to the hospital, but JJ had already taken you home by the time I got there, so I came here. I apologize for coming unannounced and so late, but I had to make sure you were okay.”

“You do that a lot,” you told him, leaning against one of the counters in the kitchen. “Making sure I’m okay.”

“I happen to care about you a lot.”

Hiding your smile behind the glass of water, you took a sip before focusing your attention back on the bag he brought with him. “What’s in the bag?”

It seemed as though he had forgotten he was still holding something. He raised it up and held it out to you, an almost-shy look dancing across his face that you’d never seen before on him. “I, um, made a stop at the store for you on my way over. It’s just over-the-counter medicine, extra bandages, and a couple snacks that I know you like. I figured it might help you out since you can’t drive for the next two days.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that appeared on your face. It was almost as if every time you thought Aaron couldn’t get any more perfect, he would prove you wrong.

He continued as he sat the bag down on the counter next to you. “I also wanted to tell you that Strauss said take all the time you need to recover.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “She did?”

There was only silence between the two of you as you looked at each other until he shrugged. “Well, I told her that you’re going to be taking all the time off that you need, and she didn’t really say anything so take all the time you need.”

“It’s just a concussion,” you told him. “I’ll be back to work soon.”

“A concussion is a serious thing,” Aaron said with a frown, not liking the way you brushed the injury off as nothing. “I’m glad you’re okay. Morgan said you hit the ground pretty hard before he cuffed the guy.”

You took another sip of your water before sitting it down. “I’m alive and well – Derek was just worried.”

As much as you were enjoying the feeling of talking with Aaron in your kitchen, the heaviness you felt in your eyes reminded you that it was nearly midnight, and you’d had a long day. The yawn that escaped your mouth didn’t go unnoticed.

“I should go and let you get some rest.”

You really didn’t want him to go. There weren't many other opportunities where you would get Aaron in your apartment like this. It felt oddly domestic, and you hated the fact that you loved it so much. But he was right – you did need the rest.

“Thank you again for stopping by,” you told him as the two of you walked the short distance back to the front door. “And for all the stuff you bought. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said, his hand lingering on the door knob. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call.”

He was opening the door before you called out, “Wait,” your mind flooded with déjà vu from the time he stopped you on your way out of his office.

Aaron paused and turned to look back at you. His body hadn’t left the room yet, but the door was slightly ajar where he opened it.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you walked over to him and threw your arms around his broad torso engulfed in the softest sweatshirt you’d ever felt.

“Thank you,” you softly said. “Not just for tonight, but for, well, just caring about me.”

He didn’t waste a second reciprocating the hug as he wrapped his arms around you even tighter, careful not to get near the bandage on your forehead and further hurt you. He was like a human heater – warm, tall, and you fit perfectly against him.

One hug from Aaron was like a band-aid healing any problem you had – even the external ones. Maybe this was what the placebo effect felt like and if this was it, you wanted it over and over again.

“Of course,” he muttered, arms still locked around you as if he needed this more than you did.

When you finally parted, his cheeks were dusted with a slight red shade as he wore one of his grins that you’d grown to love and receive more often. “Goodnight.”

Even though you had a raging headache and a painful cut on your temple, it had nothing on the big smile you kept on your face even as you drifted off into sleep that night still feeling warm and giddy.

—

Five.

It had been almost two months since you hugged Aaron in your apartment.

Since that night, something changed in the relationship between the two of you. You couldn’t really place your finger on what had changed, but there was a shift. Tension was thick – not in a bad way but in a way where you wanted to grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him to you any time you were alone.

You also had the feeling that he felt the same way. Aaron had been a profiler for many more years than you had been, but you liked to think you were good at your job. You could read him and from the way his eyes watched you, you could tell he was feeling the same tension in the air.

It was New Year’s Eve, and David Rossi had, after a lot of pleading from Penelope, agreed to host a small get-together for the team plus family including Will, Henry, and Jack – the latter two were currently running around the, very expensive, house, which was driving Dave insane as kept watch to make sure nothing got damaged due to the kids.

You were standing outside in the backyard, the late-December air hitting your face as you glanced down at your phone that told you it was almost midnight.

When you thought back to who you were around this time last year – a woman in a new city with a demanding job and hardly any friends, still crying yourself to sleep over someone who didn’t deserve your tears – it made you want to smile.

It had been a little over a year since you started working at the BAU and as you glanced inside through the large glass doors, you felt like you belonged. There was no more doubt, no more tears, and no more days where you wanted to run away.

“What are you doing out here? You’ll freeze to death.” You turned around to find Aaron closing one of the glass doors and moving towards you.

He was wearing a black quarter zip and jeans – a casual outfit but one of your favorites. For reasons that you couldn’t understand, Aaron Hotchner in a quarter zip made you feel things.

“I came out here because it’s cold,” you told Aaron, leaning against a railing and crossing your sweater-covered arms. “It’s so hot and stuffy in there. It’s like Rossi is trying to burn us all alive.”

Aaron laughed and walked over next to you. He leaned against the railing, his arm brushing against yours. “He does keep his house pretty hot.”

“Is Jack having a good time?”

Jack Hotchner was probably your favorite kid you’d ever met. He was a total sweetheart, and you instantly got along with him from the first day you met him.

You didn’t miss the way Aaron’s face lit up a little as you mentioned his son. “Yes, I think so. He’s a big fan of celebrating the New Year because he gets to stay up late.” You then watched his face fall a bit. “He’s been missing his mom a lot lately, so coming here tonight – it’s good for him.”

You knew of Aaron’s ex-wife who had died before you joined the team, and you knew the terrible way that it happened. You’d also heard that it greatly affected Jack and Aaron, even though he hid it more than he should’ve.

“It must be hard on him, but I’m glad he’s having a good time tonight.”

Aaron smiled. “He loves the team, but I think you’re his favorite.”

You grinned. “No way! I’m honored.”

A comfortable silence grew between the two of you with no sounds other than distinct chatter and laughs from inside of the house. You glanced over to Aaron who was pulling out his phone.

“Eleven fifty-eight,” he said. “You want to head back inside and watch the ball drop?”

You almost said yes at first because you actually did want to see the ball drop, but you also wanted a moment alone with Aaron considering you rarely got them in a setting outside of work. Maybe you were being selfish, but you didn’t care – a few more minutes with him wouldn’t hurt. “I think I’m going to stay out here.”

He didn’t say anything. Aaron kept his phone out so the two of you could keep an eye on the clock app, its tiny, orange hand moving around the twelve, now signalizing that it was eleven fifty-nine.

Your eyes kept watch on the clock as it got closer to passing twelve again. You were starting to get nervous. A part of you expected Aaron to go inside after you told him you weren’t going back in – it wasn’t like he was obligated to stay out in the cold with you.

However, he never went back inside and as the clock kept getting closer to midnight, only seconds away now, you wondered if he was thinking the same thing you were: the traditional New Year’s kiss.

You discretely searched for any sign on his face that gave away if he was going to kiss you or not. You so desperately wanted it but if he wasn’t thinking the same thing, there was no way you were going to embarrass yourself by trying to kiss him.

Ten.

Still no sign – you were starting to panic a little.

Nine.

What were you supposed to do?

Eight.

Would he rather have a handshake? He did have a pretty firm grip.

Seven.

No, screw a handshake. Who gives someone a handshake at midnight on New Year’s?

Six.

He put down his phone and was starting to turn toward you.

Five.

Was he actually going to kiss you?

Four.

“Forgive me if I’m reading this wrong, but can I kiss you?”

Three.

You couldn’t form words, only a nod, eyes slightly widened.

Two.

He was moving his hand up to your cheek and, oh dear, this was actually going to happen.

One.

Aaron’s lips were warm against yours, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever been kissed with so much delicacy. He was gentle and respectful. Your hands pressed against his chest before you finally moved them up to the nape of his neck under the collar of the quarter zip you loved so much, pulling him even closer to you.

You felt secure and safe pressed up tightly against him with one hand of his cupping your jaw as the other rested firmly on your lower back. Your mouth was opening up before you could even stop it. Aaron smiled against your lips as he felt it before he deepened the kiss.

This time, he was kissing you much more firmly and with the feeling of his tongue moving against yours, you couldn’t remember the last time, or if ever, you felt the way you did. His hand pressed even harder against your back, making you inhale sharply during the kiss.

There was a time in your life when you thought you would never find someone else – that maybe you were destined to be alone all because of one person who didn’t see your worth, but Aaron made all the pain go away to the point where you hadn’t thought of the person who hurt you in months.

Aaron made you feel like you were floating all the time. He reminded you of your worth instead of breaking you down. He was a man who did both the small things like throwing a blanket around your cold body and the big things like bringing you snacks and medicine after a hit to the head – the definition of “if he wanted to, he would” in the best way possible.

“Hey! You guys missed the – holy shit!”

You flung yourself off Aaron and looked behind him to see Emily standing there, her mouth wide open. You’d never seen her utterly speechless like she was at the moment. She opened and closed her mouth for a moment, glancing back and forth between the two of you before she finally found something to say.

“Morgan and Reid owe me fifty bucks.”

—

(+) One.

It was three months into Aaron Hotchner’s relationship with you when he knew with absolute certainty that he loved you.

His job was difficult, and today was no different but instead of shaking it off before going home, he couldn’t help but feel a cloud of emotion follow him all the way back home to his apartment.

He knew that you were waiting on him because the two of you were supposed to have dinner. You’d gotten to leave at a reasonable time and not, he glanced down at his watch, at nine at night. Aaron had a lot of duties and responsibilities as Unit Chief, but he sometimes wished he didn’t in order to come home at a normal hour.

Aaron saw you sitting on his couch as soon as he unlocked and opened his front door. You smiled sweetly as you looked over at him, no trace of frustration or anger at how late he was getting home.

“Everything go okay with those reports? I know Strauss was giving you a hard time,” You said as you glanced back down at your phone you were holding. When he didn’t answer, he saw you look back up at him again but this time with a frown on your face.

He knew the look he had on his face was giving him away, but he just couldn’t force himself to not feel the way that he was feeling.

You put your phone down on the coffee table and stood up to move in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“That’s usually my line to you,” he attempted a joke, but it never reached his eyes.

You responded with a half-smile. “Bad evening?”

Aaron nodded, not saying anything further. You moved closer as you wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, honey,” he said, instantly feeling a little better just from your touch. “I missed dinner. I’m not the one who should be upset.”

You pulled back and rested both hands on each side of his face as he kept his situated on your waist. “Someone told me once that how you feel is an important thing even if you think it isn’t.”

He chuckled a bit. “Using my own words against me, huh?”

You cracked a smile. “It’s okay that you missed dinner. I know you had a rough and busy evening. Don’t worry about me. We can have dinner another night – it’s not a big deal that you couldn’t make it.”

You were looking at him so sincerely and touching him with so much care that he couldn’t help but pull you back in again, eyes closing at the feeling of another hug from you.

“Let’s go to bed,” you mumbled to him. “You look like you could go for an early night.”

