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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 21 days

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Shaking (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have an anxiety attack in a public setting, but luckily, the doctor is there to help you through it.

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mild cursing, mostly just ANGST and then comforting FLUFF

A/N: Wanted to write Spence comforting the reader during a panic attack. Fanfiction is better than therapy, right? At least, it’s cheaper! Also not my GIF

——

“You don’t want to just order it online?” Spencer asked as you walked beside him down the sidewalk. His longer legs would typically mean that he’d be several steps ahead of you, but he always slowed his pace so you wouldn’t have to strain to keep up with him. He also walked on the outside of the path because, let’s face it, he was a gentleman.

You shook your head. “No, I want the whole experience,” you said excitedly as you walked, your face lighting up in anticipation. You were on your way towards a local bookstore, where the third book in your favorite series was being released today. The bookstore was going to be packed, but you were so excited to be one of the first ones in the door, to get your hands on a physical copy. “I don’t ever do things like this, but it’ll be something I think about every time I look at the book sitting on my shelf.”

Spencer nodded, lifting his hand, his thumb and forefinger in an O-shape as he spoke. “Ah, the age-old concept of symbolic treasures. One of the main reasons why souvenirs are such a prevalent part of going on vacation. Did you know the tradition dates back to Ancient Egypt?”

You shook your head as you continued to walk with him. Your boyfriend carried on without fault. “As far back as 2200 B.C, Egyptian Prince Harkhuf traveled to what is now known as Sudan and returned with all sorts of objects to present to his father, the pharaoh,” Spencer explained. His words spat out quickly, compulsively, as though they had to exit his encyclopedic brain. “He brought back items such as incense, ivory, even the skins of leopards to show off to his father.”

“I had no idea,” you told Spencer as you neared the bookstore, smiling sideways at him. You loved it when he spouted off facts like that, like he had to get the information out or else he’d explode. He had confessed to you more than once before that most people found it weird or off-putting or even annoying, but not you. Rather, you loved learning new things. Whatever information he had to share with you was always relevant in one way or another, and it was just one of the reasons why you loved spending time with him - he made you a more knowledgeable, well-rounded person.

Before either of you could say much else, you’d reached the back of the line of the bookstore. You checked the time on your phone. The store would open in about fifteen minutes. The line stretched down at least a full block, from what you could see. Lots of people dressed like characters from the books, shuffling their feet in excited anticipation.

There were at least a hundred people in the line, and after a minute or two, a couple dozen more had filed in behind where you stood. You pursed your lips for a moment, scanning the crowd until your eyes met Spencer’s.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, inclining his head to the side.

You shook your head. “Nothing,” you said. “Just… lot of people.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, then reached down to take your hand. Your fingers twined with his and he squeezed his palm against yours. “I’m right here,” he reminded you. You didn’t love crowds. They always made you feel anxious, perhaps even a little claustrophobic. You and Spencer had gone to a fairly crowded French film festival a few months ago and there hadn’t been an organized line to enter; rather, it had been a cluster of people, all pressed together. And you had felt like you couldn’t breathe. Spencer’d had to pull you to a seat off to the side so you could catch your breath, and you’d missed getting a seat up front like you’d been hoping for.

Right now, you were okay, though. There were people in front of you and behind you, but they weren’t flush against you like they had been waiting for the film festival to open. And Spencer was holding your hand, and you were outside, with the cool, spring morning breeze hitting your face. It was fine. You were going to be fine. You inhaled deeply and exhaled, then nodded your head, feeling the anxiety dissipate. “I’m good,” you told Spencer, looking up at him.

Spencer nodded. He squeezed your hand once again before letting go, only so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and tug you so you leaned against his chest. He kissed the top of your hair. “It’s going to be just fine,” he promised you, and you just smiled to yourself.

About ten minutes later, the store opened. You only knew that because the line started moving, and more quickly than you thought. You squealed in delight and matched the pace of the people in front of you, Spencer by your side with an amused grin on his face. He loved books just as much as you did, if not more, but this outing was definitely just for you. He’d read the other preceding books in this series (literally just because you asked him to and it took him an hour, tops), but he wasn’t a total geek for it like you were.

You finally made it inside the bookstore, a small business, a local place. You’d been inside several times before, but you hadn’t realized just how small the building actually was until you stepped in now. It was two stories, but everyone was tightly packed, with the people and the bookshelves crowding around you as you made it fully inside the store. There was even a line to go up to the second floor, like a queue at an amusement park.

There was little to no breathing room. Everyone was talking as they waited their turn to grab a copy of the new book, and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls and the ceiling and smack you right in the ear. The air felt thick despite the front door and handful of windows being opened, allowing the cool spring breeze to ruffle the pages of the paperbacks on display.

But it wasn’t refreshing. Rather, it was another stimulant that caused the neurons in your brain to fire even faster. You felt your palms get slick. You felt your heart start to pound, and your knees wobble as you shuffled forward in the line. What were you even waiting in line for? You momentarily forgot, blinking a few times before looking up at the man beside you. Spencer was engrossed in looking around the bookstore, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as he seemed to find something amusing. But when his eyes came full circle back to you, they were immediately filled with concern. “Y/N?” He asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You couldn’t even hear him. The sound of his voice just bounced off your brain, like you were trapped inside of cellophane. All you could think was trapped. I’m trapped. No way out. Stuck. Caged. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

You felt your breathing go heavy, and your eyes fill up with tears. Your cheeks were red, bright red, judging from how hot you suddenly felt. “Leave,” you managed to choke out, your voice coming out from your throat. It felt like your throat was lined with thorns, like the words you wanted to say kept getting caught.

Spencer nodded. “Leave? Yeah. Yeah, baby, we can leave,” Spencer grabbed your hand, tugging you along behind him as he murmured “excuse me, pardon me,” to the other patrons, to get through the crowd. Moving against the crowd was so much worse than standing still. All those eyes on you, seeing your red face and the anxious tears trickling down your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, freaking out like this is such a public space. Everyone thinks I’m a freak, you thought. Your anxiety became not about the crowd, but about your anxiety, about how you were being perceived. Your breathing picked up, quickened, and by the time Spencer led you out into the morning sun, you were fully hyperventilating.

The thoughts in your head were racing at the speed of light. You hated feeling nervous like this, but moreover, you hated that Spencer had to take care of you because of it. You felt like you had ruined the day because your head wasn’t on straight, because you couldn’t stand in a crowd of people and hear the cacophony of voices and tamp down your panic.

Spencer led you down the block, about twenty feet from the store, away from the crowd, and your breath was still coming out staccato, unstable as you looked down at your shaking hands. You were crying and hyperventilating and the whole world felt like it was spinning. Spencer kept his hold on your hand and stood in front of you, squeezing his palm against yours. His eyes, those light brown irises with little flecks of green, stared into yours. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, bending his knees so his face was level with yours. “Breathe with me, okay?”

You shook your head, your eyes clamping shut. You were so mad at yourself in that moment. You didn’t want to have Spencer take care of you, to have to drag you out of a bookstore because you were having a panic attack. “Baby, you’re trembling,” you heard Spencer’s voice laced with concern. “Look at me. We’ll get through this together.”

You opened your eyes slowly, and that’s when you realized your entire body was shaking. You looked into Spencer’s eyes and he released your hand so he could cup your face. His fingers anchored under your jaw, his thumbs rested on your cheeks, and his eyes were wide, full of worry, but his voice managed to stay soothing and calm. “Follow my breath, Y/N. Do what I’m doing, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you tried to follow his lead, but you just couldn’t control your lungs. “It’s okay,” he assured you as your brows furrowed, presenting frustration. “C’mon, try again.” He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you managed to match him this time. “Hold for four,” you held your breath while Spencer counted. “And out for four,” you exhaled deeply. “Good, okay, let’s do it again.”

Spencer guided your breath for a few minutes, until you finally felt like you could do it on your own. And when you finally felt yourself coming down from the rush of panic that had sent you into fight-or-flight, you wiped at your wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” you croaked, and Spencer just shook his head.

“No,” he insisted, taking your hand and placing it on his heart. You could feel it beating through his long-sleeved t-shirt. “No, you don’t have to be sorry.” You rubbed your hand against his chest, finding it comforting as you hung your head. “Baby, look at me,” he requested, and you met his eyes.

“Please don’t ever apologize for having an anxiety attack, okay? For one thing, it’s not your fault. You can’t control the chemicals and waves in your brain and how your body reacts to situations,” Spencer began, his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest. You nodded, using the heel of your free hand to wipe away your tears. The crying was over, you were fairly certain, but god, did this suck. “You also should never feel ashamed for having a panic attack, Y/N. It happened, and we’re working through it. It’s a lot like boiling a pot of water, isn’t it?”

You let out a garbled sounding laugh and your brows furrowed. “How so?” You stammered out.

“Well, you set the pot of water on the stove, right?” Spencer began, and you nodded. “And then when it starts to bubble, that’s your anxiety. Some sort of external stimulant - the stove, or, in your case, the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd - is causing the water to bubble. And when the external stimulant increases in intensity, so too does your anxiety. And sometimes, yeah, the pot boils over.” Spencer shrugged like it was no big deal. “But then you just turn the stove off, grab a dishtowel, and clean up the mess. Problem solved.”

You cracked a half-hearted smile. “So in this metaphor, you’re a dishtowel?” You asked, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

“Technically, I think it’s a simile, but yes,” Spencer grinned as he looked in your eyes.

“But the book,” you sighed, looking back at the bookstore, which was still filtering people in and out slowly. The patrons leaving the store clutched their new copies of the book in their hands, grinning and taking pictures with their phones, laughing with their friends excitedly.

“Do you want to get back in line and try again?” Spencer asked, and you bit your cheek pensively.

“I don’t think so,” you said softly, defeatedly.

“That’s okay,” Spencer said. You loved that he wasn’t coddling you, he was just feeling it out, seeing what you were up for. “Do you want to get brunch somewhere and come back? Maybe the line will have died down by then?”

You nodded, your lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah,” you agreed. You realized your hand was still over his heart, rubbing at his chest. Your movement halted and you retracted your hand, but before your arm could fall completely at your side, Spencer scooped your hand up and kissed the back of your palm. “What if we come back and they’ve sold out of the book, though?” You asked as Spencer walked with you in the direction of one of your favorite brunch places, just a short walk from the bookstore.

“There are twenty-two independent bookstores in the D.C. metropolitan area alone,” Spencer rattled off. “If this one doesn’t have it, we’ll drive around until we find one that does.”

“What article did you read that told you how many bookstores were in D.C?” You asked. You often liked to challenge him by asking him to cite his sources.

“No article. I did a search on Google Maps last night,” Spencer explained.

“What, because you knew I’d freak out when we walked into this one?” You asked him.

Spencer shook his head. “No, just wanted to have a contingency plan in case our first stop sold out before we got there.”

“Always thinking ahead, huh, Boy Wonder?”

“Damn straight.” A smirk formed across Spencer’s lips.

You shook your head. “You’re the best dishtowel a girl could ask for.”

#spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfics #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff

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ltbarnes · 2 months

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Back to December (2/2)

Summary: Your new job as an assistant for the CEO of a big, shiny company was supposed to be a good thing. Instead your ex from uni who completely ghosted you out of nowhere several years ago happens to be one of your superiors. It doesn’t help that he’s only gotten more handsome over the years. But you hate him for leaving without an explanation, and he seems to hate you too. Everything is just fucking great.

Pairing: ex!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Word count: 7k

Warnings: OFFICE AU (Ghost is not ceo but he’s up there in the company somewhere), exes to enemies to lovers, harassment, past emotional violence/threats, blood, smut (p in v), oral (f receiving)

A/N: Took me a few weeks but it’s finally here ;) you guys don’t understand how happy it made me when so many people loved the last part!! makes me so excited to write more for the cod fandom! (I have not proofread this because I was too excited to publish it so there might be errors and weird stuff lol)

Part 1

Masterlist

The car ride is quiet. He glances your way whenever you wince. You watch his hand gripping the stirring wheel tightly, fingers drumming along anxiously with the faint beat of a song coming from the radio.

It's a nice car. Like, you would not afford this even if you saved up for years. You knew Simon was influential in the company, but this...it almost scares you. He's fucking rich. Probably going to laugh at you when he pulls up outside of your apartment building.

This is the first time you have ever been in a car with him. You wish things were different. Mostly that your eyes weren't so puffy from crying. And that he wasn't your ex and you weren't working together.

A red light forces him to slow down into a stop, the only sound now being the wind picking up pace outside. It's so quiet for a few seconds that you barely have the courage to breathe.

"Why did you fuck up my entire office? Whole day was ruined," Simon speaks from nowhere. Your lip twitches, fighting the urge to smirk despite the pain tormenting you.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Of course it was you. No one else in there knows that I'd have a bloody breakdown over my files being out of order," he mutters.

You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head. "It was petty. But...I was mad. About the coffee-thing." Your voice grows softer with each word, merely a whisper by the end.

Simon clears his throat, shifting in his seat. "Yeah, uh...not my finest moment."

A thick silence falls over the car once more. None of you dare to talk about the thing that actually needs to be brought up, the dark cloud hanging over your shared past. You are not really mad at each other over coffee.

The drive takes much longer than usual because of the heavy rain. You're shivering despite the heat being on. It's been thirty minutes once the wheels slow down right outside of your apartment, and you instantly move to get out after throwing a sincere 'thank you' his way. It's all you can muster.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Simon asks, not even making an attempt to answer to what you were saying.

"What do you mean?" You stop, looking over your shoulder with one hand on the door. You just want to go inside, away from his gaze before it all gets too much.

Simon unbuckles his belt, getting out of the car. Rounds the entirety of it until he's opening your door, leaning down to look at you with a frown.

