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doomsdaybby · 2 months

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finally posting my contribution to @carolmunson’s cutest writing challenge!

please please please join in if you can!! there’s no pressure, and I had such a good time with this. it made me all giggly and soft, which is something I haven’t experienced to this level whilst writing for a little while 🫶🏻

the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer

props: a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook

dialogue prompts can be found in the original guidelines post linked up top!

word count: 3.5k (huh?!!? this ended up a lot longer than I anticipated)

content/warnings: female physical descriptions and she/her pronouns used for reader character throughout, original series eddie (no au), friends to lovers, questioning relationship (unestablished, that weird in between), first date, fluff on fluff on fluff, a little angsty at the start but we lighten up, cringe-worthy flirting that makes my heart flutter, first kiss (🥹!!!!), slightly suggestive (no smut), swearing.

The cool evening breeze sweeps at the hem of your pinafore dress, a fitted denim ensemble that hugs the fat of your hips and thighs, sitting snugly at your waist, paired with a pretty floral long-sleeve.

The trailer park can be spooky at this time of night, especially with a little chill in the air - you have always gotten the creeps standing out here too long. You tuck the two VHS tapes you’d brought along under your arm, a six-pack of Miller Lite beers grasped faithfully in one hand, the other free fingers fidgeting with some loose cotton strands at the end of your sleeve.

Now that you were here for a date, you surely couldn’t just knock twice and waltz in like you own the place, like you usually do. Jesus, your collar is fucking tight. You fumble with your shirt, forefinger raking back and forth over the threads, the thin material somehow not granting you enough precious airflow.

You had never been so nervous around Eddie. Never had you really needed to think about your outfit or your hair or even your goddamn makeup.

But now. Now, it was different. After a slip of the tongue amidst a heated argument over something that you couldn’t even place clearly anymore. One that erupted because Eddie had failed another math test, or another subject similar along those lines. Not caring about his education enough to actually scrape his high school diploma from the bottom of the barrel, one that would soon be a vacant void if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass.

“Why do you even care?!” he had yelled at you, actually fucking yelled. Eddie hated the way you looked at him, eyes laced with disappointment and an anger you didn’t mean; the downturn of your brows and a deep crease at the very top of the bridge of your nose. A place that he had wanted to litter with gentle kisses more times than he could count.

It had shocked him too, the sudden raise of his voice, an air of malice coating the words. Though it wasn’t aimed at you, not really. Eddie just couldn’t bear the idea of you, somebody he cares so much about, being yet another person that viewed him as such a failure.

It had just tumbled out, an admittance of pathetic besotted pining that had built to mountainous heights over the years. A mentos in a cola bottle, the whistle of a kettle on the stove at boiling point, you just couldn’t help it.

“Because I like you!” you had called back twice as loud, though the ferocity was near triple of Eddie’s.

“Like, really fucking like you, Eds” you admitted quieter that time, only able to steal quick glances at his astounded expression - a jarred sort of picture painted on his face, chocolate eyes wide and jaw loose at the hinges.

“You… you do?”

So here you stood one week later, on a chilly mid-March Saturday night, on the front step of Eddie Munson’s trailer - a person who you held near and dear as a friend since middle school and, at arm's length, a kindling flame, always believing that your infatuation was completely one-sided.

Therefore once your romantic desires turned out to be reciprocated, your heart was in your throat and your head spun dizzy in a dream-like state.

Another flatten of the front of your dress, a press of your middle finger to the tacky gloss of your lips, and you were knocking on the front door. Folding your arms over yourself was a grand task to keep yourself busy for a moment - fingers strangled by the plastic casing surrounding the alcohol and tapes almost slipping from under their secure hiding spot.

You start to pick clumsily at the skin just above the nook of your elbow whilst you wait for said date to answer the door. Of course he didn’t keep you waiting long, though it was foreign for him to have to answer the door to you. Eddie appears in five seconds flat, hair perfectly mussed and the waft of his aftershave - the surprisingly good kind, pine and amber - erupts millions of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

You feel like a dumbass kid, one disgustingly love-struck and naive. A feeling you aren’t overly familiar with, not to this degree. Of course you had your school girl crushes, fawning over your too large poster of Rick Springfield you had pinned up on proud display at the back of your bedroom door.

But with Eddie? It was totally unmarked territory, when you step meekly into his living room, uncharacteristically bashful, it sets alight that same adrenaline rush as if you were diving headfirst into shark infested waters. This was real life, your real life. He wasn’t a chart-topping celebrity you had ripped pages out of magazines for, Eddie was someone you had known only on platonic terms for nearly ten years.

“You look nice. Like, uh, really nice” Eddie compliments as he shuts the door.

“Y’made an effort for little ol’ me?” his grin stretches wide, a real pretty wide, a sort of grin that has never-ending smile lines rippling across his pink cheeks. Eddie matches your bashfulness, a shared tensisity that envelopes the air between you like thick black smoke accompanying the climbing licks of a fire.

You snort, such flattering remarks like this from him in this context was weird, but it felt so fucking good.

“You clean up pretty well yourself” your smile matches his, and it was true. Eddie did make an effort when it mattered; decked out in neat black jeans that unusually had no holes in the knees, the same makeshift handcuff belt, a faded white Van Halen t-shirt, completed with a dark olive green flannel that was cuffed to the elbows as the cherry on top.

The man was looking delicious, the same ripened fruit that tempted Eve in the garden of Eden, but you try not to stare too hard.

“I brought a couple movies,” you say, setting the beers atop the kitchen counter. “We’ve got ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ or one that Harrington said was pretty good, ‘The Breakfast Club’”.

You hold them both up to Eddie, who is smirking, a boyish expression that makes your stomach do backflips.

“Those are two wildly different options,” he snickers for a moment, a small pause before continuing with a mischievous bite, “And Harrington, huh?”.

Your brow raises warily, sensing a playful game of verbal tennis stirring up between you, the atmosphere electric. “I mean yeah, he does work there, Eds”.

“Aaahhh,” Eddie strings with an epitome of understanding, one you’re not certain that you’re following. “Now I know why you were almost a half hour late. Y’been chatting it up with other guys.”

“Don’t be like that,” you scold him lightly, “That’s not even true! Plus, do you really think I'd be here on a date with you if I had the hots for pretty boy?”.

Eddie takes pride of place at the end of the couch closest to you, hair enveloping his face as he crosses the living room.

“Oh? So he's a pretty boy now too?”.

You’re propped up against the kitchen counter, hip to the wooden cabinet, elbow leaning on the counter top. “You are the easiest person to get a rise out of, you know,” there was that smile again, a fond roll of your eyes in hand with the blooming cherry red at the apples of your cheeks.

Plus you’re prettier anyways, by a long shot.

“Hm. Will need to have a talk with Stevie-boy about trying to steal my girl”. Eddie notices the beaming display of pearly whites that earns him, one as radiant and scorching as the July afternoon sun.

‘My girl’.

It lights you ablaze from the inside out, the pound of your heart a booming bass drum in your ears, one vicious and overwhelming, and you suddenly become aware of every single vein and delicate capillary rushing with red hot blood.

“So… movie?” you’re holding up the chunky VHS tapes in either hand, insinuating pointedly to the macabre horror you were both certainly more inclined to, a jiggle of the dull clunk of plastic on plastic.

“Your choice, babe.” Eddie stretches an arm across the back of the couch, one leg swung up onto the well-worn cushion folded into a triangular shape. The space he had left for you was near disastrously tempting, able to fit perfectly cozy beside him, head crooked into the juncture of his neck.

Babe wasn’t new, but tonight it strung velvety smooth across his vocal cords with a much rosier lilt. Of course Eddie notices the bite at the inside of your cheek, the tightening at the corner of your mouth whilst you turn away from him. God, you don’t think that you’ll ever get used to this sort of giddiness.

“You got popcorn?” a wiggle of your brows in his direction and he’s giggling, a noise you hadn’t quite heard, breezy and flippant, overly juvenile but it was endearing.

“Actually,” Eddie jumps up from his spot on the couch, the shabby fabric already indented with a shadowed figure, remaining perfectly vacant until the owner returned.

“I thought that we could make chocolate chip cookies. You like cookies, right?” He pulls the multitude of ingredients from the cupboards and fridge, a stockpile threatening to topple from his arms. You watch him fondly, head propped up on the heels of your palms.

“I wrote the recipe down in this notebook. Debbie a couple doors down wouldn’t let me borrow her cookbook, said I couldn’t be trusted. Not sure if they’ll turn out any good but, yeah,” Eddie peers at you doe-eyes as he scratches the back of his head, fluffy locks exaggerated. He had washed his hair, it was always a dramatic transformation when he did. You were special.

“You made all this effort for little ol’ me?” you perk up, eyes swimming crystalline, brimming with the kind of tenderness only you could omit. Eddie chuckles, flipping open the notebook to decipher his rushed scrawling decorating the lines in smudged black ink.

So you did bake cookies together, a welcome ease to the tautness that strung tight in the air. You could get used to this, pottering around the kitchen, knowing Eddie on this entirely new plane of existence. You bump hips and snicker like kindergarteners, swiping off stray puffs of flour that somehow managed to settle under his eyes, allowing your thumbs to linger there for some selfish moments too long.

“I ran out of like, the nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie hands you the now chiller beer on ice once your baked goods sat safe and sound on the oven rack, a rather ghastly looking E.T. printed onto the cool glass. The picture was chipped and scraped in parts, appearing crummy considering the movie was still fairly new, though you didn’t mind.

You survey the glass up at your nose, rotating your wrist clockwise and opposite, lips form a downturn when you realise that the poor friendly alien had been decapitated without the tender loving care it obviously needed.

“It’s perfect”, you exhale a brief laugh lightheartedly, patting the cushion beside you, and Eddie spared not a moment more before he dived onto the couch with a similarly shabby looking glass in hand, though this one was embellished with a flaking Lord of the Rings design.

Now you were lounging together, taking up that place beside Eddie you had peered at so ardently earlier in the night, his hair brushing your cheek and the trailer enveloped in a cushy blanket of navy, apart from the blaring flickering white of the television screen.

Your head rests against his collarbone, his own tilted downwards so that his jawline was cushioned by your crown. This kind of more intimate contact came with a natural ease that neither of you had expected. The longer the clock ticked by, spending time together like this went from the sensation of that first crisp splash into the deep end of the pool that froze you to the bone, slowly, to the comfortable warming lull of floating down the lazy river.

You could float down the lazy river hand in hand with Eddie for the rest of eternity.

You weren’t sure how long you both enjoyed each other's company, the closeness, the minor skin to skin contact - long enough to empty your first cups of beer. But the awful smell of something burning soon seeped in from the direction of your precious cookies in the oven.

Eddie’s head shoots up when yours does, two noses sniffing up at the air. Eddie darts for the kitchen, and low and behold, behind the dirtied glass of the door and swaddled in smoke, were some very cremated looking cookies.

“You didn’t set a timer?” you questioned him, following close to his heels as he allows the smoke to billow free. The kitchen area quickly enfolds with the smog, stinging your eyes and catching at the backs of your throats. It was only a matter of time before the noise of the movie was drowned out by the alarming smoke detector.

“You said you would!” Eddie asserts, dumping the blackened cookies into the trash bearing an extremely puppy-like look on his face as you’re fanning the detector with a dish towel.

He sets the now empty tray back on the counter, winces at the high pitched ringing whilst pressing his finger to close off one ear. With another few bats of the rag, the alarm finally shuts off, and Eddie stands hand on hip just staring at you.

You shrug your shoulders, a pitying purse of your lips when the boy's face falls, brows pinching ever so faintly. You could kiss away every sad face he ever pulled.

“You have any vanilla frosting?” you ask lightly, shuffling through the cabinets only to find a couple tins of canned soup and a box of half eaten cheeze-its. Eddie observes the ingredients you had packed neatly away next to the sink, unfortunately not enough remained to make another batch.

“I don’t know where you think you are but I can assure you that I don’t,” his voice is sterner than he intends, crossing his arms, pissed off at himself that he had messed up what he wanted to be a perfect first date.

“Sad,” you respond dryly through a suck of the teeth, tilting your head back and towards him, almost swinging from the handles of the cabinets. “I could eat that shit with a spoon”.

Eddie grimaces, “and you… like that?”.

You mirror his expression, glossy lips stretching into an open-mouthed half smirk, arms folded and shoulders slumped forwards, turning full bodied to step gradually into his personal space. You have to crane your neck up some to meet his eyes, ones as dark as a piping hot shot of espresso.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you assure him when his spread fingers skate lightly along his clothed ribs, a self-soothing action you were well accustomed to, one that shatters your heart a little. “The grocery store might still be open, we can go get some ice cream”.

You run your own fingers along the tops of his arms, brushing beneath the cuff of his sleeves. Your touch was soft, delicate, fingertips glacial compared to the flush of his skin. Eddie Munson was on fire.

“Hey…” You press the palm of your hand to his cheek, stippled a carnation coloured pink due to the light buzz of alcohol, plus the fact that you were touching him so tenderly had his pulse point racing. It was an innate response, to reach up and press the plush of your lips to his cheek, barely an inch or two from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m having a really good time with you, okay?”.

“Okay…” Eddie murmurs back, a low melodious noise as one large fervent hand closes over the one you held to his face. You think that he is about to return the favour, maybe draw you into another one of many tight hugs you had shared before.

Except by the way Eddie tugs at your sleeve behind your elbow, his arms unraveling to welcome you chest to chest, you swallow over a dry throat in the moments it takes you to catch up.

Eddie’s lips are soft, you already suspected that by the pouts you were a victim to over the years, fleeting thoughts of what they would feel like pressed to yours.

His body invades yours, the kitchen surrounding you bleeding into a shadowy blur, bleeding hazes of the movie scenes bursting into crimson and neutral coloured supernovas. Your hands are buried in his shaggy brown locks before you could even register your movements, pinching at his roots at the nape of his neck.

It was desperate. It was downright addicting, the way he tasted. His lips tacky with your glassy strawberry flavoured gloss, smearing to the corners with every open mouthed part. It was a shot of heroine in your veins and the highest of highs Eddie could never dream of reaching, a hit like no other.

The ice wasn’t just broken, the entire frozen lake was smashed to smithereens beneath your feet. Though you cut it short before anything can get too hot and heavy despite the sting it spikes right at the center of your heart.

“For the record…” he interjects, a tiny whisp of a kiss pressed to the end of your nose, “I think you’re sweet enough. You don’t need any frosting” Eddie smirks when you part, tone less cloudy and more challenging, that lost puppy-dog expression replaced by a playful and troublemaking smugness.

Your lips seal together in a tight line, despite his atrocious attempt at some romantic banter, neither of you could keep it in for very long, and you both burst out in reams of laughter.

You push him away at the chest, though your hands certainly linger there, basking in the physical contact that you now craved more than ever. “Never say that to me again! Come on, loser. We have a movie to finish”.

Your attention no longer settles on the teens in peril before you, the guts and gore no longer piquing any iota of interest. Eddie’s hands were all over you, though not in a sinful sense. It was suggestive, sure.

The tap tap tap of his fingers at the inside of your thigh, an absentminded tick to distract Eddie’s racing mind. His nails skimming the tender ticklish flesh at the curve of your neck, catching the thrumming artery and the muted hitch of your breath, up behind the back of your ear and down to brush at your collarbone beneath your shirt.

You’re turned into him now, a casual position where you could both hide behind the throw pillow and giggle through a particular jumpscare.

“Stop making me nervous” you mutter, his grin lengthening twice as wide when he notices that you’re smiling too.

“I'm making you nervous?” he nuzzles his nose under your cheekbone, pressing further into you to trap you at the corner of the couch, one hand grasps at your shoulder whilst the other strokes small feathery circles just above your knee.

“Eddie!” you exclaim, sitting up and away a fraction from the warmth of his side, grabbing the throw pillow within your reach to swat at his chest.

“Baby”.

Your eyes light up, a startle shaking in your chest, releasing a whisper of a gasp you didn’t mean to. Eddie tilts his head to the side, closing the gap between you a little more, eyes heavy lidded and they twinkle with the reflection of the screen across the room.

His voice is low, muttering to you as if he’s sharing a secret. “I can call you that? baby?”.

“If- if you don’t stop that right now, Munson, we’re gonna have a problem”. Christ, he’s making you fucking tremble.

“Oof, and we’re back to last name basis,” Eddie feigns offense, palm to his sternum in a false wound of his ego. Though he’s impossibly close now, lips meer inches from meeting for a second time, and you can almost fucking taste him again.

“My girl seems to work pretty well on you,” his breath skims the bridge of your nose, cheap beer and spearmint.

“If you’re trying to make this go somewhere that you shouldn’t be…”

Eddie inhales a dramatic breath, clutching at his shirt. “How dare you suggest such a thing! I would never dream of taking advantage of such a sweet thing as yourself. I am a gentleman!” he proclaims, all gun but no smoking barrel.

“You’re talking out of your ass, Eds” you’re in stitches, a saccharine candy-coated chortle that knocks the wind from the space between your ribs, comedic horror plastered all over his face.

Then you’re pulling him in by the collar before he can utter another word.

now it’s time for me to read the whole freaking masterlist!!! 🫶🏻 let me know if you enjoyed!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #writing challenge #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic

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myfictionaldreams · 10 months

Note

Hey love! Quick question, how do you think mafia stucky would be when their for l is on her period or sick? 🥺

Sick Day //Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

A/N: I've had this requested so many times, I hope you all enjoy! Also for this specific anon, I've already written a fic where reader has her period called 'i don't care'

Tags: SFW, fluff, lots of comfort, sickfic, anxiety, coughing, fever (just being generally unwell), steve & bucky are stressed

Words: 4.3k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

“Are you ok? You’re never this quiet, it’s unnerving”.

You playfully shoved Bucky as he walked past where you stood, carrying a crate filled with the latest shipment of goods that had arrived at the gang's warehouse that afternoon. Your boyfriend hardly moved from the push but he playfully pretended to drop the important box that seemed to scare Steve more than yourself as he too pushed against Bucky as he walked past, this one forceful enough that he stumbled a few steps.

Grinning at the interaction, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, tone full of sarcasm, “Very funny Buckaroo. Is there really much for me to say whilst you two are at your finest? I’m a little distracted to talk”, you trialled off. Your stare openly at their bare chests, sweat gleaming off the perfectly shaped muscles. It had simply been too hot this afternoon in the warehouse for both of them to wear shirts so with a subtle grin, you suggested maybe they should take them off which they were more than happy to oblige, giving you the best view possible.

A squeal erupted from you as Bucky ran up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his body, stubble grazing your cheek as he leaned over your shoulder to peck your lips. Relaxing into the touch, you savoured his unnaturally warm temperature, not realising how just chilled to the bone you felt. You pondered on this thought for a moment. It was hot in the warehouse therefore you should have been feeling warm too but, you instead felt quite the opposite. Internally you groaned, hoping this wasn’t a sign that you were becoming ill, especially as you had a headache since the moment you’d risen that morning.

Bucky’s lips were on an exploratory journey of your cheek, only stopping until he was grazing over your ear, “More than just now sweetheart, you’ve been quiet today, is everything alright?” he asked with less of a teasing tone as before.

You withheld the sigh that wanted to escape as he moved away, continuing to help Steve unload the truck but his head turned in your direction so you knew he was still wanting you to answer. Staring around the warehouse, you pondered for a moment how bizarre it felt for it just to be the three of you in the vast building. Usually, it was full of other gang members but Steve and Bucky determined this shipment only required the two of them to unload and then Sam could begin selling to buyers tomorrow.

The automatic response to Bucky’s concerns was ‘I’m fine’, however, this wasn’t necessarily true. You’d had a lingering headache since the morning, and there was a tickle at the back of your throat that didn’t seem to ease even after coughing enough that your chest ached.

Shrugging your shoulders and wrapping your arms around your middle, you tried to keep your expression as nonchalant as possible. “Before either of you start worrying, I am fine, I just think I might be coming down with something, but it’s probably just a cold”.

It was Steve to stop next to you this time, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he lifted a hand to press against your forehead. With a genuine smile, you pulled his hand away and instead hold it onto your cheek, nuzzling into it, feeling the roughness from his training as you insisted, “I’m fine, really I am, it’s just a little headache and cough”.

