#it probably demands to be a chapter fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariasont · 15 days

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Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him.

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe.

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else.

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze.

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food.

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again.

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned.

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love."

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity.

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body.

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked.

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago.

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x you #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfic

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edenesth · 6 days

Text

TWTHH Bonus: Star of the Show

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

A/N: In case you haven't already read Honeymoon Avenue (the first bonus chapter), it's probably better to check that out before reading this. Also, please be warned that this contains a slight spoiler to Wooyoung and Hongjoong's spinoffs.

Honeymoon Avenue | Fic Masterlist

"Your wife is with child."

The words echoed in the general's mind long after Yunho had uttered them. You remained unconscious in his room, undergoing a more thorough examination. Seonghwa had been asked to leave while you were attended to. He felt a wave of relief knowing that, according to the physician, your fainting spell was simply your body's way of compensating for the exhaustion caused by the demands of the little one growing inside you.

"Don't worry, everything will be okay."

"I'm counting on you, Yunho," he recalled telling the doctor before exiting his private quarters, his gaze lingering on your still, pale figure nestled under the covers.

"When have I ever let you down, my lord? She'll be fine, the baby will be fine; your family, they'll be just fine."

Realising there was no use lingering outside while the physician and his team of servants were busy examining you—his presence wouldn't change anything—he decided to occupy himself elsewhere while he waited. However, returning to his study seemed impossible; he knew he wouldn't be able to focus on anything else.

As if with a mind of its own, his feet carried him toward the House of Lotus. His heart warmed at the familiar sight of the pavilion facing the lotus pond, your favourite spot, once empty but now furnished with a small table, cosy cushioned seats, and decorative lanterns. It was a testament to the time you two spent together there. He could never tire of being there with you, and the mere thought of spending eternity like that was more than enough to fill his heart with joy.

Soon, it wouldn't just be us two.

Deciding not to sit alone without you, he opted to enter your quarters instead, where every corner held a piece of you. He softened as he opened the door and spotted your embroidery kit at the centre of the room. You had been deeply invested in the craft ever since Hongjoong had taught you a few techniques, dedicating nearly all your time to it when you weren't occupied with anything else. He remembered finding you diligently working on it late into the night and had to gently coax you to bed with him.

Approaching the items, he settled into your usual spot before going through the designs you had created. A chuckle escaped him as he took in some of your earlier, more clumsy works—clearly, these were from when you first began learning from the dressmaker. As he continued, a smile graced his lips at the gradual improvement in quality. It hinted at the possibility that you had discovered a hidden talent; his friend would surely be proud to see your progress.

However, his movements faltered as he reached the bottom of the pile and discovered what appeared to be a... baby shirt. Realisation dawned on him: had this been your secret project all along? Were you aware of your pregnancy all this time?

Questions flooded his mind, each one more pressing than the last. Why hadn't you told him? Why had you lied and pretended everything was fine when you must have been feeling so sick? Did you not trust him enough to confide in him?

His heart ached with the thought that you might have felt the need to hide something so important from him. It left him feeling a mix of confusion, hurt, and a tinge of betrayal. Had he not made it clear that he was there for you, no matter what?

As he sat there, staring at the tiny garment in his hands, he couldn't help but wonder what reasons you could have had for keeping this from him. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more heartbreaking than the last. He thought back to all the times you had been showing symptoms of pregnancy, and it hurt him to know you didn't feel safe enough to tell him the truth. Was it because you didn't think he would be a good father? What if, deep down, there was a part of you that was still afraid of him? What if—

Before his thoughts could further linger, a knock on the door snapped him out of his train of thought. Turning to see who it was, he allowed entry and found Eunsook standing there with a smile on her face, "The mistress is awake, master," she announced. With that, all his previous worries were momentarily swept from his mind. Only you mattered as he quickly rose from his seat and dashed towards his room to see you.

Rushing into the room, Seonghwa's heart raced as he laid eyes on you, sitting up on his bed with Yunho standing beside you. Relief flooded him as he saw you speaking softly with the physician, a gentle hand pressed against your stomach.

Oh thank god, she's alright... they're alright.

Moving closer, he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you. Despite the recent scare, you looked calm and serene, your presence soothing his worried mind. He approached quietly, not wanting to interrupt your conversation with Yunho but eager to be by your side.

As soon as your eyes met, he noticed the hint of moisture gathering in your gaze as you uttered his name, "Hwa..." His heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice, and he quickly moved forward, settling beside you on the bed. Gently, he grasped your hand, brushing strands of hair away from your face and stroking your cheek, "What's wrong, my love? Are you feeling alright?"

You nodded, leaning into his touch and motioning for Yunho to speak on your behalf. Taking a deep breath, the physician began, "Her condition is currently stable, my lord."

Seonghwa furrowed his brow in dread, "I'm sensing a 'but' there."

"But..." the doctor continued, "Due to years of severe malnutrition throughout the lady's childhood, her body lacks many essential nutrients necessary for both her and the baby. This explains her weakness. But fear not, I will do everything in my power to ensure her full recovery. Once we pass the three-month mark safely, the remainder of the pregnancy should proceed smoothly."

"I... I understand. Thank you again, Yunho, for your hard work. It seems we'll need your frequent visits for the next few months," the general acknowledged, offering a grateful nod to his friend.

"No problem, my lord and lady. I'll ensure Eunsook receives all the necessary information for the mistress' care. Please excuse me, I should get started on the preparations immediately."

Once Yunho had left and you were alone together, your husband turned his attention back to you. Squeezing your hand gently, he couldn't shake the image of the baby shirt from his mind. He knew he had to address it. Leaning closer, he pressed a kiss on your forehead before delicately broaching the subject, "I... I have a question."

You responded in a soft voice, returning the squeeze of his hand, "What is it, Hwa?"

"My love, have you been aware that you were pregnant all along?"

As your gaze met his, he rested his forehead against yours, seeking to reassure you, "It's just... I was going through your embroideries earlier and I saw it—the baby shirt."

You let out a soft sigh, nodding, "Yes, I... I had a feeling, and I've been preparing myself to tell you about it, Hwa. But I just didn't know how to say it. I was scared of your reaction." When he attempted to pull away, you reached out, cupping his face to keep him close, "Listen to me, I'm not afraid of you. I... I know you've never had a proper family growing up—both of us, actually—and... I can't help but wonder if you might hate the idea of starting one."

His heart swelled with understanding, realising he had momentarily let his earlier insecurities get the best of him. Of course, you were simply concerned about him. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss against your lips before murmuring tenderly, "With another person, I would hate the idea. But with you, my love, I want it all."

Feeling touched by his words, you realised you had never needed to overthink the situation. You should have known that his love and acceptance were unwavering.

Perhaps you had just been overwhelmed by the idea of a tiny life growing inside you—a product of your love with Seonghwa. The thought of having a baby, your baby, filled you with joy and apprehension. Neither of you had experienced a conventional family upbringing, and you feared whether you could provide the love and care this child deserved. Since the first moment you felt sick and figured you might be pregnant, endless questions floated around your mind.

Were you ready?

Was he ready?

What if he didn't want children?

But now, those fears seemed unfounded. As tears welled in your eyes, you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and buried your face against his shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace. He held you close, peppering kisses all over your head, his love and warmth enveloping you. Through your tears, you whispered, "I love you, Hwa."

You could feel his smile against your skin as he leaned his head against yours, his voice soft and reassuring, "I love you more, my wife, and that'll never change."

In the days that followed, you found yourself hardly ever alone. Your husband seemed determined to stay by your side every moment, as if he hadn't already been doing so since he dismissed all his friends. Now, he was even more attentive and vigilant, always ensuring he was nearby to keep watch over you. And whenever he needed to retreat to his study for brief meetings with Jongho, Eunsook remained faithfully by your side.

Today was another one of those days when he had no choice but to attend to some work. He hadn't been attending the daily assemblies for a while, so the least he could do was go through some reports to stay updated on the latest happenings in court.

Meanwhile, the head maid remained by your side in your room. You sat with a cookbook in your hand, diligently trying to learn new recipes. As the saying goes, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and although you already had a hold on Seonghwa's heart, you were determined to work even harder to keep it safe with you.

"You've been quite busy lately, mistress, with cooking and embroidering. I think the master might be getting a bit jealous that you're not as focused on him as you are on these tasks," she joked, gently brushing your hair as she observed your focused expression.

With a playful giggle, you shot her a glance, "Is he really? Well, everything I do, I do it to be a better wife for him and a better mother to this little one," you said, smiling down at your growing bump.

Eunsook's expression softened, "I'm just kidding. I'm sure the master knows that," she reassured before pausing, "Mistress, have you both thought about baby names yet?"

At that, your eyes widened, and you set down the book in your hands, "Oh dear, we haven't. I've been so invested in everything else, it seems I might have overlooked the most important thing."

She chuckled, rubbing your back soothingly, "Don't worry, you still have plenty of time until the little one is born. Perhaps you and the master could start thinking about it now."

Later that night, as you lay in bed next to your husband, the words of the head maid lingered in your mind like a persistent whisper. Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on your eyelids, you found yourself unable to sleep as your thoughts drifted towards potential names for the future baby Park. Each name you considered brought with it a flood of emotions and images of what your child might look like, how they would grow, and the kind of person they would become.

Sensing your slight movements, Seonghwa kissed your head softly, his voice gentle, "Are you still awake, my love?"

You grinned sheepishly, patting his chest, "I'm fine, Hwa. You go ahead and sleep. You must be tired."

But he sighed, gently sitting up with you still in his arms, ensuring the comforter covered you, "Not as tired as you. You're carrying a little person. Now, do you want to tell me why you're still not sleeping?"

Smiling shyly, you met his gaze, "I was talking to Eunsook earlier and realised... we haven't thought of any baby names."

His mouth formed an 'O' in realisation, mirroring your surprise. It seemed he, too, had not given it much thought. Nodding slowly, he whispered, "That's right, we haven't," pulling you closer to him, he relished the way your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, "So, what do you have in mind then? Have you managed to come up with anything with all that thinking, hm?"

You replied, nervously nibbling on your lip, "Actually, I have thought of a name. If it's a girl, Yeonjoo feels right."

He hummed, considering deeply, "Yeonjoo... like a lotus princess?"

You beamed, "Exactly. She'd be our little princess, growing up in the House of Lotus."

His heart swelled; your choice held significance. It wasn't just a random pretty name; it carried depth. Planting a kiss on your cheek, he smiled, "It's perfect. So, if it's a girl, Yeonjoo it is."

You cheered, "Okay, any ideas for a boy?"

He hesitated, then brightened, "You know what? I do have one in mind, though it might not be as thoughtful as yours. How about Jiyeong? It means a wise and brave hero, and it could also symbolise a flower petal, like the lotus. It'd be wonderful if he grew up to be intelligent and brave enough to protect his eomma," he murmured, gently placing his hand on your bump and stroking it.

"I think Jiyeong is a wonderful choice, Hwa, if it's a boy," you whispered, a sense of relief washing over you now that you finally had names for your child.

Covering his hand on your stomach with yours, you looked up at him with slightly wet eyes, "Gosh, can you believe we're going to be parents in a few months?"

"It's surreal sometimes, my love. And I'll admit, I am a little scared. But I know we'll manage. It won't be easy, but as long as we face it together, we'll be fine."

Yes, I know we will.

The first three months seemed to pass in a whirlwind, with Yunho's weekly visits becoming a familiar routine. Each time, he checked on your condition and brought herbs to boost your health and stabilise the pregnancy, ensuring everything progressed smoothly. Amidst this, life outside your little family continued to unfold.

You recall a particular evening when Wooyoung rushed in, desperate for your husband's aid to rescue a certain Miss Han. In a matter of weeks, she became a temporary resident in your household while still courting the private investigator. Her presence was delightful as she eagerly assisted you in cooking and embroidering, all while awaiting Wooyoung's eventual proposal that would take her away.

And through him, you learned of Hongjoong's latest job, assisting the youngest miss of the Baek family. It appeared to affect the dressmaker unexpectedly, stirring emotions no one had anticipated, especially him, even requiring a little nudge from both Seonghwa and Wooyoung to realise his feelings.

Before you knew it, you found yourself seated in the dining hall, surrounded by your husband's friends. Giving your hand a squeeze, Seonghwa cleared his throat to grab their attention, "Guys," he began, "we've gathered you all here today because we have an announcement to make."

Hongjoong, arms crossed, chimed in, "Pssh, I had a feeling. I knew you wouldn't be treating us to a meal for no reason."

Yunho's knowing grin widened, excited to see the dressmaker's reaction while Wooyoung leaned forward excitedly in his seat, nudging San beside him, who smiled back but inwardly wished the investigator would leave him alone. Mingi promptly set down his wine glass, eager to hear what was to come.

"I hope you're all excited because you're going to be uncles soon," the general announced, prompting cheers from everyone at the table.

The lovely Miss Han, seated beside you, wasted no time in giving you a side hug, though she had already been privy to your little secret. She had even been considerate enough to keep her man in the dark about it.

Wooyoung joined in the celebration, clapping enthusiastically, oblivious that his other half had been aware the whole time, "I knew it! I could tell she was pregnant from my first visit all those months ago. You've been so oddly careful with her ever since!"

At that, Hongjoong's expression darkened, "What do you mean, all those months ago? How far along are you, my lady?"

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, "Three months."

The dressmaker's jaw dropped in disbelief, "You didn't think to tell us until now? Park Seonghwa, what kind of friend are you?"

Yunho scoffed and rolled his eyes, "See, that's why you're an idiot. What does Miss Baek even see in you, I'll never know. Obviously, they wanted to wait until her condition was stable before telling everyone. Why do you think I've been so busy for the past few months?"

Hongjoong shot him a glare, "Oh, I don't know? Maybe because you've been trying to spend all your time with a certain Miss Ryu?"

The physician sputtered in shock, but before the argument could escalate, Jongho appeared behind them, smacking both on the back, "That's enough, you two. Please continue this another time."

Your husband interjected, shooting the assistant a grateful smile, "That's right. As Yunho mentioned, we just wanted to wait until it was safe before telling you guys."

San and Mingi softened, offering heartfelt congratulations to you and Seonghwa, prompting the rest of the guys to do the same. However, the peace was short-lived. Wooyoung eagerly raised his hand, "Ooh, can I please be the godfather?"

The dressmaker was quick to object, "Excuse me? If anyone here is to be the godfather, it's obviously me! Know your place, you fool."

"Oh, dear god, here we go again," your husband muttered beside you.

You couldn't help but grin at their endless shenanigans, glancing down at your stomach and rubbing it affectionately. You already knew this baby would be spoiled rotten even before entering the world. It seemed this little one was already the star of the show.

I contemplated how much of the pregnancy I should cover, but I think I'll only do this much for now! Because any further than this, and that might spoil some of the other members' spinoffs. I shall focus on finishing up all the rest of the stories after this, and who knows? There could be more bonus chapters in the future, we'll see~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/6): Tumblr is a bitch and won't let me mention more than 5 users in a single sentence, so now my tag list looks like a complete joke🤡

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@idkwgoh @loveateez @linosllvr @idfkeddieishot @yuyubun

#edenesth #the way to his heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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peachesofteal · 1 month

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Dead Disco / Chapter 13

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ brief sexual content. This fic contains mature themes. Simon POV. Established throuple, relationship issues, fighting. Feelings of anxiety, despair. Crying. Johnny comes home

The holster is snug.

Simon pats it affectionately, swallowing roaring nausea, trying to stay limber on his feet.

He’s fine. He’s probably just at the gym, or the down the street. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself, he's working himself up for nothing.

He sends another text, just in case.

>Getting worried now. Where are you?

It’s not like him, not responding. Not like him to vanish when he said he was staying in, not like him to not text with an update about where he’s going and how long he’ll be.

He knows Simon. Knows he he’ll get twisted up, get caught up in a vicious cycle of memory and fear, knows he’ll be worried.

Doesn’t he know?

It’s not like him.

What if he’s hurt? What if someone snatched him, drugged him, loaded him into a box somewhere? What if someone is hurting him right now, and he’s scared, while all Simon is doing is pacing around in this godforsaken flat that’s too big for him to be comfortable in alone, what if he’s de-

A key clicks in the lock.

Simon is on his feet and in the hall before the door gets a chance to fully open.

He can hear his pulse, the hammer inside his skull, ticking away like a bomb, a new brand of fear: sickly and infectious, spreads from his heart, leeching into his body.

Johnny is crying.

“What’s wrong?” Simon keeps him at arm’s length for inspection, like he's looking him over in tac gear, triple checking his plates, his straps, his safety pieces. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?” Johnny doesn’t speak, raw, serrated breaths coming in and out too quickly, and Simon holds him steady, firm grip on his shoulders. “Johnny, love. Look at me.”

Control this. Contain it. Fix it.

“I-m- I-“ The words are stilted, too thick, getting caught in Johnny’s throat, and Simon repeats himself, switching gears, shifting. His tone is stronger, unaffected. Battle tested.

“Are you hurt?” It straightens Johnny. Snaps him to attention, and he blinks, still the beautiful, sweet boy with tears in his eyes, looking up in Simon’s face, wracked with despair.

“No. No, ‘m, not hurt, Si. Not hurt.”

Not hurt. But not okay.

He can save that for another moment. Another day if he has to. He’s okay. He came back. He’s here.

