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peachesofteal · 5 months

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Dead Disco / Chapter 11

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Relationship issues, arguments. Angst. Toxic behavior. Johnny is struggling. Everyone is going through it. Johnny struggles.

"No contact?!" Johnny chokes, and you hesitate on the other end of the line, sharp breath rattling through the speaker phone.

“My… my therapist thinks it would be good, to try it. For thirty days. Just to see how I feel.” Johnny’s fingers stretch across the front pocket of his pants.

Thirty days?

You’ve already been gone five, and it feels like five years.

He balks. No. No, this. This can't be. You have to be home, with them. Where you belong. Where they can fix it.

“Ye… no, I thought… I thought this was just a break?” He doesn’t recognize his voice. It’s ragged and torn to shreds, and now fear makes it tremble.

What does this mean?

“It is, it is. I just… I have to try this.” You sound as sad, as fucked up as he does, and he wants to scream, throw the phone against the wall, say screw it all to hell and go over to your rental, bang on the door until you let them inside.

“Of course, darling.” Simon soothes, and Johnny stares at him like he's lost his grasp on reality. Of course? Of course?! “We understand, we… we can do that. We’ll do whatever you want.”

“No.” Johnny cuts in, he can’t stop himself, can’t control his mouth. He can’t agree to this, to not talking to you, or seeing you for thirty days. He can’t do it. “I-“

“ Johnny.”

“Johnny-“ You both say his name at the same time. Yours is a plea. Simon’s is cautionary, finger seeking the mute button, cutting you out of the conversation for a split second, long enough for him to utter a warning.

“Do not push her on this. We need to let her decide right now. She’s in control.”

“Hello?”

“We’re here.” Simon assures you, unmuting the phone. “We understand. No contact, thirty days. Will you reach out, afterwards?”

“I… I will, I promise.”

“And you’ll take care of yourself?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, a gulp. Simon’s façade cracks, enough that Johnny can see the fear that lurks there, the worry.

“Ye-yeah. I am. I will.”

“Will you come to bed?”

Johnny’s thumbs press together, overlapping where his fingers stay knitted tight, grasping onto one another like he’s holding onto himself for dear life.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in and then releases it slowly through his nose. It’s a self-soothing technique, one he’s seen you do a million times. But once he’s done, his response is no less acidic. “I cannae sleep.”

Silence is his answer, until-

“Johnny.” Simon’s forearm wraps across his shoulders, pulling him backwards from the stool and into the cushiony warmth of his chest, heat burning into his back. Simon’s always been a furnace, a giant, weighted, heated blanket, his touch one of safety, security. Care.

But right now, all it feels like is anguish.

“Si.” He croaks, tears welling up behind his eyes. “I cannae do this any longer. I cannae… I need her back.”

“We need to be patient, and respect-“

“Respect?” Johnny blurts, incredulous. “No, No, I… We should be there, right now. We should be standing outside her door, we should be fightin’ for her, nae sitting ‘ere, waiting. Showin’ her how much she means; how sorry we are.” The warmth pulls away, an exasperated sigh blowing across the back of his neck.

“I’m not having this conversation again.” Simon is curt, growing cold, and it fuels the burning rage building inside Johnny’s stomach.

“Of course, because why would ye? It’s already settled in yer mind, isn’t it? That we just sit here, and wait, and let her slip away because ye coudnae keep yer mouth shut!” He’s said the same thing a thousand different ways over these last three weeks. Dressed Simon up and down six ways to Sunday over it, different verbiage each time.

The conversation always ends the same.

“Can you forgive me?”

“Of course I can but I’m still mad at ye.”

The anger foils away, ebbing into sadness, despair, and Johnny’s sight goes black when he buries his face in his hands.

“I miss her.” He whispers to the floor. The warmth returns and wraps him in a snug embrace, soft words hummed against the shell of his ear, each one punctuated with a kiss.

“I know, I know you do. I do too.”

“You nearly got yourself blown up!” Simon roars, and Johnny nearly flinches, steeling himself against his partner’s anger. “You can’t be makin’ stupid decisions like that. You jeopardized-“

“I knew what I was doin’. Dinnae question me, ye dinnae know anything about the tech behind those explosives, and ye know it.” He stands a little straighter, indignant, insulted, and Simon’s eyes narrow, before squinting, tension shoving his shoulders down in a slump.

This isn’t like them. They’re always in lock step. One unit. One person, two hearts.

The cot creaks beneath Simon’s weight, elbows against his knees.

“Johnny, what’s going on?”

“What do ye mean?” Dirty, cheap laminate flooring stares up at him, patterns in the grit swirling together like sand.

“You’re not yourself. Price mentioned-“

“Ye and Price talkin’ ‘bout me?” Unsettled anger rattles him, immediate demand rising through his blood. Simon holds his hand up.

“No. He was concerned, said you were a little rash the other day, on the recon. Asked if everything was alright.” He blinks. Blinks over and over, tries to quash the surging agony, the upheaval of his stomach. He fights it, tries to breathe through it, tries to stop it in his tracks, but a big grip wraps around his wrist, and tugs.

He’s settled into Simon’s lap without another word, his nose to his neck, fingers stroking through his mohawk.

“It’s going to be alright. You’re alright. We’re going to get her back, love.”

“I cannae do this. Ye dinnae know-“

“I know.” He squeezes him, calming him, and Johnny melts a little, sharp blade of the pain turning dull. “I know that the best thing we can do right now is be patient, and respect what she’s asked us to do. When she’s ready, she’ll let us know, and we’ll do everything we can, to try to fix it. To make it better.”

“I feel like there’s a hole-“ His hand rubs his chest, over and over, until the skin burns. “Like there’s a piece missing. I dinnae think I can do it, without her.” His voice breaks, and Simon’s attempt to calm him comes out like a strangled cry. “It hurts, Si.”

“We won’t. We just have to be patient, Johnny. We have to. We have to show her we can do it.” Simon murmurs, and then they both slip into a sad silence, Johnny huffing through his tears against Simon’s chest until he’s dragging them both down into the little cot, escaping into the comfort of uneasy sleep.

The flat is too quiet.

Lately, he’s been putting your favorite movies on in the small hours of the morning. Simon sleeps in now, restless until the sun starts to come up, and then he finally sinks beneath pull of dreams, or nightmares, whichever comes first.

So, Johnny curls up on the couch by himself, with your favorite tea, flip flopping between the rotation of movies that you always had rolling in the background, when you were painting, when you were cooking, or even reading.

But today, he paces. Back and forth from the bedroom, the kitchen, to the art room, the one you left half barren, the one that still holds nearly finished paintings, dried tubes of paint, stiff bristled brushes, long discarded for new ones, but not thrown away.

“I’m going to the gym, want to come?” Simon is hovering just outside the door, brows fixed together. He hasn’t stepped foot in here, Johnny has noticed, not since you left nearly a month ago. In fact, he avoids this room like the plague.

“No, ye go on.”

“You sure?” His head cocks in consideration, and then he nods.

“Yeah. Love ye.”

“Love you too. Be good.”

“Where the bloody hell have ye been?” Johnny seethes, arms crossed. Their half-eaten plates still sit cold on the table, mocking him since Simon left in the middle of the meal an hour ago.

“Out. For a walk.” The hoodie comes up and over his shoulders, and Johnny catches a whiff of it.

Cigarette smoke.

“A walk, eh? Ye out walkin’, and smoking?”

“Johnny.”

“Dinnae Johnny me, ye’ve been smoking, I can smell it.”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” He snaps, turning his back, heading into the bedroom, the bathroom.

“Ye dinnae want to do what?”

“This. Fight. Argue.” The shower clicks on, steam slowly building from the floor as Simon shucks his joggers, his boxers, Johnny’s eyes struggling to stay fixed on his partner’s face.

“I’m not arguing, I… I dinnae understand how ye can be so casual about this, it’s-“

“What am I supposed to do?” Simon turns on him, still angry, still hurt from their conversation earlier. It brews beneath the surface like a finely veiled stormed, just barely held back. “Lose my head? Fall apart?”

“I dinnae, talk to me?” Simon’s jaw clenches. Every scar on Simon’s back speaks to him, tells him stories, corroborates his witness accounts. Johnny wishes he could take them away; wishes he could kiss them.

But Simon feels so far away now. He’s felt miles away since you left, since the bed slept three, table slept three, couch held three.

“I’m right here, Si. I’m here.”

Johnny knows what he’s doing is wrong. He’s fully self-aware, but completely out of control. His legs carry him down the street on autopilot, barrage of requests and demands from his rational self trying to break through the encasement where he’s locked them away.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t.

He can’t help it. He can’t do this… anymore. It’s killing him. It’s killing Si.

He worries it’s killing you.

He tells himself he’s just going to check on you, make sure you’re okay. He’s not going to bother you, just make you’re alive. He’s not going to stay, he’s just going to say hi, ensure you’re safe, healthy, and then leave.

If you even open the door.

Guilt, anxiety, fear all turns over in his stomach, freezing through his blood as he climbs the stairs to your long term rental. He just needs to see you, needs lay eyes on you, just once, and it will all be okay. He’ll be okay, once he knows you’ll be okay.

Simon is going to be so bloody pissed. He grimaces. He knows there will be hell to pay. That Simon will be enraged, disappointed. That he’ll be upset.

They made a promise. He made a promise.

And now he’s going to break it, just like that.

He stands outside your door for too long, contemplating. Trying to sift through every decision he’s ever made, that led him to this point. He could still turn around, still go home, even though his finger is itching to ring the bell, a burning desire searing through his mind, urging him forward until his forehead is thunking softly against the wood, eyes closing.

Darling.

He can still see your face, your smile. The ways your eyes light up, the way your voice sounds when you say his name.

“I need ye, we need ye.” He whispers to no one, and then his finger presses the button, breath holding in his chest.

A few seconds pass. He strains to listen, latching onto the sound of footsteps inside, the click of a lock, the creak of the hinges, and then the door opens wide, revealing you on the other side.

“Darling.” You’re haunted, a flicker of a memory, a sharpened shadow sawing into the soft matter of his brain. You blink like you're trying to clear your vision, like you're struggling to see him, and he offers you an uneasy smile, something nervous and unsettled. You shake your head, mouth open in surprise, confusion, eyes wide.

“Johnny.”

#peaches writes #dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader

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rubiehart · 2 months

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idk if youve watched scream but like what abt that one scene where stu and tatum r walking and he picks her up and kisses her neck and shit but with bsf!jj where the pogues are talking and he just keeps groping and grabbing and they all keep talking cuz its just normal 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

i luv scream.. rip tatum u will always be famous

you are sarah are walking side by side as you leave school, turning the corner as she rambles before hearing the voice you know so well. “yo, just picked up some new shit from cousin ricky that you and me are smokin’ toooooonight.” he says playfully a little too loudly, causing you to swat him on the shoulder.

john b smirks in sarah’a direction as he throws an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him as she smiles. “stop it, jj.” you chuckle, his eyes widen jokingly taking mock offense, crossing sarah and john b before tackling you over his shoulder. stepping from the road to the pavement as you accept your fate and place your hands on his shoulders for balance, squealing as he pretends to drop you backwards. “sooo, i say impromptu party tonight at the chateau, to celebrate the stickiest of ickies, what’dya say?”

“are you serious?” sarah asks with a little chuckle, hoisting her bag further up onto her shoulder giving jj a raised brow look, looking back at john b for confirmation as he just smirks. “you heard the man.”

“as long as this one don’t invite the whole damn island, we’ll be fine.” jj says tapping your butt, spinning you around and placing you down next to him, still keeping a hand draped around your waist, holding you close to him.

“intimate gathering, close friends.” john b mutters, in an attempt to convince her, as she shakes her head with a smile. “cmonnn sarah, a lil’ weed makes all your problems drift away…” you tempt with a smile; wiggling your fingers in her face as she swats them away playfully, dropping them by your sides as jj reaches for your hand, swinging it obnoxiously as he rambles.

“we’re totally protected, yo- i am so buff” he smirks, flexing the arm he wasn’t holding your hand with and you roll your eyes. “i got you covered girl, fightin’ all your mental demons n shit.” jj smirks and speaks with that southern drawl you love.

“fine. whatever.” she throws her arms up in defeat and you squeal wrapping your arms around her in a tight hug. “this is gonna be awesome, okay let’s go.” grabbing her hand and continuing up the path, john b giving sarah a quick peck before the two boys wander off towards where the twinkie was parked on the other side of the road, hopping in and sharing a low high five as john b steps on the gas.

“so they’re coming. proud of you buddy.” he states with a side smirk, one hand on the wheel, focusing on reversing out of the space. “hell yeah they’re comin’. y’know me. mister convincer.” he says energetically, drumming a beat on the dashboard, john b rolling his eyes at his best friends’s antics.

#jj maybank blurbs #;bsf!jj #anon ꨄ︎*#jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank blurb #jj obx #jj x reader #jj maybank obx #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank headcanon

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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Shovel Talk(s) Part 2

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Nobody in the history of the world has ever referred to Eddie as jubilant but that was certainly the best word for him currently. Eddie has survived the apocalypse (even if barely), been proven innocent for the murders (the Upside Down exploding into Hawkins helped), and he has a boyfriend. It makes Eddie feel like he's floating.