Aaron wasn’t sure what he did to deserve someone as good as you – someone who cared for him even on days when he didn’t care for himself. You were kind, understanding, and patient. Sometimes he couldn’t even believe he was lucky enough to be with someone like you.

So while he wasn’t sure of how deserving he really was, he was one hundred percent sure of the fact that he loved you and your lovely self.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner

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lemonluvgirl · 5 months

Text

The Mockingjay Cries at Midnight

So, here I am again with another weird Everlark Christmas-themed story. This time I decided to go way-waaay out of the box and try a Christmas/mystery/thriller. Yeah. I know. Should be fun lol. Very festive. Hope you like the first 2 chapters.

Chapter One: The Journalist and Slippery Slope

The winding roads were icy and seemingly endless. Not another car was in sight on the lonely stretch of highway he was traveling. His legs had lost feeling from continuous driving, and his fingers were starting to feel a bit numb too, but not from lack of movement. It was the seeping cold that seemed to pervade everything, despite the heater being turned up to full blast in his old Jeep Cherokee. Bing Crosby’s velvety voice was “Pa-rum, Pum, Pum, Pum,”ing along on the radio, and Peeta Mellark was humming along off-key in a desperate effort to stay awake.

He had been driving for too long, he knew that, but he was very near reaching his destination. He was used to going to uncomfortable lengths to get the story he was after. He had done this before many times. Wisconsin for instance, he drove 9 hours in the rain to make it to Steven’s Point, and it had been hell on his back but he got there, and he got his story. They had to run second and third prints to keep up with the demand. And in Villa Ridge Missouri, he had to stake out an abandoned stretch of road for two days, but he got the story on that one too.

This one would be just like all the rest. A little discomfort, a little lost sleep, but ultimately worth it in the long run once he printed a full expose about the mysterious murders that rocked a little no-name town fifty years ago.

“I am a poor boy too…” His voice warbled tiredly as his eyes searched for the mile marker that would tell him where to turn, but there was a steady sleet building outside and it was getting harder and harder to see in the worsening weather.

He was looking for number 113 and going by the map he was forced to use after he lost GPS service, it was bound to be around here somewhere.

“I have no gift to bring, Pa-rum, Pum, Pum, Pum” He had already passed exit 18 aways back. That meant 113 was coming up any minute now.

“That’s fit to give a—shit!” He caught sight of the reflective marker with the numbers 113 and tried to turn, half a second too late and much too sharp, but the tires couldn’t find purchase on the slick road on such short notice.

The car started to hydroplane.

“Fuck, FUCK!” Thinking quickly, he did what all the experts said was best, which was to turn into the spin.

But he was going too fast. The row of snow covered trees that lined the highway like silent guardians blurred and drew closer in his vision.

Suddenly he couldn’t remember what was so important that he drove out to the middle of nowhere a few days before Chrsitmas to find. Surely it wasn’t this. A quick and violent end on an icy road with no one who even knew where he was this time of night.

Only his editor knew where he was headed and she probably wouldn’t report him missing for days.

All of these thoughts flew into his mind and flew out just as quickly, as fast as the old jeep spun out of control and headed for the treeline.

The last thing he saw was what looked like a woman.

A woman in a faded ruffle dress, with long dark hair, standing on the side of the road. Almost close enough to touch. Time seemed to slow-and stop altogether as she held his gaze. She had a sad, forlorn look in her large brown eyes, that were almost pleading with him. It looked like she was trying to say something, but he couldn’t make it out. It seemed important if the desperate look she was giving him was anything to go by, and he thought that look would be impressed upon him forever should he live past this terrible night.

Then the car made another revolution, and she was taken out of his sight.

Quicker than a blink everything was back to the breakneck speed of reality as the car careened completely out of control. Then there was the sound of breaking glass, the impact of wood on metal, and the sharp flash of pain that radiated through every inch of him.

And then all was darkness.

Chapter 2: The Angel with the Permanant Frown

The beep-beep-beep-beeeep of her minitor almost caused her to knock over her peppermint tea. Almost, but Katniss Everdeen caught the tipping cup at the last second and righted it. She unclipped the mini-monitor on her belt loop, nicknamed ‘minitor’ for short by all the local EMT’s and held it up as the device beeped its special four note tone again. It was the tone reserved for immediately life-threatening situations and it meant she didn’t have a minute to lose.

She grabbed her truck keys off the top of her desk, tossed on her coat, didn’t bother with her hat or gloves, and threw open the door to the office of the local quick-mart.

“Sae! I got a call!” She hollered as she rushed past the woman ringing up customers at the counter.

“This time of night?” The grey haired older woman asked in surprise as Katniss flew by.

“Rules are whoever gets the call has to head to the garage! Call Darius to cover my shift if you need extra security! Or Rory if need someone to help close up!” She shouted over her shoulder as she ran out, the chime of the bell ringing loudly behind her as the door snicked shut.

Panem county was one of the smallest counties in the continental United States. The small townships of the Seam, Hob, and Panem Town proper, or just Town, as the locals called it barely drumed up a population of 4,000 residents combined. The only EMTs the county could afford to keep were volunteer ones, and they didn’t have regular shifts or wait at the station like their big-city counter parts. When someone called 911, dispatch paged everyone within a certain radius of the emergency. Special pre-recorded tones caused their minitors to beep loudly, alerting them to the emergency.

They had different tones for ‘urgent response’, ‘potentially life-threatening’, and ‘immediately life-threatening’ situations. The call she received was the former. Luckily everyone at dispatch knew where to find her on a Tuesday night.

She usually picked up a couple shifts a week working security down at old Sae’s quick-mart. The nights were long and tedious and she spent the majority of them watching the security cameras in the office on the look out for shop-lifters or teens trying to buy beer with fake IDs. Nothing serious, at least, nothing she couldn’t handle with a stern look and few sharp words.

But this—this was a not not nothing. She hadn’t had a call this serious…maybe ever.

Working at Sae’s put her within a mile of the garage so that meant she was going to be one of the first responders to make it there. She needed one other person with her before they could leave, as per the rules. More licsenced EMTs could show up and could ride along but they would have to get there before the ambulance took off.

Her train of thought refocused as she pulled up to the old garage that housed the only ambulance and two working fire trucks that serviced the entire county. She pulled into the closest spot and hopped out down from her truck, ice crunching beneath her boots as she hurried into the garage.

She was indeed the first one to arrive and she busied herself with pulling on her EMT uniform, getting the ambulance ready to go, making sure the tires were inflated, and chained properly for ice and snow, and turning on the engine and checking that the tank was full-which it was, thankfully.

Just as she had finished taking a quick inventory of the medical supplies in the backseat she heard a voice call out from the entrance.

“Always first to answer the call huh, Catnip?” The voice of her oldest and best friend, Gale Hawthorne rang out clearly amidst the rumble of the ambulance’s engine. Of course he would be the second one to the garage.

“Early bird, and all that yada yada,” She replied as she shut the back doors and strode out to the front. Gale was already shrugging off his old coat and pulling on his EMT coveralls.

“Hurry up will ya? Any longer and the stragglers will start to show and then we’ll have to let them ride with.” She shouted as she tossed the keyes to the bus over to him before she pulled open the passenger side and slid in. She didn’t really dislike the other EMTs but her and Gale had been friends and partners for years. They had a system and they knew each other like the backs of their own hands. She preferred working with him if she couldn’t work alone, and adding other EMTs just complicated things.

Gale caught the keyes smoothly, like she knew he would, and he sent her cocky grin before he followed suit and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Didn’t think you’d be up for letting me drive.” He commented as he strapped in and adjusted the mirror to fit his above average height.

“I wanna be first out when we get on the scene.” She said quickly as she pulled on her seatbelt and then turned on the ambulance radio. It was programmed to tune into the local police frequency and there was already some chatter going on about an accident out on the highway.

“‘Course you do.” Gale said with a shake of his head. She ignored him in favor of listening to the information the dispatcher was relaying.

Katniss’ grey eyes narrowed as she heard more details come through.

Jeep Grand Cherokee 1998 crashed out on the highway—around mile marker 113—One driver spotted inside the vehicle—unconscious

“Hurry your ass up!” She hissed at her partner when she heard the last descriptor. Gale shot her a look, but she didn’t even glance at him. She was staring ahead at the road that waited outside the garage as if she could will herself onto it faster. Without further prodding Gale flipped the lights and the ambulance siren on with a flick of his fingers and then they were off, practically peeling out of the garage in the next second. Under different circumstances she might have chewed him out for reckless driving but the roads were practically abandoned tonight and they needed to get on the scene fast.

Besides, she couldn’t shake the antsy feeling she had since she’d gotten the call. There was something inside of her that was telling her that she just needed to get there as soon as possible.

The drive out to the highway usually took fifteen minutes. Gale got them there in nine.

The ambulance finally came to a stop just a few yards past the mile 113 marker.

Up ahead she could make out the mangled up shape of a jeep that had gone head to head with an old spruce and lost. Unfortunately they weren’t in an ideal position to get the injured party inside the ambulance unless Gale repositioned the vehicle.

“Hey you said you wanted to be first on the scene.” Gale replied with a shrug as he moved to undo his seatbelt. Katniss shook her head at him.

“Stay put and back this thing up properly. Doors first!” She bit out tersely as she undid her belt and cracked open her door. She hopped down and shut the door closed on Gale’s complaints, ignoring him completely as she pulled her EMT pack higher on her shoulder and started to march forward.

Sleet was still coming down heavily, and the road was slippery under her boots but her feet pulled her forward as quickly and surely as a lodestone is drawn to a magnet.

Before she knew it she was right outside the driver side door, looking in on the man who had been behind the wheel. His face was turned toward her and she could distinguish his featured clearly.

He was young, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, he had ashy blond hair that fell in waves over his forehead. She could tell one other thing about him immediately by just looking—he was damn lucky.

The airbag in his car had properly deployed, from her vantage point she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was knocked unconscious, but not dead. The airbag and the seatbelt he was wearing had most likely saved his life, even though he drove an older model jeep and that sometimes meant that air bags didn’t always work like they should. The only visible injury she could see on him was a gash on his forehead.

She needed to get him out of the car though, so she could assess the rest of him, check his torso and legs, but he looked kind big. Not as tall as Gale, but broad and stocky, with wide shoulders that were going to be a bitch to manover out of the mashed up wreck of his car if she guessed correctly.

She tried tapping on his window to get his attention. It would be easier to move him if he was conscious, also he could unlock the doors instead of them having to shatter the window or the windshield and pull him out. But the man in the car didn’t stir. She tapped louder, as she noticed the car’s radio was amazingly still going and it was still playing music.

Very familiar music.

Earth stood hard as iron

Water like a stone

Snow had fallen

Snow on snow on snow

In the bleak midwinter

Long, long ago

The version playing was a little known and even less played solo sung by a local artist. It brought back the sounds and stories of her childhood. It brought back the knife edge of pain and loss. That beautiful, effortless voice that sailed over the notes and floated down to mesh with the music was a sound so steeped in memory that for a moment she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, she was so caught off guard.

