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kookslastbutton · 9 months

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Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) l ch. VI

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6,192

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), kook gets pissed, jk mother is asdhjf!, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, manipulative parent, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc, mild sexting, sexual content

Sexual warnings: bl*wj*b, jk c*mes on her t*tt*es, d*rty talk

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: um so this got over 6k which i know isn't amazing but for me its big deal okay?! haha! Anyway Part VI here we go! No flashbacks in this chapter because of ch.V buuut, I have a little gift for you and me. Hope you enjoy!! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind 😙

<< ch. V ༓ ch. VII >> | series masterlist

Living in the country for over thirty years, the Jeons were known to be excruciatingly slow and cautious drivers. The town was tiny, roads were narrow, and no one was ever in a rush to get anywhere apart from maybe the farmers market.

Once when Jungkook first got his license he took one hand off the steering wheel and his mother almost had a heart attack, saying it was “reckless of him to put them in danger”. It was from that moment forward that Jungkook always made sure to drive at 10 and 2 or 9 and 3 when his mother was in the car. His father on the other hand didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t go above 30 mph.

Jungkook was counting his lucky stars when he finally got his own car and the chance to move to the city where he could drive how he damn well pleased–responsibly of course. He had recently finished his Master’s studies and was offered a job as an economist in a major medical corporation. The only catch was that he’d have to relocate to Seoul which ended up being more than fine with him.

His parents moaned and groaned that he wasn’t sticking around but his mind was made up. He moved out of his parent’s tiny town one late June and headed to the city where life moved to a whole new beat.

Ten years later, Jungkook finds himself gripping the steering wheel with two sweaty hands again. Kudos to his parents who have been telling him which way to turn and how fast or slow to go for the past fifteen minutes. He honestly should have picked a brunch spot closer to home to avoid all the madness. Walking would have done them good.

“I’ll never get used to how you drive down here,” Mrs. Jeon grumbles from the back seat. “All these sharp turns and six lanes of traffic going 50-plus miles an hour. It’s a wonder you haven’t all gotten in an accident yet. It’s like I always say, the slower the better. You city folks just don’t get it.”

Jungkook peers in his rearview mirror before signaling to switch lanes. “We can’t afford to go too slow out here Mom. This is a highway and dropping down in speed will cause a safety hazard just as bad, if not worse. Environments are different out here than in the woods.”

As Jungkook merges to the right, Mr. Jeon watches the surrounding cars from the back seat window. “Ah son, son, son!” He hollers and reaches for the ceiling handle.

“What? What happened?” Jungkook asks with panic. He flickers his eyes to the mirror again to spot his father's distress.

Mr. Jeon slowly releases the handle and lets out a lengthy sigh. “It's okay now, we’re good. You did good son. You moved over with so little space I thought you were going to hit the car now behind us."

"I told you it's a mad house out here!" Mrs. Jeon adds, tone thick. Jungkook puts his eyes back on the road in front of him and does his best to ignore the irritation bubbling within him.

"I know what I'm doing," he says. "I've lived here for ten years so can you guys please trust me? And stop with the driving advice and yelling every time I do something."

"We're just trying to help Kookie."

"Well, you're not alright?" The snap in his voice has Jungkook's parents sulking back in their seats in silence. "I want us to get to the restaurant safely and I can't do that when you're both shouting at me! So please just let me do the driving. Thank you."

God, if one more person calls him Kookie in that condescending tone he's going to lose it! Kookie was his childhood nickname but for some reason, it stuck to him like glue until he was friggin' 22 years old. He absolutely hates it and the only person remotely allowed to call him by it is his wife because she makes anything sound like honey to his ears.

The next five minutes are nothing but awkward silence and the sound of tires running on hard cement. Jungkook checks his phone—there's still a good ten minutes left according to the GPS. He moves to turn the radio on to break the eeriness of the drive when an incoming call pops on his car screen.

"Who's that? Who's calling?" Mr. Jeon pipes up.

"It's __." Jungkook hits the answer button. "Hey honey! You're on speaker." He smiles a big, wide grin that says nothing less than he misses you.

"Hi! I'm on my lunch break and thought I'd give you guys a call. I'm stopping at the grocery store tonight, after work. Anything you need?"

“Some booze would be nice!” Mr. Jeon echos and looks at his wife who merely shakes her head. He hasn’t had a drink in twenty years due to his high blood pressure, yet he’s still making the same damn jokes. “Got any Soju? Or maybe Bokbunja?” He chuckles at Mrs. Jeon’s sour face.

Jungkook pays his dad no mind and replies to you. “Uhm….we're low on milk again. I drank the last one yesterday.”

"You went through all those gallon jugs in a week?!" You'd think you'd be used to the amount of dairy your husband packs away but every time, it shocks you as much as the first. You married a milk-lovin’ machine.

Jungkook chuckles. "I'm sorry. I can get them for you if you want. We're on our way to get brunch, then hitting the bookstore for Dad, and after we'll swoop back home. I can pick it up along the way.”

“No need, I’m already going out later so I’ll get it. Anything else?”

“There’s nothing else I can think of. How’s work going?” He’s hoping it’s not hectic given the fact that last week was an absolute sandstorm. He distinctively remembers you coming home with nothing more than tired feet and dark circles under your eyes. He drew you a bath that night.

“Eh, so-so. I have a meeting with my boss later but besides that, it’s the usual. I wish I could have come to brunch with you guys. I feel bad I’m missing it.” Well, you do and you don’t. If Jungkook was planning on talking to his mom about the happenings of last night you wanted to be around for support but it was also a matter that should be between a mother and her son.

“Us too, but we’ll see you ton–shit!” Jungkook slams on the break when he sees he’s about to crash into a black SUV. Everyone’s seatbelts lock at the sudden jerk. “Sorry, sorry!” He checks the mirror to find his parents clinging to their seatbelts.

“Are you guys okay?! Jungkook?!”

He scans all around him to find rows and rows of cars all trying to merge into each other’s lanes. Some are coming from the exit nearby whereas others are trying to squeeze through people in hopes to get ahead.

Dammit, Jungook cruses to himself.

“Yeah, we’re good honey. Everything’s okay but we’ve hit a traffic jam. I’m not sure why since it’s literally 11:40 a.m on a Wednesday but looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a bit.”

“We’d never have this problem at home.” Jungkook hears his mother mumbling under her breath to which his father replies with a nodding of his head. “If it weren’t for all this nonsense we’d be there by now.”

“Absolutely. We’d be there fifteen minutes ago,” his father adds with his hands in the air. “Isn’t there some kind of way you can get around this son, like a shortcut?”

Ah yes, shortcuts on the highway. Why didn’t he think of that? Let him just push the button that says flight mode and–no! Having enough, Jungkook holds his foot on the break and twists his body around to face his parents.

“Alright listen to me right now. This is not Tiny Town where there are a million dirt roads that pop from anywhere and all seem to lead to one other. Everyone drives at least seventy out here and that’s just the way it is because this..." He gestures outside the windshield. "This is what happens! We all get stuck in this congested funnel! But if you two can think of a way to get out of here that doesn’t involve attempting to bulldoze other cars, I’m all ears. Until then we’re going to sit here and talk about the weather because there's nothing else we can do!"

Jungkook looks back and forth between his parents. Mrs. Jeon simply stares outside her window while his dad gives a slow nod in understanding.

"Is it really that bad?"

Jungkook relaxes his body back to face the front when he hears your voice. "Yeah, it's pretty bad __." He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a very long day.

"Nice out today. Mind if I roll down the window?" The traffic hasn't got any better and it was starting to get stuffy in the car. Mr. Jeon desperately needed some fresh air in his face.

"Mhm yeah, go ahead."

"How about some music? Find out what's on the radio will you." He sticks his arm out the window, letting the gentle breeze hit his skin. When the first song blares through the speakers, Jungkook's mother breaks her deafening silence.

"Dear god! What music is this?"

Mr. Jeon immediately perks up. "It's PSY! Turn it up! Turn it up, boy!" Jungkook appeases his father's wishes and turns the knob a few more notches. "Oppa Gangnam Style! Eae eae eae e, sexy lady!"

Hearing his dad singing at the top of his lungs has Jungkook rubbing the side of his head. It's not that he sounded bad but he was singing so loud that everyone around them started pointing, laughing, or rolling up their own windows. "Dad, people are going to get annoyed. Take it down a little."

Deeply immersed in the song, Mr. Jeon continues singing regardless of his son's request. "Op, op, op, op, oppa Gangnam Style!" He starts rocking in his seat which causes a few middle schoolers in the car next to them to pop out their phones.

"Dad!" Jungkook hollers when he notices the kids taking pictures. If doesn't put an end to this now, his father's face is going to be trending all over the internet with god knows what filter.

"Op, op, op, op, on on on on!"

"Dad stop!" He tries again, this time turning the music down. Mrs. Jeon attempts to calm her husband down too, placing a hand on one of his arms but it doesn't take much for it to be ripped out of her grasp. Mr. Jeon ends up nearly whacking his wife in the face due to all his energetic dancing.

"Erotic sexy lady! Oppa Gangnam Sty–hey! Song wasn't done yet!" Jungkook's dad never looked so offended in his life. If he had adjusted his gaze just a few inches to the left he'd see the group of kids, the ones taking photos earlier, giggling to one another. But he was too pissed at his son for crashing his party that it went to the wayside.

"Honey, you were causing a disturbance," Mrs. Jeon says.

"A disturbance? In this traffic jam, I'm the disturbance?" He refuses to believe he's the annoyance when they've been in the middle of a highway, moving at 5 mph for the last hour. PSY has recently become his favorite singer and not enjoying himself would have been an absolute tragedy in his opinion. "It's all of you who should be thanking me for offering some shred of entertainment at times like these."

"The entire population of South Korea is going to be thanking you then." Jungkook creeps forward as soon as the car in front of him moves up a ways. Finally moving again, he hums.

"Hey!" An abrupt voice calls from a slight distance. Two teenage boys pull up in a Jaguar, greasy grins on their faces. "Great singing Grandpa! Really know how to move!" The one in the passenger seat flashes his phone playing a video of Jungkook's dad online.

"Wha–how–What?! You delete that right now!" Mr. Jeon is stunned, tripping over his words at the shock of himself actually being the center of the internet. The video is unexpectedly clear.

"Just ignore them, Dad." Jungkook rolls up all the windows in the car and inches up the best he can to get the teenagers out of direct sight.

"But-but how did they do that so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!"

"It only takes seconds, honey," Mrs. Jeon sighs, realizing her husband has become famous over a re-rendition of a PSY song. Of all things, it had to be that.

"I'm starving."

"Me too."

Jungkook glances at the time–2:40p.m. It's now been three hours of sitting in traffic and they've only moved about ten miles. What on earth is congesting the highway this much?

"Maybe we should take one of these exits." His dad scrolls through the map on his phone. "Says there are a few restaurants down exit 6A."

Jungkook considers the idea. He wants to get off the highway, yes, but so does everyone else. The exit his dad is talking about is off the far right lane which means he's going to need to shove in front of everyone's way.

"You sure it's a good place? Wherever it is you're looking?" The reason why he asks is that his dad is notorious for leading them into the most ruin down places. The last time he was in charge of directions, they ended up in front of an abandoned pizza shop.

Mrs. Jeon takes the phone from her husband's hand and swipes through the photos of a quaint restaurant. "It's not bad," she concludes. "And if it means we can get out of this mess, then I'm with your father on this one."

Two against one. Jungkook turns his signal on and waits for someone to let him over. He earns a few honks when he manages to squeeze his nose over but does his best to give an apologetic wave.

After a few more lane changes he gets in the exit lane. He isn't the only one planning to take exit 6B though, being that there are at least twenty other cars waiting in line.

"Maybe we were better off back where we were. All these people want to get off the same place. If we keep going there's bound to be another exit with far less traffic."

Really? Jungkook feels himself ticking again. After all that shoving to get over here and this is what he gets? No, he's not moving back over. They're going to wait in this stupid lane until it gets them to where they originally agreed.

"We just got here and we're not moving back anywhere. This lane should clear up in less time than it would take to go back on the main highway," Jungkook says. "Also, I probably don't need to clarify this but, we're not going to make it to that bookstore you wanted, Dad."

"It's fine, son. We'll go another day."

Which means tomorrow, Jungkook half grumbles to himself. His parents are here for another day after all and he knows his father well enough to know that "another day" really means the closest day possible.

Despite its size, the restaurant his parents choose is charming with its floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and giant, bay windows. The odd hanging plant is spread throughout the open dining space as well, perfectly setting the mood of serenity.

The restaurant only seems to hold about a dozen people inside, however. So thinking it is best to avoid sitting in an overly crowded space, Jungkook asks for one of the tables outside.

“Oh now this is lovely,” his mother praises, pulling her chair up to the table. Jungkook can’t describe how relieved he is to finally hear something positive after hours of nonstop grumbling.

Mr. Jeon takes a seat next to his wife and across from his son. “I just saw someone get Samgyeopsal and it was huge! Let’s get that to share.”

His enthusiasm is short-lived when the scrunched-up face from his wife says she's not a fan. “That's too much food! We still have to be hungry for dinner so we can eat with __."

"Mom's right," Jungkook agrees reluctantly. "__'s stopping at the grocery store after work so we can prep for dinner tonight. I know traffic slowed us down so we're eating at a weird time but it's better we go with something light."

"Oh well, we can always take some to go! Surely __ will enjoy some beautifully grilled pork!" Jungkook's father is adamant. He wants nothing more than a heavy meal after being stuck in the car all morning.

"__ doesn't like pork Dad. And we all know as soon as we get a whiff of it cooking there's not going to be any leftovers."

"Alright, alright," his dad concedes. "I guess I'll try their bibimbap. What are you having hon?"

Jungkook checks his phone messages while his parents make small talk over the menu. You texted him earlier to see how traffic was holding up and he only able to get back to you minutes ago.

Wifey ❤️ : So I'm guessing you haven't talked to your mom yet?

Jungkook: No, haven't brought it up. She seems fine though with the way she's been acting. It doesn't take much for her to go back to her usual self

Wifey ❤️: Her usual self being...?

Jungkook: You know, really particular.

Wifey ❤️: So she's complaining again. I'm sorry 😞

Jungkook: When I was talking with her on the phone before we left, she was much more careful about what she was saying. I expected it to still be that way now. Must have been a mood.

Wifey ❤️: Sounds like she wasn't sure how you'd be reacting after what happened last night. Maybe she's just reverting to back what she's used to because she's unsure what else to do or say. I'd still try finding a way to talk to her. Does it seem tense?

Jungkook: Yeah, you have a point. But Mom's also had a good way of sweeping things under the rug. It's not tense but it's just uncomfortably normal?

Wifey ❤️: Hmm, strange. And your dad's fine?

Jungkook: Honey...have you been on any social media in the last half hour?

Wifey ❤️: No, why?

Jungkook: Might wanna check. We had a little incident while in traffic. I'm still in shock honestly 😅

Jungkook waits for you to find the video of his dad. He already had the guys blowing up his phone from it so he's surprised none of them at least forwarded it to you.

Wifey ❤️: oh my god! Jungkook what happened?! 😂 I hope you're prepared for your students to be all over this

Jungkook: oh shit, that didn't even cross my mind 😩 also it's not funny honey! Listening to my dad singing eae e sexy lady was traumatizing enough. Now I have to see and hear it every time I pop open my phone or some teen punks show it to me!

Wifey ❤️: Aw Kookie, they're just being kids...try not to overthink. And you know those videos come and go. Your dad will be at the bottom of the chain by next week. Until then keep him away from PSY 😅 But I'm sorry you're having a day, I love you 🥺

Jungkook: I MISS YOU SO MUCH 😭

Wifey ❤️: [sent an image]

Fuck! Jungkook chokes on his spit when he sees a blurry close up of your cleavage. Thankfully his parents are still too occupied by the menu that they didn't notice.

Jungkook: sexy af but this isn't the time to be sexting me baby!

He nearly saves the photo if it weren't for the fact that he already had an album dedicated to very sensual *ahem erotic* photos of you. You had let him take them himself —best motherfuckin' birthday ever.

Wifey ❤️: oh adhjjhj, sorry!! That was an accident. I'm such a klutz. This is what I meant... [sent an image]

"What's going on over there?" Jungkook merely glimpses at the new image before whipping his head up, hearing his mother's, sharp tone.

"It's just __. She's asking about groceries again."

With slightly narrowed eyes, Mrs. Jeon continues. "We're about to order if you're ready."

Dammit. He'll have to reply to you later. Jungkook swiftly pockets the phone. "Okay yeah I'm good to go."

"This is delicious," Mr. Jeon says, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Best bibimbap I've had in a long time."