"You're hurt, for fuck's sake, Y/n. You can't take care of that yourself, no way."

You sigh out of frustration, shaking your head while looking away from him. "Why are you being nice to me, Simon?"

That seems to halt him in his actions. Simon blinks, pauses for a few seconds, before opening his mouth again. "Don't know. But I'm in a chipper fucking mood, so just let me get you out of the car, okay?"

You huff, giving no protest as he takes a hold of your waist to assist you out onto the curb. "You're not in a good mood..." you mutter under your breath. He just scoffs.

Simon sits and waits for you in the kitchen as you wrangle yourself out of your wet clothes into an old sweatshirt and a pair of pyjama shorts. For much too long you stand in front of the mirror, staring at the newly formed bruise on your upper arm. You have to take a few shaky breaths to force the tears back before you limp back into the kitchen.

This outfit of yours is the last thing you want to wear around him, but it's what the situation requires. But did you really have to be so dramatic and fall onto your knees before? This is going to take weeks to heal. And now you have Simon sitting on your chair waiting to patch you up. Simon.

"The first aid kit is in the bathroom, I'm just gonna go get—" You point with your thumb.

He's on his feet before you even have the chance to finish the sentence. You barely even processed the fact that he's discarded his suit jacket and shirt, now walking around your home with a white tank that does no good job at hiding his fucking massive muscles. His arms are covered in tattoos that he definitely didn't have when you last saw him. Fuck.

Simon returns just a minute later, already rummaging through the box for...something. You don't really know what's required for a wound like this. He was right about you not being able to take care of it yourself, which you hate. Loathe, actually.

"Sit down," he tells you, dragging out a chair from the table as if you are his guest and not the other way around. The strangest thing is that you listen, without a single protest. He seems to still have that power over you.

You can't take your eyes off of him as he kneels down, grabbing a hold of cotton and some liquid-thingy you didn't even know you had in that kit.

"Is that gonna hurt?" you ask, his hand one inch from touching your knee. Simon sighs, blinking as if he's going to lose it soon.

"Well, what do you think? It's alcohol in a bleeding wound. Of fucking course it's gonna hurt."

You grimace, biting your cheek, before inching back just slightly. "Then I don't wanna do it," you whisper.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Grow up for once, will you?"

"What do you mean ‘for once’?" you seethe, retracting yourself entirely from his proximity as he rolls his eyes.

"Well, c'mon, what you did today was just...fucking childish." Still sitting on his knees, but it feels like he's towering over you the way he speaks.

"Uh—like you acting like your coffee was cold when it clearly wasn't just to humiliate me wasn't childish too! You started it!"

You rise to your feet, turning away from Simon out of frustration.

"Sit down, Y/n."

"No! I won't...let you in my apartment to order me around and...and—"

"Just sit down," he seethes, getting up to his feet. Now he's really towering over you. You hate it.

You continue walking away towards your bathroom, letting out a wince as you put too much weight on the bad knee. You keep walking anyways.

"Y/n, for fuck's sake!" Simon follows you. He could have been ahead of you if he wanted to already, but he stays behind for some reason. "Why won't you listen to me?"

His yelling makes you turn around with so much anger in your expression. But the anger can't hide the tears pooling in your eyes—nothing can.

"Because you left me!"

Silence. Thick, anxious silence as he stands there dumbfounded. His chest is heaving from your altercation.

"You left me without a single word, Simon! Not even a fucking hint!"

His previous stunned silence turns into a bitter chuckle, one hand on his hip and the other running over his chin as he shakes his head. You see the change in his eyes—irritation turned into real anger.

"Not a hint, huh?" he scoffs. "You could've given a fucking hint that you were sick of me before you went and fucked Graves and half of his team behind my back."

All of a sudden the roles are switched, and you're the one stunned silent. A person who can barely process the words you just heard—did you hear right? Could Simon ever say that to you?

"I was so happy that night. Just wanted to celebrate with my team and my girl—searched the whole party for you, you know?" Simon shakes his head, still that cold, deprecating chuckle on his lips. "And then I find you eating up Philip fucking Graves' face and two of his friends. Fucking two of them, Y/n!"

Agressive flashes of fear-filled memories attack you along with the line of Simon's retelling of that night you go back to so often. Of what you could have done differently, of the anger you felt that he just had to make things worse. Water was up to your neck, pressing on your lungs, and his abandonment pushed your head under the surface.

"You get your fucking boyfriend to back down or we'll leave your pretty body half-conscious on his doorstep."

"Please, just let me go. I'll talk to him, I promise. Please." You were sobbing, the emotions heightened by the vodka in your bloodstream.

"Such an obedient little puppy, huh? No wonder he spends all his time fucking you instead of hanging out with the team." Philip's laughter filled the room, looking over his shoulder to his friends who found just as much amusement in the situation as him.

"Nothing to say, huh?"

Simon's voice shatters your deep train of thought with the sheer bitterness behind it. It makes the tears fall faster.

"You...you saw that?" you ask weakly, your voice frail as if you have been crying for hours. Your arms come up to shield yourself from the invisible presence of them, hugging your torso as if it helps.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. It was fucking hell, seeing the girl you love cheating on you with three guys. So I'm sorry if I've been acting like a bloody prick, but I can't just pretend I'm not still so fucking angry at you. Don't come crying here saying that my behavior isn't justified when you know damn well why I'm mad at you."

All these years. So many sleepless nights obsessing over every detail of your behavior during your relationship, and this is the answer. You have been so angry at him over leaving, and you never thought you would understand why. But you do, and it breaks your heart even more.

Blood is smeared all over your leg as you look down, and that still doesn't hurt as much as the fact that Simon has gone around for years hating you, thinking that you cheated on him. You loved him so much. Betraying him is the last thing you ever would have done. You understand Johnny's reaction now too—he thought you cheated on his best friend. That's not something you just forgive. It's your job to be mad at the people who wrong your friends.

But a nagging voice in the back of your head tells you to be angry. Simon walked past that dark bedroom, saw what was happening, and left. He could have saved you. It's an unfair thought to have. You can't be upset with him for misunderstanding. He couldn't have known about the threats dealt out in that room, or that the passionate kisses he witnessed was in reality seething, harsh words and a much too up and close Philip Graves. But it still hurts. Still haunts you, having three massive rugby players crowding you in and promising to beat you to a pulp.

A loud sniffle comes from your lips, drying the tears away from your face with the back of your hand. Blinking to rid yourself of the water on your lashes. You have to tell him. Simon looks about ready to leave.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," you say breathily. Your voice cracks in the middle of it.

"Sorry?" he shakes his head, lifts his eyebrow as if assessing the word. It's clear that's not enough for him.

"I'm sorry you thought I cheated all this time. I understand why—" A hiccup,"—I get why you left."

Your choice of words changes his demeanor. From hostile, clenched jaw with a fire simmering underneath the surface to hostile, clenched jaw and confused.

"I didn't kiss anyone, Simon. I didn't—I didn't do anything with Philip, or any of his friends." Broken words, distorted by the constant movement of your chest and throat as your body desperately fights for you to let out the sobs. Not yet. "They wanted me to get you to quit the team, and I couldn't...I couldn't fight back. Not against all of them."

Nostrils flare, lip is bitten down on. A veiny hand runs over a mouth. Blinking. Hands shake with contained...fury? You don't know who it's directed at.

"What the hell are you trying to say?" he seethes, taking a step forward that makes you take one back.

"We weren't kissing. They were threatening me. Said I'd be left on your doorstep bleeding and bruised if I didn't convince you to stop going after the Captain position. I was so scared, Simon," you say, voice cracking pathetically on the last sentence.

He’s quiet for much too long. You can’t read him, standing there so exposed and vulnerable and he’s silent. That’s why his outburst is so sudden.

"Fuck!"

You flinch, inching backwards as Simon turns around yelling. Not once have you heard him scream this loud. So you stand there, rooted in place, tears streaming down your face as he tugs at his hair with his hands. His chest heaves as if he just ran five miles.

You tremble too. The first sob comes out. It's a sad, pathetic sob that you try to muffle with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. Futile. Simon turns around. You can't see his expression through the blur of your tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, burying your face into the palms of your cold hands.

You almost jump as strong arms pull you into the tightest hug you have ever lived through. It's an urgent one, a desperate one. It's warm. Your cheek gets mushed against his damp shirt, hand encasing the back of your head as his chest rises up and down with his rugged breaths.

You lose the single crumb of composure you had left. If Simon wasn't a wall of a man he would have been dragged down with you as your legs lose the ability to carry you, just like in the alleyway. He notices anyway, slowly sitting the two of you down on the floor. Your knee is protected by a gentle hand keeping it from colliding with the hardwood.

"I am so, so sorry, Y/n," Simon tells you on a frail voice. It almost sounds like he's on the verge of crying too. You didn't know his voice could sound soft. "I am so sorry I didn't protect you. That I just—I just walked away. So fucking thickheaded—"

Your fingers clasp onto his shirt, tugging just slightly. It's your silent 'stop'. A reassurance that he doesn't need to blame himself. You understand.

"All these years I—I hated you for something you didn't even do. Fuck, I didn't even give you a chance to explain."

He shakes his head, his hold around you tightening subconsciously. It takes a few seconds before he realizes and softens again.

"Oh fucking hell. I got Graves suspended the day before 'cause I ratted him out to Coach about smoking fucking weed. Fucking shit, this is all my fault. I am so sorry," Simon croaks out. His voice will give in any minute to the guilt and frustration and anger and tears.

"Simon..." you whisper before sniffling, putting your hand on his chest. "Don't. Don't do this to yourself."

He shakes his head again. He will give himself a concussion soon from how much he's done it this night.

"It's not your fault. It's...it was horrible. But it was them, not you. Someone came and stopped it before they could do anything worse."

He takes in a sharp breath. You can almost feel the way his jaw clenches. "Anything worse? They put their hands on you?" he whispers bitterly. "Shouldn't have happened at all. I should have been with you earlier."

"Just some bruises from when they dragged me into that room. But I know you wouldn't have let it happen if you knew. Of course I know that, Simon," you say softly, sitting up just slightly. You don't know when your tears stopped. It's just your throbbing head and the runny nose left. "Simon, you were so protective of me. You cared so much—I know you would have stopped them if you knew. But you didn't know."

Dirty blond hair and his scruffy neck is all you're met with. He doesn't even look your way. And then he's suddenly on his feet, towering over your figure on the floor.

"You're still bleeding. Need to fix it."

You can't answer. Don't even have the opportunity to—Simon's hands sneak under yours arms and lift you up to a stand before you can open your mouth again.

"Simon..."

He keeps quiet. It's that brooding thing where he overthinks. Did it when you were together too. A lot. Simon carries a lot of guilt around, steals it from others and guards it safely within himself. You don't really know how he bears it all.

The sofa sinks underneath your weight as he slowly loosens his hold around your waist, placing you so gently onto the cushions. Might as well be made of glass to him. But then you think that it must be exactly how he views you right now—a delicate, frail thing who needs protection from any and every threat. You have already amassed cracks during the years, during the day even, and just one push will leave you to splinter.

Once again he kneels before you. This time you don't find it frustratingly hot. Now it's soft, a little sad even. There's a frown so deep in between his eyebrows you fear it might become permanent this time.

You don't say anything as you let him clean your wound. Maybe you hiss a little once the alcohol touches the broken skin, but make no move to protest. Simon might need this more than you. Okay, you don't want to die from an infection, but you could have done this with a lot less grace. You would have ten minutes ago.

"I still am, you know," he mutters after many, many minutes of silence. He's wrapping a bandage around your leg.

"What?" you breathe out softly, looking down at his concentrated frown.

"Protective of you," he answers. "I still care. Even if we're not together." Simon gulps, stops for just a second in his work.

"You are?"

His eyebrows rise for a second, corners of his lips threatening to tug upwards. "Didn't see me earlier in the lobby? I was gonna curse you out real fucking good. For my office."

"But you didn't."

"No. I couldn't, not when I saw that you were crying." His hand suddenly stops, resting on your good knee, before he looks up at you. "Why the hell were you crying, Y/n?"

Instantly you close off again, glancing away to escape that concerned expression that makes his eyes so dark and soft. It's an irresistible thing.

"Please, love. I need to—I need to make it better."

You pretend to ignore that Simon just called you love. Instead you focus on the fact that he's trying to compensate for that December night. For all the years you had a broken heart without knowing the reason why.

"Just...something that brought back some bad memories, that's all. Unpleasant encounter." It's practically mumbled, your answer, and you know Simon always hated when you mumbled. Wanted to hear your pretty voice loud and clear, he used to tell you.

His ever present frown grows impossibly deeper. Simon is speculating with himself, it's clear on his expression.

"With someone at work? Who bothered you, Y/n? Who the fuck made you cry?" he seethes, running his hand over his mouth as if to keep himself from saying something worse.

You shake your head. Your instinct tells you to dismiss it, say that it's fine. But maybe you shouldn't, for once. Just tell him that Shepherd actually said something that was far from okay. He was in the wrong. You shouldn't be the one to suffer in silence anymore.

"There was this—you know the man who always wears a Rolex and has the corner office? Shepherd?" you say meekly.

Simon's jaw clenches, but still his hand on your thigh is so gentle. "What the fuck did he do?"

"He...I ran into him on my way home. Collided right into his chest." You swallow air, looking down at the point of contact between you and Simon. "And he caught me. Didn't let go when I tried to go away. And he had this look in his eyes. Was so close, too. I couldn't breathe."

"Fucking hell," Simon groans.