Then there was a pop and a whoosh, the sound of the air bag deflating, and with it the radio sputtered out and died. The disturbance finally seemed to arouse the unconscious driver.

The bluest eyes she’d ever seen blinked open and locked on her. She stood there staring right back at him, caught up in the bizareness of the situation.

Then her training kicked in.

She knocked on the window again and said in her most stern but calm voice, “Sir, you’ve been in an car accident. I need you to unlock your door and roll down the window so I can help you.”

The man stared at her, in confusion for a second, but then his left hand reached out to do as she had asked. The first thing he said to her when the window came down was not what she was expecting.

“Am I dead? Are you an angel? Do all angels frown like that?”

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lavenderdreams22 · 2 years

Note

can i have an eddie munson x reader request? where the reader just moved to hawkins and she’s from texas and has a country accent and wears cute cowboy boots and cute country outfits

The Southern Belle and the Freak - e.m.

A/N: Thank you for sending this in! The idea of Eddie with a southern belle made me want to scream it was so cute. Hopefully this is what you're looking for! I wasn’t completely sure how to depict the accent but I hope you like it ❤

Warnings: I don’t really think there are any, but if you need me to add something, please let me know.

Being the new kid a couple of months into your senior year of high school wasn’t really how you had planned for this year to go, but your dad had packed you up and moved you to Indiana, anyway. With every passing mile on the stretch of Interstate, you were missing your home more and more. Everything north of Missouri was boring, and it had you missing everything about Texas, about your home.

Once you arrived at your new house, a trailer in Forest Hills, you took a moment to look around. It seemed pretty empty, not many people hanging around on a Sunday morning. You half expected there to be a flock of people waiting to see who had bought the old, run down trailer in the back of the park, but even the few that were out paid you no mind. You kicked some rocks, your cowboy boots suddenly feeling very out of place, and, with a shudder, you finally let yourself feel the chill of the Indiana October air. Your dad kicked the door open, and beckoned you forward with a nod of his head.

Though this situation wasn’t ideal, you had never been one not to make the most of the situation, so you plastered on your best smile and followed him into the house. The rest of the night was spent listening to music with your dad, taking a short break to have dinner, and unpacking just enough to get you through the next day. That night, you laid awake, staring at the ceiling. You could have sworn you heard the faint sound of heavy metal in the distance. After tossing and turning for hours, you finally fell into a fitful sleep.

*****

Getting ready for your first day was harder than you expected, especially since you knew that none of your friends would be present when you finally got to school. You chewed on your bottom lip as you glanced at the clothes that you had hung in your closet the night before. You wanted to wear something that reminded you of home, so at least a little bit of that could be with you as you navigated your new school.

You chose a black t-shirt with a pair of jeans and your boots. The belt you wore had a buckle the size of your hand to pay homage to your real home. You braid your hair away from your face, smiling to yourself in the mirror, and wincing at how fake it looked, when you heard a knock at your door.

“Hey, darlin’, you ready to go?” Your dad poked his head in, giving you a bright smile. “I can’t be late to my first day, either!”

“I’m almost ready, I’ll be out in a second.” He gave you a nod and clicked the door closed behind him.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your jacket and school bag, and headed out the door.

*****

The day was going pretty smoothly, save for a few idiots who had mocked your outfit and accent. The term “country bumpkin” had been tossed around a bit, but you tried your best to ignore them as they mocked you in the hallways. You had expected this, but you had thought they would at least wait a day or two. As you glanced around the cafeteria, you spotted a table that looked the most harmless and made your way over.

“Hey, y’all mind if I sit here?” You asked, and their heads snapped up at the sound of your voice. Or, more likely, at the sound of your accent.

“Yeah, sure.” The long haired, brown eyed man that sat at the head of the table said, “You’re new here, right?”

“Today’s my first day.” You smiled at him. “Name’s Y/N.”

“Welcome to Hawkins High, Y/N.” His returning smile was vibrant, his eyes sparkling under the flourescent lights of the cafeteria.

“Thanks…” You trailed off, realizing a moment too late that you didn’t know his name.

“Eddie.” He offered, his smile widening to a grin, “Freak of Hawkins High, at your service.”

He stood to give you a dramatic bow that had your bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Well, Eddie, there sure ain't many guys like you where I come from.” You winked before finally taking a seat at the end of the table next to a boy who informed you that his name was Jeff.

Eddie picked his tray up and pulled his chair behind him to your side of the table, the feet dragging along the linoleum with a loud whine. As he stopped next to you, plopping down at the head of the table, Jeff shook his head, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You called yourself the freak of Hawkins High.” You rested your head on your hand, “What’d you do to deserve that title?”

One of the boys from the other end of the table let out a groan. This was apparently a conversation that they had had once or one hundred times.

“Well, Y/N, funny you should ask.” He gestured down to the shirt he was wearing. You read it as he started to speak again, “The people of Hawkins, Indiana don’t particularly like people that are different, or have different interests, and you just so happen to be looking at the local Dungeon Master of the one and only Hellfire Club.”

“Dungeon Master?” You asked, turning your head to eye the others. They all had matching shirts on.

“Dungeons and Dragons?” Jeff asked, “It’s a fantasy game.”

“Like Lord of the Rings?” You asked, turning your head back to Eddie. “I have a friend back in Houston that loved those books.”

“Kind of like Lord of the Rings, one could argue.” Eddie nodded, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands.

“Awesome, sounds like fun.” You grinned.

“Maybe I could teach you how to play sometime?” Eddie asked.

“Sounds like a damn good time.” You winked and he grinned again.

*****

The next couple of weeks passed, and you were happy to report that they were rather uneventful when your father had asked. You made sure to steer clear of the fact that you were learning a game that people said was linked to the Devil. Your Christian father would have a heart attack if he found out about it. He would probably call your Nana and have her fly out with some Holy Water from the church they had baptized you in to rid you of the evil spirit herself.

So, with a kiss blown in his general direction, a shouted goodbye, and a gentle closing of the door, you were off to Eddie’s quicker than he could argue or ask what the plans were. Bless his heart, he meant well, he really did, but he was just as brainwashed as the rest of them.

You couldn't wait to get to Eddie’s, and were pleased to find out that he only lived a few trailers up. You were even more excited to learn that he had been the source of the music you had heard on your first night here. Maybe he would play more of it for you tonight. Metal had always been something your dad had shied away from, preferring country music, and, up until now, you hadn’t really had the chance to explore it for yourself.

Shivering brought you out of your thoughts, and you pulled your dad’s heavy flannel closer around you, cursing yourself for not thinking to grab a cuter jacket. Your jean jacket that hung on the back of the door flashed in your mind, and another colorful curse passed your lips. Your cowboy boots were only doing so much to hide the skin of your legs from the chill, and your dress, though a cute pastel pink with spring flowers covering it, was about as much help as if you were wearing just your underwear.

Finally, after what felt like too long, you made it to Eddie’s front door. You knocked sharply, and you sighed in relief as Eddie opened the front door. He looked amazing, and you felt yourself warming up as he smiled down at you.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie pushed open the screen door, gesturing into the house with a dramatic swipe of his arm.

“Hey, Sugar.” You winked at him as you crossed the threshold, bending over to yank the boots off of your feet once you were in the safety of his home.

You could tell that this was where Eddie lived as you glanced around. There was a guitar leaning against the armchair in the living room, more than a dozen hats hanging from the wall, and the distinct smell of Eddie’s cologne. When you turned back to face him, he cleared his throat, hoping that you’d missed the way that his face had gone, and stayed, red at your words. You hadn’t missed it. In fact, you found yourself wanting to make him blush again.

“Don’t you own any other shoes?” He asked, trying to deter the conversation.

“Yes, but none that are warm enough. It’s like 20 degrees warmer there.” You tossed the boots by the door..

“Ah.” He nodded, “Makes sense. Good thing you look cute as hell in them.” That earned him a blush from you. He smiled triumphantly.

He bounded over to the coffee table in the living room, a board and figurines littered around it. He had pulled a few books out, and it all looked very organized. You had expected nothing less with how passionate he was about this particular hobby.

“Didn’t think you were serious about teachin’ me.” You smiled, “This looks like it could be fun!”

“‘Course I was serious. Take a seat, m’lady. Let the Master show you how it’s done.” He rubbed his hands together, a glint entered his eyes that you only ever saw when he talked about D&D.

“Bitchin’.” You clasped your hands together, mimicking his movements.

Eddie watched you for a moment, his hand hovering over one of the books. “You ever been told how cute your whole thing is?”

“Whole thing?” You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean, ‘whole thing’, darlin’?”

“The whole Southern Belle thing.” Eddie gestured vaguely over your form. “It’s cute.”

“Southern Belle?” You asked, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “You sure you don’t mean ‘country bumpkin'? That seems to be what everyone else thinks.”

“Sometimes, it takes the right person to see how beautiful the things we don’t always love about ourselves really are.” He shrugged.

“Wow, Eddie. Goin’ soft on me?” You blinked a few times.

“Absolutely, sweetheart.” He leaned over the table conspiratorially. “But we can keep this between the two of us. Can’t let the guys know that I’ve gone soft. They would eat me alive.”

“Wouldn’t dream of spillin’ your secrets, Munson.” You winked, “I’ll take it to my grave.”

He leaned back, and the two of you eyed each other for a moment longer before you turned your attention back to the board in front of you. “So, where do we start?”

That seemed to snap him out of it, and with a shake of his head he took in the game in front of him. You tried not to think of the fact that he had lost focus during D&D for you, but the thought crossed your mind about a dozen more times as you continued to catch him watching you as you worked on your character sheet and read through something in the book.

The two of you spent the rest of the night listening to music, playing D&D, laughing and flirting with each other. He slowly rounded the table so that he could be sitting right next to you, and every time you said something to make him laugh, his thigh brushed against yours. You wished the contact could be more constant, and for the first time since you had come to Hawkins, you weren’t even a little bit homesick.

And so the Southern Belle began to fall for the Freak of Hawkins High.

@batmanunicorns523

#answered #requested #eddie munson fluff #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #stranger things #st4 #eddie munson x reader #stranger things s4 #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson stranger things

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ambersock · 1 year

Text

First Lines Game

Rules: share the first lines of up to ten of your most recent fanfics and tag up to ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

tagged by @yourmadnesswon <3 <3

Chrysalis

The thin, jagged crack of light hovers undulating in the air in a beckoning dance, promising sanctuary on the other side.

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution.

He watches Dean pull the scythe back for the fatal strike and closes his eyes, half out of dread, half out of mercy.

Make All of My Nightmares Come True

Kearney, Missouri is miles behind them, and a chasm still fills the space between Dean, behind the wheel, and Sam, pretending to try to sleep on the passenger side. Sam is supposed to be getting some shut-eye so he can take over driving in a few hours, but he’s still wound up and sleep won’t come despite the soft rock Dean put on.

Your own brother trying to kill you will do that.