"That's great Dad." Jungkook stirs his noodles.

"Ah, where's the restroom around here?" He asks the waitress as she walks by. She tells him it's in the restaurant, all the way to the back. Mr. Jeon pushes his chair from the table and excuses himself. "All that broth has me needing to go."

"Yes yes, just go." Why his father needed to explain himself every time he needed to use the restroom is beyond him. Jungkook peers at his mother, taking her time eating her own bowl of noodles–they ended up ordering the same thing. "How is it?" he asks.

"It's good."

"Not too spicy?"

"No, it's mild."

Jungkook gathers more noodles on his chopstick. He freezes halfway when he sees his mother eyeing him intensely. "Everything okay?"

Mrs. Jeon folds her hands in her lap. "It's occurred to me that we still have an elephant in the room. I was hoping we'd be able to talk about it while your father browsed the bookstore. But plans changed."

And here he thought his mother had been playing down last night when really she was biding her time. "You know Dad's gonna be back in like ten minutes right?"

Mrs. Jeon nods. "I know it's not the most convenient of times or places, but I'm afraid if we delay it won't get discussed."

"Okay." Jungkook sets his chopsticks down. "Well...where do you want to start?"

"An apology would be nice." Her voice is mellow but the words are a clear demand rather than an offer. Of course, he wants to apologize to her for all the things he accused her of last night. But he wasn't expecting her to be this forward with it, especially since she was guilty of plenty herself. "I'm waiting Kookie," she coos, taking a sip of water.

Jungkook knits his eyebrows in response, unsure of what he's hearing. His mother looks far too relaxed about this whole thing. He decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You're right," he starts. "I'm sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn't have spoken that way and I'm sorry for making you leave. I think you and Dad showing up all a sudden threw me off and I reacted poorly."

Mrs. Jeon cracks a tight smile and reaches for her son's hand. "Thank you, Jungkook. I accept your apology." She gives his hand a squeeze before moving to pick up her chopsticks. "Now that we got that settled let's talk about the reunion. I'm thinking about talking to–"

What....the fuck? His mom did not just glide over this whole issue. She did not just put everything on him. And she did not just bring up that damn reunion again, which he's made very clear he wants nothing a part of. "Is that all you wanted? For me to make my amends with you?"

"What else would there be Kookie?" She scoffs, eyes wide.

"Goddamn it." He struggles to maintain a hushed voice. "Can you please stop calling me that? And what the hell do you mean 'what else would there be'? I'm not trying to put the blame on you but there's a good amount you should be saying to me too."

"What things are you referring to? Don't tell me this is about the reunion again. Look, whatever it is that I said was because I just want to see you more. And no more swearing. You know I don't like that kind of language."

"How can you be like this?" Jungkook can't stop himself. He figured his mom and he would have a better, heart-to-heart than this. It makes his skin crawl that his mother continues to play the victim. "It's genuinely shocking me how....do you even love me?"

Mrs. Jeon pauses at that. "Of course, I love you Jungkook. Why–why would you ask that?" She blinks back the slightest hint of tears forming along the edge of her eyes. Never in a million years did she think her son would doubt something this crucial.

"I feel like–"

"Feel what? What is it?"

"I feel like you care more about what I can do for you than you do me, as your son." Jungkook sniffs. This is a lot harder for him to say than he imagined. "There's been so many times that you've–"

"Don't say this honey! I care about you very much!" She reaches for his hand again but he yanks it away. "What are you trying to tell me?" His mother waits for him to form the rest of the sentence.

Jungkook hesitates to look at her straight on because behind what appears to be concerned eyes is disbelief. She isn't taking any of this seriously. It's written all over her face, tone, and all the way down to the way she's focusing on an answer rather than his inability to comfortably talk to her.

"What have I done so many times?"

"Honestly at this point, what haven't you done?" With an icy glare, Jungkook can't hold himself back anymore. The pot that's been brewing, deep in the darkest parts of him is finally overflowing and it's not going to be pretty to behold. "Do you realize how many times you chose your job, your status, and even your friends over me? And you make Dad go along with literally anything! Is it so horrible for someone to say no to you?!"

The couple next to them shoot uncomfortable looks his way, whispering to each other. Jungkook ignores it and starts counting with his fingers.

"Never once have you ever taken responsibility for showing up uninvited, nagging me about this that, and the other thing, making backhanded comments about my life choice, and most of all pretending our relationship is peachy fine. Well, I'm sorry mom, I'm thirty-four years old and I don't need to live by your rules! Our relationship is barely hanging by a thread and being quite real, it's __ and Dad who are the ones clinging to that thread, making sure it doesn't completely snap."

Mrs. Jeon opens her mouth to interject but Jungkook doesn't allow it to happen. It's not exactly intentional that he's pouring out so much in the middle of people's lunch. Still, he's been shoved over a steep cliff, head first.

"I'm sorry mom, I don't know how many times I need to say it. I don't enjoy any bit of this. It's just been a long stretch of–"

"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more." Mrs. Jeon immediately grabs her purse and twists her neck every which way. "Where's your father? I want to leave."

"Mom I'm trying to talk to you! Why won't you let me talk?"

His mother doesn't reply. She doesn't look at him. It's the silent treatment, Jungkook concludes–it's fucking irritating. "I'm not trying to be hurtful," he says, forcing himself to calm down. "Mom look at me."

She doesn't move.

It only takes seconds for their waitress to near her way up to the table with anxious steps. "I'm sorry to be doing this but unfortunately, we've received a few complaints of a disturbance out here." The young girl clasps her hands. "To ensure all our guests are comfortable we're going to need to ask you to take your conversation elsewhere. I'm really sorry."

Fuck. How embarrassing. Jungkook clears his throat and stands up from his seat. "We understand and are genuinely sorry for the commotion. We'll pay at the front and be on our way. Thank you for waiting our table."

The young girl gives a nervous smile and retreats inside the restaurant. Jungkook makes a note to give her a generous tip.

"Hey, what's going on out here?" Mr. Jeon rushes over, hair blowing over due to the breeze. "I heard there was some inconsiderate party out here airing out their dirty laundry for all to see. I tell you, people these days don't know what privacy means anymore!" He shakes his head and takes a seat.

"Get up Dad we're leaving."

"But I'm not done my–––oh shit." Mr. Jeon clenches his teeth. "You two?"

Mrs. Jeon gets up from her chair, still wordless, and walks towards the parking lot. "I'll get this Dad." Jungkook stops his father from pulling out his wallet. "It is best if you go try to ease Mom. I don't think she'll be talking to me for a while."

Mr. Jeon puts a hand on his son's shoulder. It's his way of offering comfort. "You're mother has made things difficult for you, Jungkook. I'll try getting through to her. In the meantime don't let this eat you up. It's been a long time coming."

Jungkook doesn't get home until quarter past six. The drive home was better than the drive to the restaurant, but hitting the notorious five o'clock traffic slowed them down once more. He also had to drop his parents at their hotel which was no easy task. His mother barely gave him a glance before hopping out of the car. The amount of guilt settling in his gut isn't going away any time soon.

"Hey." Jungkook finds you searching through the kitchen cupboard. "I hope you're okay with spice tonight! I got this really awesome–oh baby what's wrong?" You stop what you're doing when you see your husband come up behind you with sunken eyes. He wraps his larger arms around you, desperately needing your scent.

"I blew it," he croaks. "She's so mad at me."

"I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm sorry I couldn't be there." You turn in his arms to pull him into a full embrace. His nose tickles the side of your neck but you don't laugh. "You wanna tell me?"

Jungkook takes your hand and sits you both on the couch in the living room. "The morning started out rough with three hours of traffic and the two of them in the back seat, telling me where and how I should drive. Then my dad got unexpectedly famous off a PSY song. We finally got to some restaurant about half an hour west of here before 3pm. Everything was going okay until dad went to the bathroom."

"Okay," you say, scooting closer beside him. You rub small circles on his upper back as he leans forward on his spread-apart knees. "What happened?"

"Mom suggested we talk about last night so I said sure." You watch as Jungkook fiddles with his hands. "But she didn't actually care about a conversation or what I had to say. All she wanted, all she expected, was for me to apologize to her so we'd be okay again. It all came out after that and I feel so horrible about it. We ended up getting kicked out of the restaurant too."

"Jungkook..."

"I tried __. I wanted to be patient and to be a good son but she can't even look at me right now." He falls back on the couch, staring at the blank wall in front. "Dad's convinced it was bound to happen."

"You are a good son, Jungkook." You comb a few strands of his soft, ebony hair. He closes his eyes as you do. "You're mom's the one who needs to readjust her view."

"I never thought I'd yell at my mom about all that stuff. And certainly not in public where everyone is trying to have a pleasant lunch. I'm a grown-ass adult and I should have had better control of myself."

You settle into his inner shoulder, laying a hand on his chest. "Even grown adults have limits and your mom's far surpassed those limits. Don't blame yourself for this."

"Dad said the same thing."

"Well, that's two against one."

Jungkook smiles. Two against one, that's where he got that from. Not that you're the first person to use the phrase but he never used it as regularly until you moved in together.

"I missed you so much today. I don't deserve you."

You cock your head up as quick as the words fly from his mouth. "Don't you dare say things like that! You're a good man despite how awful your mother treats you." You lean your face near his, eyes wandering deep into his dark brown ones. "If you're not otherwise too tired, I'm going to show you how much I love you."

Jungkook opens his lids at that–apparently not too tired. You smirk and get off the couch.

"Here?" His classic doe-eyes peer down at your kneeled position. Seeing you settle this perfectly between his muscular thighs triggers an intense blood rush that goes straight to his dick. Jungkook didn't think he was going to get horny tonight but here he was with his half-harden length in your hands in the middle of the living room.

"Mhm." You position yourself just enough for him to have a clear view of your tits. You had taken both your shirt and bra off before starting. You know how your husband likes it. "That okay with you?"

Jungkook groans when you grip his cock harder, gliding it from the base to the tip in repeated motions. "Fuck yeah. It's more than okay." You giggle at how quickly your husband gets in the mood. He thinks you're the bitch in the bedroom? You quicken your movements.

"Oh shit this feels so good." He grips the couch cushion, keeping his focus on you. "Need that gorgeous mouth wrapped around me baby, please. Shit–"

You honor your husband's requests and trace your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip. Once there, you suck lightly before taking him in whole.

"That's it. Take my cock, fuck." Jungkook goes on to praise you as you bottom out. You gag a little at first being that you haven't done this in what....weeks? Damn. Whatever happened to the days when you'd literally go down on each other every day?

"We need to get you reacquainted with my cock honey," he teases, bucking his hips forward to push himself further into your mouth. "All these weeks without my cock in your mouth has you gagging all over me. Been it's been too long hasn't it?"

"Mm," is the only thing you reply with, the weight of his thick length dragging back and forth on your tongue. By now your pussy is pulsating like crazy and you're tempted to just get up and fuck yourself on him. But tonight was about your husband–you're going to make sure of it. And Jungkook loves nothing more than getting head with your bare tits in full view, obviously.

A few sucks later and Jungkook starts fucking himself into your mouth. They began as soft, needy bucks of his hips but now they're rough, full-force thrusts. His length shoves to the back of your throat and you moan desperately around him. "Did you miss my cock baby? I bet you did. My sexy wife....you're mine and you're gonna make me come, aren't you? Fuck yeah, you are."

Your eyes water as you continue to take him, hallowing your cheeks the best you can. Jungkook has his eyes screwed shut and sweat dripping from his forehead. Your panties are so fucking soaked right now and your nipples are defiantly hard from sheer arsousal.

"God I'm so close baby. You're mouth is---fuck I don't even have the words. It's fucking magic! And your tits are so hot from this angle. Kinda reminds me of what you sent to me earlier. Can I come on them? I'm so close." Jungkook takes your broken moans as a yes and starts ramming into you two more times before pullout and covering your breasts with warm liquid. "Fuck fuck fuck," he grunts, spilling himself on you.

What a mess. You look down at yourself. What a motherfuckin' mess and you love it. Jungkook pulls you into a passionate kiss, tongue rolling with yours in heavenly harmony. "Thank you for this," he says between kisses. "I'll help you wash up, I promise."

"Mm Jungkook," you pant. "I think I need you inside me."

Hey, he got his dick sucked and he creamed your tits–it's mama's turn now, or excuse you–wifey.

A/N: this got nasty whoops. not sorry. Anyway LMK what you think, thanks for reading! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind

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writing-for-marvel · 8 months

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Blunt Force Trauma

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 6 | Series Masterlist | PART 8 > >

Summary: While out for an unusual date night, Bucky and you witness an emergency.

Warnings: strictly 18+, car accident in which cars plough into storefronts (not involving reader or Bucky), multiple injuries including the drivers of the cars, someone trapped under a car having trouble breathing, description of lacerations, blood, no casualties, Bucky doubting himself and being insecure, discussion of money/disparity in wages, John Walker because he is always a warning

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: a BIG thank you to @skittle479 who gave me the inspiration for this part, I hope I did your idea justice darling ❤️ I apologise if this is a little rusty, I haven’t been writing consistently for a little while. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky usually feels adept and influential sitting in the front seat of an ambulance, uniform proudly donned with the badge above his heart, perched higher than most of the traffic and capable of speeding past with sirens blaring whenever required.

But when John Walker sits beside him in the driver's seat, all he feels is agitation.

“You got any plans this weekend?” His annoyingly snarky voice fills the otherwise silent cabin as they pull up to a red light.

“Yeah, I’m taking my girlfriend to see the new Barbie movie on our mutual day off. And then probably just grab some food afterwards.” Bucky tries keeping his answer short and to the point, not wishing to divulge any more information than he needs to fundamentally answer the question without being rude, nor the giddy fluttering of his heart at referring to you as his girlfriend.

Not only does John Walker have a reputation of doing a rushed job in the field, with somehow thinking his skills are far superior to anyone else in the force, but he is also too nosy for his own good and incapable of keeping topics discussed in confidence to himself.

Steve’s learnt that lesson a few times.

“Dinner and a movie?” The inflection of John’s voice makes it seem like a query, but it’s muttered under his breath in what Bucky would classify as an almost disgusted tone.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Just that… she’s a doctor right?” The intonation of John’s question has doubt settling like led in the pit of Bucky’s stomach. That there is inherently something erroneous about a paramedic like him being with a doctor like you.

“Yes.” He confirms without questioning how John even knows that information given Bucky has never mentioned directly to him who you are or what you do for a living.

“Well don’t you think she’ll be after something a little more… upmarket than dinner and a movie? She’ll be friends with other doctors and surgeons at the hospital, they’ll be able to afford fancy dinners in the best part of town, seeing expensive shows, musicals, operas that cost a hell of a lot more than seeing a movie. Girls wanna be treated like princesses, not some commoner.”

Bucky’s heart drops. He specifically remembers you telling him about how for every date night Wanda and her new boyfriend, an anaesthesiologist, try out another lavishly expensive restaurant in the richest part of the city.

Was that you dropping hints that’s where you wanted him to take you for date night? Is he greatly disappointing you by instead taking you on such a generic date?

He hates to let anything John tells him get under his skin, but maybe he has a good point in this instance…

Of course you deserve far better than something so plain, but Bucky doesn’t have the savings to be able to take you to Michelin star restaurants that charge exorbitant prices for such small servings.

But if he doesn’t do this, at least once, will it be the reason you leave him? Will you want someone who earns more money than he does and can spoil you like the queen you are. He has no experience in this area, no real idea about what it takes to keep a partner happy in a relationship, and he knows John is, at least from the outside, happily married.

“I guess I could try something more upmarket.” Bucky suggests, though he’s not thoroughly convinced. You’ve never once expressed this is something you want, but perhaps it’s one of those parts of a relationship you want the other to take control of without needing to convey out loud. That directly telling him defeats the purpose all together.

He supposes that once you’ve spent a couple months with someone you need to shake things up to keep it interesting. Besides his bank account, there really is no downside to treating you both to an extravagant night out.

“I’m telling you man, you won’t regret it.”

They continue on with their shift in complete silence, Bucky’s mind churning with gears of insecurity and reservation.

He loves you and he sure as hell doesn’t want to fuck this up before he finally gains the courage to tell you.

* * *

“Can’t you give me a hint of where we’re going?”

Bucky’s fingers are interlocked with yours as you casually stroll down the sidewalk. You’re in a much fancier part of town than you’ve ever been to together before, and all of a sudden the informal pink dress you chose to wear to the earlier showing of Barbie Bucky treated you to makes you feel underdressed and completely out of place.