The mafia leader’s gaze softened a fraction at your touch, his thumb stroking against your cheekbone for a moment before he continued with his worried fretting. “Do you want to go home? I don’t mind taking you and Bucky finishing up here”. You shake your head instantly, stepping closer to him so that you could reach up and stroke a stray piece of blonde hair out of his eyes. It was Steve’s turn now to move your hand away so that he could kiss the tips of your fingers in a delicate way that warmed your cheeks with the loving gaze he was looking at you.

“No, it’s fine I’ll wait, it doesn’t look like you have much left to unpack and anyway, the view is keeping me thoroughly entertained”, you say, eyes dropping to his bare chest before glancing back up to his blue eyes with a suggestive eyebrow raised.

Steve doesn’t say anything, knowing you’re trying to distract him from worrying so he just simply leans down to kiss your forehead and continues with unloading the van. The two of them continued for a few more minutes as you happily watched until the overwhelming urge to massage your temple took over, the motion helping to ease the ache that was beginning to pound there only by the slightest amount.

It was Bucky who spoke next, muttering lowly under his breath as he walked past in a teasing but matter-of-fact tone, “I told you dancing in the rain wasn’t a good idea and you’d catch a cold”.

A smile graced your face as you thought back to yesterday's activities. The three of you had been on the way home from an intimate dinner where you were all dressed in the stunning dress and three-piece suits for Steve and Bucky. On the way home, your favourite song came on the radio and after the few too many drinks you'd had in the restaurant, all you wanted to do was dance and insisted that Bucky pulled over but he countered that you’d catch a cold going out into the rain with only your barely covering dress.

However, Bucky couldn’t say no to you for long as quickly parked up much to your delight and with the music blaring from the stereo, the three of you danced in the rain until you were soaked to the bone, shivering until you couldn’t talk. The romance, joy and grin that beam up to them both were all worth it.

However, with the way you were feeling now, maybe Bucky did have a point but you wouldn’t take back the moment yesterday, even thinking about it had your chest filling with love and warmth.

Looking up at Bucky, you cooed, “Yes, but it was so romantic!” Your boyfriend's eyes softened for a split second before quickly moving out of the way as you had an influx of sneezes, your eyes watering and your throat burning with intensity.

Eventually, the crates were unloaded and ready for Sam and the three of you were on the way home. However, it seemed the sneezes were the start of your downfall, feeling worse off from when you’d arrived at the warehouse. Sitting in the backseat with Steve, your head rested heavily against his shoulders, eyes closed with the hopes that it would help your headache. You would have held onto Steve’s hand but you spent more time wiping your nose that hadn’t stopped running since you began sneezing, luckily Steve had a spare tissue that now seemed to be attached to your face.

As soon as you were home, Steve insisted on you taking some cold and flu medicine; however, the only kind in your home was a vile liquid form which tasted like bottled sour death. So, of course, you refused with a dismissive wave of your hand as you stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water, “there’s no way I’m taking that, I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning, just need some rest”.

“Please take just a spoonful, and I’ll fish out some ice cream for you. It’s probably better to start taking some medicine now than waiting and feeling worse”, Steve insisted, following you around with the spoon and medicine like he was Mary Poppins.

“You’re making me sound like a child Steve, and anyway, last time I had some you could hardly wake me for dinner”, referring to the drowsy medication, last time you’d taken it, they could hardly even wake you for dinner.

“Yes, but it’s the only medication we have right now and I’d feel better if you didn’t feel ill, so please take some”. He’d cornered you to the corner of the kitchen, his large frame blocking your escape as you back brushed against the countertops.

Sighing heavily, you looked up into his worried eyes, seeing Bucky’s over his shoulder with just as much concern and instantly you crumbled on your reluctance, knowing he was right, it was better if you took some than none at all. “Fine I’ll take the medicine but I will only accept because of your offer for ice cream”.

As soon as the rancid medicine coated your tongue, you regretted ever believing you’d feel better after taking it, gagging so violently that tears streamed down your cheeks and even half a tub of ice cream couldn’t shift the lingering taste.

By the time your stomach was full of the dessert, your eyelids were already feeling heavy. Still, you tried to shake it off, wanting to spend the evening with your boyfriends considering it was a rare occurrence to have nothing planned the following day. “What do you want to do tonight,” you asked them both, trying to refrain from yawning as they sat next to you at the table. The two of them shared a look that had you groaning in dismay, “really? You have to work tonight?” Steve shifted closer, kissing your cheek gently and resting his hand on your thigh, his thumb drawing circles through your jeans as Bucky moved to place the ice cream back into the freezer.

“It’s only admin but we’re backlogged by a few weeks so both need to do it but we’ll do it in the living room, we can watch a movie or something”, he suggested as he inched even closer, wanting to feel his warmth and comfort.

“A movie sounds nice”, you answered with a tiny smile, leaning in to peck his cheek before standing, explaining that you were going to change into something more comfortable and you’d meet them in the living room. Despite the medicine, you continued to feel worse and in the process of changing your clothes into your usual pyjamas of shorts and a shirt of either Steve’s or Bucky’s, you had a massive coughing fit that took your breath away. As you tried to compose yourself, eyes closed as the pounding in your head intensified, a warm presence enveloped you from behind.

“I could hear you coughing from downstairs, Doll, are you ok?” Bucky asked, hands stroking up your arms to cup your jaw as you pouted at him.

“Not really, that medicine wasn’t worth it”, you admitted, feeling somewhat sorry for yourself as you leaned into him.

He smiled sadly, kissing your temple affectionately before holding both of your hands, “Come on let’s go downstairs and I’ll see what I can find you to help”.

Steve and Bucky always were so attentive when you weren’t feeling great, going above and beyond for your comfort. Once downstairs, Bucky covered your lap in a fluffy blanket after pulling your legs over his thighs, resting his laptop on your legs to continue working as Steve sat to your other side, his arm over your shoulder so that you could spoon around the muscular limb. On the coffee table between the couch and TV, there was an array of snacks, water, honey and lemon tea, packs of tissues and the dreaded medicine.

However, you didn’t touch any of the items as you promptly succumbed to the drowsy effect and before the movie was even selected, fell into a deep sleep on Steve’s arm.

As the movie credits began playing on the screen, you woke to an ice-cold metal hand on your forehead you moaned in relief, leaning into the welcoming touch.

“You’re starting to get a fever, Sweetheart”, Bucky remarked as his hand remained in place against you. One thing that Bucky’s metal arm could provide was coldness, the special substance that it was made from meant that it would always remain cold, even if he held it over a fire so for moments like now, it was perfect.

“I feel like shit”, you admitted, your voice thick with sleep and croaky from how dry your throat was. Not only this but your head was pounding enough that you didn’t want to risk opening your eyes to the fear that you might vomit and your entire body ached. This all didn’t get any better as you began to violently cough until there was a subtle wheeze with your breaths.

Bucky leaned forward, reaching with his warm hand for the glass of water, holding it up to your lips and helping you to drink half of it.

“Maybe you should have some more medicine baby”, Steve suggested but you were already asleep again.

Another hour passed before they attempted to wake you again so that you could eat something, having not had anything all afternoon but your only response was a shake of the head, your stomach churning at the thought of food.

The next time you woke, it was because you were being carried by Steve, his arms safely braced beneath your knees and back as your head cradled into his neck. “Can I sleep in the spare room tonight?” you asked croakily.

You could feel Steve stop walking, his head turning to try and look down at you, his grip tightening slightly, as he asked, “Why do you want to be in the spare room?”

“Because I don’t want either of you to catch my cold”.

Steve’s body instantly relaxed as he continued walking straight for the shared bedroom, carefully placing you into the centre of the bed before sitting next to you and responding, “Firstly, when have you ever seen either of us ill before?”

He had a good point, you thought, the entire time you’ve been with them both, not once had they been ill but they mostly put it down to the side effects of the experiments they’d been through during their time in the army.

The bed shifted on the other side of you as Bucky continued Steve’s points, “Secondly, do you really think we’re letting you out of our sight for even a second? I don’t think so, Doll”. You mustered up a small smile in response but with your eyes still closed and being comfortable in bed, you quickly fell back to sleep.

During the night was difficult, especially when you needed the toilet but both of your boyfriends were there to either carry or hold onto your hands to help you walk to the toilet when you weren’t feeling at your strongest.

When you woke up the next day, it was only because Bucky had shaken you to give you some new medicine that he’d just been and bought from the store. Reluctantly, one of your eyes peeked open to see Bucky dressed and looking at you with such worry you wanted to crawl over to him and comfort the brunette but your body didn’t seem to want to listen to you.

“Am I dead?” You tried to ask jokingly but the crackly voice from your sore throat had you wincing with how hoarse it sounded.

Bucky tried to genuinely smile as he stroke the back of his hand against your cheek, “Well, you were snoring like the dead so, potentially”. You would have swatted his arm away if you had the energy but instead, you only groaned, trying to hide your face in the pillow. “Talk to me, how are you feeling? Where does it hurt the most? I’ve got some water here for your medicine and some tea that’ll help your throat”.

Opening your eyes fully, you accepted the drinks and meds from him and noticed that he had covered the bedside cabinet with the array of treats, tissues and drinks from yesterday.

“What time is it,” you asked after being repositioned so your back was against the headboard, the position change meant that your blocked nose began to run so you shoved a tissue up each nostril and left it there, finding it easier than having to keep wiping, not caring what you looked like.

Bucky glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly 2 pm, I’ve been to the shop this morning and was waiting for you to wake up to take your meds but, I had a sneaky suspicion that you could probably sleep for the rest of the day if we left you to it”.

You were in disbelief that you’d been able to sleep for that long. Looking around, you couldn’t see your other boyfriend, “Where’s Steve?”.

“He’s just on the phone, he’ll be back in a minute don’t worry. Do you want to stay in here today or downstairs?”

“In here please”, as you respond, you slide your body back down further into the bed.

Bucky leaned down to kiss the top of your head before shuffling off to change out of his jeans and into some joggers but, before he’d even returned you were already asleep once more.

The next time you woke, it wasn’t because of meds or needing to use the toilet, this time it was because you thought you were going to explode you were so hot. Your skin was hot and clammy to the touch, sweating profusely as you tossed and turned to try and find some relief, and in the end, sobbing because you felt so poorly.

Bucky had been trying his best to keep your fever cool with his metal arm whilst Steve was helping you drink water but in the end, they both decided it was probably easier to just sit in the bath with lukewarm water. They both joined you, mostly holding up your body as you had no energy to even try and after a few minutes, you finally sighed in satisfaction, even though the fever remained at least the water helped to keep you calm.

After returning to bed in shorts and a vest, you had hoped to fall back to sleep but instead, you spent what felt like hours coughing and wiping your nose. Steve and Bucky were once again there every step of the way, stroking your back, reminding you that they were there and that everything would be ok which was what you needed to hear when it felt like you were struggling to breath with how tight your chest felt.

As the hours ticked by, they became anxious that you’d not eaten and even though you explicitly explained that you weren’t hungry, Steve still cooked his homemade chicken noodle soup, encouraging you with every mouthful. Even though you couldn’t taste it, it did make you feel a little better to have a full stomach, enough so that you were able to fall asleep.

As you slept, Bucky would continuously touch your feverish skin with his cool hand as Steve placed wet cloths against your forehead with the hopes of cooling you down. Only when you began to shiver did they both stop, satisfied that your fever had passed; however now, you couldn’t warm yourself up.

By the second day, Steve was near to having a nervous breakdown and had his phone in hand to call a doctor. However, in your half-conscious state, you tried to soothe his worries. He knew it would pass but you hated to see him so on edge. Bucky was just as bad, every time you’d open your eyes, he was there, unblinking stare watching your chest rise and fall.

The only way you could try and help them was by asking Steve to hold you close, which he was more than happy to do. Sliding further up the bed until his back was resting against, as he sat against the headboard, he pulled you into his lap, your legs straddling his, chests brushed together and your head resting on his shoulder.

You hummed in relief, “You’re like my own personal heated blanket”, you praised him, snuggling closer to his body. Bucky sat beside you both, sliding the fluffy blanket around your shoulders and kissing the back of your head, being careful not to touch you with his metal arm in case it was too cold.

You were highly aware of this from the awkward angle that he was sitting and you instantly felt bad for him, reaching a hand out of the blanket to grab onto his metal one.

“I don’t deserve you two”, you say with exhaustion and sadness lacing your voice.

“Yes you do, now go to sleep”, Steve brushed off your comment with a kiss to your temple, his fingers massaging over your head, helping you to fall asleep.

You seemed to spend more time asleep than awake but your body needed to recover, hardly having the energy to even wake up properly when it was time to take your medicine but luckily Bucky was there to help hold you up and tilt the water and meds into your mouth.

You were also half-aware that they were both moving you between the living room and the bedroom, making sure you weren’t stuck in the same position for too long. Your face would be regularly cleaned of the different bodily fluids that seemed to be leaking out of you, they would help you to the toilet day or night when needs be, and there would always be soup ready for the small time periods where you were awake.

Even though you were safe and slowly recovering, Steve and Bucky were struggling to see you this poorly. It got to the point that Natasha had to come around with groceries and help tidy the house as both men refused to leave your side.

After three long days of being most unconscious, you woke with only a mild headache, throat still sore but nowhere near as bad as it had been and at least you could breathe through your nose. Opening your eyes slowly, you found yourself laying with your head in Bucky’s lap, his fingers resting over your head like he’d been brushing his fingers over your scalp, whilst your feet rested in Steve’s lap.

You could hear the TV on but from the sounds of the light snoring coming from both men, it seemed that exhaustion finally hit them as they’d fallen asleep, heads dropping on their shoulders in uncomfortable positions. Your heart twisted in guilt at seeing them like this, purple shaded under their eyes and stubble grown out further than usual.

As you turned your head to look at Steve, the movement seemed to startle Bucky awake first, his body jerking with a snort that simultaneously woke Steve up as well, both of their tired eyes snapping to look at you in worry.

“Sorry for waking you”, you say sheepishly, coughing a few times to clear your throat and then giving them a genuine smile that calmed any tension in their bodies.

“Are you ok?” Bucky asked, eyes flicking between your own as he began to run his fingers through over your scalp, confirming your suspicions.

“Yeah, I’m actually feeling a lot better than I was, I can finally breathe through my nose!” You raised your arm in triumph and then quickly dropped it as your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. “Which means I can finally smell myself, I think I’m going to have a shower and change my clothes”.

“Bucky smells worse after the gym, don’t worry baby”, Steve joked, earning a glare from his friend. “Are you sure you’re feeling up for it though? The shower I mean, I don’t want you to push yourself too soon”.

You stretched your full body out, feeling joints click and muscles shake with the movement. “Yeah, I think so. I feel gross so want to get washed up anyway”.

“Let’s go then!” Bucky announced, shuffling to help you stand up, but your knees wobbled slightly and causing you to walk like a baby deer but you made it all the way upstairs and to the bathroom. It wasn’t only you that had a shower, of course, Steve and Bucky joined, both deeming that they needed to wash just as much as you but secretly you knew it was because they wanted to make sure you were ok.

“You’re both such mother hens”, you joke as Bucky washes your hair and Steve sponges over your body. You offered to do the same for them but they declined, making sure you were dry and safe before continuing with their own showers. In the safety of your bedroom, you looked around, trying to notice any signs that you’d been ill but other than the snacks and water on the side, there were no tissues or anything. Your heart pumped harder with love at having both of them so devoted to your care that they’d even clean up your snotty tissues.

“Better?” Bucky asks, stepping out of the bathroom with only a low towel around his waist, and walking towards where you sat at the edge of the bed.

Stifling a yawn behind your hand, you nodded, “Yes. Although even though I’ve only walked a few steps I'm already tired”. He smiles down softly at you, tilting your chin back and kissing your lips, a touch that you had missed dearly and it seems him too with the way his whole body seemed to sigh into it.

Pulling back, he nodded towards the top of the bed, “Get into bed. we’ll be with you in a moment”.

Without any arguments, you happily crawled up the bed, getting under the blanket and waited patiently, making sure not to fall asleep until Bucky and Steve were on either side of you, both kissing your face and shoulder tenderly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better baby”, Steve whispered against your skin.

#mafia stucky #mafia au #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #stucky x reader #stucky fluff #steve rogers x reader #bucky x reader #marvel one shot #mine*#request

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wisteria-blooms · 7 months

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sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) 2/??

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake (Let me know if you want to be tagged!)

CHAPTER 2: If you thought last night's dinner was terrible, you are proven wrong the very next morning. What could be worse than the return of Charlie Weasley, who lands right back in England, in the middle of a conversation about dating his older brother? (3.9k words)

CHAPTER 2: FASTER WE'RE FALLING

Leaves crunched under your feet as you walked across Diagon Alley. The town was still draped in silence at just a half hour past dawn, and there was a distinct fall chill in the morning air. The chill wasn’t the only thing lingering; you were replaying the scene you’d caused at dinner yesterday. You and your father were at obvious odds this morning when you passed each other in the hallway. When he’d curtly announced he had important business and therefore wouldn’t be at breakfast, you were elated.

But that was all the reminder that there were only thirteen days to find a lover. A true one or not.

Not much else was open at this hour except your favourite café, Cauco, which was also known as Cauldron Concoctions. It was most renowned for its brunch but was a beautiful restaurant at all hours of the day.

So, you walked like a woman on a mission, holding a tray of drinks, trying your very best not to spill it on the cream sweater that you’d layered over an oversized white dress shirt. The faint sun would undoubtedly swelter in a couple of hours, so you had an option to peel off layers.

“Good morning!” you called as you pushed the door open with your back to Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

“Good morning!” George called back.

“We’re not open yet,” Fred said, standing by the entrance. “Make like a tree and leave.”

“Ignore him, (Y/N),” George instructed, throwing his towel onto the table. “Seeing your beautiful face always brightens my mornings.”

You couldn’t hide a smile at both the banter and the relief being here brought you. Fred and George had been your best friends since your first year at Hogwarts. In a way, you supposed forgotten misfits always found each other. They taught you how to be yourself and to stop caring about other people’s opinions. Your friendship carried strongly over the years and beyond graduation. They’d seen you through your best and worst, and was your stronghold when you were having trouble with your family.

“What’s this?” Fred asked, eyes falling on the tray you were carrying.

“Fuel,” you responded.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” Fred complimented, snatching a latte for himself and George. He wafted the sweet scent of pumpkin and made a pleased expression. “But I have a peculiar feeling that drinks mean…. you require something.”

“Not always,” you said.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Out with it. What kind of trouble did you get yourself into?”

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Okay?” Fred quirked an eyebrow. “What else is new?”

“Ever since my cousin’s wedding in France in August, marriage is all my mother will talk about,” you confessed. “She’s pressuring me to get married, despite there being multiple steps missing in between. My father is pissed off that I’ve embarrassed him by ditching the sons of his friends at the country club, so he’s strong-armed me into entertaining Goyle for dinner.”

“And you agreed?” Fred asked.

“Of course not,” you said, irritation creeping in at the thought of rolling over to Lucius’s demands so quickly. “I told him I already had a boyfriend.”

“Which isn’t true,” George said. “Unless something’s changed since last week?”

“I mean, it can be true,” you said. “I just haven’t been able to find anyone to make my statement true.”

“I thought Malfoys had a whole web of connections,” George remarked.

“Malfoys never burn bridges, Malfoys never lose,” you recited. “But I’ve broken so many of these sayings that I may as well renege my last name.”

“Is this a proposal for me to fill in the gap?” Fred asked excitedly, holding a hand over his chest. “I’d be delighted to go out with you. High time you asked.”

You laughed. “You couldn’t keep a straight face if your life depended on it.” In truth, you would’ve loved to take Fred with you. Just his last name would absolutely piss off your parents, namely your father and so much so that Lucius might actually crush the wine glass in his hands. And you had so much built-up anger for his favouritism of Draco over you that it would be fulfilling to see it—the idea of you and Fred Weasley—unravel.

“Do you want to rent someone else instead of taking this clown?” George asked. “We can offer some old friends, maybe some siblings, but be careful with who you choose.”

Siblings.

You had to laugh at the idea. “You’d offer me a sibling?”

George nodded. “Slim pickings, but yeah, I can pull some strings.”