Steve drops him off, walks him up to the porch, and gives him the sweetest kiss goodbye. Eddie doesn't go inside right away because he wants to watch Steve as he leaves and maybe blow him an exaggerated kiss as he drives away.

"Glad that boy finally did something about how pathetic you were being," Wayne says in lieu of a greeting when Eddie finally slips in the front door and into the living room, plopping himself on the other end of the sofa, dragging one of the throw pillows that came with the couch into his lap to clutch onto. Ground him, because he's still floating.

"I was not being pathetic!" Eddie is scandalized.

Wayne lets out a wistful sigh and says, in a poor imitation of Eddie's voice, "when will Steve end my suffering and notice me."

Eddie lunges across the couch with the pillow in hand, whacking Wayne with every word he speaks, while also trying to dodge Wayne trying to grab the pillow from him, "I do not sound like that!"

Wayne tricks him into thinking the pillow is his only goal and before he realizes what's happening, Wayne has him in a headlock, dragging both of them off the couch as he stands, giving Eddie the gentlest noogie of his life. "I think I know how you sound, hearin' you bellyache for the last 13 years. I've had to hear your relentless sighing and bemoaning about Steve for at least six of 'em."

Eddie beats him with the pillow more until Wayne releases the headlock and then they wrestle until his uncle fakes hurt, so Eddie backs down quickly, and Wayne steals the pillow and beats him back onto the couch until Eddie yields.

"That was dirty fighting, old man," Eddie says when he finally stops laughing enough to catch his breath.

"What was it you used to tell me, when I said you were fightin' dirty?" Wayne asks, "Scrappy."

"Oh, is that what you think you are?" Eddie swings at Wayne's knee half-heartedly. Wayne flings himself across the room and into the recliner there like Eddie shoved him. "Oh, you big baby."

"You're awfully callus about bullying your old man," Wayne chuckles and settles into the recliner, popping the leg rest out. "Now, tell me about your boy. He was a gentleman to you?"

Eddie pouts, "Unfortunately, yes. One chaste kiss and then he was off."

"Smart boy."

Eddie narrows his eyes. "What's the supposed to mean?"

"Means I scare him."

"What."

"That a question or a statement, son?" Wayne looks awfully smug over in his chair.

"What do you mean you scare him?"

"Just gave him the good ole father shovel talk. Y'know? Hurt my boy and I'll make you disappear," Wayne says.

"You terrible old man!" Eddie throws his pillow at him but Wayne bats it out of the air. "I'm going to die a virgin and it'll be your fault!"

Wayne just shrugs. "Fine by me."

"You are the worst."

Eddie can't make his leg stop jiggling. He feels sorry for Nancy, who is sharing the bench seat with him because he's sure that it's shaking the whole bench. He's filled with energy and doesn't know what to do with it.

Robin sits across from them, finishing up the last of her milkshake as they wait for the to go order they're going to drop off for Steve, who is stuck at Family Video for another five hours. He was supposed to be here, too, but Keith called him asking him to cover and he'd said yes. Eddie wishes he hadn't. This was Lunch Date Day.

"Are you still upset Steve took an extra shift?" Nancy asks. "Even though you know he's just going to spend the extra money on you?"

Eddie's pouting, voice whiny as he says, "I'd rather he be heeeerrrrrrrre."

"It's disgusting how in love you are," Robin says, shoving the now completely empty milkshake glass away.

Eddie's leg stops shaking because he full on freezes. "Uh."

"Are you afraid of saying the L-word? You are not subtle in showing it," Nancy says, ever the traitor, "but luckily Steve's just as smitten."

"You don't know that," Eddie says, arguing for the sake of arguing. He doesn't believe he likes Steve more than Steve likes him. He's pretty sure they're on an even playing field.

"Yeah, I do. I threatened to shoot him if he hurt you and he didn't even flinch. He'd have taken the bullet for you."

"You did what!?" Robin yelps. She's looking at Nancy like she's grown a second head.

"I didn't even bring a gun with me! Besides, Steve knows I didn't mean it," Nancy says with a wave of her hand, "it was just an obligation thing. You have to threaten your best friend's significant other. The whole conversation was like, 30 seconds tops."

"I'm your best friend!?" Eddie gasps, faking surprise. They have become good friends. She'd taken it upon herself to make sure he did get to graduate with Robin and herself, and they did form a sort of friendship from that. Also, from being the collective third wheel to Steve&Robin, which is enough to make people come together. Neither of them truly thinks of the other as their best friend, but it's fun to joke about their own Capitol with a P Platonic Friendship around Steve and Robin, as they become rather bitchy and defensive about their own friendship.

It's hilarious every time.

"Well, it's you or Argyle, and I don't think Jonathan wants to share his best friend, so...."

"Cold, Wheeler. Cold."

Nancy rolls her eyes and looks over to Robin. "Are you telling me you haven't given Eddie the shovel talk?"

Robin frowns as she thinks before her eyes widen in shock and she gasps, "I think I accidentally gave Steve a shovel talk instead."

Eddie bursts out laughing, "Robin, how the fuck did you end up accidentally giving a shovel talk to your own best friend?"

"I just told him to, like, be careful with you."

"Careful with me?" Eddie asks, a little incredulously. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Robin is going on the defensive, now. Eddie can see that in the way she squares her shoulders before saying, "it was said after your first date! Steve's had a lot of those, and you hadn't. I just- I dunno, wanted him to see the importance of that."

"So, what, you told him you'd shoot him if he hurt me, like Wheeler here?"

"No! I never said I'd hurt him for hurting you. I just said that he should be careful with you because, as your first boyfriend, if, and I did mean if, you don't work out, it's like... he's setting the precedent for how boyfriends should treat you. What you'll put with with, y'know?"

"That's sweet-" Nancy starts but Eddie's speaking over her just a quickly.

"Robin, that's stupid. I'm a fucking adult. If I'm not being treated how I want to be treated, I'll tell Steve," Eddie huffs. "You can trust that I say what I mean."

"Can I?" Robin shoots back. "Just like when you promised to get the fuck outta dodge and instead went on a suicide mission that ended very, very badly for you?"

"That was different, Buckley," Eddie hisses at her, sitting up straight to lean more across the table, trying to get in her face, "there was a lot of shit happening, and no way out that I saw. It's called trauma!"

It seems that a defensive Robin goes straight for the jugular because she hisses back, "No, actually, I think it's called survivors guilt and suicidal ideation. You know what, I should be giving you a shovel talk! 'Cause I don't fully trust you to not hurt Steve, either by lying or running once things get rough. You don't-"

"OKAY!" Nancy shouts, startling both of them into silence with one word. "We are in an, admittedly very empty, diner but still a very public diner, so let's not. Robin, you're not Steve's mom, it's not on you to look out for who is going to hurt him or-"

"You do not get to speak to me about hurting him," Robin points an accusing finger at Nancy. For all the anger she seemed to have for Eddie just now, he can see that it's almost doubled for Nancy. "I wasn't Steve's friend when you hurt him, but don't think I don't know every detail."

He knows this story, too. Had gotten it out of Steve one night, weeks ago now, when they'd been passing a joint back and forth on Eddie's bed. Before Eddie can pipe up, not that he knows what he'd say anyway, the waitress returns with the to go box and the check.

"It's my turn to pay," Nancy says, snatching the check before it touches the table, following hot on the waitress's heels to the register.

"Ugh," Robin flings herself against the back of the bench, both hands coming up to hide her face. From beneath her hiding place, she says, "I'm sorry, Eddie. What I said was unfair, and uncalled for."

"We're cool, Robin," Eddie says, "I forget how much of a buffer for our anxieties Steve is until we all hang out without him. He's able to defuse an argument before it happens."

"Oh, don't word it like that," Robin drops her hands and slides out of the booth, scooping up the to go box in the process," it makes Steve sound like the emotionally mature one."

They all climb into Nancy's car and apologies are said but Eddie feels like the next time Steve can't make it, they'll all bail on the weekly lunch. They're just a bunch of traumatized young adults and Steve is the heart of them, the person that bonds them outside the shit they went through. And maybe they should figure out a better way to deal with this than just pretending it didn't happen but- well, the world just kept moving on and they had to either move with it or get left behind.

It's two weeks after Eddie and Steve accidentally told the Hellfire crew they were a couple, which is why Eddie is not expecting it when Erica and Lucas corner him. He was expecting to be cornered by someone last week.

They'd been taking longer to pack up than usual, and that should have tipped Eddie off that something was up.

"Munson," Erica says in her no-nonsense voice, hands on her hips, face unamused. For sharing no biology with Steve, Eddie finds the resemblance uncanny. "I need you to understand that you might be my Dungeon Master, but Scoops Troop will always trump that, so if you fuck this up with Steve, you will have to answer to me."

Eddie gives a soft grin in response, amused, "no worries, Lady Applejack. I have no plans to fuck this up."

Erica's eyes flick to Lucas, then back to Eddie. "I mean it, Munson. I have it on good authority that sometimes you hurt people and then you don't try to right it. You just move on-"

"Erica, stop it," Lucas says, voice a little panicked.

But Erica continues, because nothing ever seems to phase her, "and Steve and Lucas are alike in that way. So just know that if you hurt Steve like you hurt Lucas-"

"Erica!"

"I will end you. I will ruin your life, Munson-"

"Erica, STOP!" Lucas finally steps forward, yanking on Erica's arm to get her to stop talking. It makes her stumble a bit before rounding on Lucas. "Stop it."

"No!" Erica glares at her brother as she removes his hand from her arm. "Go outside if you don't want to hear it."

They stare each other down and Eddie's not sure what he should be doing. Should he step in? He grew up an only child, is this normal sibling behavior? But he doesn't have to step in because Lucas huffs and storms out of the house, front door clicking softly behind him even though Eddie expected him to slam the door.

"Now, you," Erica whirls around to Eddie, "do you understand what I'm saying?"

Eddie does not. He's fairly certain he's getting a shovel talk from a twelve-year-old and while amusing, he senses there's more to it than just his relationship with Steve. "You're threatening me on Steve's behalf?"

Erica scoffs and rolls her eyes like she thinks Eddie's an idiot. He's starting to think he might be. "Yes, I am but also more. Your relationship has been the hot topic these days, and my brother brought up a good point but he's too nice to say it, so I will. When school starts, if Steve wants to take you to a basketball game, even though they fall on Hellfire night, you postpone the damn game and you go. No matter how much you hate basketball or jocks or- or... other things." She loses steam at the end, eyes flicking to the door.

"What?" Eddie is even more confused, "I don't hate basketball. And if Steve asks, I'm not going to say no, okay? I care about Steve. A lot."

Erica frowns, which contradicts the words that leave her mouth. "Good. That's good. I'd hate to ruin you, Munson."

"Is there... more to it?"

It takes Erica maybe three seconds to decide what she's going to say. Just long enough for her to look at the door, then back to Eddie. "You owe my brother an apology."

"Uh, sure, I'll apologize but for what?"

"Remember the basketball championship and the last session of the Vecna campaign that you wouldn't postpone so Lucas could play? You never apologized," Erica crosses her arms, another move reminiscent of Steve, before continuing, "You didn't apologize, and Lucas thought that it was because he's a jock, and you hate jocks. But now you're dating Steve and he's a jock. So, if you don't hate jocks, Lucas thinks you just hate him."

"What, no, I don't hate Lucas!"

"Then tell him that!" Erica glares at him, "and let this be a little lesson for you. Going forward if you hurt either of my brothers, intentionally or not, you can kiss the tires on your van goodbye."

Eddie tucks his metaphorical tail between his legs and goes outside to apologize, because Lucas deserves to hear it.

Then, once the Sinclairs are gone and Eddie's back in his room, he runs through every conversation he can remember having with Steve. Has he dismissed things Steve liked too easily, too often? Has he said anything offhandedly that could be taken the wrong way without explanation?

Eddie's was an only child and didn't have to grow up worrying about anyone but himself. He made himself an outcast and shunned the 'norm' by choice. Doing so didn't exactly let him learn the social graces of patience and understanding.

It's eye opening, to learn that a decision he made months ago without a second thought has been hurting Lucas this whole time.

Has he ever done that to Steve, and not known it?

Steve's been distant these past few days and no matter how many times Eddie asks, Steve's answer doesn't change. I'm fine he says. I'm fine. Just fine. It's fine.

Except nothing feels fine. And Eddie doesn't understand the sharp change. They've got a date planned for tonight. Neither of them has specifically said it out loud, because it's sappy and stupid, but it marks three full months as official boyfriends. So, they've got a date planned, but Eddie's worried how it might end.

Eddie's been floating these last three months, but he suddenly feels grounded. He can't fix whatever happened if Steve won't tell him what it was! And in the absence of actual answers, Eddie's mind has invented his own.

Steve's realized that Eddie's not good enough for him. Steve's realized that he's actually straight, but thanks for the experimentation. Steve's found someone else and is working on how to break up with Eddie without blowing up their friend group in the process.