“We’re almost there, but I want it to be a surprise!” Bucky kisses the back of your intertwined hand, but you sense from the stiffness in his broad shoulders that even though he’s by your side, he doesn’t quite feel comfortable here either.

It’s only a short walk before Bucky stops outside a sleek restaurant where a group of smartly dressed patrons are queuing for entry. The waiters are dressed in black pants, white shirts with bow ties, and velvet vests - which gives away how high end the place is before you even have a chance to glance at the prices on the menus.

“I’m sorry I can’t take you anywhere fancier, I know Wanda and Vis keep trying all these upmarket restaurants…” His intentions for taking you to this part of town become as apparent as a lightbulb turning on in pitch darkness.

You place a delicate hand on his cheek to direct his uncertain gaze to your own. He looks like a nervous puppy.

“Bucky, it isn’t how expensive the restaurant is, it’s the fact that we’re together that’s important. You could take me to McDonalds and I wouldn’t care because I’d be with you.” You emphasise the end of your sentence, wiping your thumb across his cheek affectionately as his eyes brim with both hesitation and tenderness.

“Are you sure? Is this one of the things girls say but they actually mean the opposite?”

There have been a few fleeting occasions in your relationship with Bucky where you’ve seen glimpses of an inexperienced, naive and slightly insecure man who is navigating his first long term relationship. This is one of those moments and all you want is to eliminate all wavering doubt swirling in his mind.

It’s honestly endearing how sweet he is. You’re sure the only reason he is anxious is because he cares so much.

“Bucky, who’s gotten into your head?” You ask, shaking your own. You’re sure neither his best friend nor his mother is responsible for this line of thinking. “I promise you, I don’t need you to spend an entire paycheck on a single dinner at a restaurant where I can’t tell the difference between their cheapest and most expensive bottles of wine. And remember I’m only a couple years out of med school, I’m still drowning in years of student loans. All I care about is spending time with you.”

“You really mean that? You’re not just saying that to be nice cause I can’t afford pricey places like the anaesthesiologists and surgeons at the hospital can.” Your heart drops below your stomach. The concept that Bucky thinks you would ever want anyone other than him, simply because they happen to make more money, has the centre of your chest aching and makes the corners of your eyes prickle with tears.

“James, I care about you so much.” You declare, standing on your tiptoes and kissing him gently. “And that has absolutely nothing to do with the number that’s written on the bottom of your paycheck. One of the reasons I initially fell for you was seeing how you interacted with Sasha in the ER - no anaesthesiologist or surgeon I know has shown that kind of rapport with a patient.”

The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth abates the sting punching your chest.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. You’re one of a kind baby. Please don’t you ever doubt that you are the one for me.” You affirm as you thread your arms around his waist, placing a delicate kiss on the underside of his jaw.

There are tears in Bucky’s eyes he’s trying, and failing, to conceal. He looks in absolute disbelief, but as he gazes down at you, you could so easily be fooled into believing there is also so much love in his eyes.

“You are-, I am so-” You wait in anxious anticipation as he stutters.

Is this it?

Is Bucky finally about to say those three magical words you have been dying to hear for the past few weeks? That overwhelming feeling of pure love and adoration you feel for him and so desperately wish he reciprocates.

But before he is able to finish his sentence, you hear a vehicle’s tyres skidding along asphalt and two consecutive, deafening crashes sound close by, startling you.

You feel the ground shake violently and Bucky’s arms instinctively fly around your head and pull you into his chest in what you can only assume is an attempt to protect you from flying debris.

Before your mind can comprehend what on earth just happened and even look towards the origin of the booming impact, Bucky’s set off at a sprint, launching himself directly into action.

Once your brain is able to catch up to what your eyes are seeing - two cars, who potentially swerved to miss each other, ploughed through the shopfronts of two different restaurants only a couple stores away from where you are standing - you feel a surge of adrenaline in your chest and you begin a chase after Bucky, the screams of onlookers the soundtrack as you assess the scene.

You’ve seen some horrible and gory injuries during your time as an emergency medicine resident, but you’ve never seen it as raw and gruesome as you do right now in the field for the first time. It’s dedicated paramedics and EMTs like Bucky who do the initial triage, treatment and transport so that the patient arrives at the ER in the best possible condition. Seeing the carnage here, is confronting.

When you reach the incident, wails of pain fill the air, shattered glass covers the concrete ground and panic clenches tightly in your stomach. You first notice the driver of the car, dazed at the wheel, the airbag having cushioned his impact.

“You!” Calling out to a young man seemingly unharmed but immobilised with fear, you point to him and continue. “Call an ambulance.”

Seeing him fumble to pull his phone out of his pocket, your attention switches back to the inside of the car.

“Sir, try not to move. You’ve been in an accident.” You advise as your hands fly out to keep the man inside the car, groaning in pain as he turns to exit the vehicle. Reaching across him, careful not to move his position or cause him any pain, you put on the handbrake, shift the car into park and remove the keys from the ignition. “I’m a doctor, please try to keep your neck still.”

You do a quick assessment, his breathing is quick and shallow, but most of his impact seems to have been absorbed by the airbag. He has no signs of external bleeding, though you are concerned about internal bleeding as well as whiplash and other head and neck injuries.

“Can you help me?” You ask the man who you had instructed to call an ambulance. He rushes over despite his hesitation earlier. “I need you to keep this man’s head still, hand on either side of his face, just like this, making sure he doesn’t twist his neck. Keep him awake and talking, and scream out to me if he loses consciousness.”

In the chaos and mayhem of the scene you’ve lost sight of Bucky. He’s no doubt somewhere close by providing medical assistance, probably at the other restaurant doing exactly what you are here.

Inside the restaurant the air smells of engine fuel, powdered plaster and metallic blood. It’s encouraging to see those that are unharmed lend assistance to those injured and in pain.

Your eye catches a lady in a blue pantsuit lying on the ground, back against an overturned table, face contorting in excruciating pain as she grips both hands onto her trembling leg. Her suit has ripped open and you can see a long laceration through the muscle of her thigh weeping blood. A man beside her has a look of pure terror in his eye, wavering hands unsure of what to do in this situation.

“Wrap a tourniquet around her leg above the laceration, as tight as you can!” You direct as you notice a patient out of the corner of your eye, closer to the car in far greater need of your assistance, your heart squeezing in terror and the pool of blood growing slowly bigger each second before you get to him. When you see her friend's mouth open in question you continue. “Your jacket, the tablecloth, anything you can tie tightly!”

Rushing over to the underside of the front of the car, you observe a young man in a waiter's uniform trapped between the car, ground and the rubble of the shopfront displaced by the force of the car. Your hands fly to apply pressure on his chest wound, the source of the pool of blood surrounding him.

“Help me.” He wheezes, his eyes dilated, alarmed in a life threatening way you’re unfortunately used to seeing having worked in emergency medicine.

“I’m a doctor and I’m here to help. I know you're in pain but I have to put pressure to quell the bleeding. Try taking a deep breath for me.” He tries to do as you request but all he is capable of is panting in short, shallow breaths. The already terrified young man starts hyperventilating when he realises that he can’t use the full capacity of his lungs.

“What’s your name?” You ask, feigning a calm smile, trying to distract him in any way you can from his current predicament.

“Noah.” He can barely get the sound out, and you intuitively press down harder on his chest, feeling warm liquid trickle through your fingers.

“Noah, I am going to get you out of here. Just hang on for me.” You look around at the resources available to you, stomach churning knowing there’s nothing within reach which can assist.

Your gaze rises to those who still remain in the restaurant, but everyone else is tending to other victims, until a familiar face rushes into view.

“Bucky!” You call out and his eyes instantly meet yours, concern flooding out of those baby blues as he swivels to the sound of your voice. Having him beside you brings a buoyant relief to your chest, despite the gravity of the situation. “We need to get the car off him. He can’t breathe.”

As if Bucky hadn’t heard you, he rushes out of the restaurant. Fear replaces any alleviation you felt, believing you are now truly alone to do what you can for Noah.

You can’t lift a car by yourself.

Especially considering you’ve also got to keep pressure on his seeping wound to ensure he doesn’t bleed out in front of your eyes.

You don’t want to feel completely hopeless with this young man’s life literally in your hands. But unless you get some help soon, you know he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Paramedics will be here soon. Just hang on for me. Keep your eyes open. I’m sure you have someone in this world you love - your mom, dad, maybe a partner, your best friend. They’ll want you to fight so you can see them again. I know it hurts but you stay with me. You got someone in mind?” He nods in response to your question, a ghost of a smile appearing on his features and you know unequivocally this boy has experienced some form of love.

You think of Bucky, that if you were in a life threatening situation, he’d be the one you fought to stay alive for. To tell him you love him. To kiss him again, to hold him in your arms and revel in the solace he provides you.

Out of nowhere, as if your imagination of him conjured him next to you, Bucky appears by your side, sweat mixed with dirt on his forehead. He flashes you his signature smirk as he places a scissor car jack beneath the rocker panel near the front tyre.

He’s an absolute genius.

How did you ever doubt him?

Bucky carefully, yet quickly, starts turning the handle and jacking up the car. You immediately see the alleviation on Noah’s face as he takes a slightly deeper breath, but in turn you need to apply even more pressure to his wound, the force of the car on him having previously done part of your job for you.

“We need to move him, in case the jack slips.”

Bucky steadies Noah’s head as you both manoeuvre him away from under the car by placing a detached, flat tabletop beneath his back. As you perform the action, you hear sirens approaching.

Help has arrived.

“Bucky, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” It’s Steve’s voice behind you, and you sigh in relief at seeing Bucky’s best friend on scene.

“He was trapped under the car, a penetrating wound to the abdomen, crushing injuries to the chest, and a potential pneumothorax. Breathing is shallow and his pulse is weak.” You list off, maintaining pressure on Noah’s abdomen as Bucky, Steve and the other paramedic you’ve seen around the ER shift him onto a yellow spinal board.

You refuse to move from your position as they load Noah into the ambulance, knowing releasing your pressure even for a moment could result in catastrophic blood loss.

Bucky hops into the back of the ambulance behind you, placing a small kiss to the back of your shoulder when Steve isn’t looking. You flash him a sweet smile that makes his stomach somersault and forget for a moment that he’s in an ambulance on his day off.

“Bucky, not in front of a patient.” You bashfully protest, but he just can’t help himself. His chest burst with pride at seeing how natural you were out in the field, saving lives even on your day off.

“Y’all probably saved my life, you can do whatever you want.” The young man mutters breathlessly with a smile.

Though Bucky wants to kiss your shoulder again, you made a point of not wanting him to do so in this scenario, so he refrains. He’ll just wait until you’re alone tonight to show his awe of you, and maybe find the courage to finally tell you he loves you as he was attempting to outside of the restaurant before the incident.

Once inside the hospital, the additional staff ensure Noah can be transferred safely, Steve having radioed ahead so they could prepare for the severity of his injuries. Wanda is one of the faces who assist with the handover, starting a blood transfusion right away before Noah is whisked away towards the surgical wing.

“They’ve got it from here guys, thanks to you Noah should be okay after a fairly routine surgery. Go enjoy the rest of your date.” Wanda comments as she not so subtly shoots you a quick wink. It’s only then, when Bucky realises both your jobs are finally complete, does he recognise he is indeed exhausted.

You turn to him and flash an equally tired smile, which, even in the face of how your night ended up, makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud.

“Let’s go home, yeah? I’m beat and have to be back here in like 9 hours.” You chuckle and the sound is music to Bucky's ears. He swears that sound alone sustains him.

How did he get so lucky?

“Yeah… home.” Bucky murmurs, placing a kiss to your hairline which Wanda notices out of the corner of her eye with a smile.

You don’t clarify where home is. Your place? His place? You simply take his hand in your own and walk out of the hospital. But it doesn’t matter where you’re going, because to Bucky, home is wherever you are.

Part 8 > >

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ihni · 4 months

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It's @weird-an's birthday, so have a little Argilly (!) (yeah I know!) piece inspired by this post.

This piece is written to be read around the time they release season 5, because whatever shit they come up with to happen in Hawkins, our forgotten boys will just be living their best life in Cali.

~~~

Billy wakes up slowly, gaining awareness in increments. The softness of the sheet underneath him, the sounds of the traffic interspersed with voices coming from outside, the warmth of the air in the room and from the body behind him. Taking a deep breath, he stretches until his joints pop and then releases the air in a content sigh as he becomes boneless once again, turning around and snuggling up to the man behind him. Tucking his head in under the man’s chin, still without opening his eyes.

There’s a chuckle. Billy can feel the vibrations through the body he’s clinging to, and can’t help but smile.

“How long have you been awake?” he murmurs, and hums contentedly when a big hand splays out over the back of his head, scratching lazily at his nape.

“A while,” comes Argyle’s voice from close by, and Billy feels a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, then yawns.

“You’re cute when you sleep,” is the answer.

“I’m cute all the time.”

A laugh, and Billy can feel Argyle move as he nods. “Truth. But especially when you sleep. Also, we’re not in a rush. We can stay here all day, if we want.”

Billy starts to nod along, but then stops. Reluctantly blinks his eyes open. “Not all day. We’re meeting Tommy later, remember? You promised you’d show him all the best burger places in town.”

“Yeah but that’s not until the afternoon,” Argyle argues. “We have hours to go before then.” A pause. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

Billy considers. It’s still a luxury to be able to wake up at his own pace, and not have to hurry to get ready in the morning. It’s also not until recently that he has started sleeping through the night, with the nightmares being less frequent the longer he spends away from their source.

Two years. Two years since he clawed his way back to the real world, two years since he stopped having to sleep with one eye open, two years since fate – perhaps as an apology for everything it had put Billy through – brought Argyle to that godawful Indiana town. (No one could tell who was most surprised to see the other; Argyle, who had been told that Billy had died in a fire, or Billy, who hadn’t thought he’d ever get out of that hellish place at all. Their reunion was emotional and tearful and came as a shock to everyone else, who hadn’t even known that they knew each other. But honestly fuck everyone else.)

It has been two years now since Billy sat down in the passenger’s seat of Argyle’s van and went back to California without looking back; his only goodbye being a middle finger aimed at the ‘Leaving Hawkins’ sign as they passed, while Argyle’s hand rested on his thigh, gripping Billy’s other hand in his.

Two years later, and here Billy is, in bed with Argyle; his best friend, his lover, his Aggy. There are no monsters anymore, there is no Neil to be wary of. He is safe, he is warm, and he can go back to sleep if he wants.

Does he want that, though? He frowns. Something tickles his mind, like a half-forgotten memory. He dreamt something, he realizes, but trying to remember what it was is like trying to capture mist in his hands. It slips between his fingers like smoke, but still leaves him feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

Argyle, like always, notices. “What is it, Bee?” he asks, and hugs Billy closer. “Nightmare?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says, truthfully. “I don’t remember.”

Argyle hums. “You were moving around a lot. Talking in your sleep again.”

“Really?” Billy says. It’s been a while since he did that. “What did I say?”

“Just murmurs. No real words. You sounded kinda worried, though.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t remember.”

Billy rolls back a bit and puts his head on the pillow. He immediately misses Argyle’s warmth, but Argyle keeps his hand on the back of Billy’s head, playing with his hair, and at least this way he can look at Argyle’s face.

He’s beautiful. Big and strong and soft, with his sunshine smile that never fails to make Billy feel all warm inside and his long hair that somehow always looks perfect even right after waking, unlike Billy’s. There’s a mark on Argyle’s cheek from a crease in the pillow, and Billy wants to kiss it.

Argyle’s smile – widening at the sight of Billy, which will always be a thrill – is contagious, and Billy finds himself smiling too.

“’Mornin’, Aggy,” he says and leans forward to place a kiss on Argyle’s lips.

“’Mornin’, Bee,” Argyle replies and smiles into the kiss.

They lean their foreheads together and breathe for a while. Then Argyle stretches out too, like a big cat. Billy seizes his opportunity to plop himself on top of Argyle, who just laughs and puts his arms around him, pulling him closer. Chest against chest, Billy moves with Argyle’s expanding lungs as he inhales. It is soothing, and he tries to relax. But he doesn’t quite succeed – the remnants of the dream is still lurking in the back of his head.

Of course, Argyle notices. “Bee?” And of course, he knows what’s Billy’s thinking. “Do you think it’s got something to do with, you know, all that stuff from a couple of years ago?” He doesn’t even say ‘Hawkins’ out loud, because he knows how Billy feels about that town. It is just another reason to love him.

Billy wants to say no. Wants to reject it out loud, because all that is over. But that nagging feeling in his brain stops him. “I don’t know,” he admits. Argyle knows about the nightmares, about the dreams. He has met El after all, and knows what she can do – and he knows about the times, right after they got back to California, when Billy and El’s dreams merged. It has stopped now, thankfully. Or, he thought it did.

“Do you think something’s … wrong?” Argyle asks. His voice is neutral, but Billy knows him well. He knows what Argyle went through, too; what he had to see and live through on his way across the country two years ago.

And Billy decides, then and there, that “No. Nothing’s wrong.” Because they’ve had enough, him and Argyle. They’ve done their part. Billy has served his time; he paid the price, survived, got out and got away. The people they left back in Hawkins – none of whom cared enough about him to try to save him, by the way – could have left too. If they stayed around for the next wave of horror, that’s their choice.

Hawkins can burn to the ground, for all that Billy cares. If something’s about to go down there, Billy doesn’t want to be involved. Doesn’t even want to know about it.

“Okay,” Argyle says and pats Billy’s shoulder. As if he knows what Billy’s thinking. He probably does.

“And if it is,” Billy says, petulantly. Makes sure to say it out loud, so that the powers that be can hear his refusal. “If something is wrong .... If something goes down, back there? I don’t give a fuck.”

“Right on.” Argyle chuckles and kisses his curls. Hugs Billy even closer, trapping him against his chest and making him feel … small, and safe, and cared for. Something that Billy has only ever felt with Argyle, outside of when he was a child and his mother was still around. “Right on, my dude.”

Billy huffs out a laugh, but wrinkles his nose in distaste at the same time. “Don’t call me ‘dude’ in bed. It’s weird.”

“But you are my dude, dude.” Billy tilts his head back so he can glare at him. It’s hard to maintain a façade of annoyance in the face of Argyle’s sparkling eyes, but he manages through sheer force of will. “My little man.”

“Stop it.”

“My bro.”

“Aggy.”

“Brochacho.”

“I will literally kill you.” But despite his words, which are an obvious lie to the both of them, he cannot stop the smile that blooms on his face, or the blush that follows when Argyle laughs and peppers his face with kisses.

“Sure you will, dude.” Argyle sees straight through him. He always has.

That doesn’t mean that Billy will just take this kind of disrespect lying down. He struggles out of Argyle’s grip – only succeeding because Argyle lets him – and rolls and crawls with grunts and mutters to the edge of the mattress. He pushes off the bed and gets to this feet, uncaring of the fact that he’s naked, and cocks a hip to the side while he points at Argyle, who’s still sprawled out in bed, grinning. “Just for that, breakfast is on you.”

Argyle just keeps smiling, even as he leans forward and hooks his own finger around Billy’s, shaking his hand a little. And damn it, Billy is charmed. As always. “Sure thing, Bee. Cold pizza?”

“Leftovers? You call me ‘dude’ in bed, and I get leftovers?”

“Tasty, tasty leftovers, though.”

Tasty leftovers. Breakfast with his Aggy, after waking up in bed with his Aggy, in the apartment he shares with his Aggy.

A look to the window reveals blue skies with barely any clouds. The leaflets on the palm tree just outside moves gently in the breeze. Billy knows that if he opens the window, he will smell car exhausts from the road and Chinese food from the restaurant across the street and a hint of decomposing trash from the dumpster around the corner … and under all that, the salty air blowing in from the ocean, barely two blocks away.

Life is good.

He releases Aggy’s finger and takes his hand instead, pulls him up until he’s standing. Pokes him in the middle of his chest and raises his eyebrows as he looks up at him. “I want garlic sauce on mine.”

Argyle salutes – lazily, and with the wrong hand – and says, “You got it,” before pressing another kiss to Billy’s face – forehead, this time – and walking past him to get out the bedroom. Argyle’s not wearing anything either, and Billy watches appreciatively as his behind disappears around the corner.

Whatever might go down in Hawkins, it’s got nothing to do with him anymore – him or Aggy.

Life is good for them, now. He’s not trading this for anything.

And with that, he files the fragments of the dream away to be forgotten and follows Argyle out into the kitchen for a cold pizza breakfast.