You sifted through some faces for your own amusement. You knew Ron was happily taken, Percy was never going to say yes, and Charlie was never in England. So, you naturally landed on Bill. Bill was the eldest. The age gap between you and him, a whole eight years, would be enough to make Lucius’s head implode. What could a 31-year old want with his sweet daughter? That would be corruption beyond even his understanding. You hadn’t seen Bill in years, and you were never in school with him. But from quick glimpses of when he’d come home during vacations, you could remember long hair, piercings, and a fang earring that Molly was always trying to tug off at the table.

Wait—

Why was this actually a good idea?

The prospect of the chaos he could cause at the dinner table made your heart ache happily.

And like the last pair of heels in your size at Madame Malkin’s, you just had to have Bill Weasley.

“Well, anyone in mind?” George asked.

“Bill!” you said confidently.

A moment of silence.

“(Y/N),” George managed to get out. He was breathing through clenched teeth, trying not to implode with laughter.

“What?” you demanded.

“You’re a fucking homewrecker.”

“What?” you spat.

“Bill is married,” George lectured.

“What?” you trilled.

“Yeah,” Fred added matter-of-factly. “It’s taken mum a while, but she finally came around on their wedding day a year ago.”

“Charlie was blasé about the marriage, he was just happy to be best man,” George said, providing background. “Percy figured that since Fleur was the global liaison for the same company Bill worked at, it was considered a workplace romance and so he professionally advised against it. Almost reported Bill, his own fucking brother, to human resources, but we reckon he was just jealous. Of course, Ronnie was mad because he’s wanted Fleur for himself since his fourth year. And Ginny, well, maybe it was a cultural shock for her, but she hated the idea of Bill and Fleur.”

“And now you want to tear them apart? This only gets better!” Fred rubbed his hands together. Then, a serious look crossed his face. Then, he wagged his finger. “Actually, you should do it. You can get back at her for stealing Davies from you during the Yule Ball.”

“No one told me they were married!” you protested, heat tickling your cheeks. “And I didn’t know he’d married Fleur of all people.”

You remember the uproar that Fleur caused in your sixth year during the Triwizard Tournament. She was this perfect blonde magnet that literally hypnotized every man that walked by to the extent that even you were jealous of her. In a way, she was everything your parents wanted you to be, and you’d never fit that mold.

“You should stay in town more often, but you were taking your annual Tour de France last year,” Fred said. “Maybe you could’ve crashed the wedding. Mum would’ve probably preferred you as his wife anyway.”

You made a face at Fred, grossed out by what he was inferring. “I’d only want him for a weekend.”

“Sure, o-okay.” He swung around and resumed unpacking some boxes. “Keep thinking about it, (Y/N).”

With a hmph, you sat down on the couch in the middle of the store. This seat was usually a hotbed for parents, sitting for hours waiting for their children to finish perusing. It was weird being here without the usual bustling crowds doing a last haul before rushing off to Platform 9 ¾. All the kids were back in school, and now it was just the occasional local or group of tourists.

As Fred worked in front of you and George mounted a ladder, you sipped on your latte and drummed your fingers on the leather couch. You were running through other possibilities in your mind like a madwoman. Bill’s occupancy left a hole in your heart despite you never even considering it until George brought it up. Worst case, you could head to a bar tonight and propose the idea to a guy drunk out of his mind. You knew you were amenable to mostly anything when you were three drinks in, hence the lingering scars on your legs from when you were drunkenly running around London after midnight with Fred and George last year. And maybe it was better that way, not knowing who was going to play your boyfriend.

As you mused, a loud crack rang out in front of you. You barely flinched. You were more than accustomed to random loud noises having been around Fred and George for so long.

“Charlie!” Fred’s voice rang out.

You slowly looked up and saw a tall figure towering over you. You assumed that, from Fred’s comment, this was Charlie turned away, standing in front of you, inches from your knees. A worn jean jacket covered his noticeably broad torso. You could see the gleam of a silver necklace circling his neck. Long and wild ringlets of ginger hair grazed his shoulders.

“Hey, long time no see,” Charlie greeted.

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to apparate directly inside?” Fred mocked. “Charles Weasley, how many times have I told you? You should always apparate outside the house and then knock until your host invites you in!”

“You’re open, mum’s not here, so what’s the problem?” Charlie said with a shrug. He took a step back. In a split second, you realized what he was doing.

He was trying to sit. On the couch you were on.

Without recognizing you were right there. Holding a cup of steaming coffee.

“Hey, watch out!” you warned, but it was too late.

A crushing weight was quickly falling on your lap. You bent your free arm to brace for Charlie, hoping your forearm would lighten the impact on your legs. He’d always sported more muscles than any of his siblings, and if even Fred was heavy enough to knock the breath out of you, you couldn’t imagine trying to support Charlie. The issue was that your other arm was the one holding the coffee. And as Charlie landed on you, your latte spilled everywhere, staining your freshly-starched blouse and the softest wool sweater you’d owned.

Just as quickly as Charlie had sat down, he got up.

“Whoa!” Charlie exclaimed after realizing there was someone behind him. “I’m sorry,” he said. He turned around to assess the damage he’d done: a hot splotch of coffee on your now brown sweater, dribbling down your thighs to your knees and down your legs.

“Good thing it wasn’t a white t-shirt,” Fred snickered. “But maybe you would’ve liked that, Charlie.”

Charlie burst out laughing. But when you shot him a look, he quickly bit his tongue. “I’m sorry about spilling it on you, erm—”

“(Y/N),” you finished for him.

“(Y/N) Malfoy!” He slapped his head, a bright smile resulting from the action, like there was happiness shooting from his palm. “How could I forget you?” Charlie extended a hand to you which you took. The first thing you noticed was how callused and rough his hands were, likely sculpted from his work with dragons and other beasts. The second thing you noticed was that you barely had to do any work; his muscled arm lifted you with ease until you were on your feet. “Mum can fix you up,” he said. He pointed to the left breast of his jean jacket where a button should’ve been. Instead, it was a ripped seam. “A Peruvian Vipertooth got cheeky with me and snatched my button off. Mum’ll have to take a look at repairing it so you may as well come with me.”

“Why are you even here in the first place?” Fred asked. “Did all the dragons escape under your care?” He paused for a second, letting his imagination run wild. “Have you been debarred?”

“I was forced to take my accrued vacation time,” Charlie said. “Amongst other things, but we can talk about it later at home.”

“You should make it up to (Y/N),” George called from the second floor, after leisurely watching the debacle.

“Oh yeah, of course,” Charlie responded. He eyed the now empty cup of coffee on the side table. “Do you want to get another cup of coffee?”

“Smooth,” George sang. “Not even a minute back in England, and already trying to woo a lovely lady to go out with you?”

“You know me,” Charlie admitted, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t like wasted time.” He cocked his head at you. “What do you say, (Y/N)?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you said. You had more worrisome things to attend to than a lost coffee.

“I don’t mean just coffee, Charlie,” George corrected, descending the ladder. “Did you hear the rest of the conversation before you sat on (Y/N), or have you stopped eavesdropping?”

“I’ve only kept the bad habit of apparating in where I shouldn’t,” Charlie said with a wink. You blinked at him, confused.

“Let me fill you in,” Fred offered, stalking over to Charlie’s side. “(Y/N) was asking us about the best way to break up Bill and Fleur’s marriage.”

“What?” Charlie guffawed. “You’re not serious about that, are you?”

“Talk about a loose interpretation of events,” you murmured. You didn’t want to add fuel to Fred’s fire so you kept silent.

George shook his head and explained in your defense. “(Y/N) shot herself in the foot last night and is on a mission to find a boyfriend to take to dinner before she’s forced to marry Goyle.”

“Gross.” Charlie contorted his face. “I only knew his older brother, (Y/N), but if the younger Goyle is anything like him…”

“I’m not marrying him regardless of what happens!” you protested. “We also don’t have to talk about it here.” You looked over at Charlie. You were embarrassed. You hadn’t seen the second eldest brother in years and now all of this drama was unraveling as his welcome home present.

“Whoa,” Charlie said. “Let me take you out for a date first before we meet your parents, (Y/N).”

“That’s not—”

George just hummed.

“Here, take this,” Charlie said. He quickly shed his jean jacket and handed it over, the chain around his neck dangling as the material swept it. He wore nothing but a white t-shirt underneath.“Cover up the stain before we go to,”—he grabbed the empty white cup and inspected the lettering,—“Cauco? You’ll bankrupt me before our second date, (Y/N).”

“Charlie is more of a Coffee Pot kind of guy,” George said with a snicker. He was referring to a cafe near Knockturn Alley where the price was more palatable than the coffee.

“Hey, don’t share my finances in front of (Y/N),” Charlie protested. “Come on, (Y/N). Let’s get going.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, giving Charlie a last chance to escape.

“I insist,” he tutted.

You sighed in surrender.

As you accepted the jacket, you couldn’t help but notice the faint scars running up his forearms. Some were evidently deep scratches from what you assumed were caused by dragon talons. The rest had to be burn scars. A shudder ran up your spine and you willed yourself to stop thinking about it.

You looped your arms through Charlie’s jacket. You were immediately enveloped in the scent of cinder and ash, like you were transported into a deep grassy forest in the middle of autumn. The frayed hems of the jacket reached midway down your thigh and were sufficient to cover the ugly mess on your sweater. You popped the collar of your dress out, rolled up the sleeves, and followed Charlie’s lead out the door.

Cauco was brimming with business when you arrived for the second time today. It was situated in a particularly attractive part of town where the higher-end stores stood. The open air terrace spilled onto the cobbled streets. Lavender and wisteria hung from the roof providing beauty and shade. It was full of patrons enjoying a morning coffee, much more of them now than when you’d walked in earlier. As you strode past the glass door that Charlie held open, you realized the inside was no better. Every seat underneath the high ceilings was occupied. Beautiful and fresh pastries, a collection of breads, tarts, and cakes, lined the glass displays. The espresso machine was pristinely polished. You and Charlie passed by a line of people in queue to be seated.

“I reckon we should just get this to go, yeah?” Charlie said. He tilted his head to the right, trying to see the menu printed behind the counter.

“You were thinking of sitting down?”

“I haven’t been able to properly relax in hours. Sleeper trains are terrible.” He extended his arms over his head in a stretch. “And I don’t fit too well in the berths.”

‘I can imagine,’ you thought, looking at the taut muscles he was working. As you looked up at Charlie, you realized there was so much you hadn’t noticed about him before. Maybe it was because you’d only known him before your body was flush with hormones. After all, you’d barely spent two grades at Hogwarts with him before he went off to Romania. And he was much too cool and preoccupied with Quidditch to pay attention to you.

Charlie wasn’t the tallest Weasley child but his broad shoulders and frame more than made up for it. You’d put him right next to Fred and George in terms of height, but he just looked physically more intimidating. As if, if he had to brawl with Fred, you’d place all your bets on Charlie. You’d place the estate on him in any sort of fight. Charlie’s jaw was chiseled, the angles cutting like glass and meeting to form a square chin. A faint dimple unveiled itself when he laughed, which was often. His brow was cocked, eyes angled, and he wore a permanent smirk, as if he was always calculating his next move. When the sun caught him just right, his eyes were the colour of the sea: bright blue blending with a ring of aquamarine in the centre.

Charlie exhaled as he eased the tension in his body. “So, what are you going to do?” His voice was deeper and huskier by nature. You hadn’t heard it in ages and had almost forgotten its distinct quality.

“What about?”

He bit back a laugh. “The Goyle thing.”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It feels nice to get it out in the open, at least. I might have to chat up a random bloke at the bar.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Charlie warned, his brows furrowing. “That can be dangerous.” Then he leaned in a little closer, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “You know, you can always ask me.”

“No way,” you deflected with a laugh. You weren’t sure if he was serious.

“But you were considering Bill?” He placed a hand over his chest. “I’m offended. I’m more fun than him.”

“That was a joke,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know he was married, otherwise I wouldn't have said anything.”

“I didn’t know he was married either,” Charlie admitted.

“What? I thought you were the best man.”

“I was,” Charlie said. “But it all happened so fast. One day, he’s saying he’s met this girl. Next week, he’s in love. Then, he wants to propose, and before I know it, I’m standing at the altar.” Charlie chuckled. “Bill just knows what he wants. There’s no such thing as wasted time with him.”

“But there’s wasted time with you?” you teased.

“Likely, yeah. But let’s rewind, you said there’s dinner involved?”” Charlie wound the topic back to your predicament. “I’m famished, even more so thinking about what dinner is like at the Malfoy manor. How many courses would it be?”

“Seven,” you responded.

His eyes lit up. “I might even pay to go with you.”

Before you could respond, a young woman called you up to the counter. For a fraction of a second, you caught her eyes looking at your oversized jean jacket. And for a fraction of a second, you felt entirely out of place dressed like this in such an upscale establishment.

Charlie leaned in slightly. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” the young woman responded, red dotting her cheeks. Now, her eyes were locked on Charlie. And you were starting to understand why.

“May I have two lattes, a jambon beurre,” he leaned back and to observe the pastries in the display. “And a pain au chocolat.” Then he turned to you and asked: “Do you want one, too, (Y/N)?”

“I’m alright,” you said.

After Charlie paid for the order, you were instructed to wait off to the side so as to not disrupt the dining patrons. You were near the kitchens, so the noise of clattering dishes, clanking cutlery, and chatter was all-consuming.

Charlie leaned down and whispered, “I reckon my body will eat itself if I don’t feed it enough.”

As if he needed to justify his order. Still, you laughed. “I wouldn’t want that to happen. The dragons need you.”

A natural silence landed over you and Charlie, small talk running low, and you began to glance around the restaurant. The host at the front was a man in his fifties. His name was Jacques, a familiar face. He’d been working here for ages, for as long as you could remember. His suit was perfectly pressed, his grey hair perfectly slicked back, and he was standing ready for the next patron. When two men walked in, Jacques recognized them immediately.

‘As any good host should,’ you thought.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Lemieux,” Jacques greeted pleasantly. “Your table is ready for six. Please follow me this way.”

“Hey,” Charlie said. He’d obviously been following where your eyes trailed off to. “Isn’t that your dad?”

As if silenced by a hex, no words came out. Especially not when Lucius slowly turned to his left, his steely eyes immediately recognizing his own daughter. Irritation immediately crossed his face when he processed the ridiculous outfit you were wearing—the oversized and frayed jean jacket which was clearly not yours. His face only got redder when he appraised the man standing beside you. The man who your jacket clearly belonged to.

A Weasley.

And you could imagine what putting two-and-two together resulted in: breakfast after a morning romp in the sheets with Charlie Weasley, wrapped in his jacket after he’d shed all your clothes.

“Excuse me for a second,” Lucius said to his business partner, swallowing his anger for appearances. Mr. Lemieux nodded and followed Jacques to the table instead.

Without a word and with just a quick jut of the head in the opposite direction, you knew exactly what your father was commanding. With a gulp, you followed him.

NEXT CHAPTER >>

<< CHAPTER DIRECTORY

#charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley fic #charlie weasley x reader

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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years

Text

POWER COUPLE

A/N: i've had this idea stuck on my mind all week so had to write it! also, im not sure if wearing a doctoral title as a lawyer is common in other places but it is in my country so for the sake of the story lets pretend it is everywhere lol

WORD COUNT: 1k

SUMMARY: You're an independent and strong woman and Harry loves that about you. He won't let anyone belittle you by dropping your doctoral title.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has never met a more confident and independent woman that you. Partially it’s what swept him off his feet when he first met you six years ago, still working on your degree. The way you took no shit from anyone, stepped up for yourself no matter what and could solve any and every problem that way thrown your way, Harry has been admiring you since day one. You never needed anyone to be complete, let alone a man, so he took it as a gift and a privilege that you chose him to be your partner.

He was there by your side when you earned your doctoral title, finishing law school with exceptional grades and on top of your class. He was the first one to welcome you as Dr. Y/N Y/L/N after your graduation and he couldn’t be prouder of the woman you’d become in front of his eyes.

When marriage came up between the two of you, he wasn’t surprised how clear ideas you had about what you wanted and didn’t want.

“Don’t take it personal, but I don’t want to take your last name,” you told him. He remembers it as if it happened yesterday. He proposed to you just a week before that and you were flipping through a wedding magazine as the two of you were chilling on the big orange couch you chose for the living room. At first Harry didn’t think it would fit in the room, but as always, you were right and it’s still one of his favorite furniture in your shared home.

Your leg was across his lap, one of his hands on your knee, the other one holding his phone as he scrolled through some emails.

“I’m not taking it personal,” he smiled and that was the truth. “Just curious why.”

“Because I worked hard for my title and I earned it as Y/N Y/L/N. I want it to be fully mine and I also think it’s a bit outdated for women to take the man’s surname,” you simply reasoned and Harry expected no less from you. A straight and clear answer he could not argue with.

Therefore, when the two of you got married a little less than a year later, no names were changed. However the rest of the world didn’t seem to understand or care for the choice you made, because on a daily basis you get referred to as Y/N Styles. Wrong surname and lack of title.

You always correct others when they call you Y/N Styles and Harry does the same. At this point you’re expecting it whenever you have a public appearance, which doesn’t happen that often. You have your own career and Harry has his own. Whenever he wants you there with him, needs your support you’re more than happy to, but essentially he is the main character in his story. He gives you the same support, as a lawyer you’re fighting to make the world greener, a cause that was always close to your heart and though with Harry’s name you could basically reach the stars, he only interferes with your cases when you ask him to, which doesn’t happen often. You want to reach your goals on your own and work for them as hard as you can.

You’re truly a power couple, though Harry often jokes that you give seventy percent of the power in the relationship.

Tonight is Harry’s night. It’s the Grammy’s and his latest album, Harry’s House was nominated as well as your husband himself for an award and there was no question in him that he wants his wife there with him on the red carpet.

Standing in line, waiting to step out to the carpet you fix Harry’s jacket, he’s wearing a bright yellow set with flower pattern all over, his pants are held up by a vintage belt which has a giant strawberry in the front and of course, he has no shirt on, flashing his chiseled chest to the public. Your dress matches the yellow tone, but it’s definitely not a statement piece, giving him all the attention, though he couldn’t stop raving about how good you look in it when you first showed it to him.

“Nervous?” you ask him with a soft smile, your hand returning to hold his.

“Not when you’re with me,” he answers and your heart still swoons whenever he flirts with you like this, no matter that you’re married.

“Alright, rockstar,” you chuckle.

At the beginning of the carpeted aisle there’s a woman holding up signs with the names of the celebrities entering the line. It’s nothing new, you’re used to it, it helps photographers keep track of who they are shooting currently. However as the two of you step out to the red carpet and take your first pose, you notice what’s written on the little board in the woman’s hands.

Harry Styles and Y/N Styles.

You choose not to comment on it or make a big deal out of it. Tonight is Harry’s night and you wouldn’t take the attention away from him, so you just keep smiling. But Harry spots it too and he doesn’t let it slide.

“H?” you ask when he slips out of your hold and walks over to the woman.

“Does anyone have a pen?” he asks around, the photographers keep shooting the interaction as someone hands him a marker. He asks for the board and with a swift movement he crosses out the Styles surname in your name and replaces it with your real family name, then adds Dr. at the front before handing it back to the woman.

Harry Styles and Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, reads the sign now as Harry returns to by your side as if nothing happened.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, giving his waist a gentle squeeze.

“My wife is super cool and smart and a badass lawyer, want to show that off,” he smiles down at you and though you’re not a fan of PDA at public events, you can’t stop yourself from stealing a quick kiss that of course gets photographed a million times in those two seconds by the press.

The moment makes headlines by the morning along with your husband winning every Grammy he was nominated for, strengthening your status as a power couple once again.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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ficclings · 1 year

Text

Lost - Chapter One

Next Chapter

- Group: Stray Kids

- Reader doesn’t not have a name!

- All members will appear in this fanfiction! Do not worry.

- Minors do not interact. This fanfiction will have graphic depictions of violence and other adult situations. This is also a mixed fiction of Apocalypse and Hybrid AUs. The reader in this fanfiction is a Female and therefore has female pronouns.

Tagged: neohyxn

- I have not invested myself in fanfiction writing in quite a while so I’m very nervous about this...but I hope you enjoy.

If you want, you can donate.

🕸️ It took everything in her body to not trip over the cracks in the pavement outside of her apartment building; her throat burning from both the cold and the amount of breathing she was doing as she raced towards the door.