Threshold

He’s standing at the threshold, but he can’t quite seem to make himself go any further. The double doors in front of him challenge him, judging, questioning, repudiating his worthiness. It’s difficult to find the will within himself to move forward, but going back is not an option. Not anymore.

Enemy Within

Bobby and Sam pull into the drive that leads to the burned-out shell that was once Bobby’s home. The place where Sam and Dean could once turn to when they needed to regroup and lick their wounds. The place that once was the only occasional island of stability Sam knew other than the Impala.

With ice cold hands takin’ hold of me

“I think you’ll want to see this for yourself.”

He doesn’t, as a rule, concern Himself with individuals; they are not in and of themselves important to the whole of the species. They are molecules of water compared to the tide, necessary, providing a medium to shape a pattern, but one more or less has little impact in the grander scheme.

Taking Care of Business

He’s just settled in with a glass of Craig and The Drama of the Gifted Child when the King of Hell is interrupted by the irritating sound of a throat being cleared. He shuts his eyes and pushes aside the urge to disintegrate the offender. There is a delicate balance between instilling the correct level of fear and retaining enough staff to run a functioning court.

Penny for your Thoughts

In retrospect, Garth should’ve known better. 20-20 hindsight is a harsh mistress.

He should’ve known that the automatic fight-or-flight reaction causes muscles to tense, not relax. He should’ve stepped in front of Dean again, blocked his line of fire. He should’ve made sure that the gun was pointed away from Sam before he threw the punch.

Convergence

Bright dim bright dim bright dim

We need bait that fits the demo… Chain around neck choking… I don’t think I want it back…

Filet of Soul

Sam glances across the Impala to the passenger seat to Dean, who has finally conked out, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts in the aftermath of nearly losing him to an Amazon.

“Now isn’t that ironic. And here you thought we were the unstable one.”

Almost alone.

No-pressure tags, just including some folks who I know are writers and might enjoy participating. Apologies to anyone I didn't tag because I can't keep different Tumblr/AO3 handles straight; please consider yourself tagged!

@wilsonthemoose @adirotynd @a-wondrous-thing @petrichorsam @quickreaver @themegalosaurus @trials-era-sam @tigerlilynoh

#first lines game #spn fics #my fics #gen fics

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sunfoxfic · 1 year

Note

I am inquiring for information pertaining to your Fangirl Alternate Universe.

why are you still awake at this late hour. (I am still awake at this late hour bc I just finished reading Fangirl.) Anyway,

Adrien as Cath, Felix as Wren, Marinette as Levi, Luka as Reagan.

I sincerely doubt you've read Fangirl so I will, of course, elaborate.

Adrien and Felix (identical twins in this AU) are starting their first year of college together in some Midwestern state, probably Missouri because I'm rather fond of Missouri (I'd do my current state in the Northeast but the original state is set in Nebraska and it really needs that Midwestern vibe tbh.)

Adrien writes fanfiction. Lots and lots and lots of fanfiction. He lives in fanfiction. He loves it. After his father left, it kept him safe - fanfiction means something.

(About what? TBD. I'm considering doing something witty and making it about superheroes, someone suggested Naruto, I could always keep it Simon Snow - I did read Carry On a few years ago - but the main point is, he likes fanfiction. Probably gay fanfiction.)

After so many years together, Felix is now insisting they part ways for college, and Adrien - to his horror - has to deal with a randomly assigned roommate.

This ends up being Luka Couffaine. Who is... different. A little bit older. Cooler, more confident. He decidedly does not write fanfiction - and he's almost certainly not someone Adrien could talk with about fanfiction. And now Felix is pushing away, too, leaving Adrien alone.

Luka's girlfriend (girlfriend?) Marinette is also constantly hanging around the dorm, and despite everything, she's... different. Kind. Sweet. She seems interested in Adrien for who he is.

(AKA one of the most self indulgent AUs I've ever made. Kart, do you remember when I messaged you about the fake marriage AU and gave almost no context? I know you know almost nothing about that AU but more self indulgent then even that AU, which is very fucking self indulgent. Also, they'd both have the same "Alternate Universe - America" tag.)

#asks answered #ultrakart #ml #ml au #fangirl au #technically marinette as cath and adrien as levi makes more sense personality wise #and bending felix into wren is proving to be REAL FUCKING DIFFICULT #but if marinette is cath then i need to figure out a twin for her which is. :/#the only really good thing about marinette cath adrien levi would be alya reagan #which means past alyadrien which honestly fucking rocks askdlajfsdk #tbh adrien WOULD love range management

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weabooweedwitch · 1 year

Note

I say this as someone who's followed you for years and with as much kindness as possible:

Get the fuck away from your mother. Ditch her fuckin ass. She's repeatedly making things worse and refuses to learn. You need to get away from her, for your own good.

I know I might be repeating what other people have said, or even what you have thought of doing, but holy shit this bitch is actively ruining your life through sheer stupidity.

I hope things get better

I feel bad that people have to keep giving me this kind of advice because I realize it's the most obvious answer, and there are multiple reasons separating from my mother would be good for us both. I feel bad that i keep sharing all these worrying stories and worrying people and then at the end of the day, I'm way too scared to actually try and fix things. I just worry so much about not being able to take care of myself, not being able to drive, what if I go somewhere and it's harder if not impossible for me to get to work, just. I worry about everything. Honestly the thing that worries me the most is keeping my job or not being able to transfer if I went somewhere else. My wage is currently $19 an hour, my 58 yo mom was making $22, so like, I'm helping hold it all together with rent BECAUSE of that income. I'm so scared of losing that.

I've had people ask if there's any family I can go to and the only possible option would be maybe my father who is in another state, I cannot remember if it is in Illinois or Missouri (ugh, they may have passed recreational weed but thats the only good thing thats came outta thar state in like the last 2 decades). And I don't know if that would be good either. But it's an option I'm beginning to consider. But I am sort of still in the reconnecting process with my dad and we've butted heads a few times and he also has his own physical and emotional issues. Actually I think he is where I inherited a lot of mental illness from because he also has an anxiety disorder and we are almost positive he has equinus like me. He also has developed type 2 diabetes and I am really bad with sugar impulse control, what if I hurt my dad because I can't stop bringing sweets into the house and he eats them too 🥺

It just. Personally makes me hate myself to even think of "hiya pops, we've barely spoken in the last 10 years, I've been really ahitty about talking to you consistently since we've said hi again and lost my temper with you a few times, hey I know you're on a fixed income and out of a job right now (or was, maybe he has one now, we've spoken so little idk) but is it OK if I come live in your house as a whiny codependent barely functioning weed addict of an adult?" 😅

But yeah I just. This is really. It just never ends. I keep fighting myself and beating myself up on "who's right, am I right, am I wrong, am I overreacting, whats going on, what do I do, someone tell me what to do because I'm too stupid to do things right" and it's just. I also still love my mother even if that love is being increasingly mixed with resentment. I worry about her ability to take care of herself because her health is getting worse and, like, I worry about her mentally a lot. Like this tooth infection she has, is because she doesn't have the best dental hygiene, and had fillings and such, and even after needing fillings still takes shit care of her teeth, and was putting off getting like broken teeth and such taken care of, and, they're now having to pull SEVEN of her back teeth. She'll need dentures to eat certain foods now. And I'm not better, I basically stopped brushing my teeth for many years because I literally expected to be dead before they rotted out of my mouth and now I'm scrambling to adopt that routine again, and also like.

Sorry but my mom and a dentist literally lied to me when i was a little girl and said i had several cavities because they thought i would be scared into brushing my teeth and all that did was convince me everything was pointless and needed to give up since it was already damaged, and she refuses to apologize or even acknowledge how that literally helped me develop a complex and felt helpless when SHE LIED TO ME, A CHILD, HER CHILD (and also i think my difficulty keeping routines is a combination just needing to apply myself and having adhd issue because like, I've been pretty good with my skincare at least)

I just. I love her but I hate her. If I'm not careful to keep myself calm I'm going to escalate to the physical level. And to be honest I've had the opinion for many years that, all those times my mom told extremely age inappropriate stories to little tiny baby Miranda about her experiences with assault and domestic violence, even as a kid I would think, "well you like don't listen, you shut people down, you insist youre always right, I want to hit you all the time too, maybe it wasn't them but maybe you got yourself hit by constantly pushing everyone around you to their breaking point" like clearly that's not a healthy thought to have and I. I am kind of convinced at this point that almost every single bad thing that had ever happened to this woman was her own fault in some way shape or form. But you could also say that about me

What's scary is that I can't even think of going anywhere without having savings first and I'm constantly being pushed to my limits to the point I don't HAVE any savings, it's all getting sucked up. I dunno how else I can get out of this pit and I'm just, mentally worn down from any entire life of this. I feel useless and exploited at home and then I go to work and feel useless and exploited at work and by society. Like. Life feels so bleak. My Canadian friend is getting in worse health. I still have a lot of affection for him but he's also uh done and said a few things I really disagree with on personal levels and it, gives me some pause, like. I genuinely am so sad all the time. I need to go back to the psychiatrist to get some medicines again but, I am working and making enough money that after my state insurance expires in October, I'll have to go through my work, and that doesn't 100% cover everything so, j wouldn't be able to afford anything at that point

Just. Ugh. I try to write down my thoughts and listen to music and try to write on my other blog to cheer myself up but I just. What can you do right. What am I good for. What is anyone good for. What is this world itself good for. Our entire species is gonna go extinct with climate change anyways. Why should I keep struggling and suffering like this when it's. Idk. Arguably all for nothing. We'll all be nothing more than just dogs following commands and paying bills until we die

#im just very. im on autopilot. i cant think about hurting myself because the desire is there #and i dont want to think about it to the point i do it #i just keep trying to redirect my thoughts and distract myself #but this sucks. everything sucks. my country sucks. my species sucks. my planet sucks. my skin. my hair. my body. my voice. my age #my arms my legs my eyes my ears my heart my soul my hopes my dreams it all fucking sucks #i just have to keep drinking or smoking and playing phone games until the bad thoughts go away

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belphegor1982 · 1 year

Text

Third vignette of my “Extreme Measures”/“Ouroboros” missing moments :o) Still very spoilery for season 5, natch. As usual, I’ll include a link to AO3 in a reblog, so it shows in the comments.

Jigsaw Pieces

Chozen, uneasy

Daniel, adrift

Amanda, sleepless

Sam, shaken

Johnny, fixing things

Daniel, not alone

Amanda resists the urge to check the time on her phone. Time means nothing when you’re flying between time zones. The plane left Ohio at 4AM, and after a five-hour flight it will be 6AM in LA when they arrive. She might as well be travelling through time.

She does, however, steal a glance at Anthony a few seats away. It’s easier and more discreet than craning her neck to check on Sam, a few rows behind her. She’s antsy about the three of them being split up like this, but they were lucky to find a redeye at all and beggars can’t be choosers.

Anthony is sleeping soundly, his face turned away from her, toward the window. Sam spent a long time scrolling on her phone, but the last time her mother saw her, the fatigue and the late hour had taken their toll and she had fallen asleep, too. Most of the other passengers have. The sounds of snoring punctuated by occasional snorts can be heard under the AC and the dull roar of the motors.