~~~

(And yes, Tommy has moved there too because he deserves some kind of appearance as well, so I'll just headcanon that he and Carol maybe have moved out there and is finding their feet out in the real world. He's gonna become fast friends with Billy and Argyle and become a cook or something.)

#ihni writes #argilly #argyle #billy hargrove #argyle stranger things #argilly fic #cali bros #i don't know if it counts as bros if they're together though #hmmm #a conundrum #oh well #happy birthday an :)

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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

Text

Hawkins all lit up for Christmas is like something out of a postcard. It’s been a warm winter, which means big fat snowflakes piling up in fluffy drifts all over town, and string lights have been going up along every street and building to make the whole town look like a gingerbread fantasy.

Steve remembers it feeling a lot more magical when he was a kid, back when he didn’t have to shovel his car out of the drive or worry about winter tires. They don’t salt the back ways early enough in Hawkins, so on days like this, it always takes him longer to drive to work, going slow and cautious down the main roads, trapped in the Hawkins version of a traffic jam as everyone else does the exact same thing as him.

When he finally gets to the print shop, Donna McCorkle’s waving enthusiastically at him from the parking lot.

“Steven, honey! I’m so glad to see you out and about. I heard—” she leans in and whispers in a way that might actually be more conspicuous than yelling at the top of her lungs. “I heard about you and Laura. Sweetie, I’m so sorry, we all really thought you two would be taking a little stroll down the aisle by spring.”

“Thanks, Mrs. McCorkle,” Steve says. “I’m okay, honest. Just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

Jerry nods in greeting as Steve gets in and hangs up his winter coat. “Heya, Harrington. You’re six minutes late.”

“Sorry, boss,” grunts Steve, scraping off his boots.

“S’fine. Considering the circumstances and all. Just don’t get too hung up on her, eh, son? Can’t let some woman get you down. That’s no way for a man to live.”

“Right,” Steve says. “I’m okay, honest. Wasn’t meant to be.”

He shoves his lunch in the minifridge and heads out to his desk to check his messages.

———

He gets beers with Hopper after work. As soon as he slides into the booth, Hop raises a knowing eyebrow and snorts. “Folks around town been up your ass about the thing with Laura today?”

Steve groans. “Don’t even know how it got around so fast. We broke it off just yesterday, and I sure as hell didn’t tell anyone.”

Hopper nudges a bowl of peanuts his way. “Ah, you know how Hawkins is. People just want to see you doing well, kid.”

“People just need to mind their own damn business.”

Hopper’s face creases into a wry smile. The lines around his eyes seem to be getting deeper by the week. “They go a little overboard, sure. But come on, it’s nice knowing people care, ain’t it?”

“Sure.” Steve takes a long gulp of beer. “Nice.”

———

“I’m just—tired, Robbie,” he sighs into the phone. “Feels like I can’t walk down the street without running into someone trying to talk to me about the breakup.”

“It’s been coming for a while though, right? I mean, you’ve been talking about how you weren’t sure about her for a while. Like, actually way too long. Like this definitely should’ve happened six months ago.”

“I know, I know. But we were together for over a year, and it was…I dunno, nice. Easy. Felt like the thing to do. People are gonna start back up asking why I’m not married yet, ‘cause everyone else around here seems to be.”

Robin’s laugh crackles down the line, tinny and familiar. He presses the receiver tight against his face like it’ll bring Robin closer.

“Miss the hell out of you, Buckley. Can’t wait until you get back for Christmas.”

“Actually…” Even through the shitty line, he can tell Robin sounds a little nervous. “I was thinking. Well, me and Eddie were thinking. My folks aren’t going to be in Hawkins this year, they’re visiting my aunts in Vermont, and…we’ve got some friends here who are planning to just stay in the city for the holidays. So. What would you think, hypothetically, about coming here instead of me going there? It could be fun! You’ve only visited like twice, and you haven’t visited at all since I moved in with Eddie. You should come see our place, it’s pretty great.”

It’s true, he hasn’t made the trip out for a while. Robin and Eddie had been talking about moving in together for years, and last spring they’d finally found a place they liked. Steve had offered to drive up and help them move in, but their move-in date was Laura’s cousin’s wedding weekend, so that hadn’t worked out. And then it had just been easy to let his summer and fall get away from him, and just see Robin when she came back to Hawkins, because Eddie never comes back to Hawkins at all if he can help it.

Steve’s not avoiding Eddie. Of course he's not. There’s no reason for him to avoid Eddie, because the thing about Eddie is that there’s not a thing. There’s never been a thing.

But the lack-of-thing, the space where a thing could maybe have been, is something that’s followed Steve around for the last six years or so whether he likes it or not.

It’s not like he thinks about it every day, or anything like that. It’s just that—there was a moment, maybe, back in ‘87. He’d been smoking with Eddie outside in the miserable freeze of February. The grimy slush around them had been half-liquid in a way that was going to be trouble in the morning, after it'd had a chance to freeze over.

“If I asked,” Eddie had said, eyes fixed on the distant gray skies. “Would you come with me?”

Steve hadn’t had an answer, then. He’d thought he’d known, by that point, all the different ways he could be afraid, so it took him a second to recognize the feeling clawing its way up his ribcage and quickening his pulse. His tongue had felt thick and useless in his mouth.

Eddie’d just nodded once in a matter-of-fact way, and crushed his cigarette butt beneath the scuffed toe of his boot. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, Harrington. I won’t ask.”

And then a week later he’d been gone. So it’s not like there was anything at all, not ever.

“Steve?” Robin’s voice is still kind of nervous. “What do you think? We’d both really love to see you.”

“Okay,” says Steve. “Sure. I’ll visit you guys for Christmas. Why the hell not?”

(continued here)

#steddie #new fic time huzzah #so the concept here is: I wanted to see if I could write a hallmark-type holiday story that would actually vibe with my personal ethos #hopefully I can make it work! mostly I just wanted another WIP to gnaw on #to provide enrichment in my enclosure #fic: grace coming out of the void

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captainofthedauntless · 11 days

Text

More Rise!Nardo thoughts.

Just thinking about how he'd abuse the fuck out of his portal abilities with you. Always offering to be your "ride" when you need to go somewhere, using it as an excuse to see you for just a minute when you're busy. The classic you're upset? oh lol i just Happened To Pop By A Shop, Here, Your Favorite Snacks.

He'd show up in a heartbeat to help you move furniture, or to help you cook, or to help you speed clean because your aunt's in town all of a sudden and you cannot let her know you live like this.

You don't think anything of it, really. Because it's effortless for him. It's like getting up from the couch for how much energy it takes him.

But it gets to be a habit.

It's a pattern.

You text him after a long day, once, and you say something about being tired and not wanting to cook, and then he's in your kitchen with a crackle of blue energy and a bag of take out and a hoodie he pulls off less than five minutes later, passing it to you with an easy shrug and a nonchalant smile. Lot warmer in here than the lair, he says breezily, as though it isn't your favorite of his hoodies. As though it was an accident.

He does that a lot, you realize. Act as though calculation is coincidence.

And then you can't stop realizing it.

It's not just the portals.

It's everywhere.

He's everywhere.

He's spending enough time at your place that he just leaves his stuff there when he gets a mission call, and you end up with a stack of books and comics that you definitely didn't pick up yourself, and instead of mentioning it you just replace his horrifying whatever-he-can-find bookmarks (you find one of your bracelets there, once) with actual ones. People keep giving them to you as freebies- might as well put them to use.

Somehow he knows when you've got big appointments scheduled, and he just casually shows up the night before and complains about how you do your chores and insists on showing you how it's done, and then you blink and he's put away every dish in your kitchen, all while playfully critiquing your organization. And, like magic, you're free to sit down and relax, because evidently your sweeping technique is also tragic, no, no, give me that, you're- you're banished, that's abysmal, and feet off the ground- don't care, it needs swept, go on.

Crazy how his movie night picks are some of your favorites. Great minds think alike, eh?

And then 'huh, Leo's pretty helpful' becomes 'oh, Leo's given me impossible standards' when you wake up in the middle of the night and can't seem to catch your breath from a nightmare. You fumble for your phone and type what's supposed to say are you up? and comes out as ate yii yo? and then your phone is ringing.

He greets you with a you alright? that you think should probably be harsher than it is considering the hour, and when you manage to get the word dream out of your face he follows up with want some company?

And you must say yes, because the next thing you know is a crackle of blue energy (which should look dangerous, should feel dangerous, but looks like a playful wave and feels like home) and nearly six feet of mutant turtle dropping onto your bed, landing with a playful bounce that shakes a little of the dream-scented-sludge from your mind.

Sorry, he says, playful and grinning as he folds his arms behind his head and watches you like he can read your mind, traffic was a nightmare.

And you shake your head, because what the fuck, but you're laughing despite yourself and some of the scrutiny melts from his eyes.

Thought I'd-

Don't say drop by.

I would never, he says, but he doesn't elaborate on what he was going to say, and you draw your own conclusions. Anywhoozles, what's the vibe? Movie? Snack? Field trip to the top of the Great Wall?

And somehow he means it.

He's in your room at four in the morning, still in his pajamas, mask down around his neck, all warm and soft and sleep-shaped, and offering you the world like it was a piece of gum.

And you just stare at him, wondering if you're still dreaming.

#leonardo #x reader #leonardo x reader #leonardo & reader #*writing #2018 #imagines #headcanons #aged up as always- going for college-age here

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randomfoggytiger · 1 month

Text

Collector's Edition: Cars and Conversations (Part I)

Mulder and Scully have traveled a lot a lot a lot during their years in the basement-- surely, they had pretty cool conversations on the road?

Loose chronological order below~

@wexleresque/hellsteeth's

stars

As he climbs into the passenger seat of his father’s Lincoln, Fox yawns. The dashboard clock reads 5:03 AM and the smug tilt of his mother’s lips suggests that the early hour is the result of considerable negotiation. The tires crunch on the driveway and his mother waves at him absentmindedly from the porch as they depart. She doesn’t make a habit of smiling, but in the dark, Fox thinks something close might be on her face.

The drive is quiet this morning, save for the news on the radio and the whistle of the wind through the cracked window. Sunflower seeds sail over the glass and Fox takes a few out of the bag, chewing on them for something to do.

“How’s work, Dad?” he asks as they pass Fall River.

Young Mulder is tossed back and forth by his begrudging parents.

the fbi basement bulletin board - Chapter 5 (Tumblr)

“Hm. Well you probably don’t need a medical professional to tell you this, but if you keep moving it around, it’s going to take longer to heal. You need to rest it.”

“Noted, doc. And you just missed the turn, by the way.”

S1 Mulder is bad at directions-- especially with a sprained wrist.

Local Radio (Tumblr)

Driving out to a little town in Indiana hadn't been in the original plan, but the business of Memorial Day weekend had removed flying as an option. They needed to reach their destination within 24 hours. So here they were, en route to another place that didn't even warrant a dot on the map (you've seen one, you've seen them all, he sometimes thought to himself).

Mulder is amused at a crazy radio station (and at Scully's reaction.)

Christine Leigh's (Alt. Ao3) Maybe?

"Okay, here we are." Maggie said this as she pulled off the highway and onto the road that would take them into Democrat Hot Springs. She was surprised that there wasn't more traffic. This town, if she remembered right, was supposed to be some sort of a resort area. Five more minutes, and they were in the parking lot looking up at the familiar sight of the neon arches, and that's all that mattered.

Captain Scully is back from deployment; and Maggie senses something is off with her youngest daughter.

@thatfragilecapricorn30's (Ao3) Tell Me You Love Me - Chapter 1

“How do you know where I live?” he asked.

Scully’s cheeks reddened; she was hoping he wouldn’t notice or find her actions inappropriate. “It was, uh, it was in your personnel file. I wrote down your address after you called me at home after the last case. I figured I may need it at some point.”

Mulder smiled. “Just trying to see if you’ve been spying on me.”

Post Deep Throat Scully can't shed her keyed-up nerves after driving Mulder back home.

@scullywolf's (Ao3)

Eve

Her eyes narrowed. “How far up north?”

“California’s a big state, Scully.”

“I’m aware of that. How far?”

He decided there was probably something very interesting over in the corner that merited staring at while he answered. “About 300 miles. Give or take.”

Eve Mulder sheepishly wakes Scully.

Red Museum

Sure, the old man wasn’t a member of the church, and similarities between him and Brother Andrew were all but nonexistent, but the cryptic “There’s something I’d like to show you,” with no further explanation, was enough to set her mental warning bells chiming. She was a grown woman, with a gun, but that didn’t mean she loved the idea of jumping into some random stranger’s truck after only the briefest of exchanges. Mulder joined her at the truck’s window, an unspoken question on his face.

Red Museum Scully communicates her anxieties to Mulder without a word.