Johnny’s eyes dive a deeper shade of blue when he cries. They become shards of stained glass, a sea blue that holds a million miles worth of passion, of feeling, of love.

Their mouths touch. Seeking, hesitant longing, desperately trying to connect, and Simon jerks away, cradling his face, holding him still.

It’s dread that fills Simon now. Dread and fear, snaking together to form a hydra that never sleeps, never dies. You cut off one head, another two emerge, and he cannot control them. Cannot tamp them down.

“What’s happened, love? What’s wrong?”

“Si, I… I made a mistake.” Simon closes his eyes.

“What did you do?” It’s not a question, it’s a demand.

Confess your sins and be forgiven.

“I went to see her.”

It’s worse than what he was expecting. Far worse.

He splits in two.

“You what?” The words sound far less devastated than he feels. “You… what?”

“I went, I know I wasnae supposed to, but I had to see her.” Simon steps away. He releases his partner, the man he loves, and looks at him through the eyes of a stranger. “I havnae been sleepin’ I cannae eat, or focus, and I know ye’ve been havin’ an easier time-“

“Stop.” An easier time? Is he really that blind? “You think this has been easy for me?”

“N-no, I didnae mean-“

“You think I’m alright, when our girl…” He bites his tongue.

Control.

“I’m not having an easier time, Johnny.”

“I made a mistake.” He whispers to the floor, and sympathy, love, cracks Simon’s heart, just a little. He’s been having such a rough go, Simon knows. Struggling. Depressed. And nothing can fix it, not Simon or anything else in this world except… you.

He reaches, but Johnny steps out of his grasp, eyes wide.

“I… I made a mistake, Si.”

“I know, but it’s okay, we can-“

“We had sex.”

Everything changes. The floor disappears beneath his feet. His knees go weak, watery, and he steps away. A chainsaw tears through his diaphragm, blood and guts dropping to the floor.

“You what?”

“I didnae plan to, it just… it just happened.” Simon closes his eyes. He struggles for air, a thousand pounds sat on his chest. “She was cryin’ and then we just… we lost control. I didnae even realize what was happening at first, and then she asked me to kiss her and I couldnae say no, Si. Ye know I… it just-“

“Stop.”

“She needed me, needs us, wanted to, and I-“

“STOP!” He shouts, and Johnny jerks back, eyes wide.

“Simon.” He reaches, but it’s too late. Simon is already stepping out of reach. An ocean of despair, sadness, rage tosses him in a turbulent wave, knocking him side to side, stealing his breath. Agony wails between his ears.

“Don’t touch me right now.” How could he do this? Betray you like this? When you’re vulnerable?

He knows why. His next words are a poison barb, aimed straight at the heart of the man he loves.

“You’re weak.”

“Si.” Johnny’s voice cracks, face soaked with tears. He calls his name again and again, but Simon hears nothing, broken vibrato bouncing off his back as he turns away, locking himself in the bedroom.

“So, you want to do this. For real.” You’re so skeptical. Still. A battle never won but fought every day. You chew on your lip, hesitance heavy in your eyes. “With me.”

“Aye, darling. With ye.” Johnny sucks a mark into your neck, hands roaming across your chest. You wriggle between them, uneasily laughing, huffing and pushing at him, still overstimulated and coming down from too many orgasms to count. They pushed you to the limit tonight, twisted you between them and bent you under their bodies, filled you at the same time. He can still feel the clench of your cunt around his cock, your warmth engulfing him, setting him aflame. “Is it so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” Your answer is immediate, and Johnny rolls his eyes. You glance at Simon.

He wants to rip away all your layers. Burrow between your heart and ribs. Remake you in an image of love, help you feel confident in their affection, their near obsession with you.

“We know it will take time.” He murmurs, stroking a hand across the back of your neck when you push up onto your elbows. “We know this is a lot, and it won’t be easy, but we can make it work. If you give us a chance.” Tears line your lashes. You try to look away, but he holds you steady, refusing to let you hide.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

“I know.”

He thinks about calling you. What’s a phone call, in the face of such a boundary broken already? He wonders for a moment, if you’re okay, before his stomach tightens, realizing that Johnny left you there, alone.

Did you tell him to leave? Did he run home afterwards, worried? Did he hold you, make sure you’re okay, kiss you and tell you how much they love you?

He aches for violence. Wants to destroy this room, it’s walls, this place they tried to build around you.

The bed is too big now. The flat is empty. He feels the hollowness left in your wake everywhere, in the bathroom, missing your shampoo and toothbrush, the closet, lacking most of your clothes. The comforter has been replaced with a tired bedsheet and a blanket from the couch, a quarter of the pillows that are usually piled in the middle, missing.

It’s not his home. Not without you.

He eyes his phone.

He shouldn’t.

Why is he being punished, for doing the right thing? For listening to you, when you begged them to understand this is what you needed. Why is he the one in hell, when Johnny gets to drink his fill?

He doesn’t understand. How could he have gotten this so wrong?

Is this what you wanted all along? For them to come, pluck you from your escape back into their arms?

He looks at his phone again. The black screen taunts him, begs him, tells him it’s alright. It will be okay if he does it. If he breaks.

What kind of man is he, if he can’t respect what you need?

Johnny knocks on the door.

“Ye cannae shut me out.” It’s reminiscent of not too long ago, when Simon was on the other side of a different door, begging to see your face, dying to hear your voice.

“Johnny.” He croaks. His own cheeks are wet now, tears dripping down his jaw to his shirt.

“Simon, please.”

“I can’t see you right now.”

“I cannae let ye-“

“If you love me,” He raises his voice, not quite a shout, but something awful instead, a low pitch of anger. “You’ll leave me alone.” He can’t even look at him right now, can’t understand why he did this. Why he acted so callously, so selfishly. Simon hates himself, for thinking it, for allowing this anger to fester but he can’t feel anything else when he thinks about his sweet boy on the other side of that door, crying out for him. He’s so angry. He reaches for his phone. The impulse is too strong, the pain and want and the fear of not knowing if you’re okay eating away at him until he’s tapping your contact open.

The phone rings three times. On the fourth, the line clicks open, and he holds his breath.

“Simon?” You’re crying. It’s in your voice, thick with it, trembling across the connection with an intensity that could crack the earth.

“Darling.”

“It’s not ideal-“

“Not ideal? It’s… it’s about to be Christmas.” You take a ragged breath, and Simon’s heart aches. “You just got home.”

“Ah know love, but we cannae control when we’re needed. Ye know this.”

“We’ll try to be home before Christmas.” He has to stem this bleeding somehow, patch this wound. He wants to take you in his arms, bury his face in your hair and promise you a million things he knows he can’t.

“It’s fine.” It’s not. And neither are you. But you’re shoving it away, pushing it down where it will stay buried, building and building inside you like a storm, a wild thing that will drive you to the brink.

“Darling.” He tries to grab you, hold onto you, make you stay near him, where he can hold you, where he can try to fix it.

It’s not fair. None of it is. And never will be. Not for you.

“I’m fine.”

“We don’t want to be away from you, you know that.” You focus on the dishwasher, but your hands tremble, small tremors that signify an earthquake on the horizon.

“I know. It’s fine.”

“Darling.” You ignore him, focusing on the silverware draw, tugging on the handle. “Darling, please.”

Johnny flinches when it crashes to the floor. There’s agony in your face, pain and disappointment, and he hates himself for it, hates this job, hates this life they brought you into.

You break with a sob.

“Fuck! Fff-fuck. I’m so-sorry.” You try to turn away, to run, but he meets you, pulling you into his chest, reaching for the back of your neck with a steady hand. You’re crying so hard he’s worried you can’t breathe.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. We’re here.” For now. We’re here for now. He can’t give you much more, even though he’d give you both the world. You and Johnny, tucked away in secret, forever his. To hold. To love. “It’s okay, darling.” You cry and cry, sobs shaking your shoulders.

It’s not going to end on its own. And why should it? They’re the ones who do this to you. They are the ones who have to fix it.

Control it.

“Bedroom lights.” He directs Johnny with a glance.

“Rog.”

“The mess.” You whimper, and he shakes his head, still holding you firmly.

“We’ll clean it up later, darling. Let’s take care of you first.”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m calling.” He’s spiraling. Unmoored. Uncontrolled.

“It’s… it’s okay.” You stifle a sob, and he wants to rip his hair from his roots.

“Are you okay? That’s all…” He pulls away from the phone to take a short breath, trying to breathe through his nose. “That’s all I needed to know, if you’re okay.”

“I’m…” You go quiet, and he doesn’t push. Doesn’t want to. He goes at your pace, letting you control everything now, just as he has been for this last month. “I’m not okay.”

His heart freezes in his chest.

“Did you call your therapist?”

“No.” You cry, and he pinches his brow.

“What do you need?” The pattern on the carpet is a dizzying spiral, swirls of brown and tan spinning around him, drawing him down until he’s sitting with his back against the bed. When you don’t speak, he tries, just a little, to pull it from you. “Tell me darling.”

Y-you. I need… you.”

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

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valeskafics · 1 month

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"Chemicals React", Chapter Two: Tide's Pulling Me In Deeper (Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader)

a/n: this one's a little shorter but i hope y'all enjoy! this fic is gonna be 5 parts total hehe 🩷

Chapter One

Summary: Rafe does something drastic in order to see you again.

Word Count: 2,560

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, mentions of character death, alcohol consumption, latina!reader, topper being a classist cunt/classism

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Outer Banks characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. If any of his friends knew what he was doing, he’d never live it down. Rafe knows it. He’s down bad. Down horrendous.

Rafe walks up to the garage, dragging his dirtbike with him, knowing that you’re probably just going to roast the shit out of him. He realizes full well that you probably have no recollection of the night before, when you nearly fell out of John B’s stupid van calling him “papí”. The memory of that alone is enough to make his cock twitch against his jeans. Fuck, what is it with you?! Why are you in his head like this? He tries to shake it off, knocking and then entering the garage, his eyes immediately seeking you out.

You’ve got a welding helmet on and a jumpsuit hanging low around your waist, wearing your jumpsuit, the fabric of it hugging your hips, your ass, your tits… You’re not even trying to look good. It just comes naturally to you. Shit, what would happen if you actually made an effort? Rafe thinks he might spontaneously combust. Imagining you in a sundress, with your hair done and makeup on…

But the thing is? He thinks you look pretty damn great just like this too, doing what you love.

After you notice his presence, you remove your helmet, your hair damp and mussed, dripping with sweat. You shake out your hair, looking like something out of a teenage wet dream, his mouth watering at the sight. Fuck, you look incredible. You wipe your sweat from your brow with your forearm, nodding at him in greeting.

“Whatcha doin’ here, Country Club? Your engine ain’t here yet, so why are you?” He shifts slightly, running a hand through his hair, hoping he looks as suave as he’s trying to. Rafe can barely speak, his mind running wild with thoughts of lifting you up onto the hood of the car you’re working on, fucking you- “Oye! Pendejo!” You interrupt his train of thought by snapping your fingers in front of his face before pointing at the dirtbike he’s brought in, “Something wrong with the bike?” (idiot)

“Uh, yeah, kinda…”

Rafe watches intently as you shimmy out of your jumpsuit, tossing it aside, leaving you in your ripped jeans and a baggy Metallica tee shirt. It suits you, he thinks. God, why does he have to feel this way about some Pogue? There’s so many Kook girls out there who would be desperate for one night with him and yet? His ass is stuck on you. The girl who clearly could not give two shits about him. You cross your arms, circling the bike, oblivious to his gaze lingering on the way your jeans cling to the curve of your ass. Fuck, he might as well be drooling over you.

“Ay, dios mío, what did you do to this poor thing?!” You demand, looking at the ruined bike, covering your mouth as if you’re seeing a mutilated corpse, “She’s falling apart!” (oh my God)

“It’s not that bad,” Rafe scoffs, running a hand over his face, knowing he might have gotten a little overzealous in damaging the thing so that he could have an excuse to see you again - hey, the guy is only human.

You stare at him, nonplussed, “Not too bad, huh? My abuelita looks better than this and she’s been dead three years, God rest her soul.” (grandmother)

Okay, he can’t really argue with that logic. But, instead of doing that, a sly smile spreads across his face and he shrugs, watching the way you tie your hair up in a loose bun, wanting to keep it off your face. You bring a knee to your chest, tying your shoelaces, waiting for him to respond. It’s weird. Even the smallest things you do are able to turn him on.

Rafe shrugs, lifting his hands in the air, turning around with a dramatic flourish, “Alright, just say you can’t do it then. I’ll take it to someone else who knows how. I guess you can’t fix this-”

Your eyes narrow as you glare at him, “Perdóname?! Not able to fix-” He has to hide the gleeful expression that threatens to take over his face at your sassy demeanor, having so easily been able to anger you by calling your skills as a mechanic into question, “I can fix anything on wheels, white boy, don’t you be coming into my abuelito’s garage and say no puedo-” (I beg your pardon, grandfather, I can't)

You begin muttering to yourself in annoyance, grabbing your tools and getting to work on the bike. Rafe bites back a smirk, watching as you bend over, your shirt riding up just enough to reveal your lower back, oblivious to his hungry gaze. It’s easy for him to forget that he’s left your brother waiting for him outside, panicking slightly when Barry comes storming in, glancing between the two of you.

“Oh, hell nah, Country Club, you gonna stay away from my sister-”

“Ha!” You stand up, arms crossed as you glare up at your brother, “You don’t get to decide who I talk to, Barry, hm? Now, get out of my garage before I take this wrench and shove it up your-”

“It ain’t your garage, it’s Abuelito’s-”

“GET OUT! And take your güero with you!” (whitey)

“But-”

“Out!”

And for the second time in as many days, Rafe is shooed out of the garage like a damn dog. The worst part of it all is that he keeps turning back to look at you, even as Barry gives him his warning glares, declaring that Rafe better not touch you.

His kid sister.

One of Rafe’s fondest memories of his mom is the day she taught him to surf. She loved the water. He remembers that vividly. She would wake up early every morning to try and catch the morning tide, saying that setting foot in the ocean reminded her of how humble her existence was in the grand scheme of things.

Rafe hasn’t surfed since the day she died. He was ten years old when he found out he was going to lose her. Leukemia. And for all of his father’s money, all of his connections, their family sat there helpless as his mother wasted away. As the cancer ate away at her body. Rafe remembers going to the beach one morning before they headed to the hospital, his feet in the water as he closed his eyes and begged God to give his mom more time. That she was a good person, that she didn’t deserve this.

She died two days later. And Rafe never picked up his board again.

It’s sunrise when he comes to the beach, to think about her. There isn’t a soul around. He listens to the sound of the waves crashing against the sand, watching as the sky changes colors, the sun slowly making its appearance. He closes his eyes and he can almost hear the sound of her laugh, feel her ruffling his hair in that way she used to. Rafe doesn’t think he’s felt happy or safe ever since her passing.

The closest he’s been to feeling actual happiness is the short amount of time he’s spent with you.

Ever since the two of you met, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. And it’s driving him crazy. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is you. And when he opens them, he feels annoyed that you aren’t there. This is ridiculous. You’re Barry’s sister. His dealer’s sister. You’re a fuckin’ Pogue. There’s nothing special about you. Okay, so you know about cars. Big fucking whoop. He knows about cars. Well, clearly not as much as he thought he did.

Lost in thought, he almost misses the lone soul paddling out this morning. Rafe’s eyes go wide with recognition when he realizes that it’s, in fact, you. He watches as you wait for your moment, letting the first wave go by, then the second, before catching the third. You stand on your board, your hair flying behind you, looking like you belong on the cover of a surf magazine. Rafe stares in amazement. He remembers how that used to feel. The wind on your face, the spray of the sea on your skin, the noise of the ocean in your ears.

Maybe one day he’ll pick up his board again. Maybe one day, he’ll get to surf with you. He can already imagine it - you scolding him for surfing goofy-footed, that smirk on your face as you remind him how much better you are than him at everything. Maybe after that, the two of you would go to Kie’s parent’s restaurant and grab a bite to eat. Share an entree with each other, maybe he’d even kiss you when you weren’t paying attention.

He sees you approaching the beach, wringing out your hair as you make your way toward your car. Rafe watches intently, realizing that you remain unaware of his presence, an idiotic smile spreading across his face as he watches you hop in your car and drive away.

God, he’s so fucked.

When Barry off-handedly reveals that you enjoy going to surf after work as well as before, Rafe decides to ignore his friend’s warnings and take advantage of the fact. He takes his dad’s car and parks at the beach, watching you paddle out once again. He knows JJ and Pope and the others are out here too, but he can’t bring himself to care. All he wants to do is watch you surf, with that blissful smile on your face.

And everything is chill for a while. He just sits there, feet in the sand, listening to the sound of the waves and watching you go.

That is, until Topper and Kelce show up.

“Oh shit, man, are you whipped for that Pogue mechanic?” Topper scoffs, taking a seat beside Rafe, “Dude, bro, you can’t be serious, right?”

Rafe turns to Topper, scowling slightly, “No, I’m not whipped for her! I’m not even into her!”

“You sure, man? Because you were staring. Like a lot. And then at the Boneyard-”

“Shut the fuck up, Thornton, I’m not interested in some dirty Pogue, all she’s good for is fixing my damn bike and my car!”

He hears a rather feminine sounding scoff from behind him, only to see you standing there, flanked by your friends, an angry and somewhat hurt look on your face, “Thanks for making your opinion about me so clear, Rafe Cameron.” Rafe’s face pales and he immediately opens his mouth to protest, only for you to cut him off, “You can pick up the bike from my abuelito. The car too. Because I never want to see your stupid Kook face ever again.”

