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luveline · 10 months

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𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three | part four

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. CH4: You work up the guts to call him, Eddie drags you out on a date, and the looming shadow of an unknown photographer follows you around. [14k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension ish, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing, nudes MDNI

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Dora’s Convenience, Florida, February 1991

The air here smells like sulphur.

After spending the last four and a half days in Canada, Florida is a shock. The air is warm and thick and the smells are less than pretty —hot baked seaweed floats in on the sea, and the groundwater carries a naturally occurring bacteria that prompts a scent that you can't say you care for— but the people are kind.

Perhaps too long alone with only Morgan, Ananya, and your tour manager, Angel, for company has made you biassed, but so far everyone's been incredibly sweet. Hotel attendants, venue staff, a batch of shiny new techies; all smiling, happy, and willing to help. You haven't carried your own bag since the plane touched down.

Florida is hellishly humid. You miss the freezing bite of cold that accompanied you everywhere in Toronto. You long for a gust of wind that has no smell.

"Come on, wonderboy," Morgan says, tapping her uncharacteristic sneaker into your ankle.

You savour the last blessed seconds of the store's open freezer before closing the door with a brokenhearted frown. The effects of the cold and the clean smell dissipate near immediately, leaving you uncomfortable once again. Morgan continues on without waiting for you, a basket heavy in the crook of her arm. She's got enough glass soda bottles for everybody, yet you doubt she's in a sharing mood. You double back to grab one for you and another for Ananya, winding between aisles and wondering how people can eat half of the stuff on display when the weather is this hot. It feels unlivable.

At the front wall behind plexiglass and an unhappy cashier there's a TV playing Madonna, chirpy pop lyrics clearly not working any wonders.

His long hair shifts against his shoulder with the artificial breeze. He looks a little like Eddie, you think unwittingly, pretty in an unexaggerated way, his eyes big but not brown. You nibble on your lip and put the coke bottles down by Morgan's basket.

"You can go wait in the car," Angel says. Morgan's already left, happy for Angel to foot the bill and carry her things.

You shake your head. You don't mind waiting with her and the car is stifling in the heat. Better to linger in the open air.

The TV fades from Madonna to Guns 'N' Roses. You tilt your head to one side wistfully. No offence meant to your not-boyfriend, but half the rockstars on TV look like Eddie. With the picture small and blurry and up as high as it is on the wall mount, they could swap him out for Slash and you'd be none the wiser. Maybe not half the rockstars, actually —bleaching is all the rage right now, a contrast to Eddie's dark head of hair. You wonder if you'd still want Eddie to press you up against bathroom walls if he were blonde.

Probably.

You're thinking of Eddie less than you worried you would. Things are hectic beyond words, and most spare moments are spent showering, eating, or trying to sleep. Sleeping on the bus was difficult at first due to the tight quarters and loud noise, but you're at a point of exhaustion where Morgan's ranting might as well be a lullaby. The rap of Ananya's sticks against the bench in front of her or her compulsive thigh slapping fades away when you've been awake for eighteen hours straight.

You're in good spirits tonight at the promise of a double bed in your own room. A tiny room, you'd been told, but your own. Privacy feels like a myth lately; you're ravenous for some alone time to do whatever you want without judgement.

You're toying with the idea of asking Angel how you could maybe possibly get into contact with Eddie. You honestly don't have a clue in the world where he is, what state or country. He could be in Alaska and you'd be none the wiser. Where Godless follow locations where they know they'll have full venues, like the Midwest, Canada, and smaller shows in the 'worldwide' branch of their tour later in the year, Corroded Coffin are hitting every venue that's open.

You can't deny it any longer. There's no point, and now you're on good terms you see little worth in pretending Corroded Coffin aren't wildly more popular than Godless. You aren't saying better. But beyond subjectivity is the cold hard truth: Eddie's band are charting high.

Godless' new album is doing better than anyone on your team really expected it to, but, while you're unsure of the inner working politics, you know that the sales team were 'positive' rather than ecstatic. You can't fucking imagine how stuffed the vaults are about to become over at Rollerboy. If they skewed themselves in the right light they could be up there with Van Halen in a year or two. Not that they will, who knows? What you understand about the band is limited to the feel of Eddie's hands and Jamison's quiet rejection.

Point is, Corroded Coffin's new album is about to come out, and it's going to do well, and as far as you know their tour is a sell-out dream.

The cashier bags Morgan's overstuffed basket and moves onto your cokes. Your eyes slide to the magazine stand in front of the checkout.

Exclusive Conversation with Rising Stars of Rock: Corroded Coffin.

You grab it up and try to add it to your stuff inconspicuously, which means you couldn't make it more obvious. Angel snorts.

"Can I escape ridicule for one day?" you ask.

"The ridiculous deserve ridicule." Angel eyes the total and cracks open the touring purse. "You don't need a rockstar boyfriend."

"I'm ridiculous?" you ask wryly.

"Yeah, babe. You and the girls," —she hands over a pretty wad of cash with a keep-the-change nod and grabs the brown paper bags— "might not be the next Aerosmith, but that means jack shit. You guys are awesome, not just 'cause you're my responsibility. I've seen it. I've seen you guys. And I know you hate talking about being a girl band, but you are a girl band–"

You groan. Of course you are. Pretending gender doesn't play into it would be silly. But it gives you a migraine whenever you think about it, so you try not to.

"You guys could be as big as The Bangles. Especially if you stopped wasting time on silly boys," she furthers. Ouch.

Angel steps out into the sunshine. You follow, shielding your eyes as you look for the car, a pretty red Mercedes-Benz with all the windows rolled down.

"The Bangles," you repeat, genuinely surprised by her comparison. "The only thing we have in common with them is that we're girls."

"You know what else you could have in common with them? Mansions and early retirement. Hey, Hazy Shade of Winter was actually good. You should try something like that."

"Uh-huh," you say.

"Hey!" Morgan shouts, shoulders out the passenger side window. "Could you guys at least pretend you have somewhere to be? We aren't all social rejects. A sense of urgency, if you will!"

"Walk slower," Angel mutters. "Ooh, I've dropped my contact. You know, the ones I've miraculously started wearing?"

"Oh no," you giggle, kneeling down to feel for it. You must be rather overdramatic about it, incurring Morgan's whining wrath.

You find Angel's very real contact and return to the car. Morgan drones about her throat and how it's reacting to the constantly changing weather, and then swaps tactics when nobody is quite as pitying as she would've liked to complain about Ananya's "antisocial behaviour".

Ananya has taken to listening to her Walkman non-stop while not on stage. Bad for her hearing, good for her mental health, you imagine. It came about after a missing wad of cash and has yet to see an end. You resent and revere Ananya's determination, jealous that she's escaping Morgan's frankly horrendous behaviour, amazed that she has the willpower.

The more you know Morgan, the less you’ve felt you could love her. It might be cruel to recognise that. She demeans your style, pokes fun at your body, and worst of all, she takes the piss out of your constant dedication to the music you make.

Proud isn't the right word when describing the relationship you have with making music. You aren't proud of yourself for anything. You'd pictured a sort of satisfaction in getting to this point, now that you're a real musician in a famous band with sweetheart fans and the occasional acclaim. You should feel proud of yourself, but you don't.

You'd felt relief, and now the agony of clinging to it.

Worse is that this could all be different. If you were prettier, someone Morgan approved of. If you were smarter, and could garner Ananya's interest. Feeling like an outsider in the extreme that you do can't be good for you, but there's no quick fix. The only time it goes away is when you're on stage playing music for a thousand outsiders.

Or when you're with Eddie.

As you stupidly told him.

What good will it do, telling a boy how you feel? When he's off map, surrounded by people who think he's great and women who won't stop telling him so. Maybe boys, too. You can't get a read on him.

Naive as it was to tell him– whatever it was that you told him. I don't feel sick when I'm with you. How romantic. Naive as it was, you don't totally regret it. He'd sought you out at your show to take you to dinner and suddenly he's cutting the sleeves off of your t-shirt in a family owned pizza place and kissing your neck all slow and smooth like it's the only place in the world he wanted to be. His hand at your waist, and the way he stopped when you got quiet. His hug. That might be what you miss most. Boy's got a world-class smile that gives dizzying, sickly kisses but what you want to feel most is the weight of his arms around you. You want him to hold you steady.

People suck. Eddie sucks. He was mean and then he was sweet and now he's just not here.

You want to see him again.

What a sickening revelation. Anxiety pricks your fingers, pins and needles shooting down the lengths of your arms from your skipping heart. You stick your head as far as you dare to out of the window, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea.

If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog…

You grip the door.

You miss him, and it's terrifying. He can be cruel. You can be cruel too, but you'd been at his fucking mercy. He'd looked at you and he'd known exactly what to say that was gonna mess you up. He has a talent for it. You hate this, and you know now you won't sleep until you're sure things are okay between you, though there's no reason anything would've changed since the last time you saw him. What kind of pathetic does that make you?

It would be nice to hear his voice. The Eddie who dotes on you. Eddie under all his layers. You don't want him fucked on bad ice again, but the version of him you'd met that night makes you smile as you recall it. Wide eyes, quiet but honest.

I sent you flowers, because… because those girls are mean to you, he'd rambled, slouched on the stairs, slightly too heavy for you to help him up. And I didn't like seeing you fall over. I wanted you to feel better. I don't know anything about girls... Did you like the flowers?

The Mercedes-Benz rolls up beside The Blue Lily Club, its name taken from what it used to be, presently a hotel. It has all the trimmings of a music venue, big windows and wood, but indoors it couldn't be more plush.

Ananya holds a hand out for her room key at the front desk and doesn't speak a word. She's kind enough to smile at the chauffeur who'd helped carry your bags inside.

"It doesn't usually look this nice in here, don't get used to luxury," Angel warns. "They're redecorating."

You trail behind her, dragging your suitcase over hardwood floors. The wheels click click click. "We'll come here again?"

"Next time we're in Clearwater. S'where we stayed last time. You hadn't bumped up yet."

"Was it this hot when you were here?" You rub your hand across a clammy cheek. "It feels like summer."

Angel smiles. "You think it's hot now, try a week here in May. I usually don't remember different tour dates but that was hell on Earth. Air conditioning broke in one of the buses into Jacksonville. Holy shit."

Angel divulges her evening plans for ice cold cocktails in the hotel bar and invites you along. You decline outside of your hotel room, "I'll probably sleep."

She nods. "Nice. Catch up on what you missed."

She gets a couple of steps further down the hall toward her own room when you admit defeat.

"Hey, Angel?" You pull at the neckline of your t-shirt. "You, uh, wouldn't know how I could get somebody's number? Someone from Rollerboy?"

"From Rollerboy, huh?" she asks, knowing exactly who you want to talk to. Fuck the techie who saw you and Eddie leaving, and fuck Morgan for spreading it around.

You push your bottom lip against the edges of your top teeth and drag until the delicate skin there hurts.

"I'll see what I can do," she says.

Twenty minutes later you have a phone number for his hotel and instructions on how to actually get through their privacy wall. You perch on the edge of your white bed and stare at the phone, like wanting to talk to him will make it ring. You reach for it, hesitate, and reach for it again.

You dial the number one rotation at a time and wait for it to pick up.

"Four Seasons Houston, Samantha speaking. How can I help you this afternoon?"

You choke on air. Four Seasons? What kind of money are these losers on?

"Hi, I'm hoping to be put through to one of your guests, an Eddie Munson? Room 146?"

"And is he expecting your call?"

"No, ma'am."

"Who's calling?"

"Y/N." You consider giving your second name. Does Eddie even know your second name? You suppose he could've seen it in one of the magazines, but that's doubtful.

"Hold please."

You think about hanging up, but you've given your name. If Eddie's there and he's willing to talk to you and you hang up, he'll still know it was you calling. Is that worse? The embarrassment of chickening out versus the endless mortifying possibilities of what you might say when he answers, if he answers, oh fuck–

"Transferring now."

You hold your breath.

The phone clicks twice.

"Hi?"

"Hey," you say quickly. You inhale, intending on– on what? Your panic is palpable.

"Hi," he says again, something warm in his voice. "Y/N? My Y/N, or a fan who knows just what to say to get my number?"

You go a bit blind. "Your Y/N."

"Hey. How's Florida?"

You sit back in bed and kick off your shoes. The phone shakes in your hand. This is more nerve-wracking than any conversation you've had beforehand, and it's in the small talk stages. It should be easy, you wanted to talk to him, but this is the first time you've sought him out ever. It shows your hand.

"Hot. Really hot. The receptionist, uh, said it isn't usually like this early in the year. Yeah, it's hot."

"It's not so bad here, considering." He sounds unlike himself. You've heard him flirting, almost torturous, and you've heard him mad. You've heard him drunk, high, offended, salacious, smug, and soft. None of those memories align. "Hey," he says, confusing you even worse, "why're you calling? Is everything okay?"

You hold the phone up in the air and twist to smash your face into the huge hotel pillows. They're gloriously cold and nowhere near enough to cool the open flame that is your flushing face.

"Nothing's wrong, I'm sorry," you say weakly, pulling the receiver back to your ear, head craned awkwardly so you don't smother it. "I was– I was thinking about you," —holy fucking fuck— "uh, 'cause I saw you in Lastick Magazine."

You can still save it.

"Who'd you have to blow for that one?" you ask.

Wrong.

"Loser!" he cheers. Your heart sinks, but he goes on, "You gave me a heart attack, I thought something happened!"

"No, nothing happened," you say. If you were on better footing you'd make a sly joke about big scary Eddie worrying about you.

"Okay, good."

You smile, tugging at the sheer, cornflower blue fabric of your skirt as you think, He sounds happy to hear from me.

"How's Houston?"

"Babe, you wouldn't fucking believe it. They got us posted up in some four star skyscraper. Two mini fridges. Two. It's insanity, I'm basically royalty here."

You look around your small room. "Ah, but do you have a damp splodge on the ceiling shaped like the letter W?" you ask.

"They musta forgot to put it in the welcome basket."

You laugh suddenly, startled at his good humour. It's like it's been hooked out of your chest on fishing wire, an ugly garbling sound that infects him down the line.

"Shit, I think I was starting to forget what you sound like," Eddie says.

You know exactly what he means.

You won't tell him, though. Your heart is racing again as it did in the car; he's being lovely like you're friends, like you're more than that, and you love it but it scares you shitless. Boys do this kind of stuff, right? Say pretty things, kiss you like you're something treasured, and one day they stop answering your calls. Vet you through to their assistant, and piggy bank your affections by acting like you're still something the next time you see them in person.

Eddie kissed the top of your arm the last time you saw him. If he acts like you're just friends when you see him next, you're gonna scalp him. Or self admit.

"I meant to ask you about something before I left," he says, bridging a mildly awkward silence with a dip into flirting bravado, "but you were all over me, you know? Didn't have time to ask."

"Yeah? That's not how I remember it."

"No accounting for stupidity." You can hear his smile. "Can I ask, or are you gonna talk over me again?"

"I should hang up on you."

"After all the trouble you went to to reach me," he sympathises.

"Tell me how the dial tone sounds next time."

"Alright! Jesus, you're pushy. What I wanted to ask is, you're in Oklahoma in a month.”

“Where’s the question?”

“You suck. Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. I’m in Oklahoma next month, and you’ll be there at the same time, and I know some of your shirts still have sleeves which is lame and very 1989 of you. I could maybe take some time out of my busy schedule and help you with it. Consider it my charitable act of the year.”

You want to see him. He can’t know it. You don’t want to play games with him, and you don’t wanna get messed around. He can’t have all the power.

“I don’t know, Munson… I’m pretty busy, ‘n’ I kinda like my sleeves.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

He snorts. “Shit, fine. We’ll leave your sleeves alone. Maybe we could–”

“Are you listening to Loggins and Messina?” you ask suddenly, phone pressed so hard to your ear you know it’ll leave a mark.

“What?” he scoffs. “No, of course not.”

The music gets quieter, but you know what you heard. “You are! That’s Thinking Of You, I’d know it anywhere!”

“So what if I am?”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you say, not really thinking about how it sounds. “I love that song, it’s so sweet. I thought you were this big scary jerk but it turns out you’re just as soft as the rest of us. Turn it up, I wanna listen.”

Eddie doesn’t argue with you. He turns it up.

“What is that? It’s too clean to be on the radio. Don’t tell me you’re carrying a Loggins and Messina record around with you, please don’t, because I’d really have to tell someone about it.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” he asks.

“I’m gonna drag your reputation through the mud, Munson.”

Your too-big smile slowly fades when he doesn’t joke back. Was that too far? He can’t possibly think that you’re being serious — as if. You don’t have the power, influence, or connections to touch his reputation, let alone drag it. Your lips part as you hesitate to correct yourself, uncurling where you’d been comfortable on the bed.

Eddie finally puts you out of your misery.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

“No? What was it?”

“That was me crying out in terror. You didn’t hear it?”

“That’s not even funny,” you complain. “I'm not the only one. You realise they’re calling you a womaniser in Lastick, right?” You grab your copy of the magazine from the end of the bed and splay it open, flicking through pages until you find his article. “‘Heartthrob guitarist Eddie Munson is barely entering his mid-20’s, but his masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike,’” you read, letting the magazine flop back flat.

“Did they really say ‘masterful fingering’?” he asks.

You smile at the sound of his laughter. “You pig. What’s funny about that, Munson?"

“Uh…”

“I’m messing with you. Mastery aside, you’re missing the point. They described you as a heartthrob in the third biggest music magazine in intercontinental America. Like, someone went to college for four years, worked their way up the corporate ladder, blood, sweat and tears included, to call you a heartthrob, and they didn’t lose their job.”

“Right, right. The point is that you think I’m ugly.”

“The point is that I have proof you’re…” You think about the point. You want to ruin his reputation as a heartthrob by telling everyone he listens to romantic soft rock. Because that makes sense.

“You have proof that I’m not just a heartthrob, I’m sensitive.” He sounds so fucking smug. “Making me even more of a heartthrob.”

You frown, taking the article back into your hands. “Oh, right! ‘His masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike, but is Munson the sweetheart he seems? Insider information hints that this young musician is spending less time making music and more time womanising the elite bachelorettes of Palm Springs.”

You blink. Your reading had become less smug as it went, and by the time you’ve finished you’ve the beginnings of a pit forming in your stomach. His alleged womanising had felt funny a moment ago. Why does it bother you now?

Because you’ve been confronted with the good. His laugh. His love songs. And you’re realising he isn’t as in your reach as you’d thought.

Eddie snorts. There’s a sound like he’s rubbing the receiver against bedsheets, and you wait apprehensively for him to speak.

“Sorry, I was turning the lights off. That’s a bit fucking rich. Who’s their inside source, Pinocchio the real boy? I was in Palm Springs for two days, and you saw me, I was fucked the entire time.” He has no clue how much you’d needed him to say that. “Maybe someone saw us together, you could pass for one of those pretty rich girls easy.” He also doesn’t know how much of an affect his easy compliments have on you, apparently. “I don’t know how someone could look at me and describe my behaviour as womanising. Pathetic, sure.”

There’s a hard edge to his voice. He made you feel better, even if he doesn’t know it. You don’t mind doing the same.

“You were sweet,” you argue mildly. “You were. You asked me how I was, and when you saw I was wearing heels you sat down in the middle of the staircase and made me sit with you.”

“You don’t usually wear heels.”

“Morgan says–” Eddie groans. “What?”

“Morgan says a lot of dumb shit, is what she says,” Eddie grouches. “Forgive me but she’s a fucking loser.”

You feel oddly protective of her for a moment, “She’s the opposite.”

“No, but her attitude ruins everything she has going for her. She’s talented, she’s the next Nicks when she sings that one song, Heartbreak House? She impresses me, but she’s fucking mean, sweetheart. You know she’s mean.”

“I guess,” you mumble, scratching the seam of your pants with your fingernail, not sure why you're defending her. “Aren't we all?”

Another patch of silence.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, we can all be pretty mean.”

“That’s the business, right?” you ask, knowing it isn't true.

“I think… we all have a propensity for cruelty when we feel pinned, and that…” He clears his throat. “Trying to make it when the scene is this competitive can feel like a looming hand. Just waiting to pluck you off of your pedestal.”

You laugh weirdly, all strangled breathlessness. “Easy to see who writes the lyrics.”

“Fuck you. You know what I mean.”

You do. Morgan’s probably trying her best, in the same way that you’re doing yours, balancing friendship and music and fame and a high-pressure job with little room for slip-ups. And now Eddie. Maybe Morgan has an Eddie somewhere, some larger than life loverboy with a penchant for sharpness and sweetness simultaneously.

“I want to tell you something,” Eddie says.

“Oh, gross. You can’t just say that, now I’m panicking,” you admit, sitting up in bed, knuckles aching at the tight grip you have on the phone. “It’s something normal, right? Or not normal. Did you get some unfortunately transmitted disease or something?”

“Unfortunately,” he quotes. “That’s funny. Definitely didn’t, the last person I touched was you.” It’s heart-rending, until he adds, “Apart from your fleas, I’m clean. And I’m trying to tell you something slightly serious, so if you could keep any allusions of disease to yourself for a minute, I’d appreciate that.”

“Okay, sure. Tell me something.”

There’s a small sound. Maybe he’s licked his lips, or changed positions. “When I… when we had that fight, in the Prover Theatre. I just want you to know that I regret how I treated you. I wish I could take it back, and… I wish I had the guts to tell you in person, but I don’t. Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not how I want to be, and I need you to know that you’re right about me, I’m a loser, but I’m the kind of loser who wants to take you out to dinner and knock my soda in my lap or try to kiss you too soon, not the kind of loser who leaves you hanging.” He laughs like you had, like it’s being dragged out of him, and you realise that Eddie Munson is panicking on the other side. “Shit, can I take some of that back? I’m cool, I swear.”

You smile hard, your cheeks aching. “No, you can’t take it back.”

“Fine. I’m a loser.”

“For the record,” you say, “you did kiss me way too soon.”

He laughs roughly, a sound half threat and half promise. “You annoy me so much. When you get to Oklahoma I’m gonna make sure you know it.”

A curl of warmth unfurls deep in your stomach. You have the good sense not to ask what he means by that.

Cowboy Cadaver, Oklahoma, March 1991

Eddie finds that he hates having an almost-girlfriend. In his head, in his chest, you're his girl. He doesn’t know how to explain himself beyond that. It’s this feeling like heat, like light, like the kiss of a sunbeam on a cold day warming his skin. And it’s the blessed breeze in a heatwave, it’s ice on an ache, it’s the feeling of your skin, your pulse under his touch. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder —it grabs wanting by the neck and squeezes all the air out. If he doesn’t get to see you soon he’s gonna lose it.

He tried explaining it to Wayne down the phone, because he’s being a good nephew now and actually calling, but he couldn’t take himself seriously, all those cheesy metaphors like chewed cud in his mouth waiting to be swallowed and yacked back up. He said, “Does it always feel like this?”

And Wayne sort of laughed, a derisive snort to seal the deal, and said, “Eds, you ain’t the first kid to fall for a girl.”

Which isn’t what he asked, but he reckons Wayne was telling him Yes, it always feels like this. Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love before. He’d wanted to kiss that guy on the track team junior year so badly it kept him awake at night, and he was sweet on the soft bartender when he bussed at the Hideout to the point where the entire kitchen staff started calling him ‘squirty cream’ on account of how whipped he was, but Eddie can’t ever remember feeling like this.

He blames himself, thinking you were right after all – he did kiss you too soon. And for the wrong reasons. Now he knows what it feels like, knows what sound you make when you like it, how was he ever supposed to move past that? Your arm under his lips, or your hair against his cheek as he tried to hug the bone-deep dread out of your system, a faucet drip drip dripping by your thigh. He can’t remember what you smell like anymore, only that you smelled good, and he gets that this’ll be the nature of whatever relationship you two manage to cradle for a long while; he’d never ask you to follow him, and he thinks you’d rather die than do anything similar.

Still, he’s starting to offer up whatever it is whoever it is that’s looking down on him will take to get a quick hit. Sweetheart for his face in the curve of your neck, five seconds to breathe in the smell of your subtle perfume. It’s extreme, but Eddie’s feeling extreme right now. Every minute that you’re late winds the wanting coil tighter.

He doesn’t have anyone with him to tell him to get real. He pictures it instead, Jamison in the chair opposite, grimacing at the cider sticky table between them and the state of Eddie’s patheticness clearly displayed. Stop bouncing your leg, fuckhead. She said she’d meet you here, didn’t she?

He’s going over what-ifs when you appear. You’re wearing a sweatshirt that says ‘I visited the Great Wall,’ with a helpful picture overtop and jeans without rips. He’d be upset at the lack of skin if he couldn’t see the shapes of your thighs so clearly. He’s a sucker for them.

Better are your hands. No, better is your smile, because he knows you more than he should already and he knows what your smile means. You’re happy to see him, and you don’t want him to know it.

He hasn’t practised this part. Shock horror, he’s been too confident in his head yet again and assumed he’d know what to do when he saw you, but he doesn’t, God, he doesn’t have a clue. Can he kiss you? Hug you? It’s feeling like neither. You slide into the booth chair opposite and your shoe bumps his.

“Hi,” you say.

“Yeah, hi. Holy fuck.”

“What?” you ask, head whipping back to look the way you came.

“No, nothing, I just forgot how pretty you are. It’s kind of shocking up close. You know they called you ‘homespun’ in Lastick?”

“Fucker,” you say, not a hint of malice in it as you deflate in front of him.

“Mm. Nice sweatshirt. How was it? The Great Wall?”

“I don’t know, I got this at Goodwill.” You both pause, a synchronised, silently agreed upon ceasefire to take the other in. You look more than pretty, really, ‘cos he was fucking with you when he said it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, it is, you’re lovely when you smile and you’re smiling like he’s just told you he got a lucky scratcher and he’s giving you the winnings. “You look happy,” you say.

“Ditto.”

You grab at the collar of your sweatshirt. “Sorry, this is awkward, I don't know why.”

Eddie’s surprised at your honesty, not because you aren’t an honest person, but maybe because he’s used to skirting around the issue with you. There’s a mutual attitude that anything unsaid is untrue, and lately you’ve both said a ton of stuff you can't take back. He’s sorry, he wants to see you. You feel better when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing considering how little time you’ve spent together, and Eddie wants to change that. Hence dinner here in a blowout with floors that grab at your shoes and cigarette ash caked in the salt and pepper holders. The likelihood of an interruption is small.

“It’s fine,” he says faux confidently, while his heart is thudding against his Adam's apple. “I know how to fix it.”