Demons

The car company rep agreed to come and pick her up, and she sat down on the curb for only a minute or so before getting up again to pace off her nervous energy. A hundred horrible scenarios played themselves out in her head; at least ninety of them involved Mulder getting into car wrecks of varying degrees of seriousness. In order to keep herself from panicking, she tried to focus on the task at hand, which only made her angry that she was even in her current position in the first place.

Demons Scully has to call in a new rental car.

Drive

“All I’m saying,” she said pointedly, “is that it could be worse. We could be crammed in a room right now with a bunch of other agents, and instead we’re at least driving around through what you have to admit is some fairly scenic farmland.”

Mulder spared a moment to mourn their lost office.

Drive Scully appreciates being out in the field with Mulder again.

Dreamland II

"...Mulder, I’m not proud of how long it took me to realize what was going on. I was about ready to drag you in for an MRI. Some sort of delayed-effect brain trauma from your trip out to the Queen Anne was the only thing I could think of to account for your dramatic change in behavior. Only it wasn’t you at all–”

“Well, you believe it now, and that’s all that matters. Now how do we fix things?”

Dreamland II Mulder and Scully catch up before heading back into the fray.

@cactustree's (Ao3) Fast Times and Slow Drives

She startles when she feels a warm hand on top of hers, and her eyes snap open as though jolted by an electric shock. She looks over to find Mulder studying her, his eyes darkened with concern.

“Watch the road, Mulder,” she murmurs, pulling her hand away from his.

“What’s wrong, Scully?”

Post Genderbender Mulder banters away Scully's apology with facts.

@h0ldthiscat's (Ao3, Alt. Ao3)

Survivor

She swats him away with one of her small hands when he touches her head and helps her into the car, but the look she shoots him lacks her usual antagonism, and the purse of her lips doesn't quite convince him that she's annoyed.

"Do you want another one of these before we hit the road?" He shakes a half-empty bottle of Gatorade at her as he slides behind the wheel, but she shakes her head once, firmly, and presses her lips together in a thin line, making them even whiter than they are.

Post Darkness Falls Mulder drives them home.

7. things you said while we were driving

She shoves the sunshade back up and clears her throat. “Can we go?”

He notices for the first time that her eyes are wet, that her chin is quivering despite her best attempts to control it. Remorse and guilt wash over him as he remembers an offhand comment from earlier in the week that explains her makeup, her nicer-than-usual suit, the set of her jaw.

Post Never Again Mulder's remorse soothes Scully's feelings.

Can I ask for a fic tonight? :)

“Was the drive okay?” she asks.

Mulder jerks his head back to the still open door and says, “Ask your son, he drove.”

William appears in the doorway, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, tawny hair in his eyes. “It was fine, Mom.”

“Good,” she says, shooting daggers at Mulder with her eyes, daggers that say she can’t believe he let their son drive in a snowstorm....

AU-- Revival era Scully is not pleased Mulder let college age William drive back in a snowstorm.

@crossedbeams’s (Ao3) I-Spy

‘I love this song!’ I explain, whizzing the twizzler I have pilfered from Mulder’s junk food haul around in some vaguely rhythmic pattern. I love music I just lack the skill set to express that love very elegantly.

Mulder chuckles at my enthusiasm and cranks up the volume, ‘I never would have had you pegged as a Clapton fan’.

S1 Scully tells Mulder about her family road trips.

@slippinmickeys's (Ao3, Gossamer)

Prompt Drabble Collection - Chapter 25 (Tumblr)

The thing was, it was next to impossible to see out the windshield.

Scully loved thunderstorms. Having spent a large portion of her youth in San Diego, they were still a novelty, even after years on other, more weather-prone bases and college campuses, and if she'd been home, she would have pulled up a chair next to her window and curled up there with a mug of tea, watching the light play in the sky and the water ping sharply against the glass.

However, as a driver she was cautious, and with Mulder, well, she had a reputation to uphold: He was the engine. She was the brake.

S1 Scully drives through a storm, donuts and a dozing partner included.

@brownies-and-tea/browniesandtea's Collect Call

“Mulder, it’s too late.” Scully sighed and leaned against the rain-streaked window of the car.

"I can't believe you're thinking fondly of that awful motel."

"I'm thinking fondly of a decent night's sleep." she stretched across the passenger seat.

S1 Mulder pursues a lead with Scully, from car to phone booth.

Ten's Learning to Breath (1/2)

In the elevator the women leaned him against one of the walls and kept talking to him, worried that otherwise he would go back to sleep and start sliding to the floor. Dana asked him questions, like his name and address, to keep him alert. She was relieved when she received the correct answers.

They got him into the backseat of Maggie's car, careful not to bump his head. Dana immediately raced around the car and got in the back herself. She fastened his seatbelt and watched as he leaned back against the headrest. He was asleep again before Maggie turned the key in the ignition.

AU-- Post One Breath Scully, Maggie, and Melissa are shocked at the state of Mulder's apartment.

J. C. Sun's Car Ride

My partner is next to me, as he always is, but for the first time in months, he's wearing his glasses. They make him look like an owl: a giant, somber six-foot owl perched in the driver's side seat. However, I doubt any owl has ever rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbow and cradled a book in his lap, or chased the paranormal for a living. Nor do I think any owl has ever looked quite like him: the slightly twisted nose, the clear hazel eyes and the annoying, annoying little lock that, even now, droops across his forehead. It takes a wrench of will to resist the urge to reach out and to smooth it into place.

Post Firewalker Scully is bonded to Mulder now.

@seek-its-opposite/seek_its_opposite's

transient luminous events

He is still just standing there, the sleeves on the turtleneck he didn’t need to wear pushed up at the elbows. She is suddenly, vividly aware of the car, of the hot metal and the smell of rubber in stagnant humidity. Duane Barry’s trunk smelled like a spare tire. Her mouth goes cloth-gag dry.

“Can we?” she asks. She waves her hand at the road ahead and wonders how she’s so sure of this: He’d have known what she was asking even if she hadn’t.

“Sure,” Mulder nods. He looks relieved. He grabs their flashlights from the glove compartment and hands her one, and the flood of Pfaster’s headlights behind her eyes softens and clarifies into two beams that will never outrun her. And they walk.

Post Irresistible Scully confronts Mulder on his bubble-wrap method of protection.

if you weren't so

She tilts her chin up at him, at the usual angle, and finds that the geometry between them is the same.

“I need to talk to you,” she says. “Something’s happened.”

Behind him, his not-wife drags a recliner over the threshold in reverse, yelling at the houses that all look like hers.

“I have to talk to you alone.”

She says “alone” like she always says it and wonders if she meant to do that. There are days when she’s sure she could leave him in the dirt and still wind up in a room with him at the end of the world. As they slip behind the truck, she's gripped by the idea that to Joanne Fletcher, she is the woman Mulder shouldn’t be with.

AU-- Dreamland II Mulder and Scully try to find a way back to each other.

theramblinrose's Irresistible - Chapter 5/Chapter 6

“I didn’t know when I’d hear from you,” Mulder said.

“I’m at the airport,” Scully said. “I’ve got a car. I’m driving in. I just wanted to call before I left.”

“Anything wrong?” Mulder asked.

“No,” Scully said. “Honestly—everything’s feeling pretty right, Mulder.”

AU-- Irresistible Mulder and Scully are juggling their new relationship, a surprise pregnancy, and the fallout from the nefarious Pfaster.

eponine119's Same Old Fight

-Turn it back, he'd insisted, his knuckles white on the steering wheel with the effort of keeping the car on the narrow twisting road, This is making me jumpy.

-I don't know why I let you drive.

-You didn't have any choice.

-Mulder, pull over and let me drive.

-No.

S2 Mulder rescues Scully after their blowout fight almost ends with an explosive conclusion.

Sneakers/sneakers's

Walter Skinner's 'From Left Field

"But I don't see why Skinner should care about the book. It didn't mention *him*, and it didn't even use our names." Scully stood in front of the bookcase, scanning the shelves. "We didn't divulge anything classified; I'm sure the reading public thinks the whole think is a joke."

"But they had the nerve to claim I ate *twelve* piece of sweet potato pie!"

She pulled the book down. "Skinner's going to complain about your eating habits?"

"But I *hate* sweet potato pie, Scully. You know that, remember? I turned green at the gills last Thanksgiving, when your sister-in-law offered me some."

Post Jose Chung's From Outer Space Skinner has his thoughts on the book.

Sweet Home D.C.

"But the reception . . ." She looked out the window at the 1 AM darkness. "I think we both need to get some sleep. Turn the radio back on if you want to."

He did.

<< . . . Sweet home, Alabama . . . where skies are so blue . . . sweet home, Alabama . . . Lord, I'm coming home to you . . .>>

"That guy's got something wrong with his head, Scully."

Mulder and Scully, switching songs and swapping gum.

Evil_Little_Dog's

Cassadaga Bound

Dana squinted out the car window. "I don't think there's enough room in this town for all the witches, or demons, or devils in Florida, let alone the world."

S3 Mulder detours he and Scully to a fortune teller's.

Travelogue

“We’re not lost.” Mulder shot her a look then turned back to the road, correcting for the drift. “We’re directionally challenged.”

Making a guttural noise deep in her throat, Scully glanced out the window.

Mulder, the car, and a ditch.

@sunlightscully's (XF Writing Challenge - Food)

They have perfected the art of car eating. The driver orders and pays and hands the greasy bag over to be unpacked. The passenger unwraps the driver’s burger. They share fries.

When he pays she asks for the bare minimum and nothing too expensive. He orders extra large milkshakes and pretends he doesn’t see her stealing sips. They compensate for each other. Ketchup has not been spilled in years.

Mulder realizes he loves Scully.

Starbuck's (FFN) Wake Me When We Get There

"Shouldn't be much longer, Scully."

She made no acknowledgment, lying her head upon the seat once again. He continued driving as she drifted in and out of consciousness. White line. White line. Yellow line.

"Wake me when we get there, Mulder."

Mulder keeps the volume down so his partner can sleep on the long drive home.

@wtfmulder/@momdadimpoppunk's (Ao3) drabble; pay no mind

Scully paces around the car, branches and leaves snapping quietly under her weight. But she’s not angry, not at all, or nervous. She occasionally bends down to steal a sunflower seed from him and pauses to crack it before continuing her little loops.

Mulder and Scully find their own ways to entertain themselves when the rental car breaks down.

@incidental-ao3/incidental's Febuwhump 2023: The Truth is Out There (And the Fic is In Here) - Chapter 18

“No, Mulder, I should be keeping you awake, you’re the driver.”

“But I am awake,” he argued reasonably. “So there’s no reason for you to torture yourself when you could catch another few hours’ rest.”

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s not torture,” she scoffed. He smirked.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said. She scowled sleepily.

Scully tries not to fall asleep, and Mulder ruminates on life before lights.

@mulderbabe77's Taco Stands and Regrets

He pushed down a little harder on the gas pedal.

“Are you gonna throw up?” He gulped, hoping to hear a no.

“Nope,” she answered and for a moment he almost sighed with relief. “The other thing, I think,” she finished, grimaced again and held a hand to her cramping stomach.

“I’m on it!” He sped the car up a little more.

Ten minutes later they could see the exit just ahead. Mulder was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Mulder and Scully both get food poisoning while on the road.

@hamster-on-fire/fade_into_the_dusk_with_me’s For The Sake Of Driving (Ao3)

They’d do this sometimes. Drive. They were always driving, it seemed. But when it was dark like this & he was scared like this, or tired like this, or just utterly numb like this, it was different. The curve of the road up ahead could feel like a whole conversation; the silence, an opening, & they’d both sit there, like staring at a sterile wound.

Mulder and Scully help each other decompress on long, long car drives late into the night.

Timemeantnothing's On the road again

“We helped keep the Germans from getting Thor’s Hammer.”

“Mhmm,” Scully hummed, turning the corner.

“It was Einstein, Scully. We protected Albert Einstein.”

“That was very good of us to do.”

Mulder and Scully, driving: hot ladies, aliens, cheek kisses, Triangle rambles, and Millennium contentedness.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

**Note**: I am a "separate the art from the artist" person through-and-through; but my lists will no longer be featuring writers that have blocked me-- tooooooo much drama has been kicked up over that issue.

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

You Should Give In

4.5k | Corey Cunningham x Fem!Reader | NSFW

“You’re sorry you didn’t recognize me?” He smiles disturbingly. His voice gives you butterflies between your legs and takes you right back to that motel room two years ago. His throat bobs as he takes another sip from the tiny-looking bottle. “And I’m sorry I didn’t text you back," you add.

You accidentally break Corey's heart pre-Michael. After his killing spree, he comes back. Smut with both Coreys.

Amazing art by @cordelium 💚💚 commission info

corey tags: @ethanhoewke @wolvesandvampires @rebel-blue @kuromi2005. thx @dark-scape

cw: alcohol, dub-con, kinda darkish?

December 2020

After his manslaughter trial, Corey took a bus out of Haddonfield one weekend to get away from it all, and he ended up where you live. It's barely a scattering of a town, but it has a truck stop and a bus stop, so it gets enough traffic to have a motel and bar, which are in the same parking lot. You work at the bar.

The night you met, he was already at the bar when you clocked in. The first thing you noticed was his enormous hand dwarfing his drink, making it look like an airplane bottle. There was something so hot about his knuckles and the way he held the bottle. He caught you looking and smiled shyly. That's when you started noticing his beautiful face. His strong nose. The pain behind his glasses. There was an intensity about him, too. All his gloom and cowering.

Corey didn't really drink much of his beer. He mostly played with the label. You offered to get him something else, and he asked for chocolate milk. You thought he was joking, but when you giggled, he looked at you earnestly with big dairy cow eyes magnified by his glasses. Your heart melted. When you said you didn't have any chocolate milk, he was dejected. "Yeah, I figured."

When you saw that sad look in his eyes, you suddenly recognized him. He was much hotter and bigger in person than he was on the news. Face to face with him, there was no doubt in your mind that Jeremy's death was an accident. You felt awful for Corey. You just wanted to give him a hug. You took him under your wing.

You offered to make him a mudslide on the house instead of chocolate milk. You promised he'd like it. You made it with extra chocolate syrup, and he loved it. He perked up. It was a slow night, so you chatted with him. Got to know him a little bit. You egged him on to take an oatmeal cookie shot with you, not realizing he was a total lightweight. It really didn't take more than that before he was giggling and slurring, flirting with you one minute, then getting emotional the next. He never talked about the accident, but he talked about his home life and it didn't sound good. He played early Modest Mouse on the jukebox. You didn't let him leave your sight. His drunkenness was your doing, after all.

He had a room at the motel. When you got off work, you walked him back there to make sure he was safe. He invited you in, and you thought you'd stay just long enough to let him get settled. He didn't ask in a seductive way. It was somewhere between lonely and friendly. You were enjoying his company, anyway. But when he started removing his multiple layers of clothing and you saw what was underneath, there was no going back for you. Holy shit, he was solid. He took off his henley, revealing thick arms and strong pecs. And he kept stripping, too. No inhibitions.

While you were quietly distracted by his body, his mood darkened a little. He laid down on the bed and said he never wanted to go back home. His lip was quivering. By that point, he was in just his briefs and glasses, with a plaid blanket he brought from home draped haphazardly across half his body. You told him you understood and offered to make him lunch at the bar the next day if he wanted to talk more about it. He asked you not to leave.

You put Ghost Adventurers quietly on the TV and laid on the bed with him. There was something pathetic about him being in underwear and glasses and you being fully dressed. So when spread out his blanket and invited you under it, you took off your pants first. Then, you cozied up to him and stroked his hair comfortingly as he nuzzled into the hollow of your neck.

He looked at you affectionately and you kissed him on the head. Then, he lifted his head and looked at you longingly, and you kissed him on the mouth. You held him and kissed him, and he kissed you, as you half-watched the show. Soon enough, you were kissing more than watching. You abandoned the show completely as you made out and things heated up. He kissed you like you were an oasis in the desert. You probably were.

You nestled a leg between his meaty thighs and palmed his chest. His body took your breath away. A hardness in his briefs started poking your thigh. By the time you grabbed his cock, he was rock hard and whimpering for you. The moment you held his naked girth in your hand, you gasped softly as butterflies swarmed in your chest and core. You badly, badly needed him.

“I want to be with you,” he whispered. “I want you so bad.” He moaned and whimpered as you moved the skin on his thick shaft.

You couldn't think it through. You couldn't think at all. All your blood had rushed somewhere else.

Corey fumbled at your bra. There was something on his face, like he could hardly believe it was happening. He struck you as almost virginal. You took the lead and put a condom on him, then mounted him. He let out a low, breathy groan as you sank onto his impressive cock with a moan of your own. It felt so right, filling yourself with his cock. It was the perfect stretch. You rode him and his hips lifted into you desperately. You leaned into him for friction as you rolled into him. His massive hands held your thighs and he'd say things in his low, sexy voice like "You feel so good" and "God, you're beautiful."