And Eddie hates himself for thinking these things. For projecting his own insecurities onto a version of Steve that doesn't exist. Eddie's gotten to know Steve.

Or he thought he had.

But now he's pulling away. And the only person he knows he can talk to about dating Steve is Nancy and he can't do that! He can't just go to Nancy's house and ask 'so when you were dating Steve and it was all going down the drain, was he distant or is that just a me thing?'

Fuck. Fuck!

He runs his hands through his hair and regrets it as his curls tangle around the rings on his hands. He should brush his hair, be getting ready, but he's procrastinating that because he can't decide if he's going all out, making himself look his best to see if it'll bring some life back into Steve's eyes when he looks at him, or if he shouldn't try at all and see if Steve even notices he's wearing the same thing he wore yesterday.

And it's bullshit that he's even thinking about testing Steve. Not two months ago he and Robin had argued in that diner about whether he's talk to Steve about these kind of things or not and now he was kind of proving her right. Except not, because he did try to talk! Steve just didn't answer when he questioned, and you can't really build a conversation from nothing.

Fuck! He should have known this would happen. That he would fall in love and Steve wouldn't love him back because that's always been his lot in life.

Oh.

Oh no.

He's been avoiding thinking it because once it's been thought, once it's solidified in his mind, it's true. And now he's thought it!

He's in love with Steve Harrington.

And isn't it just fuckin' peachy that this realization doesn't accompany happy feelings. He's in love and can't even be happy about it because he's so fucking sure his relationship is ending tonight.

#steddie #my fic #hmmm less happy about this part but its been a goddamn STRUGGLE #i didn't want people to give eddie a shovel talk but Erica does what she wants sooo....#also had to kinda force the scene with robin eddie and nancy in the diner because i wanted nancy to explain her side #considering how many of you were so mad at her and just over here like #oh no #cause the first part was just in steves pov and he cant read minds #anyway #have this and the third part will be out soon

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darylsfavoritegirl · 5 months

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Whoopps im liking this better than i thought

Summary: Daryl and Rick go on a run, they run into a pretty girl who is quite skilled in killing walkers but she is acting a bit suspicious👀 they decide to keep an eye on her. Again this takes place in the prison era.

Warnings: nothing really? a bit of phsyical pain involved cuz its twd

I initially tried to write this with first and third person narration which failed horribly so this is my first y/n fanfic ? feel free to correct my mistakes!! i'm new

"...And she ain't afraid to get violent with men 3 times her size."

Daryl and Rick were behind a large tree as they were watching out for walkers. Daryl narrowed his eyes slightly when he saw this girl fighting off walkers on the corner of his eyes.

"The hell she think' she's doin' ?" Daryl mumbled under his breath in a rush only for Rick to turn to his body towards him.

"What?" He asked before his eyes caught Y/n taking down three walkers.

Rick scanned the area only to see two more coming at her from behind. Daryl looked at Rick for a second and followed his gaze.

"Should we help her?" Rick asked cautiously, trying to calculate Daryl's reaction.

"Nah, she can handle 'em herself. Let's go."

Rick gazed at Daryl as he was walking into the woods. He decided to take one last glare at this alone mysterious girl when his eyes widened slightly at the scene that was going on infront of his eyes. He called for Daryl in a barely audible tone.

"Check this out." He said swinging his index and middle finger lightly at the girl. Daryl leered at her. She had a camera on her and she was documenting the area. She was taking pictures of the trees, the dead walkers, the stores. Anything.

"Well, ain't none of our dam' business." Daryl said with a slight irritation in his voice.

Rick glared at him from the corner of his eyes for a brief second before taking a deep breath.

"She is alone, quiet pretty and actin' all strange." Rick said with an undertone of mistrust.

"She took five or six walkers all by herself, without a trouble." He then added with fascinated eyes.

Daryl rolled his eyes moderately "Now what? Yea takin' interest in sum girl fightin' for 'er life?"

Daryl kept leering at Y/n as she walked into the pharmacy store right after cleaning her knife with a cloth she ripped from a dress that one of the walkers was wearing.

He scowled lightly as his frustration revealed itself in his voice "Great. She goin' into the store I was plannin' to go into." He grunted. He sighed audibly and looked at Rick over his shoulder before putting his crossbow in place on his hands. Rick kept sniggering and followed him. They were looking for survivors. They needed them, Daryl didn't love the idea. He thought Rick was trusting people easily but maybe he needed to do that... He entered the pharmacy, with the intention of studying this girl more.

. . . .

Y/n kneelt infront of the biggest drug shelf, trying her hardest to find antibiotics. They were useful for anything, though none was left. Y/n sighed before going through piled up medications on the floor when she heard someone walk in. Whoever that was, they were quite, almost too quite for her to not notice. She slowly got up, scanned the area for a brief moment. Thank god, she wasn't in the entrance, otherwise she would be caught in the open; like a prey awaiting for its predator.

Y/n knew the first thing she had to do was to control her breathing so she did. She hid behind a big metal desk, her backpack was near the door, the entrance where whoever that was there could see it easily. She didn't panick. She held her breath and got close to her backbag with cautious light movements. She dragged her bag to herself.

Y/n listened to area for a few seconds before slowly pulling her knife and pistol out of their cases. This was what she was scared of, dealing with somebody she doesn't know in the middle of the apocalpyse. She knew she had to stay calm. She inspected her ammo, incase she had to use it. She checked the magazine. Y/n had her pistol on one hand meanwhile she had her commando knife sitting on her left hand gently. She had a firm stance but before she could even take a second peek, y/n felt someone's presence.

"Come out."

Y/n studied the man's voice before she got up. The grunt, the thick southern accent one could hear even in two words. Y/n could already tell she had to deal with an aggressive one. She had a moment of debating with herself whether or not she should leave her weapons on the floor. "That's stupid." she notioned inside of her head. All these thoughts pondered her head within 5 seconds when the man, once again repeated it.

"Come on out. Now."

She lifted her head up. An arrow in a crossbow looking directly at her forehead and blue stern eyes behind it. Y/n immediatly got up and stepped back, weapons in her hand with a firm stance. A hasty moment of exchanging rigid gazes.

"I'm not looking for trouble." Y/n said with a humane tone. Ironic, she believed. A girl stating that she isn't looking for trouble with two lethal weapons in her hands.

The man stayed silent without breaking the intense eye contact. Y/n felt the need of giving assurance to him to not get killed. Anything could happen these days.

She sounded as if she was begging, abundance of tender in her voice "I just need some supplies and I'll be out of here before you know it."

Y/n leered deep into the man's eye as if she could see what was going on inside of his head. Daryl looked at y/n up and down, trying to conclude if she is any danger at all. He finally stopped frowning and loosened his grip on the crossbow.

"Go ahead." he mumbled.

Y/n also loosened her grip on her weapons. She felt her hands cramping because how long she had been holding the weapons. She moved aside, her eyes still following the man. Y/n got down, confused even scared because she had no idea what could happen any second. She forgot about the pills. She was scared for her life. Nonetheless, she grabbed a few medicine from the pile on the floor and tossed them into her bag. Y/n could see the man's reflection from the broken glass infront of her. He was not taking his eyes off of her, which freaked y/n out. She took a deep breath and slowly got up. The man was leaning against one of the desks in the pharmacy, he was looking rather calm but at alert. Y/n could see that. Her eyes formed some kind of apologetic manner as she examined the man for a brief moment. She didn't know why she did that. Maybe she felt he was no longer a threat to her. Daryl was quite indifferent. He was not also taking her eyes off of Y/n. She started walking towards the door when the ammo in her backpack started making noises because they got all messy in there when she tried to get a magazine out. She hoped he wouldn't mind it and stopped for a second, turned to this man and gently said

"I'm Y/n"

Y/n didn't know if she was supposed to wait for him to respond. She felt as if she owed this man the courtesy of saying her name at least. She decided to walk out when all of a sudden her thoughts were interrupted by another grunt. "Daryl." He said. It sounded apathetic as if he only said his name because Y/n said hers. Y/n gently smiled, if you can call that a smile. She made her way to the door. She was still sweating when another one of her pistols dropped from her bag and made a big thud, leaving her all panicked. She had a few guns in her backpack and this wasn't good to a stranger's eyes. She grabbed her ALFA combat and incompetently put it into her jacket pocket that she was wearing in the heat of Georgia. She didn't even look at Daryl.

Y/n didn't wanna take long because she knew it would get fucked up and it indeed did. Her action was interrupted by Daryl's hasty voice when her hand touched the door handle.

"Hold on." He said in a wary tone.

"Wha's tha' in yer bag?" his eyes roaming through her body and backpack as he came closer.

Y/n took a deep breath before turning to him. She knew it was time to actually be a bit belligerent. There was no way this could end in any virtuousness.

"You a damn cop now?" Y/n said with vexation in her eyes.

"First you come here and spy on me now you wanna check my backpack." the annoyance and electric in her voice growing stronger with each word.

Daryl stayed tranquil. He knew Y/n was a potential survivor Rick might wanna take in but he still needed to make sure everything. He came even closer. No one could blame Y/n for feeling under threat. Her survival instinct kicked in. She already calculated the strength of Daryl, there was no way she could overpower him. That's the thought that kept notioning inside of her head throughtout the 5 minutes she had to spend with him. But, Y/n thought, if she attacked him when he least expected it, maybe that would give her enough time to run as far as she could and make him lose track of her.

So she did, she kicked Daryl in the guts, leaving him only stumble a few steps back. Daryl huffed "Fuck." at the pain of being kicked in the stomach.That was all her power and Daryl didn't even fall. She didn't have time to bore her mind with that at the moment. Y/n grabbed the the door handle and pulled it with all her power and started running as fast as she could.

Y/n was panicking more than ever now. She knew she was a survivor, that was the reason she stayed alive in this wilderness where dead people were walking aimlessly, attempting to bite into anything that had life and flesh. The bag full of ammo and couple of guns were making harsh noises as it was also slowing her down.

Y/n was panting and practically dragging her feet to run along when she heard a gun fire. She instantly stopped. Perhaps it was another survival instinct, perhaps she believed the next upcoming bullet would go through her skull if she didn't stop. Her legs were trembling and her body was sweating like never before. She should've never worn that jacket in the heat of the summer but that was for precaution. She halted. The first thing she did before turning to him with her hands in the air was to catch up on breathing as if she forgot how to do that. It was a big area before one could get lost in the woods. She took long hasty breaths and slowly turned her body towards the spot where the gun was fired.

Y/n huffed swiftly under her breath "Fuck" She did not only see Daryl but another man next to him holding a colt python. Daryl was panting aswell but he quickly fixed his posture.

Were they spying on Y/n all along? Demented possibilities were lining up in her head one after another. Two of the men kept looking at her while her arms and hands started cramping because of how long she had been holding them up in the air.

"What do you want?" Y/n shouted. Her eyes scrutinizing both men, debating inside of her head if they would go any further.

A few geeks started coming out of the woods. She knew it was mindless of the other man to fire a gun, even far away from the city. She reached at for her knife the second she heard their infuriating growls but Daryl didn't let her. He gave y/n a spine-chilling glare as he walked past her and killed the geeks on the spot. The other man looked rather nonchalant, not keeping his eyes on neither one of them; just giving soft glares now and then. Y/n couldn't even dare to look back, see what Daryl was doing. She supposed he was taking his arrows out of geeks' heads, cleaning them with a piece of cloth. That's pretty much what everyone did.

Then y/n felt Daryl's unyielding grip on her forearm and her backpack. He was forcing her to walk ahead of him. She could feel his harsh breaths behind her ears and it only made her heart drop.

"Asshole." she whispered and sort of hoped he wouldn't hear it. He most likely did but did not pay any attention to it. Y/n felt more under threat as they were getting closer to the other man. She notioned this could not end in any good. It was time to take action now or never. Her brain felt like it could explode any minute.

"Let me go." she howled, trying to push Daryl but it only made him more antagonized. He felt as if she was only trying to provoke him at this point. He responded back with pushing y/n to the wall of the pharmacy store. Her back hit the wall swiftly and harshly making her whine in pain. The backpack was still on her and all that metal stinged her back because of how hard Daryl tossed her on the wall. It was like every single one of the curved metal was being carved into her back.

"Ahh." she cried out. Before y/n could even pull herself together, she once again felt his harsh grip on the backpack. She gave in at that point, seeing no reason in fighting back.

"Easy." y/n heard the other man saying slowly to Daryl, his eyes forming a stern look. Y/n looked at him, she wanted to speak; explain herself but she didn't know if it would make a difference at all. She bucked up, her back was still hurting but it was now or never. Y/n took a deep breath between the whimpers of pain and said

"I don't fire 'em." she exchanged glances between two men. Her voice sounded as if she was in rush. Her voice growing raspier because of thirst that was caused by running and apprehensiveness. Daryl looking more irritated with every word that was coming out of her mouth.

"Then wha's for carryin' a bag full o' guns, huh?" he uttered.

Y/n knew she had to be wary, if not she had no idea what would happen to her. She made out that she could put some sense into the other man if not into the redneck.

"I'm delivering them to a friend." a lie. She couldn't even look into directly their eyes but tried her best to do so.