"He said he just wanted to talk...but then he started commenting on my dresses. That he'd watched me 'strut around', as if I purposely put on a show for him, or something. Told me to come into his office on Monday and wear something nice so he would have something sweet to look at. I had to beg him to let me go."

"He the reason you've been clutching your arm the whole night?" Simon asks tensely, nodding down to where the bruise hides underneath your sweater.

You didn't even notice you did that. But it's sore when you move it. The answer to his question comes from your uneasy glance up at him that makes him close his eyes. You think it's to contain something—to calm down.

"He won't get fucking near you again, Y/n."

You gulp, blinking. "But he works there...he's one of my superiors."

"No. The fuck he isn't. He's not stepping a foot inside that building again."

"What?"

"Price will have him fucking murdered for even looking at you funny. Been looking for an excuse to get rid of him for years, and this...I'm so sorry, love. You shouldn't have to put up with that."

You shake your head, looking down to the point where Simon still has the bloodied cotton pressed against your knee.

"You would do that for me?" you ask softly, almost a whisper.

"Do fucking anything for you, Y/n. Would have even during all these years that I was too bloody stupid to reach out." With his hand on your thigh, he shakes your leg gently, enough to make you look him in the eye again. "You were my girl, you know? Swore I'd protect you from every fucker who even looked at you wrong, and not only did I fail at saving you from those fucking worthless pieces of shit who laid their hands on you, but I didn't protect you from myself. Will never forgive myself for that."

Simon's words makes your lower lip tremble again, and you let out something akin to a whimper and sigh before speaking.

"None of that is your fault," you say. "Even though I would've appreciated if you talked to me before just leaving back then, I understand why you didn't. If it was the other way around and I thought you were out with three girls, I would've been crushed. Wouldn't be able to look at you again without breaking into sobs."

He raises his eyebrows, shaking his head. It's clear that he doesn't take your words to heart, but there's still something in your statement that registers within him.

"You never told me that you cared for me that much." Simon clears his throat, as if the words are a lump stuck in his airways.

You sigh. You know it's true—you held back on saying those three words for months, thinking that the time had to be right and he couldn't possibly feel as strongly as you did. Then he broke up with you and you never got the chance.

"I wanted to. I wanted to tell you everyday, but I was scared that you wouldn't say it back."

Simon scoffs. "For fuck's sake, Y/n. I loved the shit out of you. Thought everyone could see that from the way I trailed after you like a lovesick puppy."

A bittersweet chuckle comes from your lips, shaking your head to yourself. Blinking away tears stuck in your eyelashes. "I should've told you sooner." It's a decibel away from a whisper.

Simon looks at you as if what will come out of your mouth is the most important thing in the world.

"I think I...I still feel that for you. A little bit," you admit. "It's pathetic that I'm still hung up on you after so many years, but it's hard, Simon. Seeing you everyday and not act like we used to."

"Don't you think I haven't wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck you every single day these past two weeks?" Simon seethes. "I've jerked off in the bathroom outside my office more times than I can count and literally cried like a pathetic jerk in Johnny's arms the first day you started work 'cause I was still so fucking hurt that you didn't love me as much as I loved you. I'm a grown ass man, Y/n, and it was years ago. That's how much you meant to me."

"You cried?" you ask breathily, your head empty except his words echoing. Bend you over my desk.

"I've sobbed like a fucking fool countless times over you. The weekend after I saw you—after I thought that I saw you with them—I went back to my mum's house and wailed like a baby into her chest." Simon chuckles, a bittersweet expression on his face.

"I'm sorry."

"No. None of that shit. I caused it. Should've just asked you instead of taking off. Wasn't man enough for you back then. I'm the one who needs to apologize."

You bite down on your lower lip, doing something akin to a nod as you glance away, out of the window.

"And now?" you ask. "Are you man enough now?"

"Careful, love..." Simon says, his voice strained. "Don't give me hope."

"Hope for what?"

"You know damn fucking well what I'm hoping for," he answers gruffly. You gulp, lips parting to release a shallow breath. His brown eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide from the intensity of his gaze. You know that look.

"Simon, you know I feel the same. You know it." It's nearly a whisper, what comes out of your mouth. Leaning forward just slightly, closer to his face where he's kneeling on the floor. "I already told you earlier that I still—"

Your back is pressed against the cushions of the couch as Simon surges up from his place on the floor. Calloused, tattooed hands grip your face gently as those pink lips you've dreamed about for the past two weeks devour yours desperately. Shuts you up real good.

"I've missed you so fucking much," Simon growls, a certain ferocity in his voice that makes him sound like a beast bowing only for his woman. He kisses you again. "Please. Please let me show you how fucking good I can be to you."

There's no real point in acting as if his words isn't the best thing you've ever heard. You're already panting and preening for him, so acting as if the answer will be anything but yes is futile. You nod furiously, holding onto his wrists.

"Yes. Please, Simon. Yes," you answer breathily, desperately.

The grunt coming from his chest makes your thighs clench together, resonating deeply within your core as the memories of how his touch felt all those years ago spark up every last nerv-ending in your body. Before you even know it, Simon has his large hands on your waist, lifting you up from the couch and sitting down himself. Your thighs straddling his, face to face and chest to chest.

"Ow. Simon, my knee," you say with a chuckle, leaning back enough to keep the pressure off your wounded leg.

"Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry, love. Are you alright?" he asks, an instantly guilty expression on his face. Didn't seem to pick up on the laugh from your lips. He looks like someone just kicked a puppy in front of him.

"I'm just fine, Si." Your hands come up to his face, feeling the stubble on his cheeks underneath your fingertips. "Maybe we shouldn't sit like this, though."

"We don't have to do this tonight. I'll wait for as long as you want me to," he tells you, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of your wrist. It almost makes you cry. He always did that back in uni.

"I'll literally fucking burst if I don't have you inside me within the next ten minutes. We'll work around it. I don't care."

Simon chuckles. A sound that comes from deep within his chest, rumbling and warm and so familiar. It festers within you and sprouts, spreading safety and comfort through your blood. Makes you smile, genuinely. He stands up, your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands holding onto your thighs.

The bed sinks down underneath your weight as he lowers you down on the sheets, so careful to not touch your now patched up knee.

"Just as desperate for me now as you were then, huh?" Simon teases, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck as his massive frame hovers above yours.

God, your body remembers. It remembers him so well, surrendering to his rough, deep voice as it whispers into your ear. It's an instant thing you feel—safety and simultaneously giddiness. You giggle like a goddamn schoolgirl with a crush, sneaking your arms around Simon's broad shoulders as you nod.

"Mhm, I am," you admit. Without shame. "I've really missed you, Simon. I really have." Your words are softer than before, void of the teasing tone they previously held.

He sighs. Presses his chapped lips to the corner of your mouth, slowly moving down to your jawline, neck. Simon is the toughest, biggest man you know. Curses like a sailor and can snap you in half. But oh, he's so gentle with you. When he wants to, at least. You remember those nights when desperation overtook him, clothes ripping and the breath fucked out of you. And you loved those nights just as much as the ones where he would just trace his lips over your skin for an hour before even touching your by then sickeningly wet folds.

But after years and years of separation and an emotionally wrecking fight that finally led to reunion, gentleness and patience isn't high on your list right now. You want to rip his clothes off and taste him again and feel him inside of you and kiss him even more and touch every inch of his skin. Though, Simon keeps trailing his mouth down your neck, hand inching underneath the hem of your sweatshirt as he hums. The sound makes you giggle. Fucking hell you've missed him.

"Something funny, love?" Simon asks, raising a challenging eyebrow as he lifts his head from your skin.

"Just that sound. Been thinking it about it sometimes."

"Thinking about it, huh?" he probes, pushing your sweatshirt over your head, forcing you to raise your arms. A deep groan comes from his lips as the lace of your bra is revealed to him, the fabric delicate enough to show the outline of your nipple. "Oh, fucking hell. You tryin' to make me come in my goddamn pants, yeah? It's not nice."

"I didn't know you'd see my bra when I put it on this morning, Simon," you chuckle, gaze flickering down to see his frankly hungry gaze.

"Didn't put it on for someone else to see it, did you?" he asks, something akin to doubt in his eyes. Or maybe not doubt, but nervousness.

"No. There's no one else," you admit. "Haven't...been many others since you."

"Not for me either. No one is like you. Tried, but it was bloody useless. Fucking nothing is better than my sweet girl when she's wrapped around my cock."

His statement confuses you for just a second before his hand sneaks it's way underneath your pyjama shorts, cupping your pussy and feeling the embarrassing wetness already soaking your underwear.

"Let me taste you, love," he pleads. You're already squirming, bucking your hips against his hand in search for friction. All you can do to answer is nod, and the second after, your shorts are thrown to your bedroom floor.

"C'mon, sweet girl. Been without you for fucking years. You can give me one more. Just one more," he tells you, pumping his fingers into you deliriously, possessed by the squelching sound your slick and his digits emit.

It's been thirty five fucking minutes of Simon making you come on his tongue and his fingers and then his tongue again. He's currently on his second round of fingering the living breath out of you. You had forgotten how thick his fingers were, and now with those added years of use, more calluses and lines and wrinkles? You haven't been able to utter a full sentence in a good while.

"Holy..." Your head is thrown back onto the pillow, back arching as if you were in a porn video, thighs clamping down on his hand.

"That's my girl. There we go, there we go,” he mutters, in a trance by the sound of it and his lustful stare.

You have to push his hand away after almost a minute of him drawing out your orgasm by lazily continuing to pump his fingers into you, whining when it becomes too much.

“Insatiable fucker,” you mumble as you lay spent on top of the sheets, chest heaving and a light sheen of sweat on your skin.

And he hasn’t even been inside you yet.

Simon chuckles, that deep rumble that almost sounds like it scratches his insides in some way. A wet, shameless kiss is pressed to your thigh, before he stands up to his full length again. His poor knees must be aching after having been pressed into the floor for so long.

“Missed her. Can’t blame a bloke for wanting to spend time with his missus after such a long time, eh?” Simon teases, making you roll your eyes fondly.

“Just c’mere,” you sigh, smiling up at Simon again, the same way you did at 20. Or maybe not the exact same. Things have changed, you have changed. Simon has sure as hell changed. But it’s better. A deeper affection, a deeper understanding.

The blond giant climbs onto the bed, over you, hovering like a wolf ready to pounce yet a gentleness in his hold that draws away the sense of threat. His thumb cups your cheek, brushes over the skin under your eye. And then he kisses you, softly, something you didn’t he know he was capable of. Back then, it was always passion, urgency. Playful, desperate. This is longing.

You sigh against his lips, feeling his chapped skin and the stubble on his chin. It nearly brings tears to your eyes, the way you have this man over you again. It’s been so long and he’s dozens of pounds heavier with muscle, more tattoos on his skin and scars on his body. But he’s still Simon. And he’s yours.

“Condom? Please for the love of god tell me you have a condom,” he pleads, growls with need against the crook of your neck.

“In the drawer,” you giggle, stretching your arm out in its direction.

He wastes no time. His urgency makes him clumsy, makes you laugh even more, as he tries to tear the wrapper open with his teeth and fails. Gives you a warning glare that does no good job at hiding his fond amusement, while resorting to opening it with his hands like a normal person.

Simon’s hands close around the back of your thighs, pulling your legs up until they press against your stomach. His tip brushes against your wet folds, but his gaze is on your face.

“Ready for me, sweet girl?” he asks, the deep timber of his voice sending literal shivers through you.

You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, Simon. Please. Wan’ you inside me,” you plead.

“Mhm, know you do, sweetheart.”

It’s all the warning you get before he grabs a hold of his cock, coating it in your slick, before guiding it towards your dripping hole. Your breath catches in your throat, a whine of discomfort coming from your lips as his thick girth presses into you inch by agonizing inch. And yet it’s so good. Fucking hell, you’ve missed it.

“Holy fuck, I forgot—“ you say, not needing to finish the sentence for him to know the sentiment. You forgot how big he was.

"God you're..." Simon growls, keeping still as he bottoms out, savoring the feeling of your walls stretching around his thick cock once again. "You feel even fucking better. How the fuck did I go without her all these years?"

Tears prickle the corners of your eyes. Don’t know if it’s from the sting, the longing, the pleasure. You’re still all pliant and sensitive from the multiple orgasms he drew out of your earlier.

Simon starts to move, rolling his hips slowly into you. Letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding against your walls, drawing rumbles from his chest.

“Not gonna leave this pretty pussy again, no. ‘S all mine. Needa’ apologize for keeping her lonely for so many years,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. The corners of your lips tug upwards.

“Simon,” you whisper, hands entangled into his hair. He tilts his head upwards, looking up at your face. “Fuck me.”

A pleased smirk grows on his face, raising an eyebrow. “Is that so, huh?” he asks, squeezing your thigh, before snapping his hips into yours.

“Oh, fuck…”

Your pathetic bed creaks as Simon bullies his cock into you, the filthy sound of your slick being pushed inside of you filling the room along with the grunts and whines from your mouths.

It’s like a switch turned on in his head when you told him to fuck you, because it’s nearly animalistic. There’s no class or precision in his sloppy thrusts, just desperation.

“Fuck, so sorry, love, but I’m gonna come,” Simon tells you, clenching his jaw tightly with restraint. His large fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he holds them up, his heavy weight flush against you to keep you in a mating press. Despite his words, there’s no shame in them. Just an apology. He wishes he could savor this, but it’s futile. His cock wants something else.

“It’s…it’s okay,” you manage to get out between his thrusts, a smile on your face while his movements grow increasingly sloppy and hurried. “Come for me, baby. It’s okay.”

“So fucking perfect,” he growls, while his thumb finds its way to rub tight circles on your clit. Damn it if he doesn’t make you come one more time. He needs to feel you clenching down on his cock like that. “Gonna make you come again, baby, I promise.”