He came pretty fast, but you were close. You finished yourself off and he was eager to help and learn. You fell asleep in bed with him.

You woke up before dawn with Corey spooning you, his arms holding you tight, both of you nude. His morning wood was upright and dug into your lower back and crack until you gently shifted it between your thighs. He rutted against your slick seam in his sleep. Before long, you were desperate for a second round. You put his huge hand on your hard nipple and traced the veins from his wrist to his fingers.

You were too desperate to be smart, but at least you were on the pill. As soon as he stirred awake and kissed your neck, you reached down between your legs and guided his cock just inside you. The moan that erupted from his mouth set you on fire. Your whole body felt like it could burst at any moment. He buried himself inside you, holding your breast, breathing heavily in your ear. He kissed your neck, moaning, sighing, rolling his hips, filling you with his thick, hard cock, lasting longer this time. As soon as you came, he pulled out, then you felt his hot cum on the small of your back.

You cuddled for a while after that and fell back asleep. When you next woke up, sticky with his cum between you, you rolled over and faced Corey. He was affectionate, looking deep into your eyes, stroking your hair, telling you how much he liked you. You kept thinking, he hardly knew you. You didn't know if he would like you as much if he did. Those days, you didn't want to let anyone get close enough to find out. You had gone through a rough patch of your own and your self worth hadn't yet recovered.

You went home to shower before work and you brought a bottle of chocolate milk back to the bar with you. You knew Corey would come for lunch and hoped it would cheer him up if he was feeling blue again. When you gave him the chocolate milk that you brought just for him. . . he looked at you like he was in love with you. That moment gave you more than an inkling you were leading him on. You didn't mean to – you really liked him – you were just afraid and dealing with your own issues at the time.

Your affection for him began to get drowned out by discomfort. Your kindness alone might not have been construed as anything more than that. But you fucked him twice . . . And you wondered if you were his first. Every nice gesture after that would only bond him to you more.

Corey stayed at the bar all day, not really drinking much. While you were busy, he poorly played pool and darts. When it was slow, he talked to you, but it wasn't the same fun, casual banter you enjoyed the night before. There was a puppy dog vibe, like you owned him and he was lost without you. That scared you because you didn't want to hurt him more than he'd already been hurt in the past year. You didn't want to get his hopes up for something more and have the whole thing become another disappointment.

You shut down and told him you had to go somewhere after work. As much as your body wanted to go back to his motel room, your gut was telling you that you didn't have the capacity to nurture him the way he needed. He was clearly upset when he left but tried not to show it. He said he was going back to Haddonfield but hoped to see you again. There must have been hell to pay when he got back, from what he shared with you about his mother.

After he went back to Haddonfield, he texted you piningly as if you were dating. He was trying to make plans for when to see each other again. He even mused about getting a job in your town. You told him you weren't ready for a relationship and needed to spend some time alone.

He tried to convince you. Eventually, he left you alone, but you always wondered if he'd be back one day. You actually missed him. You thought about him over the next year or two as you got yourself together. He was a good guy. You started to realize maybe you shouldn't have sabotaged yourself. You were as worthy and deserving of love as anyone else. But it was too late, you thought.

****************

Present Day : November 2022

You’re closing the bar tonight. It’s slow, with just a couple of regulars slumped over the bar exchanging occasional words. Given the recent carnage in nearby Haddonfield, people haven't been going out as much. There might as well be a curfew. Some people still don't believe Michael is dead. Others speculate about him having a partner still at large. The regulars have been walking you to your car every night just in case.

You’re restocking the liquor and eavesdropping on the latest gossip between the regulars when a burly, dark shape walks in alone. He sits down at the bar and orders a beer. You give it to him without fully meeting his eyes and don’t recognize him until you see those hands dwarfing the bottle and do a double take. Sure enough, he has the same pinky ring. No glasses or jacket. Blue button-up shirt with the collar popped. Blue khakis. His hair is dark, and his curls are wild. His face is banged up. A fresh cut bridges his nose. He’s muscular, imposing. His presence is intimidating. He's like a different man.

You realize you’re staring. “Corey,” you say. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

There’s a long moment of silence, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. He looks at the bottle in his hand and takes a sip.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t text you back," you add.

“Yeah,” he says, raising a brow. He holds eye contact and his jaw clenches. "You know, you also took something from me." Your heart sinks. His virginity? You always suspected it.

“I shouldn't have," you say.

"Oh, you regret it?" He challenges you. You're squirming, and he seems to be enjoying it.

"Of course not. Just, I wasn’t in a place where I could handle–"

"-me," he sighs.

"I'm sorry.”

He shrugs. "Apology accepted,” he says unconvincingly. “What place are you in now?”

"Um, good question." You look around and decide not to answer. His erect collar catches your eye again, drawing attention to his facial injuries. God, he looks hot.

He smirks as he notices you checking him out.

“You look good,” you say, wiping the bar with a rag. “I’ll be back.” You pour the regulars a round. Corey keeps his eyes on you like a hawk. You’re wearing a skirt and fishnet stockings – better tips that way.

When you come back, you ask Corey what brings him into town. He tells you he’s on his way out of the area for good. "And I'm taking you with me," he adds matter-of-factly.

You're stunned. Your lips part but you don't know how to react.

He rolls his eyes and adds, "If you want, of course."

You ask him what he’s going to do. He looks around and answers obtusely, “Maybe I’ll practice my pool game.” His gravelly voice really does something to you. Your butterflies aren't fading, they're multiplying.

You get the triangle of pool balls from under the bar and hand it to him, forcing a smile. His large hand wraps around yours as he takes it and there’s a spark between you. He holds your gaze then walks back to the billiards. He racks the balls and rolls up his sleeves. You forget to blink. He must have put on at least 15 kg of muscle, and he was already built before. He grabs a cue stick off the wall and comes around the table so his ass is facing you. He bends over and looks back at you before he takes the break shot. You look away and start cleaning the counter again, but your eyes keep returning to him.

You bring him his drink and he thanks you.

You linger and ask,“How'd you get so good?"

He looks you up and down and shrugs. “Grab a cue. I’ll show you.”

You look at the bar and it’s still those regulars. You know they’ll be there until closing. You grab a stick off the wall.

Corey crosses his toned arms and says, “Show me what you’ve got.” His eyes are dark. Part of you finds his presence unnerving, but the warm, wet part of you is grateful for the excuse to bend over in front of him.

You lean over the pool table and Corey crowds you. You don't mind the cliche when he gets all the way up against you to show you how it’s done. He puts both his huge hands over yours. His hands are as scratched up as his face. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his body leans into yours.

He says, "First lesson." A hardness swells against your skirt, then his lips brush your ear. “Don’t start something you can't finish,” he whispers. You swallow. His hand on yours takes the shot, and a ball rolls into a pocket.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you begin to stand upright. You turn your head and try to turn your body, but he has you pinned to the table.

“Or someone will have to finish it for you,” he adds, then his lips barely brush the skin below your ear. Your ass subtly pushes back into him before you can stop it. He takes the cue and places the stick on the table. His massive hands feel up the sides of your thighs, sliding up under your skirt. His breath is hot on your cheek as he grinds his arousal into you. Your breath hitches and all your blood rushes to your loins. He gives you space to turn around.

“Closing time, right?,” Corey says, looking at the clock behind you. He reaches around you and picks up the bottle to take a sip of his beer.

Your heart flutters.“Yeah, it’s just a few minutes-”

He slams his empty bottle down and walks over to the jukebox and puts on Nine Inch Nails.

You straighten your skirt and compose yourself to go close out the regulars.

One of them asks if you’re good and you say yes. He yells over to Corey telling him to walk you to your car.

Corey gives him a thumbs up and a smile that sends a chill down your spine. The regulars leave.

Your face is warm as you look at Corey and come back out from behind the bar.

“Should I go?” He booms from the billiards table over the music. The last thing you want is for him to leave. You know you shouldn’t let him stick his crazy in you, but you’re thinking with the wrong head.

“It's okay. I still have some clean-up,” you say. You wipe down the other end of the bar as he plays pool. You start stacking chairs on top of tables, and you get to the one that’s closest to him. You watch him with your heart racing. You're getting wetter and wetter as he clears all the balls and puts the cue sticks back on the wall.

He leans his ass and both hands against the pool table and crosses his ankles. His jaw clenches.

"Here's the deal. I'll leave if you want. But if I stay. . . you're really mine this time." He looks you dead in the eye.

You don't say anything. You step closer and start to grab the empty bottle beside him, but before you touch it, he intercepts you with a large, veiny hand on your wrist. He brings your hand to the bulge in his pants and his lips part as he stares at you darkly. Your palm meets the hardness in his pants, and it sends a tingling rush through your body. The cut on the bridge of his nose intensifies the darkness of his gaze.

“So, what's it going to be?” Corey asks. The vein on his neck bulges.

You swallow. You can’t form words. You remember to blink, and your eyelashes flutter.

He lets go of your hand, but you leave it on his pants. He subtly thrusts into your palm and your fingers involuntarily cradle his girth. You find your body gravitating closer. His eyes look back and forth between yours. Your eyelids are getting heavy as you look back at him.

He presses you for an answer. "Should I leave?"

Your eyes close and you take a deep breath. “No,” you whisper.

“Are you sure?” He lightly strokes your temple with his thumb as he searches your eyes. “Because once you're mine, I’m not letting go.” His dark eyes smile.

This is bad. You know better. You know *so much* better. Tell him to leave. Tell him to never come back. You beg your legs to walk away, but they don’t.

His face gets closer, and his hands come to your hips. His nose brushes yours and your mouth hungrily accepts his perfect lips. He swells harder into your hand. His lips move from your mouth to your neck, and he kisses, then licks, then marks you as though to illustrate his point.

He steps out from between you and the pool table and your hand falls empty as he gets behind you again like he was earlier with the cue stick. He grinds his thick arousal into you and his hands rove your thighs. He lifts up your skirt so the bulge of his pants is against your stockings and he sighs. His khakis are smooth and soft and his bulge is hard and warm. You're absolutely aching for him.

It doesn't help that the song “Closer" is starting to play. Your primitive self is taking over.

"You should give in," he says in a low voice. "But I'm not going to make you. Say the word and I'm gone"

For a moment, he allows a couple of inches of space between your ass and his pants, and you ache for him closer again.

"Don't go," your cock-blind mouth whispers.

He closes the gap and chews on the nape of your neck as he grinds into you. One of his hands comes between the two of you. His large knuckles graze your ass. You hear his zipper, and a wave of arousal floods your body.

"Really? Think you can handle it?" He asks.

He's not talking about his cock, but it's the only thing on your mind. You barely nod.

After a few seconds of rustling, his warm, stiff arousal smashes into the nook at the bottom of your ass, his skin on your skin through the soft diamonds of your stockings. Corey's arm hooks around you and nestles between your breasts as his large hand wraps around your neck as he inhales the crown of your head. His huge fingers apply light pressure to your neck and his forearm flexes, making your knees weak with desire. He could probably strangle you with that one big hand. You don't flinch. The pressure intensifies briefly before abruptly turning into a caress. Then, he sucks the hell out of your neck. The pain puckers your nipples, and goosebumps prickle across your body.

His other hand slides around your waist, under your shirt, under your bra, and cups your breast, palming your hard nipple while he grinds his hardness into your ass and kisses the nape of your neck. He crosses both hands in front of you and you let him take off your shirt. Then, he expertly removes your bra. He gropes your breasts and stomach and breathes heavily into your ear, his hardness thickening against you.

He turns you around to face him. His chest rises and falls as he looks at you. His hard girth presses into your front. He hikes your skirt up all the way over your ass, wraps his arms around you, and grabs your ass with both of his hands. One hand slides down your crack, the heel of his palm pressing down on your stockings between your cheeks, then creeps between your legs. Two of his thick digits run lightly - unbearably lightly - over your clit, then he slips them inside the soaked crotch of your stockings and your ample wetness meets his meaty fingers.

"Fuck," he says. Your hips roll into him and tension coils tightly in your core. His other hand massages you from the front. You're engulfed by both his large hands, one from the back and one from the front. Meanwhile, his nose drags across your neck and shoulder inhaling your scent.

The thick fingers from each hand meet at a single diamond hole in the stockings, and he rips them wide open. Your thighs tremble. You want him so bad, he can take you anywhere he wants.

You practically jump up onto the pool table and lift your knees as he spreads them. One huge hand on the small of your back steadies you there while his other hand holds his hard cock. He looks down at himself then up at you as he thumbs the tip where precum is beading.

"Last chance to back out," he whispers gruffly with a snarl. Your legs wrap around him before you can think. You can't speak. You just barely shake your head no.

He drags his swollen tip along your dripping cunt and leaves it nestled at your entrance. Both his hands come behind you and he teases your warm, wet hole with short thrusts. Not even the head is fully penetrating you. The tension deep inside you coils tighter and warmer. Your whole body is dizzy with need for him.

"You really want it that bad," he breathes, looking at you with black eyes. "Bad enough to give up everything."

Warmth rushes your face. You nod and your eyes water at your lack of restraint. The swollen head of his cock begins to breach your entrance. The stretch makes you gasp. You don’t remember it being like this. He plunges into you, parting your insides, filling you to the brim. His hips rock into you, fucking you slowly and smoothly at first, but soon he begins to bury himself inside you more forcefully. The coil in your core pulses and threatens to spring you open.

Each thrust fills you with something you can't even describe. You've never felt anything like this, not even when you fucked him before. Your whole body feels electrified. An energy you don't understand is pouring out of him and into you as your bodies become one. His cock makes you physically complete. You start to miss it even while it's still inside you. The thought of even an inch of air between you stings your eyes. You never want to be apart.

He feels so fucking good, and the way he glides so firm and full inside you, the way he holds you, it's all so perfect. You think, why not? Why not go with him? His pace quickens with his arms tight around you, using the edge of the pool table for balance as he thrusts into you.

He grunts softly into your ear, and you know you can’t hold off much longer. "Fuck, you feel good," he growls. "You were made for me." The sound of his voice sends you. You moan as the rush floods your body in waves. You flutter around his cock and his big hands grip your ass. He pulls you even tighter into him and grunts with each of your contractions. He erupts inside you in enormous pulses, filling you up with his hot seed.

As he catches his breath, he takes your hands in his and closes his eyes. When he opens his eyes, they're watery. "I've wanted this for so long," he says. "I thought about you so much." His arms engulf you as you sit on the table.

“Meet Your Master” starts playing.

"I thought about you, too," you say into his chest.

"No," he says confidently. He slowly adds, "You have no idea how much I've thought about you. How many times and ways." He kisses your head then your lips, and the kiss becomes passionate. He pulls back and looks at you, reading your face like a book. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "You've been mine all along." He strokes your hair. "And I won't ever let you go again."

Your stomach turns a little, but he kisses you hard, and it drowns out the doubt for now.

His eyes darken to black, and his voice deepens. "Because if I can't have you, no one will."

BONUS: Alternate/deleted sexual position (lol)

#toxicanonymity ☠️#corey cunningham x reader #dark!corey cunningham #shape!corey cunningham #corey cunningham smut #corey cunningham x you #corey cunningham #meowmeow!corey cunningham #cordeliart

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 1 year

Text

It’s The Little Things

A/N: I know it’s been a hot second since I’ve posted anything, but I had this little idea after seeing a video of a girl do this for her boyfriend and just wrote this quick little, fluffy story. So I hope you guys enjoy! Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Reader Word count: 1,690 words Warnings: Lots of fluff :)

Gerard was practically living with you at this point.

Yes, technically speaking, he did have his own place. And no, technically he didn’t pay for rent (though that was a recent conversation between the two of you where he attempted to insist he needed to and you promptly said no). But he was here at least six out of seven days a week, if not all seven.

You didn’t mind by any means, having your boyfriend to help out around the place a bit or cuddle with when he was consistently home was nice. But his long days now working on the upcoming album on top of his already long commute from his place and LA traffic to the studio space was what had him staying here so often. Your apartment was roughly 10 minutes from the studio, his 45. Yours was in an area he liked better anyways, more parks and things to do and much less hectic than his area of town.

While spending time together, however, you had noticed his growing feeling of disconnect. You didn’t need him to outright say that he was losing some connection with people back home, the things he would say, even the slightest hints in conversation gave you all you need. This was because of the primary problem that you didn’t have a gaming set up, at all.