Rick seemed rather suspicious "All alone?" he muttered. Y/n caught his leer.

"Goin' all this trouble to deliver few guns." Rick sounded as if he was asking a question but also reflecting the situation in his head.

" 'Few' guns worth more than gold nowadays." Y/n said emphasizing the word "few" with a subtle irritation in her voice.

"I don' know man." Daryl got closer to Rick. Every one of them were still eyeing eachother up and down. Rick didn't want to let her go for two reasons, first being cautious about the prison's perimeter if she was telling the truth. He thought she wasn't being honest but there was no harm in being wary. Second being, she would be good use in the prison if she was alone and soloing her way. He knew he needed to investigate into it when y/n interrupted his track of thought

"Can I go now?" she said, not too pretentious but also not too sloppy either. She kept eyeing them, not letting her guard down and trying to not irritate them even more.

"Y'all don't look like bandits or I- I- don't know, plunderers. Why not let me go?" She was gazing at both of them as if she could see their souls.

"Tha's cuz wer not." Daryl said in an obvious exasperated, raucous tone. Y/n couldn't help but smirk a little bit at his extreme, fragile reaction.

A brief fierce eye contacted formed between y/n and Daryl when Rick made a hand gesture infront of Daryl to indicate him that Y/n was no longer a threat that she could, perhaps, leave. Her gaze shifted back to Rick. Rick had a soft manner on his face, he slowly swinged his fingers at y/n, indicating she was free to go. Y/n sighed and rolled her eyes lightly as she got down and grabbed her backpack, she had a fierce look on her eyes when she took one last leer at Daryl and slowly started to walk away.

Rick gazed at Daryl watching Y/n walk away from the corner of his eyes. Daryl could feel his eyes on him so he turned to him with a slight maddening going through his body like electroshocks. Rick still had that pleasant bearing on his face which drew Daryl more irritated

"No more interested in takin' 'er into the prison?" He grunted as he grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder as he kept staring at Rick.

"I am." Rick said in a cool manner.

"I dun' kno' man. She 's trouble and ain't afraid to get violent wit' men three times her size." Daryl said still studying y/n in his mind.

"And that's a survivor right there." Rick sniggered as a subtle smirk appeared on Daryl's face.

FOOTNOTE

Ok yall can't believe this took me 2-ish days to write😭😭 i love writing these that's why i been skipping studying lmao and this one is a lot longer than the previous one. we get more daryl content (i hope you like the way i describe/write him im trying my best but again he is such a complicated character. writing rick is a lot easier.) i hope you like it!! i can write a sequel fanfic if you want me to!!! just let me know :)

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tangledinink · 7 months

Text

Oh my goodness, guess what? Chapter 29 of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is now up! And on a Monday, too. Gosh, just like old times. Yet another family secret is revealed from somewhere no one expected it. Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

“No, no, keep watching, seriously! They’re about to do something sooo cool!”

“Leo, you say that about every stupid street magic video you make us watch,” Donnie complained, rolling his eyes. “And it’s always something stupid.”

“It’s not stupid! It’s super cool!” Leo protested, huffing loudly and glaring at his brother in offense. “I pretend to think that your dumb science stuff is cool!”

“No, you don’t!”

“Well, I could, if you didn’t say magic was stupid--”

“We can literally do actual magic!” Donnie cried, throwing his hands up. “And you’re still into this fake bullshit?”

“Yes,” Leo confirmed easily, rewinding the video slightly. “And I’m restarting so that you guys can watch properly. So there.”

Donnie groaned.

“Both of you quit fightin’,” Raph said, shifting slightly so he could look over Leo’s shoulder, seeming only mildly interested at best-- but still interested! Suck it, Donnie. Raph knew something badass when he saw it. Leo grinned, shifting slightly so he could let his brother see better.

“This is a ridiculous waste of time,” Donnie muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re gonna miss the subway home.”

“We’ll get the next one,” Leo assured, waving him off. “It’s fine, Dee. There’s another train, like, every five minutes.”

“What New York City do you live in?” Raph muttered, glancing down at him and raising a brow.

“More or less!” Leo insisted. “I just wanna finish the video, and then we’ll go! We can’t go without Mikey, anyway.”

“What do you mean without--?” Raph’s head bobbed to the left. It bobbed to the right. He did a full 360 spin. “Wha-- Where the hell did he go!? He was here a minute ago!”

“He forgot his gym bag back in the locker room,” Leo said, waving a hand dismissively. “So he ran back to get it.”

“When!?”

“When you and Donnie were arguing about the best Jupiter Jim sequel, like, five minutes ago,” Leo explained breezily, leaning into his brother’s chest as he spoke, passing his weight over for Raph to hold up for the moment. Maybe physically pinning him in place would keep his head from vibrating off his shoulders. It usually helped. “Chill. He’ll be back in a second and then we’ll get out of here. Watch the video.”

“Leo!” Raph protested. “We’re supposed to stay together! Remember!?”

“He’s not even leaving the building, Raph. There’s still a couple kids around! And he’s literally down the hall,” Leo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He’s not five., I’m pretty sure he can handle it without us escorting him.”

“Leo--”

“If you want us to chaperone him down the hall to fetch his bag,” Donnie said, not looking up from his phone. “Then you will be the one informing him of such, dearest Raphala, because I have no intention of being the one to tell him that.”

“It’s like you like Dr. Delicate Touch,” Leo sighed, shaking his head. “Do you miss him when he’s away? Is that it? Is that why you’re like this?”

Raph sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

“Fine,” he finally relented. “But if he’s not back in two minutes, Raph is going after him! And you two are comin’ with me!”

Leo smiled a tiny bit.

“Yeah, okay, deal,” he agreed easily, pressing play on the video again. “Now here, watch. This dude is about to for-real make a whole-ass building disappear!!!”

---

Agent 64’s eyes flew open.

Danger.

There was danger.

He could taste it on the back of his sandpaper tongue. Every hair on his body jumped up on end as he flew to his feet, wriggling from April’s relaxed grip, his back arching and his claws extended.

“Ow! Mayhem, chill! Watch the claws!” April hissed, startled as he suddenly woke from his nap, previously curled up and dozing in her lap, wincing at the prickle in her thigh. “What’s your deal--?”

He would maybe regret hurting her if it weren’t for his heart banging wildly in his ears. He could feel it. There was danger. Something bad was going to happen. Someone was in trouble. His tail puffed up like a bottlebrush, he whipped around wildly to face the human-- both his favorite and his charge-- biting out a frantic, chittering warning. And spirits, he had never wished so desperately up until now that humans were able to understand the nuances of his language. Because while her brows crinkled with concern, a thick fog of confusion colored her eyes glassy all the same.

“Mayhem? What’s wrong, little guy?” She pressed, her bottom lip worried between her teeth. “Are you hurt?”

Agent 64’s tail whipped with frustration, a short, stuttering growl escaping him.

There was danger. There was danger. He was sure of it-- and he didn’t have time for this.

---

The cold, dusty tile of the school hallway did a lousy job breaking April’s fall. A short yelp of shock wrenched itself from her throat as she tumbled over herself, the crackle of mystic energy still prickling at the back of her neck, as she found herself quite suddenly sprawled about the floor as opposed to curled on couch in the comfort of her living room.

“OW! Mayhem! What the hell?!” She hissed, narrowing her eyes to scowl at the yellow creature. His only response was a sharp, strangled squeak, tearing himself from her arms and to the floor.

“April?”

April resisted a groan, sitting up just enough so that she turn her head to glance over at Leo and her other two brothers, who were all giving her a rather startled look.

“Hey, guys,” she said, wincing a bit as she got to her feet, brushing herself off.

“Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“Beat’s me!” She huffed, placing a hand on her hips. “Mayhem just started freaking out all of a sudden! I dunno what’s going on!”

“Do you think something’s wrong?” Raph asked, his brows furrowed with worry as he bent down to look at the little creature, still puffed up and pacing back and forth, chittering frantically at the group. “What’s goin’ on lil’ man?”

“He can’t be acting like this over nothing! There’s gotta be--” April broke off, his lips curving into a frown. Leo and his two brothers? That wasn’t right. “... Hey. Where’s Mikey? Shouldn’t he be with you guys?”

---

They didn’t understand what he was trying to say. The big one reached for him, but Agent 64 dodged out from under his hand, ducking away and breaking into a sprint. He just had to hope they’d be wise enough to follow him-- the only reason he didn’t simply teleport himself away. He couldn’t waste any more precious seconds trying to secure their allyship for the coming fight.

He had to be there. He had to be there now. The air reeked of it.

Danger danger danger danger.

---

His hair beads clicking along to the rhythm, Mikey bobbed his head with the beat banging about in his head, humming softly to himself and tapping his fingers against the side of his thigh. Ugh, this had to be one of Donnie’s EDM songs, didn’t it? He couldn’t remember any of the lyrics or anything-- just the thick, heavy beat. It colored his steps as he wandered down the dimly lit hallway, shouldering open the locker room door and sighing softly to himself. Gosh, he had had this song stuck in his head all day long, but he still couldn’t figure out the name of it or where it was from… It was starting to drive him just a tiny bit insane. Maybe he could get Leo to help him figure it out on the way home-- he was really good at this game.

It was probably one of Donnie’s songs. He had probably picked it up from Donnie. He was sure Donnie would know the answer if he asked-- Donnie always knew the answer to pretty much everything.

But if he asked Donnie, it wouldn’t be a game. Nah. It’d be way more fun to ask Leo. As soon as I get back, he thought to himself, swinging open his locker door.

As predicted, his gym bag was still here, hung up on its hook all neat as if it was meant to be there and hadn’t been left behind. Thank god. If it wasn’t here, then it’d for real be lost and it’d be a whole thing. That’s how you know the Adderall is wearing off, he thought dimly to himself.

His backpack retrieved, he slung the bag over his shoulder, kicking the locker shut and turning to start the trek back to his brothers. His legs weren’t especially long, but he still made every effort to stretch them out with each step, picking up a jaunty pace so as not to keep the rest of them waiting.

The song still played in his head, and Mikey mumbled along to the wordless melody under his breath, fidgeting with the straps of his bag. The longer he thought about it, the more sure he was that it was something from one of Dee’s playlists. It had to be, right?... This was exactly the type of thing he always listened to… Sharp and stormy and loud. Thudding and all-encompassing. The rhythm wasn’t quite as fast as you might expect from the genre-- it sort of drew itself out.

Made you wait for it.

And then eventually, the pace started to pick up.

Each synthesized thump came quicker.

And louder.

Closer together.

Building up, bigger and bigger.

Tickling the back of your neck.

Breathing down your spine.

Thundering onward.

The anticipation would almost swallow you whole.

Until finally the beat dropped.

---

A tiny smile turned the corners of Draxum’s lips crooked.

It was almost amusing-- how careless they were. He wondered how safe they must think themselves to traipse the city openly like this. As if he wouldn’t be perfectly capable of hunting them down. As if he wasn’t patient enough to wait until one of them was alone.

All he would need was a simple capture charm.

From up above in the rafters, he watched the smallest of his experiments. He was still cloaked in their silly human form. Relaxed. Oblivious.

Perfectly easy prey.

After this, he could simply pick the rest of them off.

The second his target walked within range of him, he lashed an arm forward. Magenta light leapt outward from his palm and pounced.

---

He didn’t see the figure in the rafters.

He didn’t hear the pound of footsteps in the distance.

He didn’t even see the flash of light.

But he felt the whisper of magick.

---

Raph didn’t know why Mayhem was freaking out, but he didn’t have to. Because all of a sudden, every single one of his big brother senses and alarms were flipping out. And he felt this awful, gnawing weight of dread in his stomach.

He didn’t bother to wait and check with the rest of his family, to see if they felt the same thing or if they intended to follow. Once Mayhem took off running and that dread took hold-- he did, too.

He could hear other footsteps behind him. Usually, Leo and Donnie were both capable of moving significantly faster than him. But not right now. Raph wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he had a head start or just that he knew Mikey was in trouble. But his throat was tight with the very beginnings of panic. All his muscles were lit up with searing red heat. He was moving as fast as he possibly could. Maybe faster than that, even. And no one was overtaking him.

He needed to know where Mikey was right now.

Despite the dead-sprint, it felt like it took ages for him to reach the locker room. He didn’t even stop to open the door so much as he slammed into it, shifting his body just enough to let his shoulder take the impact, the barrier crashing out of the way, crumpling beneath him, just the way he knew it would--

“Mikey!”

His eyes caught sight of Baron Draxum’s crouched form right away-- curled up in the rafters like a fucking jaguar in the canopy. This dark, sickly pink coil of mystic energy reaching from his extended hand and reaching out towards his little brother’s back like a bullet.

Raph’s heart stopped in his chest.

For just a second, the rest of the world froze, too.

The rest of the world… except for Mikey.

His back was still to Draxum.

But his heels were already in a pivot.

His head hadn’t even turned fully yet. But already, his hand flew up behind him, palm stretched out wide and elbows locked. The very beginnings of a fiery golden light sparked to life around him like a halo. His entire body jerked hard and braced--

And he caught Draxum’s magic in his palm.