Your hands paw at his broad back, digging into the chiseled muscles while your thighs wrap around him, bringing him in deeper.

It’s with his face buried into the crook of your neck that he comes with a snarl, heavy breaths likened to the ones belonging to a beast blown right into your ear. Despite his movements stilling, his softening length remains inside of you while his fingers flicker your nub deliriously.

“Uh-huh, I see you, I see you.” He grins, taking note of the bucking of your hips, the way your thighs attempt to press together as they squeeze around his waist.

“Simon,” you whimper, and that’s all it takes for him to press down a little harder, do it a little faster. You let go, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp.

“There it is. Look so beautiful when you come on my cock,” he tells you, and you swear you feel him harden again inside of you.

But when you come down from the high, laying there spent and panting, he pulls out so gently. Presses a kiss to the swell of your neck before climbing off the bed and discarding the condom in the bathroom.

“Simon, can you get me a towel?” you ask tiredly, watching his naked figure through the open door.

“Was already on it,” he tells you, stretching his arm out through the spring with the towel in hand, drawing a chuckle from your lips. “Have to take care of my woman. Can’t leave her all messy from taking my cock like the sweet girl she is.”

“You’re so crude,” you say through giggles, Simon walking back into your bedroom.

“Only around you, love,” he answers, kneeling on the bed to dry you off.

“That’s a lie. A big fat lie.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The soft fabric drags against your skin, soaking up the trails of your wetness coating your inner thighs and your folds. So meticulous, careful with each movement. Neat-freak.

“I love you.”

His head tilts up, brown eyes keeping you still under his gaze. And then he smiles. Skin by his eyes crinkling, white teeth showcased, towel discarded onto the floor. He covers your body with his, arms sneaking around your waist to roll you on top of him.

“I love you, sweet girl. ‘S probably gonna be the death of me, but like hell if I’m gonna do anything else than love you,” he whispers, dragging the duvet over your bodies.

Your body goes soft, pliant, in his hold. Comfortable silence fills the non-existing space between you, his breathing the only thing you can hear. Your eyes almost shutter closed when Simon speaks up again.

"I am so fucking you in my office on Monday," Simon tells you, chin on top of your head, your cheek on his chest. You can't see his face, but you know there's a boyish grin on his lips.

You just chuckle tiredly.

"Mr. Price would literally kill the both of us if he found out."

"Tough luck, love. I'm having you on my desk. End of discussion," he teases, squeezing your hip gently.

"You're insatiable."

"And you're beautiful. And sexy, and gorgeous, and entirely fucking mine," he whispers, growls, into your ear. "So we're christening my office on Monday, yeah?"

"You're taking the blame if Price walks in."

"Gladly. By Monday afternoon, nobody in our office will have any doubts about who I belong to."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Future Mr. Y/l/n Riley. You better fucking believe,” he says. “Just gonna get Shepherd fired and gauge his eyes out first.”

“Simon.”

“Yes. Nobody fucks with my woman.”

TAGLIST: @keendreamnight @xxkay15xx @evie-119 @darkravenqueen98 @naxxsstuff @sirens-and-moonflowers @narcoticv3nus @igotmajordaddyissues @fallenkitten @darling006 @iloveloveeducks @accio-serotonin

#cod fanfic #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #back to december

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lovelettersforthedamned · 4 months

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guess who just got their period 😒 .... now i need peter all cuddled up next to me just rambling while he holds me and rubs my back or my stomach as i fall asleep in his arms 🥺-🎀

The Importance of Touch (and Peter)

--genre: fluff that's so sweet, your teeth will start to hurt

--pairing: tasm!peter parker x afab!reader

--word count: 0.4k

--warnings: reader is a person who has a period, fluff.

love this cutsie little request ohemgee

--gif credits: @gatorstillman

More often than not, your period struck you like a damn bus. Obviously, you’re bleeding, but it’s not just that. Your cramps loved to attack your entire body, causing you to lay in bed all day. The thought of getting out of bed killed you, and when you did, you were hunched over doubling in agony.

And when you’re in pain, Peter follows. He’s always by your side, mostly for moral support, but also for when you need another ibuprofen. You couldn’t have asked for someone better when it came to things like this.

Peter is extremely patient, with all things, but especially you. And as he’s under you, rubbing your lower back, you reflect on how much you love him.

He’s been rambling about his spider duties as his rhythmic motions on your skin slowly put you in a blissful daze. The sun is shining through your windows, a warm glow pouring in like it always does during this time in the afternoon.

As you’re lying on his chest, you can hear his steady heartbeat, the rise and fall of your head as he breathes in and out, and the deep hum of his voice as it reverberates through his body. You wish you could stay like this forever, but for now, you’ll have to keep this moment in your memory. With Peter, it was like he took all your pain away, allowing you to have a moment of peace within your hectic day.

You’ve been responding to Peter as he recounts his night, painting you a descriptive picture in the process. Simple ‘mm-hmm’s were enough for Peter to keep talking until he noticed your silence more than anything.

Craning his neck, he sees how your eyes dart back and forth under your eyelids as you sleep. He can’t help but bring his other hand up to your face, softly running his fingers over the skin on your cheeks. Bringing his head down, he places a deep kiss into your hairline, “Good night, bug. I love you.”

Just because you were asleep doesn’t mean he stopped rubbing your back. Peter kept a steady pace until he fell asleep with you, both of your breaths in sync with one another's.

--author's note: something short and sweet for the kids, alright? also helloooo, i've been in a weird burnout funk recently (womp womp). this is my little contribution to writing my baby girl peter parker LOL. ALSO 🎀 anon you're cooking with these asks, and also i'm on my period too...don't forget to like, comment, and reblog to support your fav writers!!! my inbox/asks are open to send in requests babes. ok, ily bye<3333

#peter parker x reader #fluff #marvel #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #spiderman #tasm!peter parker fluff #peter parker #tasm!peter parker blurb #tasm!peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine

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tarotwithavi · 1 year

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Random things about your 2023 . Short reading

Masterlist ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ paid reading

✧༺♥༻✧

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

1 2 3

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 1

Hello pile 1 , I'm seeing that you're very closed off to new opportunities right now and might be addicted or obsessed with something that isn't good for you and life will make you get rid of your toxic habits by a tower moment in your life. You just have some toxic cycles going repeating constantly in your life and it is going to change in the year 2023 .

Pile 1 , I see you getting your spiritual awakening in the year 2023 . This is going to be a tough cycle for you but remember it's for the best of you. I see that sometimes you might feel like doing nothing and just letting things flow on their own pace.

You have a weird way of looking at people, I'm sorry but weird is not the right word for it but it's just that you see people as something you should stay away from and you see World as a dangerous place. And that's why you mostly stay indoors. That perspective of you is good to change soon after you have your awakening.

I get that you might suffer from seasonal depression and it might be in the months of may - june. These two months are going to be life changing for you. Something great with happen in these two months that'll make you love life again.

I don't know if you know about Krishna consciousness, but it's a great thing. I've heard that it works wonders for people and changes their life for the best.

If you're thinking of travelling abroad I see you travelling in different countries.

You might get financial help from someone or you're going to help someone financially.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 2

Alright pile 2 , 2023 is going to be your rich bitch era. Like money is going to be attracted to you. If you're family is having some financial problems they are going to be solved.

I see you connecting more with a female figure in your family. It could be your mother, grandmother , sister or even your best friend.

If are manifesting something right now , I see all of your manifestations coming true in the year 2023 .

If your into LGBTQ community I see coming out to your family and your family accepting you the way your are. This message is specifically for my lesbians, you're going to get a girlfriend.

My artists are going to get a lot of recognition for their artwork! And I see a lot of you getting in tune with your inner child.

If you live away from your family , I see you reuniting with them. And going out for a picnic with them. This year is very positive for this pile! It's so sweet!

A lot of you are going to meet your twinflame / soul mate soon. You'll most likely meet them through family or friends. I'm seeing a celebration, so you can meet them in a party, wedding etc.

I see you finding your soul purpose and destiny. I don't know it just came into my mind. I am seeing a boat reaching the coast idk take how it resonates.

If you've been manifesting your other half, I see you meeting your counterpart. A lot of you are going to experience true love.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 3

Pile 3 I feel like you're not listening to your intuition and that might get you in a toxic Situationship. If your get odd feelings from someone like goosebumps , odd feeling in your guts stay away form that person. They're not good for you.

Alright so what I sense is that you might encounter a fake tarot reader or a scammer so stay alert. If someone tells you to do spells on your own , never do it. Because spells are very powerful and they can backfire.

Though it's okay if you do beauty rituals like having aura cleansing bath, a simple beauty spell . But love spells can back fire very easily. And never I mean NEVER involve yourself in black magic.

I see getting a lot of proposals from men who want to court you. Choose Carefully because one of them might be a obsessive lover.

If don't have good relations with your father, you might need to cut your relations with him. More like I see that your father is too controlling and you decide to go against him which will result in some arguments.

I See you reuniting with your old friends.

I see you getting victory and recognition for your work. But remember not to be over prideful ( lol is that even a word? )

If you're pregnant I see you giving birth to a healthy baby boy. And if you're thinking of having a baby I see you conceiving. '

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

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apomaro-mellow · 8 months

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Matchmaking Harringtons 3

Steve was having a great time with Eddie. It was mostly because he was just that amazing. He was funny, hot, cute, and totally into him. A winning combo in Steve's opinion. But it was all due in no small part to the fact that his parents were so supportive. Steve didn't talk about the girls he dated that much (because why would he?) but his folks seemed actively interested in his going with Eddie.

Maybe it was the whole 'serious relationship' thing they were trying to commit him to. Maybe they were overcompensating for not being around much and wanting to also prove they were okay with his preferences. Either way, they always wanted to know how things were going with Eddie.

They'd been going out for a couple of dates at this point and honestly each one was better than the last. They were all typically low-key, with moments that they were able to get alone for a bit of privacy.

"Let's just say the back of his van is very spacey", Steve said into the phone as he paced about his room.

"So...you're still a total slut then?", Robin said from the other end of the line.

"Guys can't be slutty. And it's not being a slut if it's with the same guy."

"So you've?"

Diane was in the middle of bringing up a basket of laundry when she heard her son's conversation in his room. She swore she'd never be the kind of mother that constantly eavesdropped but well, the door was open just a smidge...

"Not, not the full thing, all the way yet. I think he's nervous. Or he can tell I'm nervous? I don't know. I told him I'd never been with a guy before and I thought that might make him, you know, take initiative?"

"Or maybe he's taking things slow because he doesn't wanna scare you off?", Robin suggested.

"That...could be it. But that's kinda why I called. I thought he was moving kinda slow, but guess where he's taking me tomorrow?"

"Steve, is Munson taking you to a hotel?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "No. He's taking me to Le Petit Nuange. That French place a town over?"

Robin gasped. "Sacre bleu! Va-t-il faire une proposition?"

"Robs, please. My extent of French is 'filet mignon'."

"Do you think he's serious? Like trying to meet your parents serious?"

"I don't know? Maybe? It's just weird. Le Petit is just...so not Eddie."

Diane was inclined to agree. A fancy place like that seemed out of character for someone as boisterous and non-conforming as Eddie. He has once brought a bouquet of lilies, despite their dire meaning. 'Screw flower language, these are some damn fine flowers', he had said.

And even if he thought of taking Steve somewhere special, Enzo's was the nicest place in town. Where would he get the idea to go to the next town?

Jonas.

Diane had thought he was being suspicious when he hid Steve's shoes before a date and met Eddie outside to talk. Diane had thought he'd been giving the boy some kind of shovel talk. He must've been giving Eddie advice on where to take Steve instead.

And she could just imagine what he was trying to do - clean Eddie up. Well, if he wanted to go behind her back, then two could play at that game.

-------------------------

The doorbell rung and Steve answered it. Eddie was there, in a button up shirt with long sleeves that hide his tattoos. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. And he had a bouquet of nice, traditional, red roses.

"They're beautiful", Steve beamed. He took a moment to put the roses in a vase, missing the thumbs up his dad gave Eddie. Diane however, did not miss it.

"Your chariot awaits", Eddie said, giving a sweeping bow and then locking his arm with Steve's. "Have a good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington!", he called back.

As the van roared down the street, Diane enacted her own plan. She had her husband would also be having a date night.

At Le Petit Nuange, Eddie and Steve were being seated and Eddie had never felt more out of place. It was like everyone could tell he didn't belong here. But when he saw Steve smiling from across him, he knew there was no place he'd rather be.

"What made you want to bring me here?", Steve asked.

Jonas had practically cornered Eddie when he had come to pick up Steve, saying he just wanted to talk a little. Eddie was prepared for the whole 'I have a shotgun/shovel and I'm not afraid to use it.'

"Let's talk", he had opened with. "Steve and you have been having fun, right?"

"Uh, yes? I guess?", Eddie said, unsure now.

"Fun's all well and good Eddie. But now's the time to show Steve you're serious. And you are serious? Aren't you, son?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I am, serious like a heart attack."

"Then you've gotta take him some place special. A place like, uh, say Le Petit Nuange", Jonas rubbed at his chin.

Eddie's brows rose up under his fringe. "Le Petit Nuange? That place is-"

"Is upscale. Which is what Steve deserves, isn't it?"

Eddie swallowed. "Yeah, yeah it is."

He looked at Steve's hand, sitting on the table, just asking to be held. Steve deserved all this and more. And Eddie wanted to be the one to give it to him. It was why he took extra shifts and more of his side business to have the dough to take Steve here.

"I just looked up places in the yellow pages and thought you might like it."

"You know, my parents actually come here a lot", Steve pointed out.