Hands shaking as she struggled with the rusty lock, her ears pricked upward at the noise of a blood-chilling shriek, and she knew that they had spotted her again.

She was getting sloppy on her supply runs and even though she knew this, she wasn’t exactly known for having the best balance even standing still, let alone grabbing supplies from the blood-stained shops.

Letting out a small cry of relief, the door finally came unstuck, and she slammed the door shut; turning around just in time to see a small group of people slam their bodies into the thick glass door.

Their eyes bloodshot, their mouths always open and drooling, all of them agile despite whatever their human health state was like.

“Fucking arseholes,” she whispered as she tried to ignore the groaning and the screaming that was just behind a single glass door.

Dashing up the stairs, she kept her apartment key ready in her hand, anything to just be a little safer that much quicker.

“I am alive,” she called out, her breath halting for a few seconds as silence followed her announcement.

“You sound terrified,”

The deep voice made her flinch and she turned to see her best friend sitting up on his elbows, his eyes narrowing on her face and taking in her shaken form.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he jumped over the back of the sofa and quickly gathered her up in his arms, “safety in numbers,” he added pulling back so he could look her in the eyes.

“Felix, you were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you up,” she replied feeling a little bashful under his gaze, “it’s been so long since you had a good night's sleep and I’m not going to wake you up for every supply run just because you think you’re okay when you clearly aren’t,”

She pouted when Felix chuckled and pet the top of her head with affection, enjoying the softness of her Dalmatian ears.

“You’re right,” he agreed surprising her quite a bit and she tilted her head to the side; the two of them making their way to the seating area, “lay with me?”

Felix helped her move the heavy backpack she was carrying and held his arms out to her, knowing fully well that she would never be able to refuse such an action.

“Evil,” she mumbled before quickly joining him on the sofa, head buried in his chest as a blanket was thrown over them.

“Maybe so but you love me,” he giggled at the scoff that was replied and he squeezed the hybrid just a little bit more out of sheer love for her, “I’m glad you’re safe,” he added quietly as he heard a loud scream coming from a floor above them.

Must be Miss Lorn’s boyfriend...finally turned Felix thought with a shudder as the screaming continued a little more before it slowly became quiet with a loud gurgling.

“Me too,” she whispered gripping the fabric of his shirt for comfort, “maybe...maybe we should barricade the door today,” she added upon hearing the rather disturbing scrambling of hands scratching at the floorboards from above.

“I’m on it,”

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Even though the world had gone to shit, the internet seemed to still be working.

Only on select days of the month it seemed but working none-the-less.

Felix had been trying to get in contact with his best friends ever since things really started to go downhill; she could see his heart breaking every time the phone calls cut short or when they simply weren’t even working.

She had only met one of Felix’s friends and that was a man called Han Jisung.

An introverted man who was shy and anxious a lot of the time but bloomed the second he was comfortable with you.

She always had had a soft spot for Han and had enjoyed his company very much whenever he’d visited Felix, the two men extremely close thanks to their birthdays being one day apart.

She had assumed that Han would’ve been the first one he would try to get in touch with but apparently there was another man from Australia that he was the closest too.

“Still nothing?” she asked quietly as she eyed Felix, who was leant over his laptop with a very exhausted expression on his lovely face, “Lix?” she pushed gently when silence followed her question, and he looked up slowly with a sad shake of his head.

“I don’t even know if they’re safe,” he whispered trying his very best not to cry, “Channie-hyung is tough but his kindness is the thing that will get him in trouble...people will take advantage,” he closed his laptop and rubbed his face harshly; leaving red marks on himself.

“Minho-hyung is tough and no nonsense, but playful and kind...I guess he’ll be the one who would be around the longest,” Felix picked at his nails, and she knew that he was just talking to vent out his anxiety; so, she stayed quiet and nodded, “Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin-hyung live together, so I think they’ll be alright but Changbin is loud and a hot-head sometimes,” he pulled at his thick brown locks, “Hannie....” he seemed to be particularly stressed when talking about the slightly older man.

“Hannie is smart, and I think his anxiety benefits him...he’s not that great with social situations unless we’re with him so I think...I think he’ll be hiding in his home or with Channie-hyung...they’re super close,” he took a deep breath and turned to look at her for the first time since his ramble.

“Seungie and Jeongin are the youngest of our friendship group but I believe that they are together, I hope they’re together,” he whispered, “I believe they’ll be okay but they get overwhelmed easily and I just don’t know what to do!” he finally broke down in tears and she rushed towards him; pulling him into her chest and stroking his hair as he sobbed into shirt, gripping the back of it so hard she thought it would rip.

“I will help you find them,” she squeezed him tightly and kissed his forehead when he eventually looked up, “I will find them,” she knew it was giving him false hope, but she couldn’t stand to see the utter distress upon his face.

“I don’t want them to be hurt,” he whimpered as his face turned a bright shade of red due to his crying, “I love them,” he bit his bottom lip nervously before smiling ever so slightly when she bumped her head against his affectionately.

“I know you do,” she replied looking at the front door at the sudden sound of screeching, which caused them both to bolt towards said door just in case they had to hold it shut once again.

“How are they still in the building?” Felix shook his head, voice still wrecked because of his crying.

“I don’t know, I thought I had gotten rid of them all on this floor,” she eyed the peephole and felt her stomach drop at the sight of them running down the halls; clearly on the scent of something and she hoped it wasn’t one of the poor pets in the other apartments.

“Might be newbies,” Felix sighed heavily, “I still think it’s to do with the water around here,” he added making her shrug.

“Could be, I haven’t been using any water for drinking that didn’t come out of a bottle,” she confessed, “bad for the planet but so is this virus,” she continued making Felix laugh.

“Same here,” he confessed as they moved away from the door and back towards his bedroom; shutting the door behind them.

A rule the two of them had come up with in case their front door was knocked down during the night, they would still have a barrier between them and the zombies.

Sleeping together was also another safety rule they’d made as they’d be able to 1. hold the door better with two and 2. have more chances to fight the zombies off if, God forbid, they got in.

Plus, they were just scared to be by themselves.

“Have you tried to call them?” she moved to his side on the bed and cuddled up with her arms locked around one of his, chin on his shoulder.

“I think using phones is going to be pointless,” he puffed a big sigh out, “fucking thing hasn’t been able to connect a call in about,” he paused, “three-four weeks,”

This news came as a surprise to her as Felix hadn’t even mentioned this to her.

“Three-four weeks?!” she gasped, and he nodded, “oh Felix,” she almost cooed at his saddened expression, her fingers gently brushing his hair from his face so she could look at his dark brown eyes.

He, in turn, looked back at her feeling quite hopeless, his head pushing forward so their foreheads were together.

“I have you,” he whispered closing his eyes, “so it’s not all bad,” he felt his face flush red at the sudden confession, and he moved away from her, eyes darting to the grey carpet of his room.

There was a short silence that followed his statement.

She would be lying if she hadn’t picked up on a weird atmosphere surrounding the two of them lately; not that she hated the feeling, but it was just a little strange.

Felix was always a touchy person; often pulling her into cuddles for most of the day or just petting her ears as she curled up beside him, kissing her forehead or cheek whenever he felt particularly soft.

But recently the cuddles had become longer and tighter, the kisses had become more frequent, and his lips lingered.

Even she had become aware that she was also being a lot more affectionate with Felix; even brave enough now to kiss him back on several occasions.

She considered the man a forever packmate, even though she didn’t have a pack in the first place.

Maybe she was confusing simple pack-love with romantic love? She wasn’t too knowledgeable about Hybrid pack lives, having been brought up with a Human family since birth.

Shaking her head furiously, startling Felix in the process, she cleared her throat and threw herself down onto the bed, pulling the covers over her body.

“We should get some rest, we need to go on another supply run soon,” she faked a yawn and made sure to face away from him as she tried to figure her thoughts out but still pushed backwards as Felix joined her, arm thrown around her waist protectively.

It was annoying that her tail was wagging.

Fucking traitor!

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munsonsduchess · 1 year

Text

Nothing but a Good Time

summary: your coworker has called out sick and needs you to cover her interview on your day off

w/c: 9,786

warnings: nothing actually, this is p tame

a/n: it’s not plagiarism if it’s my own work! this has been rattling around in my brain for a hot minute and since i won’t be able to update Shadow of the Moon till late sunday i wanted to put something out

if you enjoy this consider reblogging! it really helps me out 🫶🏻🤟🏼

(moodboard by me)

Of all days for something to go wrong it would have to be today. A day which, as you informed your editor when he called at the ridiculous hour of 9am, you weren’t even supposed to be working. You had checked and double checked before leaving the office the previous evening that you wouldn’t be on call today nor would they need you in the office, you had planned therefore to catch up on everything you missed while you were working.

Laundry, grocery shopping, catching up on that show you’d been watching. The basics. The universe however seemed to laugh in the face of those plans so there you were rushing out of a crowded train station trying to hail a taxi looking like someone’s lost teenage daughter.

All this for a band you didn’t even like. Which admittedly you seemed to be the only one in the office who didn’t but your editor had begged and pleaded and even offered you an extra day off for covering the interview when it transpired that the other colleague who was supposed to be interviewing the band had gotten a stomach bug from her kids and wasn’t fit to leave the bathroom much less travel across the city of london to go to an interview in an expensive hotel for a band your magazine was foaming at the mouth over.

So there you were, coffee stains blessedly hidden on your black shirt, standing at the reception of one of the most expensive hotels in the city waiting for the go ahead to do your job,

“They’ll see you now” a large man also dressed in all black with a very impressive mohawk called from the private elevators, “follow me”

With a sigh you did as the man asked and followed him into the lift where he stood in impassible silence until you reached the penthouse, of course it was the penthouse, where he waited for you to follow him down the plush corridor before stopping in front of the suite.

Well time to get this over with and go back to ignoring the every growing pile of laundry in your apartment.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Walking into the suite you were actually pretty surprised not to be assaulted by the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke, it really did look as though the band even allowed the housekeeping staff in to clean the room. Not to mention all the appliances were still in their predetermined spots and nothing was missing or in the pool on the ground floor.

Standing in the main living room of the suite you started to take out the things you needed for the interview and found a comfortable seat next to a coffee table where you could set up your phone to record. You’d type up your notes later,

“Hey you’re that magazine chick!” a voice called from another part of the suite causing you to look up and find yourself staring into what could only be described as deep chocolate coloured eyes and a wild mop of curly hair.

No doubt in your mind this was Eddie Munson the lead guitarist and songwriter of the band. He had a very distinctive look

“I’m the reporter yes, it’s nice to meet you�� you introduced yourself and held out your hand to shake the man’s,

“You’re totally not what I expected” he laughed as he took your hand and gave it a hardy shake, you didn’t know if that was supposed to be a compliment or not “the guys and I have been out sightseeing” Eddie continued, the bright smile never leaving his face.

“Oh really? Have you seen anything in particular?” you asked out of politeness not really expecting the outburst of energy that came from the man in front of you ,

“Eddie, chill man you’re gonna scare her away” another man said with a sigh, “Gareth. Nice to meet you”

“Likewise, you’re the drummer aren’t you?”

“That’s me. The good looking one”

“That isn’t what that article Nancy sent me said” Eddie said with a grin and wink in your direction, “besides chicks totally dig Jeff”

“Damn right they do” the man who’d followed Gareth into the room said, “ladies go wild for me”

“Yeah, yeah you’re just the best thing on planet earth and you’ve got your pick of the ladies” Eddie’s smile didn’t waver and it seemed as though this was some sort of inside joke between the three men as no one said more on the subject,

“Well if you’re all ready to get started” you gestured to the seats in front of you and picked your little recorder from the table, “so if you don’t mind i’m going to record the interview on my little cassette recorder here and then I’ll be typing it up and it’ll go into next week’s edition of the magazine. If you’re interested I’m sure you could pick it up from any newsstand”

“I mean we’re gonna be in town for another couple weeks so why don’t you just come by again?” Eddie said, you couldn’t detect anything but sincerity in his tone. He really did want you to come and hand deliver a magazine.

“Well I don’t know what I’ll be doing next week so I might not have the time” you answered, you weren’t sure if this was some sort of entitled rockstar behavior or something else but you’d done this job long enough to be on your guard when it came to celebrities.

Before anyone else could ask any questions you set your cassette player to record and started the interview. Luckily your colleague had already prepped a list of questions and things she wanted to talk about so you had no trouble following her notes.

The band was only too happy to answer questions and talk about themselves, you had half expected them to be like a lot of other ‘huge’ bands you’d interviewed in your time with the magazine - full of themselves, but they really did seem like three down to earth Midwestern boys. Eddie and Gareth had grown up together in a trailer park in Indiana and met Jeff later in life, they’d all shared a passion for music and started doing gigs in run down bars and clubs, at friends parties and really anything they could get a ride to. It was at one of these grungy bars in the middle of nowhere they’d been spotted and the subsequent rise to fame had been meteoric.

Throughout the interview the three men laughed and joked and poked fun at each other, at the music industry, they spoke passionately about things that were close to their hearts, causes they believed in and of course their families.

Jeff and Gareth seemed more than content to enjoy life on the road. The perks that came with being world famous Rock Stars but it seemed Eddie wanted more. He talked a lot about friends he’d left behind when the band made it big including a group of kids he talked about as if they were family,

“I mean you know what it’s like” he said gesturing to you, “you’re a mom”

It took you a second to recover from that before you raised your hands and spoke,

“Oh no i’m not a mom, you must mean Amy. She was supposed to be here today but her little one Jamie brought home a tummy bug and she’s not in any state to be anywhere but the house”

“I thought you were Amy!” Eddie said seriously, “shit I’m sorry I totally didn’t mean to offend you!”

“It’s fine, I know she was supposed to be here and that’s who the magazine told you to expect. I mean you probably thought I was a shit mom to be showing up looking like someone’s angsty teenager” you laughed trying to lighten the mood.

As the interview proceeded you found yourself reaching into the bag you'd brought with you for another cassette to keep recording. You hadn’t planned on the interview going on this long,

"That's a cool bag" Jeff commented and you reached for it, "are all of those patches for bands you listen to?"

You gestured to the little canvas messenger bag that had been your constant companion since university and the plethora of band patches decorating the front flap,

"I mean yeah, I work for a music magazine I've listened to a lot of music" you joked,

"We should get you one for us so you can have our band on your bag all the time" Eddie said, "we've got some pins too if you want one for the strap. I could get you one"

The rest of the interview proceeded after you'd switched out the cassette and you began to notice an almost imperceptible shift in Eddie’s behavior and his attitude towards you to the point where once the interview had concluded he offered to walk you down to the lobby himself,

“I could do with stretching my legs” he said with a shrug, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, “unless you don’t want me to go with you?” he held his hands up in a backing off motion

“No, I don’t mind” you offered him your own smile as you gathered up your things, “you can tell me what you like about the city”

“Dope!”

You suppressed a giggle at that. Eddie really just seemed like an over energetic teenager and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t endearing. To the rest of the world he was the enigmatic, charismatic lead guitarist of one of the biggest bands in the world and yet here he was so excited to walk you downstairs.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Well thanks again for walking with me” you said once you made it to the front doors of the hotel, “it was really nice to talk to you”

“Yeah? You really think so?”

“Sure. I was sort of expecting you all to be massive dicks all things considered but you seem really nice”

“I am really nice, why don’t you let me take you to dinner and I’ll show you how nice I am”

That floored you. You stood blinking at Eddie as if trying to find a joke in his features but you couldn’t find anything but sincerity,

“You really want to go to dinner with me?”

“Of course! You’re cute and I think we’d have a lot of fun. Plus you can show me around, all your favourite places” he beamed at you and honestly you couldn't think of a reason to say no,

"Alright, you're on"

"You won't regret this sweetheart. Promise"

"We'll see about that won't we?" with that you got into a waiting cab and headed back to the train station still reeling with what had just happened.

One of the most desirable men in the world had asked you to dinner and you'd said yes. Maybe today wasn't such a write off after all.

God bless the stomach flu.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #duchess writes #duchess.txt

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ofsappho · 8 months

Text

treehouse chapter 29 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 8.5k words of sin.

crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)

You run and Morpheus goes after you. Tags under read more. posted here for the folks who want the smut without wading through a ton of plot.

SMUT TAGS:

primal kink, hide and seek/running and hunting, CNC, consent check ins, aftercare, tentacles if you squint, one sided hate sex (she hates him, he loves her)

Reader POV:

You stop screaming about halfway down once you realize that you’re not falling - you’re floating. Like a fucking flower petal.

You land feet-first on the soft, green grass outside the castle and promptly ruin everything by stumbling to your knees, scraping your skin raw and red against the dirt. It’s not your fault. Flying wasn’t on the fucking agenda.

The storm above roils with flashes of sickly yellow lightning and sullen, moody clouds.

Anger bleeds from you like the slit throat of the man you murdered. The feeling clings to your skin, warming you against the tempest’s chill.

It’s been a very long time since you’ve punished someone other than yourself, and you lust half-starved for Morpheus’s misery, for the chance to try your freshly-blooded canines.

As you get to your feet, the fog surrounding you lifts just enough to show flashes of a thick, thorny wood up ahead. A forest fashioned from charcoal shadows and long, spindly branches with no leaves. Not trees, only their skeletons.

It will do. Does the dried blood on your shirt make you some kind of morbid Little Red Riding Hood? If that’s the case, the Big Bad Wolf always dies in the end. Perfect.

Without looking back, you sprint for it.

Lucienne POV

While Lucienne’s life has become more exciting since Lord Morpheus decided to make you his business, it certainly hasn’t gotten easier.

After all, what is his business is her business. Therefore, you and your relationship are her business.

She was doing a perfectly acceptable job managing everything, she thinks to herself somewhat crossly, until the two of you decided to make her life worse.

But while she doesn’t understand why you are trying to escape when you will never, ever make it out of this realm without the Lord’s permission, she accepts that it is not her place to question such… obscure, esoteric decisions and seeks to assist you as requested. To an extent.

Why, is Lord Morpheus’s coat on fire? Lucienne hasn’t seen him so worked up since Rose Walker. Not even then. “Where is she?” He demands, using the rolling thunder and howling wind as his voice.

Play dumb. “…Who is ‘she,’ my lord?” Lucienne winces. Perhaps not that dumb.

Though none of the books can catch fire, as they are not written upon flammable, single-use Waking-world paper, Lucienne resists the urge to beat the hem of his flaming robe away from the stacks of parchment and dream-paper. Call it a librarian’s force of habit.

“My- my intended.” The king’s glare would put the fear of the Endless in any lesser being.

But Lucienne is no lesser being. In fact, she’s rather put out at the complete absence of decorum Lord Morpheus has seen fit to show… this entire debacle.

Sneaking around like a common thief? Lying to you, keeping you completely unaware of the station that he has elevated you to? Casting disgrace and disrepute on the Dreaming and its people by terrifying you of it so?

Lord Morpheus practically dragged you here stark naked and screaming, for all intents and purposes.

And to add insult to injury, he dares to act as though she should be thrilled to debase herself before him.

“I don’t recall ever meeting your intended, my king. You must forgive me,” Lucienne snaps, peering at the figure on fire over the tops of her spectacles.

She is not so decrepit as to misremember when Lord Morpheus formally put forth his suit for the Lady Calliope.

Every realm and kingdom rang with it. Lord Morpheus brought the Lady Calliope in full honor through the Gates of Horn and Ivory, in a gleaming chariot of gold drawn by Helios’s horses covered in rose garlands.

In Lucienne’s unasked opinion, it is the height of disrespect on her Lord’s part to deprive you of such honors. She’s not surprised you’ve rejected him, and neither should he.

His flaming cloak flares blue, leaving holes in the carpet. Repairing them will significantly inconvenience Merv. They may need to replace the whole floor at the rate their king is going. What a pointless waste of a good carpet.

“You are my Vizier. You are my right hand. If you cannot tell me where that woman is, I will throw you out that window myself. And then I shall strip you of your position and seal, and set the hounds of Hell on what remains of you.”

Lucienne doesn’t think it’s nearly that serious. But then again, she has never been in love like Lord Morpheus loves, nor has she misstepped the way Lord Morpheus perennially steps on cracks in concrete.

In her mind, Lucienne apologizes to you. She hoped to grant you a little more time. “She went that way,” Lucienne says, gesturing to the Great Beyond on the outskirts of the kingdom. Hopefully, you’ve made it far enough to enact whatever chaotic scheme you’re brewing.