Without even looking, he stopped the spell dead in its tracks with one raised hand, curling his fingers around it with this sharp, awful hissing sound, sizzling and popping like a forest fire. Like something burning.

He tightened his grip and the magick shattered like glass beneath his fingers.

And then Michelangelo turned around to face Draxum fully, his head tilted back so that he could meet his eyes.

---

“Mikey! Come look!”

Mikey’s head bobbed at his big brother’s frantic cry, immediately heading over in his direction.

“What is it?”

“A baby bird!” Raph exclaimed, kneeling down, and sure enough, when Mikey leaned over he saw the little creature-- tucked up behind a dumper in their alley, their feathers all poofed up and fluffy.

“Whoa!” Mikey gasped, crouching down as well so he could get a better look. The little bird seemed to shiver, but didn’t try to get away-- just stared at them with its big black eyes. It was kind of scraggly and funny looking, with this big round yellow beak and fuzzy feathers. “He looks so funny…”

“We gotta help him!” Raph whimpered, his bottom lip trembling. “He’s all by himself! He musta fallen or gotten lost or somethin’!”

Mikey paused, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“You think?...”

“Well, a cat might get ‘im or somethin’!” Raph cried. “I’ll go get a shoebox, and we can bring him inside! You watch him, okay?”

And Mikey considered this for a moment, glancing from his big brother to the baby bird, his nose wrinkled up slightly.

… If he fell out of his nest, then why didn’t he feel afraid?

Mikey couldn’t quite place it, but it just… didn’t seem like the bird was that upset or scared. If Mikey fell out of his nest and couldn’t fly anywhere and was lost and all alone, he was pretty sure he’d get scared and upset, at least, eventually. But this little guy didn’t feel that way at all. Mikey could just tell.

Maybe a little… frustrated. But determined. Excited, almost.

Mikey could feel it.

“No,” he finally said. “I think he’s okay.”

Raph frowned a bit, looking down at his brother incredulously. “But he’s just a baby!”

“Yeah, but he’s not scared!” Mikey argued, pointing.

Raph tilted his head to the side.

“How do you know?” He argued.

Mikey wrinkled his nose, considering this for a second before he shrugged.

“I ‘unno!” He finally declared. “I just do! You don’t?”

“... No,” Raph said, perhaps pouting a bit. “He’s a bird.”

“Well,” Mikey argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think he’s okay! I don’t think we should take him inside. I don’t think he’d like it. I think maybe we’d be, like… stealing him.”

“We can’t just leave him!” Raph protested, and Mikey paused, considering this, his lips curved into a pout.

“... Can we watch him for a little bit first, and see what happens?” He suggested after some thinking. “So then we know no cats will get ‘im or anything.”

Raph sighed. “... Yeah. Okay,” he finally agreed. “But if he’s still there in thirty minutes, then we should bring him inside. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mikey agreed.

---

They were golden-- so very much so that they were nearly white, as if superheated by the sun itself. They were built from nothing, it seemed, save for light and energy itself, but playing a melody of clinks and clatters regardless, filling the air with the sound of metal-on-metal.

The chains that materialized from his baby brother’s body.

They moved almost too fast to see, curling like snakes, twisting and shifting at Mikey’s command. With a forward thrust of his arm, leg sweeping around and his hands clenched into a fist, they obeyed him instantly, echoing his movements and flashing forward-- screaming-- howling towards their target.

Draxum just barely had the time to leap out of the way, flinging himself to the side and correcting his trajectory as he fell, frantically dodging the onslaught, and Mikey chased him. The chains twisted midair to follow the yokai, forcing him to dance and dodge backwards, hardly able to even conjure the occasional counterspell or strike in between running.

Running from Mikey.

It was all happening too fast for Raph to follow properly, but he realized, distantly, that Mikey’s eyes were glowing, light pouring from them and streaking down his face in globs of color. Like he was crying. Like he has tears made of honey.

Draxum lashed out with another spell, trying to find ground, and Mikey’s chains screamed out to meet them, shattering it midair. For just a second, Draxum gaped, his eyes wide as he watched. And in that tiny moment of hesitation, Mikey pounced.

He leapt forward like a beast on prey, his palm outstretched, reaching for Draxum, to touch, to grab--

At the very last second, the yokai yanked himself back.

In an instant, a bubbling black light enveloped him like a shadow and he blinked away-- as though he had never been there in the first place. Mikey stumbled slightly, lurching in the empty space left behind, his body jerking slightly at the sudden halt.

He faltered, wavering for a second, rocking on his feet. He blinked slowly, staring at the space where his opponent had once been as his shoulders slumped. In the silence and the still, ragged pants clattered through his chest. Raph swore he could hear them echo.

He blinked, swallowed, and finally found his tongue again.

“... Mikey?”

---

Raph gasped softly as he watched the little bird they had been watching leap up with a flap and flutter of its wings.

“It’s trying to--”

And it took him a few tries. But after a few false starts, the tiny creature took to the air. And in nearly a moment, it was gone, swooping away from the alley and out of sight.

“Whoa!” Raph gasped, his eyes widening. “Did you see that? That was so cool! He could fly all along!”

Mikey glanced back at his older brother and grinned brightly. “Yeah!!!”

He could tell. He could tell that that bird had been so happy to make it into the air and start to fly.

He could tell Raph was happy, too.

---

The halo that was surrounding their baby brother faded. The tears fizzled and dried up, the glow leaking from his eyes faded away with a flicker. And for a second, Mikey stood in one spot, staring off at nothing, his face flushed and his shoulders heaving with deep, shuddering breaths.

After a second, he coughed-- once, and then twice, hunching over slightly at the force of it. And he spat something shimmering and gold out onto the floor.

And then Raphael watched in horror as his eyes rolled back into his head, his knees going out from beneath him.

#sorrywhatnowau #sorrywhatnowau fic #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #tmnt 2k18 #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt michelangelo #rise mikey #rise michelangelo #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fic #writing #rottmnt au #rottmnt human au

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morallyinept · 6 months

Text

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter word count: 2.7k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Mentions and descriptions of smut.

It's here, the final chapter. What an emotional rollercoaster we've been on in this series! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, re-blogged and enjoyed this journey with Joel with and Reader. Love you all! 🖤

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

1988...

C’mon, ya bein’ stupid. M’tryin’ to watch the game.

Don’t call me stupid, Joel.

Hey! I was watchin’ that!

I’m not stupid!

Well, ya sure acting like it, ain’t ya?

You’re such an asshole!

Real original, darlin’. Gimme the remote.

Look, just because I want better for myself doesn’t mean that-

What d’fuck ya mean ya want better?

That's not what I meant-

That’s what ya fuckin’ said, ain’t it?

Joel. You’re twisting my words.

No. You fuckin’ said ‘em.

I can’t talk to you when you’re like this!

Ya think you're better than me ‘cause you got a fuckin’ college education?

What? Why would you even say that?

M’fuckin’ workin my ass off on the site n’ it ain’t good enough for ya? M’not good enough for ya anymore, is that it?

Joel. Don’t-

You'd rather be off gallivantin’ ‘bout with your stupid friends without me?

I wanna see the world, Joel. What’s wrong with that?

Fine. Go fuckin’ see it. I’ve never stopped ya. See if I fuckin’ care.

Joel, stop it. I’m trying to talk to you.

No, ya talkin’ to me like I’m dumb. I ain't dumb. Get offa me.

Joel!

I said get offa me! Ya wanna leave, then leave. M’tried of fightin’ ‘bout it. Far be it for an uneducated fuckwit to stand in your way, darlin’.

Joel…

M’goin’ to bed.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the last argument you’d have with Joel.

You climbed into bed beside him later on and he was rolled over, back facing you and unbeknownst to you, still awake. The anger wouldn’t let him sleep.

He’d wanted so desperately to turn over and pull you into his arms, to whisper that he still loved you, but he didn’t. He held strong. He was tired of being the one that always caved first, apologised first for arguments he hadn’t instigated.

He wasn't going to apologise for not having a college education and working as soon as he left high school anymore.

He was tired of being compared and judged by your snarky friends, who, Joel thought, didn’t really respect you much either by the way they’d treated you on occasions. He’d been the one who held you when you cried over them.

But you were easily led and influenced by them, and it was almost as if the person you had become was partly due to their subtle moulding of you. You wanted more, they had more. It wasn't easy to see that and do the maths.

They were turning you against him and there was nothing he could do to prove to you anymore that he loved you so fucking much. It wasn’t enough anymore.

All he could do was throw himself into work that morning to forget about the anger as he ground down on his teeth all day.

He was at work when you’d packed your things, and he’d returned home to an empty apartment that he could barely afford on the shitty side of town. But he’d rented it for you; the both of you, so you could start a wonderful life together like you’d spoken about so many times before.

But you’d gone.

Every part of you had vanished. And you didn’t come back, not this time. And Joel hadn’t really known how to deal with it when you didn’t return his frantic calls.

He went out, got shitfaced drunk, slept all weekend in his piss and vomit, and then went to work again on the Monday, hungover and gravely irritable.

That was how it went on a cycle until days passed into months in a vacant blur. Then he met a girl who smiled at him when he stopped in for a coffee on his lunch break.

She was new at the coffee shop and complimented him on his eyes, even though they were sad. He took her out for pizza and she made him laugh again, and she ended up staying at his place.

She slept on your side of the bed.

Over time, she pushed you towards the back of Joel’s mind. Nine months later and she was pushing Sarah out of her, and Joel was holding his tiny daughter inside his arms covered in gooey placenta chunks and beaming at her, feeling that he finally made sense in the world, despite being innately terrified.

He’d called Tommy and told him he was an uncle. He’d called his parents. He’d wanted to call you and tell you. So fucking badly.

A year or so after Sarah’s first word - which to his pride was dada - Joel was a single parent after her mom upped and left one day out of the blue.

He woke to find a note left by the coffee maker informing him they were on their own, and Joel’s heart fell out of his ass for the second time.

Another one who had left without warning or explanation; it was hard to not develop a small complex about that as he grew in age and height, and put dating on the permanent back bench.

He had to do this alone now; raise Sarah all by himself and the thought fucking paralysed him.

He was convinced he would be a failure. A deadbeat. That he would fuck her up in some way. But he didn’t. If you were to ask Joel now, he’d say that she took care of him more than he probably did with her.

He worked every hour God sent so he could provide for her, so she could have everything she needed. He couldn’t have been more proud of her, and the night she gifted him back his watch fixed on his birthday, was probably the best gift he’s ever been given.

Aside from her, of course. His baby girl.

And then in 2003, on that fateful day and ironically, Joel's birthday, the world went to shit, and Joel lost Sarah. His baby girl.

He lost his sole reason for being, and he glanced down at his wrist, at that watch reminding him of that loss, as he raised the gun to his temple.

I'll see you real soon, baby girl.

Joel pulled the trigger.

Present day...

Joel glances at his watch now, forever frozen at the time of Sarah’s death; cracked glass with the bullet that ricocheted off of it and killed her on that fateful night that took everything from him.

An icon forever strapped around his wrist that reminds him of everything he’s lost when he glances at it thinking it still works sometimes; an unconscious action that circles round foolishness.

He realises his mistake and drops his wrist listlessly. It’s hot out, the warmth of the summer licking at the back of his neck and turning it evermore pink before it tans.

He rubs sawdust from his hands down his jeans, reaching for the wood plank.

“Hey you,” your voice chirps to him, interrupting his dark recall, and he turns around, squinting in the sun.

You hold out a brown paper bag that you push into his hands. “Brought you a sandwich,” you beam.

“Shouldn’ta done that.” Joel blushes as he leans in for a kiss. The feel of your lips brushing gently against his makes his fingertips buzz and he moans gently into your mouth. A sound that you will never tire of.

“Y’want some lemonade? C’mon, get outta this sun for a bit,” Joel leads you by the hand under the canopy of his workshop in the commune a few weeks later after you’ve both returned from the outpost.

Your return was an emotional one, one that you both approached with tentative footsteps. The moment you were reunited with Max, Sal and Guthrie, sharing in your devastation for the loss of Kelper, Joel was resolute in giving you the space to let you grieve with them.

But you pulled him back and instructed him in no uncertain terms that him being away from you was the last thing you wanted or needed.

I need you, Joel.

M’right here, darlin’. Ain’t goin’ nowhere. He’d assured you.

Joel was true to his word, clutching on tightly to your hand at the memorial for Kelper and all those that had fallen with him that day. A small ceremony with wild flowers and hand carved stones that were laid to rest in the chapel’s garden.

A peaceful, contemplative space that you visited daily, regaling Kepler’s stone with your thoughts from the day, things that had happened. Tending to and keeping the space trimmed and neat. And Joel always let you have that time alone with him.

He cradled you in his arms as you finally fell asleep after the tears had stopped falling. That night, unable to sleep, you went for a walk around the commune whilst Joel was dead to the world.

"I don't know if I can do this."

Of course you can, Goose. Kelper walked beside you, or at least that's where he told you he'd always be now.

Besides, you just got him back, are you gonna let him go again?

You shake your head. "I'm scared, Kelper."

I know. Wouldn't be right if you weren't. Trust me.