"You don't say", Eddie tried to hide his expression by covering his face with the menu. When he got a look at the prices, it did a good job hiding the way his eyes bugged out. Looks like his purse strings would be a little tight after this. But he had prepared for that. Steve was worth it.

He was worth the stiff shirt, the swanky eatery, and even spending more time selling music that was beneath him to the general populace.

"So tell me more about this gig you've got coming up", Steve said.

Eddie's face broke out into a wild smile and he nearly slammed the menu down. "It's gonna be a ride, Stevie." He wasn't shouting, but his volume was a little louder than polite, and he felt eyes on him. He cleared his throat and quieted himself. "I mean I'm excited to rub elbows with other bands. The experience is sure to be enlightening."

Steve gave him an odd look. "Yeah, I hope my parents let me go. Indy isn't far, but I feel like they've been keeping a closer eye on me lately."

The thought of Steve being in a crowd while he played made Eddie wanted to jump for joy. He wanted to tell him come, even if his parents said no. Sneak out for the weekend, what could they do? He was a man now. But he couldn't do that. Not just because he was trying to clean up and having his new boyfriend at a metal venue might ruin that image. It was also because Steve's had nice parents.

There weren't many that could both accept and encourage their queer child.

"You know Steve, your parents-hcck!" Eddie choked on his words as he saw the Harringtons walk right in and get led to a table.

"What about my parents?", Steve asked.

"They're uh, they're um great!", Eddie squeaked, then cleared his throat to get it back to its normal register. "I mean they're great. I can tell they love you very much."

Steve smiled, none the wiser to his folks being seated not too far away. Eddie tried not to look at them, tried to ignore them. But this couldn't be a coincidence.

Jonas was looking around while trying not to look around. "When you said you wanted to go out tonight....I didn't think you meant this place."

"Why not?", Diane questioned. "We're regular patrons. And it's been a while since we went out." They'd been getting plenty of alone time what with Steve dating now, but they usually spent their evenings at home.

Jonas pulled out her chair for her and when he sat down, he used the menu to continue looking around. Diane watched him like a hawk.

Steve didn't know what was going on with Eddie. He looked nice dressed this way, sure. But it didn't feel like him. He felt...smaller somehow. Like he was trying to shrink himself down. Even as they talked, his smiles were restrained, he didn't move his hands as much, and even his voice seemed like it was being held back.

Steve watched as he cut his food, using minimal motions like he was working with glass.

"Eddie, are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, course, I'm fine. I uh, I just need to hit the can-uh use the facilities. Please excuse me."

Eddie got up in a haste. He thought he'd be ready for tonight. It was just playing pretend. Potentially for the rest of his life. Maybe having an audience of the parents was what was tripping him up. He got close to the bathroom when a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to see none of than Mrs. Harrington.

"Don't worry, I know this wasn't your idea", she started right off. "My husband put it in your head. I'll admit, I like the idea of Steve being treated like a prince, but if you clean up too much he'll get confused."

"Right, yeah, gotta strike a balance. Mhm."

"Glad we could talk", she patted his arm. "Go get him, tiger."

Eddie returned to Steve and saw Diane come back to her table not long after. He could see them exchange words, although he couldn't hear what. Then Jonas got up from his seat. He gave Eddie a strange look while making his way to the bathroom. Eddie sighed and excused himself again.

"Now I don't know what my wife might've said to you, but you've got to stay on this path. I can see a real future with you and Steve if you do."

"A real future?"

"I could only give my son to someone who could take care of him. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

Eddie nodded. The kind of man who could take Steve to these places and not have his soul leave his body when he looked at the menu. When Eddie sat back down, he looked at Steve, sitting across from him. It was the kind of view he could get used to.

Somehow, the meddling didn't end there. The Harringtons took turns, getting up to meet with Eddie and each time he had to come up with an excuse.

"I'm gonna check their wine selection."

"I want to make sure the kitchen knows my allergies."

"I'm gonna see if the violinist takes requests."

Finally, Steve stood up with him and grabbed Eddie by the elbow. "Come with me."

Steve took him to the bathroom and locked the door behind them.

"Steve", Eddie gasped, scandalized when his neck started to get kissed.

"You've been antsy all night." Steve's hands went to his hips and began to untuck his shirt.

Instantly, Eddie felt like being released from shackles. Steve's hand roaming under his shirt left him so distracted, he almost didn't hear what he said next.

"Hm?"

"I said, do you wanna get out of here?"

"The bill-", Eddie was cut off when Steve reached behind him and took down his hair, running his fingers through it to free the tresses.

"A little dine and ditch never hurt anyone."

Eddie looked to the window in the bathroom. Just barely big enough to make a getaway. He was halfway out when they heard someone knocking on the door. Eddie was helping Steve out as the handle was shaking. Steve was giggling and it was like a sweet bell to his ears.

They were making their way around the back of the restaurant and towards the van as the manager finally came around with a key.

Diane and Jonas could make out the commotion going on near the bathroom and saw the empty table where two lovebirds should be.

"You knew I made Eddie take Steve here", Jonas confirmed.

"Yes."

"And every time you got up-"

"Was to speak with Eddie. And now they've-"

"-Snuck out the bathroom."

Together they sighed, remembering when they snuck out of stuffy formals to be alone together. And because they wondered if they were doing right by their son.

"We're going to have a long talk when we get home, huh?", Jonas asked his wife.

"Oh yeah."

"Any hope for me?"

"Ask me after dessert."

Part 5

Tag Team

@tartarusknight @swimmingbirdrunningrock @estrellami-1 @potato-of-the-lord @dragonmama76 @m-owo-n @sticknpokelightningbolt @somegirlsomewhere @tinyplanet95 @samsoble @runniem @hallucinatedjosten @nburkhardt @littlewildflowerkitten @noctxrn-e @subversivecynic @larawrmonster @suikatto @platinum-sunset @imacowboy3 @tiny-enthusiast @netflixisacopingstrategymom @honorarybrit81 @manda-panda-monium @krazyperson @ninjapirateunicorns

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #poor eddie #dont worry he and steve will find their way #and di and jo will get the picture too

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velvet-vox · 21 days

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Why Doll perfectly exemplifies all of the strengths and flaws of Murder Drones as a series.

From the amount of posts present on my blog about the specific individual, it is rather obvious to assume that Doll Yurikova (I'm still convinced the fandom made up this surname) is my favourite character from Murder Drones and you wouldn't be wrong.

She just simply tickles my needy scratch for weird, cool complex villainess characters.

However, eventually I also realised that she more than any other character embodies everything that makes murder drones a great show and everything that detracts the show from being genuinely amazing.

Let's start off with the good, anything I say applies to the both of them:

Doll/Murder drones are generally cool, unconventionally attractive, have great potential (this point will be elaborated upon) and are very complex in both the themes that they bring to the table and the philosophical standpoints discussed.

Coolness factor is mostly subjective, but I am sure any Murder drones fan will tell you that the sci-fi/horror/mystery/romance/comedy show about sentient cannibalistic robots who fight against eldritch atrocities with Portal 2-esque music is an absolute blast conceptually and visually. In the same way the russian robo vampire who was previously a cheerleader before deciding to commit cannibalism to avenge her dead parents has swarms of fans simping for her.

Unconventionally attractive is determined by unconventional people, said people also have rewatched the show seventeen different times.

Now, regarding the great potential, although I've also elaborated the previous points, this is one that will carry over when discussing the negatives of both the character and the show, but as for positive, you can just feel that Murder Drones is so much different from anything else you have ever watched, it truly gives me haunted Ghibli vibes in the way the story plays out. It could really be amazing. As for Doll, every time I watch her in the show up to her death I just get really sad thinking about what could have been if she had a redemption arc or just a better life in general.

Murder drones has abuse as his main theme and how it circulates into destructive chains and Doll is definitely one of the more interesting examples of said theme, being part of the abused and mauled drone designation that became an abuser herself. I say one of the more interesting examples because her story is fleshed out better than someone else's, say Tessa or Alice.

And now for the negatives, we need to bring out the big elephant in the room:

The show is only 8 episodes long and they are writing the season one finale in the same way you would write a series finale since making Murder drones costs Glitch a crap ton of money when they could just lower the animation quality and allow the story more time to breathe (mind you this is also Liam Vickers fault). I just hate the 8 episodes 20 minute long formula, it has, in my opinion, destroyed modern show telling and I honestly can't bear it any longer.

Besides that, 8 episodes of 20 minutes means that Doll's arc has to be paced quickly in order to get all the other characters (particularly the main ones) and elements to shine and that unfortunately leads to the fact that both Doll and Murder drones lack the one thing that separates Doll from being a human being and Murder Drones from being an amazing show, and that thing is (drum rolls) the tissue.

To explain, they have the (exo)skeleton, the organs, the mandibles and all the things that would make a piece of fiction feel truly human, but without the connective tissue, the skin, they both end up just short of those standards and as a result I can't confidently say that they are truly evocative individuals. Tissue of course is a metaphor for quote on quote "filler" in regards to the show and "villain at rest" moments in regards to Doll and her arc. And let's talk about the ending of said arc because of its possibility of paralleling the conclusion of the show;

You can say a lot of things about Doll's death but one thing that's impossible to deny is the impact of her death in your mind, everything about its execution is just so brutal that it leaves you a lasting feeling in your body; in a similar manner, the show could end with an absolute gut punch that remains impressed in your mind for months to come.

#murder drones doll #murder drones tessa #murder drones uzi #murder drones alice #murder drones spoilers #murder drones analysis #glitch productions #liam vickers animation #murder drones ep 7 #murder drones

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

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The Other Half Part Nine

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Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only

Length: A hideously long 4K

Warnings: Reader has a mother and father, both are in the chapter—no physical descriptions, no names; some angst; mostly fluff; accidental use of the Batman™ voice, purposeful use of light parental guilt, explicit sexual content—semi-public sex, oral sex, vaginal sex

Summary: …Bruce just cut himself shaving, that’s all. Tiny cut. It wasn’t a lot of blood anyway, he’s just—It’s a shaving cut. Honestly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. He’s just a…Weird billionaire guy. A weird billionaire guy that you really, really like. There’s literally nothing for you to worry about. You're just picking things apart. You do that sometimes. You’re a picky picker. So…So calm the fuck down and drink your champagne.

“Mom…Mom,” You stress into the phone. You sigh as she pushes on, as if you haven’t said a thing. You pace in front of the floor to ceiling windows of Bruce’s penthouse, eyeing the sparkling lights of the city below.

Fuckssake. Why is Bruce so late? If the two if you had been at Liz’s by now, you could’ve hurriedly answered your mom’s phone and promised to call her back tomorrow. You knew saying that you had a few minutes to chat would be a mistake. She’s moved on to the latest project that she’s working on with her quilting group—and you have no idea how she even found a quilting group.

“Uh-huh…Mhm…” You glance around the apartment, eyeing the elevator. Oh, thank fuck, someone is coming up. Is it Alfred? You hope it’s Alfred. You’ve been meaning to ask him how his gardening gloves are holding up.

“Mom…No, I knew we talked about it—” You vaguely note the sound of the elevator doors opening. “I just—I don’t think a visit is in the budget right now…No, of course I want to see you, please don’t say that,” You wince, curling your arm around your middle. She’s working her guilt overtime, harder than she usually does. “Of course I miss you and dad.”

You turn at the sound of approaching footsteps and glance back, a small smile flitting across your lips as you catch sight of Bruce. You raise a finger to signal that you need a moment.

“Yeah, I know…I know I said I’d try to come see you for Christmas, but…Yes I’m still working at that store…Mom, I really can’t do this right now.” You fight the urge to reach up and scrub your hand over your face (you worked too damn hard on your makeup for this party).

“I’ll call you tomorrow, we can talk about it more then, alright?...Okay…Okay…Yes, I know. I love you, too. Okay. Bye.”

You lower your phone, pushing a breath out through puffed cheeks.

“Everything alright?” Bruce asks. You smile as he smooths his hands over your hips, drawing you back into his chest.

“Mhm. Just…Catching up with mom.” You glance back toward him, a smile pulling at your lips as he nuzzles your shoulder. “You’re late.”

“I know. Sorry,” He mumbles, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Fox started explaining some budget…Stuff. I fell asleep.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” You laugh, sagging back against him, grinning as he curls his arms around you. “You can’t fall asleep in board meetings, Bruce.”

“Sure I can. I do it all the time.”

“Sorry, let me rephrase. You shouldn’t fall asleep in board meetings.”

“...You know, that’s uncanny.”

“What is?”

“That’s exactly what Fox said.”

You smile, turning in his arm and raising your hands to cup his cheeks. You cuddle closer, sliding your hand up into his hair and leaning into his warm, sweet kiss. You can already feel some of your tension melting. Bruce slides a hand up along your back, humming as he draws back from your kiss. You smile, eyes sweeping his face, then going still at the sight of two red dots on his collar. Your brow furrows. It’s not lipstick—it can’t be, unless someone was using Bruce’s cheek as a mirror while applying unusually runny brick-shaded liquid lipstick.

“...Bruce?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you—” You dip your head a touch closer to look at the stain, “Is that blood?”

“What?” Bruce frowns, brows furrowing as he pulls his head back, eyeing the collar. “Oh. Shit. I, uh—I must’ve cut myself shaving.”

“...Where?” You ask, dipping your head and taking a look at his jaw.

“Some—Somewhere—Lemme just go change my shirt.”

You groan, stomping your feet petulantly as he pulls away. You trail after him.

“We’re already late,” You whine.

“You’re so uptight. You’ve gotta learn,” He glances back toward you as he heads to his room, “A party starting at eight means we should be there around eleven.”