Eddie reaches down under the table for the rumpled jansport he’d brought with him and pulls out two gifts. They aren’t wrapped, even though that would’ve been more romantic. He hadn’t found the time. He places them in front of you without ceremony, a chocolate rose in plastic wrap and a CD from that Indiana band you like, signed and sealed.

“What…” you mumble, picking up the CD with an adorably awed pout. “How’d you get this?”

“Asked around.” A lot. It was shameful.

Unfortunately for him, there’s a little more awkwardness to cut through, the shame of vulnerability or the realisation that you’re both standing on the precipice of something shiny and new. Suddenly, every word feels important. He has to make it clear that he’s repentant, and desperate, but only for you.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

You immediately nod, two tight dips of your chin as your thumb rubs over the plastic wrap irreverently. Your eyes are slightly widened, your pupils like dimes. “Eddie, I didn’t bring you anything.”

He leans back against the cool leather seat. “You didn’t have to. I’m just happy to see you.”

You stand up, and he thinks Oh thank fuck, you’re sitting on the bench beside him, you’re gonna kiss him saccharine sweet on the cheek like the darling girl that you are. His hand lands unabashedly atop the curve of your hip as you settle down beside him, his heart like the pull cord on a chainsaw that keeps skipping, your impending kiss the roar of the engine as it wakes.

Your hand touches his thigh. You’ve the chocolate rose in hand, a shy smile on your lips.

“Will you share it with me?”

He comes up short. Yeah, a kiss would be nice, but this is good too.

Dramatics aside (dramatics being the kinder word, because Eddie doesn’t feel dramatic at all, and that’s genuinely worse), he’s missed you without metaphor. Something in him relaxes as you unpackage the rose and snap it up. You offer him a carved leaf as you nibble on the stem. The awkwardness begins to fade, at least on his end, though that might be down to his lingering hand behind your back, not touching you but close enough.

“I told everyone I was going window shopping,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you meet his eyes.

“They believe you?”

“Nope. They know you’re here.”

“Mine were the same,” Eddie comforts, reaching for the flower of your rose to break it apart. He holds some up to see if you’ll let him feed you. You wrinkle your nose at him and laugh. He laughs back. “Open up.”

“No,” you say, laughing through your nose as he presses a petal to your lip. Your jaw softens as you lean back, and it’s a sight to see, your eyes lit with amusement and your lips pressed tightly closed.

He doesn’t wanna push his luck. He puts the chocolate petal in your hand and leans back to chew through his own, happy to watch you through half-lidded eyes. His squinting makes you squirm, until you figure out his angle and give him a playful glare.

It's swiftly interrupted by a big yawn. “I’m so tired,” you say, rubbing your eye with a sore looking hand.

“Your hands are fucked,” he says. It’s no wonder that you’re tired. You never stop. Even when the guitar pick’s fallen between strings. “That’s a bad one.”

He takes your hand in his to rub his thumb over the pad of your index finger, where the whorl of your fingerprint is cut decisively down the middle and scabbing over. The skin around it is mottled. His thumbnail scratches down the side of your finger gently as he looks it over. There’s nothing he can do to make it better.

“You know they invented picks for a reason,” he says.

Your middle and marriage fingers rest lightly against the meat of his thumb. Your pinky fits in the slight dip of his palm, its tip at the the bisection of hills at the bottom of his palm. Your nails aren’t long, but you’ve painted them an unassuming, translucent blue. He pushes his thumb into your fingers so they curl toward your own palm and slowly, you cover his thumb with yours. It’s a weird angle to hold hands, but he doesn’t mind. Like you can read his thoughts, you turn your hand into his, but then you must change your mind. You pull it out of his hold and face toward the table again, away from him, your forearms pushed together. You lean back with a tired moan. It turns his heart.

“I like shows, but I don’t like touring,” you say. “I think we should get to pick a venue and that’s it, that’s where we play. The fans can come to us.”

“The fans,” Eddie repeats.

He’s not trying to make fun of you. It’s weird to say something like that aloud and know that it’s true. You have fans. You both do. People like your music enough to come and see you play.

And you both like playing music enough to subject yourself to borderline torturous conditions. Packing yourselves up like parcels delivered from one stage to another.

“I bet Madonna loves touring,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“They aren’t making her live in a ten by two box sixteen hours a day,” he says.

“Don’t do math,” you plead, your head dipped back and drifting toward his arm. “I really am tired.”

“You could’ve cancelled. Not that I wanted you to.” He softens his voice, his best approximation of a caring boyfriend, though he’s never been one before.

“I didn’t want to cancel…”

“You need me to take you home?” he asks, concerned as you let your head drop on his shoulder.

“Can I just sit here a while?”

“Sure. Anything. Uh…” He wraps his arm around your shoulder.

Eddie would be content if you fell asleep but you fight your fatigue, and he’s glad for it when you move into easy conversation. This part he can do. Over the phone, he's told you about Wayne and growing up, and about stuff he doesn’t think he’s told anyone before, not secret so much as mundanities that no one ever wanted to listen to. He sticks to mundane things for now. Like the phone calls between you both (new, occasional, but always too long), he talks until he runs out of things to say, and even then he drags it out to a painful threshold.

Somehow, some way, you lay your head on his shoulder and keep it there for a while, and you tell him about your nightmare tour and all the fighting. Morgan’s not speaking to you, Ananya’s not speaking to anyone. She has a pair of headphones that she keeps on morning noon and night, sometimes during soundcheck, where she adamantly refuses to participate.

“Ananya used to be okay,” you say, nearly whispering like you’re worried you’ll get caught telling him secrets. “But she’s just as bad as Morgan now. They’re still fighting about Morgan’s– Okay, don’t tell anybody, but Morgan does a lot of coke–”

“Is that a secret?” Eddie asks.

He’s not being condescending, it’s just that half the people you see on MTV have a bad coke problem and Morgan is often on MTV.

“No, but she stole money out of Ananya’s purse at a party when we were first touring ‘cos she didn’t have a dime to her name, it’s pretty bad. I didn’t tell you on the phone ‘cos I was worried someone was listening to us.”

Eddie blanches. “You think people were listening to us?” He said some brave things to you last time, a cheeky promise wrapped up in platitudes.

“I mean, no? But the secretaries can listen on the line in some places, ‘n’ you were staying in all those skyscrapers. It’s not, like, a thing. Morgan swears she was gonna pay it back. Anya got mad, ‘n’ Morgan implied that any money in Anya’s purse was money she made.”

“I see.”

You lift your head slightly. “Please don’t tell anyone. They’d kill me if they knew I told you.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. “My lips are sealed.” He eyes your pretty mouth, your face as close as it is. “Well, mostly sealed. Ooh, you could buy my silence.”

“How does one go about that?” you ask quietly, knowing exactly how, he’s sure.

Eddie gives you the softest kiss he can manage, hiding his nervousness well. He grabs your upper arm, and grab isn't the right word but it’s the only word that makes any sense given the quickness of his movement; he's leaning in and he needs to be touching you first, steady himself. You smile into his lips.

“That’s not gonna be enough,” he says as you pull away. You startle him by leaning in again quickly, your lips parted a fraction and hot against his as your hand stretches out across his chest.

He’d intended to stay chaste with you. He's trying to rescue the head-first plunge that was his handful of confessions, make your possible relationship one that works, but he can't help himself. He takes it slow, admittedly, but slow kisses become long, and he turns lax at the feeling of your fingertips over his heart.

Eddie pulls away when he can make himself, cupping your face in his hand in an effort to communicate how much he wants to be kissing you still. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Why? Do I taste bad?” you ask. You have a shiny mouth.

“You taste like chocolate. I just figured I should buy you a drink before somebody else does.”

“Eddie,” you say, leaning into his palm ever so slightly, “there's no one else here.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Who names a bar ‘Cowboy Cadaver’?”

Your lashes kiss in the corners as you smile.

“Your band is called Corroded Coffin.”

“And it’s a good name.” He pecks you quickly. “Yes?”

Your answering hum tickles.

“Why do I feel like we aren't supposed to be doing this?” you ask, second hand joining your first on his chest.

“Because we’re meeting in secret?” he suggests, covering your hands with one of his. “Or mild secrecy. We aren't subtle.”

“You're not subtle.”

“No,” he agrees, and forgive him but he’s feeling positively sunny and sounds it.

“This is okay, though? We both want this?” you ask.

“I-” No more running away. No more casual cruelty. “I definitely want this.”

You grin, leaning up in a move that surprises him as your arms wrap around his neck, his hair under your arms. You smile sheepishly before ducking your face under his, the tip of your nose crushed to the soft part beneath his jaw. He has a grin all his own as he grasps your back. Eddie kisses the side of your head, any skin he can reach, three times in quick succession, and feels an acute sense of relief. There’s something final about it like a puzzle piece clicking into place that explains the photograph, or the snap of a finishing line against his stomach. He's suddenly pin-sharp ecstatic, and he shows it with a rough squeeze.

“You smell really nice,” he praises, his nose by your hair.

“That’s pervy, I think.”

“I’m trying to be nice,” he says.

He can hear even to himself how brazen he sounds, that awful flirtation he can't help from enacting with you now he knows you like this. He wants to impress, and he wants to be honest at the same time. He wants to be himself. It’s getting easier.

“Nice isn’t a word I’d associate with you,” you say, but you sit back to meet his eyes and amend, “That’s not true. You can be lovely.”

You give him a look that can only be described as loving. It’s pure affection, and if he weren't sitting he’d have fallen over from how it makes him feel. You lean forward until the top part of your face is on his cheek, your eyelashes twitching like a butterfly’s wing.

“Thank you for the presents. You didn't have to get me anything," you say.

He looks behind your head to the bar around you both. He's been so distracted by your looming presence, your arrival, and now having you in his arms, he hadn't noticed the patrons milling in as happy hour draws nearer. There’s a couple of older men at the bar, and one looks unseeing toward your public display. It makes him uneasy.

“You're welcome," he says. "We have an audience."

You follow his gaze over your shoulder and promptly untuck yourself from his embrace when you see the bar isn't as empty as you'd thought. There’s no time for heartbreak —you weave your fingers with his and hide them between your thighs, a small smile playing on your lips.

Eddie could get used to this.

—

Marriott Dean Music Store, Oklahoma, (still) March 1991

There’s a black and white Gibson Les Paul hanging on the wall. It caught Eddie’s eye as soon as you arrived, and while you have no use for it (and your Fender bass's gonna jinx you if you touch an instrument that isn't her, you just know it), you kinda wanna feel it for yourself.

“See the headstock? The line wrapped around the bottom?” Eddie says under his breath.

There's a storehand standing behind the small counter not too far from your position near the entrance.

You nod carefully. “Yeah?”

“Relacquered. And conveniently not mentioned on the price tag. It might be a new one, sometimes they crack backward from the pressure of the strings.”

You glance between Eddie, his pale face and a new crop of sun-wrought freckles, and the ‘like new’ label on the guitar. An ‘87 standard has no need for lies, it’s not as if the price difference between it and the new ‘91 is overlarge.

“Are you looking for something new?” you ask.

If Eddie functions anything like you do, he’ll have his own hardware but won’t hesitate to borrow from a well-packed bank of state-of-the-art instruments that follows the tour. He might even change instrument mid set. He won't need something new, but need and want are estranged.

“Nah,” he says, nudging you gently away from the guitar display. His hand ghosts your elbow, like he might steer you around. “I have a Rich Warlock, you seen those? I got a new one last year ‘n’ the output level for the bridge pickup is giving me grief, but I’m not an asshole. I could sit down and fix it myself, but…”

You brush aside a beaded curtain and take a short step down into the store, where a wealth of CD’s, cassettes and vinyls are packed in rows on tables. There’s an older man flicking through records, but beside that the room is empty. A big yellow sticker faded from the sun warns of CCTV.

“You’re too busy,” you finish.

“I'm way too busy.”

There's a calmness to being with him here you hadn't expected. It's like lying on the stairs with him all over again, but he's missing that awful far off look to his eyes, he's tip top shape: Eddie Munson is sober. He said it like it's no big deal, and maybe it isn't, but you squeezed his hand anyways because you figure you'd want someone to feel proud of you if you stopped. You don't have a problem, just every dalliance with recreational substances is a chance at something worse. He should feel good about what he's doing.

Especially when you understand the feeling that drives you there in the first place. The insane stress of wanting to prove that you're worth something, and the feeling like lukewarm water dripping down your spine when you're standing in the middle of a room, in the middle of a crowd, and you realise you could disappear and nobody would know until the next show. That confrontation of how small your life has become, through your own mediation and everything else.

You'd give anything to escape that feeling. Some nights, you do.

You told yourself you'd play it cool. What happened between you and Eddie, what's happening, it's muddled. You remember the profound hurt feeling of his final blow, and you hold it up against how you're feeling now as his fingertips coast down your arm, a thoughtless touch as he stands beside you to give his opinions on the box of records in front. He's nice. He's more nice than not. You wanted to squeeze his hand and you had, cool girl facade on the back burner.

Maybe you're the one who was cruel. You think back to how it all went down. The details grow fuzzier in the distance, but you know you hurt him like he hurt you. And unlike him, you can't remember having said sorry.

You turn your head and find his face remarkably close to your own. He doesn't flinch nor move, only smiles at the weight of your gaze and flicks to the next vinyl.

"I'm sorry," you say, awkward but earnest. You don't give yourself the time to chicken out.

You can't stand thinking you might have hurt him now. Even if he hurt you worse. The guilt of hurting anybody at all feels heavy, worse because it's you.

"For what?" he asks.

"For what I said. At the theatre. And for walking away at Monsters of Rock."

"I walked away," he says, confused. "I pretty much ran. Not my finest moment."

"No, at the store."

Recognition crosses his features. He smiles rather weirdly, inclining his head close enough to kiss you.

"You didn't have to listen to me. I respect that. You know that, right? You don't have to listen just 'cos someone has something to say." His brows crease inward. "I hate what I said to you at the theatre. And I felt guilty about it. You make me so mad, and I'm childish and I can't deal with that. But it's not your fault. You don't deserve a lashing every time I have one to give."

Eddie tilts his head to the left. "Sorry," he adds. "Don't try to make me feel better– don't, I can see it on your face. It's not why I said it."

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then pulls back to see if it's worked. You're smiling. He takes it for a win.

"I'm a big girl," you say after a short second of staring at him, the ridge of his nose and the curls silhouetting his slight hint of cheekbone. "I don't need you to take all of the blame."

"Ah, but I'm selfish. I want it all." He shrugs. "Better luck next time."

"Nerd."

"Loser."

He goes back to the records with a smile. You look at it a little longer, allowed and aggrieved at once. He shouldn't be that pretty.

You watch his hands, hoping he'll give himself away and falter. A gift deserves a gift. CD's aren't cheap. You could buy him a vinyl. He must have a player of some sort, considering his Loggins and Messina habit.

"Think they'll have your new LP?" he asks.

"They'll have yours."

Eddie shakes his head. "I'm not asking about mine."

"They won't have it here, this place is tiny. City stores are the only place I've seen any of our stuff," you say.

"Well, you guys are plastered. I saw the cover on the side of a bus in Pasadena."

You gawp at him. "You did not."

"I did! Think I don't know that ugly font by now? Godless in huge black and white letters. It's a bad name, by the way," he ribs.

"What am I supposed to do about it? I wasn't there when they chose it."

Eddie shrugs, the toned muscle of his arms shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. It might've been black once upon a time, but the merchandise he sports now is a washed out grey. You put your hand over the curve of his bicep because you want to, and pleasure simmers when he doesn't move away.

"If it were me," he says, in a tone of voice that spells irksome teasing a mile off, "and the name were that bad, I'd go on strike. Refuse to play. That'll make them fix it, while you still have time."

"I'm sure you could get away with that," you say.

"You don't think you would?"

"I'm not really tenured."

"Ah, but who could say no to such a pretty face," he praises, pushing the box of records away from himself. "Shit, guess we better go ask for a test run on that Les Paul. This is all… questionable."

"You're gonna serenade me?" you ask, returning his teasing.

"You're gonna serenade me. I know you know your way around a rhythm guitar. You're holding out on me," he says, knocking your elbows together.

You love this. All these familiar touches. Like a moth to a flame, you follow him back up into the main storefront and sit beside him on top of a crate, cradling the Les Paul like a baby you're terrified of dropping. Even with tour money you couldn't pay for it now. At the end, sure. But you doubt the manager would take an IOU.

"What do I play?" you ask.

"Anything."

"That's not helpful."

"Something fun," he says.

Your fingers slide up the fretboard to an E flat. You bite your lip. "I'm in bass mode." It's automatic. You'd immediately set yourself up for a baseline.

Baseline to riff for rhythm guitar is easy enough. E flat becomes E flat major. G becomes G minor.

"Pentatonics," Eddie whispers when you hesitate.

"You really aren't helpful," you laugh. "This is hard."

"I'm telling people you said that."

You mess around until you have the basis of a simple riff down, hoping you'll impress him. He shouldn't be impressed, you've seen him play things a thousand times more complicated in person, but he beams as you work your way through a verse and then an impromptu chorus.

"Is that fucking Blondie?" he asks.

"No."

"It so is! Hanging On the Telephone, everyone knows that song."

"And everyone knows it's a cover. I'm doing The Nerves version, obviously."

You smile at each other until he cracks. "Obviously," he concedes. "Do the rest."

"Like I'm your dog," you say, a joke that brushes too close to home.

You fumble over the strings, gaze resolute on the body of the guitar rather than his face.

You don't care that he said it —you care that he knows he said it. It doesn't make sense in so little words, but the feeling is contrite. It doesn't allow for sensical explanation.

The humiliation of being seen is worse than a spurned insult thrown haphazard at your feet. His insult isn't as bad as your reaction to it. The fact that he knows it upset you. That's the worst part.

It's embarrassing because he was right. Of course it is. And it doesn't get better, because you're still the same. Still running back after every kick. No matter the leg.

You play him the rest of the song. Or rather, your best approximation. It's incredibly difficult to play by ear and you haven't heard the song in a while. When the guitar sounds more like a transparent translation of the lyrics than the actual meat of the instrumentals you give up, picking at the strings and listening to the individual tuning of each once. Eddie doesn't speak. Each second of his silence grows worse, your throat dry as the Sahara and horrifyingly thick. Why isn't he talking?

His hand covers your shoulder. Fingers in a row across the slight dip of it, thumb rubbing reassuringly into your shoulder blade. "You're so fucking talented," he says quietly, his voice just above your ear. "I hope you know that."

"I got lucky," you say, shaking your head.

"No, you worked hard. There's a difference."

His hand slides over the hill of your upper arm. Eddie gives you a gentle shake. You let your head flop into the crook of his neck. His hair tickles your forehead, but he smells so good you stay longer than you should.

"Play me something," you say, trying to sound less morose than you feel.

Whether he hears your emotion or not, he pats your arm and sits up. You hand over the guitar, and Eddie props the body over his thigh and runs his fingers up the fretboard, feeling the craftsmanship appreciatively despite his earlier disapproval.

"What do you wanna hear?" he asks.

"What do you know?"

"God, I know everything. You should know that."

"Well, you can't play anything too impressive, you'll draw attention."

He nods very seriously at your sarcasm. He's immediately more at home than you'd been with it, and his hands look like they have a mind of their own. He plays a tight riff you recognise from one of their songs that is, to your horror, a warm up. He turns the amp down, and before you know it he's elbow deep in a complication of chords that might genuinely have you sweating if it were you rather than him. He does it like it's nothing. A walk in the park, and one he so clearly takes pleasure in. His eyes light up, the kind of look he's had before when he's made you laugh, or something a little milder than the electricity of his rough stageside kiss.

You're in awe.

He fucks up somewhere and laughs. A sweet giggle.

"S'what I get for trying to show off."

He plucks a string sharply. Hair's falling in his eyes, nearly hiding the sheepish curve of his lips. You see it, and adore it, and don't know what you're supposed to do about that.

"I'll get him to put this away before I break it and we can get something to eat," he says, looking up from the guitar.

"It's weird to be with you. Without anything in the way," you say before you can stop yourself.

You're glad you've said it when he raises his eyebrows. "Super weird. No more excuses. Wanna get freaky in the employee bathroom?" He laughs at his own joke. "It feels right, though," he adds warmly, before sincerity gets too much and he looks away.

He gives the store employee back the Les Paul for its case and swings his backpack over one arm. He holds the other one out, wriggling his fingers so you know it isn't optional. You'd have tried it if he didn't offer.

You hold hands out of the store and onto the street, busy but not crowded, and try to think of what you're supposed to say. You're in the soul of Tulsa, rather than the heart —you and Eddie decided to meet somewhere far enough from the city centre as to miss anyone who'd know who you are (or, more accurately, know who he is). You're not the kind of musicians who get papped often, or ever. Morgan's snow exposé was opportunistic, and Eddie was on the news for his epic destruction of property, but beside that it's purposeful photoshoots or moot. But this, this thing, whatever it is, it isn't for anybody else. You don't want anyone knowing quite yet. If Morgan found out you'd probably chuck up from the anxiety of what she'd do, some 'well-meaning' sabotage. Contrary to what she'd said in the past, how you should pick up the phone if Eddie calls, you know how she functions. Jealousy, or maybe some unjust belief that she deserves every ounce of lust or affection or attention, would absolutely wreck her. She doesn't like you enough to let you have this. You know it.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks.

The sunlight makes him paler than usual. Pasty skin, dark dark hair, he'd be a vampire if his hand weren't warm in yours. You tighten your grip.

"I think I'm not half as cool as I want to be."

He licks his lips. "You're cool."

You lift your chin to look at the sky, the wind moving over your hair gently. You trust Eddie enough to let him pull you out of harm's way. At least, you think you do.

"I'm worried about people finding out about us."

"Us?" Eddie asks. Horror surges. It's smothered as quickly as it comes by your hand swung in his, and his pleased little smile as he says, "There's an us."

It's useless to pretend otherwise. And if it makes him that happy, you're thrilled. Genuinely.

"Would it be so terrible?" Less sun and more apprehension, Eddie fails at bravado. "If people knew about your smoking hot plaything?"

"You're not my plaything, you're– not my plaything," you stammer.

"Bummer for me. I think I'd be into it."

He guides you around a fire hydrant and across a short gap in the sidewalk. You have no idea where he's leading you. It's sunny enough that you don't complain.

"I don't want people to know about us because– because I barely know about us, and, um– I'm sorry, this is the opposite of attractive."

"How many compliments do you want?" he asks seriously, "'Cause I have a couple locked and loaded."

"Let's go back to when you didn't like me."

"Who cares how attractive you are? Not that you're not. But I don't want you to not tell me things because it's not hot. What kind of relationship would that turn into? Superficial, who wants that?" He stops swinging your hand abruptly, and to your pleasure, his cheeks are pink. "Do you want that?"

"No," you mumble.

"Oh. Good."

"What kind of relationship do you want?" you ask.

"A nice one." He does his fucking ridiculous giggle again and you could kiss him right here in the street. "You're ruining my reputation. I used to be respectable. Now I'm a bigger loser than before, and people are gonna clock on."

"They've clocked on."

"Cruel!" he says, delighted.

"I…" You look anywhere but his face. His hand is so, so heavy. "You really don't care if I'm honest?"

"I want you to be honest. We're not seventeen. I know girls do all the same gross stuff that boys do, babe."

"What do you think I'm about to say?" You laugh.

"Something really disgusting from the way you're freezing up."

The breeze kisses at your cheeks. A stray leaf falls from the tree to your left and twists through the air, dancing in circles until it stops at your feet. You step over it gingerly.

"Eddie, I just want you to know what you're getting into–"

"What am I getting into?"

"I'm not– I'm–" You struggle for words. There's no dictionary for how you feel. There's so much stuff wrong with you and he can't know any of it. You're stupid and lazy and bad at the things you're good at. You're tired, and sick, and you can't seem to get things right. You love sincerely and it's hardly ever enough. "I don't really know why you want this."

He speaks with lips barely parted, mumbling but somehow unafraid. "I don't really know why I wouldn't want this."

Eddie turns the corner and pulls you with him. An empty sidewalk beckons, white and stretching long down the boulevard. He pulls your joined hands up into the air and guides you into a slow twirl.

"I think you're beautiful. You impress me, and you make me wanna write bad songs," he says, rubbing his thumb over your fingers. "What am I saying? I can't write a bad song. It's impossible. Especially if they're about you."

"But I don't get that, we don't get along."

"What do you call this?" he asks.

You come to a stop. There's a coffee shop to your right with huge open windows. Warm yellow light pours out into the slowly darkening sky.

"I do want this," you say, worried you're giving him the wrong idea. He visibly relaxes at your statement, his grip on your hand strengthening once again. "I do," you continue, "whatever this is, I meant what I said, you know. You… make everything quiet for me. And I think you're–" Beautiful, you should say. "You're Lastick's heartthrob, everybody wants you. I like you."

"I'd hope so," he says, pulling you toward him, his second hand vying for yours. He tugs you right up against him, face lit with cocky happiness.

You hold your breath. His lashes are super long at the corners, emphasising the deep dark brown that lines his pupils and the gentler bark that surrounds it. He lays a hand against your cheek, encouraging your head up to his. He isn't soft with you like he'd been at the bar, but he isn't mean. You like how sure he is as he pulls you in, as he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes shutter closed with the pressure.

"I don't care if everybody wants me," he says, and kisses you again, your noses smushed together. "That's not true, anyway," —he laughs quietly into your open mouth, his breath warm as it fans over your lips and tongue— "and if it were," —he kisses you a third time, his head tilted to the side, his lips parted a fraction like he can't wait long enough to line up with you— "it wouldn't change what I want."

You have to take a breather if only to let your brain catch up with what he's saying.

"Okay," you breathe.

He pulls your still joined hands to his heart. "Yeah? I'm not trying to freak you out 'n' go too heavy. I know I'm on thin ice."

"You're not on thin ice."

"I should be."

Maybe. "You're not." You glance down the sidewalk to make sure your public display (you're becoming those people, apparently) isn't in someone's way. Thankfully, there's nobody around. "Sorry. This has been a really nice day, and I'm ruining it."

"Date," he corrects. "It's a date, and it's great, and you haven't ruined a thing. We're gonna get dinner and talk about music and Gareth's disgusting bunk and you can feel however you want to feel, long as it's within arms reach. Yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," you say. You manage a firm nod.

A date. Maybe you're a fool who doesn't deserve him for an almost-boyfriend. If you keep getting in your own way, you'll definitely be one.

"What's for dinner?" you ask.

Eddie smiles.

—

Colo Do Amante Hotel, April 1991

"Do you think you'll ever move away from glam metal?"

Eddie looks up from the notebook in his lap. He licks his lip to give himself more time to answer, searching for the right thing to say to you. The more time you spend together, the more he wants to say the right thing, and the more sure he feels that there isn't a wrong thing.