“Whew, someone’s got a temper on her,” Topper mutters.

You turn your icy glare toward him, “And someone’s got the beginnings of erectile dysfunction. Do not fuck with me, Topper Thornton.”

Topper presses his lips together while Rafe just sits there, stunned at how monumentally he’s fucked things up with you.

Rafe hates the way you lean into John B’s touch when he wraps his arm around you, you and your friends making your way toward that fucking van again.

This time, he doubts you’re gonna be hanging out of the side, calling him cute nicknames. You’re furious.

Rafe doesn’t know how he’s gonna talk his way or buy his way out of this one, but he knows damn well he has to try.

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burntheedges · 3 months

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Maintenance Request: Chapter 6

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ (minors DNI) | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 2.1k

a/n: it's Friday! now that these two are on ~better footing~ let's see what's going on. also, I forgot to say this last week -- thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta reading this fic!!! you're amazing. 💖 chapter tags/warnings: fluff, hint of angst (the lightest hint), banter

Chapter 6

Wednesday, October 2 Sixth week of the semester

After Joel (you’d been practicing calling him by his name in your mind, rather than Hot Construction Guy or HCG) answered your maintenance request, you felt like you had a new start. There had been a misunderstanding between you, and maybe it was a mild one, in the end, but you were on new ground now. Possibly flirting-allowed ground. (You’d waxed lyrical about his shoulders at length to Beth, about the way they’d flexed while he worked in your office, until she demanded a picture or for you to shut up without supporting visuals. Fair enough.)

Just two days later, on Wednesday, you were standing outside of your building and chatting with a student who had walked with you from your morning class when you saw him again. This time he wasn’t alone. A young girl, maybe 13 or 14, walked next to him as they made their way across the quad. She was right around Ellie’s age, with curly hair and a huge smile on her face as she poked him in the side. He dodged, laughing, and you realized he was carrying a small backpack. Must be the daughter.

Jen, your student, cleared her throat. You looked back to her and realized you’d trailed off in the middle of whatever you’d been saying. “Sorry, Jen. Got distracted. Come by office hours this week? We can chat about your paper more then.”

“Sure!” She looked over her shoulder curiously, but you didn’t look back at Joel. You didn’t want to give away what you’d been looking at. Jen nodded and headed off towards her next class, and as you turned, you realized Joel had come much closer on the path across the quad. And he’d obviously spotted you. You waved and smiled.

“Mornin’,” he greeted you as he and the girl you thought might be his daughter came to a stop right in front of you. “This is Sarah, my daughter,” he confirmed. He elbowed her in the side as he introduced her, and she laughed and elbowed him back. You introduced yourself, smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah! I heard you have great taste in books. And that you keep this guy up to date.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I do my best to keep this old dinosaur using his brain.” Joel grumbled and rolled his eyes back at her in response. You laughed.

“So what brings you to campus?”

“Her school’s out for the day, for some teacher in-service thing, so she’s coming to work with me. Right now we’re doing a tour, though.” He gestured around the quad. “I think we’ve covered the basics.”

“Sure, dad, you pointed out like four buildings and every single plant between here and your office.” You laughed again, wondering if he was on the crew that always did the landscaping? Come to think of it, you weren’t really sure what his job was, exactly. You decided to ask later.

“Sounds fun. Where are you off to now?”

“Well, lunch soon, after a bit more tour.” Joel hesitated, and you noticed Sarah squinting at him before she suddenly interjected, “you should come! Join us for lunch.” The invitation surprised you and warmed you, a bit.

“Wish I could. I’ve got a faculty meeting over lunch.” You sighed. “Lunch with you would be way more fun, believe me.” Sarah looked a little disappointed, and you bit your lip, considering. “I could show you around the English department, if you want? It’s not that exciting, but you could see what it looks like. Before you go to lunch.” Sarah perked back up.

“Yeah! Let’s do it!” Joel smiled at her obvious excitement and you made yourself look away. It would probably be weird to stare at him like that in front of his daughter. Right? You gestured to the steps behind you, and Sarah led the way into the building. You fell into step with Joel and studied him out of the corner of your eye.

“Thanks, darlin’, for the tour.” Joel nudged your shoulder with his own, and your breath caught. You smiled.

“It’s no problem. Sarah seems fun, I do wish I could have lunch with you instead.”

He laughed. “I’ve met your colleagues, I believe you.”

“Oh? Does Trevor terrorize your department as much as he does us?”

At the mention of his name, Joel actually frowned. “That as—, er, man works with you? Darlin’, I am so sorry.”

You laughed, and waved your hand. “I know, believe me. It’s fine. There’s one in every program.” He studied you, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking, but you’d caught up with Sarah so you had no time to find out.

You showed her around the building’s lobby, which usually had rotating exhibits of students’ art and short stories. The collection featured that day had been put together by the Creative Writing Club and focused on a spooky theme, since Halloween was approaching. She actually started reading some of the short stories that went along with the art, so you promised you’d send them to Joel so she could read them later when she had more time. She grinned, and followed you down the hall to your office, with a quick pit stop by the kitchen on your way to grab coffee (for you and Joel) and tea (for Sarah) in little paper cups.

“Is this what all the offices are like?” She asked, studying your colleagues’ doors and varying levels of decor.

“Some of the buildings are fancier than others, especially the business school and the engineering labs, but generally, yes.” She hummed in response.

You unlocked your office door and gestured the two of them inside in front of you. “Feel free to look around,” you told Sarah, who was already engrossed in your bookshelf. You plopped your bag down on your chair and started unpacking from your class. Joel hovered for a moment, awkward, before settling into one of your two small armchairs for visitors. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, smiling a bit to yourself.

“Ooh! Dad, look, it’s the book we read!” Sarah tapped the spine of the same book of short stories you and Joel had talked about a few days before.

You nodded. “That’s the one he told me about, the one he said you gave him to read. What did you think?”

It turned out she’d loved it, and she told you all about why as she looked over the rest of your shelves. You listened, but turned to check on Joel, who you found was already looking at you. His expression was soft and almost too much for you to take in. Your eyes met and he half smiled at you, just an upturn of one side of his lips. It was too charming. You bit your lip and tried to tune back into what Sarah was saying, ducking your head.

“Do you have a favorite genre?” You asked, glancing back at Sarah, who had found the bound copy of your dissertation, apparently. She’d pulled it off the shelf and started flipping through the pages. “Ah.”

“This is so cool!” She turned the title page towards Joel, where you could see your name and the title of your dissertation, and you felt your cheeks heat. “Look, dad.” He leaned forward to read it, and then looked back at you. There was something warm in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

“Impressive, darlin’.” He held your gaze again as Sarah read through the table of contents, murmuring about the themes you explored and the novels and poems you included.

You tore your eyes away from her dad and said, “I can send you a copy of that, too, but I promise it’s pretty boring. Dissertations are just overly long proof that you learned something, not particularly exciting reading.”

Sarah regarded you skeptically, but nodded and said she’d like that. To distract yourself from staring at Joel (again), you reached out and picked up the flyer for the exhibit in the lobby. “Hey, this has the link to all the stories we saw in the lobby.” Sarah took it and nodded, looking over it.

“Here, darlin’, let me give you my regular email so I can forward stuff to Sarah more easily.” You nodded, a bit surprised, as Joel reached out for a post-it and a pen. He jotted down his email and passed it back. You smiled at his neat handwriting. “We should probably get going to lunch, get out of your hair.”

Sarah sighed but agreed. “Thanks for letting me look at your books.”

You smiled. “Anytime, really. If you have to hang out on campus you can always come bother me instead of your dad. If you’d like,” you added, realizing that maybe that was a strange offer from an adult she’d only just met.

But Sarah and Joel both smiled at you, and she nodded her head. “His office is pretty boring,” she teased. Now it was Joel’s turn to sigh, but you could see he was trying to hide his smile.

You stood up to usher the Miller duo out of your office, glancing at the clock. You had about fifteen minutes until your meeting. They both said goodbye and waved. After about a minute, though, you heard Sarah call down the hall to her dad that she forgot something, and sure enough her head poked around your door a moment later.

“Sorry! I forgot my flyer.” You looked down and found it on your desk, and handed it back to her. “Thanks! Um. I wanted to say, too that, well.” She peeked back down the hall behind her before continuing, lowly, “my dad said you were really smart and cool, and he was right. I’m glad. He needs more cool friends. And he loves people who are smarter than him.” She grinned sunnily at you before running back down the hall to meet her dad. You were left leaning against your desk, stunned. Cool, huh? You smiled and bit your lip.

…

Ellie (12:42 PM): can I come over after school

you (1:03 PM): you know you don’t need to ask (1:04 PM): but yes, obviously

Ellie (1:07 PM): 🫡 (1:08 PM): mom’s going to work and I need to study

you (1:10 PM): study buddies, assemble (1:10 PM): 💪

Ellie (1:11 PM): nerd (1:12 PM): i don’t think grading counts as studying (1:12 PM): it’s like, the opposite of studying

you (1:15 PM): study and grading buddies doesn’t have the same ring to it

Ellie (1:20 PM): 🧐 (1:20 PM): but i had to ask you never know you might have ~plans~ these days (1:22 PM): since youre running into your big crush and his DAUGHTER and not TELLING ME ABOUT IT (1:23 PM): ?????

you (1:25 PM): 🙄 (1:25 PM): it just happened like 2 hours ago

Ellie (1:26 PM): you already told beth about it

you (1:26 PM): i’ll tell you about it tonight

Ellie (1:32 PM): you bet your ass you will

…

Later that night, the three of you were crowded around your coffee table over takeout, Ellie’s books, and your students’ homework assignments. Beth had heard Ellie was coming over for dinner and invited herself along, unsurprisingly.

When you told them the whole story, Beth sighed.

“Babe. Listen to me.” She grabbed you with one hand on each side of your head, looked you right in the eye, and said, “listen. He introduced you to his daughter. He told her that you’re cool. He called you ‘darlin’ in front of his daughter.” She shook your head a little as she talked. “He. wanted. you. to. eat. lunch. with. them.” She punctuated this piece of evidence by tilting your head from side to side with each word, squishing your cheeks. “The man wants you. And I’m pretty sure you want him, too. Just let yourself believe that, the next time you see him. Alright?”

You laughed, but it felt hollow. You closed your eyes, but you promised to try. Everyone in that room knew how difficult that could be for you. After everything.

She squeezed your face again.“Ok, I’ll take it. But just remember, it might be worth it even if it feels difficult. Good things take effort sometimes. That doesn’t mean he’s one of the bad ones. Right?”

You took a deep breath. “Right.” You felt Ellie nudge you with her knee and you smiled.

Beth nodded. “Right. And don’t worry, if we get even a whiff that he’s anything like The Asshole we’ll tell you before anything happens.”

Ellie nodded, too, clearly in agreement. “Fuck yeah we will.”

You hugged them both, knowing they meant it.

It helped.

...

a/n: what's next for these two? well, Joel still has to come back and fix that shelf. he promised. 👀 prev | next

tag list: @ilovepedro @auteurdelabre @katareyoudrilling @anoverwhelmingdin @myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123

@jupiter-soups my deepest apologies ily

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller fic #maintenance request fic

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sarahowritesostucky · 2 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3658

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

3. Cream filled Sponge Cakes (with chemicals)

Bucky

They plan out what they’re going to do when they get to the hospital on the car ride over.

“I think it’s best if you wait outside at first,” Bucky says, glancing away from the road for a second to try and gauge Steve’s reaction to this. He looks neutral. “Just because she’s already pissed,” he adds. “And it’ll probably be overwhelming having one person telling her they’re taking custody, let alone two.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “That makes sense.”

Bucky holds his hand out over the center console, waiting for Steve to take it. He does, and Bucky grips his hand tight. “I’ll get the initial stuff out of the way. I’m sure there’s gonna be a ton of paperwork.”

“What if she refuses?” Steve worries. “She can, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. I don’t have any legal hold on her. Yet. I’ll just have to try and talk sense into her, get her to see that we’re better than the alternative.”

Steve gives his hand a squeeze back. “You can do it.”

Bucky sighs. “I hope so. I really do.” Inside though, he’s already not so sure.

They get to the hospital about forty-five minutes after Bucky’d hung up from the phone call with the police officer. He spots a cruiser parked outside when they approach the emergency room, and it rankles his nerves to think of Mary being forcibly shoved into the back seat of said car.

He goes to the check in desk with Steve and asks for Officer Santiago. “I got a call about an involuntary hold. My submissive,” he says.

The woman at the desk does a double take at that, looking up and down Bucky where he stands like she’s just realized he’s a different species. “Oh,” she says. “You're one of those?”

Bucky ignores it, but he can sense Steve tensing up by his side, indignant on his behalf. “Yes,” he says. “I am.” He’s not going to waste time getting on his spiel about mental illness and stigmatization. They’ve got bigger problems right now. “I’m going to need her records,” he says, injecting authority into his tone. “And any paperwork for transfer of custody. The cops brought her in. Name’s Mary.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to look self-assured while he waits, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the woman demands a last name.

It takes her several minutes to gather everything up for Bucky. She hands it all over to him and says, “That’s the paperwork for custody. The attending physician should be able to provide you with her medical workup.” She points to a set of double doors. “You go down that hallway and to the left. Bed number four.”

Bucky nods and thanks her, then turns to Steve.

“I know,” Steve says, putting on a brave smile. “I’ll wait here.”

“Baby.” Bucky steps close, pulling him into his arms. Steve’s physically just a little bigger than him, and Bucky has always liked the novelty of that. He kisses him gently and then rests their foreheads together for a moment, letting Steve feel their connection. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You’re the best thing I could ever hope for, you know that?”

Steve’s smile is more natural, now. “Yeah I know it.” He gives Bucky another kiss and stands back. “Hey, what about this?” He knocks on Bucky’s shoulder—the metal one. “She know about that?”

Bucky realizes that he’s not wearing his glove, and tries to remember if he’d had it on at the café. He frowns. “Oh well. I don’t think that’s going to be her main focus, not after I explain everything to her.”

“Yeah.” Steve gives him a light push. “I Love you. Now on and get the hard part over with. I’ll be here when you need me.”

Bucky nods. He knows he will. He goes back to the check in desk, one last question on his mind. “Is there a food court or something around here?”

Mary

Mary’s taken a break from saying pissy things to the cop who’s guarding her. She’s been so angry, she’s felt like her skin’s boiling. But now she’s starting to get tired, too. She hadn’t slept last night, just stayed up and gabbed on the phone to that crisis counselor.

She grits her teeth as she fumes about that, feeling betrayed all over again. That bitch had called the cops on her!

“You can tell me anything you want to. I’m here to listen, remember?”

Liar!

“I hope you know I don’t have insurance,” Mary snaps at the officer. He’s sitting in a chair in her little curtained off area. He regards her coolly, saying nothing, and she jerks her head to indicate the emergency room. “And I’m not paying a single red cent for any of this.” So far, they’ve taken her blood, her pulse, an EKG, and sent in nurses, a resident, and several shrinks. They’d tried to put an IV in her but she’d ripped it out as soon as nobody was looking. “I’m suing the hospital,” she adds. “And you. I’m suing the whole police department.”

“Okay,” Santiago says, annoyingly calm.

Mary growls, rattling her hand where it’s cuffed to the bed rail. “This is unconstitutional!”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing, and then the curtain to their area is being pulled aside. Mary’s eyes go wide when she sees who it is. “You?!”

Bucky smiles politely at her. “Me.” He steps into the curtained room, a little snack bag in his hand. He holds it up to show her, and she sees the Hostess logo. It’s a bag of little … sponge cake pastries. “Best I could do on such short notice. They’re for you, if you behave,” he says, talking to her like a pet being offered a treat.

Mary wrinkles her nose. “Pass. D’you even know all the chemicals they put in those things?”

Bucky shrugs and turns to offer them to officer Santiago, who more than happily accepts. Mary pouts as she watches him rip open the bag and stuff one in his mouth.

“How are you doing, Mary?”

She turns her attention to Bucky and scowls at the way he uses her name like he knows her. “Awful,” she says. She jerks her head at Santiago. “Officer Dickwad over here won’t let me have my phone.”

“Language,” Santiago says dispassionately, through a mouthful of cake.

“Shut up and eat your fucking donut, Rent’a’cop.”

Bucky

He puts his foot down once she starts flinging curses and insults at the officer. As a paramedic, Steve is always in and out of emergency rooms, often working in coordination with law enforcement to deal with uncooperative patients. So Bucky knows just how much drama and belligerence these guys have to deal with on the regular.

“Hey,” he says sternly. “Don’t disrespect him. He’s just doing his job.” He’s not mean about it, but it’s verging on what Steve likes to call his “Dom” voice, and Bucky can see how it affects Mary. She freezes up, all of her focus on him. For a few seconds, she even forgets to be angry. Bucky takes the opportunity to step close to the bed. He eyes where she’s cuffed to the rail. “Mary,” he says gently. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re angry.”

“You’re damn right I am,” she growls. “They just showed up and threw me in a cop car! Didn’t even give me a choice!”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand atop her cuffed wrist. It’s his metal hand. Her eyes widen when she sees it, but she doesn’t pull away. “I know,” Bucky says. “And I’m sorry it happened that way. But do you understand why people were concerned for your safety?”