Amanda doubts she’ll even doze off in the next few hours. There is too much on her mind to let her sleep, even though she knows she’s well past the age where she can afford an all-nighter without feeling like crap for a couple of days afterwards.

Two recent conversations are playing in her mind on a loop, overlapping each other: her long talk with Jessica, interrupted by a bar fight and later continued over a glass of wine after Sam and Anthony went to bed, and the phone call with Chozen around midnight that is the reason she and the kids are now on a plane, somewhere over Missouri or Kansas.

“Silver really did everything to isolate him,” Jessie said, her eyes sad, “while making Daniel think he was the only one who could help him. Every time I saw Daniel he had fresh bruises, or hurt his foot, or his knuckles were all raw, but he brushed everyone off, even Mr. Miyagi.”

Amanda’s breath stilled in her chest.

“You mean… Did Silver ever—”

“No,” said Jessie quickly, before wincing a little. “At least I don’t think so. But he manipulated Daniel into believing this violence was what he needed, and that’s… In hindsight, a grown man using that kind of psychological torture on a kid not even eighteen years old? What the hell, right?

“And when the truth came out and Daniel went back with Mr. Miyagi to train, he kinda just… shut down for a while. Concentrated on karate a hundred percent. I had to come back home and I knew he was safe with Mr. Miyagi, but in hindsight I wish I could’ve stayed for the tournament. He needed to see he didn’t have just one person in his corner, especially with that horrible man across the mat.”

Chozen was more succinct, but something about the news he’d delivered echoed Jessica’s words.

“Daniel-san got angry with man on Silver’s payroll. Went back later to apologise.” He paused for a second, inhaled a sharp breath. “I should have come with him, not left him alone. Silver ambushed him.”

“Ambushed?” Amanda asked, an edge in her voice, making a conscious effort not to speak too loudly to avoid waking up her mother in the next room.

“Hai. He was lying in wait. Threatened your children, taunted Daniel-san, and attacked him.”

This time there was a definite catch in Amanda’s voice when she asked, “Attacked him how? What did he do to him?”

“I don’t know yet. Waiting for news from doctor at hospital.”

The next minute, she was firing up her mom’s ancient desktop computer to look for overnight plane tickets to California, still on the phone with Chozen.

She had never intended to leave Daniel, not for good, not even at the height of her anger as she packed her bag after the fiasco at the charity auction. Sure, she was furious with him and his obsession with Terry Silver; the way he made it sound, sometimes, the man was an evil robber baron and Daniel the last honest sheriff west of the Mississippi. But she needed time to cool off and, she figured, he needed the wakeup call.

The thing is, this is not the first time that Daniel has cried wolf. Amanda has seen him fixated before – on Johnny, on Kreese, on anything directly or indirectly approaching Cobra Kai – though never to the point of obsession. After a rough start Johnny turned out to be a flawed but decent human being Amanda found surprisingly easy to get along with, and while John Kreese is much more dangerous than she initially thought, his bad deeds eventually caught up with him and landed him in prison. Good riddance. He’s given her the creeps since the first time she’s seen him and really understood what Daniel, Johnny and especially the kids – all of them – were dealing with.

Terry Silver, however, was soft-spoken and charming, repentant about whatever he’d done in the past that Daniel wouldn’t elaborate on, and had firmly condemned Kreese’s actions and general… Kreeseness.

And despite her own mistrust of the man, Amanda fell for it hook, line and sinker.

Sure, hindsight is supposed to be twenty-twenty, but how could she watch the man she loves – the man she’s lived with for the past two decades – vibrate with fury as he stared at Silver, and think “rivalry”, not “fear”? She knows every nuance of Daniel’s smile, every crease of his eyebrows, all the different ways his hands flitter and flex, and she couldn’t look past the grudge and see the victim?

Daniel has never made any secret of the fact that he was bullied as a teenager, quite the contrary. But that’s different. Johnny and his little Cobra Kai gang were peers, for one. And there is an endgame to the way he’ll talk sometimes about trying to slip fresh bruises past his mother’s notice or getting run down a steep hill on his bike, almost some kind of moral to the story; it comes down to I was bullied, and karate (Mr. Miyagi) saved me. Like the second part softened the memories, somehow, or at least made the first part liveable. Balance, in a way. But the second Johnny resurrected the Cobra Kai dojo, that balance swiftly went out the window and Daniel went from being a somewhat grounded reformed hothead to knee-jerk responses to the lightest provocations – and from a layered but ultimately uncomplicated man to a jigsaw puzzle with critical pieces missing.

It’s not even about Johnny himself, no matter Daniel’s claims in the beginning. It was clear, from the moment Amanda saw Johnny Lawrence for the first time, he and Daniel making each other murder eyes over raised fists in her otherwise tranquil patio, that Daniel was too annoyed by Johnny to be afraid of him.

And now she knows it’s not fully about John Kreese, either.

The most shaken she’s seen Daniel so far was that night last December, when he stormed out after they found their home in shambles and their daughter rattled and hurt. He came back bleeding, tiny shards of glass still clinging to his hair, with the news that the kids of the Valley – and, incidentally, their family – would finally be safe from Cobra Kai if his and Johnny’s students beat Kreese’s at the next tournament.

He was still, then, almost calm, but she’d spotted the remnants of terror lurking in his eyes. She just hadn’t really understood the reason for that until even later that night, when they were holding each other in a hotel bed with the kids sharing the next room.

“I almost killed him,” Daniel murmured, and her eyes popped open in the dark. “He was choking Johnny when I got there, and he’d sent those kids after Sam – I was so angry – he was holding a piece of glass and he said I’d…” He paused, then continued, “I disarmed him and he was down, and I almost killed him anyway.”

Amanda swallowed and tried in vain to calm her racing heart. There was a lot of unpack there.

“But you didn’t, babe,” she whispered back fiercely. “What could have happened doesn’t count, okay? Our family’s safe, Johnny’s safe, the kids are safe – even the wannabe Rambo lunatic is safe, no matter how badly I wish we could’ve shoved that damn snake up his… gi.”

It was a half joke, and in poor taste at that, but Daniel’s little huff of laughter against her collarbone and the way his shoulders relaxed slightly was a victory. Neither of them slept much that night, though.

In retrospect, he wasn’t scared of Kreese as much as of himself that evening. And the tentative friendship between him and Johnny has done both men a lot of good, even after their partnership fell through.

No, Daniel only truly started to unravel when Terry Silver waltzed back into his life. And unlike Johnny’s rough and tumble attitude, unlike Kreese’s blend of physical threat and manipulation, outwardly Silver was grace and elegance and magnanimity. Look at me, he seemed to say in everything but words, how harmless I am, how polite and refined. How rude and unreasonable this silly little man is being.

It was only on the plane to Ohio that Amanda realised – belatedly – how patronising he was being beneath the veneer of affability. And it didn’t hit her until later that he wasn’t patronising to her, but to Daniel.

She thought that being a woman and working in cars, especially from a managerial position, taught her everything about being talked down to, sneered at, or sent away with a metaphorical pat on her head to fetch ‘someone who knows his business’. She’s so used to having to smile while checking for cracks in her armour that it never occurred to her that her husband could present a more vulnerable target.

And on top of everything, that abusive piece of shit threatened their kids?

Amanda takes a deep breath, shoves back down the fury, the fear and the guilt – again – and turns in her seat to check on her son and her daughter one more time.

They’re still asleep.

Good. There’s a long way to go yet.

______________________

(see you in a couple of days for the next one? 💜)

#cobra kai #fanfiction #my stuff

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stormtrprinstilettos · 2 years

Note

Why the fuck Lubbock? And why did you run away from home? And how can I do that?

Music led me here. For real. Okay, so get out the popcorn because I'm going to just lay everything out to answer everyone at the same time. You'll also get to see how my brain works.

I hated the way my life was going at home and I felt myself going (more?) insane because everything was falling apart. And then my dog died and that made me completely go off the deep end. So, one day I ended things with the boy (that was never supposed to be a relationship, but it ended up going there) and the next day I quit my job. I sold my shit, packed a couple of suitcases and got in the car and left.

I drove to Baton Rouge and stopped for lunch at Jack in the Box and pulled out my phone and had no idea where to go or what I was doing. I considered just staying in Baton Rouge, but it was too close to home. Got back in the car and hit shuffle on Spotify and Bob Dylan came on and I immediately associated that with Highway 61, so I decided to go on a road trip. And when I got to Rolling Fork, Mississippi, birthplace of Muddy Waters, I started thinking about my grandpa and all the music he taught me about and the artists he taught me about (Muddy Waters being one of the artists). So I was like, yes, I'm going to Memphis, because Memphis is music, right? (Just bear with me.) So as I'm in Sun Studios, enjoying the music, chatting with this guy working there about how cool it must be to work there, a Johnny Cash song comes on and I think to myself, "Bruh, I've never been to where Johnny Cash is from."

That night, whilst enjoying some good ass Memphis BBQ, I pull up the map and see that Dyess, Arkansas, birthplace of Johnny Cash, was like, less than an hour away. So the next day I drove there and was standing in Johnny Cash's boyhood home and I was like "this is cool as shit." So my next thought was that I was going to Nashville, but I'm not into the new country stuff, so I decided against Nashville. And I thought about how my last trip was out east so I decided to go west.

So I was like, "hell yeah, Route 66!" which is my favorite road trip ever. I considered going up to Chicago to start at the actual starting point, but decided to just start in St. Louis. And then a couple of days later I was sitting at a picnic table outside of this cute ass place in Cuba (Missouri) and I felt so fucking free for the first time ever in my life. Road trip, alone, no plans, not having to depend on anyone else, able to make my own decisions and do whatever I wanted to do. I could go where I wanted, stay for however long I wanted, and I was fucking loving myself and life for the first time in a long ass time.

Look, driving Route 66 with the sunroof open and windows down (would have been cooler if I had a convertible, but I digress), listening to old ass music with the sunglasses on was liberating in a way I can't even explain. Never thought that would be my moment, but it was.

Fast forward a few days and nights and I'm sitting on the patio at this dive bar in Amarillo, enjoying a beer and this dude playing his guitar and singing, and this man and his wife/girlfriend ask if they can sit at the table with me. Of course, since I'm feeling like a new person, I smile and nod and we end up having a great time. They were nice people, and I wanted to cry because they were so nice. Dude singing starts playing a song that was familiar enough that I was humming along with it, but I couldn't remember the name/artist, and it was annoying me because I usually know my shit about music, and I said "ugh, I know this song but I can't remember who sang it." And the man said, "that's Buddy Holly!"

And that's how I ended up in Lubbock.