You are, quite simply, a wonder. A love.

He shouldn't be here. Eddie's playing a show tomorrow night halfway across the country. If even one thing goes wrong with his red-eye, he's fucked. Someone from Rollerboy will murder him, and he'll deserve it. But he's here, because he wanted to see you and miraculously you wanted to see him. A late night phone call from one hotel room to another, his quiet confession.

"I miss you," he'd said.

You'd hesitated for half a second, if that. "Come and see me, then."

So he ditched the bus, got a cab, flew out with his rockstar money and crawled into your bed. You haven't slept together, only laid with one another talking about how much being a musician sucks and how awful you both are for complaining. You'll relax around him now, and he thinks more about seeing you again than he does your muddled past, and he knows that counts for something.

"Do I think I'll move away from glam metal?" he repeats, thoughts not strictly yours.

He's trying to write about how you look now before you move, before he can forget it. Your figure curled up yet limp beside him, your hand on his stomach and your shirt climbing up the hill of your hip, the pudge of your stomach peaking out. You're wearing something much more showy than the last time he saw you, having done press a couple hours before his arrival and with no will to change. Your tights are dark and floral lace, stretched over sweet thighs vaguely hidden by your black skirt. For all the leg on show he can't see a hint of your top half before your neck. You're layered in fabrics. He loves it, you look awesome, and you'd been amazingly flustered when he told you.

Careful not to smudge your glittery make up, he'd tried to kiss you in the lobby. You'd nearly squeaked, grabbing him by the arm to pull him to the elevator bank.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. Have you seen yourself today? Actually? You're fucking killer."

You'd shushed him and clicked the wrong floor button. He pretended not to notice when you corrected yourself.

Most of the makeup is gone now, kissed off and the rest washed away, but your lashes are still lengthened and they look it as you prop yourself up by his hip and ask, "Well?"

"No," he says honestly. There's always room to grow, and music changes with time and with an evolving scene, but Corroded Coffin are famous for how they sound now. "I love how we sound… Do you think you'll ever move into glam metal?"

"Is there any room?"

"No, but when has that ever stopped anyone?"

He folds his pen between the leaves of his notebook and chucks it toward his bag in the corner of your room. You shift yourself, not quite sitting up as you pull off your sheer long sleeve and the regular long sleeve beneath it, exposing your arms and your chest to his view. He hadn't been expecting a tank top beneath.

He whistles. Can't help himself.

You dive to hide your face in the sheets, one arm tucked uncomfortably under your weight and across your chest, the other sliding away from his navel. "Shut up," you murmur.

"Sorry. You're just pretty."

"Didn't say that before I got my tits out, I notice."

He laughs at your grumbling and leans down to talk softly. "Ah, but I did, didn't I? Told you you were 'fucking pretty' but maybe you didn't hear me, you were kissing me so hard–"

You reach blindly for his face and push him away from you, not half as roughly as you could.

He's messing with you. It's his prerogative.

Being your almost boyfriend comes with privileges, like being privy to how you're feeling. Once unbeknownst to Eddie and probably everyone in your life, you're not a very happy person. He could guess why, he's not blind, but thinking it and knowing it are two different ponds. You don't say much about it, embarrassed by or maybe unable to verbalise how you're feeling beyond, "I'm tired of everything today," and, "Sorry, I'm just worried."

About what? he'd asked.

You'd nibbled your lip. Everything. Nothing worth saying out loud.

He'd make jokes anyhow, but he makes more of them when he thinks you're feeling down. Teasing you is a surefire trick to distract you from all the stuff you can't handle.

It's piling on, he knows. Morgan on the news again, shirtless in a public club, your startled face in the background. You'd been poked fun at by TV hosts and journalists alike. Nothing cruel, but making you the butt of a joke nonetheless. Then there was Ananya's continued selective mutism, disagreements over stage blocking, your ever-present employment anxiety, your very first hate letter disguised as a love note, and, to Eddie's surprise, radio silence from your friend Dornie.

He didn't like Dornie to begin with. Now he hates him.

"Don't push me away," he whines.

"Don't make fun of me."

"But you look lovely when you're mad." He grins at you where you're glaring, only your eyes and brows visible in your position. "Exactly like that."

"Lovely," you say. He can hear in your voice how the mock fight you'd started has sputtered out. You sound genuine again, a little raspy with oncoming fatigue.

"You don't like that word?"

You lay flat on your back. Head on the pillows, hands to your collar and fingers picking at one another, you look down at them and away from him and Eddie can't stand losing your attention. He ushers away his notebook on the sheets and climbs toward you on knees. He checks your face as he positions himself between your legs. You smile. He smiles back. He thinks maybe this is what you secretly wanted him to do.

"You like Status Quo?" you ask.

He smiles and lets his weight press down on you, not paying much attention to what goes where, only the feeling of being on top of you, this close, and being allowed. "Yeah?"

"Showaddywaddy?"

"Beg your pardon?" he jokes.

"Let's go for a little walk," you sing under your breath.

"Yeah. I liked that song." He sings, "I wanna tell you, that I love ya." You nod happily.

"Queen?" you ask, quieter still.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"It's weird that we managed to find each other," you say. "Though everything. You had to like all that music, we had to want this bad, we had to be born at the same time, in the same scenes, and we had to go to the same stupid party."

He hangs his head. "I was in a mood."

"You were. I figured you were an asshole, you know?"

Eddie takes a deep, deep breath. "I remember."

"I was… pathetic," you say softly, letting your hands drop flat to your chest. You change your mind, tuck a curl behind his ear. "I was desperate, your friend Jamison… it doesn't matter. I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"There's a difference between pathetic and lonely. You tried to make friends, and I was being a dick because–" He sucks the inside of his cheek.

"'Cos you tried to talk to me and I made fun of your court case?" you ask, self-deprecating.

"Because you didn't know me."

You poke his cheek gently. "That mattered that much to you?"

"Sweetheart, we met before."

Eddie watches you hear him, and spots the resistance to what he's suggesting. He needles his arms under your waist to feel the breadth of your back in his palms, close enough to kiss you, but wanting to hear what you have to say about it more.

"We did," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"I think about a year before we met at the party, we met at the airport. You weren't in Godless, you weren't even a tech yet, you were on your way to meet the tour in New York. We met, and we talked about music, and I told you to come and meet me if you ever found yourself in the same place."

You'll put me on a list? you'd asked, charmed by his wanting to see you, as impossible as it may have seemed then.

I'll put you on the list.

"When I saw you," he says, eyes on the curve of your bottom lip, "I was hoping you'd come to see me, but you didn't remember me, I could tell straight away, and I– I'd gotten so used to people saying yes to me that I got more pissed than I should've. I feel like a loser, telling you now, but–" But it meant something, meeting you before. It meant something.

"We did meet," you say, voice like a line of spider web weighed down, and abruptly plinking back up. "You gave me a sticker. I dropped it down a storm drain straight off the plane."

He nods encouragingly, "I gave you a Corroded Coffin sticker–"

"With a rose in the background," you interrupt.

"Yeah. You remember? You had those huge can headphones and your guitar was falling apart, and I told you about Sweetheart 'cos she was still pretty impressive at the time. You didn't have time to try her before boarding, so…"

"So you said I could give her a try the next time we saw each other."

Eddie bites his lip. "Yeah."

Your breath is noticeably quickened, your gaze snapping onto his face. Recollection lights your eyes, and then, like he'd so desperately wanted to see months ago when he wandered into you of all people at a sticky, snow-loaded party, you smile at him. Like you missed him. Like you can't believe your luck.

"Well, hey, stranger," you whisper, your thumb rubbing along his bottom lip, fingers tucked neatly behind his ear. "I remember you."

"You took your time," he says.

"You could've said something," you say, chin dipping to your chest. "How did you remember me after that long?"

He's trying not to get broken up with before he's officially your boyfriend; he wants to say, You're hard to forget, but he refrains.

He leans in for a silky, soft kiss. "Immaculate memory," he says in the slice of time your lips aren't touching, a second gap as he turns his head to better kiss your top lip.

"Is there anything you can't do?" you indulge.

"Can't get this one really beautiful thing to let me take her photo," he says.

You giggle and push him away. "'Cos I know what kind of picture you want, Eddie!"

"I already told you that's not true, dirty photos are an epidemic I've yet to feed into." He's a man, not a Saint —he'd fucking love a dirty photo, but he really does just want a Polaroid for his wallet. "How about we both have a Polaroid of each other? So you don't forget me?"

Guilt lines your smile. "I'm sorry," you say, dragging him down for a kiss. "Sorry, sorry. I won't forget you again, Munson…" You rub his cheek with your thumb. "If I let you take a photo, will you forgive me?"

You're already forgiven. "Three photos."

"Deal."

"Should've asked for five."

"You could've asked for the full cartridge and a dirty one and I might've said yes. I can't believe we met before.."

Eddie rests his nose on your cheek, eyes closed, already trying to remember how many photos there are left on his camera. "I don't want a picture of your tits because you feel guilty, babe." He laughs as he talks, then, the joke feels that good to say, "I want one because you have the most amazing, killer, gorgeous pair of–"

You screech to cover his bold compliments and whack his chest playfully. "Get off of me, you freak! Get off, get off, get off."

Eddie flips onto his back, chuckling.

"How would you even know?" you ask, slipping off of the bed with a little thump and down by your suitcase. You chuck your shitty Polaroid Spectra onto the sheets by his arm and rifle around for a foil sealed cartridge. "You've barely seen them."

Like past Eddie, this Eddie still wants to fuck you stupid, but he also really isn't interested in intiating anything before you're ready. He's hoping you'll make the first move, and maybe soon, but watching the tip of your tongue breach your lips as you climb on your knees to fiddle with the Spectra, he's not really thinking about sex.

"I've seen them," he disagrees.

"You have not."

"Have too."

"Have not."

"I'm seeing them right now."

You look down at your chest. The tank top you're wearing isn't especially scandalous, Eddie just loves your shape.

"Okay," you say, shyness creeping into your voice and stature, your shoulders bunching up toward your neck a touch, "if I say something and it's too weird, you can tell me no. Please tell me no."

He shakes his head gently when you don't add anything else. "What?" he asks.

"Do you really want a dirty photo? You could take one. I wouldn't mind," you say.

Your voice drops to a murmur with the last two words. Eddie hikes up on his elbows, smile curling and appling his cheeks. "You don't still feel bad about forgetting lil ole me?"

"Of course I do, but it's not why I'm offering. I really like you, Eddie. I want to do things other couples do."

Earnestness has you sounding your best: your voice has always been one of his very favourite things about you. Your voice, your smile, your passion (maybe that one most of all). When you talk as you are now, without anything in the way, he thinks he might be at his most infatuated.

"I really like you," he says, reaching out to steal your hand from the camera. "What I want most is one with your smile, get me? One I can flash at the boys while I'm away, brag about you."

"I thought we weren't telling anyone," you say gently.

"Not for now. I'll need it eventually, right?"

You beam at him. "Right."

You pick up your camera and aim it at his face. He knows how he must look, his hair frizzy from hours on a small plane, lips sore from kissing you, ridiculously happy. Now you know everything about him he'd been purposefully hiding. All the bad in all of the good, and all the good in all of the bad. He can't wait to tell you the rest.

The flash blinds him for a split second, and your camera chugs as it ejects the photo. You drop it on the sheets and you and Eddie crane your heads together, foreheads kissing while the image appears.

"That's a good one, right?" he asks. Upside down, he's not sure.

"It's really perfect," you say.

Eddie lifts your chin for another silken kiss.

"Listen," he says as he breaks away, his lips tingling, heart in his throat. "Can I be your boyfriend?"

He hadn't meant to ask like that.

You nod slowly, then quickly, trying uselessly to tamp an ecstatic smile as you paw at his arms. Eddie pulls you back up onto the bed and you make camp in his lamp, hands in his hair and lips like an undulating wave against his. He kisses you until he can't think.

—

The photographer standing outside of the Colo De Amante is cold, fingertips frostbitten and nose like ice, but it's worth it for the photo he gets. Eddie Munson peeling out of the hotel in the late night when he's supposed to be in a different state, hair banded out of his face, giving the photographer a great view of his pleased features.

The camera clicks.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! please reblog if you have the time!! i love them being all loveydovey but im excited for the drama to start again

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 13 days

Text

No Excuses

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Sri-Lankan!Reader

WARNINGS: HEAVY FLUFF, Simons a fucking simp for the missus, good food :)

SOME INFO: 'Avurudda' means 'New Year', and Kottu and Appa are some famous Sri Lankan traditional food

WORD COUNT: 1,484

ENJOY!

"Yes, Amma. Yes, I cleaned the house like you told me to," you confess softly to your Sri Lankan mother, a tender smile gracing your lips as you recall the gentle encouragement she always provided.

Avurudda season has arrived, a time when the essence of your Sri Lankan heritage fills the air with warmth and nostalgia. In homage to your roots, you meticulously prepared your home, ensuring every corner gleamed with the promise of new beginnings.

And with a sense of reverence, you sought out a traditional Sri Lankan lamp online, a beacon of light to guide you through the festivities of the new year

When you married Simon, Your parents hesitated, their reservations echoing the unspoken fears of marrying outside your culture lingered in your heart

Yet, can they really blame you?

You fell in love with the Lieutenant while you were a techie for one of the TF-141 missions. The mission was primarily automotive, so the team, especially Simon, heavily relied on you. You didn’t think that you had it in you to thaw the ice around the Lt’s heart, but to him, you were his solace, his light.

In the steady rhythm of time, Simon's heart quietly yielded to the gravity of your presence, each day etching deeper into the stone of his resolve, sculpting a silent monument to the unyielding strength of his love for you.

After a few tense debriefs, he finally had the courage.

From the tension of your first encounters to secret touches, which morphed into silent kisses behind closed doors. Your both grew needing the other, the love you have for him and him, you, just became heavier in the depths of your hearts.

Soon, you moved into his flat. And a year later, you’re sleeping next to the love of your life with a gold band on your finger and his last name after your first.

Your parents soon backed off when they realized how much Simon cared for you and you for him.

Your mother's voice breaks you out of your reverie.

"Have you seen the recipes I’ve sent you, the Kottu and the Appa ones?" Your Amma questions, and you tilt your head back and close your eyes. "Yes, Amma, I did. Haven’t I told you that already?"

-----

You hear the door open as you sauté some vegetables the way your mother said to, in her recipe.

"Love? Are you here?" you hear the gruff voice of your husband through the entrance hall of your home.

You holler that you’re in the kitchen.

With a gentle embrace, Simon enfolds you in his arms, his touch igniting a spark of warmth that spreads through your body like wildfire. You lean into his embrace, relishing the comfort of his touch as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your skin. "Hi, handsome," you whisper softly, your voice a tender caress that lingers in the air between you.

Simon grunts out a laugh and hugs you tighter, "missed you, love."

You both stand in silence, letting Simon take you in.

"Have you brought the things I asked you to?" you whisper gently, switching off the heat of the stove. Simon nods, "it was tricky to find them, but I managed to."

Simon finally releases you and goes to grab the paper bags from the table near the door and places them on the kitchen counter.

You smile at him and give a little squeeze to his bicep and dig through the bag. "Great, everything is here, thanks babe," you lay out everything and start to cook your Kottu. You start chopping up the fresh thin, soft rotti until it's the right size.

You feel Simon peek over your shoulder and then go back to the pot and get a whiff of the food you made already. "Jesus, love. It smells incredible," he leans against the kitchen counter watching you chop the last of the rotti and throw the shredded fine bread into your pot.

You inhale deeply, "well, it's Avurudda. Sri Lankan new year." You say sheepishly, as you throw a glance at your husband over your shoulder.

Simon’s eyes go wide and he nods slowly, "I see." He rubs a hand over his chin and takes in the information you just gave him. He pieces everything together and scolds himself for not remembering, "love, I'm sorry I didn’t know."

You chuckle and shake your head, "honey, it’s fine, really." Simon shakes his head, "I should remember my wife’s cultural holidays. No excuses, love." You pout at Simon beating himself up, "hey, I know what can make you feel better."

He looks up at you confused and raises a brow. "I bought a Sinhala lamp, could you help me set it up?" you smile at him as he nods eagerly before you finish your sentence. You give him the instructions and show him the package that came in this afternoon. "Alright, I’ll get on with it," he whispers, rubbing a hand on your lower back and kissing your temple.

You smile and finish your work in the kitchen.

-----

Simon sets the table and you plate the food.

Then you sit down to enjoy the meal you've prepared together, the flickering light of the candles casts a warm glow over the table, bathing you both in its gentle embrace.

Now he sits in front of you and looks at the crispy Appas and delicious looking Kottu sitting between the both of you.

"Alright, so. This is Kottu, it's basically pieces of thick paratha or rotti, cooked with veggies and shredded chicken. It’s my ultimate favorite dish," you point at the plate of food, and talk animatedly.

You don’t see the subtle smile on your husband's face as he sees you talk passionately, and he opens a file in his mind and files in the information that Kottu is your favorite meal. You then point at the crispy upside-down domes.

“These are Appas, or Hoppers, they are amazing with chicken curry," you point at the curry you made a little while ago, "alright that’s it, dig in! And, Suba aluth avurudak weva, mage rattaran.” Simon has learned a little Sinhala for you since you first got married, and he translates your words in his mind.

Happy new year, my darling.

-----

As you and Simon delve into conversation about your respective days, you both begin to enjoy your meals. With each bite, you savor the taste of home, the flavors of your heritage filling your senses with a sense of belonging.

You take occasional sips from a glass of wine, Simon leisurely drinks from a bottle of beer.

“It’s absolutely delicious, love,” he says, reaching for your hand across the table. He rubs his thumb on the delicate skin of your hand. You smile and say your thanks.

You meet his gaze, your eyes locking in a silent exchange that speaks volumes without a single word. And in that moment, as you sit together in the soft glow of the candlelight, you know that you are exactly where you're meant to be, with the man who holds your heart in his hands.

Your leg brushes against his ankle, the fabric of your sock gliding over his skin. Simon grins and gently clasps your limb, placing it tenderly on his lap. Your smile broadens as he begins to caress it, sending waves of comfort through you.

The atmosphere is filled to the brim with your love for each other, the only source of light is from the candles lit on the table and the traditional lamp next to your dining table.

Simon reflects on his fortune, marveling at the serendipity of finding a woman as remarkable as you. He finds solace in the thought of a love so deeply reciprocated, where every beat of his heart echoes with the resonance of your affection, intertwining your souls in a bittersweet symphony of devotion.

-----

You stir from slumber to the not-so-gentle melody of your phone's alarm.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you reach out to silence it, yearning for the familiar presence of your Simon beside you.

Yet, as you turn, you find only the empty space where he once lay, his absence palpable in the morning light.

With a soft exhale, you sit up, the soft rays of dawn casting a warm glow around you. It's then that your gaze drifts to his bedside table, where a bouquet of delicate pink and white tulips awaits, their petals kissed by the soft light of dawn.

Nestled among the blooms, a note written in his hand catches your eye.

It’s in his handwriting, the ink scratchy and blotchy. His sinhala words marking their spot on the hard paper.

A rush of emotion floods your senses as you read his words, each stroke of the pen a testament to his adoration.

Happy New Year, my love.

🎀🎀🎀

OMG!

My first Simon Riley fic!!

And

My first Sri-Lankan!Reader fic!!!

One of the main reasons I wanted to start writing is because there is very minimal representation of brown girlies in the fanfic world. Especially, there is lack of rep for South Asian women. And even though I do associate myself with being a WOC, there is still a difference in between cultures.

I srsly keep in touch with my Sri Lankan heritage, and value that part of me.

It's why I try to make my Fics as inclusive as possible, but sometimes ya girl's got to represent her girlies back home.

(dw desi babes, I got a Diwali fic planned for y'all)

Sorry for the ramble and I'm sorry if this is not what most of you lovelies wanted😅😅.

But I've planned this for a while.

Suba Aluth Avurudak Weva, my loves!

(Also, please lemme know what you lovelies think about the fic!!)

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

#simon riley cod #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley angst #Sri Lankan!Reader #Simon ghost Riley x Sri Lankan!Reader

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somethingubercool · 2 years

Text

my petite protégée (bau x reader/spencer x reader)

Y/N is new to the BAU and works under Garcia. she finds herself being able to see something in the case no one else does, impressing the team, including a specific doctor

this is fem!reader but i will try to make my fics more gen later. in requests btw, if you would like to, please specify what gender you would like the reader to be

genre: fluff

word countL 8.7k

trigger warnings: just regular criminal minds stuff

A/N: So, this took a different turn, a fluffier turn. Originally this was gonna be an angst fic but then I was in a cute mood so. Tell me if you guys want me to continue the Techie Reader series because I would be happy too. Also, the reader is around 20, and I’m placing Spencer at 26-27 so there is a bit of an age difference, but not too much. This is around season 3

UPDATED A/N: I wrote this in 2020 and then deleted it when I deleted my old Tumblr. But, I was really proud of this fic, so....here it is.

This system was far more complicated than what you’ve practiced with when you were at the academy, but you shouldn’t be too surprised knowing the kind of equipment that the FBI tended to use, it was all taught to you at The Academy.

“And I’ve developed all the software myself!”

In addition to the fact that the software was designed by Ms. Penelope Garcia herself.

“This is...amazing,” You gawked, eyes scanning over the array of code Garcia so gracefully decided to show you, whether it was for you to study or be in awe at. Either way, you were doing both, leaning forward in order to scan your eyes over as much of the sequences as you possibly could, although you doubt you would remember it all. You were intelligent, IQ of 159 and almost perfect grades throughout all of your schooling, but you were better with making connections and remembering numbers than memory, so even if you wanted to remember all of Garcia’s code, it was nearly impossible

“That’s right, stare in wonder!” Garcia exclaimed in a grandiose tone, to which you nodded intrinsically, the blue hue of the laptop flashing into your eyes as you scanned the computer one last time.

“I am in wonder,” You replied directly, turning around in your rolling chair to look at the extravagantly dressed woman in all of her glory. “But how long did it take you to program this?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets, Y/L/N.” Garcia replied ominously, to which you gave her a deadpan stare before bursting out into a smile and shaking your head playfully.

“You’re the boss.” You whispered back, spinning around in your chair once more so you would be facing the computers, hearing the rolling of another set of wheels as Garcia pulled up an extra chair next to you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to someone telling me that, although it feels nice.” She giggled, smiling at me before pulling the keyboard closer to her and entering whatever information was needed in order to pull up the FBI’s security page. As you read through the page, you could see all the requested information pertained to you, and even before you could reply with the needed responses, Garcia began to type.

“Do you have a middle name?”

“Ah--”

“Oh, wait. Never mind, I know that.” She scrolled further down the page.

“Age?”

“20.”

“Oh! You’re a youngster, younger than Reid even.”

You did not recognize that name but decided to not inquire about it.

“Address?”

“3--”

“Oh wait, I know this too. It was on your introductory paper.”

You begged to wonder why she was asking you these questions in the first place if she knew most of the information, but frankly, you didn’t mind spending time with Garcia so you plainly allowed this to happen.

“Alright, all your information is in. You’re now my protege, my little bear.” You giggled at the nickname as soon as it left her mouth.

“Little bear?” You asked, raising your eyebrow amused.

“Cause you’re cute.” She replied, making you pout appreciatively at her. Yeah, you definitely did not mind spending time with Garcia.

“So, what exactly am I supposed to do as your petite protege.” You asked, smirking at her when she raised her eyebrows appreciatively at you for your french,

“Well, mon petit ours, the BAU will be calling into us multiple times for references, further research on specific dates, events, records, anything regarding the situation at hand or regarding a potential witness or unsub.”

“Unsub?” You asked, confused.

“Unidentified subject. The bad guy.”

“The bad guy.” You confirmed, signaling her to continue.

“And sometimes, multiple members will call me at once, I’ll be too popular.” She exclaimed playfully, causing you to giggle again at her antics as you nodded in understanding. “So that is where you step in, my little bear. If I am currently researching a topic or on a call with another one of our special agents and am too busy to respond, they can call you.”

“And I can research the topic as well.” You asked in an attempt to confirm your position, which Garcia affirmed with a single nod.

“Exactly. I’m going to make a copy of my system to a whole new set of monitors that they should be bringing in tomorrow. It probably would have been here today but--”

Suddenly, the door was yanked open, shining a bright light into the relatively dimly lit room, causing both you and Garcia to squint and shield yourselves from the scorching rays.

“Garcia, we have a new case.” You heard a female voice say, one that you were too preoccupied shielding your eyes from to see.

“But there is a new case,” Garcia completed, sighing in relief when the blinding ray of light shrunk away as the female voice closed the door. As soon as your eyes were safe, you were able to unfold yourself from your shielded position and look at the source of the voice and the beam of light, a beautiful, petite blond woman with her arms crossed, a manilla folder in her hand, and an amused smile being the origin of it all.

“Aww, JJ! No sudden lights in the Batcave!” Garcia whined childishly, pouting at the woman, presumably JJ, who was now approaching the two of you with an entertained look in her eyes. She shook her head at Garcia as she leaned against her chair and held the manilla folder up at Garcia’s face. The moment Garcia’s eyes landed on them, they filled with dread.

“Please tell me this is just penny thievery.”

“Serial murders.” The woman replied flatly, causing Garcia to shut her eyes in discomfort.

“That isn’t penny thievery.” Garcia groaned, taking the manilla folder in her hands before throwing you an exasperated sigh to which you sympathetically smiled at. It was at that moment that JJ finally acknowledged you properly.

“Agent Jennifer Jareau, nice to meet you.” She greeted you, taking your hand in a simple shake as you smiled at her.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Techie.” You replied jokingly, to which Agent Jareau seemed to appreciate, smiling at you in a pleased manner.

“She’s my little protege.” Garcia commented, replying in an exaggerated French accent that caused all three of you to giggle.

“How old are you, by the way? You seem young.” She asked you, scanning your face as you politely smiled at her.

“I get that a lot. Contrary to popular beliefs, I can legally drink within a year.” You replied with a small smile, to which Agent Jareau tilted her head in acknowledgment.

“Can you believe it? She’s twenty. A literal baby.” Garcia whispered to Agent Jareau, however, clearly with the intention for you to hear, causing you to roll your eyes at her comment.

“Again, can legally drink in a year. In Europ,e I can do it right now.” You retorted playfully, smiling at Agent Jareau, shyly, who simply chuckled before nodding her head towards the manilla folder in Garcia’s handande gesturing towards the door.