“Frickin’ rich people rules. So weird,” You mutter. You lean in the doorway to Bruce’s bedroom, raising your brows as he shucks his jacket off and reaches up, undoing his tie. He does it with almost speedy efficiency, and it’s…Kind of hot. You bite your lip, watching his deft fingers undo his buttons. You catch sight of him watching you, his brows raised, lips curled into a teasing smile. Your stomach flips with embarrassment, your face heating at being caught out.

“Shut up,” You mumble before he can say a thing. His smile widens, a soft laugh pushing out through his nose.

“Can I uh…Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure,” You nod, straightening up and taking a couple of steps into the room.

“Can you grab me something to drink?”

You go still, surprised. “...Oh. Yeah. Yeah,” You nod, taking a step back. “What do you want?”

“Why don’t you open some bubbly? It'd be nice to have a drink before we go out. Relax your obsessive need to be on time.”

“It is not obsessive.”

“It’s on its way to compulsive.”

“Which bubbly do you want? You’ve got like four in your fridge.”

“Open whichever one you want. They’re all…Hideously expensive and taste exactly the same.”

“Not true. I’ll have you know, I’ve had so much of your hoity-toity shit that I can tell the difference between a Clicquo, a De Brignac, and a Pérignon now.”

“Damn. I’m turning you into a little snob,” He chuckles, shifting his shirt on his shoulders—but he doesn’t take it off.

“You want something to eat, too?” You ask.

“Sure. There’s a chance I’ll spill and have to change my shirt again, make us even later.”

“Fuck it, no food.”

“Go on,” Bruce laughs, nodding you away. You smile, giving him one last look before you turn away. You find yourself hesitating in your step before you push on down the hall. Maybe you’re overthinking it, or reading into it, but it’s kinda….Strange that you’ve never actually seen Bruce shirtless...Or naked, for that matter. You’ve fucked, obviously, but the lights have always been off. And it’s not the first time you’ve spotted blood on his shirt collar, or sleeve, or sock. It’s never much, but…It’s strange that this has happened…Repeatedly. Maybe he is a clutz, maybe he shaves when he’s tipsy or something, but you’ve never been able to spot a scratch or a scrape—no little bit of toilet paper stuck to his chin or jaw or neck…

You ponder it as you open the fridge, drawing out a bottle of champagne before you turn to where the prosecco glasses are. You hum thoughtfully, reaching for the Tiffany and Co champagne flutes instead of the Waterford ones. You go still when they’re halfway down from the shelf, fingers grasping the stems. Wow, Bruce is right. You are turning into a snob. Two months ago, you would’ve just dumped it into a mug.

You shake the thought away, turning and setting the flutes down. You unwrap the foil and untwist the muselet (jeez, two months ago, you would’ve called it a cork-cage-thingy) before you twist off the cork (you don’t even flinch when it pops anymore). You pick up and fill each flute (tipping it to keep from building up too much head—Alfred’s taught you so much) before setting the bottle aside.

…He’s just cut himself shaving, that’s all. Tiny cut. It wasn’t a lot of blood anyway, he’s just—It’s a shaving cut. Honestly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. He’s just a…Weird billionaire guy. A weird billionaire guy that you really, really like. There’s literally nothing for you to worry about. You're just picking things apart. You do that sometimes. You’re a picky picker. So…So calm the fuck down and drink your champagne.

It’s better that you didn’t get in there for a smooch and a feel, anyway. You’d have to re-iron your dress, maybe shower, maybe wash up, redo your makeup—And really, what’s the point. You can screw around with him later, after the party.

Or at the party. You hadn’t anticipated screwing around with Bruce after the party. Hell, you’re not complaining—your mouth’s too full to complain. You can’t help but smile as Bruce’s fingers flex on your nape. You bob your head, hand pumping along the base of his shaft as you bob your head. You go a little tense as you hear someone knock on the bathroom door behind Bruce. “Occupied,” He calls back thickly, whacking the door in turn. You lean back, tongue sweeping along the head of his cock and grinning as Bruce’s hips stutter. He gives your nape another squeeze, nodding you up. You get up, glancing over your shoulder at the door.

“Is it locked?” You mumble. “It’s locked,” He insists, pointedly jiggling and tugging the handle, the door stuttering and holding in the frame, “It’s locked.”

He steers you back toward the sink. You grin as he dips his head, brushing a kiss to your jaw and nudging you back to sit on the wide counter. Your butt nudges against the soap pump, sending it whacking against the mirror. Bruce pushes the skirt of your dress up around your hips, tugging your underwear down. You shift a little to help him take them down, wiggling one off of your ankle so that you can spread your legs. He pushes your thighs wide, smoothing his fingers over your slick pussy before easing a finger in. You push into his hand, hooking your fingers in his collar and drawing him closer. You bite your lips to keep from moaning too loudly, your head thudding back against the mirror. You let your eyes slide closed as Bruce crowds closer, sucking a kiss to your neck as he grinds his palm against your clit. You pant through parted lips, smoothing your fingers through his hair and giving it a tug. Bruce’s groan vibrates against your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin.

“Bruce,” You whisper, “Fuck, c’mon. We’re gonna be—Everyone’s gonna know what we’re doing in here.”

“Who cares?” Bruce tips his chin up, his lips brushing against your chin. “Fuck, let them know. You want them to hear you, too? I can make that happen, baby.”

Your cunt flutters around his fingers, and he chuckles, lowering his thumb to your clit. You hiss in a moan, hips stuttering.

“Bruce, if you don’t fuck me, I’m gonna find something that’s the right shape and the right size and handle it my damn self.”

He chuckles, giving your jaw a little nip before he draws his fingers out. You reach down, drawing a condom packet out of his suit jacket and ripping it open. You’ve only just gotten it on him when someone knocks again. Bruce growls, spitting, “Occupied,” Back over his shoulder. Your stomach flips at the sound. You’ve never heard him so gruff before—

“If you do coke in there, you better share!” Liz calls back, “And if you’re fucking, wipe down the counter before you come back out!”

You giggle, slapping your hand over your mouth. Oh—god, you’re never going to be able to look anyone at that party in the eye. You lower your hand to his neck as he turns back to you. Bruce snorts, turning and wrapping his hands around your back, drawing you to the edge of the counter.

“I told you they’d all know,” You manage through your giggles.

“And I told you, who cares?” He murmurs against your lips.

“Maybe I care a little.”

“Just a little?” He eases his cock into you, and you whimper softly, hand lowering to grasp his collar.

“Little more than a little,” You mumble, “Fuck.”

You curl into Bruce as his hips begin to slap against yours, his pants pushing into the column of your neck.

“What are we supposed to wipe down these—goddamn countertops with, anyway?” You ask, curling your arms around his shoulders.

“Could use your underwear,” Bruce teases, “Or one of those stupid monogrammed hand towels.”

“You’re rich, why don’t you have those?”

“I do, they’re at the manor. Alfred doesn’t let me use them.”

Bruce silences your shriek of laughter, catching your lips with his.

“...Hey.”

You’re almost asleep when he speaks up. You’re becoming sort of obsessed with Bruce’s blackout curtains; you can hardly see a damn thing. You wriggle back into Bruce’s chest, sliding a leg back between his.

“Mm?” You hum. Bruce presses up close, sliding his hand over your bare skin.

“What were you saying to your mom earlier? About a trip?”

You groan softly, squeezing your always closed eyes tight.

“Nothing, it was just…It was nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing.”

“No, it was…” You clear your throat, shifting in Bruce's arms. “It was just…She’s been kinda harping on me coming to Metropolis to visit…Or live, you know. Especially after the whole thing at the store. She just worries, that’s all. She thinks I’m gonna go to work and get shot or something.”

Bruce doesn’t answer for a few moments, his fingers smoothing over your belly.

“...You almost did get shot at work,” He points out. You groan softly, turning your face into the pillow.

“Bruce, please,” You plead. “I can barely do this with my mom, I can’t do it with you, too. Please.”

“Alright,” Bruce concedes softly, nuzzling into your neck and dropping a kiss there. “Alright.”

You don’t realize how tense you are until Bruce smooths his hand over your side, then down over your thigh. Your body sags into the mattress, your eyes unclenching and blinking into the darkness. You draw in a deep breath before you reach down, resting your hand atop his, smiling as he intertwines your fingers.

“...Don’t think I can ever look Liz in the eye again,” You mumble after a moment.

“What, ‘cause we fucked in one of her bathrooms? Please,” He chuckles, “Her cleaner’ll bleach it. It’ll be like we were never there.”

“Yeah, but we were…And we did, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ve never fucked in anyone else’s house before.”

“You like it?”

“It was…Thrilling is the wrong word.”

“Mm, but it was the first one that came to mind?”

“It was new,” You correct with a chuckle. “Different.”

“Kinda fun?”

“Very fun.”

“Good,” He murmurs. He turns his head, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Go to sleep, baby.”

You go quiet, steadying your breath as you feel your fatigue tugging you under.

“Stay in bed, Bruce,” You mumble before dropping off completely.

It’s sort of a relief when Bruce doesn’t bring up what your mom said again. It’s even more of a relief when your mom doesn’t bring it up again, though it’s sort of…Perplexing. Usually your mom twists the little guilt knife in even deeper when you’re already on her little guilt hook. You don’t think she means anything by it, really. Well—no more than any other mom missing her kid.

But it is an absolute shock when, three weeks later, the doors to the elevator open and your parents step out into the penthouse. Your mother shrieks at the sight of you, dropping a paper bag by the elevator and darting to you.

You can’t speak for a moment. Your mouth works wordlessly, brow furrowing as your mom hurries over to you.

“Oh…Oh my god. Oh my god—” You finally manage, wrapping your arms around your mom and holding her close, reaching for your dad as he gets closer. You hold the two of them, squeezing your eyes shut.

“How are you…How are you here, what happened? Is everything okay?” You ask, drawing back to get a good look at both of them.

“Your friend brought us in! Put us up at a fancy hotel and all!” Your mom says excitedly.

“My…My friend, which friend? There’s no way Michelle could afford to do this—”

“Not Michelle,” Your mother chuckles, “Bruce!”

“...Bruce,” You repeat, stunned. The revelation wells up a further shock and a feeling of warmth in you. “Bruce brought you here, Bruce did this?”

“Yes. He’s quite nice—Very handsome, even more handsome up close,” Your mother waggles her brows. “Why haven’t you told us about him?”

“I—We can talk about this later, um—Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?”

“No, it’s okay! Bruce’s butler is getting something for us. Allen, or Albert—” Your father frowns, thinking.

“Alfred,” You correct—perhaps a little too quickly, and with too defensive a tone. Your parents share a look, glancing between one another before meeting your gaze again.

“Alfred,” Your mother agrees. “Anyway! He said he’ll be up with it in…In a bit, wow! Look at this view!” She and your dad step away from you, looking around the apartment with interest. You find yourself at loose ends, shoving your hands into your back pockets. You don’t want to seem to familiar with Bruce, but you know every corner of the penthouse. You just watch them explore, tell them that you’re fine, the work is okay. You ask them how their trip was (fine), how long the trip is (a few days), where they’re staying (The Gotham Royal Hotel, can you believe it?—and given Bruce's penchant for not doing anything by half-measures, yes, you can).

“Can you, um…Can you two excuse me for a moment? I just need to run to the bathroom,” You smile, gesturing over your shoulder. Your parents nod, more interested in looking around the living room. You half-run down the hall, stepping past the bathroom and walking over to Bruce’s bedroom. You duck inside, pulling up Bruce’s contact information and hurriedly calling him. He might be in some board meeting, or sleeping off a hangover (he went to a Gotham Griffins game the night before, and based on Instagram, he took the whole team out to celebrate their win afterward). You wait on tenterhooks biting your lip and shifting from foot to foot. It’s only two rings before you hear him answer the phone.

“Yeah?” He asks. You can’t say anything for a moment. You don’t even know what you can say. The fact that your parents are out in the living room—that they’re in Gotham, a city that they swore they’d never come back to when they left it—the fact that Bruce did this for you—

Your chest flutters like a thousand restless butterflies have made a home in it. You raise a hand to your face, scrubbing across your watering eyes as Bruce presses, “...You there?”

You draw in a deep breath, trying to disguise your sniffle, and nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you.

“Thank you,” You breathe. “Thank you, thank you, I—I don’t know how, or what you did to—...Bruce, this is insane.”

“Too much?”

“No,” You laugh shakily. “No, I…It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You can hear his relief, his smile.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“I’ve got some things that I need to take care of at the Manor, some stuff to circle back on with Alfred, and then I’ve gotta talk to Fox.”

You bite your lip. You want to ask to see him, but you don’t want to push—especially after he did this for you—

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, and Alfred will drive your parents back to the hotel.”

You close your eyes. Back in time for dinner. That shouldn’t hit you so close to the heart, but your chest pangs with it nonetheless. It feels so fucking tender, and sweet. But then, that’s your Bruce. That’s the man that you see, not the one that he shows to the world.

“Okay,” You murmur, nodding. “You are getting a hell of a thank you when you get here.”

“Already got a hell of one.”

“You’re getting a better one.”

Bruce chuckles, warming you.

“I’ll see you tonight, alright?”

“Okay.” Love you. It sits on your lips. It’s right there. It’s too soon, but it’s true. You love Bruce. You’re pretty sure you’re in love with Bruce. Fuck. Fuck.

“...Hey,” Bruce murmurs. “You still there?”

“Yes,” You nod again. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Love you. I love you. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye, baby.”

“Bye.” You draw your phone back from your face, watching as the call ends. Love you. I am in love with you. Shit. Shit.