#from bob dylan to #buddy holly #adventures in bex's life

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lxwhxnxrcxyxte · 4 months

Text

the two enemies in the west of Valentine

(this is based in rdr2 online 👍🏼)

nsfw warning anal fingering and lap sitting enjoy

this took me from 4:35 am to 637 am

Withered Rosé swann

Gender: M

Hair color: black

Eye color: almost white baby blues

Height: 6’3

Sexuality: in denial of bisexuality aka thinks he’s straight

-|-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Details: he is for the most part gentle and kind he has a journal which he often writes in and draws in regularly he’s clingy like a puppy when he’s had to much to drink for the most part he’s a top until it comes to a certain antagonist, he’s the main protagonist of the story a certified good boah, he’s a caring high honor big boah

(You can skip this)

_________________________________

His horses name: Xnaide

Horse breed: the brindle Missouri Fox Trotter from online

Horse details:

Gender: male

Color: brown with black brindle and a white face

Speed: 10

Bonding with Withered: 4/MAX

_________________________________

(A moth landed on me and it was the color of a leaf 😭… by the way I’m 42 minutes into writing this 💀)

_________________________________

Dakota (don’t have a middle or last name it’s my friends character)

Gender: male

Hair color: black

eye color: brown

Height: 6’6

Sexuality: straight but gay for a certain cow poke

-|-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Details: he is rough and unkind the opposite of withered doesn’t journal a decent painter & photographer

Curses out of pocket hilariously when drunk and gets in tussles in the bars

full on top dude not clingy but is touch starved -|- certified evil boah genuinely is a train robber and bank robber.

Uncaring almost low honor boah

_________________________________

“Agh! Fuck…!” Withered groaned as his head hit the wagons side as he was held hostage by Dakota and his bad driving causing Withered’s head to hit the side

“Oh shut up Withered why don’t ya?!” Dakota growled keeping the shire horses steady so the wagon goes right but just enough for Withered to be slung around

“Not my damn fault you keep slamming me around back here!”Withered whined

“I’ll break your legs if you don’t shut the hell up Swann!” Dakota hissed

“No you won’t!, my boys’ll tear you to shreds when they get out the sheriffs!” Withered growled back before he gets slammed into the back of the wagon and gets knocked out…

_________________________________

Part 2

Soon later withered woke up but he was tied to a tree forced to remain on his knees as the cold air hit his half revealed stomach that was from his hands being tied behind him he looked around squinting he must’ve been out for quite a few hours “ah darn… ouch..” The back of his neck hurt so bad he turned his head checking if he had the same clothes and he didn’t exactly he had the same gloves on and bandanna on, but who changed him.. “wha- oh well shit.” He groaned hoping that Dakota hadn’t done anything

Dakota came near Withered “sorry it rained while you were out so you know..” he smirked with that smile of his as Withereds face slightly turned red “damn you Dakota! You pervert!”

He growled back at Dakota as He grabbed withereds collar “suck it up kitty, you are under my hold and would you prefer being soaked or dry? Eh? Didn’t think so.”

He dropped withered as he walked away and the next morning Dakota unties withered and makes withered do a large amount of work

>______________________________<

Part 3 NSFW warning 18+

Pining, rough sex, Hate sex, bottoming, Dakota being an ass, overstimulation

“C’mere Withered.” Dakota said as he pulled Withered to him and pulled him on his lap “Dakota- what’re you-“

Dakota put his hand on withereds mouth and put his hand in Withereds trousers and moved his hand around “Dakota!” He said muffled his face turning red as he slightly shivered from the touch then he gave in to the touch and Dakota pushed Withered onto the cot and got on top of him after pulling his hand out and then pulling Withereds pants down and grabbing a tin of lube and used it on Withered and slipped one finger in readying him for what was next before shoving his length in “hnnmmmh~” Withered moaned slightly as Dakota started carefully thrusting in withered before starting to go more roughly getting a few moans from him before shoving his head into the pillow and then overstimulating Withered a bit too much before cleaning up and helping Withered get dressed “your gonna be sore heh..” Dakota said

_________________________________the next night they leave the camp after packing up and Dakota brings Withered to a enemy camp

-6:37 my hands started cramping the nsfw would have been longer if my hands weren’t sore 👍🏼 keep an eye out for a update

Part 4 (warning: Male prostitution, other themes 18+)

Withered was tied to another tree in the camp, it was the o’Driscolls, it just had to be the damn O’Driscolls, he sees someone he knew….

_________________________________

[Caseallo]

Gender: Male

Hair color: dirty blonde

Eye doctor: Gray

Height: 5’4 (smol boah..)

Details: can take a length if yk what I mean, gentle top, loud bottom, an innocent drunk except his job… used to be a artist regularly gentle unless angry never gets mad if he’s fond of the person he’s around just slightly irritated for the most part bottom

Very low honor boah -|-

_________________________________

“Caseallo…?” Withered said surprised to see his friend

“Withered-??, I thought Janell killed you-..” Caseallo stared down at Withered who was injured beaten and tied up “she didn’t get the chance to I mean she poisoned me but I survived.. it hurt like hell” Withered said pausing for a second “Why are you with the o’Driscolls eh….?”

He hissed his face turned a grimace as he forced himself to his feet the rope’s creaking as he moved up “I uh….needed the money, and uh…you’re a lot taller than you were..”

Caseallo mumbles

“I was 13 when you LET Janell poison me, OF COURSE I have grown since then….” He growled

“I’m sorry!!” Caseallo looked terrified

“Oh how easy you are to frighten traitor, get out of my sight.” Caseallo left and fumbled to get into a tent as Dakota stepped in front of Withered “my….my so…Agressive…” He chuckled lowering a knife to Withereds neck daring to let his blood spill “eat shit cocksucker.” He growled at Dakota “oh that wasn’t what you were saying when you were under my mercy earlier…” he laughed at withered as his free hand traced the outline of Withereds chest “oh but I wonder what your wife will think about that Dakota…. Your wife who has a child that is yours, tell her she can come in my bed sheets she probably hasn’t had a real guy before…” he laughed at him, Dakota drew blood from withereds throat causing him to gag “keep my wife out of your mouth!” He dug the knife deep and got a idea “oh you’re gonna regret saying that” he said before kicking withered in the head and forcing him onto his knees and Dakota undid his pants “What’re you-“ Withered managed to say before Dakota shoved his dick into Withereds throat thrusting immediately causing withered to gag going at it for a few minutes before releasing cum into Withereds throat and then grabbed his hair tie pulling his head backwards and shoving his dick deeper Withered was going to bite but Dakota held his mouth open before releasing again thrusting more “mmmphhh-“ Withered tried to say something but it was muffled Dakota let him go as cum dripped out of his mouth “f-fuck…” he groaned trying to spit it out to no avail “damn you…” he said trying to get his ropes loose and managed to get one hand out before getting knocked out and then waking up to the sound of gunfire and then he managed to get loose and walked out slightly stumbling and wiping the drool from his mouth from sleeping and he saw Caseallo shooting at two of Withereds gang members and Withered managed to tackle both of them and get them out of the range of bullets and they managed to escape from the o’Driscolls and withered’s gang gets out of jail

_________________________________

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im-a-heartstomper · 9 months

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i propose to you:

gotg au where... most of them are human!

okay i don't have a real name for it... BUT. HEAR ME OUT. it's 1998. quill is taken out of the room after watching his mother die. he doesn't know what to do. so he runs. he runs as far as he possibly can, and before he knows it, he's completely lost. after a few hours, two men named kraglin and yondu find him, and give him a place to stay. they try and find his legal guardian, but they just... can't.

they aren't able to get him to speak for a couple of days, but when they finally do, they learn his name, and they learn he's from Missouri. and they live in Tennessee (yes, before you ask, this is specifically so i can make ONE joke if I ever write anything for this) so they're really confused. they ask how he got there before they saw him, and he reluctantly tells them. they partly feel bad for him, and the other part is just confused. because how could a boy of his size and age run all the way from missouri to the middle of tennessee in just a couple hours? let alone without stopping?!

now, at this point, he's only with one of them at a time. he's not really sure why, but one of them is always out. unbeknownst to him, these two adults he's put his life into the hands of are in a gang called the ravagers. they go out, one at a time, either to go shopping, deal with business within the ravagers, or try to find a way to get peter home. no one knows about peter but them. at least not yet.

eventually, they give up on getting peter home. of course, they don't tell him that. he wants to leave. as he gets older, he finds out about the gang and joins it. they don't do anything special, just small robberies and the occasional fight with other ravagers. whenever he has the time to get away from everything, he likes to sit under a tree. he named this tree Groot. Once, under the tree, he met a raccoon. he named it rocket and begged yondu to keep it. yondu pretended to hate the idea, and "reluctantly" said yes. this was hard, considering it was wild, but peter was hard to say no to.

sometimes he would walk around town growing up, and he met this girl named Gamora. well. he saw her. and thought she was pretty. and saw her other times too. he would always try and think of what to say if he ever talked to her, and he finally figured it out.

"are you from tennessee? because you're the only ten i see..."

"what the fuck"

after that... awkward encounter, they become friends, he shows her groot after they become close, and everything is great. (they're like 18/19 for this. yes, im pushing them closer together in age.) there's this record store they enjoy going to there. the only employee they ever see there, however, is this old man with tattoos all over him. he always wears a tank top and pants, he always greets them with the same "hello" when they walk in, and he never smiles. over time, they get to know him, and learn that he has a family. well, that he used to.

one day, they meet this girl named mantis. they both immediately think, "that's a weird name" "who names their kid after a bug?"

she's here to attend college nearby, and despite her lackluster social skills, she quickly befriends them. she just seems to know exactly how they feel all the time. one day, they propose going to her dorm to get snacks, because she somehow always has the best snacks with her when they have a fun day out. so they do, but her dad just happens to stop by for a visit, which makes mantis very tense for some reason. he introduces himself as ego, and said he was on his way to missouri, and just HAD to visit his daughter before he went over there. so gamora and peter introduce themselves in return, which seems to make mantis far more uncomfortable. ego takes a long look at peter, who only introduced himself by his first name, and says "quill?"

"uhh, yes, sir?"

"son of meredith quill?"

"...yes, sir."

"well, it seems like you and mantis here are related."

welllll that's all i have time to write, but that's okay. im probably going to turn this into a story anyway so why spoil what i have planned? thanks for reading y'all 🥹

#gotg #au #guardians of the galaxy

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the-firebird69 · 9 months

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There's so much going on today there's definitely too few people here at the laundromat or too few people trying to get here. So they're saying they're calm before the storm and so forth. They're a bunch of young Ms greens they're very evil and mean and we have to beat them up right now. Other than that everything is going that we said one would go in the eastern hemisphere Stan is under brutal attack and his areas are being swarmed over by idiots they're firing rapidly they are pushing them back and pushing them out and it's going to be a long day and it's going to be a lot of them gone tons of things as a matter of fact it's going to be a very large pile of them that are going to buy the farm we don't have any confidence and them that they're going to do well.