“Come on, we need to talk to the rest of the team.” And with that, Garcia got up and prepared to head to where the team was, you presumed, leaving you perplexed on whether you should stay put in the room or follow Garcia and Agent Jareau, not wanting to intrude in places you didn’t know if you were even invited to. However, Garcia answered that question for you rather quickly, stopping her movements in order to spin around at her heel and point at you definitively,

“You should come with.” She stated, to which you looked back at her with wide eyes and an unknowing stare, baffled to what exactly is taking place. You could see that Agent Jareau had paused and look behind her in the corner of your eye, waiting for the both of you. You gawked at Garcia once again.

“Ahh...am I allowed to?” You asked dumbly, looking between Garcia and Agent Jareau for a concrete answer. Jareau fixated her eyes on Garcia who looked at you as if you were equally the most precious and most ridiculous person alive.

“Of course, you are. But, ah, just for investigation’s sake, why don’t you just sit so that we can give you the information precisely.” Garcia stated, looking back to Jareau for confirmation, to which she nodded and smiled at.

“Sure.” Jareau simply added, waiting for both you and Garcia to catch up with her. Pushing yourself up from the chair, you adjusted your top before walking towards Garcia, who threw you a proud smile and hum as both of you caught up with Agent Jareau and headed towards the briefing room.

“We call it the Roundtable,” Garcia whispered to you as the three of you started to mount up a set of stairs, your eyes preoccupied with scanning the numerous amounts of desks and workers around you, watching in awe. Even though you strived to work here one day, called even before you fully graduated, you still could not believe that you were now part of the Bureau. All those sleepless nights where you agonizingly worried if you would ever make it, finishing reports and projects on just caffeine alone, striving to be a part of the Bureau, none of it seemed real now that you were actually there. To you, all of this was insane.

“And this is it.” You were pulled out of your internal monologue by Agent Jareau’s voice, quickly fixating your eyes on the glass door that separated you and what seemed to be a round table surrounded by various chairs, propped a few feet away from a large screen and projector. Well, at least it fits the name.

“Come on, we have to set everything up before the team comes in,” Garcia said to you, taking your forearm gently and guiding you inside the room, to which you quickly pushed open and examined your surroundings. Wow, you were actually there.

“Can you two set up the monitors while I inform the team?” You heard Agent Jareau ask, causing you to turn your head around and stare at her with wide eyes.

Holy shit you were going to meet the team.

“Yeah, gotta call everyone in so we can stare at photos of dead bodies like any other Tuesday.” Garcia chirped sarcastically, causing Agent Jareau to throw her a playful, exasperated look while you let out a faint giggle. With that, Agent Jareau left the room, leaving you and Garcia to set up the monitors.

“Alright, mon petit ours, let’s do this!” Garcia instigated with an encouraging exclamation, to which you smiled and replied to with a slightly less optimistic exclamation of your own. Garcia could have told you to be more cheerful, but you were convinced that she saw your nervousness and decided that what you gave was sufficient. “Can you start setting up the monitors while I get the photos together? I’m gonna transfer you the file so that you can upload it to the monitor from your computer.”

“Why can’t we just connect the monitor to your computer?” You question with knitted eyebrows, to which Garcia smiled.

“It’s just basic training.” She stated simply, to which you snickered.

“Doesn’t everyone know how to set up a monitor?”

“You’d be surprised.” She said with an underlying tone of exasperation, making the smile on your face grow larger. Once you connected the monitor to your computer, you opened your account and waited for Garcia’s transfer, which happened immediately after you opened the account. You looked up at her in playful shock when the little ding exclaimed from your computer. “I’ll teach you how to be fast and efficient later.” She said with a proud smirk.

At that moment, the glass doors of the room were swung open, causing you to jump slightly in shock. In walked four individuals, of them only two recognizable to you, them being Agent Jareau and SSA Aaron Hotchner. He was the one who you first spoke to when you walked into the Bureau, and although he was quite stoic and straightforward, he was nice to you. When you two made eye-contact, he gave you an acknowledging nod, and you gave him a respectful one back, smiling quickly before turning your head towards the laptop, quickly downloading the slide-show that Garcia sent to you before projecting it to the monitor. Once you had finished, you looked up and sent Garcia a nervous smile, to which she sent you an encouraging one back.

At that moment, you could feel two pairs of eyes staring at you, belonging to the other two agents you didn’t recognize, one of them being a beautiful, raven-haired woman and the other a handsome, darker-skinned man, both of them looking between you, Hotchner, and Garcia expectantly. SSA Hotchner turned to Garcia, who jumped into action, walking over to your place in front of the monitor, near the table, and placing two hands on your shoulders with a firm grasp.

“My Power-Rangers, this is Y/N Y/L/N. Our new Techie and my petite protegee!” She introduced, making you blush at the sudden attention before bowing slightly, one of which you found embarrassing because who even bows in America before straightening yourself and throwing a nervous smile to the two agents. They both gave you polite smiles, the raven-haired lady coming up to you and holding out her hand.

“Hi, Agent Emily Prentiss.” She introduced, to which you replied with a soft smile before taking her hand and giving it a shake. The male agent followed, holding out his hand as well and throwing you a comforting smile.

“Derek Morgan. Nice to meet you Y/L/N.” He said, smiling as you shook his hand with a slightly more relaxed demeanor now that introductions were essentially over. You pulled away from them and looked at each member of the team, smiling nervously before tilting your head sideways to look at Garcia, who gave your shoulders another encouraging squeeze before you spoke.

“I look forward to working with everyone.” You said politely, to which Hotchner nodded, Agent Jareau smiled, Agent Morgan gave you an amused nod, and Agent Prentiss spoke up.

“Can I ask how old you are? Sorry, you just look so young for someone to graduate from the Academy.” She questioned, looking between Garcia and you for an answer. Before Garcia could explain, you decided to interject.

“A-actually, ah, I didn’t.” You explained, fumbling slightly as you attempt to elaborate on your response. “The, ah, the BAU was looking for another Technical Analyst to help with the spike in crimes, and, ah…” As you felt your words start to lag, Garcia gracefully stepped in and finished the elaboration for you, thankfully.

“And now she works under me, haha! I am the master.” She explained in an overexaggerated tone, one that made you giggle and relax, in alliance with how Penelope’s jokes usually made you feel.

“That she is.” You agreed, pushing yourself to make a playful comment. Agent Morgan gave you a smile for that, and even that slight gesture made your tension lessen.

“Well, we can all get to know each other later. Right now, we have a case.” You heard Agent Hotchner say, and immediately, your demeanor changed, becoming serious as you nodded at him and walked over to the computer you set up near the monitor. Garcia returned to her respective laptop, pulling a chair to sit in between Agent Morgan and Agent Hotchner as Agent Jareau handed out files to each member of the team. However, you could not help but realize that there were two extra files in her hands after she finished giving each agent their file. Neither you nor Garcia needed one.

Shaking your head slightly, you decided to not dwell on the miniscule detail and focus on the case, pulling up the slideshow Garcia had sent you before reaching for the remote near your hand, handing it to Agent Jareau who thanked you politely and gestured towards the empty chair at the table, inviting for you to sit. You took the invitation, kindly, and watched as various images popped up on the monitor. What you saw, what was presented to you, the team, caused you to flinch and divert your eyes for a second, before you realized that you yourself would now have to see these images almost weekly, daily even. So, stomaching your disgust, you turned back to the monitor and laid your eyes upon the images of the bloody and brutal girls presented on the screen.

“Two days ago, 26-year-old Lina Turner was found dead in her own home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Her face was mutilated along with her sex-organs.” You tried to suppress the gag that was coming up your throat when you looked once again at the monitor, photos emphasizing the consequences of the gruesome acts committed flashing before you before the images switched to an entirely new woman, this one with red-hair and of short stature, contrasting the previous woman presented on the screen, who was a slender, yet tall brunette.

“Only thing consistent with the victimology is the fact that they’re females.” You heard Agent Morgan state, his eyes fixating on the two photos of the woman now displaying next to each other on the screen.

“Well, considering the fact that they’re both females and their sex-organs were mutilated,” Emily shook her head in empathy and disgust. “the unsub could be male?”

Your head tilted down as you reminded yourself what the term meant, mouthing ‘unidentified subject’ to yourself before turning and looking back up to the other agents. For a split second, you saw Agent Jareau smile at you endearingly before returning to the table.

“The women were also objectively attractive and fit, coupling that with the mutilation to their genitals, we could most likely have a sexual sadist on our hands.” Agent Hotchner said as he read through the files.

“Well, nonetheless, Philly PD wants us there as soon as possible.” Agent Jareau informed, to which Agent Hotchner closed his case files and stood up from his seat, nodding to Agent Jareau who turned off the monitor and handed me the remote with a quiet thank you. “Wheel’s up in 20.”

“Where are Reid and Rossi?” Agent Prentiss asked, causing your ears to quirk up and your eyes to land on her in confusion before glancing back at Garcia, who acknowledged your confusion with a smile.

“At the Academy. They’re giving a lecture.” Agent Hotchner informed, pushing the leather through the latches of his satchel before heading towards the door.

“Oh boy, Reid trying to talk to a group of young adults, that’s gotta be fun.” Agent Prentiss joked, snickering at Agent Jareau, Agent Morgan, and Garcia who all seemed to share the same opinion and knowledge on a subject you were completely oblivious to.

“At least he’s got Rossi,” Agent Jareau sighed, cradling her files in her hand before catching up with Agent Prentiss.

“Hey, Y/L/N, shouldn’t you be in class now too?” Agent Derek said as he turned towards you, a playful smile on his lips that you internally, greatly appreciated, but externally, you still donned a look of surprise.

“Ah, yeah.” Confidence, Y/N, confidence. “Should probably tell my professor I won’t be able to finish my programming project by tomorrow.” You joked, earing various laughs, chuckles, and snickers from the present agents in the room, causing you to feel accomplished.

“Hope he’s not angry,” Morgan added, leaning against the door.

“Ah, he might be, but I’ll just hack into his computer and delete all his files.”

“You can do that?” Agent Prentiss asked, slightly alarmed. “Those are files secured by the bureau.”

You grinned leisurely and shrugged your shoulders. “It wasn’t too hard.”

“Wasn’t?” Agent Prentiss gawked.

“Uh oh, with her you two are double trouble, mama.” Derek exhaled, to whom you assumed to be Garcia, who let out a chuckle before walking over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, which you easily relaxed into, feeling quite comfortable with her now, already.

“Apparently all you have to do to get a government job is hack into the government,” Garcia added, leaning her head against your shoulder, causing you to giggle.

“What a simple task.” You replied, sarcastically, causing Agent Prentiss to shake her head in disbelief before smiling at you.

“Oh, I like her.” She commented before pushing open the doors and heading down towards her desk, Agent Jareau laughing at the whole interaction before catching up with the dark-haired agent.

Agent Morgan looked between you two, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek before letting out a quiet chuckle in content. “You two are gonna completely destroy the office,” he said before pushing open the door with his shoulder and turning outward. “See ya later, Baby Girl. See you later, Pretty Protegee!” He called as he walked down the hall and towards the stairs, leaving Garcia smiling and you with a slight blush on your cheeks, a grin plastered over your face as well.

“Pretty Protegee?” You asked, turning towards Garcia with a wide smile.

“Ah, he does that with a lot of people. Although, I will admit—well, gloat,” You snickered at this. “That I have the most nicknames. But yeah, he does that a lot. Its one of his endearing qualities.” She explained, causing you to nod in understanding.

“They’re really nice,” You commented, before remembering something that irked you earlier. “Who are Rossi and Reid, by the way? There names were mentioned before and Agent Jareau had extra files in her hand so, I assume they were for them.”

“Ah!” Garcia exclaimed, wrapping her arm around your bicep as she placed her computer under her arm and started to lead you towards the door, your laptop and file already in your hands. Rossi is this, like, super-rich author who was actually one of the original starters of the BAU. He kind of retired to work on his books, which are like uber-famous, by the way, but came back not too long ago.” You pouted in acknowledgement as she fed you the information, walking across the catwalk with her and towards the elevator. “And Reid—he likes to be called Doctor Reid, by the way.”

“Is he a Doctor?” You inquired, pressing the elevator button corresponding with your floor.

“He has like, 3 PhD’s and can read a bazillion words per minute. He’s super smart, like Einstein smart.” She ranted, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke.

“Einstein discovered the theory of relativity, Garcia.”

“Well, Spencer has an IQ of 187!”

That shocked you, the piece of information donning on you as you both ascended to your chosen floor, your mind trying to rap around the thought.

“Jesus Christ…” You gawked, looking at Garcia with wide eyes.

“Yeah, he’s an actual genius.” Garcia cemented, wide eyes mimicking yours in empathy. You shook your head in disbelief before the doors of the elevator opened, allowing the two of you to step out and head towards Garcia’s lair.

“How old is he? You said he was young.” You asked, opening the door for her, which you thanked you kindly for before walking in.

“Twenty-six.”

“You’re kidding…” You whispered, eyes wrapping around the idea of working with a genius. Of course, everyone in the bureau was intelligent, but people easily get wrapped around by numbers, and you were quite enamored.

“Yeah,” Garcia said, waking up her computers before taking a seat in her comfy chair, and you had followed close after.

“Hmm, does Morgan have a nickname for him as well? Young genius? Einstein?” You asked, opening the case file as you started your laptop back up.

“Yeah, it’s Pretty Boy.” She said with a chuckle, causing your head to spin around in interest.

“Pretty Boy?”

“Cause he’s pretty!” Garcia giggled, spinning towards you in her chair, her fingers fiddling with the fluffy end of the pencil that she decided to pick up.

“He’s pretty?” You inquired, raising an eyebrow before turning back towards your laptop, which still had Garcia’s presentation displayed on it. You quickly exited the screen, shivering in disgust at the memory of the photos.

“Yeah…” There was a slight quirk in her voice that did not settle with you well.

“…Garcia.”

“Why are you so fixated on the fact that he’s pretty?”

“I’m not, Garcia I don’t even know him!” You defended, although you don’t know why you were defending yourself at all, but the slightly upbeat in Garcia’s voice pushed you to explain yourself as if you were caught doing something wrong.

“But the fact that he is pretty interests you.”

“Garcia, again, I don’t know him.

“I think you’d like him, my petite protegee. He likes Star Trek and reading and a whole lotta sugar in his coffee.” She giggled, turning back to her monitor, causing you to stare at her in defense as your mouth moved and contorted to spit out explanations and excuses that never came. Instead, you decided to sigh defeated, slumping in your chair before you loaded your file up to the presentation you desperately hated by knew you needed to look at, quickly skipping towards the ID photos of the two victims before you opened up your case file.

A beat of silence went by.

Screw yourself for being inquired by this guy.

“…so, he’s a nerd?”

Another excruciating beat went by.

“Yeah, he is.” A pause. “Are you into nerds, Y/N?”

You do not know how this escalated so fast, but god do you wish you could turn it back.

* * *

“Your magic oracle is here to serve you, oh wise one.” Garcia said as she picked up the phone, causing you to burst out into laughter behind her, earning a playful glance before she turned back around towards the phone. “Ignore my petite protegee, she has lost all her magical senses. Whatcha need?”

You heard a faint question of ‘petite protégée?’’ from the other end of the phone, and as much as you wanted to stop yourself, you could not help but wonder, Reid? However, logically, the voice sounded too old to be Reid, and by process of elimination, assuming that it’s not a Philly officer due to how the voice seemed genuinely confused by your presence, you concluded that it was Agent Rossi. Though, you cursed yourself for allowing even the thought of Reid to slip through your mind.

“Baby girl, can you look up to see if any of the victims recently had a plumber or any kind of manual worker come to visit them recently?” You heard Morgan on the line ask, and even before you could glance at her, Garcia had started to search away, which at this point you should expect.

However, what you did not expect, was for the other desk phone to ring.

Quickly, you looked at Garcia for guidance, who paused her furious typing to stare at you in expectance, encouragingly nodding at you to pick it up. You pushed yourself off your chair to reach for the phone, bringing it up to your ear in preparation.

“Hel—”

“Garcia can you check to see if the victims all went to the same school?”

The sudden question surprised you, causing you to become speechless as your nervous mind attempted to connect with your mouth and form concrete setences.

“Ah…”

“Garcia?”

“Ah…I’m not Garcia.”

“You’re not?”

Process of elimination.

“No, I’m her new assistant.”

“Oh.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

“Y-you’ve heard about me?”

Your nerves released themselves via soft chuckle as you awoke your laptop from sleep mode.

“Garcia told me a lot about you.”

“What did she say?”

‘Reid.’ It was faint, quiet, but it definitely came from Agent Hotchner, the firmness indicating for Reid to be punctual and to not become distracted by whatever you two were doing. It seemed like the two of your snapped out of your weird trance simultaneously, your fingers hovering over your keyboard and phone placed on speaker as soon as Reid started to talk.

“R-right! Sorry. Y/L/N, can you see if the three victims went to the same high school?”

At this point, you could barely feel the keys on your keyboard as your fingers aggressively typed away, pulling up various records of the victims before key-searching on education and diplomas.

“Same high school.” You concluded, surprised by the connection.

“That’s what I thought.” You heard Reid whisper on the other line, but you were certain that it was more towards himself than you. “Thank you, Y/L/N.”

“No problem, Reid.”

Then the line suddenly cut, and you were left in slight dazzlement at the little interaction you got with Doctor Spencer Reid, the man whose voice was too soft and adorable to be true.

You turned agonizingly slow in your chair back towards Garcia’s direction, dread evident through your body as your eyes fell upon her plotting grin, her smirk putting the Chesire-cat to shame.

“….what?”

“What was that little thing you two had in the beginning?”

You let out a groan in dramatic agony.

“Garcia! I barely know him!”

“But you seem smitten.” Her last word was too punctuated for you to be comfortable, so you threw her a sharp glare before turning back towards your laptop and pulling up your programming exam.

“Oh, you are not going to ignore me!” She exclaimed behind you in offense, to which you have an exaggerated shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Garcia, but I have important matters to attend.”

“Oh, this is not over, missy.” She let out an offended gasp, and you bit your inner cheek to inhibit yourself from letting out a chuckle as you loaded up your Java program.

* * *

“Your oracle is ready for you, sir.” You heard Garcia say into the phone, your seat rolled up next to her as you both leaned in towards the device, the entire BAU team compiled on the other end.

“We looked through various records and backgrounds, but no one seems to fit the profile.” You heard Agent Hotchner explain from the other end, Garcia immediately pulling up the information you two have collected on the victims and previous suspects so far. Still, it seemed as if the team has got gotten anything conclusive, and since the last time you called, apparently, another body was discovered in a hotel room, more brutally mutilated than the others.

‘He’s evolving.’ You remembered Doctor Spencer Reid say in a previous phone call, only meaning that the situation was getting worse and the team was running out of time.

“Okay, let’s get over what we know so far,” You heard Agent Morgan start, speaking to both the team and the two of you present in the computer lab. “This unsub is efficient and quick,”

“He sexually assaults the victims, humiliates them,” Agent Prentiss added, disgust and fatigue evident in her voice.

Wait.

“Mutilates their bodies and their faces, so he has something against their looks” Agent Jareau voice emulated from the speaker.

Why is it…

“All the victims are from the same college, so the unsub is connected to them in that means. Former student or staff member?” Reid threw, voice questioning.

Why can’t it be…

“These girls were all pretty and popular, maybe he was upset that they made fun of him, or never dated him?” Rossi tried, hoping to find something, anything to add to the case.

Hold on.

“Why do you keep saying that the unsub is a ‘he’?” You interrupted, much to the surprise of Garcia, who looked at you, taken aback, and to the silence of the team, which you interpreted as surprise as well.

“…what do you mean, Y/L/N?” You heard Hotch ask through the phone, causing you to become flustered by your outburst, voice wavering slightly as you attempted to justify yourself.

“I-It’s just—” You felt Garcia’s hand squeeze your shoulder, helping ground you, and you took a soft breath before speaking. “You guys kept talking about how the unsub was neat and efficient. You said it was most likely a sneak attack, right?”

“Right, but the preference in females and in relationship with their sex organs—”

“Lesbians exist, Prentiss.” You interrupt, causing both you and her to chuckle slightly before continuing. “But, it doesn’t have to be sexual.”

“You think it might be revenge?” You heard Agent Rossi ask, and before you responded, you pushed yourself away from Garcia’s desk towards your laptop, opening up your closed device and pressing on the various files that you researched during the case.

“So, I got bored when you guys didn’t call us,” You heard Agent Morgan let out a chuckle. “And I started looking into the victim’s high school backgrounds since Doctor Reid mentioned the fact that they all went to the same school.”

“You can just call me Reid.�� You heard him tentatively say from the phone, and you forced yourself not to react to Garcia’s smirk before continuing.

“Okay, since Reid mentioned the fact that they all went to the same school. These girls were the queen bees of the school, the Heathers, the Regina Georges.”

“The what?” It was Reid again, and you could not help but let out a giggle at his confusion.

“We’ll discuss that later, Doc. But they were the meanest girls you could think of, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone wanted revenge. You said it might be a boy, but what if it was a girl? Girls, especially high school girls, can be vicious to other high school girls. Maybe one of them snapped.” You explained, displaying your findings to Garcia who scanned them impressed, rubbing your shoulder in pride.

“If they did snap, it would be recent.” You heard Agent Hotchner state quickly before continuing. “Garcia, can you look up any girls from that school who had mental problems during their time in high school, had any psychotic disorders after they graduated, or had any interaction ever with any psych facilities.”

You heard the furious clicking of keys before they came to a sudden halt.

“This is quite a list for such a small school.” Garcia said breathlessly, causing you to shrug.

“Not all of them were bad, some of them might just give anxiety.” You reasoned, to which she smiled softly.

“The unsub, even if brutal, was neat, almost professionally neat. They also would need the specific tools and information to correctly damage and mutilate their sex organs. Baby girl, look up doctors, nurses, med students—”

“Focus on med-students. The victims were 26 and taking in the change that the unsub is also, they probably would still be in med school.” Reid specific, causing Garcia to open her key-searcher and specific the search even more.

“Ahh, geez, I got three names.” She replied, to which you scrunched your eyebrows in shock and disgust.

“How?” You exclaimed softly, to which she shrugged before turning back towards her keyboard.

“The unsub knows the area well to dump the bodies in secluded yet well-visited sites, so search locals, people who were born here, raised here, and stayed here.” Agent Jareau finalized, and in a sudden halt, one name and picture centered at the screen.

“Rebecca Malwizer. Twenty-five. 3356 Walnut Drive.”

“Let’s move.” You heard Agent Hotchner command before the phone was picked up and his voice was heard sharply. “Good work, Y/L/N.” Suddenly, the line was cut, and the bat cave was filled with silence.

Until Garcia enveloped you in a bone-crushing hug and spurted various praises and exclamations to you.

“Ahhh! I have the smartest protegee in all of existence, that was so good!” She gushed, rocking you two back and forth as you laughed at her antics, your hands grasping onto her forearms as you two swayed, chuckling softly at her.

“I learned from the best.” You replied, enjoying the wonderful warmth that was Penelope Garcia.

“Aww, well I can assure you that Doctor Spencer Reid loves smart women like you.”

“Aaaand, you ruined it.” You replied flatly, rejecting her once comforting hug and making attempts to escape them, which she did not allow, only pulling you tighter into her mother-bear embrace.

* * *

“They should be coming any moment!” Garcia exclaimed, jitterily walking towards the elevator with you dragging your feet behind her, smiling softly as you hugged a soft, pink blanket around you,courtesy of Garcia herself.

“They’re probably tired,” You said behind her, catching up to the excited blond with a sigh, leaning against the desk you found yourself near, the entrance to the floor only a few feet away from you. The BAU had been gone for three days now, each day requiring the team to work for countless hours without sleep, meaning neither you nor Garcia got to sleep either. You mentally cursed at the bribing you would have to do with the professor before remembering that you now worked under the Behavioral Analysis Unit and could ask the department to help you be excused.

“Which is why we need to help cheer them up!” She countered, sending you a wide yet strained smile, forcing you to shut up and bend to her will, chuckling to yourself as you cuddled into the blanket, closing your eyes just for a moment as you waited for the team to arrive.

Not even a minute later, the doors creaked open.

“Hello! Hi! Welcome everyone! Hello!” Your head jutted upwards when you heard Garcia exclaim, body jolting straight so you could face the team in front of you.

Agent Prentiss, Morgan, and Jareau all laughed at Garcia’s greeting, with Agent Hotchner giving her a firm nod, acknowledging her before his attention turned to you,

“That was good deduction, Y/L/N.” He addressed to you, giving you a slight grin that filled your whole body with pride, even if all you could return was a tired smile.

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.” You said, voice as professional as you could make it in your exhausted state.

“Call me Hotch. No one on the team calls me Hotchner,” He said before gracing you with a full smile, which only made you feel more accomplished.

“Okay, sir.” You replied, glancing slightly to see Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, and Garcia all smiling at me as well.

“Oh, on that note, call me JJ. That’s what everyone calls me here.” She said, tilting towards you,

“Will do.” You replied, nodding.

“So, you’re the new technical analyst.” The source of the voice was an older gentleman with dark hair and a slight beard, his face appearing as if it had seen the worst that the world had to offer, while at the same time the owner of seventeen yachts. “Y/L/N?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, sir. You’re Agent David Rossi?” You asked, feeling nervous again at the presence of one of the agents, especially one who apparently was world-renowned.

“I am,” He affirmed, holding out his hand to shake, which you took instantly. “So, tell me, what did these knuckle-heads tell you about me?” he teased, earning a chuckle from you, pulling your hand away from him to tug on the blanket that was slipping from your shoulders. You wanted to be polite, but you were cold.

“All good things, I can assure you.” You smiled, looking over to Garcia out of habit. However, when you did, you saw a slight twinkle in her eyes, snarky and maniacal, in the most well-intended, Garcia fashion possible. You decided to follow where she was staring, and as soon as you did, your eyes landed on her intended receiver.

Oh.

“H-hello.”

Oh fuck, he was adorable.

“H-hi.” You could physically feel Garcia radiating from where you were.

“I’m, uh, Doctor Spencer Reid.” He said, adorned with a soft, half smile and a quick wave of his hand.

Ohhhh, Garcia was never going to let this go.

“But you told me to call you Reid, right?” you said, smiling at him softly. He looked stunned for a second, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide. He gave you a dazed nod, to which you didn’t know if you wanted to smirk at or blush, so, you decided to do both, looking at your feet timidly.

“Y-yeah. I did.” He finally chirped, his voice a tad higher pitched than it was before, for reasons that you were too red to consider.

“Well then,” Oh you did not like the airiness in Morgan’s voice either. “It looks like everyone knows everyone.”