"I miss you." You sniffled.

I'm always here when you need me. Kelper smiled.

Joel stirred, reaching his arms out as you climbed back into the sheets, skin cooler and clammy.

"Ya okay, darlin?" He murmured into your hair.

You settled into the crook of his neck, safe inside his big, strong arms.

"I will be," you smiled into the silver of his chest hair.

And he held you tight as you slept. Held you even tighter when he sank his cock inside you almost every night since you’d both come back to the commune; unable to be parted from one another's skin for too long.

It was like you were both making up for lost time. Thirty years or so of pining and neither one of you ready to relinquish that closeness now that you'd got it back.

You sit on a stool as he pours out some lemonade for you that's sweetly tart and unwraps his sandwich. He smiles down at it, stuffed so full of filling that it’s spilling out the sides sloppily, but it’s his favourite. He offers you half like he always does when you bring him one.

You always shake your head smiling, and insist that he eats it all, but you find he’s left the other half for you regardless, and somewhat obstinately, as he stands to do some more work.

You sit and watch him work for a bit, as he measures and saws the wood and the others on the site come to collect the planks for the housing frames.

You observe him take charge, giving direction and even getting his hands roughed up as he sands the wood down, talking you through the process as you watch keenly.

Sometimes you bring a book from the library and are content to spend the day under the shade of the canopy breathing in sawdust and losing yourself into a make-believe world, until Joel nudges your cheek with a scruffy kiss and takes you with him back to his house - your new shared home together.

He leads you inside and the moment the door shuts, shuts out the rest of the commune, the rest of the world, you’re all over each other.

His hands are in your hair and yours are round his thick waist. His tongue licks into your mouth and you whine around it, feeling him press into you and crush you against the door.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout eating ya out all day,” he husks against your face, skin sweaty and hot. Gritted with sawdust. You flare as his words are your undoing. “All. Fuckin’. Day.”

“So then do it, big guy,” you challenge back and his eyes blaze.

Your stomach simmers as he throws you over his broad shoulder, despite his groan when his back pulls; you’re giggling as he tosses you down on the bed and tugs down your jeans.

You’re a sanguine vision, naked from the waist down as he parts your thighs and kisses up them gently. You moan as the silk of his scruff feels good against your skin.

“Look at ya, all spread open for me, darlin’.” Joel croons at you. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You watch as he dips his head down and you feel his breath against the wet heat of your cunt already clenching and throbbing in anticipation.

Joel flattens his tongue against your slit and licks an agonising stripe upwards, slowly; tasting your slick and humming out in sweet, abandoned relief. He gently pulls on your labia, sucking and popping it out of his mouth in wet squelches.

Your fingers are scratching in his hair and he whines, taking a moment to enjoy the prickles that burst all over his scalp in only that way you can massage, before he dives back in.

“Fuck, Joel…” You groan; your body warming and your eyes fluttering closed.

He stops licking and sucking, and slips his fingers into you; index and middle right up to the base of his knuckle as he thrusts indomitably with them. With his other hand, he splays your wet lips and flicks his tongue over your clit relentlessly as he fucks you with his fingers, curling inside of you.

It feels so good, that deep winding and pulling as he furrows deep against your spot and the noises are obscene, coming from you and your pussy in equal measure.

Joel’s hard cock is pressing into the mattress and he can’t help but wind his hips into it with need.

“Joel, fuck… I’m gonna come,” you gasp; your body stiffening, back arching and starting that tight shake as the fire boils and travels through your veins.

“Come for me, darlin’,” Joel husks and he licks you harder, curls quicker and watches as you completely fall into oblivion. “Give it all to me.”

You try to shut your legs, crushing his chin and cheeks into your thigh meat, but he keeps you anchored to him, kisses all around your pussy and licks up your stomach until your mouths meet and you taste the sweet tang of yourself.

You reach down to unclasp his belt with his hands pressed either side of your head, you push his jeans down his thighs as far as they’ll go until you can’t reach anymore.

You take his head in your hands and kiss him deeply, you draw back; your eyes are lost inside of him and you tell him that you love him. Because you really do. You always have.

You never fucking stopped. Not once, in thirty years.

And Joel takes a beat, right as his cock is lined up with your dripping seam and is about to sink his throbbing head in slowly to that warm, wet crevice that welcomes him inside every time with a clench and a gasp rolling off your lips.

He looks down at you, mesmerised by the way you look at him. The way you used to look up at him all those years ago. He smiles softly.

“Marry me.” He says without hesitation, without a slur or stutter.

He watches as your mouth contorts open, the feel of him pushing into you slowly, deliberately for you to feel him. “Want ya to marry me.”

You nod, eyes swelling with tears. “You want to make me your little woman, Joel?” You chuckle with a groan as he breaks through.

“Yeah. I do. I love ya, darlin’.” He smiles earnestly, as he pushes his hips forward gently and sinks inside of you with a heady grunt. “So fuckin’ much. Goddamn.”

“Joel!” You grasp at his shoulders pulling him closer into you as he fills you whole.

“Say it, say you will.” He pants, his forehead rolling over yours. “Be my wife.”

“Yes.” You sigh out, elated. “Yes, yes, yes…” Your heart swells, bigger than your chest can contain. Helium and glitter filling you up as he furrows deeper inside of you, makes you scratch at the back of his neck.

And it’s at that moment right here, and every night and day with you thereafter, that Joel Miller knows that no matter what happens next in this altered and rotten world - whatever it is that comes snapping its sharp jaws towards him relentlessly - he’ll always be able to endure and survive.

With you by his side, as his lover, his friend. His wife. The absolute love of his life who he found again, after all this time. And he fell back in love with you, all over again in just five days.

Because five days was all it took, to lead you back to him.

The End??

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Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

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TAGLIST: If you'd like to be removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged & who re-blogged my teaser.

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#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #five days #five days series #jett's writing

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daisygirlwrites · 1 year

Note

Could you be able to do a headcanon of a video game night with the 141, I keep thinking about that headcanon in the third part of the ghost headcanon

Game Night Headcanons (Task Force 141 + afab!Reader)

note: König and Horangi appear, no use of (Y/N)

a/n: hey hey, this was really fun to write and there might be a second part to this. also this is a little shorter than normal, sorry about that. anyways, thank you all so much for reading!

taglist: @bobfloydsgf , @warenai , @devilsfoodcake22 , @itsscromp , @dilfsaremyfavourite, @imalovernotahater , @cutiecusp , @allen-444

gif credit: @pedrokkstuff

The typical 141 game night, more often than not, leads to a fist fight at some point

As well as name calling, accusations, threats and sometimes, crying. Last part is done by Crash most times

It wasn’t like this before. Game night was more relaxed. There was usually multiple systems and even board games going at once

That is until Soap suggested Mario Kart. He was whining on about how he wanted the group to play together, even for one round

You and the others give into his insistent whining. However, Price used his ‘old man’ card to get out of playing and agreed to watch from the sidelines.

It took a while to convince Ghost to join, Soap literally begging on his hands and knees. But it was you that ultimately got him to play, by taunting him. There is still a rivalry going on between you two though it’s become friendly in recent times.

Your taunting worked, calling him an old man to his face and that he’s probably embarrassed to play because it’s the one thing he’s bad at. The thing that pissed him off most was you told him that he’s a ‘has-been’

He stares at you as you give him a smug grin back. Ghost opens his hand towards Soap, not breaking eye contact with you, he says one word, “Controller.” Johnny lets out a little “whoo!” and places a switch controller onto his hand

Ghost would either main Shy Guy, Dry Bones or Dry Bowser for obvious reasons

Soap plays Bowser or Bowser Jr. He mentions something about having a similar hairstyle as them. (Bonus points if he’s matching with Ghost)

Gaz plays as Toad because the little screams Toad makes is low key funny

Crash usually plays as Isabelle but whenever Ghost joins, she switches to King Boo

First game, Crash wins with Ghost coming close at second place. Lowkey, Crash got real nervous during the last lap since Ghost was in the lead but with the magic called button smashing, she kept blue-shelling him.

Second game, Ghost absolutely demolished everyone, paying close attention to you.

You, being a sore loser, calls him out for cheating and demand a rematch

To everyone’s surprise, he does. And round after round, he beats everyone

Gaz was speechless, Soap looks at the Lieutenant with awe and it took everything in you to not bitch slap Ghost

The little argument becomes a little bit too intense which turns into a yelling match

Crash : “Bitch do you want me to jump across this table because I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY FOR THIS, OKAY?!” Ghost, with a shit eating grin under his mask : “You feeling froggy? Leap.” Crash, rolling up her sleeves : “Okay, well here I come."

Price, who was napping on the lazy chair while they played, woke up to a scuffle. Lifting up his hat, he takes in the scene in front of him:

You were very animated, talking with your hands as you argue with the Lieutenant. Ghost has his hands on his hips, back straightened as he looks down at you.

Soap was in-between you and Ghost, hand on the latter's chest and the other on your shoulder, keeping distance from each other. He looked a little nervous, being literally in the middle of Ghost and essentially, a mini Ghost. "Hey, let's talk this out first, no need for fightin'!"

Gaz had a hand on your other shoulder, trying to pull you away. He would lift you up, and he can, but he doesn't want to get his ass beat by someone who's five foot four

Price, after watching them for a couple minutes, finally steps in.

Had to use the 'dad voice' on everyone

That weeks game night ends there

The next one though, basically the same thing happens. Only difference is that you guys were playing Super Smash Bros.

Ghost would either play Dark Samus, Sheik, Cloud or Snake

Soap plays Bowser, Roy or Ryu

Gaz usually plays as Lucario or Ness, but sometimes switches to Marth

Crash mains Kirby, however she does have a soft spot for all of the cute game mascots (especially Pikachu)

Same thing happens, Ghost beats everyone and you start an argument because "No one his age knows how to play."

"For God's sake, Crash, I'm twenty-nine!" "Pretty fuckin' old to me." "We're six years apart, Tiny."

You low key hated that nickname. It was a reminder to you that everyone else was six foot and taller.

With no hesitation, you jump towards him

Thankfully, this time Price is awake and grabs you just in time

He holds you back as you shout "These hands are rated E for Everyone"

After that, game night was cancelled for a while, for oblivious reasons

That is until the KorTac team joins them. Game night is brought back since it's good for 'team bonding'

It's mostly König and Horangi that hangs out with them, with Hutch occasionally coming by

All of them are really good at Mario Kart and Super Smash Bros.

It was kind of embarrassing for the 141 to get beat against the new guys

Everyone was nice at first but as game nights continue, König lets out a snide comment

"Thought you guys are the best of the best. Guess you're not good at everything."

As much as you liked König, you were not gonna let that slide. Same with Ghost

Both of you form a truce and team up together

As you were on the field, both of you are a deadly combination

Unsurprisingly, you win. But learning from previous mistakes, you behave yourself.

König and Horangi lose gracefully, telling you "GG" and even apologizing for the comment he made earlier

Price gives a sigh of relief, not wanting to break up a fight, especially since one of them is almost seven feet tall

Other games the team plays:

Halo (specifically the first three). Ghost doesn't say but he low key relates to Master Chief. Soap likes it because there's a pretty lady that talks to him

Mario Party. Price has to supervise

Mortal Kombat and Street Fighter. Everyone is surprisingly chill when they play those two. Just something about Super Smash Bros that gets they hyped up

Untitled Goose Game and Goat Simulator. It's mostly you and Gaz playing. Funny games that makes you forget about the world for a few hours

The team also plays card and board games as well but that's for another time

561 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 6 months

Text

Spotless: Measure

Chapter Two

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Word Count: 1866

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, band dynamics past and current, buried feelings, mild drug use, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Divider courtesy of @cafekitsune

Dean pocketed his keys and grabbed his coffee off the roof of the impala. Sam was already halfway to the studio entrance sipping on his green smoothie and all together being the energetic morning person that he annoyingly was. They had been at it until after midnight, but were back before their usual ten o’clock start time. Dean knew it’d be another grueling day, but at least he was just working out the final few songs and not screaming himself hoarse in the box again. Yet.

Dean followed Sam inside Trust No One Studios, a rundown building off the highway that wouldn’t look like much if the owner wasn’t a paranoid security stickler. The parking lot and the entrances were all covered by cameras. They fobbed their way into the main entrance and nodded at the day guard, Ronald, who waved them through the metal detectors. He was a fan, but had kept a lid on it since Sam had snapped on him during their third album.

“Thanks, Ronnie,” Dean muttered, voice still raw.

“Good luck in there,” Ronald replied, but only to Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed off down the hall towards the basement steps. Dean trailed after his brother and bandmate to the largest recording room Frank had to offer. The Leviathan Level held two studios, but they were going deeper, to the bottom level, dubbed Purgatory, and its nearly grade-school-auditorium’s worth of space.

They meet another guard at the bottom of the steps, but just flashed their lanyards at him to continue on toward Ash’s domain.

Ash had been engineering their sound since the beginning. In fact, Dean wasn’t sure he had any other legit sources of income besides whatever residuals he earned off their soon-to-be five albums. But he wasn’t about to ask him either. Ash was a weird dude, wicked smart, but weird.