Her face tenses up as she tries to hold back some emotion (something tells Bucky it isn’t anger, this time). “They called the cops,” she pouts. “They lied to me.”

“They did,” Bucky agrees, wanting to placate her. “But you were hurting yourself, honey. And you were talking about doing worse, weren’t you?”

She can’t meet his eyes, instead staring at where he’s holding her wrist. “I … I talked about a lot of things,” she mumbles. “It was just talk. I don't even remember half of it. I didn’t … I wasn’t really gonna do anything.”

“Can you show me where you hurt yourself?” Bucky asks, careful to keep his voice gentle. “I want to see how bad it is.”

Mary shivers, shaking her head sadly. Her hair is loose and hanging messy around her face, so Bucky reaches up to tuck it behind her ear. He hears her give a quiet, shaky inhale. “Come on now,” he coaxes. “Let me see.”

For a long moment, it seems like she won’t obey, but then her shoulders sink down and she takes a deep breath and lets it out, whispering a tiny little. “... kay,” as her hands creep down to take hold of the tee shirt she’s wearing. It’s extra large, going all the way to her knees, and it’s all she’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t know if the police brought her in that way, or if it’s something the hospital gave her to put on after being examined, but either way, he schools his expression as she edges the tee shirt up her leg, higher and higher, until it becomes apparent that she is wearing underwear, and she’s bared her hip to him.

Cutting, then.

Bucky looks her over, not as upset by the fresh cuts so much as the old ones. They litter the skin of her upper thigh and hip—some so old they’re scars, some still in various stages of healing. Bucky forces himself not to touch, even though his brain is screaming at him to fix fix fix! There’s nothing here that can be fixed easily—certainly not with a bandaid. Bucky takes a moment to calm himself down before he asks, “How long have you been doing this, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers. She shoves the tee shirt back down and meets his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Moment of truth, Bucky thinks. “The police called me. They got my number from your phone. They wanted to call your Dom to come get you.”

She frowns, looking confused. “But … you’re not—”

“Officer Santiago,” Bucky says quickly, cutting her off. “Could you give us a moment alone please?”

“Sure.” Santiago gets up and takes his bag of cakes with him. “Just a couple’a minutes,” he warns, then steps outside the curtain and pulls it shut. Bucky can see as his shoes walk away.

“You told them you were my Dom?!” Mary hisses.

Bucky looks at her sternly. “No. They assumed I was. You had me in your phone.”

“I … I did?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything,” she huffs. “I’m not even submissive.”

“I think you know that’s not true,” Bucky says. He reaches up and gathers her hair back in one fist and pulls—gently, just enough to put the barest of pressure on her scalp—forcing her to raise her chin. She visibly reacts to it, softening into his grip, eyes slipping closed and features going slack. “You like that,” Bucky says, making it a statement rather than a question, because it’s obvious she does.

Her eyes open slowly. “S’nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He releases her hair, cupping the back of her neck instead. He grips her firmly in his hand, and this time she nearly moans, lips parting and the sound coming out before she can fully stifle it. Bucky’s mouth curls and he hums. “And that? Is that ‘nothing’ too?”

“Please.” She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact, which is typical. There’s a little pinch between her eyebrows that’s so sweet and needy, Bucky wants to kiss it. It makes her look like she might cry, and that thrills him too. “Please,” she whispers. “I just wanna go home.”

“You’re not going home, Honey,” he tells her, keeping the grip on her neck steady and petting at her hair with his other hand. She’s going down a little, likely so easily because of the alcohol in her system, because of how deprived she’s been until now. She whines a little at his words and he shushes her. “They won’t let you. You’re either gonna have to let me take you, or else stay here in the hospital, in the psych ward.”

Mary whimpers. “No.”

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I know. I don’t want that for you either, but you have to make the choice. If you want to leave here, then you have to sign the paperwork that gives me custody of you.” He tilts her chin up. “Look at me now, Honey.” She’s sluggish, so it takes a second, but her eyes come up as she obeys. They’re a little glossy, pupils blown wide, and Bucky gives her neck an encouraging squeeze. “Good girl,” he praises.

She practically melts at hearing that. “Please …” she says again.

Bucky would bet money that she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. He does, though. He knows down to the marrow of his bones what a ‘please’ like that means. “Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll take care of you. I will.” He bends and pecks a kiss to her forehead, then steps away. She makes a weak noise of protest and he shushes her.

“I’m just gonna go get officer Santiago back. … And my husband, Steve.”

She blinks at the word ‘husband’. “Steve?” she repeats, shoulders shrinking as she pulls into herself. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky promises. “He’s a very nice man. You’ll like him.”

Mary looks unsure. Bucky’s glad she’s down, otherwise he’s fairly certain she’d be arguing by now, maybe even pitching a fit and cursing. Instead, what comes out of her mouth is a hesitant little, “... He’s like you?”

“No. No he’s not designated. He’s—”

“Normal.” She says it so sadly, sounds so demoralized. Bucky has to fight the urge to correct her, to give her a speech about how, ‘just because they’re designated, it doesn’t make them abnormal’. He bites his tongue. What’s more important right now is that she’s making progress in accepting the reality that she’s almost certainly submissive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Steve’s not like us. But I wanted him to come in here and meet you. Do you think you can do that for me, Sweetie?” The pet names come naturally, are a part of his dynamic as a Dom, and Bucky can tell that she responds favorably to them. “Hm? Answer me, Mary.”

(And of course, the use of her name gets instant attention and obedience.)

“Okay,” she says. “Yes.”

He smiles and gives her a heartfelt, “Good girl,” wanting to show her that he’s pleased, that she’s doing well. “I’m gonna go get him, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Steve

Steve is equal parts excited and nervous to meet the woman Bucky has found, the woman they’re going to be taking care of. … Maybe more, if things work out.

He holds Bucky’s hand as he’s led back to where the emergency room beds are. Bucky draws back the curtain and Steve sees the cop sitting there, looking bored, … and her.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Hey.”

She’s pretty—which is saying a lot, because that’s Steve’s first thought, despite the state of her. She’s got goo gobs of dark eye makeup that it looks like she put on once she was already drunk, and by now it’s been smeared to kingdom come by tears and her own hands. Her hair sits messy and unbrushed around her shoulders, and her eyes are glazed and tired from a high that’s probably going to wear off soon and leave her looking even more exhausted than she already does.

“Hey,” Steve says, eyes flicking up and down her body where she’s sitting on the bed. She’s wearing nothing but a big tee shirt, and Steve allows himself one glance down at her shapely legs, then resolutely keeps his eyes trained upwards. She’s a disheveled mess, but even like that, Steve can see how she drew Bucky’s attention, that day in the café.

“Hi,” Mary says.

Steve smiles hopefully. By his side, Bucky squeezes his hand in encouragement, and offers, “Mary, this is Steve, my husband.”

Steve watches her face, curious to know what she thinks of Bucky being married. He’s expecting displeasure maybe, imagining that a submissive would feel jealous or upset, if their prospective Dom was already attached to someone else.

But she seems to stay calm, sitting there and taking Steve in with slow blinks, even looking a little bit shy herself. “... You’re big,” she eventually says. “I thought you’d be smaller than him.”

Steve grins and he hears Bucky’s scoffed, “Size has nothing to do with our dynamic.”

Steve knows he’s got half an inch on Bucky, more muscle mass too, but he’s never felt bigger than his husband. Bucky’s personality, his dominance, is larger than Steve.

Mary’s still staring at him, a thoughtful little pinch between her eyebrows. Steve waits in expectation of a question, but none comes. “What?” he asks. He pulls up the room’s extra plastic chair and sits close to the bed, offering her his hand. He’s surprised when she takes it. Steve stares thoughtfully at his hand as she drags her fingers over his fingers, his palm, still not saying anything. He looks over at Bucky, concerned. “Did they give her drugs?”

Thankfully, Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s down,” he explains.

Oh. Okay. That’d explain her calm affect. Steve had come in here halfway expecting a screaming hellcat. He hadn’t expected this. He turns back to Mary, giving her a friendly look. “Did you have questions you wanted to ask me?”

She bites her lip, clearly working something out in her head. “Bucky said you two have a ‘dynamic’.”

“He did.”

“But he said you’re normal.”

Steve’s lips thin once he figures out what she means. “We’re all normal,” he scolds. “But no, I don’t have ‘Dominant or Submissive Personality Disorder’, if that’s what you mean.” He puts sarcastic quotes around words to clearly convey his distaste for the classification. He wants her to know how ridiculous he finds it.

“Babe,” Bucky warns quietly from behind. “We’re not getting political right now, okay? Just focus on her, on what we have to do.”

“Right, sorry.” He knows that Bucky’s right, so he tries again, telling Mary, “I’m ‘normal’, but Bucky and I still have a very intimate relationship together. We’re husbands. So yeah, we’ve developed our own dynamic. When I’m with him I tend to follow his lead, so to speak.” He smiles and shrugs. “It works for us.”

Mary looks like she’s thinking this new information over. There’s a slowness to her, a dreaminess in her expressions and her reactions.Steve figures it’s a combination of her being down, and not being sober. In fact, he can smell the vodka leaking out of her pores. It’s actually pretty horrible. “So does that make sense?” he prods her gently. “Mary?”

“… Yeah, I think so.” She eyes him up and down, looking back and forth between him and Bucky. “What will you do?” she asks Steve. She blushes a little from asking the question, so he deduces that she’s asking what he’ll do with her; what their dynamic together will be, outside of her and Bucky.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, because that’s all he knows for sure, and he wants her to feel safe. Steve knows that it’s absolutely crucial for this woman to feel safe right now, if they’re going to take her home with them. “Bucky and I both will.” He holds her hand—the one that isn’t cuffed to the bed—enveloping it between his. “It’ll be much better than staying here,” he promises. “You’ll be so safe. And much happier.”

Mary’s body draws in, seems to actually get smaller as she pulls back into herself. “I’m never happy,” she says mournfully. It hurts Steve’s heart to see it, so he knows it must be killing Bucky, given his overly protective instincts. Steve glances over at him. “Babe?”

Bucky has a clipboard full of papers, which Steve knows must be the custody orders. “Here, Honey,” he tells Mary, handing her the clipboard and the pen. “This is what you have to sign to be able to come home with us.”

It kind of bothers Steve that Bucky doesn’t encourage her to read through the documents more thoroughly, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows they have only the best intentions for her. She’ll be safe with them. He watches as she signs her signature in the places Bucky points out, trying to scan some of the fine print as she goes. Anxiety is written across her face and she starts to bite at the chapped skin on her bottom lip. “But, um … what if I’m not what you think?” she worried, not looking at either of them.

Bucky pets her hair and reassures her. “You are, sweetheart. Trust me. And we’re gonna take you to a therapist anyway, to get an official diagnosis.”

Normally Steve would be scoffing at the word “diagnosis,” but he’s too busy watching the two of them together. There’s a strange feeling in his gut, at seeing his husband touch Mary like that, at hearing him call her pet names and calmly take control of her. Steve’s never seen Bucky dom another person before, and he … he kind of doesn’t hate it. In fact, it’s actually making him feel all the more attracted to Bucky, and curious about Mary. Like he wants to help, wants to get to know her.

She signs the rest of the documents without making a fuss, so Steve figures he’ll be getting that chance.

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oflights · 12 days

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wip snip 5.1

i've been tagged a bunch of times over the past few weeks to post wip snips and only had the last few chapters of star splitter to post, so i bailed. i finally have something new to preview!! have a bit of the gilmore girls fic, still in progress. 🥰

Just about 8 years ago, the bell over the doorframe jingled violently as Draco Malfoy threw the door open and swept in, already talking. “Bloody hell, that snow is abominable,” he was saying. He hefted a bundled, starfish-shaped form that would turn out to be a toddler by his hip, a pram scooting behind them and leaving a wet trail on Harry’s floor. With a flick of his wrist, the pram had folded up and nestled in the corner of the dining area, dripping there ignored, as Draco descended upon the counter much the same as he did almost every day.

“You, there—please tell me this place has something warm to—” And then Draco froze, because back then he had not done this every day; this was the first time, and more specifically the first time he had seen Harry Potter in the flesh since their eighth year of Hogwarts.

“Malfoy,” Harry had said, eyeing the puffy bundle warily. He didn’t know it was a toddler then; every bit of Scorpius was covered up and radiating Warming Charms. In hindsight, he was probably sweating, but Harry was to later learn that Scorpius had been a quite agreeable child until he learned to read—an apparent mistake that Draco despairs of having made a few times a week—and he made no complaints even dropped onto a stool as he was, propped up against his father.

“What are you doing here?” Draco, then Malfoy, had demanded. He looked utterly thrown and somehow offended, as if Harry’s existence in his own place of business was a grave insult to him.

“This is my place,” Harry said, and then as an instinctive response to Draco’s disbelieving scoff, he added, “I own it.” He’d hoped Draco would pick up on the implied threat—don’t be an arse or I’ll kick you out.

...

“This place is called Al’s,” Draco said accusingly. “You’re not Al.”

“Nope, I’m not. I’m Harry.” When Draco stared at him, Harry clarified, “Harry Potter.”

“I know you’re—who is Al, then?” Draco went pale beneath his winter flush. “Wait. Did you name this place after—Dumbledore?” He whispered the name as if ashamed, and Harry supposed that was about right, though it garnered him little sympathy.

Harry let that dread sit on Draco’s face for a few moments before he said, “No, it was already called Al’s when I bought it. Didn’t feel like changing the name.” He had changed everything else about it, though, spending one exhausting summer converting it from a pub no one really liked to go to anymore to a greasy spoon that people liked much more.

...

Harry had not opened this place and kept it open so he could be insulted and bullied; he was long past the time in his life when he would accept that, especially from the likes of Draco Malfoy. And so he opened his mouth once again to tell Draco to get out—ignoring all the questions he had for him, like what he was doing in this town, out in the snowstorm, carrying some sort of doll, maybe?

Before he could say so, and even before Draco could interrupt, the doll made a noise that made Harry startle and drop the rag he’d been wiping down the counter with. The doll made another noise, reached out, and grabbed the rag.

“Mine!” the doll said, lifting its head until a nose poked out of its bundling. That was when Harry realized that what Draco had set down on the stool was a toddler.

“Not yours,” Draco said as Harry tried to process this. “Let it go, Scorpius, it’s disgusting!”

“Oh,” said Scorpius, in a very wobbly sort of voice. His head tipped up so much that Harry could now see wide eyes, which were a complex hazel shade that made him really start to wonder what Draco was doing with a toddler. Said eyes were glistening slightly, and to accompany the look, Scorpius said, “Okay,” in the saddest little voice Harry had ever heard. He dropped the rag back on the counter; he could barely move his arm in his heavy, puffy coat.

“He can have it,” Harry said quickly; he grabbed up the rag and tried to hand it back, unable to deal with that stricken face.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry wip #wip snip #oflights #gilmore girls au #tbh it's not a proper AU it's just borrowing the gilmore girls setup #each chapter (there are four) will cover a season in a year + flashbacks to past seasons and i am done with winter 🎉

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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sweet as honey wine | series masterlist

✦ a collection of interconnected dbf!joel one-shots. ✦

series summary: you've always had an inquisitive fascination with your dad's best friend and neighbour, joel miller. pairing: joel miller x fem!reader series warnings: explicit sexual content, MDNI, SMUT, dark!joel, dubious consent at times (will be in the chapter warnings if it applies), unspecified age gap (but who am i kidding it's probably like 20+ years). will update these as the story progresses. you are responsible for the content that you consume. please read the warnings before continuing with this fic. enjoy babes. **please read the various warnings for each chapter, they will be different as the story progresses a/n: as requested by popular demand, i have decided to make my dbf!joel one-shot part of a series of interconnected one-shots. i am actually overwhelmed by the response i got on that fic, and i am a people pleaser, so here we go. this collection of one-shots will be darker in content, if that is something that doesn't interest you or triggers you in any way, please consider skipping it. i will be including warnings with each chapter, as they apply and the story progresses. thank you for all the love and continued support!

main masterlist | read on ao3 | kofi

part i | fuck me like you mean it

part ii | ridin' pretty (coming soon)

more tba

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thechaoticdruid · 3 months

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Welcome to my humble party!~

[My Astarion Fanfic Masterlist]

Just call me Druid since I really have no intention of revealing my real name for the foreseeable future.

I decided to make a masterlist just to help organize my stuff!

~Original Characters for story or RP stuff~

Winnifred The Druid -My Tav

Arva Nightshade -Winnie's closest pre-tadpole friend.

Fi The Hornless -A talented bard and a member of Arva's pack. She helped look after a juvenile Winnie.

Elora Ancunin -Under developement...

RP Note: Winnie is currently open to answering questions from all of you beautiful people! She is an open book so do not be afraid to ask away! Astarion may even make an appearance in the reply depending on the question. No he will not bite you, Araj! Just make sure to label your ask; Dear Winnie, Question for Winnie, Hey Winnie, I dare Winnie to, etc, and we will let the fun begin!

More NSFW type questions are accepted, but only by people who have their age visible on their blogs. Minors attempting to ask or anons without any age identification will be blocked/ignored. (Also let's try not to ask anything too gross okay.... I'm into some weird stuff but you know limits, my dude.)