“Well, we can get to know each other more later. Right now, we all need some rest. All of you have the weekend off.” You heard Hotch announce, followed by various sighs of relief and pure pleasure—that’s the most accurate way you could describe it—by the other members of the team, causing everyone to head to their desks tiredly.

You felt Garcia’s arm wrap around your bicep before she laid her head against your shoulder.

“Please drag me back to the bat cave so I can get my stuff.” She mumbled, cuddling into you, to which you giggled and rested your head on top of her hair.

“Come on, Garcia.” You said, affectionately, maneuvering yourself around so both of you could go back to the tech lab and grab all your supplies.

As you did, however, you quickly locked eyes with Reid, to which both of you gave each other a soft and timid smile before continuing your courses of action.

* * *

“Hey! Y/L/N!” You heard your name be called right as the elevator door was about to close, causing you to glance up in surprise. When your eyes locked with the warm brown ones of a certain doctor, your hand instantly reached for the elevator buttons and you pushed for the doors to open again.

“Thanks,” Spencer whispered softly as he got in, standing next to you in the elevator and waiting for the doors to close.

“No problem, Reid.” You replied, giving him a polite smile as the doors finally shut, and both of you started to descend downward. The both of you were silent initially, and at that moment, you quickly glanced over at the man, taking in his purple cardigan, the brown sweater-vest peaking from under it, as well as the sleeves of his white undershirt, and his leather satchel, which he held onto the strap of with two hands. With the addition of his converse, mismatched socks, one pumpkin themed while the other one contained math equations, and his floppy brown hair, the only thing that radiated from the man next to you was warmth, a warmth that competed with the pink blanket that was wrapped around your shoulders.

Oh, right, you still had that one.

“Is that Garcia’s?” Reid asked, referring to the suspected object.

You gave him a curt nod in affirmation. “Indeed, it is. I should probably give it back to her but its too warm.” You joked, causing both of you to giggle slightly, the young doctor giving you a soft smile that made your heart tighten.

Oh wow, he was adorable.

“You, ah, what you did during the case, that was really cool.” He complimented, looking up at you with appreciation and earnestness.

“Thanks, Reid. But I’m sure you have those breakthroughs all the time, being a genius and all.” You complimented, causing him to shake his head and smile.

“It was still impressive.”

“I appreciate that, Reid.” You thanked, looking at him softly, and keeping your gaze on him, your mouth slightly ajar in thought, to which he waited patiently for. Suddenly, your expression broke, and you decide to ask him now, or never, because what the heck?

“So…you like Star Trek?”

You have never seen a twenty-six-year-old’s eyes widen so fast.

“Do you like it too?” he exclaimed, voice loud and excited, causing you to giggle loudly.

“I prefer Star Wars, but—”

“What?! Why?” The way that he looked so wounded and sounded so devastated almost made your heart break if it was not for the current subject matter, which you were very passionate.

“Because Star Wars is superior!” You exclaimed, causing Reid to audibly gasp in offense.

“I couldn’t disagree with you more.”

“I am so sad that you believe that Star Trek is better than Star Wars, Reid. Truly, that is a great tragedy.” You replied in faux sympathy, causing him to scoff playfully before turning back to you. By this time, the elevator had reached your destination, but both of you were too engrossed in your conversation to care, walking off together into the parking lot.

Both of you continued to argue about which film series was better, animated, and passionate until you reached your car, to which you leaned against before turning back to the young doctor.

“Okay, fine. But answer me this: Sherlock or Doctor Who?” You looked at him challengingly, watching as the man paused his movements to ponder, expression frozen as he tracked through his mind to find his answer.

“Doctor Who.” You wanted to let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank god. For a second, I thought I would have to murder you, Doctor Reid.” You joke, causing him to smile at you broadly before laughing himself, making your insides to fill up with warmth like they previously did, smiling dopily as your rested your head against the window.

“I like Sherlock, but the tenth doctor is just—”

“David Tennant is a gift from God, I completely agree.” You said, smiling widely at him. For some reason, this caused a pause in your conversation, one that was not odd, but almost relaxing, natural. You were honestly taken aback by how comfortable and easy the conversation between you and Reid was, and you had a hunch that he felt the same.

“Ah, it’s getting late. You should probably get home.” He said, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“I should get home?” You inquire, causing his eyes to widen and his demeanor to change.

“I-I don’t mean that in, ah, a demanding way, its just ah,” He was fumbling for a response, and you didn’t know if you should relieve him of his anxieties or let him continue out of amusement. “I-I’m sure you’re capable of taking care of yourself—”

“I’m sure that I am too.” You hummed, only causing him to spur further into his defense.

“I—Just, it’s late and unsubs are out at this time and—”

Of course, he still called them unsubs, even off the job.

“Relax, Reid. I get what you were trying to say.” You interrupted, your eyes softening as his body visibly relaxed, head drooping slightly as he looked down at his shoes, giving you a shy smile when he lifted it up once again. You returned him one equally as shy. “But thank you for looking out for me.”

“Ah, no problem…”

Then, you two just looked at each other, eyes soft and demeanors gentle, the quaint and quiet atmosphere that the nearly empty parking lot surrounding you in a serenity that made the situation more intense, but…warm.

Maybe warm was the best way to describe Doctor Spencer Reid.

“I should, ah…” You interrupted softly, breaking the quiet atmosphere that encompassed the two of you, to what seemed like Reid’s disappointment. But you didn’t want to read too much into things. “I should get going.”

“R-right.” He affirmed, nodding towards your car before looking behind him “I should get going too, enjoy the weekend before Hotch calls us in again for a sudden case.”

“Oh, god, does he?” You groaned and looked at him defeated.

“You sadly cannot control when a psychopath will attack”

“Those damn psychopaths.” You murmured jokingly, causing Reid to laugh. You let out another giggle before reaching over and unlocking your car door, throwing your bad into the backseat before turning to Reid once more, holding your blanket closed with one hand before extending the other out to him. “Well, goodnight, Reid.” You said, waiting for him to shake your hand in affirmation.

When he stared at your hand for more than a couple seconds, you could not stop yourself from being confused, scrunching your eyebrows at the young doctor.

“Reid?” You asked, looking up at him.

Suddenly, his head snapped back at you, then glanced back down at your hand, before unwrapping his hand from where it was on his satchel strap and taking yours, holding your hand gently as you shook.

“G-goodnight, Y/L/N.” He said softly, smiling at you timidly. After a few seconds, he stopped shaking your hand, and to your shock—and secret pleasure—he held on for a few more seconds, before letting go and quicklyreturning his hand back to his satchel strap, awkwardly rocking on his feet. “I-I’ll see you Monday.”

“I’ll see you Monday.” You confirmed, looking up at him.

Neither of you made an attempt to move.

“Hey, Reid?” You asked, slightly dazed at the continuous contact.

“Y-yeah?” He replied, seemingly as entranced as you were.

Whatever the hell was happening, you didn’t want to stop. But you had to go home. Your professor might kill you for not turning in your programming assignment on time.

“I really gotta go.” You giggled out, causing the boy to almost jump out of contact with you, pulling back his hand and wrapping it around his satchel strap. You smile at the flustered expression on his face, one that you are sure matches yours.

“R-right. Sorry…” He trailed, but you instantly shook your head.

“Don’t be. It’s just...I got this programming assignment, and my professor would kill me if I don’t turn it in on time.” You explained,

“Oh! I’ve programmed once. I programmed on Java and even was able to create a program where—”

“Reid?”

“Hm?”

“I gotta go.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, blushing ever so darker at his own antics.

This, however, got you thinking.

“How about you continue your thought Saturday night, at my house.” You offered, and for a moment, Reid didn’t respond, choosing to stare at you stunned. He started at you long enough for you to regret your question, considering it a mistake, before he answered.

“Y-yeah! Sure!” He finally replied, his face sporting a wide smile that immediately allowed you to relax.

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, umm, I’ll text you the address?” You offered, to which he looked at you awkwardly.

“I, uh, don’t text often.”

“But you text on the case?” You asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, but I don’t bring my case phone home.” You explained, to which you let out a soft breath, expecting nothing else from the doctor, with the minimal knowledge you had of him.

You hoped that the knowledge grew.

“Then…your home number? I’ll call you to tell you.” You offered.

“Can’t you just tell me now?” He questioned with a raised eyebrow, to which you shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yeah, but this is more fun.” You giggled, and he smiled in response.

Quickly, you pulled on your backpack so you could unzip the small compartment, pulling out a sharpie before turning around and holding it out for him, as well as extending your wrist.

He ogled the two offerings in confusion.

‘Your number, Reid.”

“Oh!”

Quickly, he grabbed the sharpie, and with a gentle hold your wrist, one that caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach, he quickly jotted down his number. Once completed, he let go on your wrist and gave you back your sharpie.

“So, ah, Saturday?” he asked, to which you confirmed with a nod.

“Saturday. Then I can show you how much better Star Wars is than Star Trek.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” You retorted playfully, causing you to laugh.

“Okay, okay, or we can watch Doctor Who?” You asked instead, to which he gave you a satisfied nod. “Cool…” You turned back to your car, knowing now that you have to leave, or your professor will murder you. “See you Saturday, Reid;”

“See you Saturday, Y/L/N.”

You could not help your heart from fluttering when you saw Reid stand in the parking lot and watch to make sure you left safely.

You also could not help the soft smile you sported once you got home and when you saw Garcia’s text, exclaiming about how she saw you and Reid, and demanded you tell her the details.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fluff #reader x bau

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blooberrytea · 4 months

Text

Connections

Pt: 1 2 3 4

Summary: Set in post-revolution Detroit, You've been assigned to the recently developed Android Crimes Division; and it's already off to a rough start.

Pairing: Connor x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mildly gorey description of a body, slow burn oops

There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world that could make this morning any more bearable. Connor and RK900's bickering was usually something you could handle, but after the night you just had– your nerves were shot to say the least.

“You state that you are ‘better’ than me in every comparison. I feel that’s just unlikely.”

You ignored the two androids, making a beeline for the break room. The coffee, as perusal, was lukewarm and honestly it could’ve been enough to break you. Your night had been seemingly uneventful– spent looking over casefiles and drinking some cheap wine you’d picked up at the grocery store.

It was around 2 in the morning when a new file appeared on your laptop.

It wasn’t from the station, that you were sure about. It was just suddenly there in your personal drive, its only announcement the notification in the bottom right: “ Local Disc (C:): Unknown File “

“What the fuck…” You murmured, your cursor hovering over the new icon. It was dated only a few days ago and it wasn’t very large. Your gut told you to wait until the morning and have Connor look it over.

You tapped twice on the touchpad and watched as the contents within the folder began to load in– A series of unnamed images and a single text document. That wasn’t eerie at all.

You sucked in a breath before opening one of the images, the clicking of the touchpad one of the only noises in the apartment. Saying that you felt sick to your stomach would be an understatement.

“Long night?”

You looked up from the coffee pot, eyes landing on Gavin Reed.

“Didn’t know you were capable of being here so early.” You grumbled, “Are you responsible for this gross, cold coffee?”

Gavin snorted, “Do you not know how to work this thing? It’s ridiculously easy to make a pot of coffee these days.”

To be honest, you’d never messed with the machines in the precinct– They were slightly more techy than the one you had at home. You usually brought a cup with you, but you’d downed it before you’d even made it halfway to the station.

The detective nudged you out of the way before placing the empty pot in the machine and pressing a few buttons.

“If this police business doesn’t work out, you should consider being a barista.” You teased.

Gavin glared at you as he pressed a mug into your hand, warmth flooding through your fingers and up your arms.

“You can get your own cream and sugar.”

You gasped and pressed your hand to your chest, feigning heartbreak as the detective walked away.

“Not only am I faster, stronger, and more resilient, but I’m equipped with the newest technology. Perhaps your analytical program is outdated as well.”

You saw Connor’s LED spin red as you approached, taking a very long sip of your freshly brewed coffee.

“What if– And hear me out; You didn’t argue like children today?” You mumbled around your mug.

“I’m not equipped with an ‘argumentative child’ program.”

If you had an LED it would be red too.

“Anyway,” You started, drawing out the syllables, and setting your mug on Connor’s desk, “Can you pull up the most recent case assigned to us? Should be about an android found down at the docks. The one on Lakeside.”

“That one’s new.” You nodded, pushing fingers through your hair as you sighed, “Yeah. Got assigned early this morning.”

With Hank back on human homicide, you had been assigned to the new android crimes division. The Lieutenant wasn’t particularly happy about Connor being reassigned to your team, but he understood. You on the other hand didn’t quite understand Fowler's reasoning for splitting up the two. Before the revolution you had worked briefly on the deviancy cases, assisting Hank and Connor when they met a dead end or just making their late night coffee runs while they mulled over case after case.

You thought they’d worked well together, more so when Connor loosened up. You supposed Hank was just too valuable in the human department.

Connor pulled up the file on his computer, you and RK900 crowding around the desk to get a better look. You knew they were humoring you by pulling it up on the desktop, when they easily could’ve scanned it in their heads.

“This file is practically empty. They don’t have any leads?”

You shook your head, “Barely anything. It’s also hard to place how old the body is because androids don’t decay like humans do. I was hoping you’d be able to scan him and get us some more info.”

“I supposed we’d better get going then, hm?”

Upon arriving at the docks, you found it blocked off with the digital, yellow tape. A few police cars were parked along the street and several officers stood around the scene.

“Chris!” You called, “Any witnesses?”

The officer turned to meet you, giving a shake of his head. “It’s sorta creepy how this crime went without a hitch. The android’s too damaged to even reactivate or make an attempt to access his memories.”

You let out a deep sigh as you slipped past officers, “He’s over here?”

Chris nodded.

The sight before you made you feel just as sick as last night. An android dangled over the side of the dock, ropes around each wrist and tied to the railing; his body half dangling in the water. Not only did the physical damage render him incapable of reactivation, but the water damage totally scrambled all his wiring too.

“Fuck..” You breathed out.

Brief pressure on the small of your back drew you from your thoughts, you barely had time to register Connors hand before it was gone.

“Hey, don’t get too far in your head. We’ll find a connection.”

You shook your hands out and gave him a small nod, “Notice anything?”

“The body is approximately two days old. But he’s only been here since last night.”

“How can you tell?”

“My scan gave me details about the water damage. If we replaced a few biocomponents back at the station, we may be able to reactivate him.”

RK900 suddenly appeared at your side, crossing his arms over his chest as he also scanned the android. You watched as his LED spun yellow.

“Reactivation could be possible, but it’d be for less than a minute if everything.”

A minute was better than nothing. A minute had the potential to provide you with a lead, a witness, anything.

Especially if one of them could interface and access the android’s memories.

#detroit become human #dbh #connor rk800 #rk900 #gavin reed #hank anderson #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #fanfic #dbh fanfic #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #bloo connections

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crazyk-imagine · 2 years

Text

If I Only Could (Reader lives)

Pairing: Steve Harrington/ Hargrove sister!reader

Characters: Steve Harrington, Hargrove sister (reader), Max Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson

Briefly mentioned: Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley

Warnings: Vecna, reader “putting” themself in danger, reader saves Max, drama, mentions of Billy, mentions of blood

Word Count: 3,928

A/N: Reader and Steve aren’t officially together but it’s implied that there’s something more

If I Only Could (Reader dies)

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

It doesn't hurt me.

Do you want to feel how it feels?

Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?

After finding out how to save his friend, the short teen with a techy hacker girlfriend sets the walkie talkie down somewhere (he’ll worry about it later) and rushes towards Max’s backpack, pulling out her cassette tapes, headphones, and walkman.

He turns back towards the others. “Music. Music. We need music,” Dustin runs back to the others. “What’s her favorite?” “I don’t know,” Lucas answers to his friend with a panicked tone.

Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?

You, it's you and me.

You reach for a cassette and place it the walkman before handing it to Dustin, “put this on her.”

Nothing happens, you start to panic more.

Your heart races, you move closer to your sister. “Max! Max! C’mon,” you shake her shoulders. ‘I can’t lose you too.’

If I only could,

Tik. Tik. Tik.

You turn to find that damned grandfather clock staring back at you.

The world around you changes into something much dark than before… you know this place, it’s the one that’s been haunting you for the past few days… and that means everything you’ve just done for the past few minutes wasn’t real.

You turn to look around at any and every noise that comes your way.

You feel like you’re on the verge of having an anxiety attack, your chest ever so slightly tightens, you take deeper breaths to calm yourself.

You run around, searching for a way out.

I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

Vecna or whatever the kids told you, calls out for you but, in the form of your big brother…

“Billy,” you whimper.

Your heart races at the sight of him. It hurts to see him now; he still looks to the same as he did the night he died in the “Mall Fire”.

Even though it’s not him, maybe you can finally get this off your chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” He steps towards you.

“What?”

Be running up that road,

“Admit it. Some part of you always wanted me gone. You were tired of me. If I was gone, you wouldn’t have to worry about me messing everything up.”

You shake your head, tears fall down your cheeks as you take steps back, aiming to distance yourself from the evil bastard. “N- no. You know that’s- Billy knows that’s not true. I was tired of the fighting with our dad, each other, Max, everyone. And I know he was too. All I wanted- all I’ve ever wanted was for us to be happy and for my brother and sister to get along, love each other the way we did.”

You sniff, wiping your cheek, “I wanted Billy to be happy the same way he was when he rode that seven-foot wave when we were kids.”

“You’re guilty because you wanted me gone,” Vecna Billy drones on.

Be running up that hill,

“No! That’s not true! Billy knows that!”

Vecna Billy shakes his head, “you feel guilty because I’m out of the picture and dad ran away so your perfect family picture is ruined, right?”

“No! NO! The real Billy knows exactly what I wanted! He’d never ever admit it but, he wanted the same thing. I know he deserved to be happy, and he deserved to be free of the shit he got from dad, but Hawkins took it from him. You don’t know Billy like I do, and you never will!”

Be running up that building.

You trip over a hard object, you’re not too keen on focusing on that as you see Vecna Billy’s true hand aiming for you.

If Vecna gets close to you, you’re a goner just like your brother.

This fuels you to keep going.

You can’t stop, you can’t leave Max alone to suffer with her mother.

Your sister needs you and you need her, and you’ll be damned if you go down without a fight.

If I only could, oh

You stop focusing on the “if you die’s” and work on getting the hell out of there.

You push yourself off the ground and start running, anywhere you can, if it puts distance between you and Vecna.

The evil creature takes another step towards you but you’re a few feet away to notice.

You don't want to hurt me,

But see how deep the bullet lies.

You dive to hide behind one of the large statue headstones (right now, you don’t care to analyze if you’re right or not). “You can’t hide from me.” It continues to taunt you; as if you care, you’re praying you can find a way out of this hell.

Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.

Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.

You run away from the area, glancing at the red fog concealing the evil that hides behind it.

You’re not too focused on yourself or who’s in front of you, suddenly you bump into someone, you look down and find your little sister. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You hold her by her shoulders, standing tall to hide her.

“I’m- I-”

“There’s no time,” you glance around, searching for the creature or any new threats coming your way.

You look back on the fog to your right before glancing around to see if the coast is clear. “Run towards the red fog.”

“What?”

“Run through the fog,” you enunciate for her to understand. “It has to be his area- where he keeps his victims, so you can probably find a way out, right?”

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

Tell me, we both matter, don't we?

Max shakes her head, tears pool in her eyes, “No, I can’t- I can’t leave you. I can’t lose you too.”

You cup her cheeks, forcing her to pay attention to you, “you have a better chance at making it out of here than I do. Vecna is focusing more on me than he is you and you deserve to live long enough to find what makes you happy.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Maxine,” you shove her in the direction of the red fog. “I need you to run and run fast.” You exhale when you see her figure disappear.

You, you and me.

It's you and me won't be unhappy.

You sniff before you feel yourself freeze.

The footsteps are getting closer.

You take off again, praying that she made it out and she’s with the others.

If I only could,

“Put her headphones on!” Lucas shouts.

“I’m trying,” Dustin shouts back.

“Max. Max. Hey- hey. You’re okay,” Steve and Lucas try to reassure her.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Where is she?”

“Who?” Steve asks.

“My sister. She’s- she’s in there. We need to help her.”

“She’s fine. She’s still near the,” he turns to see that you haven’t changed your position this whole time. “Car. Henderson, give me the headphones.” He holds his out, “Now!”

Dustin hurries to place the items in his hand.

I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

Steve runs to you, using his athletic skills that have been put on the back burner for some time now but, he still has it in him to haul ass to get from point A to point B.

He stops himself before he can run into you.

He fumbles with the headphones and almost drops them but is able to catch them and put them on you before your time is up.

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

Be running up that building,

The sight of Max falling down a few feet ahead of you fills you with relief.

‘She made it.’ A smile stretches across your face. ‘She made it.’

“You can’t run,” Vecna says in its true form.

You gasp, looking over your shoulder to see him getting closer and closer.

You try to run towards the others, watching as they try to bring you out of the stupid trance, something wraps around your ankle and pulls you back.

If I only could, oh

The music is faint, but you can hear it as you scramble to grab anything to stop you from getting closer to your impending doom.

You cry out as you see yourself standing there, Steve in front of you, shaking your shoulders.

C'mon, baby, c'mon darling,

Max pushes herself out of Lucas’s arms and runs to you. She can’t let you go; she can’t let you die protecting her like Billy did for the two of you.

If your gone… it’s going to- She calls out for you, taking a deep breath as she gets closer so she can continue to cry out your name.

Max shakes your shoulders as she stands before you. “Wake up. Wake up! Fight it. I need you to fight it!”

The others stand behind her, watching helplessly, not knowing if this will work or not.

Let me steal this moment from you now.

‘Focus on the music.’

The thing tugging you back, pulls you up.

Your back slams against the tree like thing you saw his past victims tangled in.

Your ankles and wrists are the next thing to be tied. You think back to your past experiences and the little knowledge you have, if you can talk to this thing maybe distract it, you can make it out.

“You only go for one person at a time. Why now? Why try and speed up the process?”

“You will join me,” he lifts his hand in the air, lingering above your face.

Your time is running out.

Your heart rate speeds, you know what’s going to happen.

C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,

“She will join me.”

“No. I won’t let that happen.”

Let's exchange the experience, oh

Your body floats up into the air, out of reach for anyone to try and help you- save you.

The others call out for you, you can almost hear them.

Your heart breaks more and more as you continue to lose your breath.

‘I can’t die. I can’t die. Not now. Think. THINK.’

And if I only could,

The hand slowly inches closer to you. “It’s time for you… to join me.”

You shake your head, moving it around so it can’t get a hold of you.

Something- or what you can assume is a piece of the tree wraps around your throat, forcing you to stay still.

You struggle to breath, the tentacle like thing continues to wrap around your throat, constricting your airway in a similar manner as a boa constrictor would.

You think back to the night before.

I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

You glance away from the sleepy boys on the couch. “You wrote letters for everyone?” You ask your sister, unable to sleep.

You’ve been watching her scribble down whatever she needed to since the first letter, but you didn’t want to say anything, knowing she had some things she had to get off her chest.

“Are you gonna judge me, if I say yes?”

“Of course, not… I just- I hope you didn’t write me a letter.”

She doesn’t say anything as she puts the letters into envelopes.

“You didn’t need to do that. There’s nothing you could have said to change the way I feel care about you. I understand the letter to Billy, God knows how many times I wrote something in a journal I found lying around. It did help me, but it only did so much,” you shake your head, wiping your cheeks. “If there’s something you want to tell me. I want you to say it to my face, Maxine.”

She remains quiet as she sets another letter off to the side.

You wrap an arm around her shoulder and lean your head on hers. “I’ve been seeing the clock too.”

She turns to look at you, “what?”

“I know you heard me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s Hawkins,” you offer as a weak excuse.

You shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know. I didn’t think anything of it. I was too busy on saving up so you could spend the last few years of your teen years living in a nice house. I want you to be happy and I know that everything with Billy has screwed you up for life but, you deserve happiness.”

You tear up as you reach for her hand, “that’s all I ever wanted for the two of you. Billy,” you take a deep breath, so you don’t start crying.

Tears trickle down your cheeks at a faster pace. “Billy’s gone and- and I like to think that he’s- that he finally found it. I hope, so much that he’s found his happiness and that he’s not suffering anymore. It was all I ever wanted for him and I’m holding onto that hope for you.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What about your happiness? What makes you happy?”

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

With no problems.

“What makes you happy?”

Seeing my sister act like a kid…

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to scare your friends with that costume,” you lean in the doorway of yours and Max’s shared room.

“It’s not Halloween if you aren’t scared at least once.”

You nod with pursed lips, “if that’s what you say.”

“Oh, like you’re not gonna go and find Steve.”

You rush into the room, closing the door behind you. “Shh, don’t say his name.”

“Why? You afraid you say it and he’ll magically appear.”

“I’m gonna get you.”

“Afraid I can’t stay any longer. There are candy bars with my name on them.” Max runs by you and opens the door to find Billy standing there.

“At least let me walk you to the front door, Max,” you say, stopping the staring contest between you and Billy and Max and Billy.

She shakes her head, “it’s fine.”

“Max,” you sigh. You smack his shoulder, “why do you have to be such a jerk?”

“She’s old enough to walk herself to the door.”

“She is still a child.”

“She’s old enough to know better.”

“Would it kill you to be nice to her?”

He says nothing as he walks to his room, shutting the door.

You knew he was acting out because of your father again.

My brother having a heart of gold…

“If he-”

You shush him. “Nothing is going to happen, alright? He doesn’t hit on me, if anything Steve hits on almost anything with two legs…almost like you.”

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing the smoke out the window. “I don’t do that.”

“The looks you get from the moms and girls our age would say otherwise but sure,” you pat his shoulder. “You keep thinking that.”

He tosses the cigarette somewhere before turning to you, giving you his full attention. “If the king of partying-”

“I’m pretty sure you have that title now.”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“Okay.”

“If that dude- I said don’t interrupt me. If he acts like a jerk or makes you upset or cry, I’m gonna hunt him down and kick his ass.”

The corners of your lips tug upwards, “I don’t think that’s going to happen but, I’m glad to know I have you in my corner.” You slide closer to your brother so you can hug him, “William.” You scramble to get out of the car.

He leans down to look through the window so he can see where you are as he shouts to you, “I told you not to call me that!”

“It’s your name.” You chuckle and watch as your “big, bad” brother drives away.

Your sister having friends she knows she can count on…

Max plops onto her bed with her friend El.

“Looks like you two had fun,” you comment, flipping your record to the B side.

“Don’t make this a big deal.”

“I’m not. I’m happy to see you two had fun, that’s all.”