It’s so easy to sit across from your parents at Bruce’s dinner table with Bruce by your side, his arm curled around your shoulders. You thought it may be a bit more awkward, but it’s clear that Bruce and your parents have spoken a fair amount since Bruce contacted them about coming to see you (god, you can only imagine; your mother can be such a chatterbox. You’d pay to see those call times).

You glance over at Bruce as his fingers absently skim your arm, smiling as you turn to look at him. He’s paying attention to what your father is saying (about the inferiority of the Metropolis Metros, and his high hopes for his fantasy football league this season). You take in Bruce's profile: the calm smile on his face; the fanning of his lashes as he blinks; the steady, interested focus that he watches your father with; the way his lips quirk with some joke or another. You miss your father's joke, but there's a burst of laughter from Bruce and your parents. You can’t help the softening of your smile as Bruce turns to look at you. His eyes sweep your face, brows furrowing questioningly. You give a reassuring nod, and fight the urge to lean in for a kiss. Nothing salacious, just a little peck—

But you pull back the urge in favor of reaching down and giving his knee a gentle squeeze. That’s nothing salacious, either. It’s just another silent thanks. You’ve been trying to give them all night—with smiles, hand-squeezes, knee-squeezes, anything you can manage.

“It’s getting late,” Your father says, sitting up, “We’ve had, uh—Pretty long day.”

“Of course,” Bruce nods, sitting up as well and meeting Alfred’s eyes over the counter. Alfred nods in turn, heading for the coat closet. You smile, standing as the others do and heading for the elevator with your parents.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smile.

“For breakfast?” Your father asks.

“Ah…Probably lunch, or dinner? I’ve got a shift from eight to five.”

“Oh, can’t you take off,” Your mother pouts.

“I can’t tomorrow, mom, but—Maybe the day after? I didn’t know you were coming, so, you know, I didn’t have a chance to ask for a day off.”

“Just take a sick day!” Your mother insists.

“I really can’t, mom, it would be way too short notice.”

“Oh, please?” Your mother presses. You draw in a deep breath and hold it for a moment to quell your irritation. This has been your mom’s tactic for quite a while—pleading like a child, like you did when you were young. It’s always driven you nuts—

“I was actually thinking the two of you could, uh—Get a private tour of the botanical gardens tomorrow," Bruce offers, stepping closer and resting his hand on your lower back.

“The botanical gardens!” Your mother’s brows raise, stunned. “That would be absolutely lovely!”

“Great. It starts at three, so you can have a nice, easy morning,” Bruce smiles.

You bite back a smile as you tack on, “We can have dinner afterward.”

“That is a good plan—Thank you,” Your father nods to Alfred as he takes his coat.

“Thank you,” Your mother echoes—“Oh!” She takes hold of the paper bag that Alfred holds out to her. “Bruce, this is for you! It’s just a little something that I made,” She waves off, “Very silly.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Bruce grins. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight!” Your mother gives you another quick hug. “I’ll text you in the morning!”

“Okay,” You nod before leaning up to hug your father as well. You bite back an embarrassed groan as your mother leans in, hurriedly hugging Bruce. Your father shakes Bruce’s hand before the two get into the elevator with Alfred. You step in front of the elevator, waving at them as the doors shut. You puff out a soft breath as they drop out of view.

“Bruce,” You sigh, “I literally cannot tell you…” You trail off as you turn around, frowning when you find Bruce a little misty-eyed, looking down into the bag. You take a wary step closer, brow furrowing. “Bruce? What is it?”

He glances up at you, lips pressed into a thin, watery smile.

“...Your mother made me a quilt.”

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half

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thebibutterflyao3 · 3 months

Text

Day 29 - Prompt: Angel @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 575 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Remus wrapped his fingers around Sirius’s wrist and guided his hand along his jaw until it cupped his cheek instead. He leaned into their combined hands and studied Sirius’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You’re an angel.”

“Not even close,” he scoffed. “My mind is filthy and I would shag you senseless, if you wanted me to.”

Sirius huffed with a startled laugh, then rested his forehead against Remus’s. “What if I don’t want you to sleep on the sofa, but am not here for sex?”

“We can share the bed.”

Remus tried to ignore his heartbeat when it tripled its pace, pounding mercilessly against his chest. He could do this. it wasn’t like he’d never shared a bed platonically before. He and Lily had slept next to each other plenty of times over the years. It would be completely fine.

Granted, he had no interest in fucking Lily. Mostly because he’d come to see her as a sister and it would be too weird. This had nothing to do with Lily obviously, but it was safer than thinking about sleeping next to Sirius.

“If you don’t mind,” Sirius began, pecking at his lips. “I’d rather share.”

“Me too. Yeah, that would be nice.”

Nice? Yes, so nice in fact that I’ll probably have a hard-on all bloody night, but it’s fine! I’ll be fine. Just don’t leave.

Sirius hugged his neck and squeezed lightly. “Brill! Mind if I borrow your shower first? I reek of smoke.”

“Of course! Help yourself.”

Remus bit down hard on his bottom lip as he watched Sirius stride out of the room. He was stupidly fit, and he asked to come home with him. It wasn’t as though Remus would, or even could, turn him down, regardless of his reasons for it. Sirius said that he wanted him, and that was reason enough.

Three days. I only have three days to convince him to keep me.

It wasn’t enough time, but he’d have to make it work. Honestly, he was shocked he’d made it this far. He was fully prepared to be “a long-distance friend” for a while. If anything, he figured that he would have to charm James and Regulus as well to get this close.

He could change his mind in the morning.

That thought sank in his gut like a stone tossed in a pond. Sirius was tipsy tonight. It could end before it really began.

By the time Sirius emerged from his bathroom with his hair tied up, the cropped tee and Remus’s oversized pyjama pants on, Remus had decided to make the best of it. He wrapped his arms around Sirius’s waist and hugged him close, then kissed the top of his head.

Sirius grinned into his neck. “Hello to you too.”

“Feel better?”

“Yes, thanks,” Sirius said, humming to himself as he squeezed Remus tight. “Are you ready for bed?”

Remus nodded, chin rubbing against the top of his head. “Yeah, just let me change and brush my teeth.”

“Alright.”

As he slipped into the bathroom with pyjamas in hand, Remus eyed his reflection intently. He was handed an extraordinary opportunity and couldn’t waste it. Even if this only lasted one night, he would make the best of it. He would store away the moments that he’d stolen tonight and make them last.

“Please don’t fuck this up,” he whispered. “I want this to work.”

Whatever this is, I want to keep it.

Next Part>>>

#wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #the marauders #marauders

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your-nanas-house · 5 months

Note

LOVE UR PAGE SMMM😭

if you feel like/have time would you be down to write something abt Jerome and a psychiatrist reader?

if you don't like the idea or anything just ignore this :))

AWWWW THANK YOU! for the compliments and the request. I really miss our Romie 🥺 he isn't as famous as he used to be lately. Our poor baby 😭 Sorry if it took me so long, dear.

Just a kiss for Christmas

◇ Pairing: Jerome Valeska X psychiatrist!Reader

◇ Warnings: fluff, Jerome Valeska..we know how our lovely crazy ginger is, kiss, unexpected touch, flirting.

◇ Summary: Jerome is locked in Arkham but he still wants a Christmas gift.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Credits to the owners of the pictures.

Finally after the last patrol of the guards, two stopped in front of Jerome's cell who was waiting impatiently in front of his door, his hazel eyes carefully observing whoever passed in the corridor.

He was adorable, despite being a known and feared serial killer, with a childish but sadistic personality.

He really looked eager and excited that day, maybe for the upcoming festivity or the session he was about to have with his psychiatrist— a she psychiatrist, like Jerome kept pointing out at every patience there.

Miss Y/l/n, a young psychiatrist that was pretty good at her job, treating everyone with respect and professionalism even in a madhouse like that.

In all his staying, the ginger never felt the want or need to see a doc there but everything was different with his Y/n. He was kind of smitten, to not say obsessed.

That's why he was so excited to go on Christmas Eve for a session with her, thus spending an hour alone in the room talking about himself while sneakily trying to hit on her, even though it never worked. But a man had his needs, hadn't he?

His pace was fast as he walked, carrying with him his diary, holding it tightly in his strong big hands till they finally arrived at their destination.

The door slowly opened, allowing him to step in and sit innocently at the table, handcuffs still around his wrists and ankles— he looked like an innocent child in that moment, just waiting with a puppy face that broke as soon as Y/n moved closer to the table

“Why are you acting like that, Jerome?” she asked, not managing to hold back her own smile while she sat down in front of him

“Nothing, doll…I mean Doc” he replied smoothly, a smirk slowly creeping on his scared face.

His gloved hands kept resting on the table, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved his fingers tapping the surface there.

After the session, which went pretty good, almost too good…Y/n took a moment to look at him for a couple of seconds, just staying in silence— just waiting for something to happen, to understand the reason for Jerome's weird behavior.

“So?” The beautiful psychiatrist asked, leaning closer to him, allowing her arms to rest on the table that way— her eyes still scanning his freckled face

“So what, Doc?” Jerome replied smugly, moving carefully his hands to search something in his pockets while she was still studying him

“What's on your mind, huh? Searching for another reward since you were such a good boy?” She asked in a soft but teasing voice.

Well, it was actually like that.

Jerome pulled quickly out what looked like a broken mistletoe and moved it between them as best he could, letting her hold it above their heads for him

“Been a good boy all week, doll. Lil'ol’ me isn't on ya naughty list this year” he murmured, smiling slowly with his scared lips, his smile big and almost scary for someone who wasn't used to it.

He received no response for a couple of minutes, his psychiatrist just kept watching him with a serious expression before finally cracking and nod

“You've been pretty good, yes…guess you really earned this Christmas gift, huh?” She murmured, mostly to herself before she leaned closer.

Jerome did the same as soon as she saw her lean in, he was still tied but he managed to connect their lips in a french kiss, slipping his tongue as best he could in her mouth to taste her— his handcuffed hands cupping her clothed breasts when she was focused on returning the forceful kiss.

“Jerome! Should have expected it…still a naughty man with a puppy tricky face” she joked softly, not really made at his childish antics.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny, @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher, @sleepycreativewriter

#gotham #gotham tv #gotham x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska x reader #jerome x reader #jerome imagine #jerome valeska imagines #gotham jerome #jerome valeska imagine #cameron monaghan

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navnae · 1 year

Text

(A little prompt idea and I got some help from @sarahmadisonxoxo ! Also I’ll write the other prompts when I have time!)

It was only a matter of time before the party decided that they were going to go on a Disneyland trip, it just made sense that eventually they’d do a huge group trip like this and it’s safe to say that they were all excited. The adults, the older teens, and the younger teens came together for this trip. Saving up everything they had to make it possible and a fun experience. All of them drove in separate cars to get everyone in one pace at the same time and once they did that’s when the shenanigans began. The adults parted ways and went ahead to get some drinks for themselves leaving majority of the kids together. Jonathan, Nancy and Argyle were walking around with Mike, Will, and Lucas exploring the different rides that seemed like the craziest ones. Robin and Vickie took Eleven and Max to the nearest store to do some shopping. They looked at all the cute Disney headbands and figurines that were just too adorable to not buy. Robin bought some Mickey ears for the girls, herself, and Vickie. She smirked to herself when she saw a pair of ears that had a rainbow on it and she thought they would fit Steve perfectly, she also thought it would be funnier to give them to him without telling him what they meant.

After their shopping trip they met up with group in passing. They bumped into Steve and Dustin who were jumping all over the place with excitement. So far they’ve been getting on several rides, eating loads of snacks, and running around like little kids. The girls laughed at how all over the place they were, their sugar rushes being more apparent as the day went on.

“You two look like idiots.” Max joked. The girls laughed at the goofy grins on their faces as they rolled their eyes.

“Sadly that’s not a new discovery.” Robin sighed as she put her hand in her hip. She figured since Steve was older he would at least consider acting like an adult once just for today.

“You’re just jealous because we finished ten churros in one sitting!” Dustin bragged he turned to Steve and gave him a high five. The girls weren’t impressed in the slightest but they couldn’t help but smile at the silliness in front of them.

“You really ate ten churros?” Eleven asked still skeptical of the amount that Dustin had told them. Both of them nodded their head.

“Ten.” Steve repeated with a wide smile feeling proud. All of them laughed in unison at the situation. As crazy as it sounded all of them knew that this wasn’t too far fetched for the crazy duo to do.

“I mean that sounds fun but don’t you think that’s a little pricey.” Vickie questioned while directing it mostly towards Steve. He only shrugged in response.

“Nothing is pricey when you’re having fun.” Steve said happily and patted Dustin’s shoulder. The girls smiled at the cute moment between them. It was truly amazing to see their friendship going strong after so many years. Robin took a quick look at her watch and it was getting close to the time that they all agreed on to meet back at the car.

“Alright, it’s getting close to the time that we promised Hopper to meet back up. We’re going to wander a little bit more before then, make sure to be back on time.” Robin warned Steve as she longed her finger at him.

“Sure thing.” Steve nodded his head and both parties parted ways. Before they could get far Robin grabbed his arm stopping him in his tracks. Steve looked at her with confusion.

“I almost forgot,” She took the Mickey ears she bought before and put them on Steve’s head. The rainbow bow sparkled in the sunlight because of the glitter, as silly as Steve looked with them on no one could deny how cute he looked in them especially with his confused expression. Robin laughed when she took a step back to look at Steve’s new look. “Sweet, they suit you.” She teased before walking away.

“That was weird.” Steve mumbled to himself, he never really understood anything Robin did but that worked because she could say the same for him. Despite being confused he kept the ears on, hey he might as well embrace them.

Him and Dustin continued to explore the park a little more before it was time for them to leave. After a few minutes of just walking around and nothing was really jumping out to them. Dustin’s eyes widen when he saw a short line for a roller coaster ride, with a wide grin he turned to Steve and pointed at the ride.