It was the way he communicated best with friends back home who lived on the other coast of the country, was through gaming. You had no problem with him doing it, and it wasn’t like he was addicted or anything. He knew how to time manage well, and if you needed help on anything he would be there within a minute of your request. But now, with not being at his place where all his set up was, he didn’t have the opportunity to use that as a stress reliever or to be able to actually communicate with some of his best friends.  And this is where the combination of your master plan (sponsored by your recent bonus check) came to mind.

He already had been keeping a list of new equipment he wanted, and thanks to your inside source (AKA Mikey) you had gotten ahold of just that list. Sure, most of this stuff wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t overly expensive either. So as soon as your additional check processed you went on a shopping spree for your boyfriend, without him knowing.

It had taken a full day, or the entire Thursday out of this week for you. It started as soon as he left at 8:45 to get to the studio. As soon as his car was about 10 minutes down the road, you took your own first to Best Buy to get the simple things, then across to some more specialty stores around town to find just what he needed (suddenly thankful for just how big LA was and therefore it’s variety). Shipping stuff was not an option, it would’ve made it far too obvious and ruined the surprise.

It didn’t take all that long to get everything, it was just setting it up that was a bit of a pain in the ass. First, the IKEA desk was a handful, which you had to get one of the guy’s you knew down the hall to assist you with. Then it was figuring out power cords and confusing directions with lists of terminology you had never seen before. And finally, turning it on to make sure nothing was broken, either by the manufacturer or you.

Everything was set up and ready to go by 5, which was going to be early anyways. Gerard usually didn’t get back until 6 or 6:30 at the earliest, his average being around 8, and some nights going until 10. You pondered what to do in the meantime, all the productiveness of the day powering you on to continue. You might’ve been going a bit over the top with the niceness today, but you figured the world needed more kindness over everything, so you decided to make his favorite food, which happened to be a combination of your mom’s spaghetti recipe and his. You weren’t sure how, but over the last year and a half or so of dating, you had managed to combine a bit of both their recipe’s to make your own hybrid sauce, which he practically melted over when you made it.

It took the sauce a while to boil down, as in a good three-ish hours, and you figured or at least hoped he would be home by then and could wait just a bit for the food to finish. In the meantime, you decided to finish a few minor work things, and move on to a TV show you watched on your own knowing damn well he would not enjoy it (but you also knew he would sit through it and pretend he liked it even if he didn’t).

Just as you were a good couple episodes in, you heard the lock on the front door jingle a bit. You turned off the TV, hopping up and making it just in time to greet him at the door. “Hey Gee!” You smiled at him, his tired face forcing a small but genuine smile.

“Hey, baby.” He replied, shrugging hit coat and shoes off before giving you a light kiss.

“How was your day?” You asked next, he sighed a bit in response.

“Exhausting, frustrating, the usual.” He replied, “Glad to be home.” You loved it when he called this place “home”, and nuzzled into his side a bit with your head on his shoulder in appreciation. “Yours?”  

“Good, I have a surprise for you actually.” He smiled a bit more with a chuckle.

“Is it what I think it is? Because I think I smell your spaghetti sauce but I didn’t wanna get my hopes up.”  

“Well there’s that, yes, and then one other thing.” He wrapped his arms around you, giving you a little squeeze before you pulled away to lead him into the back part of the living room. “You gotta close your eyes, babe.” You said, which he chuckled at a bit closing his eyes. “I don’t fully believe you. Hands over them too.” He took a huff and followed your instructions as you lightly took his arms and gently led him right next to the new desk with all his equipment. “Okay, ready? Open.” You said and he followed.

At first his face looked a bit confused, but it soon turned to amazement, and then back to confusion as he looked at you for clarification. “It’s a new gaming set up.” You said simply.

He looked back at it in amazement before responding, “F-for me?”  

“Yes, for you silly.” You smiled up at him, “I figured you practically live here now, you might as well have one here too. And that way you can still talk to the guys back home and have fun.”

“Babe,” He said simply, before turning to you and giving you one of the biggest hugs you had ever received, and most likely would ever receive in your life. “I- I mean, how did you know what to get? And did you buy this? I can reimburse you and-“  

“No baby, none of that.” You replied back, “I paid for all of it, no worries. And not to snitch, but Mikey may or may not have sent me the list of new stuff you wanted for your gaming set up so I just went ahead and bought it.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He asked, cupping your face with his hands and leaning in to give you a slow kiss that he clearly meant with all his heart.

“I’m glad it makes you happy.”

  “Very happy, actually. Like ecstatic.” He smiled.

“Anyways, you can set it up with all your stuff if you want. I gotta finish dinner.”

“No, I’ll help you,” He replied, promptly following you into the kitchen. “I can’t believe I’m getting your spaghetti and a gaming set up in a day. How will I ever repay you?” He asked to which you laughed.

“Just come to bed at night and don’t stay up forever, I like having you next to me.”  

“That’s not really repaying you, hon,” He explained, “I like that too, I wouldn’t worry about that being a problem.”

After dinner and clean up, which he insisted on doing, you let him set up all of his stuff and play for a bit before hopping in the shower. You were glad to see him this genuinely, truly happy for the first time in a while, and hoped that maybe he would feel even more at home here than he already did. “I’m going to bed, love.” You said, walking up behind him as he removed his headset off of one ear. You gave him a kiss on the head and gentle rub on the shoulder.

“Okay, do you want me to come with?” He asked genuinely with big eyes of slight disappointment but not seeming to mind much. You softly smiled.

“Gee, I’m not your mom.” You chuckled, “But come to bed eventually tonight, I sleep better with you there.”  

“Of course, hon, just like 15, maybe 20 more minutes I promise.”  

“Alrighty baby, love you.” You replied with a soft smile, watching him go back to his screen.

“Love you too.”

You climbed into your bed on your side, taking your nightly vitamins before tucking yourself in and slowly trying to drift off. You loved making him happy, and seeing him act almost like a kid again brought some joy soaring deep through your veins. It wasn’t but 30 minutes later that you felt the bed next to you sink, and his body quickly engulfing yours, his head nuzzling onto your shoulder as he planted a soft kiss on your cheek. “Love you, sweet girl.” He whispered just loud enough so you could hear it. You smiled to yourself contently, interlocking his fingers placed lightly on your stomach with your own.

#gerard way #gerard way fanfiction #gerard way x reader #gerard way x you #gerard way x y/n #mcr gerard #my chemical gerard #mcr #mcr fanfiction #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

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call-me-little-sunshine84 · 1 year

Text

Coming Home (18+)

Minors DNI

summary- Moving back home isn't as bad as you thought after an encounter with Chief Hopper

pairing- Jim Hopper x female reader

word count- 1354, cross posted on AO3

warnings- 18+, smut, oral sex (m), unprotected sex

AN- I am really new to this, I'm definitely not a writer but I can't get enough of this man

So this is what starting over feels like you thought as you drove your car down the main road in Hawkins, Indiana. Thirty years old and moving back to your hometown was an idea you were still getting used to. After getting out of a horrible relationship that had lasted way too long, you decided it would be a great time to uproot everything and move back to your hometown.

Truth be told, you were really tired of living in a big city. Too many people, too much traffic, just too much. You needed a change, and craved the quiet of a small town. Your dad had even found an apartment that you could afford until you found a job. You were hoping this would be just what you needed to get your life together.

As you pulled into the parking lot and made your way to your apartment, you started to feel excited. You needed something that was just yours. You spent the next few days unpacking and decorating, and by the end of the third day you were completely wiped out. You needed a break, so you took a quick shower, put on some jeans and a nice shirt and made your way out. There was a bar not far down the road and honestly a drink sounded amazing. When you got there you sat down at the bar and ordered a jack and coke.

You looked around at the ten or so people that were inside, and your eye caught on a very familiar looking man. It had been years but you would recognize Jim Hopper anywhere. Well, it was Chief Hopper now. You had always thought he was a very sexy man, but had never really even had a conversation with him before you moved away. He saw you staring and made a small wave in your direction. You were sure your face turned at least four shades of red, especially when he got up and came over toward you. He sat down at the bar beside you and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach already. When he spoke it was like the breath left your lungs. “Hey, don’t I know you?” he asked with a smile. “Maybe, it’s been a while since I’ve lived here,” you replied shyly. “So what brings you back to Hawkins? It’s usually somewhere people are running away from, not coming back to,” he said. “I needed a reset, a change of scenery. So here I am, back where I started,” you replied ruefully. “I can appreciate that,” he said, and you could feel yourself relax.

You continue talking to him, the conversation coming easy. The problem was that your drinks also kept coming and before long you could feel yourself slipping into a warm haze. He could tell also, and he offered to drive you back to your apartment. You took him up on his offer and got into the passenger seat of his truck. When you got back home, he walked you in. You were feeling really drunk and he was uneasy leaving you by yourself. When he offered to stay the night to make sure you were okay, you didn’t know what to think. Was this really happening? You didn’t know what to do but in the end you relented. He offered to sleep on the couch so you went off to take a shower and get in bed before the inevitable alcohol headache kicked in.

When you got out of the shower you threw on a nightshirt and passed out in the bed. Upon waking a few hours later, you got up to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Walking past the living room, you almost jumped out of your skin when the side table lamp turned on and you saw a man on the couch. It took your sleep-addled brain a minute to remember what had happened the previous night, to realize that it was Hopper on the couch staring at you. That’s when you also remembered that you only had on a nightshirt and you felt your face blazing. “How are you feeling?” he asked, and you told him you were much better. His gaze kept raking over your body and you felt rooted in place, staring back at him. Were you imagining the lust clouding his eyes? It didn’t take long to find out.

He patted his leg, wanting you to come over to him. You cocked an eyebrow, questioning. “Oh come on darlin, am I supposed to pretend I didn’t see the way you were looking at me last night?” he asked, and you wanted to die from embarrassment. Was it really that obvious? Apparently so, even before you had several drinks in you. You could feel your feet betraying you, and you started walking slowly toward him. You felt like a marionette that someone else was controlling. Your body knew what it wanted, and it was him. You reached him and sank down, straddling his lap. You inhaled the scent of him, smoke mixed with whiskey, and so delicious. He ran his large hands up your bare thighs and around to grab both of your ass cheeks. He groaned with pleasure when he realized you were only wearing a thong under your nightshirt.

You could feel your body reacting to him immediately and you began grinding your aching pussy against his leg. How had this man managed to have you completely undone in a matter of seconds? He pulled your nightshirt off and tossed it to the side, leaving you in only your thong. You didn’t have time to feel self-conscious though, because he immediately found your breasts, gripping one in his hand and another in his mouth. As he licked and sucked on first one nipple, then the other, you felt your eyes roll back in your head. “Please, I need you to touch me, Hop,” you hear yourself begging. He chuckled. “Anything for you,” he replied, moving your panties to the side and inserting a thick finger inside your slick folds.

He gave you a second to get used to it before giving you a second finger. The obscene noises your body was making made him rock hard. You ran your hands over his cock but quickly became irritated at his pants being in the way. You pushed off of him long enough for him to undress. You then sank down on your knees in front of him and started stroking his dick. He practically growled and laid his head against the back of the couch. You licked up and down his shaft, loving the feel of him in your mouth, and knowing you were the cause of the sounds he was making. You looked up at him, and his lust blown eyes almost pushed you over the edge.

“Come up here, I want you to ride me,” he said and you practically jumped in his lap. You straddled him, aligned with his tip and sank slowly down onto him. You couldn’t believe you could actually take him all. You took it easy as you adjusted to the sheer size of him, but once you started rocking back and forth, you lost all control. He couldn’t take his eyes off of your bouncing breasts. You didn’t know that sex could be this good. He kept his hands on your hips, his fingers digging in with delicious pressure. When he moved one hand to start circling your clit, that was all it took. You felt the coil in your center that was already tight just snap, your orgasm overtaking you.

You tightened down on his dick, causing him to roar at you again. This man will be my undoing you thought as he switched positions, laying you against the couch and relentlessly pounding into you, chasing his own ending. You sank your nails into his broad chest and yelled his name over and over as his thrusts became faster and faster, and he came inside you with a loud groan. Damn you thought with a smile. It’s good to be home.

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper smut #chief hopper #david harbour #stranger things smut #hopper x reader

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jawritter · 1 year

Text

Something About Fate

Chapter 5

Summary: Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Change, even good change, can be scary, and even a little hard…

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Y/N looked out of the window of the expensive looking Van that had picked Jensen and herself up from the airport as soon as they landed in LA with somewhat of a shocked awe at all the sights that slowly passed her by in the crawling, busy streets.

Sure, Dallas had some pretty impressive buildings, but the people here were just—different. For one, there were so many of them. Which might be attributed to the fact that it was a great deal warmer here than it had been in Dallas, but Y/N doubted that. It was still very early in the day, and they were out in droves. She doubted that as the day drew on, or when night started to fall, things would get any quieter.

Everything was so much brighter here too. Even the signs and the billboards that flashed on the side of buildings were brighter. It made the little big town of Dallas she’d come from seem so cold and outdated.

Then it hit her. This was Jensen’s life and had been since he was a young boy. It was sooo different than the one she’d led, even if she hadn’t ended up living on the streets. Which made her wonder even more why the hell the man was doing what he was doing? Why he cared about just another blurry face on the street in the middle of what these people would probably consider nowhere and pulled her out of the life she was in with the intent to sit her back on her feet. It just made sense.

“The place we’re staying at isn’t in town,” Jensen voiced suddenly from beside her. “And I will have a rental car waiting for us so that we can get around when and where we need to without too much assistance. I prefer the seclusion and privacy over all this noise. It won't take us long to get there after we get out of all this traffic.”

She nodded as her eyes drifted back to the window just in time for Y/N to turn to face the window once again and see Jensen’s face just outside of her car window, plastered alongside his castmates for the series he’d recently done, The Boys.

That’s when it really, really struck her, the gravity of the difference in worlds the pair of them were from, and it set heavily, like a rock in the center of her gut. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing as she stared dumbly at his face on the billboard.

There was a flood of emotions that settled over her like a wet blanket, fear being the primary one. In fact, when someone was to really think about it, there was a lot to fear here. Sure, they’d spent a few days in Dallas together, and sure, Jensen had promised her a lot in the time they’d spent together, and he’d already made good on a lot of those promises. He even gave her a key to his fucking car and his house!

But his life was a very public one. He’d once been married, he’d had a family, he’d had a life she’d never even begin to understand. He had a thousand girls throwing themselves at him online constantly, and the selection of that pool had to be better than anything that he saw in her. There was the fear that he’d come to that conclusion and kick her out, just as fast as this had started, it had the potential to end.

Then there was the fear of screwing up. There were a lot of eyes watching her now, because she was working for him. Surely the public would notice her eventually, and when they did, they were going to rip her apart about everything she did, right or wrong. That was utterly terrifying to even think about.

“Hey,” Jensen said, grabbing her hand in his own, and pulling her attention back towards him. She was so lost in her worry, she’d barely realized that they’d made it out of the city, and there was a blur of greenery flying by their window. “You haven’t said a word since we left the airport. Are you feeling, okay?”

“I’m okay,” she assured him, she could see it on his face, he was worrying over her again, and that wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him doing it either. It made her feel horrible every time she saw him doing it, guilty for making him worry about her, when honestly, she should be on cloud nine right now! She was living every girl’s dream! “A little tired I guess I didn’t really sleep a whole lot on the flight here.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I booked us so early. Next flight we take will not be before the asscrack of dawn I promise,” he said, but didn’t let go of her hand as his pale green orbs searched her face, trying to read her. He did that a lot too.

“I’ll get used to it,” she attempted to downplay things a little to settle his nerves. “I’ve never really traveled anywhere myself outside of Dallas, I used to book things for other people, but never did it myself. There’s a big difference between booking a trip and actually traveling, I guess.”

“I moved here when I was just a teenager, literally right after high school, so I get it. Everything looks so out there and feels foreign, but after a few years of coming back and forth from different towns to different towns, it’s not as jarring anymore. This summer we’re gonna be spending some time in Vancouver. Honestly, out of all the places I’ve been, that one feels most like home to me. I spent a long time there.”

“I don’t have a passport,” she reminded him, but he just shrugged it off.

“That’s fixable, as soon as we get back to Austin, I’ll make sure all of that’s taken care of. I'm more concerned about the fact that I’ve thrown a lot of life changes your way in a short amount of time and I want to make sure you’re okay with it.”

Y/N sighed a little in spite of herself. It was a lot. It was fast. Still, what was the alternative? Freezing to death on a sidewalk in Dallas? Nope, this was better, even if she did have whiplash and a lot of shit at stake.