“Lucas tried to give me a ticket for the basketball game.” Max kicks her foot off the ground, slowly riding her skateboard.

You nod, “you gave it back?”

“I’m not in the mood to see a stupid basketball game.”

You sigh, “maybe next time you can get two tickets.”

“Why?”

“So, I can go with you and then we can both cheer for your boyfriend.”

“He’s not boyfriend.”

“Okay… but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop caring about you.”

“What about you and Steve?”

“Stop bringing him up. You always do this to me. It’s mean.”

“I asked a question.”

“And I’m not answering it.”

The boys asleep on the couch “watching” over her.

Seeing that stupid smile on his face your friends face…

Steve walks around the register to lean against the counter, “what did I do to see you today?” He smiles, tilting his head to the side.

“I think she’s here to talk to someone who has decent taste in movies, dingus,” Robin adds, ruining his whole “flirty” vibe.

He grumbles before moving to restock one of the shelves near the front of the store.

“He’s been waiting to do that ever since we started,” Robin whispers to you.

You shake your head and smile, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You see it every time you walk by him. He gets all smiley and,” she fake gags. “Charming, or at least that’s what he calls it. Personally, I don’t see it.”

“I think he’s just a smiley person.”

Steve leans against the counter again, “who’s a smiley person?”

“Robin.”

He and you furrow your brows.

“Really?” he asks.

“You’ve never seen her in her element?”

“Oh yeah? And when’s that?”

You turn to look at her with wide eyes. “When she’s… being herself. Yep.”

“Really?” The two ask.

“Yeah,” you become more confident with your answer. “If you can be yourself no matter who you’re with, that’s awesome.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or frightened,” says Robin.

“Don’t be scared.”

“I didn’t say scared.”

“Same thing,” Steve and you say at the same time.

She chuckles and turns to help a customer.

“So,” he says, extending the O.

You turn to face him, “yes, Steven.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Steve.”

He sees the expression on your face. “You’re messing with, right. Anyway, you have plans tonight?”

“You know I do.”

“Max is a strong, independent kid-”

“If you finish that sentence with “who can take care of herself” your old nickname that involves one of your best features “hair” will no longer be one of your best features.”

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, he leans in closer to you, “you think one of my best features is my hair?”

“You tell us-”

“Her more than me,” Robin interrupts.

“You tell me that all the time. Of course, I’m not gonna forget that.”

“What are my other features you find amazing?”

“Whoa, down boy. I never said that,” you say with a chuckle. “I think it was implied.”

“Oh, really?” You lean in closer to him. Steve pauses, gulping, “yeah.” He clears his throat to get rid of his voice crack, “yeah.” You pull away, “your voice crack says otherwise, Stevie.” His cheeks flush into a light pink. “Stevie?” You shrug, “I don’t know. It sounds good.” “It does,” he replies with a grin on his lips.

If I only could,

“Fight it!” Max continues to shout.

“Listen to the music!” Dustin and Lucas shout.

“Come on. Come on. Come back to us,” Steve mumbles. ‘Come back to me.’

I'd make a deal with God,

And I'd get him to swap our places,

You can still faintly hear the song, “Running Up That Hill” echoing all around you as it mixes with Max’s screams, begging you to fight Vecna.

You can’t die.

It’s not your time.

You have to go back.

“No!” You turn your head and tug your wrists out of the binds. You drop from the tree, almost tripping over your feet. You push yourself up and run, run past the creature, past the other victims. You charge for the opening.

Vecna continues to use its magic to try and keep you there.

The ground turns into a red liquid and you know what it is.

You struggle to run through the liquid the blood splashes around you as rocks, other large pieces of terrain, and sticks fall around you and your path.

Your lungs burn, cheeks puffing with every breath you take as fear and adrenaline course through your veins, pushing you onward.

You take large steps, moving your legs as fast as you can, the ache and piercing pain in your side isn’t enough to stop you.

So, you keep running, for your sister, for your friends (young and old), your survival, and for Billy.

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

With no problems.

You feel arms wrap around you, holding you close.

It feels like there’s something hard under your legs but there’s something warm and soft behind you.

You open your eyes and see Max kneeling in front of you. You know you’re sitting on the ground.

Max can’t wait anymore and dives for you, wrapping her arms around your waist.

You wrap one arm around her shoulders and your free hand settles at the top of her neck, near the base of her skull.

The both of you hold each other tightly, both still scared out of your minds.

You can feel your shoulder get wetter the longer you hug her.

You sniff, taking in a deep breath as Dustin and Lucas wrap their arms around you, more than relieved to see you here in the land of the living.

If I only could,

Be running up that hill

“Okay, I need to get up before my ass goes numb,” you say.

The two young boys push themselves away, brushing the dirt off them as they pretend you all didn’t have an emotional hug.

Max reluctantly pushes herself off you.

The warmth you felt behind you disappears, Steve bends down with one arm around your waist, the other holding your hand. “Come on, up you go.”

Your throbs for a second, you know you stood up too fast. Steve keeps a hold of you, making sure you don’t fall.

He guides you towards the backseat as the others settle in, Dustin in the front, Lucas and Max in the back.

“Thanks,” you whisper to him, out of breath suddenly as you glance over at him.

“What this? Yeah, no problem. I’ll always help you.” He still manages to flash you one of those stupid charming smiles.

Your lips part ever so slightly, your chest rises with every deep breath you take.

The driver side door opens and you two hear Dustin. “Hurry up, we need to go find Nancy and Robin. Not watch you two almost make out. Chop chop.”

“Right,” Steve mutters.

You sit down beside Max, who immediately scooches closer to you.

You wrap your arm around her shoulder, resting your head on hers.

You catch Steve’s eyes in the rear-view mirror before he looks away to start the car and drive to your guy’s next location.

If I only could,

Be running up that hill

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #steve harrington x hargrove sister!reader #steve harrington x hargrove sister reader #crazyk-imagine

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bitin-and-barkin · 5 months

Text

Yandere Donnie

Yandere Donnie would act Obsessive, Controlling, and Dependent.

When April first introduced Donnie to you, you guys fit together perfectly. Like two pieces of a puzzle.

You just GOT him in a way nobody else did.

You were so much like him, yet so different.

The entire time you two were together you two DOMINATED the conversation, April could barely get any words in.

You two traded numbers and from that point on, Donnie wouldn't do anything without you.

If he wasn't nagging April about "when she will bring you over again" (He was too nervous to ask you to come over, which is a first for him) he was texting you or calling you or gushing about you to anyone who could listen.

But how could he not!? You were PERFECTION embodied! He was obsessed with you!

You kept up with his smarts and sarcastic quips, even offering your own.

Although you weren't a tech prodigy you thought a similar way (the right way) and were OBVIOUSLY smarter than his dumb-dumb brothers.

Anytime that he had something to say, you hit back just as hard in a lighthearted, sarcastic tone.

You were also so badass too! Just the general air around you screamed "Cool, emotionless, mysterious, bad boy." You were so dominating and so strong! You were what he wanted to be!

But the thing about it was that you weren't emotionless, far from it.

Although you guys often competed there was never actually any bad blood. Despite being just as good as him (and possibly better, although he'd never admit it), you never held it over him.

You listened to him rambles about science and junk happily, but not in a I'm-only-listening-to-be-nice-but-I-don't-actually-understand-or-care but in a I-love-your-passion-and-can-understand-it-completely way.

You asked questions that he'd never even thought about.

And you were emotionally intelligent too!

You were kind, caring, and oh-so sickly sweet.

He didn't need to put up any sort of mask in front of you, as you made sure you made sure he knew you loved him in any form!

Even the moments when he was ashamed of who he was, when he was worried he would never be enough.

His intense moments of "emotionless passion" or his arrogant moments of dumbassary.

You pushed him to be better while accepting him as who he was.

You made him feel like MORE than his tech, he never felt like he had to hide anything from you, as hiding something from you, just felt like hiding something from himself.

All of his deepest secrets are shared and he expects you to do the same

You made him feel secure, like no matter what he did you would never leave him.

It was like you were a combination of himself and Mikey, his two favorite people in the world! (You were first though, of course)

Even when he was acting like a dumb-dumb (Although he'd never admit it) you held him accountable while still being understanding.

You could understand what he meant without even saying it!

It was like you guys were mind melded or something!

You were like him, a kinship. Almost a frenemy, rivals with how much you competed, but more friend then enemy.

You were almost a teacher to him in a lot of ways, but you never talked down to him or treated him like he was stupid for not understand things that came to you or other easily (like emotions, cough cough)

And he made sure (or at least tried his best) to do the same for you.

For example, whenever you make something techy from the countless facts of science Donnie had taught you he'll cherish it, probably getting an entire shelf and case for any inventions you make for him (and he won't "improve" or "modify" the work to become more efficient, no matter how much his hands are itching to)

Honestly it got to the point where you two were never seen apart.

Donnie began to see you as an extension of himself.

Or, more specifically two parts to something bigger.

Think Glitz and Glam from Helluva boss, or Sapphire and Ruby from Steven Universe, or Fireboy and Watergirl from those dumb cool math game games.

You were him, he was you, and you guys would never be apart.

You guys were two peas in a pod, best friends, yin and yang, fire and water, connected in an unbreakable way he wants to brand your name into his skin and he wants you to do the same for him

it was like a villain and his sidekick, expect none of you were the sidekick! You were equal after all, in his eyes. He genuinely values you and your opinion above everybody elses, and how you felt about something was just as important as he felt about it (aka, very important) He feels very strongly about making sure thing are "fair" between you two.

At first you were fine with this little obsession he had with you two hanging out, you couldn't see the red flags screaming in your face, but then he got oh so controlling.

He might not care about what you wear or how you dress, but every bit of tech in your house is replaced by his own, all suited to prevent hackers and stalkers from accessing your location they all have trackers on them, and the next time you fall asleep he will embed one into your skin

He doesn't mean it with malicious intent, he just wants to protect you as he would protect himself. You deserve protection after all, he just wants to make sure you're safe from any "stalkers."

He kindly searches your room for any "suspicious devices" placed by "creeps" he takes this opportunity to put in his own cameras to watch you from every angle in your home, you get more time away from him but he watches you while you sleep.

He gives you little trinkets and tech made by him just for you they all have cameras in them, he loves watching you

And your health is watched like a HAWK.

He's constantly calling you over to his place, under the guise of "making sure your healthy" and he does do that, he does!

It's like your a permanent hospital patient, with you being strapped up and poked and prodded.

Your heart rate would be constantly monitored with a watch he gave you along with your blood pressure, temperature, blood sugar, and steps per day.

The slightest cough will be treated like a medical emergency. His place would be disinfected and you would be "bedbound" from your illness.

Only he can see you when this happens, after all he's the only one who can care for you properly.

Honestly, I can see him medically abusing you, Munchausen syndrome by proxy style.

He'll give you new meds under the guise of healing whatever menial injury you got, only for you to get sicker and sicker. Hell, he might even put you under anesthesia and give you a couple of injuries (can't have you feeling pain or remembering it!) like breaking your legs and blame it on your "new disease."

Narcolepsy, bouts of paralysis or blindness, chronic pain, he'll do whatever makes you hang out with him more! Of course, none of it will actually be permanent or lifelong, he can stop it as quickly as he started it, but why would he do that when it's so affective?

And when you get ill, he'll insist he can be the only one to care for you. I mean, medical bills are expensive after all! Why waste your money when you can just go to your old friend Donnie!?

He'll have you lean on him for support, making you ill enough to the point that you couldn't even leave the sewers as you could barely move your legs and your entire body felt like it was in flames just so you guys can hang out together a little more

(To be honest it's less about the control he has over you and making you depend on him, and more on making you spend more time with him. But if he needs to make you dependent on him, he's not complaining.)

You'll have to stick with him until this "flare up" of your illness gets better. And he'll keep you trapped there with him through your disease until eventually he begins to break, as that now that you're by his side what the point of putting you through so much pain?

And so he'll down the dosage of the medicine he used to hurt you, just to make you feel a little bit better. But you take this as you healing, and you suggest to him that maybe, just maybe, you could go back home now? I mean you're getting better now, so you don't need to be around him ALL the time.

When he hears this he'll act calm at first even though he feels his blood running freezing cold and he'll help you pack up to go home, only for the next morning for the pain and paralysis come back, stronger than ever and making you cry and beg for it to stop

(He might even keep you trapped with him in this way, physically unable to leave and having your punishments being an up in the illness)

Sure, he'll feel guilt for making you feel so much pain and he'll miss your more fiery personality, that now has been dampened down due to your pain, but at least you're now next to him.

He'll help you learn to function to the best of your ability while ill, giving you a wheelchair and braces and the best prosthetics known to man.

But at the same time, he'll still be making sure you're still dependent on him, but independent enough where the old personality he fell in love with comes back. Independence dependence, per say.

Upping your meds just enough so that some days the pain still engulfs you but keeping it low enough so even on your neutral days you can engage in your battles of wits and words between you two that he oh-so-loved.

Good enough to function normally on your good days, bad enough that you writhe in agony as your skin flares up in pain on your bad ones.

It's all so you're still you, but he is still a part of you.

The same thing can be said for him. He is still him, but you are still a part of him. A MAJOR part.

And if you're ever pissed at him or resistant he'll drug your food with sleeping meds to make you more "soft" and "pliable."

But none of this dependence on him compares to how dependent he is on you.

As time goes on you can't get ANY time away from him.

Even before he does anything too drastic (before he practically kidnaps you) you are pretty much stripped of all your privacy and autonomy.

He's always following you around, showing up at your house unannounced, sneaking into your work/school to meet up with you in the bathroom, and any single moment you can be around him he WILL be around you.

The only moment of peace you get is in the bathroom and even then, if you're in there for longer than two minutes he'll begin to rant to you through the door.

It may frustrate you but to him it makes perfect sense. After all, two is better than one, so why would you ever need to be apart?

You guys are just better when with each other. You cover each other flaws and weakness and boost up each others strengths.

You need him and he needs you He needs you more than you need him, it feels like pulling teeth or losing a limb or peeling skin if he can't feel you, touch you, breath the same air as you

You're always there with him. Without you? It just feels so.. lonely. And he's not one to mull over being alone, in fact he loved it before he met you. But now? It feels like he's missing something vital, like an artery or a lung or his heart whenever you're away.

Wherever he goes he's always thinking about what you would want or what you would say, your voice taking up a special little part of his mind that was beginning to collect dust.

He felt your sadness, your passion, your anger, as if it was his. And whenever you smiled, he felt your smile like it was his own. It's so quiet now without you. He was always used to hearing your breath or your heartbeat, to the point where it felt like second nature to seek out it's comfortable rhythm He'll make a recording of your breathing pattern and put it as background noise in all of his favorite songs and make something to copy and let out the vibrations of your heartbeat tenfold, that way he can lay down on the floor of his lab and quite literally feel your heartbeat as if it was his own

So, when he explained all this to you so casually you finally began to get why he always wanted to be around you. it was unnerving at first sure, especially the way he looked at you with such desperate, mad eyes when he explained it to you after you said that you needed to get back home. Now that you knew this though? It just felt selfish to leave him alone.

His relationship with others falters as if he is talking to someone you also need to be involved, and the same goes for if someone is talking to you (this doesn't bother him as he firmly believes you are the only one he needs, his brothers and april are just an afterthought)

I mean, he doesn't hate his brothers! They still are his brothers after all, and he loves them. And he's happy to spend as much time with them as before you came into the picture, but you always need to be there, involved, and considered. You're practically part of the family, part of him! Part of something bigger and better! Just don't split you two up or else he'll scratch his skin raw, just ITCHING to hang out with you again

Whenever he's apart from you it's a bit like when Raph goes savage, but less angry and more anxious and scared shitless. Ever since he'd met you he'd never had to be alone this long

You can go out, do whatever you want as long as he's with you but you can't go home to your family, they aren't good for you

Your friends are weirded out by this and so are his brothers, with them pretty much telling you guys "Hey your relationship with each other is pretty weird. Why are you always around each other?"

You two deny this though, you out of innocence and naivety, thinking that Donnie would never invade on your personal space despite the uncomfy feeling you get when he butts into your conversations.

He would never hurt you or control you, despite how he stops letting you sleep at your OLD home, as now he always wants you to sleep in the same bed as him in your guy's room.

Despite that he's already began bringing your stuff into his your guy's room, setting it up as if you live together you practically do, your family thinks that you've ran away as it's been a month since you've gone home

He's also oddly touchy.

You see, a lot of you prolly won't agree but just think about it;

He's almost ALWAYS touching someone, as long as he initiated the contact he seems to be fine with and actually LOVE physical touch.

I just believe he doesn't like hugs because of his "emotionless bad boy image" and because it feels like he's trapped, and going to be suffocated. Like he has no control.

But with you? That's not a problem.

Although most touches with him are the ones as shown here, small things, touching you is GROUNDING for him.

He needs them in fact. You're his grounder, his shoulder to lean on, his support, a part of him. He needs your touch, he needs you. Often times you are the only thing that can calm him down from any "episodes" he has.

Besides that, although he'd never admit it, he's also quite lonely.

He loves his brothers but he feels fundamentally different from them, different from anybody else in the world.

So if he found someone who got him in the way he'd always wanted? He'd never let go of them.

This also goes for touch. Despite his touch aversion he often wished he had someone who he felt safe and comfortable enough with to hold, or someone who he felt loved enough with to the point where he could be held. So when he met you? All of his unrequited dreams of physical affection with someone whom he truly felt connected to came out.

He often takes your arms and rubs his hands back and forth on them as a stim, or does the same thing with your back while laying his head in the crook of your neck.

Something that he does pretty much whenever he can is sitting on your lap, not in a weird way though.

You two will be sitting on the floor (He's gotten a preference for sitting on the floor as it makes this activity more comfortable)

And you'll be causally laying against the wall, legs spread as Donnie sits between them and you peer over his shoulder.

Maybe you two can be just chatting, or maybe reading a book together or playing a video game together, with you giving him tips as he controls.

You two also often sit in opposite positions, with him peering over your shoulder as you sit on his lap.

Something else that also happens is him clinging to your back like a kola, with him running his hands over and over again over your thighs and arms as a stim.

And sometimes (often), he'll even run them over your chest and stomach.

This happens especially when he's having meltdowns, so you can't just shove him off.

And if you tell him to stop? He won't. Maybe he will for a while, but he'll "forget" and get back right to it.

If you tell him how it makes you uncomfy or how it's weird? He'll tell you that you're crazy. This is a completely normal friend activity, your just overreacting.

He especially does this when laying in bed with you, as he expects you two to sleep in the same bed. (You'll cuddle like this lmao, and donnie is the one clinging to you like a kola oddly enough)

Something else he also loves to do with you is parallel play.

You see, because of his independent nature, despite his obsession, not every waking moment will be spent talking to you.

But something that he still loves is just existing with you nearby, aka parallel play.

You two spend a lot of your time doing your own thing, maybe him coding as you watch movies or him napping as you play video games.

He loves doing this, and you like it too! it gives you back the freedom that was stripped away from you

Its the perfect solution! You and him can keep your independence while still being together, acting as one!

And during these moments, to stay connected, he'll use small, little touches.

A hand on the shoulder, sitting back to back (his favorite), an arm wrapped around your neck while you game on the couch, resting his face on your hand as you sleep. He loves them all.

And if you ever try and deny him any of this? Or slowly move away from him?

Well, he won't let that happen.

He's dependent on you.

He controls you.

He's obsessed over you.

He NEEDS you.

You won't ever go home or be alone again.

| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

This was way too long, but I love him so much <3 It was itching at my brain until I wrote it down. This could work for platonic or romantic yandere, I prefer some form of queerplatonic. Overall, I believe his yandere-ness to be a very "we are pretty much one lmao" type thing because I am also autistic but touch averse and I often feel isolated from others around me, as I feel as if I could never be vulnerable around them. I often dreamed of someone who just GOT me in a way that nobody else did. This led me to be very interested in the idea of "fusion" from su as the act itself seemed so intimate; Two beings becoming one, being able to share a body and coordinate a mind, become something bigger than their parts to the point where you're a new person? That would be amazing. So I imagined that with Donnie. He believes you two are the same person in the way that Stevonnie from su is shown to be when they first fuse. It's obvious that there are two parts of you but just the way you work together just feels so natural. Idk, this is just heavy projecting and may be out of character, but I love the idea of dependent Donnie <3 Very much Jason Dean from Heathers vibes

Also, this is all BEFORE kidnapping, imagine how bad it would be after that. He values your opinion heavily and always takes what YOU want into considerations, except the certain "hard no" topics like ones that came to your safety, including those constant health checkups. He's no expecting you to agree with him all the time, but he is expecting you to listen. He would never hurt you, and you know that, just as he knows you wouldn't hurt him (no matter how much you should) so why won't you listen to him? He's only trying to help.

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 months

Text

I'm just going to make it a tradition to write about tender loving spicy Crosshair on my birthday each year 😊

Crosshair x fem!reader | 500 words

Content: just a short drabble where Crosshair acts suggestively while you make a cake

You slowly twisted the cake stand in front of you, careful to keep your other hand steady as the knife glided along the frosting. What had started out as a simple birthday cake had now turned into an ostentatious mess... multiple layers askew, clashing colors of frosting, sprinkles galore... You were having a blast.

Now you were focused on the finishing touches. With your frosting designs all set, you then reached over for the box of candles. No sooner had you placed the first on top, however, did two mischevious hands start to snake around your middle.

"Cross," you warned as he pressed himself up against your back and held you close. You weren't sure what kind of mood he was in, but you highly doubted it was a helpful one.

"Looking good," Crosshair mumbled before wiggling his nose into your neck.

You couldn't help but squeeze your shoulders in response to the feathery tingles it sent across your skin. You paused to refocus yourself and then placed the next candle into the cake.

"It'll taste better than it looks."

"I sure hope so," he hummed, bringing his mouth up to the shell of your ear. You felt yourself immediately flush from head to toe.

"You weren't talking about the cake were you," you forced out a laugh and continued to place more candles. Gods, there sure were a lot this year.

Crosshair unburied himself from your neck and rested his head gently against the side of yours. "Oh, yeah, that looks good too."

You only had one candle left. You held it up toward him. "Care to do the honors?"

He plucked it out of your fingers and gently stuck it right in the center. And then swiped at some frosting as he withdrew his hand. You didn't have time to react, though, as he deposited some of it onto your nose before licking the rest away.

"Cross!" you finally gasped. You turned in his hold to find an amused glint in his eyes. His whole face seemed so light and carefree. You loved to see this side of him. Even if it was at the expense of your cake.

He leaned in to kiss the frosting off your nose, causing you to giggle and scrunch up your face in protest. His lips then found yours and you allowed yourself to taste the sweetness on them for a slow, blissful moment.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart," he pulled away with a smile. But the fondness in it quickly shifted back into mischief. "Can't wait to eat."

You wanted to roll your eyes but found you couldn't. Even after being spoiled for most of the day already, you were eager to continue being dotted on. It was your birthday after all. You were allowed to be a little greedy.

"Not until I open my presents first," you flashed a playful smile of your own, accentuating your meaning by rubbing your hands along his chest.

Crosshair crouched just enough to get his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up onto his waist. "We have a lot to do then. Let's not waste any time, birthday girl."

Every Character Tag: @dangerousstrawberrypie, @justanothersadperson93, @arctrooper69, @sleepycreativewriter, @techie-bear, @theroguesully, @cw80831

Bad Batch Tag: @kaijusplotch, @rebel-finn, @lucyysthings, @marvel-starwars-nerd, @nekotaetae, @severalseashellsbytheseashore, @lackofhonor, @flowered-bicycles, @foodmoneyandcats, @nahoney22, @dangraccoon, @mishakoon

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#star wars #the bad batch #crosshair #crosshair x reader #birthday #one shot #drabble

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callofdudes · 1 year

Note

could you do some hcs for platonic 141 and a techie/hacker reader? i’d love to see your take on their friendship with someone like that :) also love your work, thanks for making so many cool hcs and scenarios 🥰❤️❤️

I like this. This is good. 😄 Also thank you! I hope you enjoy your headcanons.

141 with a hacker/tech oriented teammate

Ghost 💀

Ghost is somewhat of a hacker himself. In the 09 game Ghost is the 141's hacker. Simon is in love with computers and codes. It's something of a hobby.

So when he meets you and discovers you are also a whizz with computers he's thrilled.

You two are both set up to work together and this is what brings you closer, bonding over your your shared skill set.

Sometimes you'll go to Ghost if you are having a particularly difficult problem, and him vice versa.

And despite Simon knowing everything there is to know about a computer from it's chip, to it's processing hardware, to the INS and outs of connecting wirelessly to and encrypted computer- he cannot figure out his own fucking phone.

Yeah yeah, laugh it up. He knows how to use it but sometimes he's socially inept.

"Sergeant. Johnny just sent me a link to this site... He put a smiley face emoji, and a... Heart?? Is this a threat?"

You take one took at the url and cringe. "Just ignore it. Don't click on it. I'm going to restrict Johnny's network access right now!"

Simon nods, not questioning it. Though he is curious what this site it. Knowing Johnny it can't be something innocent.

Simon also loves to spend his free time making complicated encrypted codes for you to puzzle through. If you're feeling bored he'll flip you a USB and tell you to clear the malware in an hour.

It's always fun.

And it's really what got the two of you close in the first place.

Simon always reaches out for your help in missions first.

"Y/n, can you open the door, it's blocked?"

"Is it online?"

"Bloody- yes it's online."

"Is there a key card for it??"

"Yeah... But I don't want to go look for it."

You chuckle. "Alright big guy, give me 2 seconds."

Johnny is scared of you two.

He came into the kitchen one morning and heard you using foreign 16 letter words and strange alien language while reading a book on computer engineering with Ghost. Worst part was, he spoke the strange language back!

Johnny thinks your aliens for a half minute until you define the words for him and he's good to go.

Simon knows you're a hacker, but he also tried to figure out your other hobbies. Like, maybe you take long walks around the neighborhood in the morning?? Or you play volleyball. Something like that.

He spends most of his time with you. He just likes hanging out with you in general. And after you rigged up a PS5 to the old ass TV in the common room it's been nonstop fun off duty.

He takes it upon himself to train you. You're both skilled but if there is something you aren't sure of or haven't faced before in your military training you'll go to him. And he's always willing to help.

Overall, Ghost really likes you. And he admires your skill. One day you might be as good a hacker as him 😉

Soap 🧼

You and Johnny are much more similar than you might think. Johnny does a bit of his own hacking when it comes to delaying a bomb, rewiring them or defusing them all together. So he knows a good thing or two.

He does a little bit of hacking, nothing spectacular like you or Ghost though.

Definitely asks you to hack the PS store so he can get more game points.