“Good luck, Lord Morpheus!” He’ll need it.

Lucienne watches the king disappear without a word of thanks. Once she’s sure that he’s gone, she goes to inspect the damage to the library.

Her earlier fears were warranted; the carpet is done for, along with a few floorboards. They’re singed to a crisp, filling the air with an acrid, burnt stink. With a long, suffering, frustrated sigh, Lucienne summons the pumpkin-headed caretaker.

Reader POV

Your shoes-

They’re getting in the way. The laces have come undone, and you trip over them, then over a series of tree roots rippling above the ground.

When you kick them off in an impulsive, frustrated fit, you expect the ground to be full of sharp things, thorns, jagged pebbles, and maybe even a few bones.

Your feet instead sink into pillowy-soft dirt. As soon as your toes go near a twig, the hard edges around it blunt until it metamorphoses into a blade of tender young grass. The pebbles turn into balls of fuzzy moss, and upon closer inspection, the bones are oddly shaped mushrooms.

So Lucienne was telling the truth when she said nothing in this place could hurt you.

The wind picks up, blowing your hair around your face in a halo and rustling through the leaves in a high, wailing sound, screeching like a pulled fire alarm left too long.

The hairs on your arms stand, and goosebumps trail down your spine.

As you start to run again, you wonder if you’re not only hearing the wind but also some wounded creature crooning and crying out for help.

It’s coming from behind you, from the castle.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You feel a cramp open up in your side from running so hard, from panting and clawing for oxygen to keep you upright and moving.

The forest goes on and on, a never-ending series of towering, menacing dead trees with gaping shadows and a horizon that grows increasingly distant no matter how far you go.

Fragments of dried bark dig into your palm as you brave yourself on a withered tree trunk.

Run.

You lurch a few feet forward.

The shadows grow maws. They grow fangs. They nip at the backs of your heels.

Morpheus is coming for you.

Everything aches, but you keep going. Your stomach grows nauseous, but you keep going.

The sky above you turns a sickly shade of blue-gray, a horrible warning sign for the torrent of freezing rain about to accompany your desperate, hunted flight.

He will catch you, stick his claws in your back, and parade you through that grand palace in chains.

Or not.

Morpheus says he loves you. Look at what you’ve done with your love for him. No chains are needed for the dead.

But who knows?

You don’t. You do know better than to hope.

That thought carries you just a little further. No matter how weary or wounded you become, you’ll never stop fighting for yourself or your baby bird.

Your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, and your blood sings in your veins.

You flee past two trees, then three, then four. Their long arms beckon you to turn down one of their dark, haunted paths, to put your back to the horizon and lose yourself in the underbrush like a rabbit running straight into a trap.

You cling to slivers of gold and orange sunbeams peeking through the branches with all the dying hope you can dredge up. The edge of the forest isn’t that far away. You’ll feel the sun on your face and outrun the storm in a moment.

A twig snaps.

Something takes a step. It breathes.

At the corner of your eyes, the shadows pulse and twist.

So he’s found you. You never truly thought you’d make it out of here, but disappointment weighs on your chest like a brick pulling you into the depths of a cold, unforgiving lake. The forest may have had no end, and you were only deluding yourself that it did.

The scent of salt and ice is so heavy in the air that you can taste frozen crystals forming on the roof of your mouth, briny with a tinge of iron.

A dark, endless void of shadows blocks your path, reaching the top of the stormy sky. “Boo.” Morpheus wears a disgusting smile filled with sharp white teeth. It makes you feel things. Abject terror. The impulse to drop to your knees and beg for mercy. And a sick, sadistic heat under your skin.

He came hunting.

You love it.

He wears a red flush on his stark white cheeks as if chasing you took effort. “Dream.” The show is appreciated, even though you both know his godly biology doesn’t work like that. A+ for effort.

It enhances the glowing blue of his irises, like twin stars shining bright in his face against the rich obsidian cloak with a smoking hem flaring around his shoulders. He is a stained glass painting of an archangel, and you are the creature of clay and Adam’s blood barred from Heaven.

You watch the razor edge of his teeth sink into his bottom lip with a feeling reminiscent of envy rotting in the pit of your stomach.

His voice has the sensuality of freshly carded silk brushing over bare skin. “How on earth did you find yourself out here, beloved? These woods are dangerous. They say there is a monster here that eats pretty girls.” Morpheus tilts his head slightly, and his smirk widens.

Your rust-colored nails flex and dig into the hem of your sweater. “Do you get many of those passing through?” You snark back. If I’m so special, prove it. Do what you wouldn’t do for a goddess, or a queen, or a star.

Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t land. He acts like you’re the only person he’d come for. “None as pretty as you. So what are you doing alone? My lady, I’d be delighted to lead you back to the castle. You’re shivering.” There is a grating, patronizing indulgence in his tone. He’s fucking humoring you. He knows you’re full of shit and that no matter how hard you deny it, his feelings are a truth you can’t sully.

That doesn’t mean you’ll give up. “I’m not going back.” How far can you go before Morpheus turns away? How terrible and cruel and horrible can you be before he decides you’re not worth the trouble?

You want- no, need to find out.

It’s only fair. You have suffered, and you never stopped loving him. Let Dream suffer and see if his love endures, if he’s even half the person you are.

In the blink of an eye, the shadows disappear as if they were never there. “Anything could happen to you. Some fiend could carry you off-“ Morpheus says evenly as his cloak shifts into the elegant coat you adore.

Now, he is but a beautiful stranger in the woods. Your clothes are a weak, flimsy barrier to his searching, heated gaze, trailing intimately over the full curves of your body and your rounded belly.

Has Morpheus read your mind and revealed your own brutal desire concealed in your skull like a minefield waiting to explode? “You’ve already done that.” Maybe he didn’t need to. You’ve given yourself away in your dilated pupils, and how you gave up on running as soon as you got what you wanted.

“Hurt you-“ Dream ignores your provocation as he spreads his long-fingered hands, showing he holds no weapon or trick.

For every step he takes towards you, you take one back. “You also already did that,” You frostily remind him.

Morpheus’s coat would irritate you less if it were cast off on the ground and crushed into the dirt along with the rest of his clothes. His hair would be prettier fucked up and tugged between your fingers. You might be able to stand the sight of his mouth better if it were bleeding and bruised from your teeth.

The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Or dishonor you, right here. Who would hear you scream?” He backs you against a tree, and the bark snags your sweater. “Nobody,” Morpheus leans in to whisper. His collarbones peek out of the neckline of his shirt, as delicately articulated as the hollow bones of a bird.

Heat stirs in your blood at the sight.

You felt good watching that man die for Morpheus. And then empty, dreadfully empty. “Don’t touch me,” You hiss, more of a challenge than a deterrent. You want to feel good again.

Morpheus could make you feel good again.

A black shade knocks on your skull at the edges of your vision and politely asks to be let in. Your eyes roll back as it walks through the door you’ve opened inside of yourself and sees what you define as ‘good.’

“…Is that what you really want, darling?” Dream asks, both mocking your resistance and subtlety, softly acknowledging what he found behind your eyes.

Bile builds in your mouth. No. No softness. He has no right. “Why would I ever let you near me again? You are a liar and a fucking dick,” You hiss venomously before gathering saliva and spitting straight into his face.

Morpheus blinks a few times, his eyes round and blameless. “I love you.” For a single breathless second, you don’t hate him, and he never hurt you. You’re two children playing tag in the grass or tackling each other into the dirt.

You snap out of it. “Fuck off.” You feel a thousand degrees hotter. Sticky sweat gathers under your clothes along the heavy curve of your breasts and clings to the small of your back.

He braces one muscled arm on the tree above you and leans in to take in the scent of your hair, so close that his lips almost skim the shell of your ear. “I adore you like this. Fighting me, fighting yourself. It’s charming.” You shiver, unable to stop yourself from reacting.

He’s not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on your other side, effectively boxing you in.

But he’s still not touching you.

You swallow quickly.

“I’m not fucking doing it for your benefit. Can’t you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why don’t you keep doing that and go the fuck away?”

Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you can’t shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angel’s wings.

His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as you lick your lips.

He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. “Ah, so this is a test. You want to see how far I’m willing to go. You want to see what I’ll do for you, how long I’ll wait, and how much patience I have,” Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.

You should-

You should tell him that he’s got it all wrong. You should tell him that you’ll never forgive him and there’s nothing he can do. You’ve made up your mind and hardened your heart.

“And if it is?”

He kisses you.

The worst part is that you let him.

Morpheus’s hands clutch you against him, your belly brushes his coat, his lips are warm and inviting, and he kisses you like he’s waited his whole long immortal life to do it. His tongue brushes yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. He tastes like salt and musk, and your arms circle his neck, pulling him further into your kiss.

“Then I look forward to passing it,” Morpheus says breathlessly as he breaks away, pressing his forehead to your temple as if nothing is wrong.

With strength you didn’t know you had, you take him by the lapels of his coat and shove him back. Fuck him. Fuck this.

You turn and run before he realizes what’s happening. Panic isn’t egging you on anymore - it’s your fury, smothered slightly but not anywhere near finished. Oh no, you’re not fucking done with Morpheus. You want to see him draped in your agony, you want the light in his eyes extinguished.

You don’t make it two feet. Darkness wraps you up in a warm, gentle embrace, blocking out the whole world other than Dream, watching you struggle with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shadows thread around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. “Running away again? I’ll always catch you, and you’ll never escape.” Morpheus runs a finger along your jawline. His skin feels cool, and the touch is far too tender.

“You don’t know half of what I’m capable of.” Your glare would singe his stupidly immaculate hair off if it could.

His finger trails down your throat and hooks in the neckline of your bloody sweater, pulling it slightly away from your body. “I think I do. I think I know you better than anyone else, dead or alive.” For every ounce of your poison, Dream gives you back steady, unwavering adoration, tugging on the sweater without shying from the stains.

When the damned thing gives, you’re not even that upset. It falls to the ground in two pieces, leaving you in your tank top and pants.

“What the fuck?” You squirm in your makeshift binds, trying and failing to find a sharp edge you could use to convince him to release you.

“That divine mouth of yours may lie, but this,” Morpheus hisses as he rests his palm at the base of your throat to feel your blood rush crazed and wild at his touch. “This doesn’t.” The corner of his mouth turns up as you moan, reluctantly eager for him to tighten his grasp just a little more.

Morpheus tuts before releasing your throat.

Before your feelings smart from the loss, his shadows pluck at the straps of your tank top. “How fucking dare you? Get off of me.”

“But I don’t want to,” Morpheus parries in a high-pitched, playfully mocking tone.

Oh, he has a goddamn death wish. “Do you think I care?” When one of the shadowy tendrils tries to sweep lovingly across your cheek, you bite it. Hard. It tastes like fresh snow. You far prefer it to Desire’s sickly-sweet flesh.

With a single flick of his hand, he makes a deep crimson mark appear on his throat, a perfect image of the imprint of your teeth. Morpheus tilts his face as proudly as if he were wearing a crown.

“I’ve thought about having you like this, bare in our home, ever since I left you.” He rids you of your pants with surgical precision, casting the shreds of rust-speckled fabric somewhere, never to be found again. As Morpheus turns to your tank top, his shadows tighten their grip on your hands, pushing your chest forward.

You watch the intelligence and rational thought die in his eyes when he sees your breasts free of clothing, hanging round and heavy in the cool air.

“What? You’ve never seen my boobs before?” You snarl after growing tired of a full minute of speechlessness.

Your dark binds tug you back and back until you find yourself held upright by a tree trunk.

Dream delicately sweeps strands of your hair away from your throat so he can see without obstruction. “They’re… they’re bigger,” He whispers hoarsely. His fingers pause in their exploration of your sternum long enough to feel your pulse thudding under your skin.

Then he covers one of your breasts with his palm. You hear him groan under his breath when he realizes there’s far too much you for one of his hands. “I distinctly, intimately, precisely remember the shape and size of yours, and they’ve grown…” His fingers knead your soft breasts slowly, relieving a tenderness you didn’t even know you had.

There’s absolutely nothing sacred or respectful in his eyes glittering like sapphires. He only has a wolf’s hunger for a rabbit for you.

And then his face is pressed to the crook of your neck, his lips moving on the column of your throat as he runs a thumb over your nipple once, twice.

His touch feels different. Maybe he’s fucking with your head, or maybe being pregnant has done something to your nerves. Every little movement feels like too much pleasure and not enough of it at the same time.

Heat washes through you, blooming from his mouth and his hands to pour into your belly. “Fuck, you’re so fucking creepy, oh-“ You gasp, hating how much your body craves him.

Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you shift in search of a position that lessens the ache in your core.

Your head falls against the tree as you writhe in his hold. He runs his nails along the curve of your breast, greedily soaking in your every whimper and how you jolt, unconsciously arching closer.

You feel Morpheus lick a hot line along your throat. “Sensitive.” His other hand clutches your waist, your round hips, then palms your ass. A contented groan rumbles deep in his chest.

In revenge, you tug fervently at his coat, getting it about halfway down his strong shoulders before you start clawing at his shirt. The fabric disappears beneath your fingers, leaving him as bare-chested as you.

Instead of avoiding your nails, Morpheus encourages you to carve gilded furrows into his back. “I’m sorry, I cannot- I can’t help myself,” He says, far too pleased with himself to mean that stupid apology.

You look down to see what’s captured his attention now, only to find your tits littered with fingerprint bruises.

That sudden movement displeases him, and he pins you against the tree with a hand on your throat. “Beautiful. And when I…” When he leans down to take one of your nipples into his hot mouth and sucks, bolts of lightning dance and fizz under your skin, electrifying every nerve.

Your hips tremble and push towards him as your dripping cunt pulses and flexes around nothing. “Stop it,” You moan, trying to shove him away yet only managing to tangle your fingers in his hair. Then he switched to your other breast, kissing and lapping at the hypersensitive skin. “Oh God.” You give up fighting for a moment, too caught up in the sensations to care about your pride.

Morpheus barely has to apply the slightest pressure with his knee for your legs to part.

His fingers drag along your inner thighs to capture the arousal leaking through your panties. Before you get the chance to feel ashamed, Dream sucks his shiny fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with an almost-blissful glaze across his eyes.

With his lips still coated in you, Morpheus looks like the very picture of sin.

After he’s cleaned his fingers, he runs them along the soaked cloth covering your cunt, pressing down just enough to tease. “You’re so needy, my love. I’m horribly cruel, aren’t I, letting you suffer in this state without my assistance.” You grind your hips against his hand, trying to get him to do something about your needy, swollen clit, desperate for relief.

He tastes like salt and sex when he kisses you. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” Morpheus tears through your underwear like ripping paper. He works your clit with his thumb until you’ve soaked his palm and then slides a single finger into your pussy. Without waiting for you to adjust, he sinks in a second finger knuckle-deep.

You cry out, shaking like a leaf, as your core spasms and milks his digits. You thought that could satisfy the ache but it barely scratches the surface. You need more-

You take his chiseled face between your hands and drag him down for another kiss. “I literally despise you.” To spite him further, you mulishly keep your mouth shut as he starts fucking you with his long fingers.

It turns out that your stifled whines aren’t needed. Your wet cunt more than makes up for it. Loud, soaked squelches echo, and your legs shut to hide the sounds. That only forces Dream’s fingers deeper into your pussy and grinds your throbbing clit into his palm.

You can’t stay quiet a second longer, not as your stomach tightens and tears gather in your eyes from the rush. Those breathless, pathetic noises are all yours, and Morpheus answers them with a breathless laugh.

He keeps up a steady rhythm, carefully and precisely aiming for that sensitive spot deep inside that drives you fucking insane. “You want me to be the villain? Is that it?”

You sink your teeth into his shoulder as deep as they’ll go as your thighs shake, ecstasy rushing painfully through your muscles.

His eyes burn a brighter shade of sapphire when you bite him again. “You wish for me to be cruel? To torment you?” Morpheus wraps his other arm around your hips to help you fuck yourself on his digits. “No, beloved. I won’t,” He purrs in your ear and then kisses away the sweat from your brow.

“Go fuck yourself, Morpheus. I hate you. I hate you,” You chant in a trembling, weak voice. He doesn’t need to help you anymore, you’re shamelessly riding his hand and dripping slick to the ground.

“And I love you.”

You cry out at his words. They fucking- they do something that makes you feel hotter, more sensitive, drives you closer to the edge.

“I want- that’s it, my darling. You’re close. I can feel it.” Your pussy quivers repeatedly as the tension in your belly grows unbearable. He quirks his fingers, hitting that sensitive place as he rocks your puffy clit into his palm.

Your body is betraying you, and you’re just fucking letting him ruin you. “No. No. No, fuck- no, I’m not,” You try, blubbering denials through cries of pleasure.

Morpheus fucks into you faster, harder, matching the pace your hips set. “Tell me what you need. Use me for your pleasure, beloved.” Fuck. Fuck. You’re going to-

Your knee slides up a little, giving him more room to stretch your tight cunt further. “Come for me. I know you want to.” His tone is soft and affectionate, calling to you sweeter than a siren’s song. It tells you to give in and promises unimaginable bliss if you do.

You come with your eyes rolled back and your mouth open, shuddering, your hips jerking on his fingers, and waves of hot flame pouring down your spine.

Your orgasm fucking drenches his fingers and your muscles clamp down tighter, each vicious pulse so strong that you taste iron in the back of your mouth. All you can hear is your heartbeat, loud and insistent, and the low sound of Morpheus’s approval. You’re wracked with pleasure, wholly gone to anything else.

Just before the feeling dwindles, Dream slides his fingers out of your swollen folds, forcing you to finish coming on nothing. “That’s it. There you go. Good girl,” He says with a smile. Your frustrated wail fills the air, and you clutch at his wrist, wordlessly begging for more. “I’m not so loathsome now, hm?” Morpheus showers your face with delicate kisses, pausing only to clean a tear from your cheek with light kitten-licks.

The two of you rest there for a moment. You’re slumped between him and the tree, panting and spent and warm, while he gently rubs your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.

Once Morpheus deems you suitably recovered, he traces the marks he scattered on your chest. He smears the slick gathered on his hand across your nipples, then bends down to lick your juices from your skin. The feeling of him mouthing your tits, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping and biting, overwhelms you, and your knees buckle.

Morpheus catches you and lowers you to the ground. Dried leaves find their way into your hair and crunch under your back as you stretch out like a lazy cat.

“I have a feeling that I’d be able to make you come simply from playing with your breasts,” He murmurs as he kneels between your open legs before laying another series of kisses over the bite marks. “My lady, you are truly the most sublime creature I’ve ever touched.”

You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his head away. “Yeah, well, you’ll be lucky if I let you near them again.” His hair feels soft and downy under your fingers like the underbelly of a bird. That’s another thing to resent him for. Why can’t he be ugly with bad hair?

Dream’s canines leave imprints in your hand when he bites, clearly communicating how he feels about being denied access to you. “We’re just getting started, darling. Your game isn’t over.”

You look up at his fair, radiant face, shining brighter than a full moon, and his mouthful of nightmarish, fanged teeth, and wonder for the first time if this was a mistake.

That’s how you find yourself riding his face while being forced toward your third orgasm of the night.

The second orgasm passed by in a shimmering haze of heat and lust.

Morpheus pulled you astride his shoulders without fanfare, clamped his hands around your plump thighs, and dragged your sensitive cunt onto his open, wet, and waiting mouth. You hit and kicked, you even tried forcing his head back with a fist in his dark hair, but he gave you the most glorious and beguiling grin at the sudden violence. You couldn’t give him any more satisfaction, so you had to let go and let him do… what he wanted.

Hands made of antimatter gripped your hips and held you upright by your hair. He thumbed your swollen folds, carefully tracing around your clit but never touching it. You weren’t able to look into his eyes from this position - your belly was just large enough to hide most of his face when you were on top. But you had a pretty good guess about how he felt about your wet cunt dangling before his lips, like fruit to be easily plucked, split open, and devoured. You heard him fucking whimper, a stupidly arousing, frustrated sound, and then his arms forced you down.

It took Dream no time to make you crumble like a deck of cards. He lapped his tongue through your folds, smearing your arousal over his lips, before working carefully on your reddened clit. Morpheus’s strong hands endured your desperate attempt to escape him by clutching you tighter.