~Multi-part Fanfics~

[This Bites] Astarion x Chubby Female MC

A young woman ends up literally stuck with a fictional vampire from her newest video game obsession! She now must deal with keeping him safe and hidden all the while dealing with stress from her shitty stepdad.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3 ,4 , 5 , 6

Valentine's Day Special: Eat Your Heart!

[The Spawn Vs The Ascendant] (Fem) Tav x Astarion(s).

Astarion and his lover Tav are happily together after defeating Cazador and freeing 7000 vampire spawn into the Underdark. They are now preparing to take on the Elderbrain when an Astarion look alike, claiming to be 'The Vampire Ascendant' appears and demands the Spawn hand Tav over to him.

Parts: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4

The Spawn vs Tav vs The Ascendant: A smutty one-shot that doesn't really take place in any particular time during the events of TSvTA. MDNI 18+ (Though if I'm honest it probably takes place post story.)

[Firsts] (Named!Fem! Tav x Astarion) Winnie has noticed her vampiric companion had been acting much more aggressively flirtatious lately. Of course, he flirted with everyone, this was common sense. But ever since Winnie had given him a taste of her blood it seemed she was the main target of his affections. Which quite frankly confused the hells out of the young druid. He couldn't actually be interested in her? Could he?

MDNI 18+ There is smut! The second half involves the Tiefling party!

[1/2] [2/2]

[Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts] (Chubby F!Tav x Astarion) After failing yet again to find a good lead on the Ring of the Sunwalker Tav and Astarion return to their current and hopefully temporary home in the Underdark only to be greeted by a distress signal from an old friend and an invitation to extravagant soiree hosted by an eccentric stranger!

Chapters: One ,

~Headcanon lists!~

[Astarion x chubby!reader headcanons!] (GN! Reader)

[🍿Watching movies with Astarion!🍿] (GN! Reader)

[BG3 companions babysitting your kids!] (GN! Reader)

[Telling the companions baby news!] (GN! Reader)

[Meet the Parents!] (A fun little writing challenge I put together. I wrote up headcanons of Astarion meeting my Tav's parents and Winnie meeting Astarion's parents.)

[Astarion's Teddy 🧸] (A little HC about Winnie giving Star a plush.)

~Other~

[All Wrapped up!] A short AstarionxF!Tav Christmas one-shot inspired by my God-awful ability to wrap presents.

[We'll Protect Each Other] While staying at an inn in the Underdark Tav and Astarion are forced to protect each other. Tav defends her lover's honor which later leads to a visit in the night from a familiar face. (Protective! Tav x Astarion One-Shot.)

[The Bite Scene] A rewrite of Astarion's bite camp event with my Tav, Winnie. It was basically a draft from my abandoned long fic.

[The Monster Hunter] Happens right before the The Bite Scene. It's a rewrite of the encounter with Gandrel out in the bog. Another draft from my abandoned long fic that I just decided to share.

[Indulging Curiosity] (F!Tav x Astarion SMUT MDNI) After a particularly bloody battle with a pack of gnolls Astarion finds himself rather hot and bothered seeing his favorite little druid absolutely drenched in blood. Unable to help himself he invites her to join him for an evening of pleasure where he indulges in some of Tav's sexual curiosities.

[Seriously, now!?] (Named!Tav x Astarion, period comfort fic) After causing a scene, embarrassing and being shouted at by the party's own resident wizard, Winnie storms off alone to sulk. Her monthly bleeding is upon her and making everything seem so much worse! But perhaps her vampiric lover can make it all better? (MDNI, slight smut at the end.)

~Taglists~

[Forever] A requested rewrite of the camp event where Astarion's siblings come to kidnap him, but featuring Winnie!

[Delicious] (Named!Tav x Astarion) While camping in the Underdark the tadpole crew gather around the fire telling stories to pass the time. One way or another they turn into tales of old lovers. Which brings up a curious question? How come Winnie had no lovers before Astarion? (MDNI SMUT AT END)

[This Bites] Comment on the latest chapter to be added!

[Winnie during BG3] Comment here to be tagged whenever I drop any fics that take place during Baldur's Gate 3 campaign!

[The Spawn Vs The Ascendant] Comment here to be added to the taglist, but hurry! This fic will soon be complete!

Blog Rules ig: Okay so I normally try to promote positivity it's why my fics are mostly comedy based. That being said, anyone who comes here acting like an asshat is getting blocked. I don't tolerate homophobia, heterophobia, biphobia, panphobia or really any kind of discrimination towards anyone's sexuality. Transphobic behavior is also unacceptable and will result in a block. Racism, or sexism of any kind is also not tolerated, understand? We're all going to be friends here. Treat people the way you want to be treated.

Requests???

Hi, friendly neighborhood Druid here. My ADHD gives me a shit ton of trouble writing so I'm real iffy about doing requests of any kind. That being said, I'm currently only taking specific requests involving Astarion x my Tav Winnie where I rewrite a scene from the in game campaign. I've already done the Tiefling Party so that is out of the question. And so is anything post Act 3 final boss. I'm also honestly just open to chatting through the asks.

-Druid

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hungermakesmonsters · 6 months

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Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Two

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done , Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : this one is pretty PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing in this chapter is warning worthy, there’s a little tiny bit of sex talk but that’s it. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~2.8k

A/N : this chapter happens in the days after chapter one. Thank you so much to everyone who read and liked the last chapter, it really means the world to me!

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

You didn’t have the nerve to tell Tammy that you’d rejected Billy’s advances and that she’d probably not get the job because of you. You let her hold onto the idea that you’d been doing something good for her, instead of something stupid for you. The whole thing reminded you of why you’d become friends with her in the first place; when Tammy was being nice to you, when she wasn’t making petulant demands, she could be great to be around.

But, she kept asking when your date with Billy was and by the third day of waiting to hear about the job, you were taking extra deliveries just to avoid the apartment. You knew you’d have to tell her sooner rather than later, but you really were hoping it would be later, at least after you’d figured out a way to explain to her that you’d cost her a job because you’d told Billy Russo no.

And when she came into the den screeching and clutching her phone? You thought she finally knew the truth and were ready to give her the apology that you’d spent the last few days trying to practise.

“I got the fucking job!” She squealed, jumping up onto the sofa beside you.

“You - what?” It took a moment to hear her over the screeching and - no, surely Billy hadn’t given her a job just as a way of getting to you. He was a businessman, he wouldn’t do something so dumb just to get you into bed.

After the initial excitement fizzled out, Tammy dropped onto the sofa to sit beside you. “I start on Monday! I can’t believe I’m finally going to get my parents off my back.”

“I thought you didn’t even want the job at Anvil? Before the interview you said it sounded boring.”

“That was until I saw the guys that work there, I mean, it’s literally a building full of hotties. And I can still do auditions in the evenings and on weekends. Besides, most people work crappy jobs before they get famous.” To your surprise she was being very mature about the whole thing, though you weren’t sure how she’d deal with actually working a nine-to-five job.

“Well, I’m happy for you.” You forced a smile because you were happy, even if you weren’t sure that it wasn’t all going to fall apart when Billy realised he was never going to convince you to go to dinner with him

“Okay but you’re going to have to promise me you won’t fuck this up for me.”

“How would I even -”

“I get it, Billy Russo is hot, but I know what you’re like with guys...”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You knew exactly what she meant, and that was the worst part. Tammy had tried, and failed, in the past to set you up, to put you on dating apps, and play wingman for her during double dates, and every time it had ended badly.

“Just don’t go leading him on and then ghosting or whatever it is you normally do to guys. I don’t need you pissing off my new boss.”

“I’ll try really hard not to, Tammy.” If she noticed you were being sarcastic, she didn’t seem to care.

It wasn’t long before she disappeared off to celebrate with her friends, leaving you alone in the apartment, leaving you to try and figure out what was going on. As much as Tammy was - well, let’s just say she had certain skills that would be helpful in a secretarial position, you just couldn’t figure out why she’d been given the job.

Billy Russo wasn’t an idiot, that much you were certain of; he wouldn’t hire Tammy just because of you. In fact, he probably wasn’t even involved in the hiring process. You were overthinking it. And, ultimately, it didn’t even matter because you weren’t going to see him again.

You weren’t going anywhere near the Anvil building ever again.

But that didn’t stop you from opening your laptop and Googling his name.

It felt like an invasion of privacy, reading through articles about Anvil’s financial successes, about the heroic ex-Marine who’d built the company from nothing and now gave so much back to his fellow veterans. Your stomach knotted at every photo taken at some gala or corporate event where he had some stunning woman hanging off his arm (women who, upon reading the image captions were revealed to be leaders in their fields; lawyers, models, psychiatrists, and even a surgeon). Jealousy had you closing your laptop, and self-loathing had you making a promise to yourself to stay away from Billy Russo and Anvil.

But it wasn’t that simple. You kept thinking about his smile, the way his dark eyes had looked at you like he wanted nothing more than to take you apart piece by piece, and the way his laugh had felt like the rarest sound you could draw from him. Most of all, you kept thinking about the kiss, playing it over and over. Sometimes you even found yourself wishing that you’d just said yes - what was the worst that could have happened?

(No, no, you didn’t want to think about that.)

You couldn’t stop yourself from going back to the Google search, over and over again, just to look at him. There was just something about him, something that made you feel like a ridiculous teenager with a crush, but every time you looked at his eyes, it did something to you; it made you want something you knew you couldn’t have.

You needed to stay away from him.

But Tammy had other plans.

Her first day of work, the following Monday, she’d begged you to drop her off. Then, once you were there, she’d demanded that you help her carry her things to the door, using the reasoning that she had taken the job for you as well as her, so you could keep the apartment that you both loved so much.

All you wanted to do was get out of there as quickly as possible, so the moment Tammy was by the door you were pushing the box into her arms and stepping away, all the while telling her that you couldn’t pick her up later because of work. Tammy tried to complain, tried to talk over you, but you didn’t stop; you were going to get as far away from that building as quickly as possible. Ignoring her frustration, you shouted good luck over your shoulder and started back towards your car.

Only, there was a surprise waiting for you when you got there.

“I like your strategy; in and out before anyone can notice you.” Billy smirked, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the driver’s side door of your car.

“Well, clearly it didn’t work...�� you answered awkwardly, stopping a few feet away from him, out of his reach.

“It’s hard to pull off when you’re dealing with a Recon Marine,” he laughed, still smirking that smirk that looked so good on him. “I hoped we’d run into each other again.”

“It’s hardly running into each other when you own the building and you know what my car looks like,” you shrugged and Billy’s smile waivered a little. Your stomach knotted at the sight, at the way his playful smile dimmed to something that seemed almost forced. He took a breath, unfolded his arms and stood away from your car.

“Look, I just wanted to talk - to apologise - I guess I was a little heavy-handed last time,” the words were enough of a distraction that he managed to take a couple of steps towards you. “I just - I’m not very good at...” he let out an awkward laugh and threw his arms out in a shrug, not finishing the thought.

“Asking women out?” You offered with an uncomfortable huff of laughter. “I don’t believe that.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?” And, just like that, you were being pulled into another one of his little games.

You could have walked around him, could have told him that you needed to go, but you didn’t. The truth was, that you enjoyed it, you liked that playful side of him, even though it wasn’t fair of you to indulge him when you knew you’d still have the same answer for him at the end of all this.

“Because you’re - you.” And that was all the answer you could offer him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy laughed and your cheeks started to warm again.

“You don’t exactly strike me as the type of guy who struggles to get dates?” He remained silent, a questioning look on his face; he wanted you to say what you both knew you were thinking. “You know, the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing you’ve got going on...”

“And you think that makes it easier for me?” His smile was back, that playful glint in his eye that you just couldn’t seem to say no to.

“Doesn’t it?”

“Well, you said no, didn’t you?”

Shit. You’d walked yourself into a trap.

“Not because of you - or, I mean, not because of anything you did. I just don’t date.” You started to play with the cuff of your hoodie, not sure what else you were supposed to say to him.

“What if it wasn’t a date? What if it was just two people going for dinner?”

“I think it’s a bit late for just dinner, Billy.”

“‘cause I kissed you?” your gaze dropped, cheeks burning hotter. “I shouldn’t have, I should’ve waited, I just - I have poor impulse control when it comes to things I want.”

You didn’t say anything - what could you even say to any of that?

“What if it wasn’t dinner?”

“Billy...” you sighed.

“Is it really so bad that I want to spend some time with you? Get to know you a little?”

Was it? The terrifying thing was the fact that he almost had you convinced, almost had you relenting and agreeing with him.

“I’m not really worth knowing,” you shrugged, “I’m nothing special, Billy. I’m just a bike messenger who spends most of her time driving her roommate around.”

“I like talking to you, you make me laugh,” Billy shrugged. “And I think you are worth knowing, and I don’t give a shit if you’re a bike messenger or a brain surgeon, it doesn’t change anything.”

“Right, one of New York's most eligible bachelors taking a bike messenger out to dinner, I can just picture it,” an embarrassing snort of laughter escaped you, “probably couldn’t take me to any of the fancy places that you’re used to, so what does that leave? Pizza Hut or Five Guys?”

“‘I’ll take you for pizza if that’s what you want. We could go right now?”

“Billy, it’s eight-thirty in the morning, I’m pretty sure Pizza Hut isn’t open yet.” You laughed, despite the feeling that you’d been letting this play out for far too long now.

“I’m sure we could find a way to kill some time until it opens?”

“Oh really?” You shot him a look, eyebrows raised, very unimpressed with what you thought he was implying.

“Hey, I meant go get a coffee or something, get your mind out of the gutter.” He grinned and you couldn’t help but laugh again.

“I’d just be wasting your time.”

“I don’t think I’d consider any time spent with you a waste,” he retorted without even missing a beat.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t, but I want to.”

“Why?” Why was he being so persistent? What did he think he was going to get from you?

“Why does anyone get to know anyone?”

“I don’t know.” And you really didn’t, that was the saddest part of all. “I’m not your type.”

“And what do you think my type is?” He asked, barely managing to hold back a laugh.

“Doctors, lawyers, psychiatrists - women who make at least six figures a year?” You realised far too late what you’d given away. “Women whose wardrobes cost more than I’ll make in my lifetime?”

“Did you Google me?” Billy asked, not even trying to hold back the smirk.

“N-no, I just - it came up when I was researching the job for Tammy.”

You fell silent and, for a few moments, so did Billy, long enough for it to make things feel all the more awkward when he finally spoke again.

“I’m not a bad guy, y’know.”

You looked at him, confused, not sure what he meant. Your fingers kept picking at the stitching on your cuff, and Billy seemed to notice.

“I’m making you uncomfortable.” He was, but you hated that he knew it. It wasn’t so much him that was the issue, it was you, it was all the messed up things in your past that made you the way you were.

“I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Billy." You said, not wanting to address whether or not he was making you uncomfortable because it was less him and more the general situation.

"Then let me prove it to you." You didn’t respond. “Just give me one night.”

“And, what? I’m supposed to fall madly in love with you?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Not that. I don’t - love isn’t a thing I’m capable of, it’s not something I’m interested in.” He explained, like it was such a simple and ordinary thing.

“Then why waste a night together if you don’t even want it to go anywhere?”

“There are plenty of other places it could go. I could show you the best night of your life and, at the end of it, if you wanted to walk away from me, you could.” Billy shrugged.

“So you just want sex? There are easier ways to get laid, Billy.” You told him with an awkward sort of laugh.

“I don’t want easy, I want you.” Normally you’d laugh at a line like that, but the way he was looking at you, the way he looked like he was barely holding back from showing you just what he meant right there in the parking lot kept you silent. “Tell me you haven't thought about it, that you’re not thinking about it right now; how it’d feel to spend the night with me inside you.”

You bit your lip, giving away far more than you wanted to.

Yes, you’d thought about it - how could you not?

“Billy...” you sounded almost breathless and that really didn’t help the point you were trying to make.

“I can make you feel things you’ve never felt before.” The way he said it made you want it, made you want things that you knew you shouldn’t.

“So, you’d fuck me then leave me?”

“Not if you didn’t want that.” He took the slightest step forwards and you couldn’t bring yourself to recoil.

“But you said -”

“I said I wasn’t interested in love, that doesn’t mean that it has to be a one and done thing, if you don’t want it to be.” Billy offered like this was some business deal and you were negotiating the terms. You could see why Anvil was so successful with him in charge.

“Fuck buddies then? Until - what? - you get bored of me?” You didn’t even know why you were encouraging him, why you were playing his game and letting the conversation drag on.

“Or you get bored of me,” Billy shrugged. “Admit it, you’re thinking about it. You’re thinking about what it’d be like to fuck me.”

“Maybe I am, but that doesn’t change anything. I don’t date and I don’t think sleeping with you would do either of us any good.”

He waited a moment before dropping; “was the last guy really that bad?”

And, just like that, everything seemed to change.

“What?” It was obvious though, wasn’t it? You should have been surprised that he hadn’t put it together sooner; you didn’t date because your ex had been a real piece of shit to you. A moment later, you shook your head. “It’s not - I don’t like to talk about it...”

You steeled yourself for what came next; the endless questions, trying to figure out what had happened to you and just how bad it was, how he could fix you. Only, it never came. He didn’t push, didn’t try to convince you that he was better than whoever might have hurt you. Instead, he seemed resigned, like he knew he couldn’t do any of that.

“I’m sorry,” he offered softly, “I’ll leave you alone.”

And, just like that Billy seemed to give up, his smile almost completely gone, replaced by a look that you didn’t want to think about. It wasn’t quite pity, but instead an uncomfortable compassion, an almost understanding. Someone had hurt him too, you realised. You frowned, frozen in place as he closed the distance between you and gently pressed his lips to your cheek.