“It’s a lot”, she admitted, “I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t, but I’ll rebound, I promise—”

“Hey,” Jensen said, squeezing her hand and halting her to keep her from talking so fast that she was about to hyperventilate, which made her face burn hot with embarrassment. “It’s okay to be a little turned around and freaked out. I kinda ripped you away from everything you’ve ever known in less than 72 hours. Anyone would be a little off kilter after that for a while. I’m not mad about it, nor am I gonna be, but if you need to take five, or if it gets too much, you have to be honest with me… okay? I can’t don’t know how you’re feeling unless you tell me.”

Y/N swallowed the hug knot she had in her throat and nodded, just in time for the car to come to a stop in front of a private little house, far enough outside of town to be unbothered by prying eyes, but close enough to get a Door Dash delivery and an Uber if you need it.

Robotically, eyes still glued to the pristine white exterior with dark green shutters and a cute little front porch with a slightly weather porch swing and rose bushes lining the stone trail that led to the tiny red front door that created a very inviting, homie vibe, Y/N realized something. It had been three years since she’d stepped foot inside of a house, much less stayed in one.

Pressure immediately started to build behind her eyes, and a hundred-pound weight set itself on her chest as her eyes shifted over every little perfect imperfection of the little cottage. This was heavy. She thought she’d never see something like this again, only in her dreams.

Maybe it was a good thing that Jensen was taking her here first, because she was sure his home was massive in comparison to this one, and if this one was hitting her in the feels like this… she could only imagine what it was going to be like when she pulled up to her new ‘home’.

“You coming, sweetheart?” Jensen questioned, his voice jarring her, and causing her to look in his direction. He was standing in the middle of the little path that led to the house, bags in his hands, her little bag of belongings on his shoulder, and a deeply concerned look on his face.

“Yeah, sorry,” Y/N attempted to shake it off. But she could tell for all of her bravo acting, Jensen wasn’t convinced. Guess you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. That’s what actors did right? Bullshit you into believing they’re feeling what they’re feeling while they were in front of a camera to make it real? Right?

She knew she had some deep seeded trust issues, but apparently, she had more than she thought she had, ‘cause now she was wondering as she forced her feet to move, and began to follow him up the little trail of stone to the porch, whether she’d ever really be able to trust anyone again after all she’d been through, especially someone as good at acting as this man obviously was...

Forever:

@bubsonnobx

@britnwinchester

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@jensenslady79

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma

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@msmarvelouswinchester

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SAF tag list

@itsdesiree86

@evilunicorns4minions

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

@thefemalestorywriter

@tapedeck-hearts

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@southerngal96

@mavisiceroo

#something about fate #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x reader #jensen x you #jensen x y/n #real person fiction #rpf #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn series #jensen ackles series #jawritter #dean winchester

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gwydionmisha · 7 months

Text

Personal: For Profit Healthcare and Me

So remember how Peacehealth drove all the independent offices in four specialties out of business, thus forcing everyone to use their clinic, then closed those clinics to force everyone to go to their central clinic two counties to the south? And remember how both the Doctors who were running that clinic made a deal to operate out of a clinic a regional medical conglomerate was opening near the hospital? so instead of me spending all day on a sixty mile each way trek for my treatment I was using the last three months of skeleton crew treatment at old clinic which ended the last Thursday in September? Remember how they said we could all follow our doctors there?

Yeah, about that.

I've been dutifully calling ever two weeks to see if they were letting people schedule appointments yet. They sent out a letter saying they were open. I stayed up Tuesday to get in sorted. it was a whole drama because the automated maze to get to the scheduler was as much of a hassle as Peacehealth's and prone to dropping calls, forcing one to start from scratch each time. so that was frustrating and tine consuming.

Apparently they have no access to our health records, so it was a start from scratch situation. Me, mentally: Shit! This is going to be HOURS. Only it wasn't for all the wrong reasons. They take Medicare, but not Medicare Advantage. So if I want it covered I have to lose most of my benefits including having Medicaid pay my big Medicare copay. O.o. Or I can pay for expensive treatments myself as uninsured.

I was upset, but I remembered superstar medical social worker lady personally calling around town to talk dentists into taking medicare dental coverage for me thus opening up my small city so that medicare patients can now get root canals and crowns instead of learning to live without chewing.

So I still thought it was salvageable. Problem is she's gone and the woman replacing her is a busy supervisor who likes to call me two hours into my sleep cycle without warning and then gets angry at me for not being charming. Previous lady asked when was best to call and would schedule calls in advance for a time when I was able to be awake and functional. it is a lot easier for me to be charming when I wasn't just ripped out of REM sleep and am now being interrogated about something.

New lady is a supervisor and super busy with supervisor things and is made of no and is snippy. I can not make her understand that not only is a 120 mile round trip over mountain passes dealing with the traffic mess along the highway in the major metropolitan area where I once got caught in a four hour traffic jam and couldn't get off to pee, is an entire exhausting day for me and that plus a treatment would not only mean i could do anything useful that day, but the next day to. She can't grasp how much pain is involved in long car trips or how much treatments take out of me. She keeps hard selling me on this and then calling me resistant and recalcitrant like I'm the one being unreasonable for considering this basically insurmountable at my level of disability.

She did not fight the in town clinic for me. She did not try to argue them around.

Her, repeating a suggestion she has made over and over since the closing announcement: You should just get your GP to do it.

Me, explaining for at least the third time because we have this conversation every time we talk: I asked my GP last spring like you asked. They can't do it. It can't be administered by a GP. They'd need to hire a specialist and build new facilities for compounding and for special storage of medication.

Her: Well just ask you GP to give you a different treatment.

Me: There are no other treatments. I have medications to manage symptoms. These treatments are the cure. There is only one cure.

Her: You are being recalcitrant!

Me: There is literally only one cure. No new ones have been invented since last February. The cure is working. I'm getting better. i will get worse again with only symptom management.

But she kept arguing with me because I was being stubborn about facts being facts. My GP can't pull an entire brand new treatment regimen out of her ass. She would not let it go or let me go and I was exhausted because it was hours past when I would normally be asleep at this point and also what was the point of her hard selling me on demanding the imaginary alternative treatment or the 120 mile trip. I ended up giving and and saying something like, "I have to go now," which I know is rude, but we spent this entire conversation with her neither listing not understanding and basically acting like I was the asshole here.

So I'm fucked and I'm frustrated and angry. I was literally at the point where I was going to get better really quickly if I kept doing treatments, but if we stop now I'll be back to square one with it all to do again if another clinic opens.

And it's all like this because Obama and Biden didn't have the balls to stick to their universal free healthy care guns and decided to adopt the capitalist give away Republican health plan in pursuit of bipartisan buy in they did not get, which anyone paying attention told them they could not get, which Mitch McConnell vowed they'd never get as part of the project to make Obama a one term president at all costs. They burned all their political capital on a bullshit give away to insurance companies when they could have taken the same or less of a hit just giving up a developed country level health care system. No fucked up website needed for sign ups. No red tape or copays or catch 22 shit like I'm dealing with now.

#Personal

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thedisablednaturalist · 7 months

Text

People should get reimbursed for commute time

If it takes someone over an hour to get tk work, that should be part of their pay.

Many people have to commute long distances/through areas of slow traffic because they cannot afford to live closer to their workplace. This is also why work from home is a big thing.

If corporations want people to return to their offices, they need to make it appealing enough. I'm not going to fight through traffic for 2 hrs in my free time just to sit at a computer all day, when I could just stay home and don't waste that time.

Corporations would be forced to invest in local affordable housing, perhaps even affording housing credits. They would need to invest in local infrastructure (which in the US is falling to pieces) and improve public transport in their area (faster commute -> less cost to the company, less cars on road -> traffic moves faster, employees without cars would still be able to get to work). Also people would be less stressed and actually take the time to drive safely because they wouldn't feel the need to rush. It would make companies actually take an interest in how their workers get to work and investing in local communities.

I live sort of near DC. We have a HUGE amount of workers commuting into the city and its surrounding cities. Retail workers also have to commute to these cities and suburbs because they cannot afford to live in those areas. My boyfriend commutes an hour to his part time job at a kennel in a rich town. A lot of people live in the more affordable, lower income, far away areas in the nearby states because housing prices in my area are fucking insane. I knew someone who commuted 2+ hours to work and 2+ hours back. There are people who drive even more than that.

And where do these employees have to live? Food deserts. Crumbling infastructure. No parks, no walkability, no public transport, bare bones everything. Only the cities which only the few can afford have basic infrastructure. And even the people living there have to commute to OTHER even richer areas. There's a ton of places where housing developments have just been shoved and are surrounded by nothing but farms. There's nothing local to do, so everyone goes to the closest town and city. It's also why you see a lot of older towns have abandoned main streets. Why have your business cater to the 100 people who live there when you can be in a city with thousands?

There has been some recent interest in paid commute times. 1 2 especially with corporations trying to get workers to go back to the office. Personally, I love working in my office because having a separate space outside my home helps me keep work and home separate and allows me to focus easier since I'm not in "home mode". I don't have room for an office in my parents house so working from home kinda sucks rn even though it would help a lot since I'm disabled. But it is nice being physically near my coworkers, even if it gets annoying sometimes. Also many jobs involve fieldwork (like mine!) which can't be done remotely anyway!

There would be incentive for corporations to keep their employees close AND provide more remote work options for those living farther away. As well as matching pay to fit rent/housing prices in the area (or vice versa).

Also there needs to be something done about corporations having their entire workforce sourced from another country entirely, working for pennies. But that's an even more complicated situation that I don't have experience in.

#long post #its 6am rant time #its so much more sustainable to have people live and work in the same communities #so many resources are spent on commute #i like my drive because it gives me time to wake up and i like just sitting n focusing for a bit #but my commute is also pretty easy since I am going away from the city towards the lower income areas #on the other direction it is backed up completely most days #we drive a lot during work to bc we visit different restoration sites and we get paid for those driving times!#it all comes down to corporations not giving a shit about their employees lives #pls dont try n dox me there are a ton of areas near DC like mine #so its harder than you'd think #but yea ive seen some crazy fucking traffic and commute times #corporations should invest in their communities instead of acting like fucking parasites #remote work #return to office #commute #labor rights #id love if sustainable city experts n economists chimed in #sustainability #sustainable cities #local economy #community

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five-rivers · 1 year

Text

Cryptid Crawl!

@currentlylurking

AO3

[Video starts, showing a young person with dyed pink and blue hair sitting in front of a poster with the words ‘Cryptid Crawl!’ superimposed on a world globe. The letters are colored with a pink and blue camo pattern reminiscent of the person’s hair. In the background of the poster are numerous cartoonish glaring eyes.]

Welcome back cryptid crawlers to the latest entry in our cryptid crawl across the continental US! Tonight, we visit the small town of Amity Park, Illinois. Now, experienced cryptozoologists might recognize that name as the self-proclaimed Most Haunted Town in America. But we aren’t here for the ghosts. Amity Park has much more to offer than just spooky stories - no offense to our fellow paranormal investigators.

I’m talking about the Amity Park Phantom.

Now, you might be going what? Crawly, a Phantom? That’s a ghost! But I will remind you all of the Fiskerton Phantom, which is very much not a ghost and is very much a living creature.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that the Amity Park Phantom is the same kind of creature as the Fiskerton Phantom. In fact, descriptions of the creatures are very different. The Fiskerton Phantom is described as a large, dark-furred cat-like or bear-like animal with pointed ears. The Amity Park Phantom, meanwhile, is somewhat smaller than an adult human. Still big, for an animal, but not that big. Its color, meanwhile, is patchy, but sort of reminiscent of a tuxedo cat, if you know what I mean. But the most eye-catching part of the Amity Park Phantom is definitely the eyes. They’re big. They’re bright. They’re green. And they glow. Lemme show you.

[The video shifts so that the right half the screen is taken up by a blurry photograph. Most of the photo is of a city park, but towards the edge of the park is a black and white humanoid figure. The figure’s face is obscured by a pair of bright green lights.]

Now, we all know the typical explanations mainstreamers and cryptid deniers put out. Alien big cats, native cats with unusual coloration, owls. I mean, you know how I feel about people saying Mothman is just an owl. I mean, come on, man. That’s crazy.

Back on topic.

Unlike most cryptids, the Amity Park Phantom is incredibly well documented.

[The right half of the screen cycles through several more photographs of the same black and white figure.]

Seriously, the only reason it’s still a cryptid and not, like, getting someone on the cover of Genius magazine for discovering a new species - look, an enby like myself can dream, right? I’m hot enough to be on a magazine! - is because all the picture are blurry. Which I posit is because of its crazy traffic light eyes. Also, it’s crazy fast and can fly.

Yep. This boy, girl, or other can fly. Not sure how. No visible wings - not that we can see with how blurry pictures of it already are, anyway. But fly it does. There are lots of pics and videos of it flying.

The Amity Park Phantom also has one other thing going for it that other cryptids don’t get: Official government recognition.

Yeah, I’m not kidding you. The City of Amity Park’s official, serious government position is that the Phantom exists, and not just as a tourist draw. Which is, like, mind-blowing. Most places don’t even recognize Bigfoot. Mothman doesn’t even have this level of recognition, and Mothman has a statue!

You know the one I’m talking about.

[The picture on the right changes to show an image of the Point Pleasant, Virginia Mothman statue, and then a close up of the statue’s butt. It then returns to showing images of the Amity Park Phantom.]

Here’s the rub. The reason the Phantom is still defined as a cryptid and not a real, living organism. Amity Park might recognize that the Phantom exists, but… they think it’s a ghost.

But that’s not true. Sorry, ghost hunters, we’re usually on the same side, but in this case, you’re wrong. Just gotta tell it like I see it.

Let’s face the facts.

One, the Phantom is not geographically bound. Not to Amity Park itself - take a look at these pictures of it, or a similar creature, in Wisconsin.

Two, the Phantom has been photographed and even videoed hanging around restaurants and begging for food, even to the point of flying through the drive-through and getting chased away by this really badass girl - seriously, she climbed out of the drive-through window and chased him off with a broom. Girl, if you’re seeing this and you’re single, look me up.

[Video is briefly replaced by a three-second clip of a young black woman in a ‘Nasty Burger’ employee uniform climbing out of a drive through window and chasing the Amity Park Phantom with a push broom.]

Not ghost behavior.

Three, no matter how many sad dead children you dig up, none of them, not one of them matches Phantom’s appearance or behavior. None. Like, look at this man.

[Photo montage stops on a slightly less blurry than usual picture of the Amity Park Phantom.]

His head is white. That’s white hair. Fur. Whatever. Oh, god, now they’ve got me doing it. Yikes. But you know what’s even more yikes? Trying to use real tragedies to prop up a demonstrably false claim on the internet.

Finally, and I think most damningly, is that you can get pictures of this guy. I have never seen nor heard of a ghost getting photographed this reliably.

Now, can I understand why people might think the Phantom is a ghost? Sure. He’s this funny glowy guy who can fly, and there are some reports that he’s got this active camouflage that would be so cool if it was real, because it sounds almost like invisibility. Finding an organism that can do that would be a big support to crytozoologists everywhere. Plus, it fits Amity Park’s schtick. The whole ‘Most Haunted Town’ thing.

But there’s another reason for Amity Parkers to be so insistent that the Phantom is a ghost. You see, they actually get funding for ‘ghost attacks.’ Yes, I know, it’s weird. On the other hand, they don’t give out funding for wild animal attacks. Well, wait, I don’t actually know that, crap–

[Video cuts, jumping back to the blue-and-pink haired person.]

Okay, yeah, there’s some money for it, but it’s not ghost attack money. God. Anyway. The ghost attack money– I can hardly say that with a straight face. Wow. It’s obviously only for ghost attacks, so. Gotta have a ghost. I am not making this up. It’s on their website!

Now, how much of this ghost attack damage is actually because of the Phantom… eh, that’s hard to tell. Beyond the obvious obfuscation, no one’s ever been seriously injured by Phantom. There’s this fun video someone photoshopped of it robbing a bank, though! No idea why anyone would do that, but, you know. It’s the internet. They got the eye color wrong, though, maybe on purpose, so that’s something. I’ll be putting the link to that video down below if any of you need a laugh.

You might have noticed that this video is nearing its end, but don’t worry, this is not the last you’ll hear of the Amity Park Phantom. Next week, I will be going to Amity Park, Illinois! Personally! If you live around there, you might just see me.

On the other hand, that’s all for this week before I crawl back into my Cryptid Cave - I should really get that trademarked some day - so! Don’t forget to like and subscribe if you haven’t already. My patreon, ko-fi, and socials are listed below. I need money, so don’t be shy. If you have any cryptid stories, photography, or art, don’t be a cryptid yourself, make yourself known and send them in. This week’s contributors are listed in the video credits. See you next week!

[Video briefly goes black. A list of usernames begins to scroll by, faster than possible to read. Video ends.]

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2023

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