The control room still smelled vaguely of pot when they entered, but no one cared. Sam walked straight through to the door to the main part of the studio to start his warm ups. Dean dropped into one of the chairs at the dials and finished his coffee. He knuckled one eye as he watched the clock on the wall, wondering who would be the next to arrive. He didn’t want to call Lee and wake his ass up to get back to it, but he would if the rest of the band weren’t ready to play by ten.

As he toyed with the lip of his gas station coffee cup lid, Dean’s phone buzzed with an incoming text to one of the many group chats the band had. The name ‘Trouble’ was Dean’s hint that it was actually work talk.

>>>Don’t forget to take pictures! Or I’ll come down there and get them myself.

Which was a blatant bluff on your part and Dean knew it. Frank and Ronnie both gave you the creeps. Plus, you liked to hear the finished product in its entirety, which he kind of loved about you.

<<<Not it

Dean replied before anyone else and repocketed his phone unwilling to figure out just who would be getting the candids for your next social media blitz. He had too much to worry about as it was. He pulled out his notebook he kept in his back pocket with song ideas. The bridge to ‘Pushing Through’ was giving him problems and he wanted to rework the lyrics a bit.

This had been a hard album, both in getting the band to come together and make it happen and how much he was pouring into each song. Without Cas, Dean’s whole process was off and instead of asking the new kid or, hell, even Sam for help, he decided he needed to write most of it single handedly. Call it penance or a martyr complex, Dean had made his bed and he was going to lie in it.

Late night phone calls and hours on the road

My worst mistake wasn’t fightin’

It was having all this guilt that never showed

When you said I was getting frightenin’

I just pushed through

Late night phone calls and hours on the road

My worst mistake wasn’t fightin’

It was holding back this love I never told

Then I see your eyes filled with lightin’

You pushed me through (strike through)

You pulled me through

Dean didn’t realize Kevin had come in until he heard the keyboard join in on Sam’s scales. He looked back at what he’d adjusted and hummed to himself. This wasn’t a song he’d have written even two years ago. It was a fuckin’ love song for one and it put the spotlight on the last year and a half of his mistakes. He almost didn’t want to ruin it by putting it out there for the world to see. But they needed twelve and it was the closest to finished he had.

For the band and this deadline, Dean could be brave.

Pamela strolled in and slumped against Dean’s shoulders, somewhere between a hug and using him as a pillow. He chuckled and patted her head as he flipped to the next song on his list.

“Where’s your husband?” Dean asked off-handedly, knowing Lee couldn’t be far.

“Ex-husband,” Pamela grumbled.

“Sure.” Dean honestly couldn’t keep track anymore. Pam and Lee had been married to each other at least twice and shared one kid, two houses and three dogs between them.

“He’s dropping Gibson off at his mom’s, nanny needed a day off,” Pamela explained and Dean could feel the glare she was giving him.

“Well, isn’t that nice of you.” Dean gave her a fake smile.

“I know. A thoughtful employer— in this economy?” Pamela snarked and picked up Dean's coffee, frustrated when she found it empty. “Ugh! Okay, well, I’m gonna go stretch— maybe I can talk that brother of yours into some yoga before we get going.”

“You are such a creeper.”

“Sammy’s a big boy, Dean.”

“I don’t want to know.”

Pamela shook her head and slinked off to join Kevin and Sam.

“Take some pictures— cuz I aint!”

Pamela glanced back at Dean and winked while pressing an imaginary shutter button. Dean stood suddenly and chased her into the live room until she squealed and hid behind Sam. Her tiny frame dwarfed behind Sam’s, Dean relented, smiling genuinely for the first time that day.

Dean grabbed his acoustic and strummed, pacing around as he muttered his amended lyrics under his breath. Lee and Bobby made it in just after ten. Luckily, Sam and Pam already had enough of their bending competition, which kept Lee from getting pissy about it. Just as Dean and Lee were going over the chord progressions on ‘Rupture’, Ash strolled into the control room and started hooting into the intercom that it’s time to roll.

“Fucking finally,” Dean grunted and ducked out of his strap. They did things as they came, but bass and drums always were put down first, so he, Lee and Kevin hung back until they were needed.

“Alright, ya idjits. Show me what ya got,” Bobby ordered from his seat beside Ash.

So they did.

Lunch showed up just after two. And, naturally, Dean devoured his sub as quickly as he could, which was when Pamela decided to remember to take pictures for their socials.

Dean rolled his eyes and licked his lips, chewing as the lettuce and mayo collected at the corners. If his hands weren’t full, she would have gotten the bird, but priorities, you know?

“Gross,” Sam replied, laughing.

“Don’t worry, grumpy, I’ll get your good side too,” Pamela teased.

“I’m sure you will,” Sam muttered and cracked open his bottle of water.

Lee balled up his napkin and threw it across the table at Kevin who apparently had been still snapping pictures. “Save it for the session, newbie,” he grunted.

Dean glanced across the room to where Ash and Bobby were talking, both more serious than the last few hours justified. He met Bobby’s eye and held it, knowing he’d find out sooner or later what had the old man extra bristled.

They finished their food and relaxed for another few minutes; they had a good handle on the tracks they were working out. But that still meant hours more until they were tight and Ash had everything he wanted. Even then, Dean made them do more takes, just to be sure. He was a perfectionist, like his father before him, and Phantom Traveler had gotten to where they were with that driving force leading the way.

Sam was the one to rein Dean in. “Look, man, that was it. We had it three rounds ago. I’m beat.”

“Ash?” Dean called back into the control room, not willing to be outvoted without certainty.

“It’s all gravy on my end, Dean-o.”

“Pam?” Dean asked his drummer and part-time mindreader.

“Kevin and Sam can clear out, I think we can hit that intro harder.”

Dean looked at Lee, who sighed, because he knew Pam was right and Dean was just letting her be the bad guy.

“Alright, from the top!” Dean called out and Pamela quickly counted them in.

Sam and Kevin stayed to listen, sipping water and slumped into any free space they could find behind their gear. Sam was stuck, Dean was always his ride. But the kid could duck out whenever he wanted. The fact that Kevin stayed solidified Dean’s faith that he was going to work out. Without Cas, it had been weird. Well, first it was awful, but now that they were here, back making music, what they did best, it was an adjustment.

But Kevin had stepped up and Dean couldn’t deny he was grateful.

No one could fill Cas’ place in the band. But the kid had good hands and on top of that he sang, filling out their harmonies with a higher range. Something Cas never did. So, yeah, it was still weird. But if Dean had learned anything living in California, it was that weird didn’t mean bad.

They tackled the intro until Dean was sick of it. And Lee and Pam both were giving him the stink eye. One final check in with Bobby and Ash and Dean released them for the night.

“Alright, I don’t want to see your faces until Monday at ten,” Bobby explained. “Take the weekend off. Be stupid, but save your voices and your fingers.”

“Awww, he really does care,” Dean snarked, throwing a ball cap over his sweat-damp hair.

Bobby glared. “You’re no good to me sounding like my great aunt Ethel, jackass.”

Kevin laughed and everyone held their breath, impressed and surprised by him openly mocking Dean. But Lee couldn’t hold it in and started laughing too. And by the time Ash and Sam were in on it, Dean was crossing his arms and murdering them all with a look. Pam slinked her arm over his shoulders and patted his back condescendingly.

“I hate you all,” Dean muttered. Eventually he dropped the dramatics before looking over at Sam. “Let’s get outta here already.”

“Yeah, already,” Sam agreed, shaking his head and following Dean back out to the parking lot.

Tagging: @deans-spinster-witch @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @suckitands33 @ladysparkles78 @deans-baby-momma @stoneyggirl2 @sassy-pelican

Chapter Three: Rest

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean/reader #rockstar au #fake dating au #angst with a happy ending #rockstar!dean #dean winchester/reader #spn fanfic #spn au #spotless series

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ghostgorlsworld · 7 months

Text

Moondrunk Monster pt 2 (ghost x reader)

You're a retired combat medic that made a mistake, costing you your cushy office job. As punishment, you're sent to an active war zone, where you meet the 141, a squad of werewolves that slowly accept you as their own. (I know, I know I'm bad at summarizing)

this fic has me writing five thousand words in one (1) day, I am obsessed. you can find pt 1 here

Warnings: um violence. Ghost being a weirdo.

Part 2

After that day, things changed for you.

Gaz was healed within a day, coming to visit you with a Snickers bar as thanks. “I’ve been saving it for an occasion,” he said. “Wolves…well, we can’t really have chocolate without quite a bit of pain so I thought I would give it to you instead. As thanks.”

“All I did was my job, Gaz,” you said, patting his shoulder in a motherly fashion.“There’s no need to thank me.”

Gaz raised a brow. “The other medics would have let me bleed out, doc, I’m here because of you.” You accepted the Snickers and his thanks, thinking that would be the end of it. But 141 seemed to think you were apart of their squad now, clustering around you at the lunch table like so many guard dogs, following you out into the thick of the desert whenever you and the other medics had to pick up supplies from the routine airdrops, holding down flailing patients for you while you sewed up gashes and cauterized missing limbs.

Captain Graves called it pack bonding. It was common with their kind, and partially the reason why the military liked wolves in their ranks.

You appreciated it in your own way. Soldiers respected you a little more now, the fearless medic that gave her own blood to a wolf.

Lunch today was a mess of shepherd's pie and a tin of pineapples–not bad considering the beans and sausage of yesterday. You sat at the nearest empty table, uncapping a bottle of water.

Within a minute Soap was tumbling into the spot in front of you, a plate of raw meat in his hand. Wolves couldn’t survive on human food alone, so the military made special adjustments.

The adjustments were freezing slabs of raw beef and plating it up still half-frozen. Even supersoldiers didn’t get special treatment.

“Hey, lass,” Soap said, nudging your foot with his own. “Mind passing me a bottle?” You nodded, reaching behind you for the cases of water while the rest of 141 took a seat, Ghost uncomfortably close on your left. He was odd like that, not seeming to mind human customs like personal space like the others did.

“You never said where you were from, lass,” Soap said, the beginner of conversation as always. He looked at you, blue eyes twinkling. “Bet I could guess.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a hard one.” “Texas.”

“Not everyone in America lives in Texas, Soap.”

“Florida.”

“Not Florida either.”

“Fine, what is it?” Soap took a bite of flank steak, the noise making you shudder.

Ghost turned to make quiet conversation with Price, his thick thigh pressing into yours.

You smiled. “A small town in Oklahoma.” “Bloody hell, that’s just Texas.” “Those are fightin’ words where I’m from,” you said, pointing your fork at him. “You’re lucky I’m too hungry to care.”

Soap barked a laugh. “Oh please, you look like you’ve never been in a fight in your life, bonnie.”

“You know, I was a combat medic back in the day–a proper one,” you said dryly, taking a bite of pie. “I was in the Berlin Incident of 2013, and there were plenty of body parts and wolves flying around in that one.”

The table stilled, eyes going to you. The Berlin Incident was an infamous bloodbath–you still have nightmares about it.

Price blew a breath, looking thoughtful. “That was…you couldn’t have been more than, what, eighteen?” “Nineteen. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but…” you shrugged. “Orders are orders, right?”

“Why’d you stop doing it then?” Soap asked, a man that has never shied away from uncomfortable questions. “You must’ve been experienced by the time you could order a beer at a bar.”

Ghost was stiff beside you, watching you eat. Humans would look away, but he never does.

They were memories from a different life. The days of crouching under gunfire with a fistfuls of gauze and adrenaline only resurfaced in dreams. “How honest do you want me to be?” You asked wryly. It wasn’t a memory you liked to remember, especially not surrounded by wolves.

“As honest as you want to.” Soap ripped off another bite, the sound eerily reminiscent of teeth crunching on bone.

“I was mauled.” You peel back part of your shirt, showing the heavy scarring on your collar. “It wasn’t his fault, really, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It took a year for me to be back on my feet and by then…I was ready for some peace and quiet.”

It was a year of physical therapy and healing, struggling against the infections that come with a wolf bite.

Soap stared, unabashed, until you tucked the scars away. He was silent for a long moment, tapping his fork against the table. “You saved my life after one of us did that to you?” Gaz said, cocking a brow. “You must be forgiving.” Ghost shifted, his hand coming up to grip the collar of your shirt. He pulled it down slightly, just barely showing the tip of the scarring.

And you let him, because…well, you don’t know why you let him.

He was wearing gloves, as always, but they were warm when he pressed them against the scars, fitting his fingers into the obvious claw marks.

The 141 was silent, watching Ghost with a mixture of surprise and horror. Price looked as if he were about to intervene, his knuckles white around his fork.

You wondered what exactly Ghost’s file looks like, how many cases of human aggression to make his squad this antsy.

“Why didn’t it kill you?” Ghost asked, the first words he had said to you that day.

Christ, they never pull their punches do they? “He stopped,” you said blandly, your breath catching at the feeling of fingers pressing into your skin. “Like I said, it wasn’t on purpose. Once he realized what he did, he carried me to the nearest medic.”

Ironically, the two of you were still friends to this day. He liked to send you a funeral arrangement and a birthday card every year, writing glad you’re still alive, doc under the Happy Birthday.