Asks you about video games in general. Yes, sure, your hacking is very professional and you use it for the missions but what about videogames!?

You find that jimmy rigging things for Johnny is just the best way to show your love. He came to you one afternoon asking if you could make one of his headphones play music and the other receive comms. From the others.

Silly Johnny.

Will ask you to somehow get the Christmas lights in his room connected to the main power. He is very disappointed when you tell him that electrician is a very different job from technician.

Will probably ask you to teach him some more advanced hacky stuff when he can. Definitely doesn't ask you for help pranking the recruits when it's tech involved. And you definitely don't occasionally help him.

Johnny is a bit scared by all the computer books on your shelf and all the big words inside. Your equally as scared by his quantum mechanics books and all his explosives manuals.

It's equal honestly.

He is like Ghost in the sense that when he could just ask you to do something for him instead of looking everywhere for something.

"Y/nnnnnnnn" he whines.

"What's up Johnny? Are you in the building yet??"

"No, it's locked and I don't know the code."

"Is it written down somewhere??"

"Y/n, could you just.... Open it??"

You chuckle. "Give me a minute buddy."

The door clicks and turns green. "Yippee! 😁" And in he goes.

You've found you need to wipe his phone every other month and set him up with an antivirus you need to remind him to pay for. Because he connects to any and all networks without a care.

MacDonald?? Connected. Ghost's hotspot?? Connected. Some random printer with one bar?? Definitely connected.

He's just kinda dumb like that.

You set up a little class for him about malware just to remind him.

You've started restricting his phone time so he can only use it for 4 hours a day before it completely shuts off. Just to tease him. Until he goes to Price and tattles ☹️

Johnny just thinks it's cool as shit. He didn't know it was an actual job for you? Like that's dope!

He likes to find different computer kits for you. The type of guy to dig old computers from the garbage and unpack it to get to the mother board.

If he finds a chip in there or a hard drive obviously he's gonna ask you to open it so he can snoop.

Johnny thinks your talent is really cool. He thinks you're really cool. And when you sit down and play video games with him even without all the hackers skill he still has fun.

Occasionally you are surprised when Johnny pulls out a super smash bros move so insane no one would ever attempt it in their right mind and wins.

So you both surprise each other with your different skills. You teach Johnny about computers, he teaches you about science and big things that go boom.

It's a nice partnership. Johnny would give this relationship 5 whole stars!!

Gaz 🧢

It immediately interests him. He's no hacker by trade, he has as much skill in the concept as Johnny does. But it really does catch his attention.

Wanting to spend a lot of his time alone, sometimes he enjoys just sitting there and watching you click away on your computer.

You even teach him a few things. Sometimes he'll feel like pointing out a code he's unfamiliar with or something else you do, and you're always happy to teach him.

Gaz is much quieter than the others, so you decide to make up some better headphones for him when on base so he can get the full quiet atmosphere experience.

He really like the glowing keyboard you have. (You know the one) he really likes it.

He isn't one to use you as a cheat code but sometimes you just like to spoil him. He doesn't want to ask you for unnecessary help when you are helping Captain Price across the building.

"Bloody hell, where is that stupid passcode!?" He looks around the desk, scattering papers in a hurry. If he doesn't get in this computer he would definitely be caught.

"Having some trouble Gaz??"

"I'm fine. Where is Captain Price at??"

You hum. Suddenly the computer in front of him flickers onto a loading screen and freezes. Several lines of code flash over the screen.

"Don't worry, using the wireless connection you set up earlier..."

The computer flashed on, past the passcode screen. "All clear sergeant."

He can't help chuckling. "Thanks."

He's 100% in the know of where to find all the best books and will often scan your shelves to see if your missing a volume of anything or if there is a new book he could get you.

He tries to make stuff for you. Like little computer decorations. It's a hobby of his making little decals and stickers, so your computer is glamorized in all of Gaz's little gifts.

Gaz isn't as interested in your computer sciences as Johnny, but he's also the only one you'll find lounging in your office at 2 in the morning reading one of your coding books because he couldn't sleep.

You flick on the lights in your office, startled when you see someone sitting in your chair. You sigh in relief when you see it's on Gaz, passed out with your heavy textbook open on his chest.

"Aw, buddy." You come over and gently tip his hat down, pulling the book from his arms. You slip a bookmark in it and place it on your desk for later.

He's much too heavy to lift him, so you drape a throw blanket over him and turn the lights off. You can do your stuff later.

Gaz thinks you're really cool. He likes to hang out with you and learn more about you. And you like learning more about him.

You're the type of friends to lay on his bed for hours saying nothing but happy in each other's presence. You could be on your computer and he can be reading. But each other's presence is what makes the interaction special, even if you don't talk.

Gaz is glad you came to the team. Your a good asset and a good friend.

Price 🥃

Your skills were what attracted Price to you first. He wanted you on his team once he heard of your level of skill. It would be nice to have two techies at his disposal.

But he didn't expect how well you'd get along with his soldiers. You were a tight knit group almost immediately, he couldn't ask for it differently.

He admires how much you care for the others, and how you're willing to use your skills to do seemingly silly things for the boys.

You're very smart, and he loves when you info dump on him. He's old enough that most of the topics you bring up he is familiar with. Maybe not a genius but you get used to certain terms and trades when you've been serving as long as he has.

And you're always surprised when he has a little tidbit of information to add to the conversation.

Now don't get me wrong, Price is very technologically aware. He can set off a missile by the flick of his wrist and shut down enemy hardware within an inch of his skin. But he doesn't know what to do when Facebook crashes.

Whether he overthinks it or he's just kinda stupid, you'll never know.

You might just be the hacker but he's always asking your opinion things. "These are electric doors, what would be the best way to get them open without attracting attention??"

Always gets your opinion.

He is the dad who will get you everything you need to further your hobby/job in the task force.

He always gets you new books and cool looking hardware.

"Knock knock."

You close your laptop halfway and pull off your headphones. "Come in."

Price smiles when he comes in, seeing you all set up on your bed. "Hey kiddo."

"Hey captain, need something?"

Price sat down and looked at what you were working on. "is that the new game Johnny has been ranting about you making him??"

"Yeah, it's just a simple code like the Google dinosaur game, I don't know why he's so excited 😅"

"Well, maybe these will help?" He pulls up a bag full of a couple books you'd been talking about buying of they weren't almost 50$ each.

"Price??" You pulled out the books. "Oh thank you."

"Any time." He ruffles your hair.

Literally the most supportive dad.

Sorry but you are his child now. He has adopted you into his little found family.

Again, he really likes letting you talk to him about what you're doing when you're on your computer.

And you've saved his butt more than once with your quick skills.

"I've got the wires set up y/n, it's your turn."

"I'm on, give me two seconds."

"Good, we don't want them to get alerted, Johnny and Gaz are near the west hall."

"Aaaaalright..." You are quiet for a moment. "Ok, cameras are blocked, you're free to move around."

"Copy that sergeant."

Like I said, supportive and protective dad.

You've been amazing support for the team both as a teammate and a friend. Overall he's really glad that you're a part of the team. Very valued, very loved.

He's glad he met you.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty headcanons #ghost x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #platonic x reader #platonic ghost x reader #platonic #cod headcanons

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v-ternus · 7 months

Text

*that* SwissDew video

So ughhhhhhhh, yall saw that right?!?!? Anyways. It made me start thinking. And then my brain did some thinking with @iamthecomet And our combined thinking has now left me with 1.5k words of nasty.

Under the cut for your reading pleasure :)

The stage lights barely have a chance to dim before Swiss is herding Dew backstage, hand on his back, planted firmly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dew snarls as he’s accidentally shoved into the shoulder of an unsuspecting techie. Swiss swings his head back to mumble a half-assed apology, only to keep moving forward. He doesnt dignify the question with a response beyond plastering a shit-eating grin across his face.

The rest of the walk back to the dressing room goes by quickly and Dew is practically thrown in right as he turns the doorknob. He tries to find his balance but his boots catch on a part of the scrunched up carpet and it sends him to the floor. He falls hard, dropping all of his weight onto his knees. He’s sure they’ll be black and blue by the end of the night.

Swiss closes the door behind them and postures himself right in front of Dew.

“Infront of everyone?” Dew grits through his question, jaw clenched at the disaster that Swiss could’ve caused.

Swiss brings a hand up to cradle Dew’s face and coos as he thumbs across his heated cheeks. “Dont pretend like you didnt like it bug.” Dew has no rebuttal. Because of course he liked it—

He liked the way Swiss’ hand splayed over his hip and waist in an attempt to hold him steady while his other hand gripped his cock. He liked when Swiss dug his fangs into his tense flesh.

He especially liked the way the fans cheered as he was gropped in front of them all.

He’s been hard since then, struggling to play his parts with each second that passed by. He almost missed his cues because he couldnt walk without his guitar rubbing against him.

Dew is pulled out of his head when Swiss drops himself down to his knees, loosely interlacing his legs with Dew’s. His free hands falls to the front of Dew’s uniform and palms at his crotch. Dew looks down and the sight makes him whine. Swiss’ hand covers up so much of his lap. Its as if they both thought the same, cause Dew swears he heard Swiss laugh.

“Stop teasing bitch,” he tries to sound unamused, aggressive even. But he fails. His voice wavers as Swiss squeezes his throbbing cock particularly harder.

“But its fun to watch you like this,” Swiss says as he kneads at Dew. They both know he could be meaner, mean enough to leave Dew achingly hard and alone, but thats not what Swiss wants right now.

He palms at Dew for a mere moment longer before he finally starts unlacing his pants. He works the garments down just enough for Dew’s cock to spring up towards his vest, the ruddy tip spreading his slick across the delicate velvet.

Swiss drags a finger along the short length, tracing along the vein that runs on the underside, stopping at the spot right under the head. He makes Dew hiss when he presses against down and watches as a bead of pre wells up at the tip.

“You’re an asshole.” Swiss chuckles again, loving the way Dew squirms and protests under his touch. “I know.”

He gives Dew no time to adjust— he just sends things from zero to a hundred. The teasing and feather light touches turn into a warm hand completely wrapping around his cock and slowly stroking from root to tip. The pleasure is a relief, and he makes sure to share his enjoyment. Breathy moans freely fall from his lips and they sound like music to Swiss' ears.

“You sound so pretty Dew.” Swiss sounds like he means every word.

“Fuck you.”

Swiss tightens his grip before tutting his disappointment. His eyes cast over Dew with a stern, cold look on his face. “That’s a bit rude isnt it?” Dew tries to ignore the game Swiss is playing at.

“But I think I'm feeling really generous right now princess,”

“Dont call me that.” Anything but that, Dew thinks.

Swiss brings his free hand up to thumb at the base of one of Dew’s horns. Its nice, nice enough that a low purr rumbles through him. But whatever softness he was basking in goes up in flames as Swiss uses said horn to wrench his head back. His neck bends at an unnatural angle and he feels exposed.

“Shh baby, Daddy knows what’s best, doesnt he?” Swiss’ voice drips thick, laced with poison that floods Dew’s bloodstream.

Swiss leans forward to rest his forehead against Dew’s.

A sinister smile creeps over Swiss’ face as he moves his grip to wrap around Dew’s dick and balls. Much to Dew's displeasure, he squeezes. Really squeezes. And hell it fucking hurts. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of Dew's eyes. He winces and tries to pull himself backwards, away from the pain. But all it does is tug against his already tender groin.

“Here’s how this is going to work baby,” Dew breathes through the pain and focuses on the deep voice weaving into his hazy mind. He listens to the sounds of sin and depravity and it reminds him of all of their other nights spent like this– Swiss just taking him apart, putting him through the thick of it until he has proper streaks of tears working down his chiseled features.

“You get to cum whenever you’re ready,” Dew’s breath hitches, sensing a trap. There’s gotta be a catch to this. Dew manages to make eye contact and he’s surprised by what stares back at him. The golden eyes trained on him have suddenly gone soft, donning a warmer, less threatening gaze. Had it been any other night, it would be endearing, but tonight, its nothing better than a threat.

“You just gotta fuck this cute little clit into my fist, how’s that sound Princess?”

There it is.

Dew nods mindlessly. Says anything and agrees to it all, just to get the crushing grip away from his jewels.

“Yeah… whatever. Fuck, just let go.” Having finally gotten his answer, Swiss’ hand withdraws and returns with a kinder touch. This time, the hand moves to cup Dew’s balls. He rolls them gently, tugs at them just enough to make Dew groan before backing off again.

“Are you ready princess?” There’s that fucking word again. Swiss doesn't wait for a response, he just sits up, and holds his fist right over Dew’s achingly red dick. Dew takes what's offered and rocks his hips up. The sound he lets out is embarrassing at best— a high, feminine moan that shoots from Swiss’ ears, straight down to his cock. He's now pressed up tight against the seam in his underwear.

Dew keeps rocking, chasing his release so that this can all just be over. The filthy wet noises he's making between them fill the otherwise hushed room.

He can't stop himself from listening to Swiss whisper how pretty he gets like this, or how he cant wait to get back to the hotel so he can dress him up in that lingerie set Aether had bought.

Swiss feels Dew's cock kick at the mere mention of Aether, he files that away for a later date.

“You want me to breed you nice and good after this Dewy? I’ll fill you with my kits, you’d be so full.”

“Shut up,” Dew groans. “Shut up and just let me finish.” His eyes screw up tight and he tries to think of anything else besides Swiss’ words, but it's a futile attempt. The words flash across his mind and echo in his ears.

Swiss can feel how close he is, he can feel each twitch of Dew’s cock when his thrusts press him into Swiss’ hand just right. Dew starts to lose his pace, thrusts quickly becoming uncoordinated ad his breathing becomes more and more ragged.

Swiss watches his quickly pitiful moves and decides to help him out. He starts to jerk him off, doing his best to match the pace of his hips so that his fist bottoms out at the top of his thrusts.

“Are you close my love?” Swiss presses his lips against the side of his mate's face, breathes in his scent, warm and burnt, and presses a kiss to his temple. He hears a pleased hum and knows that this is his chance.

"Whenever you're ready Dewy." Dew tries to speak. He tries to find the words-- any words-- that could describe this moment. But his brain just wont seem to work. All he can do is pant and feel each decadent, wet glide of Swiss' hand over the swollen head of his cock.

"Close. -m close,"

“Go ahead and squirt all over daddy’s hand,” Swiss surprises even himself with how he was able to say the words.

Something inside Dew unravels. He surges forward, digs his claws into Swiss’ sides as he cums. They watch as milky ropes of his spend stripe over Swiss' hand.

Swiss works him through his orgasm, lightly stroking until his cock is drained of all he has to give. He only stops when Dew twitches from overstimulation.

Some of his cum drips down to the floor and Swiss groans in disappointment. There's always next time.

The multi ghoul leans forward and crashes his lips into Dew's. The kiss is lazy and there's no sense of urgency to go along with it. They just kneel in the middle of the room, and lap at whatever parts they can reach.

Swiss pulls back and catches an eyeful of Dew’s puffy red lips and the blissed out look across his face.

“You were so good for me princess.”

Dew feels his cock make a feeble attempt at filling out again– princess.

#nameless ghouls #the band ghost #swiss #dew #swissdew #swiss x dew #dewdrop ghoul #ghost band #fire ghoul #multi ghoul #swisstopher #ghost fic #ghost band fanfic #vee writes #dewdrop ghost #swiss x dewdrop #swiss ghoul #swiss ghost #ghouls

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ynscrazylife · 2 years

Note

Feel free to ignore, this is a long one boss.

Marvel gang seeing yn gain powers almost instantly, and watching yn struggle with how to control the new powers. Watching yn, the first couple minutes, days and weeks trying not to kill any team members when they can barely control thier new found abilities.

Im imagining yn super weak at first, they fainted when they first acquired the powers. They cant walk, they can almost stand and they haven't eaten anything since it happened. Yn is scared they are going to die or kill off someone they love and all of the team members are trying to keep yn calm, safe and in control of thier body. Im imagining techies trying to find a way to dampen the powers so that yn can walk around again and everyone fighting to cuddle with the youngest member of the team.

When Sparks Fly

Summary: When you wind up with powers in the aftermath of a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, the Avengers are determined to help you through it.

Pairings: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (Romantic), Avengers x Stark!Reader (Platonic)

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me firstand b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

“I swear, this is almost as bad as the day I started at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you whined, folding your arms in slight annoyance as your step-mother Pepper Potts held up her camera again. Your father, Tony Stark, was standing beside her, grinning as he proudly looked over the photos Pepper took.

“This is the first time you’re going on a mission! This warrants a couple pictures, Y/N,” Pepper retorted, before taking another picture.

“A couple? This has been, like, 100,” you sass, unable to help it. You got it from Tony, after-all.

“I’m glad you’re keeping count,” Tony sassed right back, smirking at your eye-roll that followed.

“Wait!” Peter burst in, having just finished patrol. In his haste, he still wore his Spider-Man suit, but had torn off his mask. He skidded to a halt beside you, putting a sweaty arm around your shoulders.

You softened at your boyfriend’s excitement, your frown lifting into a smile as Pepper snapped a photo of you and Peter. When it was taken, he turned to you. “You’re gonna rock this mission, babe,” he said, kissing you on the forehead.

“I appreciate your confidence, Pete,” you said, grinning lovingly.

“Oh!” Pepper exclaimed, gasping at she glanced at the clock. “Go, go, go! You’re going to be late.”

Following her gaze, you muttered a “shit!” as you scrambled to grab your bag.

“Language,” Steve scolded, wearing a smirk as he walked in with the rest of the Avengers. They had just returned from a mission and there was no way that they weren’t going to see you off today.

“Hi, thanks, bye!” You said rather quickly, throwing your bag over your shoulder before giving Pete a peck on the lips and running off.

“Good luck!” Pepper called to your retreating form.

“Kick ass!” Tony added, pumping his fist into the air.

“Don’t die!” Peter said, right before the door slammed shut. Everyone turned to the young adult, who shrugged. “What? It would really suck.”

Honestly — he wasn’t wrong.

————————————————————————

Since it was your first mission at the academy, it wasn’t meant to be difficult. Key word: meant.

Little did you know, while chasing an ex-A.I.M. agent who had set up his own research and experimentation lab, you followed him into one of his so-called testing rooms — which was a trap. You only realized this when he stopped running and grabbed a gas mask, pulling it on swiftly.

Spotting a gas quickly fill in from the vents, you whispered another “shit!” and turned around, quickly going to the door.

The intel S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten said that the lab was devoid of any experimental substances. Wrong.

Unfortunately for you — Steve wasn’t here to scold you and the door had locked. You banged on it, frustrated, and turned back around only to see the ex-agent smirking at you.

“I didn’t expect to gain a new testing subject today, but you’ll do quite nicely,” he said.

A quick glance around told you that there were no gas masks left. Nothing to protect yourself. You couldn’t even cover your mouth with anything because your suit wasn’t made to stretch.

Knowing you didn’t have much time, you pressed down on your comms and said: “A gas is quickly filling up the room. I don’t know what it is. The guy’s going to try to escape, so be prepared to—” Your words died on your lips as you started to inhale the gas, overcome with wooziness.

You struggled to continue speaking, only making frustrated noises, and your vision blurred as the guy walked towards you. You didn’t know that he was holding a needle until it pricked your neck. Not long after, you felt your limbs grow heavy and you fell, smacking hard against the ground.

————————————————————————

When the members of the team heard your distress call over the comms, they quickly tracked your location and ran to meet you. Thankfully, they managed to stop him from escaping and taking you with him. But when they got back to the Quinjet, they knew that they had to alert the Avengers, which no-one wanted to do.

When Tony saw Coulson on his caller I.D, he assumed the man was calling him to boast about how well Y/N had done on the mission. Putting the phone to his ear, he was startled when he heard the disappointed words: “I’m so sorry.”

The billionaire stilled, his face instantly paling and altering Pepper and the Avengers that something was wrong. “What happened? Is Y/N okay?” He practically cried, gripping the phone tightly.

“Agent Stark inhaled an unknown gas during the mission. From what we know about it, the gas — and the needle Stark was pricked with — was a part of some experiment that the guy we were tracking down was conducting illegally. We don’t know too much about the experiment yet, but we know that it’s intention is to enhance its subjects somehow. We’re interrogating the guy right now,” Coulson explained, as calmly as he could.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut as he let the news pass over him, doing his best to prevent his voice from shaking. “Can I talk to Y/N?” He asked.

Coulson paused. “I’m afraid not . . . Y/N is unconscious. Has been ever since the incident. The team is en route to S.H.I.E.L.D’s medical wing now, though,” he said.

“I want Y/N transferred to the compound. We’ll have Dr. Cho — she’s the best,” Tony declared firmly.

Another slight pause, and then: “Of course, Tony.” With that, Coulson hung up, leaving Tony to reveal the news to his worried family.

It was safe to say that no one took it well, but Pepper and Peter especially were a wreck. Bruce took the initiative of informing Dr. Cho while the rest anxiously awaited your arrival. They tried to comfort each other the best they could, but with so little information on your condition, there was nothing much that they could say or believe.

When the elevator dinged and two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rolled you out on a gurney, everyone cling to your side. Peter was especially shaken when he saw you unconscious. The agents didn’t let anyone come with, saying it was imperative that they get you to Dr. Cho now.

Although difficult, your family allowed you to be rolled away alone. For the next half-hour, everyone waited for any news. The majority of the group was seated on the couch, but it seemed that everyone paced around at least once. Tony demanded updates from F.R.I.D.A.Y., only to hear that you were “stable” which wasn’t enough to calm anyone’s nerves or satisfy anyone.

When Bruce finally emerged, the group nearly pounded on him. They were barely able to keep quiet enough for him to actually say anything.

“They don’t think it’s life-threatening, but it’s not good, either,” was what Bruce first said, pausing as he gauged their reactions before continuing. Once he deemed that no-one was going to have some sort of outburst, he continued. “The gas Y/N inhaled is . . . Changing them. From what Dr. Cho can tell and the information they got out of the A.I.M. guy, the gas and the needle modifies one’s DNA to give them enhancements . . . Superpowers, of some sort. The A.I.M. guy let it slip that this will be a slow and painful process for Y/N, though. It was meant to beat down the guy’s test subjects so that by the time their powers were developed and controlled, it would be easier for him to manipulate them into doing what he wanted. It seemed he hadn’t planned on doing this to Y/N, but took the opportunity when he realized he might be able them use it against us.”

This was a lot for everyone to take in. They all held some combination of immense concern and anger. The very thought you suffering was an enraging image, and they wanted nothing more than to be able to take away the pain.

“Is-is there anyway to stop the process before the powers develop?” Pepper asked, trembling slightly. Tony wrapped an arm around her.

Bruce frowned. “Dr. Cho is looking into it. Coulson said when they asked the guy that, he claimed it would just make things worse,” he said.

No-one liked the sound of that.

“Can we see Y/N?” Tony asked next.

Bruce nodded and led the group to the medical bay, where you were lying in a bed. A ton of wires were hooked up to you and a bandage was on your head from where you hit it when falling.

Tony, Pepper, and Peter immediately went to your side and the rest of the Avengers followed. No-one said much, just using the time and the silence to digest this change. Peter and Tony both held each of your hands and Pepper pet your hair. Not long passed before Rhodey and Happy, having received the news, quickly joined.

No-one moved, or wanted to move, until Dr. Cho came in. “Unfortunately, we don’t see a way to reverse the process. We’ll just have to let it play out and help and comfort Y/N the best we can,” she explained, knowing everyone wanted to hear it. “Y/N should wake up on their own. They’re not under any sedation or anything.”

Everyone nodded and turned their attention back to you. A couple hours passed and the only movement that occurred was when someone went to go on coffee and food runs, or they got any update from S.H.I.E.L.D. However, Peter broke the silence when he suddenly jerked back. “Ow!” He said, waving his hand. Meeting the other’s confused looks, he said: “Y/N shocked me.”

“That bad?” Sam asked, a little doubtful.

Peter nodded and glanced back to you, his eyes widening. “Woah, look,” he said. Everyone inched closer, only to see electricity sparking at your fingertips. Although reluctant, Tony and Pepper had to move away at risk of getting shocked.

Seeing the commotion, Dr. Cho shuffled over and began checking your vitals and monitors. “What’s going on? Does Y/N have electricity powers or something?” Bucky asked.

Although his second question hadn’t been serious, Dr. Cho turned around and said: “It seems like it.”

This shocked everyone, but when your eyes began to open, they seemed to snap back to normal. Already in a state of daze and confusion, you got nervous seeing the crowd. “What-what’s going on?” You mumbled, pulling at the wires, only for electrical sparks to fly and interfere with the wires, making you curl up in pain.

“Unhook the monitors!” Natasha cried, while Tony did his best to soothe you.

“You’re home, honey. The gas you inhaled is changing you and giving you, what looks like, electricity powers. But it’s all going to be okay, I promise,” he tried to explain.

This, combined with seeing the worried, confused, and nervous looks on your family’s faces, only freaked you out more. Electrical sparks flew out now, and the Avengers had to dodge being hit. You let out a small scream, trembling, and trying yet failing to control it.

“Get away from me! I’ll hurt you!” You yelled, panicked, hugging yourself and attempting to get as far back on the bed as you could manage.

“No, you won’t. You just need to take some deep breaths, Y/N,” Peter tried to comfort.

But that didn’t seem like it was possible. Any attempt to slow your breaths only made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. You were desperate to regain your regular breathing, and it came out in short gasps. Not only was electrical sparks going everywhere, but it was hurting you, and you were feeling dizzy. “I can’t. It hurts!” You said, trembling, and the next thing you knew — your eyes rolled back into your head and you fainted.

Everyone was relieved as the electrical sparks disappeared, but not happy that you were unconscious again. Tony reached forward and moved some hair out of your face, sighing.

“We need Y/N to calm down. I think we should bring them to their room and reduce who sees them at first — maybe only Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, me, and Ms. Maximoff. She can help with Y/N’s powers,” Peter said, looking at the Avengers.

While the group all wanted to be with you, they understood that it was overwhelming. With a look at Dr. Cho, who said it would be okay as long as she could check on you, Tony said: “Good idea, kid.” He took it upon himself to gently lift you from your bed and carry you to your room, everyone following behind.

When they got to your room, Tony laid you down on your bed and Pepper tucked you in. Everyone sat around, trying to make the room as comfortable and calming as possible, until you started to stir. They all filed out, leaving behind your parents, Peter, and Wanda.