“Let’s get on that one!” Dustin yelled before he started running toward the ride. Steve didn’t expect to blink and see Dustin already ahead of him. He shook his head then took off running right after him.

Dustin was running so fast that he couldn’t even hear Steve calling out for him to slow down. In a flash Dustin was colliding with another person making both of them hit the ground hard. Steve witnessed the entire thing and his face started to heat up from embarrassment. Once he made it to both of them he took in the entire sight, laying beside Dustin was a guy in a Captain Hook costume and his curly hair was sprawled hot while he laid on the ground groaning. Steve felt obligated to reach his hand out and help him up since he already made the guy’s day a mess. As he reached his hand out Dustin reached for it at the same time, with a quick swat Steve moved his hand away.

“Not for you I told you to slow down. I’m so sorry about that.” Steve said when he turned his attention towards the man. He hesitated at first as he looked at Steve then his hand before taking it and lifting himself up. He stood up to dust his clothes off, the look of embarrassment and anger was in his as he looked around to see if anybody saw. Confirming that no one did he looked directly at Dustin and Steve with an intense gaze.

“There’s no running allowed around the park. Someone can get seriously hurt like that and I advise you to take note of that rule.” The man was direct and focused mostly on Steve when he said it.

“It won’t happen again I promise.” Steve said softly. He slapped Dustin’s shoulder hard earning an “ow” from him and that made the man laugh slightly. “Are you sure you’re ok? You don’t need to see anyone right?”

“Ah don’t worry about it man, I’ve had my fair share of bruises so that was nothing really.” He playfully dusted off his shoulder as if to say he was perfectly untouched. Both of them laughed at the joke while Dustin stood there awkwardly wanting this to end before the line started to get long.

“Still I’m genuinely sorry… Eddie?” Steve said unsure as he read Eddie’s name tag. Eddie chuckled then nodded his head.

“Like I said before I told you you’re good man stop stressing over it. It’s just another day on the job for me.” Eddie reassured Steve with a smile. Both of them blushed as they stood in silence looking at each other and trying to avoid eye contact. Eddie was the one to speak up again after a few seconds. “Nice ears.”

“Oh! Well thanks. My friend put these on me and I think I look kind of dumb with them.” Steve touched the Mickey ears on his head almost forgetting that they were there. Eddie immediately noticed the rainbow on them and felt a little bit bold, those were the pride ears that they were starting to sell. He genuinely liked them and so many people were able to express themselves at the park. Which lead Eddie to believe that Steve was doing the same thing, Eddie took a chance once he saw it presented to him.

“You don’t look dumb with them on in the slightest if anything they add to your cuteness in my opinion.” Eddie said casually. Steve’s face turned into a darker shade of red at the unexpected compliment from Eddie. Dustin rubbed his forehead as he listens to the entire thing.

“Think so? You don’t think they’ll scare anybody away.” Steve said jokingly. Eddie shook his head as he smiled.

“I’m still standing here aren’t I?” Eddie’s voice lowered a bit as he asked the question. Steve had to fight the urge to look away and blush like an idiot. The attention Eddie was giving was coming at him so fast that he didn’t know how to react.

“I’ve heard enough can we get on the ride now?” Dustin said annoyed with the both of them. That made Steve blush harder sone he realized Dustin heard everything. Eddie scratched the back of his neck feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Right. I should let you two be in your way, I’ll be right here all day if you guys need anything.” Eddie smiled at the both of them. He hated that he couldn’t give his phone number to Steve due to policy but he hoped Steve took the hint.

“Sure thing.” Steve smiled back before him and Dustin started to walk away. They got a few steps away from Eddie when the conversation about what just happened was brought up.

“God you two were gross back there.” Dustin fake gagged while holding his stomach. Steve raised a brow not understanding what he meant.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked. He had no idea what Dustin was going on about.

“Come on Steve, it was obvious he was hitting on you.” Dustin explained. Steve blushed when he thought back on the previous conversation and it did seem like that was the case. He shook his head trying to get rid of those thoughts.

“I highly doubt that besides why would he?” Steve couldn’t grasp all of this at once because nothing was making sense. Dustin rolled his eye and eventually they were going to get stuck one day.

“You’re literally wearing the pride Mickey Mouse ears.” Dustin points at the ears on top of Steve’s head, the rainbow boy still sparkling from the sunlight shining on them. Steve’s fell open in shock.

“Robin!” Steve whisper yelled. Dustin started to laugh at Steve’s scrunched you face. They both made it to the ride and luckily the line wasn’t too long so they could easily slip onto the ride. Steve took a quick glance behind him and saw Eddie in the distance talking to a little boy and waving his plastic hook in the kids face making him laugh. The interaction made Steve smile immediately because it was the cutest thing. He got on the ride feeling giddy about talking to Eddie and he couldn’t deny that he was kind of interested even though he would yell at Robin later for it, he’d also thank her as well.

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klausinamarink · 9 months

Text

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 next: Part 5

(no Wayne POV this time sorry!)

When Eddie finally lifts his head up, he’s still on the kitchen floor and everything’s too dark except for the floating ash and vines. It’s a little hard to see clearly when his eyes have tears coming out of them.

Something bumps against his arm. He glances over to see Will sitting next to him, carefully eating soup right out of the can with a spoon. Eddie hopes that spoon got washed.

He watches as Will dips the spoon into the van, stirs it, blows a few nearby ash away, brings the spoon to his mouth and carefully slurps it as if it’s hot. Eddie almost believes that maybe Will did find some way to heat it up while he was silently crying to himself like a baby. But there’s no steam coming off it.

“Why you’re doing that?” He asks without thinking. His voice is raspy as he speak.

Will nearly startles. “Do what?”

“That.” Eddie nods at the can. “Pretending like it’s hot.”

Will makes an ‘oh’ sound and looks away, seemingly embarrassed. “It’s just how I eat soup sometimes…” Then he looks up with a neutral expression. “It’s not that bad. Cold soup, I mean. I think it’s gross when the chicken just, you know, sits around like mush.”

“Hm.” is all Eddie can say.

“You can finish mine.”

“Nah.”

“Are you okay?”

Eddie breathes in and out slowly, but ends up coughing. The air here is starting to taste weird at the back of his tongue. “Yeah, I guess.” He clears his throat. “I mean, I’m sorry you had to…” he gestures to himself.

“It’s okay.” Will looks down at his half-eaten soup again. “My mom has those moments sometimes. Mostly because my dad yells at her. I found it better to sit next to her instead of in my room.”

Eddie has known this kid for probably half a day, but he is already willing to die for him.

Speaking of days…

“What time is it here?”

Will blinks. Then he shrugs. “I don’t really know. The clocks don’t work at all. But we’ve heard people getting up so… early morning? Maybe eight?”

Wayne should either be home soon or is already sleeping here.

Eddie snorts, “Okay, power and time are fu- completely useless. Typical of the Vale of Shadows.” He shakes his head dramatically, tsk-tsking. It makes him feel better somehow. Maybe because it makes Will laugh a bit or that Will clearly knows D&D.

Then he nearly jolts up with a sudden realization. Will Byers knows D&D. Not only that it almost makes him squeal in glee, it also makes the wheels in his brain turn into Dungeon Master mode.

And when he’s on Dungeon Master mode, it helps him think ten times better.

Because what the hell, he’s in an alternate dimension with a missing kid and a monster. That’s like prime campaign material!

“Eddie?” Will cuts in just before his thoughts start to make sense.

“Wait, wait. Shush now, Little Byers. Actually, no. You may now speak.” Eddie gets up and starts pacing around, barely mindful of the vines so he doesn’t trip over.

“Uh, what?” Will tilts his head in confusion.

Eddie stands tall before him yet keeps his gaze even as he starts, “Little Byers the Vanished, you have wandered into the domain you identified as the Vale of Shadows. Is that correct?”

Will’s eyes briefly flicker to one side. He nods slowly.

“Declare your arrival to the Vale of Shadows.”

“Uh… I was biking home from my friend Mike’s place. Then the demogorgon appeared in the road…” His breath shudders but Eddie gestures him to continue, “I fell off and I ran. Went to my shed to shoot it but it got me, well, here.”

Eddie grabs his heart with his classic dramatic flair, though he doesn’t fall to the ground. “Oh, a Nat 1 capture by a local monstrosity! But alas, it seems our fates has been mirrored. Now, together as allies of demonic capture,” he kneels down with outstretched arms and his hushed tone, “we must think not just of our escape, but of our survival.”

Will only nods for two seconds before laughter bursts out of his lips. When he catches his breath, he says, “Sorry! I just- I mean it’s really cool that you’re a DM but it’s kind of-”

“Stupid? Dramatic? Very mood fitting?”

Will snickers before asking, “But what are you saying?”

Eddie dramatically gasps before spreading his arms, “Little Byers! Wisdom check!”

He blinks before he seems to register Eddie’s message and looks around the kitchen. “Uh, this is a kitchen…” Eddie waits until Will looks down at the can of soup still in his hand. The boy’s eyes flicker to the rest Eddie had taken out and they brighten. “There’s still edible food! We can take the cans with us! And- and-”

He looks around almost feverishly until he points at a knife rack. “Take the knives as self-defense weapons!”

Eddie doesn’t stop himself from hugging the kid, squeezing him tight and almost throwing him around in a spin. “Little Byers, you genius! That’s a Nat 20!”

Will shrieks with laughter. Oh to be young and innocent. “No, it’s not! It’s more of a 12 in my party!”

“Nope, that’s a 20!”

After their little celebration, Eddie sets to shoving half of the cans in Will’s backpack. Some of it chicken soup, some beans and vegetables. He also checked for the hard foods like granola bars but they were too covered in vines to be pulled out.

The whole time, Eddie feels some hope in his chest.

Just as Will zips up his backpack, Eddie clears his dry throat again and remembers another vital thing. “Shit, what about water?”

Will stops and shakes his head. “Taps don’t work either. Only weird sludge comes out.”

“Have you drank that?”

He gets another judgemental look in return.

“Alright, fair enough.” Eddie observes the cabinets again, biting his lip. “I reckon some folks in this lovely town have stocks of bottled water. At least some drinks that aren’t weird sludge.”

“Oh yeah! I totally forgot about that exists. We don’t have any in my house, but I know Mike’s place has some!”

Great, they’re not going to die of thirst. Unless they die of something else. Eddie shoves that thought away, trying to remember anything else. “Is there anything-”

A grossly familiar sound interrupts them outside.

It’s a growl. Loud and close.

In their frozen state, Eddie stares at Will, both of them sharing wide eyes. Before Eddie even mouths a question, Will nods fast, terror-stricken.

The growling continues. Crunching of dead leaves. Claws dragging across metal and wood.

Shit shit shit shit shit

Eddie can’t think straight at any high-stake scenario. Hell, he can’t even do any of Ms. Click’s pop quizzes. But Will is urgently tugging him up, forcing him to get up and move move.

It’s only by a miracle that Eddie even thinks to grab one of the kitchen knives as a weapon. It’s cheap and hilariously short when Wayne bought the set few years ago, but it’s sharp. It should stab through a monster’s skin enough, right?

He really hopes this demogorgon doesn’t have any acid blood.

“Back door, the back door.” Eddie hisses urgently as he takes the lead. Will nearly stumbles but they’re both on their feet, being swift and quiet as they possibly can.

But apparently the universe doesn’t hate Eddie enough.

At the hall, he steps on one of the bigger vines.

Before he could even curse, the demogorgon roars.

“RUN!” Eddie isn’t sure if he’s screaming at himself or Will as they burst right out of the door. But they’re running fast as they could. Something breaks and crashes in the kitchen but he doesn’t stop. He runs as fast as he could around the trailer, Will’s hand tight in his grasp.

They run across the rest of the park. The crashing sounds get followed up by a ear-piercing shreeee of ripping metal.

Eddie feels Will tumbling behind, but he keeps yanking the boy up, desperate to keep them both on moving feet. They duck behind the other trailers, hopefully away from the demogorgon’s sight.

Eddie finally stops behind one of the homes, close to the entry gate. His lungs are burning like his average gym class. A quick glance at Will, who doesn’t even look at all winded. He peeks behind the wall, trying to catch any movement.

They both jump at a crash of some garbage cans. There’s another roar, but it’s still farther.

Eddie crouches down, meeting Will at eye-level. “Okay, we’re just gonna run away from that thing. We don’t stop until we don’t hear it, got it?” Will nods. “We’re gonna- god, what are we going to do?”

“We can go to my house.” Will suggests, the brilliant angel he is.

“We go to your house. So-”

He stops at another sound’s arrival. It’s only the rumbling of a truck engine coming up the path. But this one he knows from the bottom of his blackened heart. It’s the way from how it putters every five seconds and how the front wheels click from a card Eddie once superglued there at the lovely age of twelve because other rich boys had cards in their bike wheels and he never had a bike of his own.

“Wayne! Uncle Wayne!” He calls out because what the hell, how could he even forget his uncle? Wayne is coming home from on and Eddie wouldn’t be there.

The truck obliviously rumbles on.

A new kind of hurt clenches around him as he stands up and begins to make chase. “Wayne!”

Before he can take another step, Will pulls at his wrist (his bandaged wrist, ow) with surprising amount of strength. Eddie stumbles back and almost yells at him when the demogorgon roars closer.

For the second time, Will tugs Eddie with him by the hand and Eddie lets him to so. As they run out of the trailer park, Eddie almost turns around and calls out for his uncle again.

But the new hurt stops him from that. He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing.

— —

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#eddie and will in the upside down au #klaus writes #eddie munson #will byers #stranger things

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