“You know where to find me if you ever change your mind.”

As he pulled away from you, your breath caught in your chest, but you didn’t dare watch as he walked away from you. It was too dangerous, you knew you’d say something, knew you’d call him back.

CHAPTER THREE

END NOTE : so the first two chapters were mostly set up, from next chapter onwards things will actually start to go somewhere. From this point on, things will get smutty and dark. The next three chapters are mostly done and I'll probably start scheduling chapters to post on the weekends going forwards.

Thanks for reading, I hope you have a wonderful day!

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x female reader #ben barnes #cmiyc ff

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tanked-up · 6 months

Text

Soap’s AO3 account

Spoiler “Ghost finds them

———————————————————————————

Soap’s on his way to his bunker, Price and Gaz catch how desperate and excited he is to leave meeting, so when it finishes, they circle Soap.

Price: “Why in a hurry, Soap?”

Soap quickly stops, and faces Price, who’s waiting for an answer, probably an honest one. Gaz as well, next to him.

Soap: “What makes you think I’m in a hurry…?”

Gaz and Price chuckle at the sudden response

Gaz: “C’mon Soap… we know”

Soap now runs off, leaving Price and Gaz staring at each other confused.

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

Soap arrives to his bunker, cursing himself as he almost got caught by his captain and Gaz.

He heads to the shower, puts on his most comfortable clothes and looks for his computer. Now comfortable he jumps on his bed and opens the site.

If you’d ask him, he’ll say he’s… ashamed? Well, we all now the truth. He can’t live without his writing. Which he considers to be sloppy, but yet good enough to be posted on a site like this.

He quickly gets comfortable and starts writing as if someone were waiting for it. It’s true, he had hundreds of people waiting for it, for an update. That’s one thing he hadn’t expected… his fic to go viral. Thank God they don’t know who’s behind all of it… right?

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

It’s been 5 hours since Soap started updating his fic. He’s been at it non stop. When he starts, he suddenly can’t stop himself. I mean, he wouldn’t call himself obsessed… but he wouldn’t correct anyone who called him that either.

He planned to update the fic with 4 more chapters. That’ll be enough. Considering how long those chapters were, plus a few water and bathroom breaks, it seemed to take him forever. He just had so many ideas and dialogues, he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t tell anyone… but every single conversations he had with him in real life, he quickly wrote them into a small “notebook ideas” he had specifically for this. Romanticizing every conversation, sudden glances or even touches they had. No wonder they called him obsessive… or, is it just him who calls himself that?

Starting to write the last chapter, there was a knock.

Soap hurried to close the laptop, turning on the main light and turning off the small lamp he had, that surprisingly helped him write better. Not knowing who to expect behind the door, he slowly opened it, and there he was.

Soap: “G-Ghost… what are you doing here at 2 in the morning”

Without saying a word, Ghost hurried inside. Soap would naturally yell or argue about it… but he had other stuff on his mind. Like, the damn laptop in his bed full of fics about Ghost and him.

Soap closed the door, and carefully glanced at Ghost who now sat on his bed, Somehow waiting for something. Fuck

Soap: “So… can I help you with something…?”

Ghost just stared at him and damn did he look intimidating with that mask. Soap’s thoughts quickly went to the small detail on his fic, he wasn’t scared of Ghost’s mask in his fic, in fact, he once ripped it… but that’s something between Soap and the readers…

In real life, man was he scared of it, and just having Ghost sitting on his bed, scared him. A lot. Soap walked small steps up to Ghost. Who seemed to somehow control him with just his gaze… like, mind controlled.

Ghost: “I need your computer”

Soap gulped, sweating internally. Ghost managed to sound demanding, like he needed that computer, not later, not tomorrow, he needed it NOW. Soap quickly glanced at the computer besides Ghost. Fuck, why did I do that.

Ghost: “Can I?”

Ghost sounded somehow calmer now. Soap, still nervous by what was unfolding in his bunker. Ghost stared at Soap, who seemed to be lost in a trance, but why did it have to be starring directly at Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost: “I would normally demolish the person who’s stared at me like that…”

That sentence kept ringing and passing through Soap’s mind. Now, out of his trance, he hurried to grab his computer before Ghost could. Soap whispered a small no, and walked to his closet, where he hid it. Ghost somehow confused, didn’t question him. How badly he wanted to. He remembered Soap’s acting in meeting today, he wanted to go up to him and ask him if everything was alright… but there was always something that stopped him.

Soap: “Why did you want my computer…”

Soap quickly asked Ghost, who still sat on his bed, staring at him.

Ghost, without a saying , took out his phone and showed it to Soap.

Soap: “What happened to it?”

Soap stared at the cracked phone now in front of him. Ghost quickly putting it away, sighed.

Ghost: “I had to send Price a report today, kinda got scolded for not doing it, but my phone was all fucked up and there was nothing I could do…”

A sudden rush of guilt got to Soap. How could he been so mean to Ghost, who was only trying to do his job. Contemplating whether he should go and look for his laptop again, or just send him away, he walked up to the closet and handed the laptop to him.

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

It’s been two days since Ghost borrowed Soap’s laptop, and today was the day he was supposed to return it. Soap, sweating while waiting for Ghost in his bunker. Now sitting on his bed, staring at the roof.

Soap: “FUCK”

Soap’s sudden realization hit. He had left his tabs open. Did he even save his story? Did Ghost see it?

All these thoughts flooded Soap’s mind as he paced the room. A knock was heard. This can’t be happening

Soap took a hold of himself and walked up to the door. Fuck fuck fuck I can’t do this

Soap slowly opened the door, and there he was standing, with the laptop on his hand. Soap gulped and somehow managed to throw a small smile at him, a nervous one. He opened the door completely and motioned Ghost to enter. Hoping Ghost would just hand him the laptop and leave.

Ghost: “We have to talk”

Of course they do… they definitely had to talk. Soap, hesitating, sat on his bed and stared at Ghost, with a hint of guilt and embarrassment in his eyes. Ghost, surprisingly sat besides him.

Now both, shoulder to shoulder, sat in silence. A silence that filled the room, as if it were waiting for someone to take the fall.

Ghost: “So… you’re a writer”

Soap’s heart sanked as Ghost talked. He was dead. Soap, stuttering, didn’t know what to say. He wanted to sink in a hole and never come back.

Ghost: “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk.”

Somehow Soap felt the need to talk, but he just couldn’t.

Starring at Ghost who now stood up to leave, he stopped him. Gripping his arm, hard, he dragged him back to bed next to him, so he could sit.

Soap: I- I’m sorry… I really wasn’t thinking, and- I never knew you would find out like this. If you want… I could delete-”

Ghost: “Don’t. I actually forgot to do Price’s report thanks to it.”

Soap couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Ghost not going to argue about it? Did he even get to that scene…?

Soap: “Well… I- um, im glad…”

An awkward silence filled the room again. Ghost nor Soap said a word, probably for about fifteen seconds when Ghost violently grabbed Soap by his collar and smashed his lips into his… I mean, who knows…?

#Longer than I expected #Might post it on ao3 #ghostsoap #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod modern warfare #simon riley #john price #gaz mw2 #my fic #incorrect cod quotes #cod memes #incoreect quotes

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wildlife4life · 2 months

Text

Seven (+) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by super amazing @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @glorious-spoon @wikiangela @daffi-990 @tizniz @devirnis @watchyourbuck @hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @spotsandsocks and @diazsdimples. Thank you all so much!

Alright, so I know haven't been as active since dropping the first chapter of NFL Buck. I've just been sort of down because that same day, the Super Bowl Champs had their parade and rally, and just after it ended there was a mass shooting. My younger sister was there with some friends and they got away unharmed, but when she didn't answer my message for a long 30 minutes, I truly thought the worst. I've just been so sad and angry for Kansas City, for the US really and I just couldn't get into the spirit of writing. I'm not getting into the politics of it all today and my sister is coming for a visit soon, so I'm feeling marginally better. KC Strong.

First chapter of NFL Buck has been dropped, but everything else I've posted for this fic can be found here. Here is a snippet from the Eddie Begin's arc of NFL Buck.

Hurricane Harvey was relentless for almost four days, bullying southern Texas with unforgiving wind and an exurbanite amount of rain. Houston fire department and so many others worked day and night to help those who had not evacuated. It was absolute chaos, and it blew through Eddie’s entire life. The storms had wreaked havoc on the cell towers, which meant service was spotty to none and radios became the main source of communication for rescuers. By some miracle, though, the internet connection at the firehouse held strong. It was slow and glitched out here and there, reminding Eddie too much of his time in Afghanistan. He watched his infant son grow up through a screen, with his very upset wife barely holding on and his parents hovering nearby, souring the video calls even further. Christopher was no longer a whimpering baby in his mother’s lap but looking at his saddened son on a glitching iPad screen with a tense Maddie sitting beside him, was too familiar. Add in the argument he had with Buck just before, and the threat of danger just outside the firehouse, Eddie was back to being a scared 19-year-old in war riddled country. “Dad, grandma said we’re not going to visit Buck anymore. That he’s too busy. And Maddie tried to call him, but he didn’t answer and…” The eight-year old’s voice trails off, his lips trembling. Eddie bites his inner cheek hard. This was on him. He gave into his mother’s worries and demands about traveling through Texas during the hurricane. Helena was too stubborn and being his mother, she knew every damn button to push, and Eddie was tired of fighting. So, he reluctantly agreed to cancel the visit and his mother grinned a little too sharply before stating, “I’m sure Maddie will enjoy having her brother to herself.” Another ploy to take Christopher and Eddie fucking fell for it. Then his mother took it a step further by graciously telling Buck and Maddie herself, that Christopher would no longer be joining them in Dallas and to enjoy their time together for as long as they need it. Eddie knew his mother didn’t approve of his relationship with Buck, more so than his previous one with Shannon. The only reason she kept her mouth shut was the potential back lash of upsetting Christopher. But she already succeeded in having a hand in driving away Shannon and she probably believed she could do the same with Evan.

With this fic, there are a lot of canon events with twists. The usual timeline does not exists. But I hope you all enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure): @bekkachaos @theotherbuckley @lover-of-mine @buddierights @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @aroeddiediaz @giddyupbuck @rainbow-nerdss @thewolvesof1998 @eddiescowboy @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @athenagranted @evanbegins @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @911onabc @911-on-abc @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @buck-coded @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites @gayedmundodiaz @transboybuckley @nmcggg

#seven sentence sunday #tag game #my wip #911 abc #911 on abc #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #nfl #quarterback buck #firefighter eddie #secret relationship #hurricane harvey #eddie begins au #prayers for kc #kc strong

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stealingyourbones · 1 year

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Submitted Prompts #82

So I found out that besides beating the absolute tar out of Jason, Bruce also dragged him back to Ethiopia to relive his traumatic death/revival in hopes of finding a way to bring back a recently dead Damian[???]

Mind you, I absolutely hate thinking about how abusive Bruce is towards his kids and would rather pretend he’s a parent who tries, you know? But fuck if that cursed kernel of knowledge spark an idea:

There’s been a couple of fics that play with the idea that forcing a ghost to relive their death is a major taboo in the Ghost Zone, severely punishable and all that jazz.

Now it’s the aftermath [however that was, Idk], peeps are probably rejoicing over Damian’s revival [right?] and Jason’s most likely somewhere, you know, coping I assume.

Until Walker is knocking on their door and demanding their presence to the Court of the Dead [Don’t remember if it had a name, this sounded pretty cool lol] stating that Batman’s presence is required to receive his sentence.

As all things are when it comes to Walker, he doesn’t give them a choice.

Jason’s call comes a bit more peacefully, mind you, but given it’s an eyeball, it probably wasn’t much better.

Cue Jason poofing onto some chair in some courtroom, thinking he’s the one in trouble, cue Batman poofing in that giant glass cage [You know, the one Vortex was stuck in upon his intro]

Everyone, predictably, are unarmed.

Jason is unsure what to feel at the sight of them.

Walker in all his weird size shifting glory, steps forward to loom over Bruce, large book in hand and sneering down at the human trapped before him, “Bruce Thomas Wayne, alias Batman, founding member of the Justice League, you’ve been summoned to the Court of the Dead to receive your sentence.”

“On what charges?”

Walker’s sneer deepened, “On what charges?, he says.”

The book in his hands quickly sift through pages, one after the other until it comes to a stop, popping up in a screen for all to see its contents, Death’s Echo, the chapter title says.

“Why, you’ve committed the ultimate taboo, human. Victim of the Echo: Jason Peter Todd, alias Red Hood alias Robin II, date of birth August 16th, 1993, date of death April 11th, 2008, date of awakening October 27th, 2008. Date of the crime d/m/y.

You’ve forced a ghost to relive their death, violated the peace of their core, potentially destabilizing a ghost’s existence. Upon Death’s Sermon, or for the betterment of your puny human understanding: You broke a law, a law punishable by termination.”

“He’s not dead.” Despite what become of their relationship, all the bloody conflicts that have followed, Bruce can’t stand the idea of Jason dying.

One of the many eyeballs that seem to take up the majority of the court, steps - ahem! floats - forward, and despite lacking any other facial features, gives him what is noticeably a look Alfred would give him when he’s being particularly bull-headed, “That is irrelevant. The boy still carries the mark of death with him, therefor is still a denizen of the Infinite Realms, therefor still falls under our jurisdiction.”

“And all rights to the Court’s defense.” Walker adds, closing the book in his hand with a pointed snap, “You’ve been out ruled, punk.”

The batfam are looking around them as the entire room full of ghost clamor for Bruce’s termination, angry and indignant alike.

Tim - despite all his years of training - panics and doesn’t think twice before standing from his seat and calling the large ghost’s attention, ignoring Dick’s frets, “And where’s your evidence? Where are your witnesses to back up these claims, do you even have any?"

The sudden silence is almost smothering, and Jason can’t help but watch as all eyes turn to the boy in question.

In all honesty, he doesn’t know how to feel about all this, about Bruce being charged for what basically amounts to torture in these creatures’ eyes, not even over the fact that he still seems to be considered dead.

"For a genius, for a detective, you don’t seem to know much about death, do you?”

The ghost all seem to straighten at the sound of the voice, almost like they’re a classroom being called to attention. Despite its calm volume, it carries throughout the whole room, demanding everyone’s attention, their respect.

The bats immediately zero in on the source, a large chair big enough to be considered a throne sits in the first floor, enshrouded by shadows, the lighting of the room doesn’t seem to touch it at all, only lit by the green flame of a crown. Showing them measly impressions of a man’s face.

The man stands, steadily walking forward till he’s standing in the light. He’s tall, broad, looks about Bruce’s age, and is donning black armor. His presence fills the whole room.

He bothers Bruce only a glance as he passes him before he fixes his attention back on the boy.

“Now I know you’re not naive, Tim Drake. Death is everywhere, no matter how seemingly clean, no matter how peaceful, there’s no place on this planet death hasn’t touched; death is my domain, I see and I hear the voices of those who have passed - do you know what that means?”

“You have eyes everywhere.” Tim concluded, uneasy in what this might mean.

“I do. Now I can show you and your siblings the whole event, but for the sake of Jason’s continued peace of mind, I will not. Point stands: This is not a trial, Timothy, this is a sentence - your father does not get defendants or supposed witnesses to offer evidence of his supposed innocence, there isn’t any.”

Tim doesn’t know what to feel when the man turns his attention towards Jason, who despite the harrowing experience, has remained utterly silent throughout the whole endeavor. Jason despite his mass and his known capabilities, looks meek under the ghost’s attention, bracing for whatever he might say.

It’s off-putting.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, detectives, that very much includes the victim in question. Now Jason, I want you to answer me honestly, and I promise you that you’re safe here, can you do that?”

Jason’s eyes swept over the whole room, glancing at his siblings before stopping on Bruce, still silent, still ever brooding and angry, before offering a small shrug in response, “I guess.”

“Did he force you to relive your death and subsequent revival?”

“………He did.”

Jason thought it was a chance to join in on a collaborative mission, all hands on deck and all that jazz, hoping for reconciliation, to mend things.

“Did you give your consent on the matter?”

He just wanted to move on, to leave all that anger and resentment, all that pain, behind him. He thought Bruce wanted the same, but apparently not, Bruce didn’t seem to care about what he was asking of him, he just wanted some chance to get his son back.

Like Jason never mattered.

Jason offers a small shake of head in response, trying to ignore the way everyone stared at him, “No.”

The man gives him a reassuring smile, bowing his head in gratitude and Jason only feels relieved to be rid of the attention as the king looks towards the rest of the family

“Lucky for you, however, Bruce is still very much human. So he won’t be facing termination,”

“Your highness -” A swift hand silence the skull faced ghost

They don’t relax, they can tell there’s more to the offered appeasing.

The family sits in silence as this kings dishes out Bruce’s punishment.

Any further interaction Batman has will be on Jason’s terms, he will not seek Jason out, he will not make demands, he will certainly not impose his will on him.

Along that, he is no longer permitted to step foot in Crime Alley and anywhere else that might be considered Jason’s territory [haunt, they called it haunt, it felt daunting being showed the ghostly significance in it.] without expressed permission. If there’s a moment in time where Batman’s presence suddenly becomes unwanted, Jason apparently possesses the power to evict him.

Bruce is stripped of any sort of control he might’ve had over his wayward son. The court is in Jason’s favor for once, it seems.