He sucked on your bundle of nerves once, then twice. You tried to tell yourself mind over matter, that if you focused hard enough, you could ignore the pleasure rippling through you.

Of course, that meant you came so suddenly that your stomach tied itself into knots, and your spasming, throbbing cunt soaked his face. The waves snatched every scrap of air out of your lungs, so you couldn’t even plead for mercy or cry out. You gasped, hunched over with hair in your face, silently screaming and shivering, as your brain turned to slush and your eyes glazed over.

Now, Dream takes sadistic pleasure in teasing that third orgasm out and denying it to you every single fucking time.

There’s an obscene squelch when he thrusts two fingers into your cunt, finally filling the awful, hollow ache. “Fuck, fuck, oh my God, Morpheus… please…” You babble, mindlessly grinding down on his tongue.

He takes his mouth off you and slowly strokes his digits inside you, far too gentle to get you off. “Please what? Please what?” Morpheus mocks as you almost collapse into the shadows, letting them take your full weight.

You try to hide your mewls by biting on your lips and end up cutting yourself, fresh blood joining the fine layer of sweat covering your face and body. “Stop, I’m- it’s too much. You have to stop.” You have no fucking clue what you’re begging for anymore. You’re dumb to it all, helpless and panting and begging for the fever that rises every time he drags the tips of his fingers over your g-spot.

A shadowy tendril wipes the blood from your chin before crawling into your mouth, gagging you so you can’t bite yourself anymore.

More tendrils curl around your breasts and pluck at your hardened, swollen nipples. “You need more? Is that what I’m hearing? Does my lady want more?” Now he matches the rhythm of his fingers with kisses along your shuddering thighs, occasionally pausing to suck and lap at the juices covering your skin.

The tendril in your mouth dissipates into smoke so you can answer. “No, shit, aaah-“ Strands of your hair stick to your cheeks as you writhe and gasp for air.

Morpheus tries to withdraw his fingers to deny you again, tease you again, punish you again, but you’re having none of it. You blindly reach down, grab his slick hand, and urge it back towards your greedy pussy.

He laughs roughly, then kisses your hip with petal-soft lips as he obeys. “That’s it, darling. Does it feel good yet?” Fuck. Fuck. It does. You’re so full, your core flutters and milks his digits, but it’s not right or enough to satisfy the burning wildfire of desire that’s driving you mad.

You shake your head to try and get some control back, to clear your head. All you want is to just- just to give in, let him have you, let him replace every thought and word and will with himself. “No,” You stutter through slightly numb lips, your eyelashes trembling.

Your nails find his wrist and dig in as deep as they can go. Shimmering gold blood coats your thighs, and the mess gets worse and worse when Morpheus starts to bounce you on his face, eagerly drinking from your creamy folds.

“Go on. You can tell me. I know you fucking love this. Just like you love me.” As Dream is far too busy eating you out like he’s starving to lift his mouth, his voice is muffled by the slick, disgusting sounds of his tongue, his fingers, your cunt.

“I… I…” You scrabble for purchase in the dark, searching for something to hold onto, anything that can stabilize you. The hands that intertwine with yours aren’t the ones kneading your ass or fucking you into oblivion, but they’re just as reassuring as Morpheus’s real hands.

His mouth works your clit, getting rougher, messier, sucking harder. “Sweet girl, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your noises and, fuck, the taste of you. And this pretty, pretty cunt. So sensitive. Delicious.” Dream braces one hand on your lower belly, just above your core, applying faint pressure to heighten the sensations.

“But I need you to come. Please, my darling. Please,” He moans against your puffy folds, forcing in a third finger as you wail and thrash.

Just like that, you’re shoved off the cliff, screaming and sobbing. Tears cover your cheeks as your hips move on their own, wrenching out every last bit of pleasure you can. It hurts so fucking much yet feels so fucking good. Static electricity arcs through your limbs, and even the faintest breeze whispering across your bare back makes your overstimulated core flicker and squeeze his fingers harder.

His shadows lovingly lower you to the ground, helping you curl on your side around your rounded tummy. Exhaustion filters in slowly, wrapping you in a gossamer blanket of numbness and calming your frazzled nerve endings.

Dream is there. Dream is curling protectively around your shaking form, he slides an arm under your neck to support your head, and his other hand squeezes the back of your neck. You bury yourself in his embrace and let him rock you like a child.

Here, stitched as close to him as you can be, the horrible past forty-eight hours starts to be less horrible and more foggy, like looking at something in the rear-view mirror as you drive away.

You can let yourself love him in this moment. You can be weak for a little while longer.

When you lay your palm against his heart, you feel it thudding as furiously as your own.

Morpheus exhales slowly as the feeling of you in his arms leeches the tension from his muscles. Even if you wanted to push him away, which you don’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to do it. So, for now, you’ll let him keep you here.

He kisses you as many times as he can, everywhere he can reach. Your baby hairs, your smile lines, the corners of your eyes.

Before Morpheus wipes your cheeks clean of tears, he cleans his fingers off with his tongue. Then he’s stroking away the stinging salt water dotting your skin. A furrow grows on his smooth, unwrinkled brow out of concentration.

When you start crying again out of relief, hiccuping ungracefully and snot going everywhere, his large hand tucks you into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I know, I know,” Morpheus soothes. “Do you want us to be done now? Are you finished?” He’s warmer than a furnace, and you instinctively wrap an arm around his waist and shove your feet between his calves, seeking that comfort with single-minded determination.

His small chuckle is as sweet and fragile as spun sugar.

You absentmindedly trace the veins crawling up the back of his hand as you think.

Then your anger begins to grow back, rotting through your lungs and making each breath taste like death, and you have your answer. “I want… don’t make me say it, Morpheus,” You mutter into his skin and follow it with a tiny, tiny bite, more of a nip than anything else.

This time, when Morpheus unfurls the petals of your mind, you anticipate it eagerly.

You want him, and you loathe it, and it’s choking you. “I should. I ought to make you beg on your knees,” He tells you.

You need him to cut the strife and self-loathing from your chest and smooth out your riled, tangled heartstrings, and then put you back together again. He has to pluck the violence out of your hand as if it were a knife and point it somewhere it can’t hurt you, ideally towards himself.

Dream goes quiet. He pets your hair and rests his cheek against your forehead. You’re beginning to think the softness isn’t just for your benefit; he’s drinking his fill to tide him over until the next time you let Dream touch you like this.

And there will be a next time, a gentle, honey-sweet next time. That promise runs true in your mind, buried deep beneath the layers of poison and resentment like a vein of untouched gold.

His star-filled eyes flutter shut. “Fine. Fine. I can’t deny you anything. Just a little further, and then you can rest.” When they open, his pupils twist and stretch into a monstrous, serpentine gash of black against his brilliant blue irises.

“N- no more?” You hear yourself ask for mercy, easily slipping into the role of the maiden to his beast.

Morpheus rises on his knees and hovers over your vulnerable form. “No more, my love. Can you be brave like I know you are? Can you take it for me?” He asks as the fingers stroking your cheek turn into obsidian claws for a moment.

You are not supposed to find this attractive. You’re meant to be terrified right now, unwilling, pushing him away with conviction of any kind.

“…Yes.” Yes. Take me. A warm, needy craving makes you draw up your knees to conceal your filthy, ruined cunt, glistening with fresh arousal.

The claws metamorphize into fingers before the sharp edges can slice your skin. Morpheus is no less intimidating without them, looking down at you like you’re a pretty toy in his palm. You’ll miss them, though, and you swallow your disappointment before he notices.

He lifts you from the ground before gently turning you until you face away, unable to see him while he can control all of you. “That’s it, beloved. On your knees, arch your back.” The stoic, hardened mask cracks slightly as he runs an open palm up and down your body, inevitably running into the baby in your belly. You’re surprised he lasted so long without asking about it.

Maybe Morpheus didn’t think he had the right to until now.

Your back presses into his broad, muscled chest. “May I?” He asks before slowly kissing your neck. His hair tickles your earlobe, and you feel a soft puff of air ghost over your skin when he exhales.

“Our baby.” You even surprise yourself by resting his hand over the swell of your soft, squishy tummy.

Dream strokes the rounded skin with hardly any force, suddenly treating you as delicately as he’d handle a fragile eggshell. His breathing hitches, and tension strings his tendons as tight as they can go.

If only you could capture this in a painting or trap it in a snow globe so you could relive the feeling of trusting him again over and over.

It’s too much. It’s far too much. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you shove his hand away from your skin. He’s too close, too soft, and too kind.

You’re not sure if you deserve it, and you sure as shit don’t want it.

As fast as a viper striking a hapless mouse, Morpheus grabs the back of your neck and traps you in place. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and his nails prick your skin. “You’re insatiable,” He tells you, then forces you down until the side of your face meets the forest floor.

He leaves your arms where they cushion you on the ground, correctly judging that bringing them behind your back will hurt in an unpleasant way, and instead keeps his dominance with a fist in your tangled hair. Dried leaves crush under your cheek as you try to prop yourself up and rest his strength. Dream doesn’t give an inch, and eventually, your body grows pliant and submissive beneath him.

His fingers dance up and down your spine in a soothing pattern. “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart.” You grit your teeth and buck again, trying to express your displeasure, but Morpheus merely laughs and kisses the base of your spine.

“No need for all of that. I’ll give you what you want.”

When his fingers dip between your parted thighs, you push back, fucking begging him to touch your swollen folds and ease the building ache.

Your moan is exhausted and sweet as he thumbs your clit before playing with the fresh slick on your skin. “Fuck, you’re still so wet. Is that for me, darling?” Dream groans, his breath hitching as you arch a little further, presenting your dripping pussy to him.

The desperation in how hard he tries to make you cry out tells you everything about how tightly wound he is, how close he is to snapping. “Come on. You can admit it.” You keep your mouth stubbornly closed even as the pressure on your clit increases. It’s bad enough that he knows you as well as he does and can play your body like a virtuoso on a violin.

His breaths come in short, almost feral pants. “Silence? We’ll see how long that lasts.” And then- and then- Morpheus pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, going slow enough for your muscles to adjust.

But he’s so fucking big, and it’s been so long since he last fucked you, and your eyes roll back, sweat drips down your neck, and your knees dig into the ground, trying to keep you upright. “Shhhhh. Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Fuck. It’s okay. You’re okay. Feels good, hm?” Inch by inch, he stretches your spasming cunt, and you whine, your hips tilt back, and his thick cock slips against that spot deep inside that makes you sob.

“That’s it, my love,” Morpheus reassures through gritted teeth. “Can you take me a little further?”

You feel your muscles constrict around him like a vice when he grinds himself deeper. “H-how much?” You moan as your juices run down your thighs and coat his cock to the base.

Dream releases your hair before sliding an arm under your breasts to hold you upright without hurting the baby. It takes you a second to trust him and give him the whole of your weight. He balances you between his hips and arms like you’re lighter than air.

He kisses your damp hair and nibbles on your ear. “That much,” He says, showing you another inch or so with his fingers.

Your hand covers his resting above your belly, and your fingers intertwine with his. “…Yeah,” You nod as tears prickle in your eyes. Morpheus is everywhere, inside you, holding you. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him so fucking much.

With a deep breath, you relax and let him carry you. The feeling of his heartbeat thudding through his chest and his hand cupping your breast is a sweet, easy soporific, soothing the sharp, anxiety-ridden knots in your head into something mindless and loving.

He rocks into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. “Relax, my love. You’re okay. Gods- you feel- so good, you’re perfect, that’s it, good girl. Perfect girl,” He chants, over and over, as the stretch and the push and pull have you shaking and pleading for more.

“Oh- oh god. Morpheus. Ahhh- I can’t, I’m so full.” Your breathy cries echo over his deep, gravelly moans.

“You’re still so tight even when full of my cock. And my child in your belly? Gods, I love you. I adore you.” Every time he tells you that, your cunt grows wetter.

Morpheus lays into you, fucking you like a man possessed, pressing in as deep as your body will let him. All you can do is rest there in his arms and take it. “I- I’m not going to last. I need you- I need you to come for me. One last time.” You’re not listening when he speaks, too busy bouncing your hips in time with his thrusts and screaming your pleasure out as loud as you can. “Please, darling?” He begs. His free hand returns to your pussy, and his fingers stroke your clit softly.

Your knuckles go white from the force you use to grip his wrist. “Hngh- shit, shit, shit, yes.” The feeling of Dream kissing your cheek sends you over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as the moon, and you hiccup as the force of his cock bullying into your shivering, clenching cunt wipes your mind blank of coherent thoughts. Your spine straightens and your limbs tense. You’re delirious, babbling nonsense, and he keeps working your swollen, hypersensitive clit, now chasing his own release.

Morpheus sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, painting your inner walls white. The warmth relieves some of your soreness from all the orgasms he forced from your tired body. You can feel your combined cum coat your thighs, sticky and viscous.

When you collapse, you don’t hit the forest floor like expected. Instead, you end up in a large, impossibly soft bed, bundled in plush blankets and your head cushioned on fluffy pillows.

Everything hits you at once - the running, the fear, the man dead in your living room.

As you weep into the soft linen under your cheek, Dream curls around you until you don’t know where you end, and he begins. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His fingers shake as they wipe away your tears and tuck the blankets tighter around your shoulders.

The bedchamber is cool and dark with no shards of light that could irritate your eyes or worsen your building headache from crying so goddamn much.

You cling to him and smush your face into his chest. “Morpheus…’M sorry.” In this strange, fairytale land, the strange god embracing you feels like home.

Something damp trickles down your forehead. “Shhh. Did you think killing that man scared me off?” When you look up, you see tears glimmering on Morpheus’s face like sapphire beads.

“It should have.” You’ve always had darkness in your heart. You might have been born with it, a seed planted by your mother’s hatred and watered by your pain.

But if Desire was telling the truth, Morpheus is as flawed as he is beautiful. That’s oddly comforting.

His mouth tastes like you when he kisses you. “Listen to me, beloved. I have been captured like that once before. I languished in a prison for almost a century. I was forgotten. Abandoned. Starved. All of this around you that I built crumbled into dust. At long last, it was the pity of an old man and my rage that freed me. But you… No one has ever protected me like you did,” He whispers.

Your arms tighten around his waist. You love him, you hate him. Most of all, your heart breaks for the decades he spent alone.

He swallows thickly. “That’s all I ever wanted. For my whole existence. Someone to fight for me.” You wanted that, too.

“And if you had chosen to leave me there, to keep you and our child safe, I would’ve let you. I would have forgiven you. That is how much I love you.” His hand sketched slow, circular patterns across your stomach, never shying from the rolls.

Your lips ghost over his shoulder, sending a shiver through him. You don’t kiss him with forgiveness, not yet. Even though you can’t say it aloud, you want him to know you’re here. He’ll always catch you, no matter where you run, so he won’t ever be alone again.

“Maybe you’ll regret it. That it was me.” You can be just as cruel and monstrous as him; there are other kinder, prettier, gentler, sweeter people. He could be anywhere else right now other than tethered to a canvas of scars with her teeth bared.

He kisses your forehead with his hands, cradling your cheeks like a dragon cradling its hoard. “Do your worst.”

this is the smuttiest thing ive written for this fic yet. hope you guys like this!

#treehouse #the sandman #sandman #the sandman comics #sandman comics #the sandman dc #sandman dc #sandman netflix #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus #lord morpheus x you #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x reader

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mailjeevasfan · 10 months

Note

hi thsi is the first rime i ever did this request thingy, so sorry if i did it wrong or someyhing ☹️

..but mayeb some just some gwnral dating matsuda or mello hcs 🤭

thank u for ur req! you did just fine 😁 i think i may have done something similar for these so apologies for any repetition (i kind of just ended up rambling icl)

-matsuda and mello x gn!reader

-matsuda/mello relationship hcs

༺♡༻

matsuda relationship hcs ❦

-whilst matsuda was working in the task force, things could be quite hectic. given that you guys living together, sometimes it’d be a pain as he’d have to stay overnight at work. sometimes he would even have to stay away from home for longer than that. however, he would definitely text/call you as much as he was able to and bring you some sort of gift as an apology. like flowers or something pretty romantic like that. even if you reassured him that it was fine, he’d still feel obligated.

-this is also kind of linked to the incompetence he’s led to feel after being unappreciated a lot at work. you have to reassure him often, but you ofc don’t mind. your comfort is honestly what keeps him going

-you guys live a very comfortable life after the kira case is closed. right after the meeting with near, matsuda was distraught and you did everything you could do make things better for him. once again, having you around was what really kept him going

-ok that was all kind of sad let’s have some happiness now

-matsuda always makes time for you no matter what. you guys are always going out for dinner or just chilling and watching a movie or doing whatever but he always makes sure he spends time with you

-he loves rom coms and a bunch of snacks with you. you have attempted to show him a variety of horror movies but he just clings to you

-i do feel that matsuda would be a dog lover and would love to have one. however he probably loves most animals so whichever pet you wanted would be perfectly fine for him. i guess he’s kind of a golden retriever boyfriend on his own anyway

༺♡༻

mello relationship hcs ❦

-things can be a struggle with your relationship very often. mello has certainly got a lot going on and as much as you want to help him, there are a few things that hold you back. he doesn’t want to accept help from anyone but he also doesn’t want you associated with the danger of his job. however, if he really is in desperate need of help, he would trust you. this is somewhat of a comfort to you because you know that you’d be there in a heartbeat

-you would typically go out fairly often for food or whatever before the explosion, but after the incident mello was very very hesitant to go out. his insecurity also took a toll on his general mood and therefore affected your relationship. you managed to help him through this and become more comfortable with himself

-although mello is a serious person more often than not, you do encourage a lightness out of him every now and then. (although he’d never admit it in a million years)

-you guys hang out with matt and play video games sometimes and he gets competitive of course, but it’s a more laid back and humorous kind of competitiveness which is nice to see

-i can also imagine mello being drunk at some ungodly hour and dancing around the kitchen. he INSISTS that you join him

-when mello isn’t wearing his usual clothes, he’s probably wearing a band t shirt and joggers. you frequently steal these t shirts and especially love to wear them when he’s away for a while

༺♡༻

#death note #matsuda #matsuda touta #matsuda x reader #mello #mihael keehl x reader #mihael keehl #mello x reader #death note x reader

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silentwillowwhisperer · 1 year

Text

Okay so I counted the total number of notes on all of my posts and came to a grand total of:

839?!?!?

Oh. My. Goodness.

Thank you ALL so so so much!!!!!!! I'm having a mini freakout over here!!!!!

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The MFE pilots and Atlas crew know Shiro as "Captain," or "Takashi" at the friendliest.

They view him as a superior, someone to respect.

Which probably explains why they're so confused about his closeness with the paladins.

Colleen will be speaking to her child about motherly things, and suddenly Shiro will walk over and ruffle Pidge's hair.

Or Veronica will be lecturing Lance about doing something stupid (The other traitorous paladins snuck off and mouthed their thanks towards him for 'taking one for the group.') and suddenly Lance will call out. "Hey Shiro!" before bro-hugging him.

They finally ask about it one day in the lounge when the majority of the Atlas crew and the paladins -even Keith- are all just chilling after a long battle.

Shiro is watching the paladins (read: Keith, Lance, and Pidge) play each other aggressively on the gaming console that Pidge apparently installed into the ship.

Shiro goes to grab them snacks because he's awesome like that.

When he hands said snacks to the three gamers, they all chorus, "Thanks, Spacedad," creepily in sync.

Everyone turns immediately in shock.

Of course, they had already figured out that the members of Voltron are very close with Shiro, but not that close.

Sam Holt feels slightly replaced.

"What is going on? Where is your military hierarchy?" Griffin pipes up.

Shiro is not AT ALL fond of Griffin. Yes, Keith did let the first punch fly when they got into that fight at the Garrison all those years ago, but Shiro will hold a grudge against anyone who dares hurt his baby physically or verbally (and James did both!) and therefore believes that Keith was at least 80% justified in his act of aggression.

WOW, that was a long sentence.

So when Shiro responds as neutrally as possible, it's with a slightly upturned nose and a dignified tone of superiority.

"I gave up trying to stop them a LONG while ago. I've come to terms with it."

Hunk walks in at that moment.

"Hey guys! Are we talking about Shiro's nickname? 'Cuz we gave him a shirt with 'Spacedad' written across it in sparkly letters last year for his birthday that I particularly like."