When you began to wake, the sparks began to fly, but Wanda quickly jumped in. “Hey, Y/N,” she said, smiling at you. You and Wanda were really close. She was like an older sister. “You’re in your room, with just me, your mom and dad, and Peter. We noticed that the electricity only seems to get uncomfortable when you’re upset, so we’re gonna try and help you. I know that this is all really sudden and scary and not what you expected or wanted. But, if anyone can tackle it, it’s you. Think you can take some deep breaths for me?”

You did your best to listen to Wanda’s words, although her powers - which was intent on relaxing you - certainly helped. Realizing you were in your bed and had the people you loved most around you, unwilling to leave and wanting to help, allowed you to feel less scared and take those deep breaths. It took a couple minutes, and Peter holding your hand, but the sparks began to lessen and lessen.

“I’m scared,” you whispered after a moment, tears in your eyes. You found yourself able to express some sadness without the sparks causing chaos, but it was draining your energy and causing pain.

“I know,” Wanda said, cupping your cheek comfortingly. “But you’ve got a whole team right behind you. We love you so, so much.”

“Yeah, we do,” Peter agreed, and your mom and dad nodded, causing you to smile. You squeezed your boyfriend’s hand. He squeezed back.

For the rest of the day, the Avengers visited you in pairs or trios, not wanting to overwhelm you with everyone again. You were disappointed about how your S.H.I.E.L.D. mission had gone, but having your dedicated family at your side helped. The sparks were no longer soaring, but when Coulson had said it would be a painful process, he was by no means exaggerating.

You hadn’t said anything, not wanting to worry anyone anymore, but it became apparent the next day. Everyone was now in the room and, after some slight stress (which Wanda and Peter helped with), the sparks calmed down. You were sick of lying in bed all day and wanted to stand up and walk around, but that proved to not go well.

The second you had risen to your feet — you were tumbling back down. Your knees hit the floor, and Peter barely managed to wrap his arms around you and prevent your head from hitting it, too. He gently pulled you against him as your head lolled against his chest, a wave of dizziness appearing.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked, him and Pepper kneeling down in front of you and Peter. The rest were close by, in case you needed anything.

The sparks came back, but this time just seemed to appear all over your body. You were concentrating hard to prevent them from escaping, and this in turn only exhausted and hurt you more. “Y-yeah,” you answered through grit teeth, but your whimper of pain betrayed you.

“I’ll get Dr. Cho,” Bruce offered, making a move for the door handle.

“No,” you forced out, although your voice was hardly strong. Enough to make Bruce pause, though. “It’s not — it’s my powers. It’s taking everything in me not to let this electricity out, and on top of that I think this whole process is taking a toll on me, like Coulson said it would.”

No-one liked hearing this. The group exchanged looks over your head, worried, and then Tony nodded at Peter, gesturing to your bed. Since your eyes were closed, Peter said, “I’m going to pick you up and put you back in bed, okay?”

When you nodded, Peter gently picked you up and laid down in bed. Your grip never left him, though, so he slid in beside you, in a cuddle. Peter and Pepper both fixed the blankets while you leaned your head against his shoulder.

Pepper and Tony sat beside you and the rest of the Avengers crowded around. Blinking your eyes open tiredly, you managed a small smile, your heart warming with your family surrounding you. Trying to get as comfortable as possible with the pain, you squirmed around and huffed lightly.

“Still hurts?” Natasha murmured, with the others watching over you in concern.

Your answer was an affirming hum, face tightly scrunched up in concentration. “I’m really trying to contain it,” you whispered, which broke everyone’s hearts. You looked exhausted and worn-out, but were still trying so hard.

Steve glanced over at everyone, frowning. “We can leave if you need to let it out,” he offered gently.

You shook your head. “No. I need to learn how to control it,” you insisted.

This had everyone more worried. “You don’t have to learn right now, hun,” Wanda said.

“I do. I can’t hurt anyone again,” you said, and then leaned forward, gasping, as a wave of pain from the electricity racked your body.

You were Tony Stark’s kid — stubbornness was in your DNA.

Peter bit his lip and rubbed your back, wanting to do anything he could to provide you with comfort. Pepper pet your hair until you leaned back, practically collapsing against your boyfriend. “Maybe a story will help distract—” Sam began, but you quickly cut him off.

“No! I can’t be distracted! I need to concentrate unless you want me to fry you!” You snapped, glaring at Sam. Everyone was surprised by your sudden outburst, but your frustration quickly dissolved into guilt and tears escaped your eyes. “I’m-I’m sorry Sam. I just can’t relax. All I can do is think about keeping the electricity in.”

You pulled your knees to your chest and Peter’s arms wrapped around you from behind. Eyes widening, Sam was quick to say: “Hey, hey, it’s alright, kid. No hard feelings.” He smiled.

“I can put you to sleep for a bit, if you’d like,” Wanda offered, also smiling.

You thought about this for a moment and then nodded. Wanda put her index fingers on her temples and, after a moment, your body relaxed and went limp. Peter gently pulled you so you were laying back against the pillow and everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. They all just watched you for a moment, glad that you were finally no longer in pain — even if only temporary.

After a couple minutes, Bruce piped up. “There has to be something we can do, Tony.”

Tony glanced over at the scientist and nodded, the wheels already turning in his head. “Can we build something that can absorb the electricity? A bracelet with an insulator like rubber or plastic that could be strong enough for Y/N to be able to let loose some of that electricity?” He pondered.

Bruce nodded, liking where the billionaire was going with this idea. “Let’s see,” he said, and then headed out the door, to their lab.

Tony was more hesitant leave Y/N, but Pepper and the others assured him that they’d be there. Smiling at his wife and then at sleeping Y/N, Tony allowed himself to trust that and followed Bruce.

You slept for most of the day with your family by your side. They only left if it was absolutely necessary. When you woke up still in pain, the Avengers took shifts. If it were up to them, they’d all be with you all the time. Unfortunately, duty called to the team and to Pepper. At any moment, though, at least one of them was always with you. Rubbing your back, keeping you updated with what was going on in the tower and with S.H.I.E.L.D, anything they could do or say that would provide even the littlest bit of comfort.

Two days later, when Fury wanted the Avengers to go out on a mission, they all ended up arguing with him and insisting that they needed to stay with you. Their love for you seemed to out-power the Director’s might. It took a lot of convincing, but Fury eventually backed down after talking to his best spies Clint and Natasha and when he saw you himself.

Later that afternoon, Bruce and Tony finally perfected the bracelets. They delivered it to you proudly, all the Avengers by their side. You gladly wore them and it helped lessen the pain some — although it did not go away entirely. Tony was adamant on going back to the lab and working on it himself, but you were able to put your father at ease. You know the pain would continue as long as your powers were still developing. Soon, your body would get used to it and you’d be in control.

Tony (and everyone else) still worried, of course, but they knew you were right. Sure enough, by the end of the week, you were up and walking around again. Your body had stopped fighting the new development and, after practicing and working with Wanda, you were able to control it with little difficulty. You surprised the group when they were in the living room, coming down the staircase with a large grin on your face.

“So . . . Does this mean I can become an Avenger now, too?” You asked.

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gvtted-ratz · 1 month

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read all our tags/ratings. they r important n give u all u need 2 decide if u wanna actually read or not. do not like the tags/rating? do not read.

FEM ALIGNING/IDENTIFYING PPL (unless mutuals/friends) DNI WITH OUR MLM WORKS. fem ppl can still request tho. respect our wishes or get blocked. yes we do read/check everything. we tag appropriately/use tags that go with our posts.

want 2 request? find the rules: here!

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Soft To The Core

König x M!Reader

Last Edited: 03/01/23

TW: death mentioned

AO3 LINK -> HERE

anon: 4 with König and he/him male reader. That is all <- frothing at the mouth but being SO COOL about it (4. accidental touching!!!!)

Word Count: 767

Notes: hey again bestie… i see u. i have our dms about the man n u frothing btw. Also. ik absolutely nothing about guns n stuff so uh. oop ig… also. i made the reader like. kinda techy n speak some russian? i was listening 2 gore by graveyardguy as i wrote this just so u know. Didn’t influence much of the thing but the title is definitely from the song.

You hum as you clean your sniper rifle; the disassembled piece of metal all over your lap. Usually, you would be around a table or even in your own assigned room. However, today they had a mandatory room check. While you didn’t mind it, having all the tables and sitting areas taken out in the cafeteria as well as the shooting range didn’t help. This leads to you sitting underneath a small pine. It’s fairly young, being only large enough to cast enough of a shadow to give you cover from the sun.

While you don’t mind cleaning your gun, making sure your laptop was in better shape or needed to be put back together was more interesting. While you’ve done it a hundred times before, for you, it never got old. You enjoyed taking apart the electronic gadgets and putting them back together. Seeing how they work and even improving them intrigued you more than going out on the field and sending bullets people’s way to splatter their blood everywhere. The missions they assign you in KorTac have been nothing but boring or a pain. You’ve never actually trained for this part or even with the rifle at all. You are more of someone who hacks cameras, reads coding to try and find anything that could give enemies away, and even disarm some bombs via the tech you have on hand during said times.

Now, while it’s not something you prefer doing, you can’t help but enjoy at least one of your members. König, or King as many call him, is your favourite man. Despite his awkward social interactions, he’s never been particularly rude to you. Nor has the giant Austrian ever tried to get on your nerves. He keeps to himself mostly, leading to you having to seek him out if you want company. Sometimes he’s out and about, though he’s either alone or towering over the other soldiers.

Of course, that doesn't mean he’s not deadly. You’ve seen him out on the field. He’s truly a rampaging beast. He picks up enemy soldiers and cracks their backs over his knee. He’ll gun them down or snipe them, giving a laugh or giggle. He’ll yell out in a happy tone “I have some cash!” whenever he gets his hands on even a single coin. He’s wilder and more brutal. And you couldn’t help but notice. However, despite noticing it, you didn’t treat the man any differently.

A large pair of military-issued boots appear in front of your crisscrossed legs. Looking up, you see the man you’ve been thinking of as you cleaned the barrel of your gun. “Ah. König,” You say, giving him a small smile. “Привет! How has my favourite man been?” König’s hands are loosely holding each other, nearly touching his stomach with his chosen position.

“Ah… Ich meine, es lief gut…” He says, looking uncomfortable standing there. You gesture to the ground next to you, letting him know that he can sit beside you. With confirmation now obtained, König lets himself fall into a seated position right next to you. He ends up knocking his knee into your thigh; you wince at the sharp pain but laugh it off.

“I’m so sorry..! I did not mean to hit you. Bitte vergib mir!” The large man starts to apologize immediately, already beating himself up over the accidental touch. You wave him off, trying to make your smile softer to try and reassure the Austrian.

“ нет, нет! Все хорошо, ты в порядке!” Your words seem to calm him down a bit, despite him not exactly understanding your words. “Besides, König, I say you’re sharp as a knife but Soft To The Core.” You’re not sure why, but the words felt right to say.

“Ja? Well… They do say beauty is on the inside, Freund,” He tells you; a nearly inaudible chuckle escapes him. You feel another smile pull at your lips at his words.

“They sure do, мой возлюбленный. They sure do.” You mumble. With some silence between the two of you, it’s easy to hear the shout of one of your captains letting you all know that the mandatory room clearance has been finished. You playfully smack König’s shoulder, clasping it as you stand. “Let’s go back, да?” When he gives you a nod, you shove your gun parts into the duffle bag you brought just for it. “Let’s go then! Maybe we can grab some food once these bozos clear out.” With those last words, you take the lead, König following behind you quietly and with genuine happiness shining in his eyes.

#x male reader #x reader #my fics #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #cod x reader #cod mw 2 x reader #cod x male reader #cod mw2 x male reader #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig x male reader #konig x male reader

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mrsmandalorian · 15 days

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Meeting Your Parents

One-Shot in the City Lights, Country Nights series- cowboy!joel x techie!f!reader

A/N: Howdy, everyone! I hope all is well with everyone! I am super sorry for the delay in this. I hope you all enjoy it! Comment, reblog, and like to show your love! I appreciate you all! Much love 🫶🏼 Maddie

Summary: A year into your relationship, your mother learns about your relationship with Joel. She insists you bring him to dinner after you agree. Joel gets rewarded for his good behavior, though.

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, reader is able-bodied, no outbreak AU, pet names (baby, angel, darling), fluff!!!!, flirting, make-out, drinking, parental issues, talk of trauma, drinking, handsy make-out, oral sex (m receiving), sexual teasing, Joel's southern charm 🥵

It was common for you to have noon meetings during the week. These meetings ruined your lunch break and made the day go by longer. Your break was usually when you got to catch up with Joel and socials throughout the day, so this meeting ruined your vibe.

You sighed in relief as your boss let you all out about ten minutes earlier than usual. Gathering all your items, you hurry to your little office and get out a little lunch from your bag. You grab your phone, planning to text Joel when you see your mother has tried to call you. After closing your office door, you call her back with a slight eye roll.

Your relationship with your parents was okay, but you were very independent and broke many generational curses that disappointed your mother. Your mom was the type to try to set you up with all her friends, coworkers, and kids, and she wanted you to go to the University of Virginia like her and your father. You have never told her about Joel. The two of you have been together for almost a year now. You were not ashamed of your sweet and sexy cowboy at all. You just enjoyed the peace of them not knowing. Your parents were just tricky and old in their ways of thinking. That’s why you did not get along.

“Hi, honey! I thought you would be on a lunch break, but I guess not,” she uttered as soon as she answered, causing you to shake your head.

“Hi, Mom. I had a meeting during the first half of my lunch break. I'm just calling you back. How are you today?” you asked as you sat back in your chair. Your mom only calls every other week, usually to get gossip for her book club or country club women's group. Your apartment was about thirty minutes from their house, but you only went over once a month, if that.

“I’m doing okay. Leanne just told me some interesting news,” you could hear the fake grin on her face as she spoke. “It was about you.” Why the hell would she know anything about you?

“Oh really? What did she have to say?” You hesitantly asked her as you sat up, wondering what her friend had news about you.

“She was telling me about how she was on your side of town going grocery shopping because there were better prices on fruit and vegetables there. She ran into her old construction worker, and once she got to the check-out line, you were there with him checking out two lanes down all lovey-dovey.” She began her speech on ‘how could you’ as you started to fidget your fingers across the top of your desk. “Hello, are you there?”

You slowly take a deep breath before you respond to her. “I’m here. Yes, he’s my boyfriend,” giving her a short response was the best you could do right now as your stomach turned.

“Boyfriend? How old is he? Leanne says that he has kids! Honey, you are only twenty-five years old! You don’t need to be with some older man and some woman’s kids.” She nagged back at you, and your fingers were immediately at the end of the call button.

“Mother, whenever you find the time to be respectful and happy for me, you can call me back, and we can discuss Joel.” You say as you finally hit the end call button and let out a shaky breath. You sit back in your chair, wishing you could simply disappear to your country heaven.

It took her three days to call you back. You almost did not answer, but your drive to the ranch was on a Friday evening. I was hoping you would lose the phone service anyway.

“Hello, sweetie. I am sorry for how I reacted the other day,” she started the talk in a sweet apologetic tone. It caused you to wish you had not answered.

“I’m not saying I forgive you because you said very unfair things about Joel the other day.” You replied quickly as you continued to drive farther away from the city.

“I know. I judged a book by the description and cover. I am sorry, sweetie.” She lets out another apologetic plea. “I was calling to apologize for my behavior, but also invite you and Joel for dinner at the house on Sunday if you are both free. Your father and I would like a chance to meet him.”

You bite your lips as she speaks and tap your fingers along the steering wheel. “ I will have to talk to Joel about it. I’ll let you know by tomorrow morning.”

The rest of your conversation was short as she tried to catch up with you a little. Because of her old manipulative ways, you knew not to play too much into her games, but she was still your mother. You eventually lose service before you get to the ranch, so you end the call. You try to relax a little before you pull into the driveway as you roll down the windows, enjoying the cool breeze.

The drive past the ranch gates was quiet; usually, you could see someone out in the pastures. You pull into your regular parking spot and still cannot see anyone around.

Sassy comes running the house from the direction of the barn, barking at you. She let you give her some quick love but started herding you towards the barn. “Alright, I’m coming,” you say to the dog as you follow her directions. As you come around the side of the house, you see Joel waiting for the two of you to join him with a smirk.

You noticed he was covered in dirt and sweat when you approached him. His black T-shirt helped hide some dirt, and his large biceps peeked out. His large, dirty hand was wrapped around a cold yellow can of Coors. “Howdy, sweetheart,” he greets you with a gentle hand around your waist, pulling you into a small peck. He didn’t show much affection because Ellie and Tommy sat with him. It all looked like they had a rough day.

“You guys just slacking off and drinking today?” You joked with them as you pulled away from Joel to hug Ellie. You reached up to wipe some dirt off her chin like a mother. Ellie and your relationship was something you worked hard for. She gave you hell, but you won her over reasonably quickly. Her protectiveness over Joel was the biggest obstacle, but she accepted you in her small circle after seeing how you cared for and loved him.

She jokingly pulls away in disgust, which makes you roll your eyes dramatically. You hear the sound of a cooler opening as you turn towards Tommy, yellow jacket in hand. He nods and gives you a beer, “Evening, city girl. I would hug you, but your old man decided to work my ass off,’’ he jokes with his giant smile and southern drawl. If you had not found Joel and Mariah wasn't in the picture, you could picture yourself with Tommy. You lift your beer to the two men (Ellie is still a senior in high school, but Joel told her she had to wait till she graduated to drink with them) as you all take a sip of the beer.

“As much as I would love to sit here and drink beer all night. I need to go get ready for my hot date,” Tommy says as he finishes his beer in two big gulps. He lets out a loud belch as he grabs his cooler and puts it in the back of his truck. “I will see you guys in the morning. Call Ellie if you need anything. I will not answer if you call me.”

You all chuckle as he waves and drives off down the driveway. The three of you all chat while you finish cleaning up the stables; then Ellie says she’s going to her room to shower so she can go into town later.

Joel gently pulls you into his chest as the two of you watch her walk up to the big house. “You look mighty pretty today, little lady, but you seem tense. Let me help you with that.” He whispers into your ear as he moves your hair. Joel cups one side of your cheek as he pulls into a passionate kiss, pulling away slightly with a smirk and then going back in. He starts kissing down your neck, to the collar of your shirt, and to your ear. His wandering hands move from your waist to your bottom, kneading your ass. He held you still and gently guided you against the wall as he continued to kiss and let his hand wander.

“I need to,” you stopped, letting out a small moan as he started to move his hands under your shirt. “I need to talk to you about something, Miller.” You couldn’t help but bring it up as it weighed heavy on you. You wanted to go ahead and get it over with, then ride your cowboy from sunset into the night.

Joel quickly stops his movements as his body eases off you gently, his concerned brown eyes meet yours. “What is it, darling?” He asked as he rubbed his hands gently on your hips, his eyes scanning your face for an answer to what could be wrong.

“My mother called,” you say as you lay your hands on his chest. “She has invited us to dinner on Sunday. Her friend saw us together the other day and spilled the beans. We don’t have to go through.”

“Why won’t we go? I mean, it’s been a year now,” he rubs your shoulders to reassure you that everything will be okay. “It would be nice to meet the parents who made me my favorite person.”

“She said some ugly things on the phone about our relationship. I made her call me and apologize for it,” you quickly tell him as you bite your lip, waiting for his response.

He runs his thumb across your cheek as his brown eyes intensely meet yours. “I’m happy that you stood up for us. We can go, baby. I will just blow their socks off with my Southern charm,” he whispers as he kisses your forehead. Joel was insecure about never being good enough for you but never worried about other people’s opinions on your relationship, especially the age gap.

“I’m sure you will,” you mumble back as you lean into him to give him a heartfelt kiss. “Now, we can resume our activities, cowboy.”

Sunday evening came too quickly for your liking. You and Joel drove into the city together, and Joel drove your little sedan, which was always cute. You pull into your parent’s driveway with a slight groan escaping your lips. Joel’s hand gently rubbed your thigh, comforting you, “We got this, darling.”

Joel dressed more than usual in a solid button-up shirt rolled up to his forearm with nice dark jeans. You wore a simple dress that made you guys almost late whenever Joel saw you in it.

Joel takes the lead as he gets out, opens your door, and helps you out of the car. He holds your hand as you both walk up to the door. You ring the doorbell and look at him quickly with a small smile. He squeezes your hand and slightly winks as the door swings open, revealing your father.

There is silence as your father awkwardly stares down at Joel, which causes you to stop breathing for a second. Joel breaks the silence as he lets go of your hand and puts it out for your father to shake: “Good evening, sir. I’m Joel Miller.”

Your father glances at his hand and shakes it hard. “Nice to meet you, Joel. Please don’t call me sir; we are too close in age for that. I’m Dave.” He says it almost as a joke and moves out of the way to let you in. You give Joel an eye roll about the comment as he walks in with his hand on the small of your back.

“Dad, don’t be a dick,” you say as your mother walks into the room. She looks horrid at what you just said but gives Joel a small smile.

“Hello Joel, it’s so nice to meet you finally. I’m Tracy. Our daughter has been keeping you hidden,” she jokes beside your father, then gives you a death glare to behave. The tension in the room was giving you significant anxiety as you fidgeted your fingers as you all walked into the living room. “Would either of you like to drink? Dave could get you a beer or whiskey, whatever you like.”

Joel looked calm and collected as he sat beside you on the couch. Your mother sat across from the two of you on a decorative chair. “Thank you. I’ll take a whiskey,” Joel responded as he smiled back at your mother. Your father started rambling about his whiskey collection, and Joel entertained it. He was putting that Southern charm to work tonight.

The tension faded as you all sat at the table in the dining room, which your mother had beautifully decorated for the night. You helped her serve all the food. Joel tried to help, but you told him to return to entertaining your dad.

As you help your mom in the kitchen, “I like him. I’m sorry that I judged him too early,” she says as she finishes plating the last dish. “I’m happy he makes you happy. I think I was just hurt that you kept it a secret.”

You smile at your mom as she does a genuine behavior. She was lovely, but she could be very fake with her friends. “I’m happy you like him, Mom. He’s pretty okay,” you joked as you hugged her quickly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I have no excuse for it.”

“I can’t blame you either, honey. I didn’t tell my parents about your father until we moved in together. They were pissed when we got married three months later,” she giggles as you carry out plates to the table.

Everyone starts eating as you all make small talk amongst each other.

“The dinner is excellent, Tracy. Thank you guys for inviting us over for dinner,” Joel says after he wipes his face off with his napkin and then places it on his lap again. The two of you had been playing footsie under the table all night as you sat across from one another. You also took your shoe off and teased his crotch every once in a while, which caused you to get a stern look from Joel.

“You are more than welcome, Joel. I’m so happy you guys are here,” your mom says back to him, smiling happily. The southern charm was still heavy as Joel won everyone over more and more, especially your dad—even the discussion of going to a University of Texas football game next season and a visit to the ranch soon.

“Joel, if you don’t mind me asking, I heard from my friend that you have children. How old are they?” your mom asks as she finishes her meal. She seems genuine with her question, and there are no games.

“I don’t at all. They are one of my favorite topics to discuss besides your daughter. I have two daughters, Sarah and Ellie. They are both seniors at the high school in the closest town to the ranch. Sarah comes from my previous relationship; her mom left us when she was two. Ellie is my not legally adopted daughter, and she is a spitfire. Ellie’s parents should burn in hell for how they were treating her. Luckily, she and Sarah were close enough for her to say something, and we could help her,” Joel spoke, and it made you want to get emotional as he talked with such love for his girls. They are his world and mean everything to him; he will do everything for them if they let him.

“Aw, I’m sorry for the hardship of being a single parent. It is hard, I bet,” your mom says as she gives him a small smile.

“My brother, Tommy, and his wife, Mariah, have been there for me as I am with them. This little lady has been heaven-sent as the girls get older and more challenging. Changing the diapers is easy, but feelings and relationship trouble are more challenging,” Joel jokes as his brown eyes meet yours with a grin. He reached across the table to your hand and held it briefly.

Dessert was served, and the men drank one more drink as they helped wash the dishes in the kitchen. It was finally time to start heading back home. Your parents walked you out and gave you both hugs and farewells.

Joel gently held your hand as he walked with you to the side of the car. He helps you in with a squeeze of your ass out of sight of your parents. As Joel pulls the car out of the driveway, you wave back to your smiling parents.

“They loved you and your charm, handsome,” you look over at him with a smirk. “I think you deserve a reward for your good work.” You slide your hand over his clothed crotch, which earned a low groan from Joel.

“Are you trying to wreck us, darling?” He asks you with a chuckle and bats your hand away from him. “Either wait till we get away from the street lights or get home.”

“What if I didn’t do either,” you teased him as you slowly slid your hand back over his crotch. You bite your lower lip and palm him gently as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“You better, or your ass is grass when we get home,” he grumbles as he bats your hand away. “You only have to wait ten minutes. I don’t want to get pulled over with my dick out.”

The next ten minutes were full of you teasing Joel as he got more and more sexually frustrated with you. As soon as the city lights went out of sight and pastures started, Joel gave you a stern look. “You have been teasing me all fucking night with that damn dress and your under-the-table activities. You will be punished for that,” he sternly tells you as you get an idea to get yourself out of trouble.

“Or,” you dramatically drag the R as your hands slide back over to Joel’s clothed erected crotch. “I could reward and ask for your forgiveness now.” You trusted Joel that he could handle driving if you continued to pleasure him, and you would stop if not.

He lets out a shaky breath as you start to unbutton and unzip his jeans. You spit into your hand as you begin to pump his cock in a rhythm that makes him groan loudly. Eventually, after your hand starts to sting, you lean over and take him in your mouth.

“Fuck, darling,” he lets out as his non-driving hand entangles your hair, gently pushing your head in rhythm as you are going in. “You’re going to make me come, angel.”

You continue to bobble your head down as your tongue glides against him, with some extra pressure applied that causes him to grip your hair a little harder. His quick breaths come a little sooner than you thought. You work him a little harder as you meet his brown eyes with big eyes.

“I’m about to come, darling. Do you want to swallow?” he asks as he tries to calm down to give you time to answer. You nod and make an agreeing noise as you continue. Shortly, white ropes are shot into your mouth as Joel’s moans meet your ears. “Fuck, good girl.” He reaches down and cups your cheek as you pull up. “Just wait till we get home, little lady.”

“Oh, I can’t wait, sir,” you giggle back as his hand wanders under the skirt of your dress. He runs his thumb over your clothed pussy, which causes you to spread your legs. Joel teases you until you pull into the driveway.

“You better get inside and on all four in about two minutes,” he warns you as he parks the car with a smirk.

Luckily, the girls were away at a friend’s house because the two of you had a very energetic night from the couch to the bathroom shower. Joel’s Southern charm worked for him and worked with everyone, especially you.

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