Batman is not allowed to use anyone else in his favor.

Bruce Wayne certainly isn’t exempt from these demands. The Ghost King seems to know them very well [Eyes. Everywhere] and seemed to be prepared for them to seek out any loopholes.

Any attempts to disregard these demands and he will be guarded. Heavily. By shadows, and by his very own ghosts.

The ghost king derives a lot of pleasure in informing Bruce that his parents never left his side, watched his struggles, watched his successes, his relationships with partners and children alike.

Jason almost wants to say it seems cruel to throw in Bruce’s face the disappointment his parents feel in Bruce’s…..less stellar parenting methods.

He’s still trying not to think about the fact everyone is apparently being haunted by the souls of the people most important to them.

Bruce remains utterly silent, looking for all the world like the weight on his shoulders has double, troubled as the time pressed on, until he utters.

“And how long will this sentence be?”

“Until you both can completely trust - no wait, scratch that, Jason already trusted you, had faith in you, something of which you had no remorse in taking advantage of. No, until you learn how to trust him.”

The bats try not to wince at that.

#bones submissions #dpxdc #uh hi bones here #hey homie what the actual hell this is a whole ass fic #im in awe #just casually drops over 1k like its nothing #i respect and admire you homie

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valeskafics · 9 months

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"Through One Thousand Worlds and Ten Thousand Lifetimes" Chapter Four: "Near Miss" - Aemond Targaryen + Billy Washington x Reader

a/n: catch up on this fic HERE. if you wish to be added to the taglist. Ettore is next! ❤️

Summary: You keep nearly meeting Lana's younger brother, but it never quite happens.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, character death, angst

Word Count: 2,150 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Trigger Point characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

When you think of how many near misses you have when it comes to meeting Billy Washington, it’s almost laughable.

The first one is when you attend Christmas at the Washington household your first year working on the Metropolitan Police bomb squad. Your coworker, Lana, learns that your parents passed away a few years ago and you typically spend Christmas on your own, eating Chinese takeaway and watching horror movies. This is unacceptable to her and she demands that you come home with her for the holidays.

It’s raining when you show up at the Washington house and you’ve brought your trusty yellow umbrella. You don’t know why you adore the stupid thing so much. Lana teases you like crazy about it, saying what an eyesore it is, but you simply stick your tongue out at her and tell her it’s because of your sunny disposition. When you walk in the house, her parents immediately begin doting on you, happy to have two kids home, stating that their son, Billy, is at his girlfriend’s house for the holidays.

You’re given Billy’s room to sleep in, and for some reason, it feels so familiar to you. You feel almost at home in this stranger’s room, which makes absolutely no sense. You note that he doesn’t have any photos in his room, probably having taken them all to his flat. You’re left wondering what Lana’s mysterious brother looks like. You assume that since Lana is quite pretty that her brother must be a looker too and muse how unfortunate it is that you couldn’t meet him.

That night, you have a dream, a strangely vivid one of a man with long blond hair and a sapphire for an eye. He’s unearthly beautiful as he walks toward you. He takes your hands in his and smiles, gazing at you with a fondness, a deep devotion that you do not quite understand. You read somewhere that you can only dream of people you’ve seen or met before, but you know you haven’t ever met a man as beautiful as this.

Your mysterious visitor says one word to you before you wake up.

“Billy”.

When you wake, you wonder to yourself what the man meant. It was probably just a coincidence that Lana’s brother is named Billy, right?

Every night you remain at the Washington home, staying in Billy’s room, you have that dream. You chalk it up to stress from your job finally catching up with you and put the thought from your mind, deciding that there’s no point in freaking yourself out over your super sexy dream man or your friend’s potentially hot brother.

After you leave, you’re distraught when you realize you’ve left your umbrella behind. Lana chides you for being forgetful, saying that she’ll ask Billy to grab it the next time he’s there.

The next near miss? When Lana wants to set you up on a blind date with none other than said brother, stating that he and his girlfriend broke up and she thinks the two of you could get on very well. However, you’ve just gotten into a relationship with someone new and tell her as much, declining her kind offer. You absently wonder to yourself what her brother is like, again thinking to yourself he must be pretty cute.

That night, you have another dream of your sapphire-eyed friend. This time, he speaks to you a bit more. He tells you his name is Aemond. You arch a brow, telling him that’s the weirdest name you’ve ever heard in your life. He merely smiles at you and tells you that your name is the most beautiful one he’s ever heard.

And then, before you wake up?

He says it again.

“Billy”.

The third near miss is when you end up catching the flu just before Joel’s funeral. You’re devastated that you won’t be able to go mourn with your friends. You’re unaware that Billy will be at the funeral until Lana tells you not to worry, that her parents and her brother will be there to support her. You nod, wiping your eyes, falling into a deep sleep in your bed, courtesy of one Miss Nyquil, hoping that the world won’t be as fucking shitty when you wake up.

You cry in your dreams and “Aemond” comes to you to comfort you. But his words are cryptic after you’ve finally stopped sobbing.

“Time is running out,” he murmurs, “You don’t have much longer to find him.”

You knit your brows together in confusion and meet Aemond’s gaze, “What do you mean?”

“Billy. He doesn’t have much time. You must go to him.”

You shake your head, “Lana’s brother? I don’t even know him-”

He rests a finger on your lips, which slightly pisses you off, but you choose to ignore that, instead listening to him tell you, “You need him. And he needs you, more than you know. He’s lost. Only you can help him be found.”

“Lost?” you repeat, completely confused.

Aemond isn’t able to elaborate, considering you wake up moments later, your head still fuzzy from your flu. This latest dream is soon forgotten.

Maybe things would have played out differently if you’d managed to remember his words somehow.

The last near miss you have with Billy Washington is when you need a lift to the dentist’s office, your car being in the shop. Lana tells you Billy says he’d be happy to help you out and you find yourself getting excited that you’re finally going to meet her mysterious (at least to you) and handsome (you assume) brother. He shoots you a text the night before that he’s excited to finally meet you, complete with a smiley face. He also sends a picture of your yellow umbrella, sitting on the passenger seat of his car, with a message saying that it’s waiting for you. The thought makes you grin and you go to sleep, happier than you have in a long time.

Aemond is happy in your dream that night, holding you in his arms, kissing you gently, saying that maybe, just maybe, this time everything will be alright. You’ve long since given up on trying to understand the cryptic words he says, instead, just enjoying the attention and affection he gives you in your dreams.

When you wake up the next morning, you’re beyond excited. You play “Walking On Sunshine” as you shower and get dressed up a bit too fancy for a mere visit to the dentist, wearing a pretty sundress, putting your hair in braids, and putting on a pair of tennis shoes with cute lacy socks. You feel like an idiot, but somehow you think that meeting Billy is fate. Somehow, you feel like he is going to become a major part of your life. And you’ll get your favorite umbrella back!

Then, you get a call from Lana. Billy’s been arrested in connection with a recent vandalization of a halal butcher shop. The thought of the boy you’ve been building up in your head being islamophobic or racist makes you feel sick to your stomach. Had you really been excited to meet a guy like this? The illusion of this perfect guy who you’d been dying to meet is shattered, and you get yourself a cab and head to the dentist’s office, feeling completely dejected and depressed. You’ve never had great luck with guys. Why did you think Billy would be any different?

You have another dream of Aemond that night. This time, he looks sad, giving you a broken little smile.

“What is it?” you ask as he takes your hand in his.

“It’s too late for us this time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, a heaviness in voice, a sadness that you don’t understand, “I’m sorry, my love.”

“What do you mean it’s too late?” you tilt your head to the side in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

He shakes his head and murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling. I’m so sorry.”

When you wake up, those three words repeat in your head over and over.

“I’m so sorry”.

Billy doesn’t know what to make of the yellow umbrella he finds in his childhood room when he stays the night with his parents shortly after the holidays, having had a bit of a falling out with his lady love. He wonders what kind of person uses a yellow umbrella. It seems obnoxious, almost, but at the same time? It makes him crack a small smile. He’s informed that it likely belongs to Lana’s friend who stayed over for the holidays. He wonders what said friend is like.

When he lays down in his bed, he’s surprised that there’s still a feminine scent of coconut shampoo on his pillow. It’s soothing, it calms him and makes him smile as he drifts off into an unusually peaceful sleep. He dreams of the most beautiful girl he’s seen in his entire life, with a kind smile and a sweet voice. She assures him he’s not the failure he thinks he is and that there is someone out there waiting for him.

Someone meant just for him.

These dreams continue for a long while. And as the near misses continue, he grows more and more fascinated with the idea of you, finding sleep and his dream girl being far more appealing than the waking world, with all that he’s dealing with.

As he gets into his car after Lana bails him out, he looks at your yellow umbrella and sighs. He’s well and truly fucked it up now.

And in his dream that night, his dream girl sobs into his arms, holding onto him tightly, saying she thought things would be different this time.

The first time you hear Billy Washington’s voice and he hears yours is the day he takes his car to Farringdon station. You hear everything as he’s directed to go to Cranstead Fields, everything except his voice, only hearing Lana’s side of the conversation.

She puts him on speaker for a moment, and you hear him.

“You’ve gotta tell Mum and Dad I’m sorry, yeah?”

Your eyes go wide at the sound of his voice and you murmur softly, “Aemond…?”

You hear Billy let out a choked gasp through the phone as he whispers your name, “Is it really you?”

The memories come rushing back to both of you and you begin crying, “Yes, it’s me…”

Lana looks between you and her phone in confusion and asks you to keep her brother calm, seeing that he seems to get on pretty well with you, at least over the phone, while she runs point with the team to try and figure out what to do.

“I bet you look beautiful right now,” Billy says, his voice thick with emotion, “You always did.”

You laugh breathlessly, “I did try to get pretty for when you were going to pick me up.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it, love,” he murmurs.

“Don’t say sorry,” you protest, “You’re going to make it out of this. Lana and I and the team are all trained professionals-”

“You know I’m not going to survive, love,” he says, his voice cracking slightly, “That’s what the dreams last night were. The one where I held you in my arms as you cried.”

“No,” you shake your head vehemently, “No. No, we didn’t even meet this time. No, Billy, it doesn’t end like this! That’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry, love,” he says tearfully, “You know, I’ve got your umbrella sitting by me,” he remembers something and smiles, “A bit forgetful still, hm?”

You laugh, still sobbing, “Give it to me when you see me.”

“Tomorrow night,” he says, wiping his eyes, “At the bar round the corner from Lana’s. Seven o’clock.”

“You better not be late,” you scold him, “You’d better be there.”

“I will,” he says as you hand the phone back to Lana.

And when you see the horrified look on her face, you know what’s just happened.

Ettore wakes in his jail cell, looking around frantically, drenched in a cold sweat. That fucking dream again. The one where he’s blown up. The one where he speaks to some girl and then he dies. He stands up and folds the sheet back on his bunk, giving his cellmate a nasty little glare as he snores, wondering if it would be too coincidental for him to get shanked during the next riot.

That’s when the warden comes and tells him he’s been chosen to be among the death row inmates boarding the spacecraft suicide mission, to extract energy from a black hole.

Though it likely means certain death, Ettore can’t help feeling that this is happening for a reason.

And that maybe it’s tied to that beautiful girl he’s been dreaming of all his life.

Tied to you.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #billy washington x reader #billy washington x you #billy washington imagine #billy washington #aemond targaryen x y/n #prince aemond x reader #my writing #thousand worlds fic

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eddies-house · 3 months

Text

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Thirteen - Yours

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it."

Sweet Nothing - T.S.

A/N: so i think this fic will probably come to and end soon, not really sure but ITS SO BITTER SWEET

Masterlist

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“Aliens aren’t real!” A young boy, maybe eight years old shouts at Eddie, swiping the little action figure Eddie had placed on top of his toy fire truck, sending flying a few feet away.

“And you know that how?” Eddie argues, arms crossed over his chest. His dark gray knit sweater sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, a telltale sign of how heated the argument had become. He sits on the floor, criss cross while a little girl sits behind him on the couch, her tiny fingers combing through his chocolate curls.

Sometime in between you offering to help dish up dessert and freshening up in the bathroom, Eddie seemed to have made a few new friends, quite the opposite of what you were expecting out of tonight.

“Clippy!” The little girl demands, holding her hand out.

Eddie’s eyes widened as if to recall he had a certain task that he’d abandoned, snatching up a tiny sparkly blue butterfly clip from the fibers of the carpet and holding it out in the palm of his hand. Within seconds, the left side of his bangs are clipped away from his face.

“Cause they’re not!” The boy shakes his head.

“Why?” Eddie prods.

You can’t fight your grin, big bad Eddie decked out in tattoos fully engaged in a disagreement with an eight year old had you internally squealing. You’d never been met with such a sight, such contrast as Eddie’s large hand held out yet another clip, a pink one this time.

“Cause.”

“Why.”

“Just cause.”

“That’s not a reason! Give me my guy back!” Eddie attempts to reach for the little figurine across the carpet only for the little girl to protest, a whine stopping him from moving any further. “Sorry, sorry.” He surrenders, falling back into his original position.

“You messed it up!” She begins to wail.

It’s evident you need to take the initiative, poor Eddie’s face contorting in horror as he squeezes his eyes shut. Without another second wasted, you plop down next to her on the couch just above Eddie, greeting her gently.

“Hi, is this the salon? I was told you do the best hair in town.” You smile. “May I make an appointment?”

Her big eyes take you in, scanning you up and down before realizing you’d only wanted to play. A half done braid in one of Eddie’s strands of hair sits at the back of his head, one that seemed to fall apart in Eddie’s attempt to collect the little alien. The girl, nodding shyly, starts to point toward the predicament she’s in.

“Oh no!” You sigh, placing your hands in your lap as if nothing could be done to aid in correcting the braid.

“Fix it, fix it.” Eddie mutters under his breath, his hand covering his mouth to muffle his voice.

“Can I?” You ask the girl, gesturing to her little toy hairbrush.

With a petite nod, she allows you to take the brush from her little hands as you begin to work it through the loose hairs that had come out of the braid.

“You can be a firefighter.” The little boy insists as he hands Eddie a new toy, an obvious scoff coming from the man.

“What’s your name?” You ask the girl, ignoring him.

“Grace.”

“Grace? That’s a pretty name.” You begin to pinch the strands back together, braiding them.

Eddie’s thankful that his thoughts don’t project on the wall because in all honesty, he wants to throw himself out the window. Not once had he ever desired having a kid. Was this baby fever?

In an instant those thoughts escaped his mind when you secured the little braid and began scraping your nails at the back of his head, combing through his tangled curls. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull, he could practically purr and was tempted to just curl up in your lap. With a full belly and head scratches, he figures he can die happy.

“Are you sleeping?” You snort, leaning forward only to catch a glimpse of his blissed out face.

”No.”

”Yes!” The little boy chimes in.

“Was not!” Eddie argues, straightening himself up.

The boy raises a brow at you, Grace happily twisting strands of Eddie’s hair together. This felt like home. This felt like the warm apple pie nestled in your stomach embodied as an emotion, gooeyness seeping from your raised cheeks and crinkled eyes.

Stolen glances at the dinner table just shy of a half an hour ago and brief touches of fingertips as you passed various dishes had warmth radiating throughout your body. Home was starting to feel more like a person than a place. Home had started to feel a lot like a person for a while now if only you had been more attentive to the fact sooner.

Tiny smiles from a tough metal head only encouraged you to rest a delicate hand on his knee whenever possible throughout dinner. Among all the chatter and friendly bickering, a silent conversation had been happening, an audience oblivious to the behind the scenes of the main attraction: a turkey big enough to nearly splinter the table. A calloused thumb had grazed over the top of your hand, the touch enough to heat your cheeks and pull the corners of your mouth into a permanent grin.

His dimples took residence on his face the entire time, a shyness to him whenever you took the leap to intertwine your fingers together underneath the table. A closeness only the two of you were aware of. A gesture not too big, but not at all taken for granted as he returned an affectionate squeeze.

And when all was said and done, dinner had been devoured, dessert enjoyed, tiny gestures continued to bombard his and your heart the same. Like an unspoken love war, who could offer the best token of their affections?

Once Eddie was in the clear with Grace, you’d been able to steer him off to the kitchen, now completely void of busy bodies and full of empty plates and dirty dishes. Your intent was to drop off your wine glass, and Eddie to discard his beer bottle. Laughter rang throughout the house, something about a few of the adults playing drunk Twister. It was lost on you, a large hand splayed out on your waist and pulling you toward Eddie’s warm body obliterating any other thoughts you had.

A buzzed haze lingered in both your stares, heavy eyes taking each other in. The kitchen was dim, lights shut off for the time being as everyone ignored the ginormous mess awaiting them, only the light leaking in from the living room illuminating a fraction of the room.

”Hi.” A whispered greeting, softly, for your ears only.

“Hi.” You whisper back, a gentle finger tucking a rogue curl behind his ear, hot to the touch whether it be from the nerves or the alcohol you weren’t sure though you had a suspicion that it was both.

Your cold hand rests against his stubbly cheek, his eyes fluttering shut at the touch. Your other hand trails up to rest flat against his chest, body heat radiating from him. Anyone could walk in and spot you two at any second. But neither seems to care.

“You’re beautiful.” He gulps, not enough beer in the world could aid him in having the confidence to tell you though he went for it anyway, humiliation could be confronted later.