The other 3 paladins present nod mindlessly as they continue to battle each other virtually.

Shiro gives everyone a look that says, 'See? Totally normal.'

"It's the only way I can keep them in line. They threaten each other saying that they'll call their 'dad' which is me if you haven't figured that out yet somehow, and it actually works most of the time."

Lance snorts. "Yup. Spacedad's gotta do what a Spacedad's gotta do."

Shiro gives him a look.

"Okay I might have to smack you with a pillow for that one."

Lance squeals and wraps his arms around Keith for protection, causing the boy to startle and drop his own controller.

Pidge finally pulls ahead and wins. They jump up and crow out victoriously, "YES! In your FACES you crap-eating WEBLUM FACES."

Keith groaned and leaned back into Lance's chest (because Lance is tryna be sneaky and is therefore taking this as his chance to trap Keith securely in his arms).

"I blame this on you, Spacedad. I have to let Lance and Pidge braid my hair now."

------

I just added Spacedad to my computer's dictionary so that it would stop trying to spellcheck me. This is how you know that I'm truly way too into Voltron. Oh, well.

#spacedad #volton #voltron legendary defender #vld #takashi shirogane #pidge gunderson #lance mcclain #keith kogane #notes of klance #technically klance #klance #griffin is a crap-eating weblum face #no arguments #tawny post

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kiryoutann · 2 years

Text

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

I appreciate the likes, replies, and reblogs! Thank you so much. You can buy me a Kofi to give me tip for my writings (no pressure!) I’ll forever be grateful to u! <3

The thin clouds that had previously covered the moon finally left, giving it a chance to shine Snezhnaya under its pale light. The wind howled, moving the branches that knocked on the windows of the classic building.

Childe lay with a woman in his arms. They both share one thing in common—naked under the covers after their love-making. Although the burning fireplace had provided enough warmth for them not to shiver in the Snezhnaya autumn chill, neither one wanted to let each other go.

Lumine closed her eyes while enjoying the rhythm of his heart beating against his chest. She hoped that time would pass slowly, because tomorrow she had to return to Monstadt with her twin brother. Which meant she didn't know when she would see Childe again.

Therefore, Lumine chose to open her mouth despite the possibility of spoiling the atmosphere. "I heard you talked to the Princess." She says.

As expected, Childe groaned in annoyance from her words, not hiding his annoyance in the slightest. “Really, Babe? We just had a nice sex and you have to spoil the mood by bringing that up?”

“You have no intention to tell me so, I guess I should ask.” Lumine watched as he let go of his embrace and lay staring at the ceiling. "So, what did she say? What did you say?"

From the question, he lost his mind to his fiancée who had probably arrived in her country after sailing home for four days. He remembered that day. The day he knelt before her, apologizing and begging for her to continue the marriage. She melted her heart for him after he made a promise to leave his lover, and yet now he is in bed with the said woman.

"Childe." Lumine brought him back to reality. "What did she say?" She demanded, getting impatient now.

Childe was a liar to the Princess but an even bigger liar to Lumine when he said: "She said she wouldn't call off the wedding." A shrewd lie without hesitation.

Lumine furrowed her brows, "She said that?" She shook her head in disbelief. "And here I thought she was going to curse you."

Crazy that he thought that would be better if that was the case. However, let alone cursing, any negative expression didn't stop on her face even for a second. Childe clenched his jaw from irritation as soon as the memory of the calm Princess played back. She really made him look like an idiot, kneeling begging like she was the most important thing to him.

"What did you say afterwards? Why don't you just cancel the wedding?" Lumine still has her questions.

Childe sighed as he closed his eyes. "And here I thought you know it's not that easy." He got up to sit on the edge of the bed, picking up his shirt which was hanging carelessly on the nightstand. She had already started with her interrogation session and he had to leave before this got any longer.

Lumine sat on the bed, “Are you going home? When I asked you questions?”

“Babe, let's not end this with a fight.” He said while buttoning his shirt.

Her golden eyes did not hide her displeasure at his response. He was way too calm even though he knew the wedding that would separate them would take place shortly after the Princess' coming-of-age banquet—which would be two months away. He had the authority to cancel it, but he didn't.

Or maybe that's what he wanted too. So, is all their talk about the future just nonsense then? Where should Lumine throw those dreams?

Childe who dodged the questions put a doubt in her heart.

"Do you really love me?"

Childe paused for a moment from her question, turning around to find her head hung low. He didn't need to see her expression to know she was sad, the trembling in her voice was enough to represent that.

“Hey, what are you talking about? Of course I love you, you know that."

"Do I?" Lumine raised her gaze. "Then cancel the wedding."

Childe laughed dryly, crawling to her. "I can’t do that." He told her.

Those golden eyes glared at him, "Why? You don't love her, do you?"

Childe choked on his own laughter. What Lumine said was by far the funniest joke he had ever heard in his entire life. Him loving the Princess? If that day came, then he believed the sun would rise from the west and the entire universe would collapse.

"You're so funny." He pinched her cheek lightly. "Don't worry about things like that. You know I’ll marry you once I have full authority as king.”

Lumine raised her eyebrows asking for more explanation. “Can you imagine what those bastards would do if they found out I threw away their princess for you? I don't want to put you in danger when I'm just a prince."

Apart from being a liar, Childe is a sweet talker. He brushed off her irritation and doubt, which was replaced by a nod and a smile.

"Fine then."

Childe kissed her lips, then her knuckles. “You have my word on that.”

The ginger haired man got up from the bed. He walked towards the dressing table where Lumine had put the things she hadn't put in the suitcase. A smile was carried on his face when he found the pink perfume he had given her. Lumine watched him pick it up, spraying it all over his body before setting it down slowly.

“Gotta smell like my girl.” Childe gave her a wink.

Lumine suppressed her smile. "Just leave already."

"Alright, alright." He picked up his jacket from the floor and put it on. "Don't miss me too much, okay?"

Childe turned the doorknob. He stepped out of the room, greeted by a dim hallway supported only by a row of wall lamps. He descended the carpeted stairs one by one and ended up in the voyer, where a man he recognized stood as if waiting for him.

Even though he couldn't see it clearly, Childe had grown familiar with Aether—Lumine's twin brother. The Duke bowed respectfully, then continued to glare at him.

"Your Highness Crown Prince Childe."

Childe wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "Duke."

Aether didn't reply. He had always been one of those people who dared to show his distate for him. "I see you are still visiting my sister."

"What's wrong with that?"

Golden eyes closed to relieve anger from his rhetorical question. "You are someone else's fiancé and will be getting married soon." Aether hoped it would knock some sense into him.

"Oh, don't be so cold, Duke!" Childe laughed, placing a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "You talk as if you don't know how marriage works in our world."

Aether paid no heed to his attempts to make the situation less hostile. “With all due respect to you, please stay away from my sister. This will only bring bad things not only to you and Lumine but, to the Princess as well.”

From his words that sounded commanding, Childe erased the fake expression he was wearing, now not covering the cold gaze from those blue eyes of his. He was just a duke from another country, and he had the audacity to speak in that way to the heir to the Snezhnaya throne? Aether must know his place.

There was so much he was holding back from not strangling him right now. “Apparently there are some people who have forgotten their position.” He took a step closer to Aether. "If I was in a bad mood, that would have been your last breath."

This was precisely why Aether didn't want Childe anywhere near Lumine. Besides the fact that he will justify any means to get what he wants, he is the most selfish human he has ever met. Despite having the achievement of becoming Snezhnaya’s war general, it does not rule out the fact that he is one of the most dangerous people in Teyvat.

Feeling that his point had been made, Childe walked past him, leaving a cold wind blowing against his face. Aether watched his back as he headed towards the horse carriage that was waiting for him.

Sooner or later, Lumine will be pulled down with him. Aether had to stop him before that happened.

Two months later, Childe set foot on the famous Liyue capital pier. He took off the red scarf that was wrapped around his neck when he realized the temperature here was much warmer than his home country. The voices of the merchants around greeted his ears.

“This way, Your Majesties and Your Highness.” Viktor—his right hand man—said after bowing, leading him to the waiting horse carriage.

On their way to the imperial palace, boredom hit him. Even so, he made no effort to bring up the conversation with his parents sitting in the opposite direction. Blue eyes looked out the window, hoping that Liyue would cheer him up.

A country that seems more lively than Snezhnaya. He thinks it's because of their favorable climate. Many people on the roadside peddling merchandise in the form of spices and fresh fruits. Lanterns hung above with other decorations they were trying to put up as they climbed the wooden stairs.

Childe couldn't help but comment, "Is Liyue always this colorful?" He smiled mockingly.

His mother stopped fanning herself and looked outside, realizing what he was talking about. "You didn’t know? They have a tradition of holding a festival every time a member of the imperial family has a birthday.”

"Is that true?" Childe put on his bored face again. "That's troublesome."

His father laughed. "What can we do about it? Their daughter's birthday is today. Soon enough, she will marry into another royal family.”

Marry into another royal family. Childe doesn't realize how close he is to letting go of his single days. After today, the days where he would be busy taking care of the wedding preparations would come. He wanted to speed things up to finish quickly.

"Make sure to look good in front of the Princess." His father reminded him.

Childe smiled bitterly. "Of course. After all, she is my fiancée."

Although he had been waiting for her coming-of-age in sight but, Childe found himself wishing for a postponement. However, time stops for nobody let alone him. Morning turned to night in the blink of an eye—Childe was now standing in the celebratory hall.

The walls of this large open hall were carved in gold, either because the royal family saw its artistic value or simply showing off its wealth to guests. Beneath the solidly colored chandelier, the people were lost in their conversation. The waiter who passed by was carrying a tray filled with Liyuean's drinks and food.

"Your Highness!" A shrill voice called out for him to turn around.

Childe found a woman—if she could enter here, she was definitely royalty—smiling so wide that he felt his jaw hurt from looking at her. She was the fourth woman to approach him tonight. In fact, none of them hide their intention to flirt with him.

Childe replied with his typical fake smile. How did people do that even though they knew he was the fiancé of the host of tonight's banquet?

"Good evening, Lady..?"

The woman was gloomy from him asking her name. “Your Highness, we have met before. Have you forgotten me?”

Oh, can you just give me your name and get out of my sight? Childe wanted to say however, did not. He laughed in an apologetic way, "If I didn't have a bad memory, I couldn't have forgotten the name of a woman as beautiful as you." He slipped a flirt that made a blush rise to her cheeks.

"I-it's Sophia, Your Highness. The daughter of Count Lancaster of Monstadt."

From the mention of that country, his mind wandered to a certain someone. He looked at Sophia again, remembering that Lumine had introduced her to him at a banquet earlier.

"Ah, Lady Lumine's friend." Childe felt strange calling her that.

Sophia nodded, "That's correct, Your Highness!" She cried out in joy. “Ever since you stepped foot here, I wanted to greet you right away! However, Lady Lumine is holding me back from doing that.”

There is a tug in his heart. “Lady Lumine did that?”

The brown-haired woman nodded not noticing the change in his expression. “I don't know what's wrong with her,” She said softly before getting excited again, “But, isn't that good? We can talk alone.”

“Where is Lady Lumine now?”

Regardless of the words or the smile that fell from her face, Childe looked her straight in the eye with his blue eyes. Even though he wasn't sure it would be a good choice to look for Lumine right now, he wanted to take a quick look. Is she wearing that blue dress he sent last week? The necklace that he specially ordered must have graced her neck beautifully, right?

Just as Sophia was about to raise her index finger to show where he could find her, the trumpet sounded without warning. Guests automatically face the large door.

"His Highness, the Crown Prince and Her Highness, Princess (Y/N) have arrived!"

In the arms held by your older brother, you passed through the door so gracefully wrapped in a traditional Liyuean dress that is more majestic than the one you wore in his coming-of-age. Your hair was styled and tucked in accessories that glowed under the light. After descending a few wooden steps, people see the makeup that adds to your beauty.

You captured all the attention of those in the room, Childe was no exception. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath this whole time.

Every time you swept your eyes across people who weren't him, Childe still wouldn't admit he wished those beautiful eyes landed on him. He just stares at you, standing in a sea of people who didn’t do much for you to notice his presence.

Without even realizing it, he had forgotten his intention to search for Lumine.

After the emperor raised his glass high to give a toast, the floor that was left empty was filled with professional performers. They danced gracefully, slender hands decorated with various striking jewelry that entertained guests from all over the world. On the sidelines, there are still many people who come to you to congratulate.

"Someone's getting older today."

You turned quickly when you heard a voice you would recognize everywhere. Within your line of sight is Zhongli. To support the appearance in his traditional dress, the long hair that is usually tied is loose but, neat enough to still show the earrings in his ears. You smiled even though you couldn't remember the last time you saw him like this.

"Zhongli!"

Your enthusiasm from his presence widens his smile. "I congratulate Your Highness' coming-of-age." He bowed politely.

You laughed at his formal way of speaking. Nonetheless, you nodded in acceptance of his words, “Thank you, Duke Zhongli. Though, I have to admit I was quite curious about what you gave me as a present this year.”

Of the many people who give you gifts every time you get older, Zhongli's is the one you care about the most (or you could say the one that doesn't end up being kept in an empty palace room). He has a strange taste in choosing what he wants to give, the proof of which is that he gave a flower statue made of gold last year.

“Something different from previous years. Considering it will likely be your last year staying in the imperial palace.”

The line does its job to put a burden on your heart, erasing that smile for a moment before being replaced with a fake one. You notice a change in your mood, trying to ward it off by repeating the reasons you would do it. However, it is undeniable that lifting your foot from where you grew up is not as easy as turning your palm.

"Oh, he's coming."

Zhongli's voice took you from your long thought to turn to Childe who was walking towards you. He put on a smile that didn't sparkle in his eyes as usual to make him look friendly to you. Before he arrived, Zhongli thought of leaving first. He excused himself from your presence, reasoning that he wanted to talk to Duchess Ningguang.

"Who is that?" One of the nobles whispered curiously.

"I think it's Crown Prince Childe of Snezhnaya, the Princess's fiancé." Another one answered.

From the movement and gazes he doesn't take away from you, Childe gathers people's gazes on the two of you. You pay attention to him, examine his clothes and thought that grey is good on him. If you weren't capable of seeing the future, you'd think he was more like a golden retriever than a wolf in sheep's clothing.

You bowed slightly as he stood before you, “I greet His Highness Prince Childe.” Your facial expression is no less fake than his.

Childe holds out a hand which you welcome with yours. He lands a kiss on the skin of the back of your hand, then looks up with a smile. "Congratulations on your coming-of-age, Princess." His voice has honey and sweetness in it.

You slowly pulled your hand away as he let go. "Thank you, Prince Childe. I hope you enjoy the celebration.”

"What do I not enjoy when my fiancée stands so beautifully in front of me?"

You laugh at the compliment which is actually one of his camouflage as a future love-struck partner. Even if you're not convinced yet, it's enough to make the nobles around you whisper behind their glasses and fans. Maybe you should give Childe some credit for his hard work.

"Prince always knows what to say." You said.

"Your Highness." You both turned to the bespectacled man whom you recognized as your father's confidant. He bowed to the two of you before saying his point into the conversation. “Pardon for the intrusion, Your Highness. His Majesty asks for your presence."

"Oh, is that so?"

You look the other way in search of your father but, back to Childe when you can't find him. "That is unfortunate, I'd love to talk to you more, Prince." You speak to him so apologetic despite knowing the possibility he finds pleasure in this.

Childe smiled. "So do I. However, I can't be selfish when the Emperor is asking you."

You nodded, “Thank you for understanding. Then I'll go." You curtsied to him.

Childe reflects what you do. He watched you turn around, walking away with your long dress sweeping the hall floor. Once he sensed you were far enough away from him, he dropped all his exhausting fake expressions.

Blue eyes scanned the entire room. He noticed the fireworks exploding in the sky over the capital. It was golden in color, reminiscent of someone's eyes.

Lumine. He had to find Lumine.

His guess was right about looking for her in the gardens of the Liyue imperial palace. It was far enough away that he felt safe to approach her who was standing under the gazebo by the lake. He had sneaked glances at the hall before, however, being in front of her like this made him notice the glittering details of the blue dress he had chosen for her.

Lumine recognized his presence behind her but, for some reason chose to keep staring at the moon's reflection in the water. "Turns out it's not that easy."

"What is?" Childe walked over.

The blonde woman turned around, finding him looking handsome and not so far away. “Seeing you with the Princess, kissing her hand and praising her in front of the crowd.”

"I can give you more."

A bitter scoff slipped out of Lumine, yet, she wasn't worried he'd hear it. "Have you both set a wedding date yet?" She asked, hoping that at least a shake of his head was the answer.

Maybe Aether was right. That not everything is worth holding on to the end. Choosing to be with a man who was soon to be married was wrong, Lumine should know that. However, she still thought it would be unfair for them who loved each other to just give up when Princess's relationship with Childe didn't have that.

As if reading her complicated thoughts, Childe lifted her tiny chin. He stared at her beautiful golden orbs, then landed a kiss that hoped to ease the pain in her chest.

People in love mostly do unreasonable things. People who have their partner in their arms tend to forget about their surroundings. However, the two of them should have known not to think they were completely alone.

"Princess?"

Childe didn't know what was wrong with the room the Liyue empire had prepared for him. He judged the furniture and atmosphere as very comfortable for him. However, no matter how much he tossed and turned on the bed, his eyes refused to close to go to sleep.

That was the reason he chose to take a walk in the garden at the very end of the palace even though his bones ached from the banquet that ended four hours ago. However, he did not expect to meet her here.

You turned your head from his call, "Prince Childe?"

The man approaches you. You notice he's wearing a long robe, while he wonders where you're going in a hooded robe like that—not to mention the absence of bodyguards around you.

"Are you going somewhere?" He couldn't help but ask.

For a moment he thought you wouldn't answer him, feeling it was none of his business to know. He watched you nod before setting your sights on the fireworks exploding in the sky outside the high walls of the imperial palace. The festival of celebration that the Liyue people hold whenever a member of the imperial family gets older.

"The festival." You answered.

Childe didn't expect you to sneak around at night just to visit the festival, alone. You don't seem to think about the risk of being kidnapped or killed. Isn't this very reckless of you? Have you not yet realized your value to your own people and your enemies? Many people will do anything to harm you (him included).

"Alone?"

You nodded again, "I've done this many times."

“However, it is still dangerous.” Childe reminds you.

You don't want to hear his protests, so you ask him a question: “What about you? Why are you here?”

Childe looked back at you, "I can't sleep."

A frown on your face. "Is the bed not to your liking?"

Childe shook his head quickly, “It's not like that. I'm just not sleepy." He says.

"Oh."

Silence fell upon you both. You are lucky enough that the wind blows even though it doesn't wash away the awkwardness between two people who are about to get married but, doesn't quite know each other. The cool night brings new ideas to your brain.

“Would you like to join me?”

"Allow me to come with the Princess."

Unexpectedly, the two of you are talking at the same time, with the same topic. Two pairs of different colored eyes stare at each other for a few moments before you are the first to laugh, finding the situation amusing.

As soon as your laughter died down, you spoke up saying: "Okay, I'll be your tour guide, Your Highness."

This night is full of strange things. At the banquet earlier, there was a guest who was too generous to offer you a large gold-plated frog statue. Then a group of noble ladies asked you to have a tea party tomorrow morning and made you order your ladies-in-waiting to prepare it. And as the closing, you sneaked out of the imperial palace with your soon-to-be husband who was secretly planning to kill you in the future.

Even if you believe that many stars stretch across the dark night sky, the light of the lanterns seems to dim them. On the streets where people pass by, you feel the warmth in your chest when you see their happy smiles.

Your birthday.. do they like it that much?

Crowds crowded the festival. All around them was the rhythm of musicians, echoing softly as drums were pounded to enliven the atmosphere. Meanwhile, the fireworks they continued to launch seemed endless. People carrying a variety of Liyuean street food in their hands.

To Childe, Liyue was a foreign land. However, now that he was standing here, he no longer found it a bad thing if it meant that he would continue to discover new things every day.

"Very crowded." You commented to yourself but, Childe who heard it realized the potential for the two of you to be separated or lost.

His hand is stretched high enough for you to catch it from the corner of your eye. Under the hood that shielded his face from the light, you stared into his blue eyes with yours widening.