-I also going on today we have three ships coming out of the mouth of the river the Mississippi at this time and they're 3 miles each and they are steaming out by the way fast for some reason not really sure why it look behind them there's nothing and in front of them might be crabs coming in and it will mess them up if they wait so they calculate they can get by We Believe the next shifts will have problems there's three more coming out the Missouri in about 5 minutes and they are going to go really fast 300 miles an hour and they're loaded so the crabs might stay clear yes the others will have to wait possibly and it's costly for them they sometimes have to burn fuel just sit there right now we see six ships behind on each River probably 15-20 minutes behind and they're looking on satellite and it's saying we don't think you're making and depends on the size now so they're thinking about breaking out the weaponry and it passed the wall now in a sense as it don't break it out until you pass the wall and you have to go past it aways and aim it down so they're thinking of doing it and DJ thanks him he says that's good advice and they're starting to prep the weapons and I think they're going to go for it beaming out there and hit a bunch that far off they made actually go backwards it's not the goal but it's not going to stop the major Entourage as a matter of fact you'll check more and DJ is okay and he's telling the other ships not to come down so they're putting on some steam they're up to 200 and they'll be at the mouth of the river in about 5 or 10 minutes and they're arming and they're thinking people and it's going to go pretty good they say they think that we have a few other issues

-everybody sticks to him and when he has an idea they say it's theirs we'll just cover and stuff and the people doing it know who it is but it's burned annoying there's too many people doing it and they're huge assholes about it and it's not needed so calling for that to end and end it you have to stop them here we're sending in troops and people just doesn't seem to let the whistle so we're going to do construction projects and this morning we submitted 500 in Port Charlotte and 300 in punta Gorda and the building inspectors were outraged and said we can't possibly review these and we told him to stay of emergency and the special rules regarding it and we had it writing and he said what are we supposed to do any Reddit and it says you're supposed to seek help and the federal government will reimburse the town so he called the town up and they said it's true so they're going to review the plans and they're going to hopefully approve it we are getting ready to go on several projects and they have already been pre-approved and they were in the planning department for like a year and we took them over so they're sitting there trying to figure out what to do and we hear them saying no and all this and can't do that and we're waiting for approval and we suddenly heard something on the radio they have 1600 people coming to town to help review these plans and we said oh that's not good and we do know that the number means so the max are intercepting people and only the ones they listed are allowed in and it is $1,600 inspectors because that's bigger than a Massachusetts militia and they start laughing it's like three times the size so it's going on now and yeah he was guessing but malicious that's really sounds a real small back then

-it's shaping up but Stan is getting beat up and out of his total areas of 70 I think we said in the eastern hemisphere about 60 are under siege and in a serious way about 40 emptying out and we're within the hour will be empty and we'll move in to take over there are several other things happening

-there are Viking bases in the Eastern hemisphere it also under attack strict attack and all of 30 of them and that's all of them. It is the morlock and they're seeking all the bases and they have overrun them quickly and it's their areas of operation. They're doing it all today and we think it is to cause motivation here it will fall flat as it always does and they'll be refugees from the tattered areas and they will take it out on the leadership as they normally do and we expect a lot of the leaders to die sometimes that's who's invading by the way it's hard to tell they all look the same in about 20 minutes we'll have more news but

-the bullocks are attacking the clones at the deep Roots ships they are attacking the empire at all of their bases in the Eastern hemisphere every single one of them is under strict attack it is not new but it is fierce and they brought heavy and is large a little bit larger than the last attack and it is going on right now and they're attacking the Sasha bases with gusto and they're attacking all of them it is terrible that's what they're doing it's terrible because they haven't made any progress that's real

More shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

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backtothestart02 · 1 year

Text

A Visit from a Friend - 1/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: I watched the Titans pilot and loved it, so I thought maybe Dick and Rachel could be headed for STAR Labs in Central City! Lol. Not sure how long this'll be or if it'll even have resolution, but enjoy! (There will be some westallen jealousy in this also, even though it's set when WA are already dating in s3, minus the Savitar SL).

...

Synopsis: There's only one person Dick trusts with a situation like Rachel's. He wears red and is really, really fast.

...

Chapter 1 -

The sun rose up over the horizon around 5:30 a.m. the following morning. Dick had been driving for almost 10 hours straight, but he knew it’d be worth it, in the end, to get to the destination where Rachel would be safe.

He didn’t know what exactly had happened in that old, run-down church he’d rescued her from. All he knew was one moment she was screaming for help, and the next she went silent, and something was attacking her kidnapper. Was it Rachel or someone else in the room? If it was Rachel, what did that mean?

He’d been struggling to come up with answers as Rachel battled sleep the entire way. She didn’t ask too many questions, and he was glad about that, because he didn’t exactly have the answers to give to her. Where they were going, sure, but who and why and if they’d even really be able to help her, he didn’t know. He just knew she’d be safe there. He could trust that team and the hero behind them.

He could trust the Flash.

“Where are we?” Rachel asked, when the car came to a stop.

She hadn’t exactly been sleeping, but the grogginess in her voice gave her away. She wanted to ask if she’d screamed but figured she’d remembered that. Maybe it was because she hadn’t fallen into a deep sleep that there hadn’t been any incidents. No screaming, no nightmares, no…episodes.

“Central City, Missouri.”

She blinked and turned to him as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I’m sorry…where?”

A smirk flickered on his lips before disappearing.

“I called ahead for a hotel room for both of us. Adjoining rooms, so you can have your own space, but I’ll be close enough for you to reach out to me if you need to.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be safe here, Rachel. No one is going to come looking for you.”

“And what if I hurt you? Or someone else?”

He sighed and pursed his lips.

“I have friends here who deal with-”

“My kind?” she asked bitterly.

He paused. “Have you ever heard the term ‘metahuman’, Rachel?”

She blinked.

“We’re in that Central City? The one that had an explosion a few years ago and now criminals have powers and some speedy guy in red saves everybody?”

He raised his eyebrows, amused.

“So, you do know.”

“I read, so what? I’m not like them.” She leaned forward. “I have the devil inside of me, not some superpowers brought on by a chemical explosion.”

His lips thinned.

“Still. I think they’ll be able to help.”

“D-”

“More than anyone back in Detroit.”

She sighed and slumped back against her seat.

“Come on. You must be exhausted.”

Making every attempt to suppress her wild emotions, Rachel unbuckled her own seatbelt and followed him out of the car and into the hotel. In no time at all, they’d gotten to their hotel rooms. It wasn’t super fancy, but it wasn’t cheap either. Regardless, the bed looked heavenly. She was about to collapse onto it when a soft knock came from the adjoining door.

She turned and opened it, peeking her head through the opening to see who it was, though of course it was Detective Grayson. Who else could it be?

After the last 24 hours though, the possibilities were limitless.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Just wanted to test out the door and let you know I’ll keep it unlocked, so all you have to do is-”

“No!”

His eyes widened, startled.

“Don’t keep it unlocked. I’ll pound on it if I need to get in. Or I’ll scream, and then you can open it. But don’t keep it unlocked.” She shook her head. “Promise me.”

“Okay,” he said, reluctantly. “Get some sleep. I’ll knock on the door in a few hours. Then we can grab some breakfast and head over to see-”

“The Flash?”

He smirked.

“My friend. Barry Allen.”

She nodded and the door closed between them. He heard a muffled demand from her that he lock the door, so, fighting against his nature as a protector, he did. Then he slid out of his shoes and jacket and fell onto his own bed, making no attempt to cover himself, only setting an alarm on the room clock for 10 a.m. That was more than enough time to make them fully functional and to phone the Flash himself, so he’d be ready for their arrival.

#titans x the flash #fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #a visit from a friend #chapter 1 #eventual westallen

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alexa-crowe · 3 years

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Signs

Episode: “Je Souhaite” | Rated M | @today-in-fic | Warning: if any of the symptoms of pregnancy are squicky for you, it would be best to avoid this fic. Also, a reminder that we use Fahrenheit in the U.S., so don’t freak out at the wonky temperature stuff, my Celsius loaves.

Scully feels a little guilty for sending Mulder home last night after teasing him all day about what she was going to do to him in bed, but she blames her upset stomach on being “forced” to skip lunch that day. Scully had waved him off after three hours of on and off vomiting, feeling like she sent the entirety of her pizza and soda into the toilet.

She’d sent him back to his apartment so he’d stop hovering, his incessant chatter only magnifying the headache beginning to build at the base of her skull.

Mulder had called as soon as he got home, leaving a voicemail for her to please not come in tomorrow if she’s still sick. Well, Scully had fortunately felt right as rain when she woke up, aside from the minimal gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She regrets eating two bagels with lox and her real cream cheese now. This must be her punishment for breaking the rule of saving it for the fair amount of bad mornings she encounters. Her stomach’s mutinying again at the smell of Mulder’s black coffee and she can feel another toilet session coming on.

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, all intent to apologize and press a soft kiss to his lips going out the proverbial door as she sprints out the real one and hauls ass to the bathroom.

She must have a stomach bug, Scully reasons, trying to even out her breathing as she folds some paper towels and wets them before pressing them against her face and neck. She’s suddenly feeling strangely hot, evidence of her sick flushed away.

Mulder knocks three times on the bathroom door. “Scully?”

“Yeah?” she sends back, splashing her face with water. She groans as she feels another gag coming on.

“I brought you some ginger ale and—and some Pepto Bismol. And Tums. I know you don’t like the Pepto but, you know, I figured this called for all the stops.”

She can imagine the look on his face as he hears her vomiting again. Scully checks her watch when it’s over. It’s still only 8:27 in the fucking morning!? How the hell is she supposed to make it through the rest of the workday like this?

The door hinges creak and she looks over at Mulder. “I told you not to come in if you’re still sick, Scully.”

“I wasn’t! I felt fine this morning, and then I walked in the office and smelled your coffee and...”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, puckering his lips as part of his exaggerated thinking face. Scully stands up straight and shoots him a look. Mulder shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is that it looks like the same thing happened last night. As soon as we got out the ice cream, you bolted to the bathroom.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “What are you getting at, Mulder?”

“Just that you should go home and at least take a nap or something. If you stay off your feet for a few hours and relax, I’ll be happy. Nibble on some crackers, catch a soap opera...” Mulder shrugs. “You’re clearly sick, Scully. If not for yourself, do it on the chance that it’s contagious.”

Scully places the wet paper towel on the back of her neck, holding it there. “Fine. But only because it might be contagious.”

“I mean—that doesn’t make it better, but thank you nonetheless. Do you want me to drive you? What if there’s a random smell that sets you off on the ride there?”

She rolls her eyes but tells him, “Fine.”

—

Mulder’s assertion that certain smells have been setting off whatever’s going on with her stomach seem to be proven true when she comes back to the office after a few hours of rest and relaxation to the harsh sight of a man whose... whose mouth suddenly disappeared and had to be surgically recreated. Not a twinge from her stomach aside from shock butterflies.

Scully’s relieved that she’s been able to keep down her lunch. To be fair, it was crackers with a little cheese and a full two cups of water to make sure she was hydrated, but any food is good food. She proudly announces to Mulder during their ensuing flight the next day that it seems whatever illness hit is gone.