Donny always had an odd sense of humor.

It helped that he wasn’t wearing his human face when he did it, it helped you separate the man from the wolf whenever you thought about that terrifying thirty seconds of blood and teeth–bones crunching, skin tearing, muscle turned to crimson thread.

Ghost tugged your shirt collar back into place, oddly gentle. “You’re tougher than you look, love,” he said, turning back to his food with an air of finality.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, like a good soldier.

It felt like approval. You hated that you liked it.

There were times when you couldn’t sleep, so you would sit beside the lip of your tent with a lamp and a book as your patients of the night slept peacefully, some aided by morphine.

The 141 tent was empty, its inhabitants deep in the desert on Graves’ whim. You worried about them, in your own way, thinking about what would have happened if they hadn’t gotten Gaz to you in time.

They were still strangers to you, but the base felt too quiet without them, and your skin felt bare without Ghost’s stare upon it.

That was becoming a problem. He watched you constantly since that day in the mess hall, watching you work, eat, speak, uncanny in his faded mask.

If he were a man, you would think he was into you. You’re a medic, you’ve had several star-eyed soldiers follow you around like ducklings after you dug a bullet out of them, but never like this. Never a wolf.

You didn’t know what to think.

When you asked Soap about it, he shrugged and said, “Lass, Ghost is as strange as they come. Someone messed about with his brain a couple years ago, a nasty bit of torture, he hasn’t been right ever since.”

“Should I be concerned?” You asked, feeling sympathy unfurl the knot in your gut. Neurological problems made sense, explaining the staring issue and the lack of social awareness.

Soap shook his head. “He’s not the type to hurt women, doc, human or otherwise. He may seem a little rough around the edges but I’ve known him for a long time–he’s one of my best mates.” That wasn’t saying much. As much as you liked him, Soap didn’t have many rules in the ways of morality, he liked war because he liked killing, he liked being able to chase and hunt with the legal license permitting him to do so.

You talk to Ghost sometimes, when he decides to bring a cup of tea over when the both of you can’t sleep. You didn’t bother to tell him that you don’t like tea, because it seems rude and maybe it would stop him coming to see you completely, so you drained the cup and told yourself you’ve developed a taste for it.

Generally, he listened as you spoke. He was a good listener, paying attention as you talked about home–how it snowed sometimes, during the winter. How hot the summers would get, heat coming off the cornfields in a red haze.

Your family, that you saw three times a year, two weeks each time if you could swing it.

You didn’t know why you told him these things, something about the way he paid attention to you made you feel like you had to fill up the silence, otherwise he might swallow you whole.

Could wolves even be attracted to human women?

You knew that you were strangely attracted to him, to his height, his eyes, the gruff rumble of his voice, the way he commanded fear and respect. But was his…fascination attraction or something else?

You’ve heard of wolves that like to eat their prey. You don’t like to believe rumors or myths but Ghost makes you believe them, a little bit.

You shifted to another side of your hip, adjusting the book in your lap. The night was cool and quiet, the moon above only a few days before being full.

A full moon always meant trouble, with or without wolves.

It didn’t affect them like in the stories of moon-crazed madness. It was more like a calling, an urge to be bare-skinned and free under the moon. Danny used to say it was like being high, all he wanted to do was dance and eat and fuck.

You imagined Ghost, in his massive, graceful body dancing, and smiled to yourself.

You reached into your pocket for a package of powdered donuts, another gift from a grateful patient. She had gotten her leg blasted with an explosive, and you had just barely managed to salvage it, though she had a long road to follow before she would be able to walk again.

Maybe they weren’t healthy, but they were sweet and soft and reminded you of the days that you would sit in a boat with your grandfather, chicken liver hooked to your fishing pole as you waited for the catfish to bite. You were so young then, powdered sugar on your fingers as you begged your grandfather to let you try a sip of his coffee.

You were on your third one when 141 came home, slipping from the guarded gates to return to their tent for showers and a meal. You waved, smiling at Price when he nodded to you.

Soap broke off from the pack to ruffle your hair with his dirty hands, accepting a donut when you offered one. “You always have the best snacks, bonnie,” he said, winking as he slunk away to shower.

Ghost followed soon enough, approaching warily like a feral cat. You smiled at him too, offering him the last donut of the pack. “You’re back, sir.”

He nodded, taking the donut and staring at it as if he was unsure what to do with it.

“I’ll look away,” you said, turning your face to the courtyard. You figured the mask had something to do with the torture Soap mentioned, either scarring or trauma–though most of the time they were one and the same.

You heard him sigh, then a rustle of fabric as he pulled up the mask and took a bite. You hide a smile. “It’s good, yeah? Processed American bullshit, sir.”

Ghost hummed, then came the unmistakable sound of licking the sugar off his fingers. There had also been blood on his fingertips, from the night’s previous activities.

You don’t want to think about why that makes your belly clench.

“Couldn’t sleep, love?” He asked, mask safely back over his mouth. He tilted his head, unintentionally predatory.

You shook your head, your hand coming up to rub at your shoulder. It aches on cold nights, bleeding memories of teeth scraping against bones. “No, it’s just…old wounds, I guess.”

Ghost shoved his hand into his pocket, drawing something out carefully. It was a notebook, clean of gore and muck, a small blue pen stuck into the spiral binding.

He offered it to you and you took it, because somehow you could never refuse him.

“Saw you scribbling on napkins,” Ghost said, jerking his head to the mess on your desk. “Thought this would do a better job.” Unexpectedly, you’re delighted. You had been looking for a notepad, having not had enough time to pack yours back at your previous base. You liked to sketch, to draw the people and places around you–it made things seem realer, less like a dream.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, smiling and flipping it open. The pages are bare. “I’ve been looking for one.”

“You’re welcome, love.” “That reminds me, sir, I’ve got a joke for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“What do you call an Australian visiting England on vacation?” You can almost imagine him cocking a brow, his silence expectant.

“Returning to the scene of the crime,” You laughed at your own joke, unable to help yourself. Soap had helped you come up with that one.

Ghost’s eyes are creased behind the pale, cracked skull of his mask. You think he might be smiling. “Christ, pet, that was awful.” You tucked the notebook to your chest. “Had to repay you in some way, sir. Feel free to use it in the future.” “Negative, love.” Ghost turned to disappear into his tent, unstrapping the heavy duty vest over his chest. You laughed again, picking yourself off the ground with a little less weight on your chest.

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disasterofastory · 8 months

Text

The pretty little actress of Rogers + Script (Steve Rogers x Reader)

The pretty little actress of Rogers + Script // Extra chapter for The pretty little actress of Rogers Steve Rogers x Reader Mafia AU Warnings: smut

Summary: Steve helps you with your lines.

A/N: The script part is from here. And this is the third chapter I post today because my kinktober will be busy with another fandom. Enjoy!

"What are you doing?" Steve asks you from behind. Soon, his chest is pressed against your back, and his warm breath fans over the curve of your neck as he leans closer to see the papers in your hands. You let yourself fall back against his body, and he keeps you steady on the chair with his arms around your middle. "I try to learn my lines," you reply, eyes still on the black ink. "And how is it going?" he hums questioningly. You shrug. "I hoped it would go better." "I could help," he suggests after a few seconds. Surprise shows on your face as you lean away from him to look back over your shoulder. "You would?" You ask. "Of course," Steve smiles. "I can try."

"Are you ready?" You ask Steve when you are in the living room, your papers now in his hands. Both of your stand in front of each other in the middle of the room. "Yes," he nods, running over the lines one more time before his eyes find yours.

"God knows what he'll say, Jim," You sigh. Your voice is different. There is a slight despair and sadness in your tone. Steve grunts his answer. "Let 'im. He's come too late, that's all." "He couldn't come before." You shake your head. "I'm frightened. He was fond of me." "And aren't I fond of you?" His arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his body. It's not in the script, but you don't say a word. "I ought to 'a waited, Jim; with 'im in the fightin'." You continue. Your hand rests on his chest. You can feel the beating of his heart under your palm. Steve's voice gets passionate with a hint of anger. His arm around you tightens. "And what about me? Aren't I been in the fightin'—earned all I could get?" Your hand moves up to his face as you gasp. "Did you—?" You shake your head. "Not like you, Jim—not like you." Steve grunts again. "Have a spirit, then." "I promised him." "One man's luck, another's poison." "I ought to 'a waited. I never thought he'd come back from the fightin'." "Maybe 'e'd better not 'ave." He replies grimly. You find it hard to do your part of the scene. Steve's arm around you is firm, and his face is hard and fits into the role perfectly. "Daisy, don't you never go back on me, or I should kill you, and 'im too." Her threat makes you gasp again as you start to tremble. Cupping his face, you kiss him. It's short and soft, but enough to light the fire in your lower belly. "I never could," you breathe out. "Will you run for it? 'E'd never find us!" You shake your head. "What's the good o' stayin'? The world's wide." His blue eyes go back and forth between you and the paper he holds in his other hand. The lines roll off his tongue easily with the right tone at the right time. "Jim, do you love me true?" He pulls you even closer after your question. Your whole body is pressed against his. Your nipples harden at the feeling of his hard chest. "I ain't ashamed—I ain't ashamed. If 'e could see me 'eart." "Daisy! If I'd known you out there, I never could 'a stuck it. They'd 'a got me for a deserter. That's how I love you!" "Jim, don't lift your hand to 'im! Promise!" You are loud and desperate as you beg. "That's according." "Promise!" You beg. You have to force yourself not to smile the whole time you play your roles. Steve is really talented, even though you can feel the hardness in his pants pressing against your hipbone. It's not really professional, but you don't complain. "No fear! Shan't 'ave no need for it like as not. All right, little Daisy; you can't be expected to see things like what we do. What's life, anyway? I've seen a thousand lives taken in five minutes. I've seen dead men on the wires like flies on a flypaper. I've been as good as dead meself a hundred times. I've killed a dozen men. It's nothin'. He's safe, if 'e don't get my blood up. If he does, nobody's safe; not 'im, nor anybody else; not even you. I'm speakin' sober." Your voice softens again. Your hand slips down around his neck. "Jim, you won't go fightin' in the sun, with the birds all callin'?" He grunts. "That depends on 'im."

And with his last line, he drops the papers to cage you against him entirely. He kisses you vehemently and roughly. He bites into your lower lip, demanding entrance to lick into your mouth when you moan at the light sting. "It's not in the script," you state against him as you gasp for air. Your lips are already swollen and burning. "I think it should," he pants, leaning back to you again. "Oh," you grin teasingly between his kisses. "You think someone else should kiss me like this?" Both of you know it's a joke. Whatever happens on the stage stays on the stage, but Steve still growls with disapproval. "Hell no," he replies. His large hands slip down to your ass, groping the soft flesh before hauling you up to curl your legs around his thin waist. "You should only kiss me," he rasps. "These lips," he continues, biting your lower lip again to pull on it, "are mine." "Yours," you hum. "And these tits are mine to play with." He let you fall on the kitchen counter. Legs spread open. His thumb ghosts over your nipple through your shirt. You nod and mewl the whole time. Steve makes you dizzy and desperate for more. "And this pussy..." His expression is firm and determined. You have to hold onto the counter as he frees you from your jeans and panties. The fabrics fall to the ground carelessly. His dark gaze is already between your legs. Your wetness is smeared on your inner thighs and glints under the lights. "This sweet, tight cunt is mine to taste and fuck." "Yes," you moan. His hands slide from your knees to your hip to pull you to the edge. The marble is cold under your bare bottom. "Tell me, Sugar," Steve orders. "Tell me whose pussy this is." "It's yours, Steve," you reply immediately. You would say and do everything he wants. "And don't forget it."

Steve falls on his knees in front of you, putting your legs over his broad shoulders with ease. The new position gives him a great view of your slick center. Your clit throbs and aches with need and impatience. "Please, Steve," you cry. Your hips push up on their own accord. "I need you." He doesn't answer. His long fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you in place, and without any warning, he dives into your pussy. He feasts on your wetness while his home is filled with his grunts and your moans. Every lick and swirl of his tongue makes the coal in your stomach burn more. Your thighs around his head tighten, but Steve doesn't complain. If he has to go like this, he will go as a happy man. His plump lips seal around your clit, sucking it as if his life depends on it. The sudden, almost painful feeling sucks every air from your lungs and every coherent thought from your mind. You moan and wail under his attack. "Steve," you cry out his name. Your arms shake as you try to keep yourself sitting. "SteveSteveSteve." He growls in approval, licking a long stripe on your burning pussy. "Cum for me, Sugar," he says. "Make a mess on my face." And you do. The moment his attention is back on your clit, you cum. Your eyes close shut, your lips fall open, and your throat is hoarse from screaming and chanting his name without pause.

Your hands find Steve's shoulders when he stands up between your legs. His face is wet with your juices. His eyes are still dark and ready for another round. "What," you pant. "What happened to you?" The words are slurry and barely louder than a whisper. Your whole body trembles and twitches from the remains of pleasure striking through you.

Steve smirks at your airy question. The confession of him getting a hard-on every time he sees you play is for another time.

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