"Take my hand. I don't want us to be separated here." He said followed by a smile.

At first, you looked at his big, naked hands with some doubt. However, when the fireworks exploded in mid-air once again—showcasing their colorful crown and making you excited to go further into the festival—you let Childe hold your hand.

Strange. Didn't you say you'd be the tour guide for this festival? Then, why was he the first to walk through the sea of people? Protecting you from colliding with others by putting you behind his broad back.

You end up visiting several tenants including one selling street food. From end to end you make sure your special guest try the sweet and savory that Liyue has to offer. Oddly enough, Childe has no problem with that other than not being able to use chopsticks (which you both solve by buying food that doesn't require one).

Your next stop is a person who sells various accessories and jewelry. Although it can't be compared to what you usually get from your father and other nobles, it's enough to make you approach enthusiastically.

“Come and find what you want! Lady, what kind of accessories are you looking for?” The merchant greets you as soon as you stand in front of his desk.

"Ah, let me have a look."

You swept your eyes at the merchandise. From brooches, necklaces, rings, bracelets, to hair accessories he sells. Your hands want to take a closer look at the pink hair pins, but you remember having something almost the same to this. You're not a big fan of jewelry so you have no intention of collecting anything similar.

"How about this one?"

Childe opened his mouth when you were about to excuse yourself for not finding what you wanted. When you turned around, you found him picking up a brooch. He lifts it close to you to reveal its leaf shape with diamonds that coincidentally have the same color as your eyes.

"It has the same color as your eyes." Childe said. The diamond he was talking about reflected the light of the lantern on it.

You smiled amused, "Do you think it's beautiful?"

Childe nodded, "Yes." You think he's referring to the diamond.

You took one more glance at the brooch. "Hmm, I guess that's not bad."

“No,” Childe said suddenly, making you look up at him in confusion. "I was talking about your eyes. I think you have beautiful eyes, Princess."

You didn't expect that, at all. And so, your mouth hung open for a few moments before muttering the quietest thank you. You watched as Childe showed the brooch to the old merchant, said he would buy it and then took some gold coins out of his pocket.

The warm wind blows again. The petals of the cherry blossom tree that you didn't even know existed danced in the air. As soon as you look up, you find the dark sky still stretched out, making you wonder if the night is still long.

After leaving the merchant earlier, Childe again cupped your hand in his. He splits the crowd and makes sure you stay behind him. That broad back... you wonder if he has the scars from all the battles he's survived. A battle that spreads fear at the utterance of the name 'Tartaglia'.

Then, you’re curious about one more thing.

If the circumstances were different—if he wasn't the same person who would wage war on your homeland, where would you two stand?

@thelovelydiviner @r0ttenhearts @tsunotaro-san @yguchild @a-random-bored-person @hoshikechi @dandelimoonus @cherlynono

(i don't know why there’s some username that I can't tag(´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀), i’ll try to do it in the reply if it’s possible.)

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augment-techs · 28 days

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👀wanna try?? Billy/Skull??

Wow this looks ugly, I am sorry. But for the sake of clarity:

Skull:

Alternates between being the big spoon and little spoon, but is slightly bigger, so it works out better if he's the big one.

Oddly, of the two of them, he's slightly more responsible with his clothes and therefore always has extra on hand for Billy to borrow when Billy... gets "oil" on his shirts or tears his jeans "working on an engine" by the week.

Being that he is a quiet little king of music, he has a way with words and calls Billy all manner of cute things. Things like, "Rain Dance" or "Sugar Star" or "Ocean Heart" or, his favorite "Bones"~

Amongst people he knows and trusts he is exceptionally extroverted. If he is not used to a group of people, he tends to fade back until he's sure he can be tolerated.

Acts of Service is his main love language, but he speaks all love languages, so if Billy needs more than one or the other, Skull can supply.

There is exactly a one in fifty chance he would ever confess first. But, the multiverse exists; there's gotta be one somewhere that didn't chicken out.

He could break a window screaming over seeing a cockroach skitter by or duck for cover if a moth or grasshopper or wasp gets into the house. Yet, oddly, he won't let anyone kill them, preferring to carefully relocate them, even while freaking out under his breath.

He has a license, he can go from point A to point B. He is not allowed to drive cross country due to the nausea that comes from prolonged coasting.

He basically started cooking for himself when he could reach the stove with a stool. When he is lacking in funds, he can still make a good meal. When he gets older, this is how he truly shows devotion.

Grab him, kiss him, hold his hand, carry him bridal style out in the open. He cannot be embarrassed by affection.

In a relationship, he is very much aware that Billy can handle himself, can watch his own back and is not a fragile flower. So he is generally chill with Billy doing what he will, Skull just requests that he send texts if he knows he might be late or needs something. Unless there's some homophobic douchebag bothering Billy. Then WATCH OUT.

His having more relationship experience is kind of a sad, horrible kind of joke amongst their friends. Sure, he's got a body count higher than two, but holy fucking shit, they all were a horror show. When he wasn't being used for convenience, he was being used to prevent loneliness and lied to the entire time. Not to mention when a mind control or love potion is added to the mix. So...yeah.

Billy:

He tries to be the big spoon at least three times a week, but he is fully aware that he has more muscle and softness than Skull, so he might usually be the little spoon, but that's mostly because he's basically a lovey for his boney-ass boyfriend.

Half of his closet and drawers are filled with clothes he's snatched from Skull; which is very amusing to Kim and Trini when they visit and want to go out and often end up dressing him in his boyfriend's wardrobe. He once wore stirrup leggings with Cinderella flats and a black linen blouse that hung off his shoulders with only the top two buttons latched so he could show off a deep blue sequined crop top that complimented the elk skull and Death Head moth necklaces around his neck--all from Skull; the entire ensemble making him look like a model. (And Skull is fully aware that he's never getting those clothes back.)

Doesn't use nearly as many pet names as Skull, but he does call him easy things like sweetspark, honey heart, marigold, darling, etc.

He's not as shy and background oriented as he was in middle school, but he's not as out there as literally all of his friends. Which is fine and hasn't given him a complex at all.

Service, touch, gift giving, making things--these are his ways of showing affection. He will use words when needed, but he's so often in his own head that sometimes the words just...stay there.

He would have to be the one to say he loves and wants to love and wants a relationship when it becomes very obvious that all the signs for romance are there...but history kind of prevents Skull from acting on things. And he gets it. Of the two of them, Billy has people in his back corner to provide support, Eugene just has Bulk (and maybe his brother when he's...around).

He will not kill pollinators or spiders, but he will tear apart a work area just to get a mosquito.

Billy literally remodeled a car from the early '90s into a flying future miracle. He has risen above the "gays can't drive" thing, thank you.

He can make pasta and microwave dinners and popcorn. He can sort of bake cookies. One should not ask him to do more than that, because he will forget something and go work on an experiment and blow up the house.

So-so when it comes to PDA. Largely because he feels like he's somehow being impolite to other people, but if Skull is feeling low, Billy will actively make sure their hands are attached and that his boyfriend's face is flushed from Billy kissing him all along his face and shoulders.

There is a one in three chance that Bulk and Skull will be in the area of a monster fight at any given time. Rita and Zedd and their minions know them BY NAME. Of COURSE Billy gets protective of Skull to the point of ridiculous a lot of the time.

He's basically always known he's gay. He's had a lot of crushes on his guy friends and allies, but never actually tried to ask for a date. He has had sex with other boys, but not a real relationship--most of the time it was coming off of a stressful battle because of Power overload. So...not much experience. Thankfully, Skull is much more patient than others would believe.

#boom! comics power rangers #ask fill #prompt fill #understand my ship in 5 minutes #Billy Cranston #Eugene Skull Skullovitch #Billy x Skull #mighty morphin power rangers #mmpr #ggpr

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zmxchs · 2 years

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𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝘿𝙖𝙮 1

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬-𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

Husband!Daniel Gillies x Author/Actress!reader

Start reading under cut!

It was around 9 in the morning and Daniel was doing an interview via a zoom call in the victorian office in your shared home. You promised to stay out of his way and not bother him while he's being interviewed about his newest movie Coming Home in the Dark, and about his life recently. You were laying in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers, on the couch in the office, writing for a new book you were to publish soon. After a while you, fell bored and felt like being cheeky and mess with your husband in some way.

As he's on zoom with BuzzFeed Celeb, you decide to sneakily make your way where your handsome husband sat. He doesn't see you because of his great concentration to his the person on the other side of the laptop screen which you're thankful for.

You crouch down and quietly crawl under the large table until you're kneeled in front of Daniel's spread legs, his comfort position. His bottom half is only dressed in a short plaid sleeping trouser because the interviewers can only see from his chest up, which was dressed in a tight white t-shirt and also so he could slip onto the couch with you once he was finished.

Deciding to stop stalling, you reach forward and place both of your cold hands on his warm thighs, making Daniel nearly jump out his seat in surprise. And because he's wearing headphones, you can't hear much of what the interviewer asks but you assume he's asking him if he's alright because it looked like he jumped out of fright.

"Yeah, yeah, all good. Just a bit chilly, you know how old victorian homes are and got a chill." you hear Daniel tell the interviewer. You giggle at his silly lie and decide to tease further. You bend your head forward and place gentle kisses up and down his upper legs. This makes him conceal a stutter in his voice as he speaks.

Your soft, warm lips continue their attack on Daniels tan, smooth slightly hairy legs until you carry them up even further, to his bulge. You know this is what's really going to make him go crazy. For more stability, you sit up a tiny bit so you can get closer, looping your arms around his waist, and bend forward to start attacking his gradually hardening cock from the outside of his trouser.

You can feel his body tense up and you can't help but smile at the fact that only you get this part of him. And not just literally speaking because only half his body is shown on camera, but the side of him that is weak and vulnerable and putty in your hands. You were addicted to each other, always wanting to be together intimately or not.

Knowing you must hurry before the interviewer asks to see you, which always happens, you remove one hand from where it was around his lower back and bring it to the waist band of his trouser. Then you dip your hand inside, feeling Daniel's barley there pubes brush against your hand and gently take a hold of his now throbbing shaft.

You didn't want to give him a full blowie because you wanted to tease him. Therefore once his cock is out the clothed confinements and the band of his trousers are tucked under his ball sack, you lick up his silky shaft with the tip of your tongue. Daniel's mood has visibly shifted and you wonder if any of his fans who watch his interview will realize what's happening.

After a few licks, you decide to take his leaking head and suck on it like a lollipop. Without looking, you know Daniel's well taken cared of toes are curled into the hardwood floor beneath you. And instead of using his hands for gesturing as he speaks like he normally does whenever he speaks, his hands are gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles are turn white.

Right before the interviewer asks if you can pop on and say hello, you glide his shaft further in your mouth until your nose is touching the base of his cock. You accidentally let a small gag release from your mouth and hope the audio from his computer doesn't pick that up. Daniel glances down at his lap real quick and feeling like he's doing so, you open your eyes and look up, making eye contact.

Your eyes are watery but you can make out the slight irritation in his facial features as well as lust and need. Quickly looking back up to his screen, Daniel says with a shaky voice, "I am sorry y/n is working on her next big project and I don't want to disturb her, Next time for sure. Thank you for having me, goodbye" Then you hear a click of the mouse, meaning he's finally off air and he lets out a sigh of relief.

"Fuckin' hell, love. What r'yah doing t'me? Almost came in front of the interviewer as well as millions who watch and listen to the interview." Harry mutters while looking at you from your position under the table.

You pop off his dick, inhaling a large breath, and reply innocently, "Was just bored and wanted to mess around."

You squeeze his cock one last time and crawl out from under the table leaving him hard and start walking out the office.

"Love where do you think you are going?" He asks sternly and raising an eyebrow.

"I made plans to go shopping with Candice and Nina in a hour I need to get ready." You reply smirking and blow him a kiss making him growl.

#kinktober #zmxchs #zmxchs kinktober #daniel gillies #daniel gillies smut #teasing smut #kinktober day 1

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dienette-666 · 8 months

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[GUTS SPILLING OUT] - Unit S.L.E.D.G.E Leon S Kennedy x OC

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x OC Tags: cheeky, flirting, sexual tension, building of a relationship, strangers to lovers, injuries, mental health, past trauma, TW: graphic description of wounds, overcoming trauma, emotional bond, Summary: A sarcastic and even more so traumatized BSAA Officer found her peace of mind in the lucious green of Woodkirk's forests, where BSAA authorities had "kindly" established the rehabilitation and training camp "ReTra" vor all soldiers too messed up and broken down to be immediately sent back into yet another suicide mission for the greater good. However, a slash to her guts later along with a marathon to run for her life and a missed swoosh to the head of a mysterious blonde with her coat rack, the brunette found herself acquainted with Leon S Kennedy himself.

____________________________

PART ONE - Guts spilling out

The dawn of this very Sunday - it was April - had announced itself mightily, by silencing the chirping birds and striking the pale, blue sky with its suffocating clouds of an ashy grey color. Even the moon had been greedy with its glow – merely scattering weak beams of light upon the busy highways and rural areas.

In the pulsating darkness of that night, swollen puddles marked the sodden gravel paths, cold drizzle tickled the calm surfaces of nearby waters and the whistling wind lulled even the most reluctant visitor to the "ReTra camp" in Woodkirk to sleep.

The sun hadn’t even set properly, as its golden rays were harshly swallowed by dense towers of clouds and the first droplets of rain had started falling, right when General Brooks was busy locking the entrance to the camp with two thick chains and called in the last soldier, who hadn't stopped running his legs sore since afternoon.

While ReTra therefore proceeded according to its daily protocol, everyone stationed there knew how to behave and peacefully settled into their cabins as dusk fell, rushing tires screeched wildly across the asphalt of the adjacent highway, hurling themselves through the sticky mud of nearby dirt roads and finally, coming to a silent halt at the edge of the Woodkirk forest – smoking with frictional heat.

Between its untouched treetops and massive rocks, no roaring truck and no agile bike could fit, but only the brunette with her body's exhaling strength.

The dripping wet leaves of shrubs along her path clung to the tattered sleeve of her dark green plaid button up, while the cold rain settled around her shoulders like a stinging breeze, drawing an icy chill into her skin and causing her muscles to stiffen.

The hem of her flared jeans soaked up the muddy water, that she flung up the narrow gravel path with each disoriented step.

She was not a prepared hiker, a secret agent in a tight black outfit, nor a brainless teenager, seeking adrenaline in the shadows of the night.

For if she were a hiker, she'd be lugging a heavy backpack, lacing sturdy trekking shoes with a rough profile around her feet, and throwing on tactical pants with a cheeky camouflage print, instead of hurrying around knee-high grass in nothing but a plaid shirt and way too fancy bell-bottoms, tearing her elbows on the rough bark of ancient trees.

The panicked brunette seemed out of place and completely ill-fitted in the overgrown wilderness that surrounded her like a pitch-black cave.

The only thing that even remotely aired her true purpose, was a leather weapon holster that strapped tightly around her thigh, but was yelpingly empty.

However, her determined steps, the straight path she steadily took and the committed glance she cast, before turning in yet another direction, revealed that she couldn't have been lost after all.

Calculated yet staggering weakly, she turned left when she had to and held her course until a right fork called out to her.

The flat heel of her neat Chucks sank deep into the dirt and rose from the slippery ground again, this time stained by mud, while her hurried steps began to lose their span and pace.

Each breath squeezed her chest tightly, only to puff it up widely again in the next moment - forcing the forest's moist air into her lungs.

Her calves began to toughen like over-chewed gum and the white tank top under her button-up became so wet, that she gradually grew unable to distinguish the rain from her bleeding wound.

It was an oozing wound, her brutally torn skin in the shape of three barbaric claw marks and the fleshy red color, which melted into the fibers of her simple white top.

With every of her snorting breaths and each time the muscles of her abdomen spasmed into a cramp, its ribbed fabric got stuck in the throbbing gash and plucked at it to the brunette's suffering.

The wide cuts stamped themselves into the cloth of her white tank top, yet gradually washed away with the pattering rain.

So, the top wrapped itself tighter and tighter around her shaken ribs, whereas the browned blood slowly soaked itself up to her bra and exposed the paleness of her cold skin underneath.

Eventually there came a point, when she no longer knew to make out whether the wetness around the waistband of her pants came from the insatiable rain, or if it was the gore pouring out of her own guts.

Therewith came black dots flickering in her vision - a shallow drift from consciousness to unconsciousness - and yet the brunette kept tramping through the undergrowth, until the forest’s dense trees gradually thinned out and the pitch-black outline of the training camp appeared against the pale night sky.

Her temples were undercut with blood, her upper lip viciously torn on the right side, and the inside of her cheeks completely chewed up by the grinding bites, that the pain coaxed out of her.

With the brunette’s lips trembling as if she was freezing terribly and her left arm wrapped around her crunching ribs, she ducked under the wetly dripping chains of the entrance with the last strength of her numb legs - already plotting out the way to her cabin in her fogged-up mind. The edge of her delicate shoe tore gravel along, whilst her weight stirred up the swollen ground under her soles into narrow streaks and left irrevocable traces of her presence. And yet, she met her silently planned route to the meter.

Thus, however, the moment of unbarring pain announced itself, where the overflowing aches of her torn skin began to mimic the beating of her very heart and the searing burning became more overwhelming, than the brunette could have ever been able to endure.

The nipping of her teeth into the sore flesh of her cheek, the embattled grip of her pointed fingernails into the sides of her torso, and the harsh growl that escaped her throat like a bestial snarl, were nowhere near enough to express the pain and terrified panic within her.

Although the seriously wounded brunette did not want to arouse any commotion, let alone wake any of her sleeping comrades, her unbearable suffering chased any of those rational thoughts out of her mind a unbarring pain and replaced her initial cautiousness with an animalistic instinct of survival.

The staggered sleeping cabins were built across a large courtyard, that was meant for the locally stationed residents' morning runs, whereas the panting brunette hardly even arrived at the corner of the guard house in the entrance area of the ReTra camp.

Eventually, her knees blocked from advancing, begging for a break, right as they let out a rusty crack and inevitably forced the brunette to halt and clamp her red-stained fingers around a rusty rain pipe for a brief moment.

The stained metal tube vibrated under her fingertips, as masses of water washed through, giving her a new sensation to focus on.

However, it would never be cold or rushing enough, to quench the infinitely deep ache clawing at her waist.

Losing her balance on one of her heels, the brunette therefore grasped the rippling pipe all the tighter and ultimately couldn't take it anymore.

Each of her vertebrae curled into a quivering hollowed back, while she pitifully reached her right arm to the ground, trembling bitterly, until finally a thundering scream tore itself from her throat, which she had tried to suppress for so long.

It made her lips twitch and her cheeks tremble - a frothy thread of saliva dripping from her split lips as she contorted her face for a moment, to unravel the true despair inside, leaving her torso to hang down inevitably exhausted.

The pain-distorted scream, that got louder as her suffering reached a new high, echoed across each pebble amongst the soaked dirt, moving every little puddle, and yet the courtyard remained silently still.

Before her arrival, the brunette had managed not to sob and to even forget the wound on her stomach, due to the ferally pumping adrenaline in her body.

But now, as she already saw the safety of her little cabin from a reachable distance and knew to soon have reached her destination, she was given no other choice, than to be caught by the sheer horror that marked her abdomen.

Thus, the intolerable rumbling in her guts continued to plague her, but the brunette finally gave herself a firm jerk away from the downpipe, stumbling for a few steps at first, but then compulsively catching herself and fighting against every throb of her wounds.

The purposeful brunette, who had previously turned nimbly around every tree and ducked just when she had to, turned into a disoriented woman who, from one blink of an eye to the next, was suddenly no longer certain which cabin was really hers.

Her memory deceived her treacherously, as she first tried the small key to her room on the iron lock of one of the six doors and tried to hit the keyhole with her dazed, numb fingers.

Followingly, the grooves of her silver key struck the rusty lock unsuccessfully at first, right before the brunette ended up jiggling at it in frustration.

The old wooden door wobbled on its hinges, but would not open at any price. And that was simply, because it was the wrong one.

With great effort, she spluttered in confusion, shimmying herself to the knob of the adjacent door and crashed into it uncontrollably, as her trembling fingers tried to thread the key inside once more.

This time its indentations fit like a glove and so the dizzy brunette turned the key a few times to her right, before immediately pushing the door open.

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