—

It’s not cold in Creve Coeur, Missouri—certainly not in Spring—but Scully’s feeling every degree of the breeze through the open windows like it’s in the thirties. She’s shivering the entire car ride to the Mark Twain Trailer Park, and noticeably enough for Mulder to glance at her with concern before putting up the windows and turning the heat up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little cold.”

He frowns at that but lets it go until they hit a red light, when he leans over and presses his hand to her forehead.

Scully quirks her lips in a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replies. “You don’t seem to have a fever...”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she insists, leaning into his hand for the few seconds she gets the light turns green.

“Alright, but if you’re still sick, Scully, then you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the motel, okay? I brought the meds just in case, if you need them.”

She smiles softly and places her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.”

—

Her stomach bug really does seem to be gone, which is a relief. However, she’s now insatiably hungry for two things: Mulder, and the bagels from the bagel place two streets over from her apartment. Well, she consoles, one is attainable, at least. And, boy, does she attain it. They’re both breathing heavily by the time Scully’s through with him, and even though they’re sticky with sweat, she curls her body around Mulder’s anyway.

Her breasts are tingly, which has never happened after sex before, but she chalks it up to Mulder’s harsh treatment of her only a minute ago as she nuzzles his chest. She inhales and sighs happily. “I love the way you smell,” she murmurs.

He laughs and she feels it against her cheek. “Coming from the woman who made me start using a different deodorant,” he jokes, squeezing his arm around her shoulders. “Your nipples are darker.”

“What?” Scully props herself up with her forearm to make proper eye contact as her brows furrow.

“Yeah. I don’t know. They’re darker. Feel a little heavier, too. You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Unlike you, Mulder, I don’t spend hours studying my boobs.”

He shrugs and rolls them over so he’s hovering over her on his forearms. “Your loss.”

—

“Fuck,” she swears, digging around in her suitcase, fresh from her shower. She’s only got one hand because the other’s holding her towel wrap together.

“What?” Mulder asks around his toothbrush, exiting the bathroom. His tie is slung behind his neck and his suit jacket is waiting for him on the bed.

“I don’t have any panty liners.”

“Do you want me to go out and get some?” he asks, heading back to the bathroom to spit.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Scully walks past him into the still-warm bathroom and lets the towel drop as she uses the one wrapped around her hair to dry the wet strands.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She drops the hair towel when he takes the singular step needed in the tiny motel bathroom to invade her space in favor of pulling him down for a kiss by the ends of his tie. “Mmm, settle down or the plan’ll be botched.”

“I was just thanking you,” Scully says, affecting innocence as she does his tie for him.

“For buying you panty liners? What would happen if I surprised you with some ice cream?”

“I would eat the ice cream.”

“Damn.” Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head before heading out to put on his suit jacket. “Do you mind me asking why you need panty liners? Also! What brand?”

“Any with wings. And I need them because there’s been an unusual amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear and I don’t want to ruin any more of them.”

“Right.” He steps back in view of the bathroom and takes in her naked body.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

(Their books on pregnancy are buried inside their storage closets from a time best forgotten.)

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

She smiles at him, drying her hair again. “Get going, hotshot.”

—

Halfway through the flight home, Scully discovers something that makes her a bit worried. She’s not supposed to get her period until next week, so the blood on the liner she quickly tosses away with shaky hands can’t be because of that. She tries to forget about it as she walks back to her seat next to Mulder, but he must see something on her face that prompts him to ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she lies, managing to give him a smile. “Just tired.”

He seems to accept that and leaves her be. It’s not even a lie; she feels exhausted after everything that happened over the past few days. Scully makes a mental note to book an emergency appointment with her Ob-Gyn when they land, and closes her eyes.

—

“Dana,” Dr. Namin starts, disrupting her patient’s thumb twiddling.

Scully abruptly stands up as her doctor moves to stand in front of the exam table, computer and several documents in hand. “You don’t look concerned,” she says, following Namin to the exam table.

“Because there’s nothing to be concerned about at this stage except plenty of rest, hydration, and eating at least three good meals a day,” Scully’s doctor replies, opening up her computer and spreading out the documents. “We’ve done all the tests you asked for, but nothing came up. However, based on the symptoms you listed, I performed one more, and that’s where we found the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Plain and simple. Congratulations.” Dr. Namin slides one of the documents towards Scully, who takes it. “You’re about three and a half weeks along. You can take all the papers. There’s suggestions for all the prenatal vitamins you’ll need to take and how much water to drink in a day. Resources for managing symptoms, too.”

Scully nods dumbly, tears gathering in her eyes as she stares at the diagnosis. “Um, when should I come back?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I’ll have someone give you a call with that information. Just relax and enjoy the news. I remember how much you wanted this, Dana. I...I don’t know how this happened, but the baby’s doing well. Minor bleeding is completely normal and you don’t need to worry. If it gets worse or doesn’t stop soon, then come back.”

“Okay,” Scully chokes out, smiling widely as she wipes away her tears and collects the documents on the exam table.

—

She spends a few hours at her apartment trying to figure out how to tell Mulder the good news but gets nowhere. In the middle of pacing around her couch, one arm unconsciously wrapped around her abdomen, her phone starts ringing.

“Scully speaking.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner starts, and she immediately knows that Mulder’s done something stupid again, “could you check on Agent Mulder? He snuck into my meeting and was yelling at my chair.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Scully hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. Looks like God’s giving her a sign to just get it over with. When she enters the office, however, the woman Mulder keeps insisting is a genie is there, too. She licks her lips nervously and tries to ignore her.

“Skinner called me, Mulder. Is everything alright?”

Sitting at the desk, computer on, she has to wonder what he’s doing. “You don’t remember disappearing off the face of the Earth for an hour this morning?”

She gives her head a small shake as she tells him, “No,” truly starting to get concerned.

Mulder just shrugs with a little smile and gets back to typing with a nonchalant, “Well, I guess everything’s okay.”

Get it out, just say it, she thinks, trying to psych herself up. She sighs. “Mul—” But the woman’s still there in the office. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” the woman—Jenn, Mulder told her on the plane—says with a nod.

Scully steps closer to the desk, butterflies in her stomach. Jenn isn’t moving, and it’s making her annoyed, quite frankly. “Like, today?” she says, turning around, but the black-haired woman is nowhere to be found, not even in the annex. Scully turns back to her partner, extremely confused. “Where the hell’d she go?”

Mulder childishly imitates a genie disappearing and she feels the sudden urge to laugh at the thought that this man is the father of her child. “No...” she says, softening the guffaw trying to escape to a scoff-laugh. “It’s gotta—” She scoffs for real this time. “It’s gotta be hypnotism, or—or mesmerism, or something.”

And thus begins the verbal sparring. As he lists all the things he wants for the world, Scully thinks, again, of how this is the father of her child. Something suspiciously soft is trying to emerge from her heart as she responds, and she’s a coward to boot, so she leaves without telling him. Driving back to her apartment, Scully feels guilty at how little effort she put into trying to break the news to Mulder. She just—she doesn’t know what to make of the news herself, let alone how to explain it to him.

An hour into The Exorcist, hugging a pillow as she wishes Mulder was watching it with her, the phone rings. “Scully, do you wanna come over and watch a movie? I’ve got your favorite popcorn...”

She grins. “Of course. I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

They’ve both changed their clothes for the movie night, and when Mulder opens the door, they’re sporting matching grins. “Oh, zero alcohol content?” he faux complains, taking the case of six drinks into the kitchen. “Is this your punishment for me, Scully?”

She elects not to respond as she follows him and takes out the package of popcorn and a pot. “Can you grab the olive oil, Mulder?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts four of the drinks in the fridge before reaching into one of the cabinets to grab the oil and put it on the counter next to the stove, which Scully’s turning it on.

“I’ll never understand why you won’t just microwave them. It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but if you do it in the pot, it tastes better,” she shoots back, opening the package and pouring the kernels into the pot.

“That’s just because of the oil.”

“Well, you can continue to eat shitty popcorn for the rest of your life if you want, but I’m going to eat my good popcorn.”

They turn to face each other as the kernels pop and hit the lid, a staring contest beginning. Scully wins when she licks her lips and distracts Mulder enough to get him to blink.

“Ha! I got you! I win!”

“That’s cheating!”

“I won!” she says in a sing-song voice, emptying the finished popcorn into the bowl.

Mulder shakes his head with a smile. “Why don’t you take the drinks and get comfortable. I’ll finish the popcorn.”

Scully nods and does as he suggests, but as she’s crossing into the living room, she pauses and turns around. “No butter, please,” she says, and he turns around with a scoop of butter in a bowl in his right hand, the handle of the microwave in the other.

“No... butter...?” She nods. “We always put butter on the popcorn, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t want butter this time,” she says, and makes her way to the couch, sitting down and placing the drinks on the coffee table. She hears Mulder sigh heavily and put the bowl of butter in the fridge before making his way to the living room, bowl of popcorn in hand.

He shakes his head as he grabs the movie case from the table and inserts it into the player. “Can’t believe you don’t want butter on your popcorn. Eugh. It’s un-American.” He steps around the table and sits down next to Scully.

She takes the case from where he left it and makes a face. “Caddyshack, Mulder?” she questions.

“It’s a classic American movie,” he insists, grabbing his drink and propping his feet up.

“That’s what every guy says.” Scully grabs her own and untwists the cap, tossing it onto the table. Mulder does the same, but his bounces off onto the floor, and she laughs into the bottle. “So, uh... What’s the occasion?” she asks, as if they still take the justifying movie nights thing seriously.

Last week’s was I thought you might need some help feeding your fish.

“I don’t know. Just felt like the thing to do. Cheers.”

Maybe it is time to turn over a new leaf, especially considering the baby growing inside her, cell by cell. They clink their bottles—“Cheers,” she says—and drink. Tell him, tell him, tell hi—

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I, um, never made the world a happier place.”

They nod together and Scully knows that this is the moment to tell him. She takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m fairly happy. That’s something.” A smile slides onto her face and she looks at him, a lot more than fairly happy now. “Actually, I’m ecstatic.” She gives a little laugh and reaches into her pocket for the piece of paper she’d stared at for hours earlier.

“Really? Is there a specific reason, or...?”

Scully pulls the paper out and looks at the blue highlighted text on the portion of the paper that’s not folded back for a moment before handing it to Mulder. “That’s why,” she says, voice trembling a little out of happiness.

She watches his face as the words sink in. He reads it again, murmuring, “Diagnosis: pregnancy (3.5 weeks),” as he does so, a grin spreading across his lips. “Scully...”

“I know,” she says, setting her bottle on the table, and before Mulder can say anything else, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, unwilling to fight the urge.

“Scully, this is wonderful!” He laughs joyously and kisses her again, setting the paper and his drink on the table. “I’m so happy.” He brings her into his embrace and buries his face in her shoulder for a long moment, both of them starting to cry. He suddenly pulls away and puts his hand on her abdomen under her shirt, his other arm still wrapped around Scully.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies.

#txf #fanfiction #msr #mine #wahhhh!!!!!#i love: them #i had so much fun writing this ksdjhfkjs like an inordinate amount

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