He thanks whatever higher power is looking out for him that your eyes grow larger and twinkle in a way he’d now spend forever attempting to replicate. A bashful smile parts your lips, your gaze shying away from him momentarily.

His shy girl.

Several glasses of wine couldn't even hide the sheepish aura taking control of you. Fragile fingers toyed with the neckline of his sweater, fidgeting with the chain around his neck. A distraction from the flustering words.

”Yeah?” You ask, small and sincere.

So small and sincere, he wonders how often you’d been made aware of your beauty. So small and sincere, it’s like you almost didn’t believe him. If that were the case, he’d kick the stupid butterflies in his stomach to the curb, suck it up, and tell you every chance he got.

“Yeah.” He tells you with a nod, waddling the both of you back and forth to the music drifting in from the living room record player, Can’t Help Falling in Love, Elvis. “You’re beautiful.” He repeats, his forehead now resting against yours.

He doesn’t know if his advances are correct. Doesn’t have the experience of another woman’s touch to provide him the checks and balances. But he figures that if he was wrong in his movements and words, you would’ve given him the hint by now.

“And you’re handsome.” Your lips hover just barely over his, nose nudging into his cheek endearingly, a sultry tone to your hushed voice that nearly makes him melt.

He had never been called handsome before, not in the tender way you were uttering it to him. Sure, girls had attempted to lure him in for some free weed, never genuine and only for their own personal gain. You never asked anything of him other than earlier when you’d asked him to stay. Just to stay. That was it. And he couldn’t fathom it.

”Yeah?” He mimics you from earlier, a genuine question falling from his mouth against your top lip.

Your answer doesn’t come in the form of words but in the seal of a kiss, a promise against plush, slightly chapped skin. A statement. A devotion.

I am yours, I hope you’ll be mine.

Noses smash together as your lips mold to his, his hands coming up to cup your face with anxious hands. Similarly, yours reach up to rest against his cheeks, one hand working on its own accord to tuck itself into his hair, thumb brushing over his ear to fidget with the little silver hoop dangling from his ear lobe. Rather than ignore the shiver it sends up his spine, he embraces it, stroking his thumbs along the highest points of your cheeks. His rounded nose nuzzles into yours, lips parting from each other slightly, the tiniest strand of saliva hanging from either end. Suddenly, you feel the pad of his thumb brush against your bottom lip, tugging it ever so gently with crinkly eyes and a toothy grin. His answer. His own devotion to you.

I have been yours all along.

—

“You’re biting me.” You laugh, a bit too obnoxiously for your own liking.

Eddie’s canine grazes your top lip, teeth clashing against yours. His determination was endearing though you were hoping to keep your lips intact and your tooth unchipped. A breathy laugh against your cheek sends shivers through your body, his voice dripping in honey, more so than you’d previously heard. A side of him that not another soul had been granted access.

“Sorry.”

Endless giggles–yes, giggles-fall from his lips against your skin, his forehead bumping against your temple, hands fiddling with the hem of your sweater. You start to wonder how anyone could see him as anything but gentle. Anything but sweet.

The truck was cold enough that you saw your breath in the air, a warning that you should head inside though you couldn’t find it in you to part from him. Invite him in, you found that little voice in your head saying. But you didn’t want to push. Despite the front he could put on he was delicate, you could see it in his eyes. Chocolatey pools of vulnerability that had previously been stone cold but slowly melted for you.

“Slower.” A whispered instruction, your hand cradling his jaw as you hover your lips just above his. “Softer.” You playfully nip at his bottom lip, plump and kissable.

He offers a hesitant kiss, lips gently brushing over yours before pulling away.

“Like that?” It’s barely a whisper. A kind of anxious fear falling out of his brain and into the air, a thought he didn’t mean to put so much emotion behind.

“More.” Your lips meet his again, encouraging him. “Like you need it.”

A large hand rests at your waist, nearly pulling you into his lap though the steering wheel prevents him from doing so. Instead he dives into you, nose smashing into yours, eyelashes fluttering against your skin as eager lips work themselves against you.

“Mhm.” You mumble, nodding, motivating him. “Just like that.” You gasp, unable to get another syllable in before his tongue interrupts you.

Teaching Eddie the basics of how to make out wasn’t something you had envisioned when fantasizing about him previously. But it was so much better than anything your mind could’ve conjured up. It was endearing, the way he was so hesitant, so unsure, as if you weren’t ready to pounce into his lap hours ago. As if you hadn’t been glancing his way all evening, flirtation twinkling in your eyes and necessity for his touch obvious in the way that you would graze him any chance you could.

“Like that?” He repeats, excitement leaking in his question whether he knew it or not.

He was a quick learner, leveling up from awkward and uncertain to velvety smooth and confident in his movements. The more you egged him on, the more greedy he became, holding your face in his hands, tongue exploring against yours, lips finding a rhythm as they smeared your lipgloss. He was covered in it, some lingering on the tip of his nose and when you attempted to wipe it off he was kissing you again.

“Just like that.” You practically whine into his mouth.

—

Weeks passed by, a quiet romance blossoming with each and every interaction. Within those weeks, there were stolen kisses at the bar on smoke breaks and in passing. You didn’t mind the tobacco on Eddie’s breath though you still encouraged him to quit. It more so bothered you that he was increasing his chances of his health deteriorating.

“So everyone can blame you when I get grumpy if I quit?” Eddie grinned, dimples deep in his cheeks.

”You’re already grumpy. Even after your smoke breaks.” You giggle.

The Bourbon was doing well enough, the evening rush not quite arriving yet as the remaining beams of sunlight set behind the horizon at a premature five o’ clock. Happy Hour had officially started though the blanket of snow coating the town fended off some regulars as they opted for the comfort of their own homes, almost like hibernating animals.

”Is that so?” Eddie chuckles.

The tiny hallway just outside the office was secluded from any view from the rest of the bar. Especially the corner he was backing you into. Slowly, as if you were prey, he stalked toward you, caging you in with his arms. You couldn’t help but admire the lean muscle as it tensed against the wall next to you.

”Mhm.” You hum. “So if you think about it, you’ll be grumpy either way so you might as well—“

You weren’t prepared for his lips to smash against yours so suddenly, his tongue grazing your bottom lip before pulling away. A smile hid behind his eyes, his teeth sinking into his lip as he tilted your chin with his index finger.

God, was he fucked.

“You really want me to quit?” He asks, drowning in your eyes.

He’d do it for you. Only for you. Anyone else could ask him and he’d tell them to fuck off then and there. But you had him wrapped around your finger. Where he once didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, he cared about yours, he deeply cared about yours.

”Well I-I just-I think—“

”Tell me. Tell me you want me to quit.” Eddie demands, encouraging you to stand your ground, be firm with him.

”Well, only if you want to.” You say quietly, your gaze nearly forcing him to his knees.

”My shy girl.” He whispers, tracing his knuckles against your cheekbone.

You made it so easy to go soft. So easy to submit to. Yes, he was the more dominant one by definition but he kneeled to you in every instance. It took him a while to realize it but it was so obvious now. Eddie was coming to find that when he fell, he fell hard. Faceplanted.

“Yours?” You question. Nothing had been established yet though you both had a pretty good idea where the other stood.

“If you want.” He uses your words against you, smirking.

You’d pin the mental polaroids you’d been taking of his dopey face on that ever growing wall in your brain forever. Frame them, even. Put them on display like a museum. They were precious, untouchable. No one could taint them, not on your account.

”Yeah.” You nod, a breathy sigh escaping your lungs. Solace washes over you, like your heart had just realized it had found a long lost piece of itself. And it whispers: Oh. There you are. “Yeah.”

And immediately your lips are on his again, a craving for nicotine kisses that drove you crazy. Then, a muttered promise against you had your head spinning.

”’M gonna quit. Just be patient with me.”

“Always.”

One of the new hires, Rex, had interrupted, shouting from around the corner that there was a “Code Vomit” near the bar. It didn’t spoil the lovesickness that poured from your mouth into his, only forced you into desperation as you chased his lips. Eddie’s eyes rolled, the scent of your perfume much more preferable to the puke out on the floor.

Later you talked him down, insisting that the new hires didn’t need to “earn” their status though Eddie thoroughly disagreed. You suppose he had a bias, being pulled away from you mid-makeout surely increasing his grumpy mood.

“They’re fine, they can deal with a little puke.” His hands dramatically gesture toward the office door, shutting you both in and shielding you from wandering eyes.

“Just because you put me through trials and tribulations doesn’t mean we need to continue the tradition with them.”

“Oh–I did not–” Eddie scoffs.

“You did.” You grace him with a smirk.

“Bambi.”

“Eddie.” You sing his name.

For a silent moment, he stares. His stares had become increasingly softer, his rough edges fading away anytime you were in his presence. And you knew he surrendered before even saying another word.

“Forgive me?” A hopeful question as he steps forward, looping a finger in one of your belt loops, tugging you toward his chest.

“Hm.” You hum in thought, eyes fixing themselves on the ceiling rather than his large, intriguing eyes.

“Hm?” He hums back, an inquiry.

“I dunno.”

You were playing games, the kind of games he was unfamiliar with. A territory he’d only recently stepped into, a flirtatious bantering that had his heart fluttering, aching because it had never been used to this kind of attention. The muscle had never been exercised, never prepared for this kind of thing.

“Tables are filling up, need another set of hands!” Jett bangs a fist on the door, not lingering for any longer than he has to as he continues managing the sudden rush.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie calls back.

“How can I make it up to you?” He tilts his head, his tone quieter in contrast.

Rather than supply him with an answer, a delicate hand cups his jaw, a slow yet passionate kiss pressed to his lips as he gladly reciprocates. His hold tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer if possible.

“You’re forgiven.” You whisper, twirling one of his curls with your finger.

You leave him in his office, pretending to ignore the rock hard bulge in his jeans. It’s not until around ten minutes later that he shuffles awkwardly into the bar and you’re sure you’re the only one who catches the little kick he does as he finishes adjusting himself.

–

The phone call comes unexpectedly. Wayne only calls on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. 8:00 AM. Three times a week, a well polished routine. It was Thursday night. 9:00 PM.

Eddie had stared at the phone, hearts taking the shape of his pupils at the prospect of it being you on the other end. Another routine he’d been carefully trying to curate, every other night risking his integrity just to hear your voice. Stupid, he knows. With you just a few yards away in your own home, he may as well just show up on your porch but this…this was comfortable. He didn’t have to fear not touching you enough or overstepping. It was only your soft tone, his hushed responses, and the evening out of breaths between two half asleep souls. You hadn’t chanced calling him first, not yet. There was a mutual understanding that this was all unscathed territory, your knowledge of Eddie’s past confirming that moving too fast would only scare him off like a spooked horse.

He was grateful for your everlasting patience though he didn’t know how to navigate telling you that you could call him any time, night or day, and he would gladly pick up. He wouldn’t mind your voice lulling him to sleep, and welcomed the idea of his ears perking up, his body reacting to your voice like he just had a shot of espresso should you call him first thing in the morning. Yes, he wanted to take it slow, wanted to respect the boundaries around his heart he’d spent so long putting up. But he also didn’t have the patience you yielded and often found himself wanting to take a hammer to any walls he still had up.

Wayne’s usually gruff voice surrendered to a more calming tone, one that Eddie hadn’t really ever heard or cared to remember hearing since Mama had passed. No, he hadn’t heard this frequency of gentle words since that one night, he was six and his only worry should’ve been his spelling test the following morning. Unfortunately his worries far exceeded that of a first grade spelling list he had practiced with Wayne and Mama all week.

His uncle's breathing wavered, a nervousness about him that had Eddie paralyzed with his palm beginning to sweat against the plastic of the phone. He could nearly picture the way the older man’s calloused hand would rub over his scruff, his head shaking as he searched for words. Eddie couldn’t anticipate what kind of news was about to break. Was Wayne sick? How long did he have? How was he going to get him to agree to move out with him so he could take care of him? Was Wayne even allowed to move in with him, did Eddie’s government contracts allow for that? He hadn’t bothered to search that far into it initially seeing as his uncle was stubborn and thought it best to let Eddie take the reins on his life after everything went down. Let him do what he always said he wanted to do, get out of Shit-Hole-Small-Town-Hawkins. He had Grandpa Roy anyhow, waiting on the other end of everything to support Eddie, he didn’t need Wayne anymore.

Eddie told himself as such, too, so he could get out of his old man’s hair, let him live his life without supporting some kid he never asked for. He knew he loved him unconditionally but he owed him that much.

Thousands upon millions of thoughts engulfed Eddie’s brain, everything that could go wrong, that other shoe was about to drop, it had to be, Christmas was just around the corner and it wouldn’t be a true Munson holiday without something going wrong. It’s why he didn’t celebrate anymore.

“Kid, I gotta tell you somethin’,” Wayne warned his nephew. “It’s about your dad.”

Eddie blurted out every possible scenario the second he was mentioned. Every plausible reason. It had been years, maybe over six? He hadn’t spoken to or heard from his dad in around six years although there was no telling if he had tried through the means of Wayne and his uncle had never relayed his messages. For good reason.

“He got caught up again and needs a place to crash.”

“He needs money.”

“A getaway driver.”

“An accomplice he can screw over when it all goes to shit.”

”Just say it, he needs his fuckin’ son to help him out of some shit and he’s got no one else to turn to. That’s it isn’t it?”

Venom lingered on Eddie’s tongue, he wondered why the man didn’t just call him himself, though Eddie would hang up at the first trace of his voice. At least then though, his dad would’ve been man enough to seek him out on his own this time. At least then, it would’ve shown he tried to track Eddie down; put in some effort. Eddie didn’t want that…did he? He hated that man with every ounce of his existence but something about appeasing him always remained deep in his gut. Like a virus.

The little boy in him couldn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go of the what ifs.

The daydreams of what could have been. They poisoned his mind, every now and then reducing him to a ghost of himself. Eddie wasn’t proud of it, who would be? Idolizing a man that never existed? Dad was never one to teach him to play ball or take him on fishing trips, no, he was the man that taught him to hijack cars and talk his way out of trouble. The kind of trouble that lands you in a cell for a night or two. The kind of trouble that got him caught in the crossfire of two local gangs and when he turned to his pops for help, he was nowhere to be found. He was twelve.

He was twelve and was beaten to a pulp in an alley near downtown. Left to choke on his own blood. Dad was long gone and the only one he could count on was himself and even then, he feared he would black out before being able to crawl to the nearest payphone.

Wayne picked him up that night, red in the face because of his brother and blue in the eyes for the broken boy in his passenger seat. if he could die and give Eddie a life worth living a thousand times over he would. The kid never stood a chance in his brother’s hands and he’d done everything he could to get Eddie out of that godforsaken house that was full of dust bunnies and beer cans but Eddie was hard-headed and always vouched for his deadbeat father. It’s all he knew. It’s what he thought love was.

But after that night, Eddie didn’t fight back. Didn’t refuse going back to the trailer park, his heart still stuck in that stupid house his dad rarely came back to. Didn’t protest. He wanted to, god he wanted to but his ribs were so damn bruised that words were impossible to create.

He still craved affection from his father, even when he left him for dead. Still wanted his approval. Wanted to ask if he was good enough. If he had even been the slightest bit proud. Those conversations never happened.

Wayne cleared his throat in preparation for his next words. Words that he wasn’t even quite sure how to piece together.

“Ed, he-“. Wayne stuttered. “Your dad, he was-he had a run in with the cops.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what his uncle was trying to get at, dad always had run-ins with the cops. It happened more often than not. Maybe this time he wasn’t so lucky, maybe this time he got himself thrown in jail for good.

“Figures. What does he want, bail money?” Eddie spat.

Rage clouded his vision, how much audacity did his dad have? Did he really think Eddie would bail him out after the last incident? Perhaps the last incident had been a tad more tame than others, Eddie made it out in one piece, conscious and not too badly bruised. What made it different though: pieces of Mama had been destroyed, burnt to a crisp. And that in of itself severed the remaining tie. Burned the entire bridge.

“He’s gone.”

Eddie let the words bounce around in his brain briefly. Gone?

”What, so, he fled the country?” He asks.

Wayne sighs, keeping Eddie on edge, making him wonder what was so damn different this time that had the old man delaying his words. His uncle was not one to sugar coat things.

”He was shot, Ed.” Wayne says quietly, almost with regret. Regret for the small boy he knows still resides within Eddie.

Eddie’s breathing comes to a halt, stalls in his lungs. It couldn’t be. The devil himself couldn’t be dead, he had to be immortal, always lingering somewhere awaiting Eddie’s everlasting loyalty. Why did he feel sad? Why did the tears well up in his eyes for a man who never shed a tear for him?

”He’s—he’s—dead?” Eddie whispers the word, the reality of everything sinking in far too quickly.

Time freezes and he is a boy, sharing a frozen dinner with the man who promised and promised and never delivered. He is just a boy and he is looking at that man with stars in his innocent eyes, devoting every hope and dream to the life they would one day have, the life pops told him stories of. He was just a boy.

”Look, son—“

”I have to—I’m sorry.” Eddie sniffles before dropping the phone back down, burying his reddening face into his shaking hands.

He surrenders his body, sliding down toward the crumby kitchen floor and bringing his knees toward his chest in an effort to disappear. His cheeks wet and body trembling with sobs, he can't help but ask himself, why?

Why do I care so much?

Why am I sad?

Why does grief feel so wrong?

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #smoke signals #eddie munson smut #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader

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